《Orphan [LitRPG Adventure]》 Prologue ¡°I¡¯m telling you, I got a reading!¡± The words echoed off the shattered stone and metal, as if ghosts taunted those foolish enough to delve into the ruins where they lay. "And I''m telling you, Kaphle, that this whole building is going to fall in on our heads if we take one wrong step." Val¡¯s voice, though deeper than his comrade, was far less self-assured. "Do you even know how to calibrate that thing?" "Do I-? Yes! Obviously!" Probably. "It was a strong reading. Maybe an enchante-" "Quiet. Both of you!" Near silence reigned as the young scavengers followed the orders of their more experienced mentor. There was a soft clatter, as loose stones dislodged by their entrance cascaded through cracks in the shattered floor. Then, in the silence, there was the slightest tic-tic as the meter came to life once more. "I told you! I told you!" Kaphle insisted while wagging his finger at Val. "And I''m still telling you to keep your voice down." The third man, Baylan, cut in angrily. "Unless you want someone else to come see what we''re up to." "Sorry." A few heartbeats passed as Kaphle studied the meter. "Whatever it is, it¡¯s in the basement. I¡¯m getting a stable reading from it, even at range. It has to be something valuable." Val gestured to the rubble of a nearby staircase. "There¡¯s a way down here. But it is going to be a tight fit. Do you have the light?" The sound of rummaging and fumbling filled the air. The clatter of something dropped, a minor bit of swearing. Then, after some bickering between Val and Kaphle over who would lead the way, light trickled into the basement. A glowing orb tied haphazardly to the end of a stick led the way, flooding the dark space in a sickly orange light. "Watch your step at the bottom.¡± Kaphle warned, having lost the argument. ¡°There is..." "What?" Baylan asked. "I-" Kaphle started, clearly disturbed. "I think that is a body." Val swore under his breath. "And that is our cue to get out of here." "No. No!" Kaphle said, the second denial far more convincing than the first. "They''re old, maybe from the uprising? Covered up, too. Piled rocks. Like a¡­ like a-" ¡°A cairn?¡± Baylan asked. ¡°Yeah. That.¡± Val focused on a more concerning detail "They?" ¡°Four of them.¡± Kaphle said. ¡°All along one wall.¡± A short scuffle followed as Val made physical his desire to ¡®get out of here¡¯. But soon enough he squeezed through the narrow passage behind Kaphle, his cheek only slightly worse for the wear from the back of Baylan¡¯s hand. Tic-tic-tic-tic. "It¡¯s on the other side of the chamber. That room back there." Kaphle said, directing Baylan¡¯s attention to a doorway shrouded in darkness on the far side of the basement. The three made their way carefully through the wreckage of what had once been a dirt floored cellar. They tested every step before they committed, eager to avoid tripping over debris from the partially collapsed ceiling. Their first sign something was wrong was when Kaphle realized that the area up ahead looked a little cleaner than the rest of the ruin. As though someone had recently passed through. The second was when a fist sized rock broke his nose. "Mother of-" The man swore, clutching at his bloodied face with both hands. He caught a blur of motion through tear filled eyes, but lost sight of whatever it was as the glow orb he''d dropped shattered on impact with the ground. "Did you see it?" "See what?" Val asked. An instant later the question answered itself as a feral shadow slammed into him with its entire body weight. The two struggled on the ground, a mass of flailing limbs silhouetted by what little light came in from the opening above. It was impossible to make out the whole of their attacker, but individual features revealed themselves in the melee. Pale hair, filthy skin, vicious eyes. What was readily apparent, however, was that Val was losing. Badly. Wet, meaty thuds filled the air as the thing on top of him struck and struck and struck again. Val¡¯s blood mixed with Kaphle¡¯s as castoff from the creature¡¯s hands spattered over the latter¡¯s face. Panic overcame Kaphle, freezing his feet beneath him, but it barely mattered as the fight, such as it was, ended with a sickening crack of bone long before he could have come to the aid of his companion. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. The keening sound of unsheathed metal finally broke him from his stupor as Baylan did what Kaphle could not. The metal sheen of the knife was dull with soot, almost invisible in Baylan¡¯s hand as he thrust and swiped into the darkness, driving the creature back. A thief¡¯s dagger, Kaphle had never seen his mentor draw the weapon in anger. They¡¯d never needed to. One of Baylan¡¯s first lessons had been that if they were fighting, they had made a costly mistake. ¡°Light!¡± Baylan screamed, though Kaphle was far ahead of him. A year ago, before he¡¯d come under Baylan¡¯s tutelage, he would have rushed into the darkness to play the hero, but he knew better now. Whatever this thing was, its eyes had adjusted to the dark. Theirs had not. Kaphle was more likely to catch Baylan¡¯s knife in the ribs by accident than to meaningfully contribute to a fight he couldn¡¯t see. Unfortunately, fulfilling the request was easier said than done. Lighting a torch was out of the question, the fight would be over and done with by the time he¡¯d unpacked the necessary gear. Activating another glow orb was the obvious solution, had Baylan not insisted on carrying their spares, for fear that his apprentices would break the expensive devices. There was really only one way to shine a light on their situation. Assuming it didn¡¯t crush them to death. Focusing on an already sunken area of the low ceiling, Kaphle reached up and dug his fingers into gaps in the stonework. The first two he tried held firm, even with a substantial part of his limited bodyweight devoted to yanking on them. The third gave quite easily however, snapping off in his hand with only a minimal tug. Sunlight shone down through the opening and Kaphle reached up to expand it, pulling at loose stones unti- Crack! A full quarter of the ceiling came away all at once, collapsing over the east side of the room and burying poor Val. If he hadn¡¯t been dead already, he certainly was now as a thousand pounds of stone gave him an impromptu burial to match the cairns that had stood as warning. Despite that loss, it was also a success. Somewhat. Swirling dust, glowing in the cool afternoon sun had replaced the darkness with its own obscuring effect. Kaphle could make out the twisting silhouettes of both combatants as they clashed, parted and clashed again. The beast was incredibly fast, evading each swipe and stab of Baylan¡¯s weapon, only to strike at his extended arm or throw an impromptu projectile from among the loose stones that now littered the battlefield. As Kaphle drew closer, the figures solidified. There was Baylan, his fiery red beard and matching cloak salted white with the sheer amount of dust that clung to them. And the creature¡­ It was a boy, perhaps twelve or thirteen, though it was hard to tell his age given that his growth had been so clearly stunted by famine. His hair was white and wild down to his shoulders, his skin so covered in grime and debris that it was hard to tell its original color. His violet eyes were narrowed in concentration. And fear. A long gash ran along the length of his left forearm where the knife had caught him, and the child was snarling as he circled, looking for an opening but unwilling to commit to an attack. ¡°You brat.¡± Baylan growled right back. He was wounded as well. One of the thrown rocks had clipped his scalp, judging by the mask of blood that covered the right side of his face. More concerning was the way he favored that same leg, as though he were unwilling or unable to put his full weight upon it. ¡°Kaphle, flank him, but keep your distance. Only move in if he gives you an opening.¡± Kaphle moved on instinct to obey his mentor, but something was odd. The child had heard the words, but there had been no recognition in those eyes of the sort of danger he was in. On a hunch, Kaphle spoke, slowly and deliberately. Bright violet eyes jerked in Kaphle¡¯s direction, the boy¡¯s full attention on him. Kaphle¡¯s blood-stained hands were up in a sign of peace and reconciliation as he continued speaking, poorly, in the Ashadi language. It was that last word that had the most effect. Narrowed eyes softened and balled fists unclenched as the light-haired youth studied the man before him. The child¡¯s lips were bone dry, but after a pause they parted to utter a single word, as much a statement as a question. A lunging hook from Baylan put a lie to whatever else his apprentice might have said. The sucker punch sent the child sprawling, while a series of brutal kicks to the midsection drove out what little fight remained. ¡°Why did you-¡± Kaphle began to berate Baylan, before a sharp glance made him think better of his tone. ¡°He was surrendering.¡± ¡°He killed Val!¡± Baylan snapped. ¡°I plan to do considerably worse.¡± ¡°Boss, look at him.¡± Kaphle replied. ¡°He¡¯s filthy, starving, clearly alone. Kid is halfway to a monster and we just wandered into his territory.¡± ¡°All the more reason to put the little bastard down.¡± Baylan paced as he spoke, his angry gaze locked squarely on his downed opponent, watching for any signs of movement. Kaphle frowned. Appealing to Baylan¡¯s morality had never been a strong move. ¡°Maybe he can help us find what we¡¯re looking for?¡± ¡°Some leftover war surplus is not going to turn this into any less of a debacle.¡± Baylan said. He hadn¡¯t much liked the would be scavenger, but Val had been a considerable investment in time and effort. ¡°Besides, you already have that meter of yours.¡± ¡°It isn¡¯t that precise.¡± Kaphle shot back, though at the mention of the meter his hand went to his hip. Finding something of value was probably the best move to mollify his infuriated employer. Kaphle braced the heavy device with one hand and manipulated a series of knobs and switches on the front with his spare. For a moment there was nothing. Then it let out a hideous metallic squeal. ¡°Turn it off!¡± Baylan shouted, plugging one ear with a finger until the noise stopped. ¡°Did he break that too?¡± ¡°No. The sensitivity settings just got knocked off. Give me a second.¡± Kaphle waved off the suggestion, only to frown. The settings hadn¡¯t been wrong. It was perfectly calibrated. ¡°But how¡­¡± ¡°Kaphle?¡± Baylan asked. The young man ignored him as he lowered the sensitivity and tried again, sweeping the delicate sensor across the room. Tic-Tic-Tic. It whispered as he swept it towards the entry. Tic-Tic. It uttered as he gestured toward the far end of the room that had earlier triggered it, still shrouded in darkness. TicTicTicTicTicTicTicTicTicTic. The meter all but screamed as Kaphle waved it over the body of the unconscious child. ¡°Want to keep him now?¡± Kaphle asked. Chapter One "How long had he been there?" Elena asked, looking through the one-way mirror at the youth huddled in the corner of the brightly lit restraint cell. It had been a long time, that much she could tell at a glance. He was filthy and malnourished, his matted hair peppered with dust from the brittle white stone used in so much of the local architecture. His clothes were new and ill-fitting, but better than the foul-smelling rags that sat on a pile on her side of the window. The child was an unfortunate sight, but sadly one all too familiar to someone in her position. Orphans were bred by war. And even though they were nearly a decade past the annexation of Ashad, the end of the war and the end of hostilities were not remotely the same thing. "By the state of the bodies down there with him, I¡¯d say a year at most." Kaphle¡¯s words were somewhat stifled by the ice pack held to the bridge of his shattered nose. "Even six months in the old city is impressive." The woman mused, turning her back on the injured man to once again study the boy. That he¡¯d apparently killed a full grown man with his bare hands was equal part impressive and frightening. "Pay the scavenger, have a medic see to his nose, then send him to the stockade for twenty lashes." "Wait, what?! You can¡¯t be serio-" "You did not think we''d overlook the infraction, did you?" Elena interrupted him coldly. "Laws are not merely suggestions. We do not ignore them when convenient. Your reward will more than pay for further healing, but the pain will serve as a reminder, to you and to others, that rummaging in the Old City for trinkets is forbidden." Kaphle was still pleading his case as two guards dragged him from the room. "What do you think of him, Ordinate?" Her aide stepped forward, joining her at the window. Dressed in simple grey robes, he was the epitome of an imperial functionary. The sort of useful bureaucrat that could almost phase out from the scenery when needed, and disappear just as quickly when told to depart. "An apprentice to one of the local bandit clans, working under Baylan Fairhaven. A stupid one at that, given that he did not realize that his mentor was sending him to take the punishment, while Baylan would reap the reward." "Cute." She scowled in his direction. "I meant the boy." "Children are malleable, we know this well enough." There was a slight hesitation as he considered his words. "However, if the scavengers are telling the truth, this one may be too feral to be of much use." "Feral." Elena repeated the word, as though tasting it. ¡°You think he should be euthanized.¡± ¡°It is not our place to make such suggestions. And it would likely be premature. If nothing else, it responds well to positive motivation. It did not attack the last group that came in to feed it. We even learned its name. Alarion.¡± ¡°Progress.¡± She said wryly. The young man had taken a number of swings at the first group, but food was a powerful motivator when one was hungry. ¡°The bodies found in the cellar?¡± "Physical trauma, knives most likely, though they were badly decomposed." The Ordinate replied without a hint of unease, despite the grim topic. "We have our contacts with the locals attempting to establish lineage, but currently our working theory is that the family were refugees. Squatters living in the wreckage of the Old City, who fell afoul of the sort of violence that one can expect.¡± "Not any of ours that did the deed then? Good. A lack of direct animosity should make this easier. Shall we introduce ourselves?" Elena strolled the few steps to the nearby door which slid open with but a wave of her gloved hand. Across the room, she saw the youth flinch, retreating further into his corner. He stared daggers at them from beneath a swollen eye, but was otherwise silent as The Ordinate followed her into the room and sealed the door behind them. She took a seat at the table in the center of the empty space, then smiled in his direction, "Good Evening, Alarion. My name is-" "Ma''am." Her assistant said, pointedly. She said softly in the boy''s native language. Alarion shook his head, though he visibly relaxed as she kept her distance and spoke a language he understood. Alarion''s brows knit together for a moment as he considered the question. Elena said. When Alarion shook his head once again she smiled. Alarion nodded slowly, finding in her words before replying. Elena replied, Elena shook her head. To his credit, Alarion still carefully considered her request before he agreed to it. Elena said. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. The last syllable had barely fallen from his lips before Alarion jerked back in fright, one hand flailing at the empty air in front of him. She reassured him with an open palm. Elena waited several seconds for the boy to compose himself, to marvel at the vision in front of him. An awakened herself, she knew full well what he was seeing, though she''d mentally restrained herself from activating her own status window when she''d said the command. Alarion said, his sudden fear having given way to curiosity as his head turned this way and that, the invisible menu always floating at the center front of his vision, awaiting his commands. Elena said, biting her tongue to keep the mild annoyance from showing. Alarion''s brows furrowed. At Elana¡¯s frown he quickly added. Elena closed her eyes, took a breath and counted to three before continuing. She quickly glanced over her shoulder and said, ¡°Ordinate.¡± "Yes, ma''am?" "The boy does not know how to read or write.¡± She explained. ¡°You do know the Ashadi alphabet?" "Yes, ma¡¯am." "Wonderful. Well this will not be tedious at all." She sighed and turned her attention to Alarion. He replied with a certain glimmer in his eyes, the prospect of fresh food overwhelming all lesser concerns.
Two hours later, Elena sat in her office halfway across the building. The Ordinate stood opposite of her, his expression inscrutable as ever. He''d already had some time to consider the information, while Elena could only stare at it, then back up at him. "This is accurate?" She asked, voice skeptical. "It could be lying, but we had it repeat the procedure. The second time in reverse. If it is lying, it is quite proficient.¡± The functionary said, matter-of-factly. "We have already sent someone to wake an Appraiser. We should have a proper Evaluation done before midnight." ¡°Push it to the morning.¡± Elana said as she looked back to the page. ¡°Let the boy sleep.¡± General Information Name - Alarion Species - Human Sex - Male Age ¨C Fourteen Years HP ¨C 117/117 [+0.004/sec](-17 Malus) MP ¨C 124/124 [+0.024/sec] Stamina ¨C 136/136 [+0.18/sec](-3 Malus) Aptitude - 238% Attributes STR ¨C 20[16] (-4 Malus) AGI- 34[27](-7 Malus) VIT ¨C 15[12] (-3 Malus) INT ¨C 30 PER ¨C 40 WIL ¨C 24 LUK ¨C 189 Classes Known Orphan - Level 3 - Progress - 67% Survivor - Level 1 - Progress ¨C MAX General Skills Known Stealth - Level 2 - Progress 82% Detection - Level 3 - Progress 56% Thrown Weapon Mastery - Level 3 - Progress 88% Class Skills Known None Traits and Feats of Strength Avian Bane - Rank I Flaws Unknown ¨C Major Unknown ¨C Moderate Unknown ¨C Minor None of what she saw was particularly unusual. He was missing class skills, but that made sense given that he had no grasp of the System. That he had selected classes at all was curious, but it was possible that he had accepted prompts without understanding, or that someone had talked him through it. It was even conceivable that he was more clever than the Ordinate gave him credit for and was simply lying to them, as unlikely as that might seem. Most of his attributes were lower than they should have been at his level, even without accounting the malus for his obvious starvation. But that was no doubt explained by his absurd Luck. Elena had never heard of an [Orphan] class before, but she felt safe in assuming that it must have tremendous Luck growth and little else. Even his age made sense, despite what her eyes told her at first glance. His growth had been stunted by hunger, but he was clearly not the child she had initially assumed. Three flaws were a bit on the high side for a child, particularly when none of them were obvious at a glance. But again, not any more unusual than the fact that he¡¯d apparently been on a murder spree of the local bird population. Everything on his status was easily accounted for. All except for that Aptitude. ¡°Two Hundred and Thirty-Eight.¡± Elena murmured, incredulously. Everyone had an Aptitude score, even the as yet unawakened. A person¡¯s Aptitude directly corresponded to how fast they could gain skills and classes, and in part, how powerful those skills and classes were likely to be as they advanced. It described a person¡¯s innate potential for growth and for power. In the eyes of the Vitrian Empire it was a person¡¯s most important characteristic. Aptitude had long defined their very culture. Your caste, placement within the hierarchy of your house, the opportunities you had in life. In the more extreme or desperate of the Numbered Houses, a newborn¡¯s aptitude was a literal matter of life and death. No house could afford to be seen as having weak blood, after all. They had known for centuries that Aptitude was, to some degree, heritable. Pure blooded Vitrian families prided themselves on this fact. The Seventy-Seven Numbered houses had an average aptitude of 80, and it was that potential that had played a pivotal role in the expansion of the empire over the last several centuries. That level of stability also allowed them to track the rate of deviance from the norm. Perhaps 1 in 5 Vitrians had an aptitude as high as 100, 1 in 50 could boast 130, 1 in 500 might reach 160, and 1 in 50,000 were as strong as 190. Those small handful that exceeded 200, and survived, wielded positions of extreme importance and authority; or were spoken of as whispers and rumors, kept secret as hidden weapons or powerful artisans. Areas like Ashad could not hope to compete. The average in their population had proven to be somewhere in the low 30s, and their armies had been correspondingly weaker as a result. Every so often a meaningful talent would emerge, here or there. A Blacksmith, a Farmer, a City Guard. Elena¡¯s job for most of the last decade had been to find them, assess them and, if necessary, put them down. For every ten who were willing or submissive there was one who thought themselves a hero, a resistance leader, a freedom fighter for their people. Children were ideal for her profession. Those who gained their first class levels as children would, almost by definition, have higher Aptitude. They were also far more malleable, more open to indoctrination, their skills and potential more easily molded to fit a niche required by the Governor or the Empire as a whole. Still¡­ ¡°Two Hundred and Thirty-Eight.¡± This time the words were a curse. The number was almost certainly a death sentence. If there was anything that Vitrians cared about more than a person¡¯s Aptitude, it was the Empire itself and the sense of superiority that came with being a part of it. An Aptitude this high was unheard of in a human, even one born from the Numbered Houses, as far as she was aware. His very existence was a slap in the face to the national pride of a very proud people. Generations of arranged marriages, outdone by an urchin found in a decrepit basement. It was unconscionable. After decades in the provinces, Elena herself was positively liberal by the standards of her people, and even she felt the sting of comparing her Aptitude of one-fifty-five to that ridiculous monster. There would be senatorial hearings over the matter when it came to light, of that she had no doubt. To say nothing of the press attention. He might lose his life to an assassin¡¯s blade within the year, or disappear into the harem of some truly disreputable house. In the end, she might be ordered to snuff out that potential, before it grew out of control. Until then, however. "What are we to do with it?" The Ordinate asked, shattering her thoughts and reminding her, abruptly, that he had not left the room. "You say that as though there is anything else to do with him." Elena replied brusquely. She felt some measure of pity for the boy, but with a stroke of her pen she signed his induction order, the same as any other. "Laws are not merely suggestions." Though they could be interpreted. Chapter Two
Except as otherwise provided in this Act, it shall be the duty of every citizen of the Vitrian Empire, and of every other person residing in the Vitrian Empire, her provinces, colonies and territories, who, on the day or days fixed for the first or any subsequent registration, is of legal military age, has been subject to a type I-IV Awakening, is firm and capable of mind and body; to present themselves for and submit to induction at such time or times and place or places, and in such manner and in such a group or groups, as shall be determined by rules and regulations prescribed hereunder. (As amended JiShDu AUC 276, ch. 602, ¡ì 1, 55 Stat. 844.)
Despite her firm belief in the black and white legality of the issue, an Assessor like Elena had a surprising measure of control over when the awakened they inducted were to be delivered. Laws might not be suggestions, but they were written by men. Men made mistakes, they carved out exceptions and their wording could be imprecise and exploited. Most vitally, they could be interpreted. A textualist interpretation of the relevant statute concerning him would have had Alarion already in the clumsy hands of the Auxilia. He met all the basic criteria to the black letter of the law. He had gained a level in a class that lacked social utility, he was of age, he could technically speak, and he was clearly able to defend himself. That his Aptitude was among the highest ever recorded, did not matter to the letter of the law. That the one year survival rates for such inductees were below a quarter, did not matter to the letter of the law. The Auxilia was brutal and wasteful almost by design. Inductees were held to the same martial standards as Vitrian Guardsmen, but without any of the years of preparatory training that House members often enjoyed. Their experience was more sink or swim, a way to easily separate out those with actual value. Given that one of the primary goals of the induction program was to strip local populations of their combat capable Awakened, and thus minimize the chance of rebellion, the loss of so many was its own form of success to many of the more hardline Vitrians. Fortunately for Alarion, Elena was not a textualist. To the contrary, she found their kind hidebound and obstinate, more concerned with how something was written than why it had been written. They were a combination of blind followers and slick opportunists, who used minor imperfections in language to meet their preconceptions or to draft whole new powers and authorities that were never intended. She was a functionalist and in her eyes this matter was so very, very clear. The induction program had been designed to strengthen the Vitrian Empire, to best utilize the myriad resources of the provinces and territories for the betterment of all, with a focus on long-term vision. Her entire profession was based upon balancing the needs of the Empire and the Province against one another. If they had a glut of newly awakened farmers, then some might be better utilized as a craftsman, it was her job to make that decision. The boy was no different, but the law here was more strict. His classes were considered Type II, non-combat but with no real utility to the State. This meant he was destined for the Auxillia, but without the martial prowess to actually survive. He would be wasted there. Such behavior was a profound violation of the spirit of the law, even if it fit perfectly to the letter. And, of course, it would be a waste of a clear opportunity for her own House. It was not every day that a House could foster such a talent. Elena had implied as much in her letter to the Provisional Governor. A long, winding and exhaustive report on the situation that had taken her weeks to compile. Weeks that Alarion spent in her private compound, positively devouring anything he could get his hands on. His days were filled with a crash education, focused primarily on the Vitrian language. The closest thing to a common language on the continent, through a mix of conquest and commerce, Vitri was intricate and complex, but strangely easy to grasp once the fundamentals had been drilled into his head. Neither Elena nor his language tutor were cruel enough to tell him that one of the fringe benefits of being Awakened was a vast increase in the rate at which one could learn new things, particularly languages. Or that the increased proficiency scaled with Aptitude. Better to build his confidence. Written language came more slowly, perhaps because he did not have an existing framework to build upon. Alarion knew enough to read and understand the basics of his Status, and was as surprised as anyone when his age rolled over to fifteen during his twelfth week in Elena''s care. By then they¡¯d left Ashad-Vitri. Though still incomplete nearly a decade after the Vitrian conquest, the half-constructed fortress city loomed large on the horizon as they departed into the surrounding desert. Larger still, because its gleaming towers and imposing crimson walls dwarfed the shattered, skeletal remains of what had once been known as Ashad-Mundi and was now simply known as ¡®The Old City¡¯. The scorched desert around the former Ashadi capitol gave way to greener pastures as their path carried them southeast, towards the Middle Sea. Alarion had been ecstatic when he learned of their destination, for he had never seen such a large body of water. Elena, less so. Alarion was small for his age. Scrawny, the caravan guards called him, no matter how much he ate. Only a few inches taller than Elena¡¯s five feet, his emaciated body had filled in to a more healthy weight with a steady diet, but his growth had been stunted, perhaps forever, by years of malnourishment. A rigorous exercise routine coupled with an Awakened body gave him a well defined, lithe musculature, but he was clearly more boy than man. A work in progress. He was also rather quiet. He readily participated in his lessons, and spoke when he was spoken to, but he rarely approached or engaged others without prompting. It wasn¡¯t shyness, but a sort of deep introversion. He didn¡¯t avoid others, he just seemed perfectly content to be by himself, all things being equal. Which was good, because Elena spent a significant portion of the last leg of their journey ignoring him, in favor of dry heaving over the side of the ship. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Their travel had been uneventful, which meant that they had arrived at the Vitrian port colony three days ahead of schedule. Which in turn meant that they¡¯d arrived three days ahead of when the healer scheduled to accompany them would arrive. Elena had been forced to choose between delaying their crossing, or white knuckling the one day sail to the Trinity Isles. She had chosen¡­ poorly. ¡°I will live. Alarion.¡± That the boy had inquired at all was uplifting and distressing all at once. He either cared enough about her wellbeing to ask, or she looked so close to death that he felt he had to. Possibly both. ¡°And remember your tongue.¡± Alarion asked, brows knitted together before he parsed the idiom and sheepishly added. ¡°Oh. Right. I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Do not be sorry. Be better.¡± She responded. It was an admonishment, but the sort of light one the child knew to take in stride. ¡°Are we almost there?¡± He asked, the question made more practical than a childish ¡®are we there yet¡¯ by the thick morning mist that obscured sight beyond a few meters in any direction. ¡°I certainly hope so.¡± Elena murmured while a finger-gloved hand fished into her well tailored suit jacket to produce a pocket watch. ¡°Less than half an hour now, if they kept to the timetable.¡± Alarion nodded and looked out over the water. They stood in silence for several minutes before he spoke again. ¡°I¡¯ll be safe here?¡± The question was enough to momentarily snap Elena¡¯s attention away from her writhing stomach. Her gaze shifted to Alarion as she studied him. His attention remained on the water, his expression as passive as his tone had been when he¡¯d asked the question. Elena had thought long and hard about sharing her concerns with Alarion. ¡®Powerful factions within the Vitrian Empire will soon wish to have you killed¡¯ was the sort of sentence that would give most children nightmares. That kind of fear could hold a person back, shatter their focus and make them lose their nerve. Yet not knowing presented its own perils, for how could anyone protect themselves from a danger they were not even aware of? In the end she had decided to tell him the truth. The Governor had received her induction letter, and had agreed to her interpretations. Black letter law demanded that an Auxilia inductee be of ¡®legal military age¡¯. Vitrians held this to be as young as twelve years old, and that was the prevailing standard throughout the Empire, including the Central Military District of Ashad-Vitri. But Alarion wasn''t found in the new capitol. He was found and turned over at a watch post in the Old City. And the Old City fell under provisional law, which meant that it primarily functioned off the old Ashadi common law. A common law where the age of majority was sixteen. It was a flimsy defense, but if one looked at it from the right angle, it was technically correct. Her reading of the law would give them nearly a year to work with. In the interim he would be a ward of her House. They would train him, give him the capability to protect himself and excel during his time in the Auxillia. And afterward, if the House chose to adopt him? All the better. The decision would never hold up to scrutiny in this political climate, but it didn¡¯t have to. Some might see it as a naked power grab on her part, but it would be another month before his induction letter was returned to Vitria, buried in the quarterly reports. Even after it arrived it would be weeks, possibly months before anyone realized what they''d done. Then there would be counsels, debates and soon enough, a legal challenge to her claim. A talented solicitor could drag such a case out for months, possibly years. By the time the claim was properly vetted by a court, it would be moot, save for clearing up the ¡®error¡¯ in her understanding for future reference. The wheels of bureaucracy could grind exceedingly fine, but they did so slowly. Elena felt a pang of guilt at the thought. This was bending the letter of the law almost to the point of breaking, in order to meet the spirit of the thing. It was something that tested the very values she had been born into, and the thought made her stomach lurch nearly as heavily as the waves beneath her feet. Yet when she looked at Alarion, all she could think was the waste it would be to her people, to have this boy used and discarded like so much fodder. ¡°I am not sure.¡± She admitted. ¡°Safer for the time being than anywhere else I can think of.¡± Above her, the sharp chime of a bell cut through their conversation. A second later it struck again, then a third time. Ahead of them, a beam of light stabbed out from the fog and swept across the water near their ship, searching. The bell rang once more, and this time the light settled on them. It lingered as the water beneath them grew rougher, then positively chaotic. The deck of their cutter rose and fell along with Elena¡¯s breakfast as moment by moment the light grew closer. At last, the source grew near enough to be seen through the fog, an ironclad vessel four times the length of their wooden sailing ship and twice again as tall. A well uniformed soldier on the deck saluted as he caught sight of Elena, then spoke something into his lapel. Now that they could see one another, the two ships matched in course and direction over the next two minutes, which in turn greatly eased, but did not eliminate, the turbulence underfoot. The Ironclad¡¯s engines continued to churn the sea, unnoticeable to the beastly vessel, but a nightmare to the one alongside it. Once they were able, a ramp was laid down between the two ships. It was awkward, given the disparity in height, but that did not stop the man in white robes from rushing across. There was a certain glint of fear in his eyes as he approached Elena. ¡°Ma¡¯am, may I?¡± ¡°Oh Four Mothers, yes!¡± Elena said through gritted teeth, one hand tight on the railing as though it could support some level of dignity for her. No further time was wasted. The man¡¯s hands shone with golden light as he made strange gestures and spoke in a low, rhythmic chant. After several long seconds the chant ended with a declaration of ¡°Restoration ¨C Minor¡± and the man reached out to touch her. The light flowed across the surface of Elena¡¯s frame, as though enveloping her in a golden veil. Each breath drew that light inside her body, and moment by moment the color in her cheeks began to return. ¡°Thank the Empire.¡± Elena whispered with a heavy sigh. Another man descended the ramp, his grey robes and passionless expression marking him as an Ordinate ¡°I am sorry Ma¡¯am, we were instruct-¡± ¡°To what? Capsize the ship?¡± She waved away his apology. ¡°We are minutes from shore!¡± ¡°The Provisional Governor has limited access to the Trinity Isles to only family, guests and household staff.¡± The Ordinate said, patiently. ¡°The crew of this vessel are none of those, and cannot make landfall. We have been dispatched to carry you the rest of the way.¡± ¡°Dar cannot be serious.¡± Elena frowned. ¡°If these men were a danger they would have already slit the throat of the child and thrown him overboard.¡± Alarion gave her a look, which Elena promptly ignored. ¡°The Provisional Governor-¡± The Ordinate began, only to stop mid sentence. The man¡¯s face contorted ever so briefly before he instead said, ¡°Standby.¡± A wet, crunching sound came from the Ordinate¡¯s face as it caved in upon itself. Bones and cartilage cracked and splintered, reshaping first into a concave where a face had been mere seconds earlier. It then inflated outward over the course of a few heartbeats, taking a new visage entirely. This man was decades older, his face lined by wrinkles and scarred by battle. A well trimmed dark beard had grown from nowhere, and the Ordinate¡¯s bald scalp had grown a neatly cut crop of graying black hair with a slight widow¡¯s peak. Every few seconds the face rippled as a line transitioned from the neck to the forehead, correcting features that had begun to revert to the norm. ¡°The Governor can indeed be serious.¡± The man said, though the voice was all wrong. Two voices overlapping, one considerably deeper than the other. ¡°You have dragged our House into quite a mess, wife." Chapter Three The rising sun had just begun to burn away the clinging mist as the Ironclad, In Time Forgotten, arrived at anchor five hundred feet off the coast of the Manor Isle. At little more than a glance the Trinity Isles lived up to their reputation, Alarion had decided. There were, in fact, three of them. Elena had told him little of the islands, other than that they were secure and that she hated visiting them for what were now fairly obvious reasons. This left him to do the deductions himself. The island nearest was the so called ¡®Manor Isle¡¯ and it was, again, easy to see why. A four story brick manor house dominated the island¡¯s surface, surrounded by a twenty foot tall curtain wall. Two main towers on either side of the gate served as lighthouse, gatehouse and lookout. Each was decorated with a unfamiliar banner of teal and violet, depicting a swirling vortex. Above those flew a much more recognizable banner. This one was red, white and black, an abstract image of an octagon with three small slivers seemingly cut out of it at random. Everyone recognized the flag of the Numbered Empire. The island to his left proved quite different. Much larger than the other two, lush and green, it contained a thick forest the likes of which Alarion had never seen. It felt somehow sinister, too shadowed on a day where the sun shone so brightly overhead. Small pathways seemed to dot the edges of the wicked woods, and even at a distance he could see hints of short, rapid movements. Something lived on that island. The last of the three seemed inhospitable in its own way. Unlike the other two which were largely flat, this island looked as though someone had plucked a mountaintop from some distant land and dropped it down into the Middle Sea. Its surface was green but covered in jagged grey outcroppings of rock. Stranger still, portions of that stone seem to have been struck away, or perhaps blasted away by powerful forces. ¡°Alarion.¡± Elena¡¯s word was as much a command as a call for his attention. ¡°S-sorr-¡± He began to apologize before be thought better of it and simply hopped over the railing to meet her on the ship¡¯s lower deck. That drew curious looks from the nearby crew, but Elena barely paid his haste any mind. He¡¯d been hustled onto the ironclad while Elena and her husband, or the Ordinate projecting the Governor, had exchanged words below deck. Whatever the conversation, she had come back nearly as pale as she¡¯d been for much of the previous day. ¡°They will be taking us ashore momentarily.¡± Elena explained without preamble. ¡°While I had hoped to be there for proper introductions, I am¡­ expected in the manor itself to discuss our arrival. Are you comfortable beginning immediately?¡± Something about the fierceness of her gaze made Alarion hesitate, but only for a moment. Elena had been clear that his presence as a ward of her House came with expectations. ¡°I am.¡± ¡°Good. Ezekial will greet you in the courtyard for introductions. He has been with the House for an age. Do not disappoint him.¡± With that they moved to the tender boat waiting alongside the Forgotten. If the rougher seas affected Elena during the short journey to shore, she didn¡¯t let it show. Her gloved hands were already balled tight in her lap before they got underway, and they remained as such until the moment they reached the small dock. Elena disembarked without a word to him, a number of laborers following on her heels with all of her property and the supplies they had brought for an extended stay. This left Alarion alone for the first time since¡­ likely since they found him. Someone had always been nearby during his time at her estate and during the voyage. People were still around here, a guardsman on the wall, a groundskeeper tending to the trees but not one of them spared him so much as a glance. He liked that feeling of being overlooked, ignored. It was familiar. Reassuring. They were times of hunger and of deprivation, but those were troubles he knew well. Ones he had adapted to. This new world, full of dangers and expectations was an altogether different and perhaps more challenging beast. One he had to contend with. Much as he might fantasize about disappearing into the waves, ignored and forgotten, that was then and this was now. He wanted to be of use. His legs were surprisingly shaky back on dry land. Alarion had taken to the sea with relative ease, but the transition back to his natural state was more difficult than he would have thought. He kept expecting to have to shift his weight, to shorten or twist his step to account for the movement of the ground. You are suffering from Disembarkation Sickness. Movement reduced by 30% for two minutes. AGI reduced by 30% for two minutes. The sudden appearance of the ¡®helpful¡¯ notification at the top of his vision caused Alarion to trip over his own already unstable feet. He tumbled to the ground in a heap, prompting an additional message: If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. You have suffered minor bludgeoning damage. HP -4. Someone up in the guard tower ahead began to snicker and on the ground Alarion braced himself. Would it be Mental Damage? Psychic Damage? Pride Damage? Because the laughter hurt significantly more than the fall. The alert messages were something he was still getting used to. An Ordinate, the first one he¡¯d met back in Ashad-Vitri, had shown him how to activate this sort of passive notification and how to customize and tune the Status interface to his liking. Changing the color, the font, the types of messages that appeared, the duration and so forth. Elena had recommended that he leave most notifications on to begin with, and then pare them back as he became more accustomed to the sudden intrusions. Notifications such as an explanation behind a sudden illness could be the difference between life and death, or so he was told, but a notification every time he burned his tongue on some soup would be intrusive to say the least. Alarion gathered his legs beneath him, along with what little remained of his pride and pushed himself upright once again. His legs felt rubbery, but the notification ticking down at the corner of his view reminded him that this was temporary. He¡¯d be back in full form long before it mattered. Despite the earlier laughter, neither the spear wielding guards at the gate, nor the two men up in the tower said so much as a snide word to Alarion as he passed beneath the raised portcullis. Their breastplates were emblazoned with the same symbol that flew above the keep, and they had the same ice blue eyes as Elena. Both were signs that a Vitrian was from one of the numbered houses, a ¡®true¡¯ Vitrian, rather than a foreigner who had earned citizenship, let alone a provincial subject like himself. Only the best guards for a Governor, it seemed. Even the porters had those same eyes, come to think of it. The area just beyond the gate opened into a vast, and largely empty rectangular courtyard. The cobblestone road leading to the gate gave way to a stone floor so smooth and level that it somehow once again threatened Alarion¡¯s balance. The ground was matte and textured, clearly designed for function over form though ringed by a few feet of greenery and trees around the edges of the courtyard, to give the area some semblance of aesthetic appeal. Alarion had never seen a training yard, but even he understood what he was looking at. The outer boundaries of the yard were laden with racks containing all manner of weapons both practice and practical. A half dozen suits of armor were set up along the left side of the courtyard, each on its own custom mannequin. At the opposite end were an equal number of straw combat dummies and, oddly, a full sized brass statue standing with its palms pressed together, its head down as if in prayer. His attention piqued, Alarion moved closer to examine it. What had looked like a single piece statue at a distance grew much more complex the closer he walked. There was separation between the plates, banding running down its torso and arms. Most joints had a sort of cylindrical screw or hinge, as though a person would be able to pose the statute to their specifications. Closer still, Alarion was taken aback by the sheer horror of its face. The details were intricate as the rest of it, humanoid in appearance, but that of a maimed human. Its ¡®face¡¯, such as it was had been sculpted as though it had been raggedly cut away. The nose, lips and most of the cheeks had been carved out to reveal painstakingly crafted metal cartilage, sinew, flesh and teeth. Paradoxically, the damage left the creature with a sort of rictus grin. That even carved up, with its head bowed in silent contemplation it looked as though it were grinning from ear to ear, a smile that twinkled in the green crystal lenses that passed for its eyes. ¡°You must be Master Alarion.¡± You are frightened. -25% to all stats for the next five seconds. The notification was, if anything, an understatement. If Alarion were to have described his condition in that moment, he¡¯d have gone with something closer to: ¡®Your soul is attempting to escape your body¡¯. To his extremely minimal credit, Alarion didn¡¯t topple over backward in his haste to backpedal. It was more luck than skill, but he even managed to put his hands up in front of him in a sort of instinctive combat stance. Upon seeing this, the brass reaper cocked its head to one side and spread its hands wide. ¡°Hand to hand? Already? I thought we would start with introductions.¡± ¡°Introductions?¡± Alarion repeated. Something about that word. ¡°Ezekial?¡± ¡°Zepher Technologies Educational Kombat Encounters Trainer Model Three.¡± The metal man agreed, as though that was remotely similar to what Alarion had said. As the boy still looked confused, the machine held up a clenched fist to show the designation written on the back of its palm, the words slashed through with a line and replaced with the word ZEKE. ¡°You may call me ZEKE, or, if you must, Ezekial.¡± Alarion looked at what he was rapidly growing to understand was a machine with skepticism. ¡°I only learned this language recently, but wouldn¡¯t your name be ZTEK? ZTEKETMT?¡± He paused, frowning, ¡°Wait, isn¡¯t combat spelled with a C?¡± ¡°If Zepher Technologies were still extant, I am certain they would value your feedback. As it is, I can say they provided exceptional work, but not always exceptionally useful acronyms.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Alarion nodded as though that made any sense. ¡°So you¡¯re¡­ a machine, then?¡± ¡°Quite astute, Master Alarion.¡± Alarion gave Zeke a dirty look. ¡°Shall I reduce my sarcasm, somewhat?¡± ZEKE asked in a way that suggested it would do anything but. It was only as the terrified condition fully abated that Alarion noticed how utterly normal ZEKE¡¯s voice was. A strong baritone in keeping with its broad chest and powerful physique, but not metallic as one might expect. ¡°You are correct. More specifically, I am a Zephyr Technologies Artificial Humanoid. Most commonly we are referred to as ¡®Steelborn¡¯, though the metallic composition is far from correct in my case.¡± ¡°You are going to be my instructor?¡± Alarion asked. It was perhaps not the most pertinent question, but his mind was abuzz with so many different trains of thought that it was very much first come first serve. ¡°I am indeed. As I was Mistress Elena¡¯s tutor, during her youth. And her mother¡¯s, and her grandmother¡¯s.¡± ¡°You have been with them for a long time.¡± Alarion noted. ¡°Three Hundred and Fourteen years, serving the House of Hunger.¡± ZEKE said with neither pride nor regret. ¡°Though in all that time, you will be the first non-Vitrian I will have trained. I am eager to see if there are any insights I can glean from your training or technique.¡± ¡°I will probably disappoint.¡± Alarion admitted. ¡°I don¡¯t have much of either.¡± ¡°Perhaps. Perhaps not. I am sure it will be elucidating regardless. There is only one way to be sure.¡± The lenses of ZEKE¡¯s eyes shifted from a gentle green to a muted red as the Steelborn crossed his arms. ¡°Please, young master. Attempt to strike me.¡± Chapter Four Alarion¡¯s features took on a serious expression as he studied ZEKE¡¯s robotic visage. Then, seemingly satisfied with what he found there, the youth lifted his shoulders in a shrug. And lunged. ¡°Ferocious.¡± ZEKE said in a cool monotone as he slipped the shoulder tackle with contemptuous ease. Just as quickly, his left leg darted out in a low kick that broke Alarion¡¯s footing with barely a tap to the side of his knee. ¡°And clumsy.¡± Undeterred, Alarion came up swinging with a wild right hook that struck nothing but air. The two follow-up blows of his would-be combination existed only in his mind as a push kick, this time to his thigh, sent him sprawling to the ground once again. ¡°Sloppy.¡± The robot added as it took a half-step back to avoid Alarion¡¯s attempt to grab its ankle. ¡°When you are ready.¡± Thrice more the situation repeated itself. Each fumbling attack dispersed by a sweep or a push so weakly delivered that only the fall resulted in damage notifications. ¡°How?¡± Alarion asked as he collected himself from yet another tumble. ¡°You were correct. You are a terrible fighter.¡± ZEKE explained nonchalantly. Alarion locked eyes with the machine, his own face nearly as expressionless. ¡°Your balance is atrocious, your footwork is awful, your attacks are heavily telegraphed and leave you vulnerable to innumerable counter-attacks. You over-commit, focus in on your target point to the exclusion of-¡± ¡°Okay. I get it.¡± Alarion scowled at last. ¡°I¡¯ve won fights before, though.¡± ¡°Against an Awakened?¡± ZEKE inquired. Alarion crossed his arms and stroked his chin as he considered the question. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t think so.¡± ¡°There you have it.¡± ZEKE explained. ¡°An Awakened fighting an unawakened is like an adult abusing a child.¡± Alarion met ZEKE¡¯s gaze, pointedly. ¡°This is training.¡± The Steelborn emphasized as it waved off the child¡¯s scandalous accusation. ¡°An Awakened child against an unawakened adult is a much closer match, however. Your unrestrained aggression almost certainly carried you through such encounters.¡± ¡°Isn¡¯t that why I¡¯m losing now?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Yes, but that does not make it an unassailable weakness.¡± ZEKE reassured him. ¡°Your sheer capacity for violence is outstanding, it simply needs to be tempered. I have trained hundreds during my tenure with the House of Hunger, and not one of them attacked without further provocation. Meanwhile you did not hesitate to throw everything you had at me, a relative stranger, from the moment you were given the opport-¡± ZEKE¡¯s thought process was interrupted as Alarion led his renewed assault with two quick jabs which forced the machine to backpedal away from the first and uncross its arms to swat away the second. It was quick to riposte with a shove that pushed the boy off balance and a quick backhand to punish his aggression. The boy took the unexpected blow head on, but powered through it with a clenched jaw all the same. The machine didn¡¯t actually want to hurt him, which gave Alarion the advantage as he stepped in for a vicious uppercut. And was promptly knocked on his ass. You have suffered moderate bludgeoning damage. HP -14. Alarion barely even understood the counter. He¡¯d advanced on ZEKE, but rather than pivot or withdraw, ZEKE had simply advanced on his own. The machine had stepped past Alarion, set his feet and slammed his back against Alarion¡¯s with enough force to send the boy sprawling. ¡°Predictable.¡± The machine said, as Alarion struggled to regain his wits. ¡°That¡­ that hurt!¡± Alarion snarled as he came up swinging. His blows were wild, animalistic, half open handed strikes that were as much scratches as they were punches. Not one landed, but the sheer volume and speed of the attacks drove ZEKE back several steps before he was able to disrupt the rhythm. ¡°Inelegant.¡± ZEKE pronounced as his open palm first struck Alarion¡¯s elbow to deflect an incoming attack, then drove into his shoulder as the Steelborn slid beneath Alarion¡¯s opposite arm, hooked his ankle and slammed him down hard into the stone floor. ¡°Uncouth, even!¡± Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. You have suffered moderate bludgeoning damage. HP -22. You have been stunned for two seconds. ¡°I suspect that hurt even more. But let me be clear, child. This is not a life or death struggle, this is a training session.¡± ZEKE¡¯s once jovial voice was icy as it loomed over him. ¡°You can come at me in anger if that helps you, though I do not recommend it. But if you come at me with killing intent again, I will put you down far less gently next time. Do you understand?¡± On the ground, Alarion met the machine man¡¯s eyes and gave a slight nod. ¡°Mm.¡± ¡°Splendid.¡± ZEKE replied with a delighted tone. ¡°Up you go. We are far from finished.¡±
¡°Slow.¡± ZEKE chided as he danced away from the boy¡¯s roundhouse kick, then rushed in to close the gap. Alarion was already retreating, his arms held high to ward off the inevitable counter blow. One swift blow to the body reminded Alarion that his face was not his only vulnerability, but ZEKE¡¯s second lesson was cut short as Alarion retaliated with an overhand of his own. It missed, of course, but it was close. Much, much closer than any of those fumbling attacks the youth had been throwing only hours earlier. They had practiced through the afternoon and well into the evening. Three times the healer had come to tend to the wounds that Alarion had accrued, their repeated bouts otherwise broken only when Alarion¡¯s stamina dwindled to the point he could no longer stand. Alarion was stubborn. ZEKE had given him numerous opportunities to stop, starting in the late afternoon. There were myriad facets to his training regime beyond simple combat practice. Academic lessons, weapon selection and theory, rote drills and so much more. ¡°Impractical.¡± The machine scoffed as Alarion missed entirely with a wild haymaker. But the boy wanted to hit him. Some part of him needed to strike a telling blow, despite the gulf of difference in skill, experience and physical ability. So they fought, clashing over and over again. ¡°Rudimentary.¡± ZEKE scolded as what had been a promising series of thrown punches gave way to frustration, opening up an old weakness that the machine ruthlessly exploited by way of an outside leg kick that buckled Alarion¡¯s knee. ¡°You-¡± The Steelborn¡¯s rebuke caught in its voice box as Alarion¡¯s sacrificial feint made itself clear. Though he¡¯d improved steadily over the hours, his root as ZEKE called it was a consistent problem. Alarion¡¯s stance was often too wide, his center of gravity poor, and the machine mercilessly exploited that weakness. To the point that Alarion could count on it doing so. Alarion rolled with the kick, turning with the momentum of his own fall. Knowing that it was coming allowed him to brace on his back leg, and spring back with explosive force, his right hand open in a clawing swing. His fingertips scraped metal though only just barely. Not enough to leave a mark, or inflict even a single point of damage. But enough to be felt, if that metal skin felt anything at all. ¡°Adequate.¡± Almost as uplifting as the ¡®compliment¡¯ was the way that ZEKE had been forced to avoid the attack. A desperate dodge backward, his stance too wide, his center of gravity poor. Alarion could not return the favor with a kick of his own, but he had ample time to move forward and to his left, neatly dodging the open palmed retaliation intended to send him sprawling. A dodge that put him back to back with ZEKE. Which had been the goal all along. ¡°Raagh!¡± Alarion shouted as he imitated ZEKE¡¯s move from hours earlier, throwing his body back against the Steelborn instructor. Who moved all of a few inches. ¡°Disappointing.¡± ZEKE said with a resigned note. ¡°I hit you!¡± Alarion protested, wheeling on the machine. ¡°Twice!¡± ¡°Since when was that the point of this exercise?¡± ZEKE asked as he turned to face the young man. ¡°Since¡­¡± Alarion replied, trailing off as ZEKE¡¯s point became clear. ¡°Our goal today was an introduction, nothing more. It was to show a few fundamental flaws in your fighting style, or lack thereof, to instill humility. To let you experience overwhelming power and your own weaknesses in a safe, practical environment as opposed to a life or death situation.¡± ZEKE explained. ¡°Kicks and shoves to put you off balance. Unusual strikes like the body check to show your vulnerability to off angle attacks.¡± ¡°Insults to frustrate and provoke me?¡± ¡°Perish the thought.¡± ZEKE replied. ¡°Though your greatest weakness is an inability to judge your own strengths and weaknesses, and those of your opponents. You are a foot shorter and weigh less than half of what I do. You do not have particularly high strength attribute. In what world were you going to have any impact with a technique you¡¯d never used against a much larger, stronger and more resilient opponent.¡± ¡°So the point was to show me what it is like to lose?¡± Alarion complained somewhat bitterly. ¡°Even if I hit you, I wasn¡¯t going to do damage.¡± ZEKE looked at him sternly. ¡°Did you consider using a weapon?¡± ¡°I-¡± Alarion began, before looking around the courtyard. The weapon and armor racks were still there. They¡¯d been there for hours, waiting to be used. Had he only thought to ask. ¡°But you didn¡¯t say-¡± ¡°Just like you incorrectly assumed the point of the exercise.¡± ZEKE pointed out. ¡°But fear not. This training was still a success.¡± Alarion looked at him, expectantly. ¡°We have found one of your fundamental flaws.¡± ZEKE explained, clearly irked at not being asked to expound. ¡°I already had my suspicion given that you somehow managed to accept not one but two classes without being aware of having done so, but your behavior confirms my suspicions. You, Master Alarion, are Single-Minded. Very much to a fault.¡± You have recognized your flaw!
Single-minded Description: A level of bull headed stubbornness usually reserved for monsters. Or bulls. Requirements: None. Type: Flaw, Passive. Severity: Minor Effect: +10% XP gain to a chosen class or skill for 24 hours. -20% XP gain to all other XP gain during the same period. Note: A class or skill must be chosen during each 24 hour period. If one is not willingly selected it will instead be chosen by the user¡¯s subconscious desires. Additional Note: Available class or skill options will sometimes be selected without the user¡¯s consent if they coincide with the user¡¯s subconscious desires.
Chapter Five The good news, as it turned out, was that being Single-Minded was far from a fatal flaw. One just had to know how to exploit it. In Alarion¡¯s case, the answer turned out to be something very, very simple. Give him a challenge. Fortunately, ZEKE had just the exercise in mind. If only his pupil would show his face. ¡°Is he always this late?¡± ZEKE asked. ¡°He is not an early riser, given the choice.¡± Elena admitted, looking up at her one time mentor from her seat on the courtyard bench. The expression on her face suggested Alarion would not be given the choice much longer if this behavior continued. ¡°Though I suspect some of this might be unrelated. You did work him rather hard yesterday.¡± That much was true. Alarion had woken up that morning with a pair of new conditions on his status. [Sleep Deprived ¨C Minor] -- 5% malus to all attributes for two hours. [Muscle Fatigue ¨C Minor] -- 10% malus to maximum stamina for twenty-four hours. The cause of the former was obvious, he had slept terribly. The bed was too soft and he was too energized from the day¡¯s adventure and activities to properly settle until well after midnight. The latter was the result of Alarion fully depleting and restoring his stamina pool five times in a single day. Neither was what had kept him. ¡°Where are my clothes?¡± Alarion said without preamble, mere moments after walking into the courtyard. Weeks earlier, Elena had incinerated the filthy garments Alarion had been found wearing. They¡¯d given him temporary clothing during his time in custody, and her staff had procured him some local Ashadi attire that had served him well enough during their travels. But now that they''d arrived, such things would no longer do. Suspecting it would be an issue, she¡¯d ordered one of the maids to clear his room while he bathed and replace his wardrobe with proper attire. Which, of course, meant proper Vitrian attire. The outfit she¡¯d chosen was not especially expensive. A vest of comfortable white linen tailored to his lithe frame held together down the center with four ties, it had a high collar and trailed off to triangular points that hung just below his belt. His pants were a traditional, loose fitting grey designed for comfort and ease of movement while retaining a solid sense of style. Both garments were gently embroidered along the hems and seams with a repeating pattern of teal and purple. ¡°You look splendid, Alarion.¡± Elena said, pointedly ignoring his question. ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion replied noncommittally, reading her expression briefly before he added. ¡°Burned?¡± Elena steadily met his gaze. ¡°You¡¯d go looking if I hadn¡¯t.¡± Alarion regarded her a moment longer, then turned his attention to ZEKE without another word on the matter. ¡°I¡¯m ready. Will she be observing?¡± ¡°She will be assisting.¡± Elena said with a touch of pique in her voice. ¡°First, however-¡± ZEKE interjected, for fear of how Alarion might reply. ¡°-We need to determine your focus. Do you know anything about the Vitrian Forms?¡± Alarion¡¯s expression was positively blank as he shook his head. ¡°I thought as much.¡± ZEKE acknowledged. ¡°In short, Vitrians recognize eleven primary styles of melee combat and each of those-¡± ¡°Has seven forms?¡± Alarion cut in. ¡°Which together are known as a Rite." ZEKE finished before giving the boy a withering look. "I thought you said you didn¡¯t know anything about them?¡± If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°I can count.¡± Alarion replied. ¡°Seventy-Seven houses, Seventy-Seven forms. Makes sense.¡± On her bench nearby, Elena chuckled, drawing a stern glance from ZEKE as the metal man replied. ¡°Be that as it may-¡± ¡°Why only melee?¡± Alarion interjected yet again. ¡°I already have mastery in throwing weapons. Or, well, I have a skill that says I do. And I think a bow could be useful.¡± Again Elena laughed. After weeks on the road alongside the inquisitive youth, it was refreshing to see someone else have to endure one of his rare outspoken moments. ¡°If you¡¯d allow me to finish.¡± ZEKE said sternly. The metal man could not scowl, but it was clear he wanted to, his eyes glowing a dimmer green than usual as he stared down at the child. ¡°Vitrians recognize eleven primary styles of melee combat. In addition any Vitrian of sufficient aptitude is expected to adopt, and become proficient in, one magic wielding class. As such, the Numbered Houses only see the benefit of the bow and the firearm in certain, limited scopes. As for throwing weapons, they are a feature in many of the existing forms as a supplemental weapon.¡± ¡°No archer or gunslinger holds a candle to the versatility of a well-trained Vitrian, skilled in both blade and spell.¡± Elena finished, as though she had heard ZEKE¡¯s explanation enough times to commit it to memory. ¡°I¡¯m going to learn magic?¡± Alarion asked with equal parts wonder and skepticism. ¡°Eventually.¡± ZEKE agreed. ¡°You are not a true Vitrian, but at Mistress Elena¡¯s request you will be trained as one. However, in the House of Hunger, the body is trained before the mind.¡± Alarion nodded. ¡°Where do we start?¡± ¡°With your choice of weapon.¡± ZEKE explained, gesturing toward the weapon racks that ringed the courtyard as Alarion in turn paced toward them. ¡°Each of the eleven primary styles has a focus on specific attributes and complimentary weapons. The first style, known as-¡± ¡°This one.¡± Alarion declared. Elena and ZEKE exchanged a quick, skeptical look. The weapon that he had chosen was known as an Imperial Greatsword. Distinct from their lesser cousins, these awakened-only weapons varied from five to seven feet in length and were often up to a foot in width, though this one was on the slightly smaller side. Metallic purple steel made up the fabric wrapped hilt, V-shaped guard and two inches of the dual edges that ran down to a thrusting point at the weapon¡¯s tip. Between those edges, the interior of the blade was composed of a curious dark red metal that glowed with inner light around a diamond shaped Vitrian emblem set in just above the guard. ¡°Perhaps something more your size.¡± ZEKE suggested. Alarion grunted with effort as he swung the sword overhead, its edge cutting a foot long tear in the courtyard¡¯s stone floor as he failed to arrest its momentum. ¡°I like this one, though.¡± Again Elena and ZEKE exchanged glances. This time, it was her turn to argue. ¡°I think that what Ezekial is saying is that the weapon isn¡¯t suited to you. Your current stats and build are more suited to something like dual wielding daggers where you can take advantage of your agility.¡± ¡°So then I just need to build up my strength.¡± Alarion agreed, missing her point entirely. Indeed, the only thing he appeared to take away from her comment was the idea of dual wielding, judging by how he attempted, and promptly failed, to lift the Greatsword with a single hand. ¡°How much do you know about your stats, Alarion?¡± ZEKE asked. ¡°Some.¡± The youth readily admitted as he continued to swing the oversized weapon through its paces. ¡°The Ordinate tried to explain them to me during our language lessons.¡± ¡°Tried?¡± ZEKE asked with dismay. ¡°I wasn¡¯t really listening.¡± Alarion said as the weapon swung through a deep reverse-vertical cut that nearly had it fly free from his hands. ¡°Are you listening now?¡± ZEKE inquired, pointedly. ¡°Some.¡± Alarion replied. ZEKE watched the boy swing the massive weapon around for several more seconds, like a child with their first wooden stick. Then, after getting a feel for his haphazard swings, ZEKE stepped into the gap, catching the edge overhead in one hand as it plummeted towards him. ¡°And now?¡± Alarion had known that there was a gap in strength between them. ZEKE hadn¡¯t been shy on showing the difference in power during their sparring session the previous evening. But Alarion had put considerable power into that swing, and the machine man had stopped it as effortlessly as if he were catching a thrown pillow. ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion nodded twice, the second time for emphasis. ¡°Then grab a seat, this may take us a while.¡± Alarion promptly sat down on the ground in the middle of the courtyard, crossing his legs beneath him as he looked up dutifully. If the Steelborn could have rolled its eyes, it would have. Instead its hands began to work through a series of arcane gestures. Ones that looked¡­ surprisingly familiar to Alarion. He¡¯d seen them thrice before. The first time when he¡¯d been taken in by Elena, the second when he¡¯d left Ashad-Vitri and the third when he¡¯d boarded the ironclad ship for the last leg of their journey. Though these ones continued quite a bit longer, as did the chanting that culminated in two words: ¡°Display Status.¡± Before Alarion could wonder too much at the difference, a blue status window appeared floating in the air next to ZEKE. This window was similar to the one Alarion could call up at will, but was less transparent, as though it were more real than his own. It did not move with Alarion¡¯s gaze, and the youth quickly realized that he was not the only one who could see it. ¡°Now then, let us see if we can clear up some of the gaps in your education.¡± ZEKE said, shooting a sidelong glance at Elena who returned it with a sickeningly sweet smile. ¡°By the end I am sure you¡¯ll come around to our way of thinking." Chapter Six ¡°To start with, I pray that HP, MP and Stamina have been explained to you?¡± ZEKE asked, concerned that this lesson could get even more remedial. ¡°HP is my health. It goes down when I get hurt.¡± Alarion blessedly was able to explain. ¡°MP is for using magic, but it can be used by some other stuff. Stamina is my ability to take physical action, to fight, run, use physical skills and so on.¡± ¡°A bit on the shallow side for an explanation, but certainly not wrong.¡± ZEKE nodded approvingly despite the backhanded compliment of his words. ¡°And Aptitude?¡± ¡°Only that higher is better. And that my number is very high.¡± ¡°Again, not wrong.¡± ZEKE had to agree. ¡°Aptitude has three primary uses. The first is a flat percentage increase in all experience gain for both skills and classes. This applies separate from all other modifications, such as your Single-Minded flaw, rather than being additive to them.¡± Alarion gave him a blank stare. ZEKE sighed. ¡°Imagine you received 10 experience points. With your le-" "What is an experience point?" ZEKE regarded Alarion steadily for half a heartbeat. The question was so remedial that even Vitrian toddlers knew enough not to ask. "It is the system''s way of measuring your progress. When you take actions within the purview of your Class, such as fighting monsters or crafting an item, the system rewards you with experience points. You''ll gain similar progress in your skills through usage." The boy considered the words, eyes turned toward the sky as he processed the information. Then, seemingly satisfied, he looked back to the Steelborn. "And as I was saying... imagine you earned 10 experience points. With your level of aptitude, you would instead earn 24. If this was your single-minded skill or class, you would gain 26. By comparison, Elena with her aptitude of 155 would earn a mere 15 experience, a little over of half yours.¡± ¡°Ezekial.¡± Elena protested angrily. ZEKE gave her an apologetic look before turning to Alarion to explain. ¡°That was gauche of me. In Vitrian culture it is considered rude to reveal or discuss another person¡¯s aptitude without permission. Let alone to do so as a negative example.¡± ¡°And yet you did so anyways.¡± Elena said, pointedly. ¡°A slip of the tongue that has taught the young master a valuable lesson in etiquette!¡± ZEKE apologized in a way that suggested it was anything but a slip up. ¡°Where was I?¡± ¡°There were two more things.¡± Alarion replied, misunderstanding the rhetorical nature of the question. ¡°Yes. Correct. The second is that your aptitude provides a bonus to your attribute growth. Do you know how attribute growth works?¡± Alarion gave him a blank stare. ZEKE sighed, more heavily this time. ¡°Very well, to switch tracks for just a moment. Let¡¯s take a look at one of your classes.¡± ZEKE¡¯s hands moved through the air, manipulating the illusion of his status and selecting his Orphan class. For a moment, there was nothing, then a second window appeared over the first:
Orphan [Rare](Rank II) Description: Survival in grueling circumstances can be a challenge. Survival as a child, alone, is nothing short of a miracle. Or dumb luck. Requirements: Level 1 Survivor Class. Age 13 or below. Aptitude of 150% or higher. No verbal or physical contact with any adult for a minimum of fifteen days. Growths - STR ¨C +5 ¨C 40% | AGI ¨C +5 - 40% | VIT - +5 - 40% |INT ¨C +5 - 40% | WIL ¨C +5 - 40% | PER ¨C +5 -40% | LUK ¨C +64 ¨C 80% Note: Due to the flaw [Single Minded] this Rank Up was automatically applied.
¡°As you can see, every class description contains details regarding its potential stat growths, information that is critical to determining when and if a Rank Up should be performed and to estimate your potential for growth in various areas.¡± ZEKE explained. ¡°For a direct example, what is your chance of gaining +5 strength on level up?¡± Alarion studied the screen for several moments. His math lessons with the Ordinate had been simple at best, but they had touched on the concept of fractions and percentages and he had been a quick study. ¡°40%?¡± ¡°Nearly so. As I said earlier, your aptitude provides a bonus to your attribute growths of 10% of its total value, in your case, this would mean 24%. Added together, your chance for a strength growth is 64%.¡± Alarion nodded, slowly. He was following along, even if the processing took longer than he would have liked. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t this one go higher than 100?¡± He asked, pointing to his luck with one hand as he counted on his fingers on the other to reassure himself. ¡°Indeed it can.¡± ZEKE agreed, his voice approving. ¡°In that case you automatically gain the listed attribute points, and then have a much smaller chance at gaining them again. In your case, a 4% chance for your LUK stat.¡± Clearly pleased with this revelation, Alarion nodded vigorously. ¡°If it goes around again?¡± ¡°Then you would be even more of an overpowered monster than you are now.¡± Elena scowled, irked by how greedy her ward was being. ¡°An 80% growth is already abnormally high, as is your aptitude. While there are select ways to improve your growths, both temporary and permanent, stacking them that high would just be obscene. Get him back on track, Ezekial.¡± ¡°Of course, Mistress.¡± ZEKE chose not to press his luck with any jibes and returned to the core of the lesson. ¡°The last, and perhaps most important aspect of your aptitude is that it determines the rate at which you develop baseline proficiency when trying something new. Languages, math skills, hobbies, you will be able to retain any new experience more quickly than someone with a lower aptitude, up to a point. This growth tapers out once the fundamentals have been established, you will never be a great author simply because of your aptitude, but you will be able to learn a great many languages with ease.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion replied with a frown. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡°Do not pout.¡± Elena chided. ¡°You still have to try in order for your aptitude to have any effect. You picked up our language very quickly, but you would not have managed it at all if you had not tried.¡± ¡°I suppose.¡± Alarion remained unconvinced. ¡°You said it was the most important, but that doesn¡¯t seem important.¡± ¡°Baseline proficiency involves skills and classes.¡± Elena explained. ¡°And the increase is not simply linear. Gaining your first level in a class or skill will take you a fraction of the time it would for someone of a lower aptitude, which will allow you to develop a more robust set of classes compared to others.¡± Alarion wasn¡¯t sure what linear meant, but the rest did sound nice. ¡°Now then, Let us move on to your attributes.¡± Zeke said, bristling slightly at having been talked over by Elena. ¡°I assume you know enough to describe them to me?¡± Alarion nodded reading off the list. ¡°How strong I am, how fast, how tough, how smart, how¡­. willful?¡± ¡°It is alright. The physical attributes are easier to quantify.¡± ZEKE laughed gently. ¡°In fact, if I recall correctly, Mistress Elena had a similar stumbling block. Despite considerably more education.¡± ¡°I could have you dismantled, you realize.¡± Elena replied cooly. ¡°Strength is a measure of your physical power. Lifting heavy things, doing damage with your attacks, jumping, bending objects. Pure muscle power. However, like all physical attributes, it is somewhat dependent on the body of the wielder. Ten strength for me with my mechanical body is not ten strength for you, or for Elena. The difference is not severe within the same species, no more than 20%, but there is considerable value in specializing in your strengths rather than trying to shore up your weaknesses to make you mediocre at everything.¡± ¡°Which is why you think I shouldn¡¯t use the big sword.¡± Alarion frowned. ¡°Correct. Agility is more your forte. Dexterity, flexibility, reaction time, agility reflects your ability to do things quickly and precisely. Landing pinpoint blows, overwhelming opponents, reacting to sudden events and working with delicate materials, all of these and more benefit from agility.¡± ZEKE explained. ¡°Do I run faster if I have more?¡± ZEKE made a wavering gesture with one hand. ¡°To an extent. All physical actions contain some measure of overlap between the three physical attributes. Something like your running speed is primarily a combination of your strength and agility.¡± ¡°They can also be impacted by your mental attributes.¡± Elena chimed in. ¡°Running long distance is as much a matter of your willpower as your vitality. To say nothing of how certain enhancement magics-¡± ¡°Let¡¯s not overwhelm the young master.¡± ZEKE cut in. ¡°Are you following along so far?¡± Alarion nodded firmly, and ZEKE continued. ¡°Next would be Vitality. Endurance, resilience against attacks both physical and magical, though the latter to a lesser extent. Your ability to survive poisons and disease, as well as harsh weather conditions and starvation. Vitality is a measure of your ability to take hits and keep fighting long after others have fallen and to push through adversity that others cannot. Your vitality, on the other hand, is abysmal. Barely five points above the human norm in spite of having levels in a class specialized in survival.¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t my fault.¡± Alarion said indignantly. ¡°No, you¡¯re right. It is not.¡± Elena allowed. ¡°Though there are plenty of ways to mitigate bad luck in your stat growth. For example, It is possible to train your attributes. This is easier for physical attributes than mental ones, but a robust training regime can add up to a 5% increase in the growth of one or more attributes. Though given the effort involved your time is better spent elsewhere.¡± ¡°Certain magical items can also provide temporary bonuses while used or equipped. Or permanent ones when consumed.¡± ZEKE added. ¡°Skills can also be a vital source of attributes. I would never suggest taking a skill solely for its attribute bonuses, but they are something to be mindful of all the same.¡± ¡°Skills can also directly enhance an attribute through use.¡± Elena picked up when the machine left off. ¡°Often at the expense of another. As can spells, rituals, curses-¡± ¡°Those are all the same thing.¡± Alarion interrupted. ¡°They are very much not.¡± Elena protested. ¡°Rituals differ from-¡± ¡°Mistress Elena.¡± ZEKE interjected. ¡°The basics. We are teaching the basics.¡± Elena frowned. ¡°Ah. Right.¡± ¡°The three physical attributes come together to determine some of the others. For HP, all races have a base starting pool, in my case 200, in your case 50. From there your strength, agility and twice your vitality are added together to get your maximum HP. A myriad of other factors can then impact this total further, such as class abilities, traits, feats of strength, flaws, spells and so forth.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem fair.¡± Alarion said, as the Steelborn finished his lecture. ¡°What doesn¡¯t?¡± ZEKE inquired. ¡°You start with four times as much HP as I do. That doesn¡¯t seem fair.¡± ¡°The world often isn¡¯t.¡± The metal man admitted. ¡°Though in this case it is more of a trade off. Humans are more versatile than any of the Descendants. As a group your aptitudes tend to be higher than the Steelborn, and while you have no particular strengths, you also have no substantive weaknesses to exploit.¡± ¡°So we¡¯re boring.¡± Alarion frowned. ¡°I would say versatile.¡± ZEKE countered. ¡°You also just finished telling me that there was-¡± The young man deepened his voice to the best of his ability. ¡°Considerable value in specializing in your strengths rather than being mediocre at everything.¡± Elena crooked an eyebrow at the near verbatim repetition. Clearly Alarion had been paying better attention than she had given him credit for. ¡°That comment is intended for an individual.¡± ZEKE bristled at having his own words so readily thrown back at him. ¡°Consider your humanity as more of a blank slate. You can grow in any direction you wish, without penalty, while others have some paths closed off to them by dint of their birth or creation. I myself am often jealous of the sheer potential of your kind.¡± ¡°So then I can wield the giant sword.¡± ¡°It is an Imperial Greatsword!¡± ZEKE snapped back. ¡°And that was not what I-¡± ¡°If he wishes to try, let him.¡± Elena interrupted. ¡°Mistress Elena.¡± ZEKE said after a deep pause. ¡°You assured me that the specifics of the boy¡¯s training would be left in my hands.¡± ¡°And they are.¡± Elena spread her hands, unwilling to battle on the issue. ¡°That was not a command. Merely a time saving suggestion. He already has his mind made up, and no explanation is going to trump practical experience in why it is a bad idea. Let us suspend this part of the lesson for now and let him learn by doing.¡± If ZEKE could frown, the Steelborn would have been positively scowling. Since he could not, he instead invested in a heavy sigh. ¡°Very well. If you would prepare the field, Mistress Elena?¡± Elena stood, and approached Alarion. Looming over the young boy she reached down and carefully plucked a single strand of his white hair. ¡°Ow!¡± He protested to no avail as Elena continued in her stride toward the center of the courtyard. She took a few quick glances about, familiarizing herself with the layout and the distances between the long and short edges of the rectangular space, then clapped her hands in front of her and began casting a spell. It was different from any Alarion had yet seen, which was admittedly a sample size of four. Unlike the Evaluation, Heal Wounds ¨C Minor, Restoration ¨C Minor and Display Status spells which were cast by weaving symbols into the air, this time her hands remained close together in front of her chest, working in largely symmetrical unison through a series of odd shapes and patterns. Silver light swirled around her in a small, localized dervish and in that swirling light Alarion could make out what looked to be letters. No. Symbols. It hurt to look directly at them, his eyes instinctively losing focus or slipping away the moment he stopped trying to concentrate on them. Over time they solidified, becoming more real and less distressing with each repetition of her chant. That in and of itself was a thing of disquieting beauty. Alarion did not know the language, but he knew, somehow that what she was repeating was poetic. A song of some distant and unknown place that grew closer and more tangible with each stanza, with each enunciation of forgotten words. The air cracked as the spell neared its completion. Not the sound of thunder, but an unnatural break in the fabric of reality. Alarion¡¯s ears popped, then began to ring. A color poured forth from unreality, taking the shape of a man that should not be- Then reality snapped back into place. The thing remained, but the sense of dread that had permeated Alarion¡¯s very bones at the sight of it had fled to nothing the instant the spell had resolved. Now it was just an oddity, a royal blue haze of smoke and darkness. It was several feet wide, and had no distinct shape, now more of an amorphous ball than a man. ¡°What¡­. what was that?¡± Alarion asked when at last his voice returned to him. ¡°That, Alarion-¡± Elena replied as she dabbed at a hint of blue-black blood that oozed from the tear duct of her right eye. ¡°Is the difference between a spell, and a Ritual.¡± Chapter Seven ¡°No.¡± Alarion said, unsatisfied with Elena¡¯s pithy answer and for the first time angry in her presence. ¡°What was that.¡± ¡°I do not believe that I misspoke.¡± Elena responded. Her voice was firm and chill, unwilling to back down from a mere child. ¡°It is considered an offshoot of Dimensional Magic.¡± ZEKE interjected before things could escalate. ¡°Albeit one that is lightly explored and still very much in its infancy.¡± Alarion scowled. ¡°You aren¡¯t expecting me to learn that? I don¡¯t like it.¡± ¡°Not at all.¡± ZEKE clarified as the boy visibly relaxed. ¡°I am not even familiar with the discipline. To my knowledge Mistress Elena is the only practitioner here on the Isles, or in most of Ashad for that matter. And she herself is still somewhat of a novice. No, your arcane path will be far more traditional. Perhaps an Electromancer or-¡± ¡°So what does it do?¡± Alarion asked, his attention on the rolling mass of shadow, much to ZEKE¡¯s annoyance. ¡°It will provide you with a challenge.¡± Elena replied. Elena turned on her heel and began walking toward the manor with ZEKE close behind her, leaving the pulsing mass in her wake. Alarion frowned at the sudden retreat, about to follow them when Elena raised one delicate hand and snapped her fingers. The acrid darkness poured over Alarion in an instant as the lopsided sphere burst, its contents flooding the courtyard with enough force to knock him off his feet. The smoke-like substance flowed in all directions, then sloped suddenly vertical as it met the edges of the courtyard. Rather than slosh backward as a liquid might, this vapor instead began to creep up the invisible ¡®walls¡¯ of its new container, then along a similarly imperceptible ceiling. Within seconds, Alarion found himself drowned within inky black and blue on all sides. Yet he could still see. He could feel the substance still flowing around and over him, but now it only seemed to obstruct his vision outside of the boundaries, not within them. As though someone had built a glass box around him, and then covered it with thick curtains that somehow still let in light. Rather than dwell on the unsettling metaphysics of the place, Alarion took the most obvious step. He tried to leave. Sensibly, of course. He wasn¡¯t going to stick his hand into a material from outside of reality without prodding it first. To that end, he retrieved the greatsword from the floor of the courtyard and made for the nearest wall. Or what he thought was the nearest wall. Clearly he¡¯d made some sort of a mistake, given that he¡¯d walked in a straight line for a full ten seconds without reaching the barrier. Another ten seconds, this time at a light jog, proved that the issue was much more distressing. Bloop. The unfamiliar noise stopped Alarion in his tracks. It had come from some distance behind him and though he dreaded what he might see, he did not dawdle in turning to look. Small globules of the environment had begun to leak from the floor and the ceiling, like oil clinging to a surface and stretching until the tension finally broke free in individual drops. Each was accompanied by that soft dripping sound, and each eventually collided with a growing mass of the shadow-stuff. It started out as a ball, just long enough for Alarion to hope that the environment around him was returning to its original form. That hope withered on the vine as the mass began to twist and distort. It elongated, stretching out as more and more drops fell into it. Then buds began to form at the edges. It was not long before those buds began to stretch out, and soon after the general shape of the thing began to solidify. Alarion initially mistook its shape for that of a hunched over humanoid, that horrible man he had first seen, but it soon became clear that the thing was quadruped. It had a broad, barrel chest and thick sinewy muscles running beneath the skin. No, the scales. It had too many limbs. Two arms, two legs, a tail. Wings. It was still nowhere fully formed by the time Alarion recognized it for what it was, though only from legends. A dragon. Alarion¡¯s greatsword crashed into the the inky black floor as it passed through the intangible dragon, his attack on the half-formed creature no more effective than his attempts to flee. But like those earlier attempts, he did not stop at one. Twice more his blade swung through the creature as limbs extended and membranes knitted themselves together out of blue-black nothingness. Undeterred, Alarion reared back for a wild punch, when a shockwave burst out from the glorious Draconic beast that sent him sprawling back over a dozen feet. He felt the wave of force rattle his very bones, but it was nothing compared to what came next. The dragon loomed over him, thrice his height when on all fours, and utterly dwarfing him as it leaned back onto its haunches, arched its back- The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. And Roared. You are terrified. -50% to all stats for the next five seconds. The creature of blue-black darkness towered over Alarion at nearly twenty feet in height and at least twice again as long from snout to tail, its swept back horns giving it the appearance of a crown as it stared down at the child. Its back was riddled with razor sharp spines, its teeth the size of his torso, its talons a more dangerous weapon than the Imperial Greatsword held so unsteadily in the boy¡¯s hands. He was nothing to this thing. So little, in fact, that it did not attack. Not when he was impacted by its ability. That would have implied that it needed to strike while Alarion was weak. Alarion dodged to the left, desperately, as the time on his notification ticked down to zero. Even with that small insight into the dragon¡¯s mindset, an insight that had come from seemingly nowhere, he had only just barely escaped a sudden slap of its tail that would have flattened him in an instant. For its part, the dragon appeared mildly perturbed. Like a cat that had swiped at a rodent only to find its paw empty. Its tail retracted as quick as it had lashed out, and flicked from left to right behind it in a sign of slight irritation. The distance between them was vast, but that was far more of an impediment for Alarion than the dragon. Its reach was long, its movements quick, its options varied. It could swipe with its claws, swat with its tail or devour him with its maw without taking a single step. For Alarion to even harm the beast, he first needed to close that gap and in doing so he would provide a more vulnerable target. No. That wasn¡¯t strictly true. He didn¡¯t need to advance on it. Alarion locked eyes with the domineering beast. His jaw was set, his weapon held in both hands at the ready with a white knuckled grip. The dragon studied him, and for a few breaths neither side advanced. The dragon¡¯s tail flicked, left, then right, then left again as it glowered, daring him to take the first step. A growl filled the air as piercing blue-black orbs sought to stare into Alarion¡¯s very soul. Challenging him. Daring him to strike. Alarion won their short lived staring contest as the impatient Draconic beast lashed out with a savage overhanded claw. He hopped back to avoid being pinned to the ground by piercing talons, but landed on the balls of his feet, already lunging forward into the space he had just vacated. The violet metallic edge of his sword gleamed in the air as it crashed down, tearing as much as cutting through the scaled exterior of the dragon¡¯s wrist. The dragon roared, more in indignation than from true pain, then wrenched its wounded arm free of the danger. A trail of fist sized ¡®droplets¡¯ of blood spilled out of the wound, Alarion¡¯s sandaled footsteps splashing in one as he advanced into the new opening in the dragon¡¯s defenses. It retreated, but not fast enough to avoid a sweeping uppercut intended to open the dragon from the middle of its chest to the bottom of its neck. Were Alarion stronger, or the dragon¡¯s hide thinner, the battle might have ended then and there. As it was, the weapon bit deep, tearing away a single large scale from the creature¡¯s broad chest, its tip catching and halting as it tried to pierce a second. The unexpected halt in his offensive caught Alarion off guard, and the dragon retaliated in his moment of weakness with a vicious backhand. The strike took Alarion off his feet, his body bouncing twice off the stone courtyard floor before it settled into a roll and finally came to a halt a considerable distance away. You have suffered extreme bludgeoning damage. HP -96. You have been stunned for five seconds. New Condition! Fracture - Severe Your left arm is broken - 30% Malus to STR and AGI when using left arm. He could feel it looming at the edge of his blurred vision, the rumble of the ground beneath him as the creature advanced. It was waiting for him to gather his strength, Alarion knew. Crushing him underfoot was not how this fight ended. Not after he¡¯d hurt it. As his senses coalesced into something resembling a functional nervous system, Alarion rolled to his right and gathered a knee beneath him. Just moving sent waves of agony up his broken arm, though to his surprise he found that some instinct or miracle had let him close his hand tight around the greatsword¡¯s hilt. He was still armed. Above him, the beast lowered its head, bringing its chin mere inches from the ground to stare him down directly in a mockery of their earlier duel. One foot gathered beneath him, then the other. Alarion stood straight and tall before razor sharp maw of a dragon that seemed to smirk at him. He twisted his body, throwing everything he had into a desperate, momentum fueled attack. The dragon¡¯s jaws closed around him. Darkness. And then he was back in the sunlit courtyard, staring at a rolling ball of ink and smoke, Elena standing by his side. ¡°So, Alarion. What did you learn?¡± ZEKE was the first to speak, his tone surprisingly gentle. ¡°I-¡± Alarion replied haltingly as he reached for his left arm, patting the uninjured limb in utter bewilderment. He looked to the arm, to Elena, to the orb and finally back to Elena, his eyes now narrowed. ¡°-Your magic¡­¡± ¡°A modified version of the Void Trap ritual.¡± She explained. ¡°As the name suggests, the ritual is normally used as a trap to split up groups of enemies, in order to fight them in smaller numbers instead of all together. This variant, Void Arena, creates opponents in the normally empty space as a training exercise. They give essentially no experience, so it is useless once you have a class, but it provides a safe way to practice fundamentals when trying to obtain a new class.¡± ¡°What matters is what you learned.¡± ZEKE cut in, eager to cut away the logistics in favor of the lesson. ¡°That dragons are stronger than I am?¡± Alarion said, matter-of-factly. ¡°Actually.¡± Elena replied. ¡°The foes in a Void Arena are customized to your abilities. That was no true dragon, barely even a pale imitation of one. It was a fiction just strong enough that a skilled combatant of your level should be able to defeat it.¡± ¡°If you were to play to your strengths.¡± ZEKE chimed in. ¡°Fighting with lighter weapons would allow your hit and move or move and hit tactics to be much more effective and less risky. And since you lack the power to make committing to a single strike viable, you¡¯d lean towards safer tactics of whittling it down over time, exploiting gaps. The weapons are more suited to your personal style of up close striking and-¡± ¡°Can I go again?¡± Alarion asked. Elena raised an eyebrow. ¡°Taking Ezekial¡¯s advice?¡± Alarion shook his head. ¡°Wielding the greatsword?¡± She asked. He nodded. Alongside them, Zeke merely groaned. Chapter Eight ¡°Again?¡± Elena asked. ¡°Please.¡± Alarion replied, happily taking her offered arm as he struggled back to his feet. ¡°Oh come now, this is getting absurd.¡± ZEKE said sourly from the sidelines of the courtyard. ¡°Humoring the young master to show him the error of his ways is one thing. But this has gone on most of the day. Why do you think your luck will be any better on the seventeenth attempt.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not relying on luck.¡± That much was evident. Neither the attribute nor the metaphysical concept could have accounted for the young man¡¯s incremental improvement over the previous seven hours. He hadn¡¯t won any fights, but he was losing them more and more slowly. His first battle had lasted less than two minutes, while his most recent bout had taken thirteen. Such hard fought losses were clearly having a cumulative effect, however. The Void Arena could not inflict actual damage to those within it, but they could still deplete their resources of HP, MP and Stamina through their own actions. The last was most relevant to Alarion and most visible to his teachers in the heavy rise and fall of his chest and the slight sag of his shoulders. ¡°If you must.¡± ZEKE conceded, adding to his own pile of losses for the day. ¡°But before you continue this farce, another break is in order. And we can resume your lesson from earlier so at least something productive is accomplished this evening.¡± ¡°Perhaps we can review his skills as well? That was on the original agenda, was it not?¡± Elena asked. The glare that ZEKE sent her should have melted the woman down to her bones. ¡°Yes, Mistress Elena. We were going to review his available skill choices after he had decided on an appropriate Form.¡± ¡°Ezekial. The boy will defeat that dragon before you win your battle.¡± Elena said with only a glimmer of sympathy. ¡°Take your victories where you can. I believe we had reached the mental attributes?¡± ZEKE¡¯s shoulder slumped ever so slightly as Alarion took up his cross-legged position on the courtyard floor. Some battles truly were unwinnable. ¡°Intelligence.¡± The Steelborn said, voice dripping with irritation after a quick cast of [Display Status]. ¡°Is your ability to store and process information. To critically examine a problem and think through a solution. It is your ability to understand when you are making an uninformed decision and alter course. Someone with high intelligence often listens to their betters in order to-¡± ¡°Ezekial.¡± ¡°Fine. As one of the three mental statistics, intelligence also directly impacts your ability to control the flow of mana within and without your body. It is the attribute most directly linked to raw magical power. Casting spells with a high intelligence will lead to increased damage and make your magic less likely to be resisted.¡± ¡°Intelligence can also help you qualify for specific skills, classes and feats of strength.¡± Elena added. ¡°My ability to cast ritual magic comes from a skill, but I would not have been able to take that skill had I not met the prerequisite intelligence score.¡± ¡°That applies to all attributes?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Yes. Though it is slightly more common in mental attributes than physical ones.¡± Elena confirmed. ¡°You already have such a skill, actually.¡± ZEKE joined back in. ¡°Your [Detection] skill has a minimum perception requirement of twenty-five. Which brings us nicely to perception.¡± ¡°My ability to see and hear things. Precisely, maybe?¡± Alarion mused. Elena smirked. ¡°He is catching on.¡± ¡°Indeed, young master.¡± ZEKE nodded, some of his sourness evaporating. ¡°As you¡¯ve surmised, the mental and physical attributes mirror one another to some extent. Colloquially some call these the Power, Speed, Endurance pairings. Intelligence and Strength are both ¡®power¡¯ attributes for body and mind. Perception and Agility are the ¡®speed¡¯ attributes, focusing on deftness and reaction time. Willpower and Vitality are all about fortitude and resistance.¡± ¡°With higher perception you will be better able to spot the hidden, track the quick and precisely manipulate complex arcane powers resulting in spells that are more accurate and channel your mana more efficiently. With higher willpower you will be more likely to resist mental and magical attacks, endure hardships without psychological damage, persist in difficult tasks and maintain complex magic for longer periods of time.¡± Alarion considered the words, mulling the implications in his mind. ¡°Is it better to focus on one or the other? Or one pairing?¡± ¡°The ideal answer is to focus everywhere. To try and increase all of your stats as much as possible since all attributes are complimentary in some way.¡± Elena replied. ¡°But since most of us are not quite so blessed as you, we do tend to focus, usually along complementary paths or oppositional ones. That is, most awakened either focus on a pairing, Agility and Perception is a common one, or primarily on physical or mental attributes in order to avoid spreading themselves too thin.¡± ¡°Your class choices may also make that decision for you.¡± ZEKE said. ¡°Your survivor path is relatively balanced, if somewhat uninspired in terms of its attribute growths. By contrast your Orphan class is almost entirely luck based. Skill choices can help you balance out or specialize further in a particular attribute. As you Rank Up you will have a bit more control with free points or floating percentages but¡­ yes, I can see your eyes glazing over as I¡¯m losing you.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Luck.¡± ZEKE¡¯s verbal frown had returned as he returned to the lecture proper. ¡°Luck is a curious attribute, and rare in one so young. Most creatures in the world have only the six basic attributes we have covered so far, but there are others. Luck, Presence, Edge, Power and Phase are the most common. I myself have the Power attribute, linked to the energy source that acts as my ¡®heart¡¯.¡± If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Alarion cast an inquisitive glance to Elena, who shook her head. Zeke continued. ¡°These are sometimes called ¡®advanced¡¯ attributes, usually by those that have them, but as you found with your luck Attribute, obtaining and growing them often comes at a trade off to your more traditional scores, making them more of a side grade at best.¡± ¡°The main advantage in having them lies in the flexibility they provide. Like any other attribute, these non-standard stats can serve as pre-requisites to unlocking skills and classes. Skills and classes that someone with only the base attributes might not have access to.¡± ZEKE explained, casting his own sidelong glance at Elena before he continued. ¡°In your case, for example, I expect one of your skill choices will be a looting power of some sort, something that usually requires higher levels or a more specialized path to obtain.¡± Elena cleared her throat and ZEKE offered her a placating gesture before continuing. ¡°As for the attribute itself, it is largely what it sounds like. You are slightly luckier than those around you. As the attribute grows, if the attribute grows, you¡¯ll find yourself the benefit of fate a little more often than not. It is hard to quantify outside of specific skill uses or instances where luck is explicitly a factor. In a fight you might survive a blow that should have killed you or strike a blow that should have been deflected, though I wouldn¡¯t rely on it. Go into a house of ill repute and start playing cards with a high luck stat and you will quickly find yourself with new enemies.¡± ¡°What is a house of-¡± ¡°Nevermind that, Alarion. It is a place where people gamble.¡± Elena stepped in to end that particular discussion before ZEKE could even think of tampering with the poor boy¡¯s morality. ¡°The point is that it is good to have, but bad to rely upon without a skill.¡± ¡°Skills help?¡± Alarion asked, though his narrowed eyes suggested he was still somewhat hung up on his previous question. ¡°Some skills can channel attributes in very direct, noticeable and predictable ways. Percentage bonuses or skills that explicitly scale off a particular statistic tend to avoid any ambiguity. A ¡®critical hit¡¯ style skill is common with luck based fighters, for example, and will often give a flat percentage chance to increase the damage of a strike based on Luck, which is a lot more reliable than I¡¯m lucky sometimes.¡± Alarion absorbed the last of this with a nod, mulling over the words as he reviewed the floating [Status] screen provided by ZEKE. ¡°The magical pairing determines my maximum MP. And my Stamina is a mix?¡± ¡°Of your willpower and vitality, yes.¡± ZEKE replied. ¡°Sounds like we¡¯re done?¡± Alarion asked, reaching for his sword. ¡°Not quite.¡± Elena stopped him. ¡°Feats of strength we can go over at a later point, but we¡¯ve waited long enough to choose your Skills.¡± Alarion frowned. ¡°They¡¯ll make me stronger, won¡¯t they?¡± Elena nodded. ¡°Then we should do it after.¡± Alarion replied, pushing himself to a kneeling position. ¡°I don¡¯t think it counts if I cheat.¡± ZEKE tilted his head. ¡°As a self imposed challenge it hardly-¡± ¡°Alarion.¡± Elena interrupted, her eyes narrowed. ¡°What do you mean it doesn¡¯t count.¡± When the boy could not immediately meet her eyes, Elena turned her attention to the floating record of his Status. There she noticed the absent indication of an available skill for his Orphan class, and swore.
Self-Motivated [Rare](Level 1) Description: Sometimes it is best to set your own goals. You know that better than most, and have taken the power to do so within your own hands. Requirements: Level 1 Orphan Class. LUK 30. Cannot already possess a Quest Skill. Type: Quest. Passive/Active. Effects: Self-Assign a Quest up to once per day. Rewards given are proportional to the difficulty and danger of the task, modified by the user¡¯s LUK attribute. Self-imposed restrictions can increase rewards. Self-imposed failure conditions can increase rewards, but also provoke penalties. Only one quest can be assigned at any time. Growths: LUK +24 Note: Due to the flaw [Single Minded] this Skill was automatically selected. Additional Note: Due to the flaw [Single Minded] this skill can assign quests without user consent. Quests assigned in this fashion do not count toward the once per day limit. Quests assigned in this fashion do not count toward the active quest limit.
At Elena¡¯s command, ZEKE quickly navigated further into Alarion¡¯s status, pulling up the details of his self-imposed quest.
Dragon Slayer Description: There is a dragon. Sort of. Slay it. Success Conditions: Defeat the Dragon conjured by Elena¡¯s Void Arena ritual. Failure Conditions: Fail to meet success conditions within one day. Defeat the dragon with outside assistance. Defeat the dragon with a weapon other than an Imperial Greatsword. Gain any additional skills. Reward: One Uncommon Quest Box Penalty: None. Note: This quest was automatically assigned due to the flaw [Single-Minded] and does not count against the once-per-day limit of Self-Motivated.
¡°That could have gone worse.¡± Elena said at last, begrudgingly. ¡°A questing power is more complicated than a simple looting power, but a Rare skill so early on is nothing to scoff at.¡± ZEKE couldn¡¯t help but agree, even as he bristled at the lost opportunities. ¡°It should also be of some assistance in his early training, provided that we set the right goals.¡± Both turned their pointed gaze to Alarion, who met it not by wilting away but by cocking his head to the side in obvious confusion. ¡°You are not, under any circumstances, to assign your daily quest without the express permission of ZEKE or myself.¡± Elena said with cold seriousness. ¡°Do you understand?¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion nodded sharply. ¡°Take her warning seriously.¡± ZEKE admonished. ¡°Questing powers can be an immense boon, but selecting the wrong quest can be more than just a waste. It can be dangerous. Rewards for a questing power can be virtually limitless but so too can the risks. Many a talented Vitrian has died chasing after an impossible quest reward, or suffered a penalty so severe it ended their career, even their lives.¡± ¡°My own power can kill me?¡± Alarion asked, alarmed. ¡°In extreme circumstances, yes.¡± ZEKE confirmed. ¡°Attribute loss, skill loss, class loss, curses, diseases and random teleportation are other penalties I¡¯ve heard of as well. The only actual death penalties I¡¯m aware of were entered into willingly, but with your power¡­¡± ¡°That might not be an option.¡± Elena finished with a weary sigh. ¡°Most questing powers are like yours. You set a goal, and if you achieve that goal, you are rewarded. You will always see the potential risks in advance of confirming a quest, meaning that you would have to be quite dimwitted or desperate to put yourself in real danger.¡± ¡°But I don¡¯t always get to choose.¡± ¡°No, you do not.¡± The woman frowned. ¡°Your flaw makes it closer to the effect of a subset of questing powers known as a Geas, though yours is self-imposed. We need to temper your self-control sooner rather than later, to keep that stubbornness of yours from putting you at real risk. We can not clear your flaw, but we can mitigate it. Ezekiel has a training regime focused on¡­¡± Elena¡¯s words trailed off as she studied the boy¡¯s expression. To his credit, it was a distinctly focused look. To his detriment, it wasn¡¯t focused on her. She didn¡¯t even need to follow his gaze, and instead snapped her fingers in front of his eyes to break the spell her waiting ritual magic had on his attention. Alarion jerked in response, his whole body tense as he reached for his weapon. Upon seeing her, he relaxed quickly, a sheepish, shy look crossing his face as he realized his mistake and looked away from her. ¡°Sorry.¡± She shook her head. ¡°Do not be sorry-¡± ¡°Be better.¡± Alarion replied. Elena cocked a thin eyebrow, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Not all of her lessons were going to waste. ¡°Show us what better looks like.¡± Chapter Nine Better, as it turned out, was still relative. Over the next four hours Alarion ¡®died¡¯ in innumerable ways. He was burned alive in a wave of dragon fire. He was pierced with glistening talons and shattered under the weight of a swatting tail. He knew the fear of being devoured, the terror of watching his own headless body collapse some feet away. The ritual was doing something to his mind. It was muting the horror and the pain of his failures. Alarion felt the wounds clear as day during combat, but when he tried to recall them afterwards the whole experience was fuzzy, indistinct. A half-remembered dream, or someone else¡¯s poor retelling. That Alarion knew he would soon forget what it felt like to have the crushed bones of his left arm grind against one another was small comfort in the moment. That he¡¯d made the dragon experience something similar, was slightly more so. One of his earliest revelations was this was not a battle he could win in a single stroke. As Elena had explained, the Void Arena produced a Draconic foe suited to his level, and Alarion was simply not that strong. Its scales were durable and thick, the strongest of them able to deflect even a clean strike from his oversized blade, while the weakest would still impede the impact as they cracked or tore. There were vulnerable areas. Joints were the most common. Areas where the the creature needed to be flexible. The eyes, mouth and nostrils were likewise only slightly tougher than his own skin. But his opponent was not stupid. It did not seem to remember him between battles, for it did not adapt to his tactics, but it seemed to know its own weaknesses. That, and Alarion was much too slow to exploit them. He¡¯d been improving, but directing his beast of a weapon in anything more intricate than sweeping brutal strikes was still well beyond his capabilities. He would never admit it, but ZEKE had a point. Without the finesse to land a telling blow, he had little choice but to fall back on persistence to force an opening of his own. Over twenty minutes he had danced with the dragon, and for the most part, Alarion had given as good as he had received. The dragon no longer loomed over him as an immeasurable obstacle. After all, it was quite difficult for anything to loom with two broken legs. The damage he¡¯d done to it would have been ruinous to any other living thing Alarion was aware of. Two dozen impacts to its head, chest and primarily its left flank had left the once majestic creature quite humble. It was curled like a snake, its weight leaned back onto its still functional limbs while its whole body remained tense, waiting for the next exchange. It was not afraid of him, but it was wary, the domineering attitude that left it so vulnerable to an early strike now replaced by a grudging acknowledgement of the danger Alarion posed. For his part, the boy was a mess. His arm was broken, though it remained locked in a death grip on the lower hilt of the blade for fear that the dragon would realize just how badly it had hurt him with just a glancing blow from its tail. The same side of his body had been burned an angry red by a near miss from the dragon¡¯s signature attack and he was covered in dozens of nicks and scratches from where he had rolled on the broken ground to dodge, or had that same broken tile thrown at him by the sheer force of the dragon¡¯s movements. Even with his body in such a state of disrepair and his HP drastically reduced, Alarion knew it was the closest he¡¯d yet come to victory. ¡°Come on, worm. You¡¯re not going to make me come to you, are you?¡± Alarion taunted with an air of bravado he most certainly did not feel. It was a petty gambit, easily ignored by the wyrm in question. Appealing to its pride worked when it did not think its life was at stake, but it would not be so easily provoked when death was on the line. It was biding its time, waiting for the moment when it could once again wreath the young man in flames from a safe distance. Not knowing, of course, that Alarion was waiting for the same opportunity. Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight. Alarion counted, trying not to cringe as an intrusive thought reminded him how he¡¯d lost a very successful attempt by counting aloud rather than in the safety of his own head. He wasn¡¯t sure what the duration represented, whether it was the slow uptick of the dragon¡¯s MP, or some internal cooldown on the fire-breathing skill. All he knew was that at exactly fifty-seven seconds- Fwoosh! An appropriately reptilian fear at the back of Alarion¡¯s brain screamed as super-heated gouts of blue-white flame erupted from the dragon¡¯s mouth. The fire traced him step by step, one moment behind, unable to do more than lick at his feet. Originally its most lethal attack, the flame was by now one of Alarion¡¯s few moments of respite. Once provoked to breathe by way of injury, the dragon took to using its breath attack at every opportunity. Which in its case meant exactly once every fifty-seven seconds. Easy to track, and easy to dodge if you knew it was coming. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. So long as you didn¡¯t lose count in all the excitement. If you did, well, Alarion¡¯s missing eyebrow and aching left side could attest to how difficult it was to avoid if your timing was even slightly off. That said, the real prize was not merely avoiding damage. The fire was blinding and deafening, but not only for Alarion. Even at its best, the dragon had difficulty tracking his movements while it attacked and the dragon was no longer at its best. Its right eye was heavily swollen from an earlier blow to the head, creating a blind spot that Alarion neatly slipped into. Were Alarion uninjured, his counter-attack likely would have ended the fight. As it was, the one-handed thrust was still devastating as it crumpled one of the dragon¡¯s underbelly scales and continued halfway to the hilt. The boy knew nothing about the inner workings of a dragon, if the shadowy facsimile even had any, so he settled for raking the weapon up and down, shredding its insides before wrenching his blade free and retreating one step ahead of the enraged, snapping jaws. Thrice more he dodged as he sought to make distance, narrowly avoiding two claw strikes and a whip of the tail before he felt confident to take stock of his situation. The battle had swung in his favor, there was no denying it. His foe was not merely disabled by a smattering of bruising and cracking strikes, but for the first time severely injured. It might have caught him with a backhand if it had been faster, but the dragon had been so intent on staunching the ragged wound in its belly that attacking Alarion had almost been an afterthought. ¡°I can beat you.¡± Alarion said, as much to himself as to the dragon. He paced at the outer perimeter of its reach, stepping in now and again to provoke attacks that did not come. It was conserving its strength, unwilling to commit to punishing his novice feints. Or unable? Could he have hurt it that badly? He took three paces towards the dragon daring it to challenge him, before thinking better of it. ZEKE had punished him over and over again for overextending during their training bouts. Alarion had the advantage, yes, but why push his luck? Especially when he had a surefire way to finish the bout? Thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four. The wounded animal eyed him with fury as Alarion withdrew to a safe distance and continued to circle his prey. It followed him with slow, uncertain steps, uttering low grumbles of pain as it was forced to put weight on its injured legs to keep up with his pace. Through previous battles Alarion had learned the value of mobility. He could fight, albeit at a greatly reduced capability, with one arm. Fights where his legs were crippled ended almost immediately, as the dragon was now so painfully aware. Forty-one, Forty-two, Forty-three. Alarion understood better why ZEKE promised he¡¯d be taught to use both magic and possibly throwing weapons as well. The dragon¡¯s single greatest advantage over him was its reach. It could attack him, and at best he could strike the limbs that came after him if they presented an opening. Were he able to pelt this creature with knives or spells, he could kill it outright, or at the very least force it to close the gap. To make an opening of his own. Fifty-five, Fifty-six, Fifty-seven. ¡°You¡¯re mine!¡± The words were lost in the roar of the dragon fire as Alarion began his mad dash, circling toward the right, toward the dragon¡¯s vulnerable side. Toward his victory. And then he was back in the moonlit courtyard, staring at a rolling ball of ink and smoke, Elena sitting on a distant bench, book in hand beneath a flickering lantern. ¡°Wha-¡± Alarion asked, incredulously. Had he run out of time? ¡°I believe that makes forty-seven for the Young Master.¡± ZEKE said, voice positively dripping with disappointment. ¡°No.¡± Alarion protested firmly. When ZEKE said nothing the boy¡¯s frown only deepened. ¡°Status.¡± The quest was still there. Taunting him almost as much as the dismissive attitude of his instructors. ¡°I had it.¡± He insisted, with considerably less conviction. ¡°You had its tail strike you with such force that it shattered every bone in your body before you could even register you were dead.¡± Elena replied rather absently from the sidelines. ¡°I-¡± ¡°Alarion.¡± ZEKE¡¯s tone brooked no rebuttal. ¡°The creature doesn¡¯t retain memories between battles like you do, but it can still learn during the fight. Did you really think you could telegraph the same attack for a fifth time and not be punished for it?¡± Put so bluntly, no. No he did not. Alarion visibly deflated, his righteous indignation at being ¡®robbed¡¯ of his rightful victory now ringing quite hollow in his ears. It had been close fought, but he might as well have surrendered for how obvious he¡¯d been. Would he even get another chance like that? ¡°None of that. You¡¯re too old to pout.¡± Elena said, her book clapping shut as she stood and straightened her clothing. ¡°It is late, and you need to eat and sleep. We¡¯ll pick up again tomor-¡± ¡°But my quest!¡± Alarion blurted. ¡°Tomorrow is a figure of speech, Alarion. It is already after midnight and the timer on your quest lasts twenty-four hours. You¡¯ll have plenty of time to throw yourself at the dragon after a good night¡¯s rest.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion grunted noncommittally. His pride still stung from the loss, but as the adrenaline high drew down the weight of a day¡¯s exertion felt heavier and heavier on his shoulders. ¡°I could eat.¡± ¡°Then to the dining hall with you, then to bed.¡± Elena smiled. Alarion nodded, paused, then promptly set off in the entirely wrong direction. Chapter Ten ¡°Honestly, Alarion.¡± Elena sighed as she led Alarion through the dim hallways of the manor-house. Originally the vacation home for some Ashadi noble, the keep had been renovated with modern artificer lighting and plumbing but little could be done about the labyrinthine design. ¡°If you had told me you skipped breakfast because you couldn¡¯t find the dining hall I would have taken you sooner.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think it would matter.¡± The youth answered honestly. ¡°It isn¡¯t the first time I¡¯ve gone hungry.¡± The words made her frown, though the expression softened when she saw it mirror on his face. ¡°Children are not supposed to go hungry. You especially. You are already stunted for your age.¡± A thought crossed her mind, and she narrowed her eyes at him. ¡°You have a hunger condition, don¡¯t you.¡± Alarion tilted his head to the side, briefly missing her meaning before it clicked into place. ¡°Status. Notifications.¡± There it was.
[Hunger ¨C Minor] ¨C 10% malus to all attributes until sated.
Damage notifications had been more of a distraction in a fight where one good hit was the difference between life and death. Enough of a distraction that Alarion had simply turned them all off. Oops. ¡°So not only were you fighting a dragon tailor made to be your equal, but you were doing so while suffering from a hunger malus.¡± Elena shook her head ruefully. ¡°Trim your notifications, but never turn them off entirely. The system notices things you don¡¯t.¡± ¡°The System?¡± ¡°The Vitrian name for the Ur-Magic that gives rise to awakened.¡± Elena said with a wave of her hand, her mind searching for a word as she switched languages Alarion nodded then, much more familiar with the latter term. ¡°We call it the system because it is structured, organized. Systematic.¡± She continued. ¡°It quantifies and qualifies everything. Your hunger, how fast you are, the abilities you have. It can see into your emotions, to know when you are afraid or entranced. No one can see fully into the thoughts and desires of another, even with magic, but the System can. In some ways it knows you better than you know yourself.¡± ¡°Is it¡­ a god?¡± Elena raised an eyebrow. ¡°I thought the Ashadi didn¡¯t believe in gods?¡± ¡°My mother was from Imuria.¡± Alarion clarified. ¡°She fled here before I was born.¡± ¡°Twice a victim then. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Alarion looked up at her, his eyes briefly narrowing as though he wanted to say something more. Instead he looked away and continued his earlier thought. ¡°She taught us there were Lesser, Inner and Outer gods.¡± ¡°Us?¡± Elena asked. ¡°My sisters.¡± Alarion replied, suddenly quite interested in the floor ahead of him. ¡°Ah.¡± Elena winced. She¡¯d never asked the full details on the other graves in the basement where the boy had been found. She hadn¡¯t wanted to know. ¡°What did your mother say about these gods?¡± Alarion scratched at the side of his face, playing for time as he wracked his brain on half forgotten stories. ¡°The Lesser gods are the closest. The gods of rivers, mountains and idols. The Inner gods are further away, across the seas and the land, but much stronger. There are four of them, or some say eight. And the Outer gods live in the sky, outside the world.¡± ¡°Your mother was wise.¡± Elena smiled. ¡°There are indeed powerful regional spirits, creatures given strength through belief in places of worship, though their numbers have dwindled in much of the world. Those would be your Lesser gods, more commonly called Thoughtborn. And the Four Mothers are very real. I believe one is even quite close, just across the Middle Sea.¡± ¡°And the Outer Gods?¡± She shrugged. ¡°Some Vitrians venerate the Mothers, but ours is not a particularly pious society. There are those who pray to distant, unseen gods, but I have never seen their faith rewarded. If a thing does not make itself known, I¡¯m not inclined to call it a God.¡± ¡°And the System?¡± Alarion asked, bringing their conversation full circle. ¡°Who knows.¡± She shook her head. ¡°I am no scholar or theologian, but as far as I understand, the Four Mothers existed before the System and were changed by it as much as the rest of the world. Anything that can change the nature of a God, of the world itself, seems like it could be called a God in its own right, but I see no reason to worship it.¡± ¡°It didn¡¯t always exist?¡± Alarion inquired with some surprise, picking up his pace slightly as the smell of fresh cooked meat wafted from a set of open double doors just ahead. ¡°No, it has not.¡± Elena replied, lengthening her stride to keep up with him. ¡°I am not even sure if the system is older than this manor.¡± ¡°It is not.¡± The booming voice brought Alarion up short, his body tense, knees bent, arms halfway at the ready. A reaction that summoned only laughter from the far end of an exquisite dining table that dominated the center of the hall. Backlit by a crackling hearth it was hard to make out much of the man. Even seated he was quite large, broad in the shoulder and thick in the arms. His hair was dark and put up in a tight topknot that showed his hair thinning at the temples, while his beard was short but roughly trimmed in fashion that gave him a rugged feel. He was dressed casually in a loose grey linen robe that was partially open over his broad chest, with the only oddity an unusual leather bracer on his left arm. He looked eerily familiar, but Alarion could not place him. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°The boy is still jumpy.¡± The man¡¯s voice was more jovial now, and Alarion felt he recognized it even more than his features. ¡°I am jumpy.¡± Elena scowled. ¡°You had me halfway out of my skin. What are you doing up?¡± ¡°My bed is cold and empty. Filling my belly seemed a half-hearted alternative, but it was preferable to nothing.¡± ¡°The face!¡± Alarion blurted out. The man only chuckled, his features only growing more recognizable by the moment as Alarion¡¯s eyes adjusted to the light behind him. ¡°That had best not be some new Ashadi insult I haven¡¯t heard.¡± Alarion¡¯s hands mimed a repeated upwards motion as the youth struggled for a better way to express the thought in his head. After a moment of charades, it clicked for Elena and she helpfully translated. ¡°He saw you when you overtook the Ordinate to speak to me.¡± ¡°Yes!¡± Alarion nodded briskly, suddenly free of the great burden of trying to explain himself. ¡°Ah. I have been called worse, I suppose.¡± The man rose to his feet, a turkey leg still clutched in one hand as his back straightened, his chin rose and his voice adopted a formal tone. ¡°I am Dar Elzmir the Third. By grace and selection, the Provisional Governor of the Province of Ashad Minor. Seventh Seat of the House of Hunger.¡± ¡°I am Alarion.¡± ¡°And you are the man keeping my wife out at all hours?¡± When Alarion¡¯s face registered only confusion at the innuendo, Dar¡¯s formal attitude deflated with a sigh. ¡°She told me you were rather simple.¡± Alarion shot Elena an annoyed glance. ¡°I meant it as a compliment.¡± She protested against his stare. ¡°That you were uncomplicated.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Was Alarion¡¯s only reply, his ire tempered by the presence of cooked meat, bread and vegetables just waiting to be picked over. ¡°The system is four hundred and seventy-six years old.¡± Dar said, returning to his earlier thought as though they had never left it. ¡°The original flagstones and crypts predate the system by at least a century, though the actual manor has been burned down at least once since then.¡± ¡°Thank you husband, for the history lesson.¡± Elena replied dryly. ¡°Now he knows.¡± Dar shot back with a smile. ¡°This education kept you up late, and me by extension. Best make it productive.¡± Elena snorted over the sound of Alarion tearing into his meal. ¡°We are up late because the boy is too stubborn to quit. Even to his detriment. And he has no sense of direction. Sound familiar?¡± ¡°Not in the slightest.¡± Dar replied. ¡°Clearly.¡± Dar ignored the remark, digging into his own food for a short time before speaking further. ¡°How did he do?¡± ¡°Adequately.¡± ¡°I¡¯m right here.¡± Alarion protested around a mouthful of food. ¡°And you did adequately.¡± Elena said cooly. ¡°Your stubbornness is considered a flaw for a reason. If you had followed ZEKE¡¯s advice we would have already advanced well beyond the need for the Void Arena by midda-¡± ¡°He is still making attempts?¡± Dar asked, bewildered. ¡°He decided that an Imperial Greatsword is the preferred weapon of a malnourished orphan.¡± Dar¡¯s only response was laughter. Boisterous, full throated laughs punctuated by a pair of dull strikes of his closed fist on the long table. ¡°I am glad you are so amused, husband.¡± ¡°How can I not be? Your tin man must be having a conniption.¡± Dar replied though his few remaining chuckles. ¡°Darling.¡± Elena scowled. ¡°The Steelborn must be having a conniption.¡± Dar replied, raising both hands in surrender that Elena only grudgingly accepted. ¡°You will be needed tomorrow as well then?¡± ¡°He obtained a quest to defeat the illusion. So unfortunately. And he is still unfamiliar with the keep besides.¡± Dar¡¯s brows rose as he regarded Alarion with renewed interest. ¡°A questing power. At your age. Hmm. How many charges do you have?¡± ¡°Charges?¡± ¡°He is asking how many times you can use it per day.¡± Elena explained. ¡°You should not share such information with strangers, generally, but my husband will keep your secrets.¡± ¡°One.¡± Alarion said after a moment¡¯s hesitation, before adding, ¡°Though my flaw makes the power assign its own, sometimes. So I still have one available.¡± Dar nodded thoughtfully. ¡°You look utterly exhausted. Give yourself a quest to get eight hours of sleep.¡± Alarion looked at him as though he¡¯d gone mad. ¡°He has a power similar to yours.¡± Elena explained quickly. ¡°If he makes recommendations like that, I would heed them.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± Alarion agreed tentatively. ¡°How do I do that?¡± ¡°Think about the power. Then think about what you want the goal to be. It should not take more than a few seconds of concentration before¡­¡± Dar smiled as his pupil blinked at the sudden appearance of something invisible in his field of view. ¡°There we are.¡±
Work hard, Study well and eat and sleep plenty. Description: You¡¯ve done the first three. Now do the last one. Or else. Success Conditions: Sleep a minimum of eight hours, uninterrupted. Failure Conditions: Fail to meet the success conditions within the next twenty-four hours. Fail to fall asleep within the next two hours. Reward: ??? Penalty: Double severity and duration of Sleep Deprivation condition.
¡°It doesn¡¯t list a reward.¡± Alarion said with some dismay. ¡°Only penalties.¡± ¡°That is common. The System does not want you to attempt to, game the System, as it were, by suggesting dozens of possible quests until you find one with a reward you desire. If you are repeating a similar quest over and over, it will usually tell you the expected reward. Otherwise it will not tell you the reward until you accept, only the penalty.¡± ¡°Your power also will not tell you about possible stretch goals.¡± Elena added. ¡°Sometimes exceeding the base requirements within the timeframe can permit higher rewards.¡± Dar smiled in agreement. ¡°Go ahead and accept the quest.¡± Alarion shrugged and mentally accepted the quest as instructed. In an instant, the reward condition changed.
Reward: Automatically gain the Well Rested condition for 8 hours upon waking.
¡°So many people are uncreative with their powers.¡± Dar explained. ¡°They have a questing power, so they need to use it for grand goals, to slay dragons and save princesses. But the potential for such a power is so much greater. You can set all sorts of training goals with your power, which will make you far more adept when the time comes for a real challenge.¡± Alarion frowned. ¡°Mine says I¡¯m supposed to slay a dragon.¡± ¡°And sometimes you do need to fight a dragon.¡± Dar conceded. ¡°I did not mean to undermine your resolve. Allow me to apologize. Girl!¡± The soft sound of two slippered footsteps barely announced the young woman as she appeared at the Governor¡¯s side. One moment the space had been empty, the next a demure young woman lingered just behind and to the left of Dar¡¯s chair. She was a curious girl. The dark leather and metal of her armor matched her shoulder length hair, but contrasted heavily with the teal cloak hemmed in violet that marked her as a member of the House of Hunger. She was slim and pretty, pale and serious, but also quite young. Alarion¡¯s age, perhaps a year older. ¡°Sir?¡± She asked, as unshaken by Alarion¡¯s shocked reaction to her presence as Dar and Elena were to hers. ¡°Alarion, this is Sierra, my equerry and¡­ second cousin?¡± Dar explained with some skepticism of his own words. ¡°Once removed.¡± Sierra explained helpfully with a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. ¡°I manage the household, deliver his orders in absentia and serve as a first line of personal protection.¡± ¡°Ostensibly.¡± Dar commented dryly, as though they¡¯d had the conversation too often. ¡°Tonight and for the foreseeable future, however, I will be seconding you to the boy. At least until he gets h-¡± ¡°Sir!¡± She protested. ¡°Are you asking me to repeat myself?¡± Dar asked. His tone was casual, his eyes fixed on Alarion. But his smile was gone. ¡°No!¡± The girl replied in haste. Her gaze briefly flicked over Alarion with just a hint of distaste before she added. ¡°No, sir.¡± Chapter Eleven ¡°I¡¯m up!¡± Alarion groaned. It was a lie. Not a particularly good one, but teenagers were never known for their particularly cunning lies. Yet it had been surprisingly effective. Two short words, half mumbled into the pillow and the repeated knocks on his bedroom door had ended as abruptly as they¡¯d begun. Alarion hadn¡¯t had a bed in years. He¡¯d been little when they''d left home. And only slightly older when his family had been scattered to the winds. When he was sold, put to work, smuggled and sold. Slavery was a crime to the Vitrians, which meant that children like him were more often ¡®adopted¡¯ by abusive families. Trained to lie about who they were, about the grueling tasks put before them whenever some official came snooping. Creature comforts and even basic necessities were never for someone like him to enjoy. He¡¯d been more comfortable sleeping on rocks in that gloomy basement than half the households that had hosted him over the years. To be given the chance to simply laze about in a warm cloud of cushions and comforters? He¡¯d have been a fool to pass up the opportunity. If only it were to last a little bit longer. ¡°I said I¡¯m up!¡± Alarion shouted abruptly into his pillow as a sudden chill washed over him. Elena had been rather hands off in his schedule before they¡¯d arrived at the manor. Either she hadn¡¯t cared, or she saw some value in letting the young man lounge in well deserved comfort. She¡¯d always send someone to wake him eventually if he pushed the limits of basic decency, but beyond that, he¡¯d been left to his own devices. She¡¯d been patient. Sierra was not. The young woman loomed over the side of his bed, a thick blanket in hand and a murderous look in her eyes. ¡°You are lying to me?¡± The girl said, incredulous. ¡°Wha-?¡± Alarion asked, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he rolled onto his side, gathered a sheet about his waist and sat up. ¡°No, I¡¯m just¡­ How did you get in here.¡± ¡°I have a key.¡± The girl spat, still incensed. ¡°And do not change the subject. You are not up. You are sleeping. Ten minutes ago I-¡± ¡°Shh.¡± Alarion requested, ignorant of the ways of women. ¡°I¡¯m awake. I just need to catch my-¡± The sudden flash of steel in the girl¡¯s hand brought Alarion up short. A short blade, straight and unornamented. Practical. She held it in a reverse grip, brandishing but not immediately threatening an attack. Not that his instincts much cared to wait and see. He tumbled backward off the opposite side of the bed to put it between them, then came up in the best combat stance he could muster while still forced to desperately cling to a bedsheet for modesty. ¡°What are you doing?!¡± ¡°You-!¡± The girl spat out, unable to fully form a thought as she glared. A few heartbeats passed between them, and the shimmer of light off exposed steel seemed to draw her attention. Sierra looked down at her dagger, as if only now realizing she¡¯d drawn it. She frowned, then quickly sheathed the weapon before turning her eyes back to him. ¡°Breakfast is outside. Eat, dress and be down in the yard in twenty minutes.¡± Alarion followed her departure with an expression that was one part frown, one part bewilderment. He waited for her steps to disappear down the hallway before he finally made for the door and closed it behind her, leaning against its frame. Across from him, the siren of a four poster down bed sang its song to him. ¡°No.¡± He told himself emphatically. ¡°She¡¯d actually stab me.¡± Reluctantly Alarion turned his attention to getting ready. Before long he was dressed, reasonably groomed and with a mouthful of bread as he paced the stone corridors that led him toward the courtyard. A step ahead of him hovered glowing notifications, one counting down the remaining seven hours of his quest timer, the other detailing his newest condition.
Well Rested ¨C 5% bonus to all attributes for two hours. 5% Bonus to Maximum Stamina and MP for eight hours.
He didn¡¯t think the summary was quite accurate. If anything it vastly undersold just how incredible he felt. Despite what his initial grogginess might have suggested, Alarion had never slept so well. He¡¯d gone to bed sore, exhausted and overstuffed, and woke ready to face the world. Come to think of it, why wasn¡¯t he still sore? After his first day of training with ZEKE he¡¯d been penalized with the muscle fatigue condition. Yet today, nothing. Was it because the stamina spent in the Void Arena didn¡¯t ultimately use his muscles? Or was it an added benefit of the Well Rested condition? The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. He didn¡¯t know, nor did he care at that particular moment. A clock had chimed in one of the chambers he passed, and Alarion had no desire to get even further on Sierra¡¯s bad side. He picked up the pace, jogging down the hallway past manor staff and guardsmen. Elena and ZEKE awaited him in the courtyard, gossiping amongst themselves. The blue of the Vitrian woman¡¯s eyes sparkled in the late morning sun as she laughed at some joke ZEKE had uttered, then darkened at the sight of Alarion. She excused herself with a gesture and moved quickly toward him. ¡°What did you do?¡± Alarion scratched at the side of his head for a few moments, then shrugged. ¡°Alarion.¡± Elena replied sternly. ¡°I¡¯ve known that girl for half a decade and I have rarely seen her so angry. What did you do?¡± ¡°I told her I was up.¡± Alarion let the words linger until Elena¡¯s glare demanded further explanation. ¡°I wasn¡¯t, I was still in bed. I might have said it a couple of times.¡± ¡°Oh for¡­¡± Elena scowled. ¡°Literal children. Alarion, what have I told you about lying?¡± ¡°Not to.¡± She sighed. ¡°We should have had this conversation sooner but I thought you were too-¡± Alarion narrowed his eyes and Elena quickly adjusted her intended word choice. ¡°-direct for it to be an issue.¡± ¡°I know lying is bad.¡± He said defensively. ¡°Yes, but in an Ashadi way, not a Vitrian one.¡± She explained. ¡°In our culture lying isn¡¯t merely bad, it is vile. In many cases it is criminal.¡± Alarion crinkled his nose. ¡°For oversleeping?¡± ¡°No.¡± Elena dismissed the idea, before correcting herself. ¡°In my¡­ and now to some extent your culture, it is abhorrent to lie about things of material significance. To a court, to the public, to your family. Even what the Ashadi call ¡®white lies¡¯. You need not always be direct in your motives, and you can certainly omit, but speaking a blatant falsehood is distasteful. She was not angry you overslept. She was angry that you lied to her.¡± ¡°I was sleeping!¡± He protested. Elena held up a hand. ¡°I agree, her reaction was¡­ excessive, though your poor self-control is no excuse. Her branch of the family are more traditional. They take greater offense to slights of honor, even when others consider them minor. I will speak to her, and when we are done you will apologize as well.¡± ¡°I can talk to her now.¡± Alarion said after digesting Elena¡¯s words. ¡°I don¡¯t want her to feel angry all day.¡± She smiled. ¡°She¡¯ll need to cool down, and you need to spend your time wisely.¡± ¡°The quest.¡± Alarion frowned. He¡¯d forgotten already. ¡°The quest.¡± Elena said curtly. ¡°We will not be giving you another try, so spend this one wisely, Alarion.¡± With that she deftly plucked one of his hairs, and moved toward the center of the field to begin her incantation. ZEKE quickly took her place, moving alongside the young man as the two turned away from the distressingly unnatural spell-casting. ¡°You realize that when you fail I¡¯m going to insist we train you again with daggers.¡± The Steelborn commented as casually as though he were discussing the weather. ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion replied, his eyes on the clouds as though looking at them could distract from the odd warping sensation of the space around him. ¡°And when you see how effective they are, you¡¯ll wonder why you wasted so much time on this frivolity.¡± Alarion said nothing as a color out of time crept momentarily into the edge of his vision. ¡°Very small daggers too. A stiletto. Or maybe a Poignard. Perhaps one of e-¡± ¡°Ezekial, behave. Alarion, the arena is prepared for you.¡± Alarion flashed ZEKE a delighted smile and turned toward the waiting orb. He made it nearly a dozen paces before he realized his error and had to slink back past ZEKE to retrieve his preferred weapon. With his face sculpted into that mutilated grin, ZEKE couldn¡¯t help but smile, but Alarion still scowled as he made his return. ¡°I¡¯m rea-¡± He didn¡¯t finish the words before the orb exploded outward, the darkness crashing over him in waves. He kept his footing this time, one leg braced behind him as the orb emptied and began to fill the volume of the [Void Arena]. It crept up along the edges, tendrils of liquid smoke crawling their way across invisible walls and ceiling until all around him was that ink blue dark. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡± He repeated. Elena and ZEKE had some method of viewing the interior of the arena while he was fighting, but Alarion wasn¡¯t speaking to them. He felt good, confident in a way that had eluded most of his previous attempts the evening prior. He would have his victory before that timer wound down to zero. The darkness around him began to drip toward the center, forming into a shapeless mass that then began to resolve itself into the figure of his hated foe. For his part Alarion spent the time stretching. He rolled his shoulders, took a few test swings of his greatsword. It remained unwieldy, but it felt lighter. More comfortable in his grip. More familiar. Drip by drip, moment by moment, the form of the scaled beast emerged. As the seconds ticked down, Alarion moved toward it, positioning himself directly before the dragon, as he had become accustomed. Three. Two. One. ¡°Ra-¡± Crack. Alarion grinned, his first strike an unqualified success. It had been one of the first tactics he¡¯d developed against the beast, sometime after he¡¯d gotten over the sheer mortal terror of confronting it to begin with. The dragon was nothing but smoke while it was coalescing, but that intangibility came to an abrupt end a moment before the dragon roared. So long as he braced himself for the wave of pressure and timed the attack right, he could inflict a punishing early blow against a foe that was still too arrogant to defend or evade. That said, this time was clearly different. In his previous attempts Alarion had landed the first strike roughly twenty-five times. In each it had clearly hurt the dragon, but even a wicked crushing slash to the jaw had not staggered the creature out of its roar. He hurt it, it inflicted the fear condition, and they both retreated to size up their opposition. This time he¡¯d struck with enough force to stop the tremendous cry in the dragon¡¯s throat. It took a step back, more startled than afraid and Alarion¡¯s instincts overrode his rote understanding of how he should fight the dragon. Rather than retreating, he stepped in with a reverse cut, bringing the downed weapon up in a vertical arc that caught the dragon¡¯s front limb just below the wrist with enough force to breach the scales and send a spatter of blood arcing over Alarion¡¯s shoulder. He moved in, readying for a third strike when a flash of motion drove him back inches ahead of the raking claw of an enraged beast. He¡¯d hurt it. Badly. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡± Alarion repeated, as much to the dragon as himself. A grin spread ear to ear as he braced the Imperial Greatsword on his shoulder and prepared to push his advantage. Chapter Twelve Some of it was the difference in stats. He knew that, even if he hadn¡¯t fully understood it. Part of the reason that Alarion had zoned out so readily during his lessons was the lack of practicality. He lived in things he could touch, things he could manipulate and examine in practice not in theory. Simply being told the value of his attributes was nothing compared to feeling the power they gave him in the moment. The previous night he¡¯d been fighting with a 10% penalty. Today he was fighting with a 5% bonus and Alarion lived in that difference as his weapon clashed against the dragon¡¯s sweeping grasp. He was quicker to recognize the danger, faster to shift his posture to parry. He more easily deflected the attack and his hand stung slightly less under the sudden abuse. If he¡¯d had these abilities the previous night, Alarion was convinced that he would have eked out a pyrrhic victory in his last battle. Studying the dragon over nearly fifty fights had given him a strong understanding of its tactics and its physiology. Its strengths and its weaknesses. This was a foe that had been tailor made to his attributes, and he¡¯d been fighting it under-strength and under-trained. But neither accounted for just how badly he was beating it. Alarion liked to think of fighting the dragon not as one long fight, but as a series of bouts. One of them would take the initiative, and they would dance briefly in a short exchange of attacks, blocks, dodges and parries. His goal was to get in and chip away at the dragon¡¯s considerable pool of HP with his faster movements and smaller size making him a difficult target. The dragon, meanwhile, sought to minimize the damage Alarion inflicted, while aiming for a crushing blow that could finish the fight or greatly diminish the boy¡¯s capacity. Each bout could last as long as a minute, though most were considerably shorter. Some were false starts, where a feint from either side brought the bout to an end before it truly began. Others ended abruptly when Alarion was caught by an attack, killing or grievously wounding him. By this metric his first attempt had been a mere two bouts , while his final attempt the previous night had been a grueling thirty-eight. So far, this fight had lasted nine bouts and already the dragon was showing signs of its flagging strength. No amount of increased attributes or persistent study accounted for it. The real secret, was that Alarion was calm. His first fights he had been frightened. Understandably so. But when that fear gave way, what took its place was no better. He¡¯d been frustrated. Angry. How did that attack land? Why couldn¡¯t he properly keep count. He¡¯d have had it if not for a thousand little excuses that had chipped away at his willpower and perpetuated a cycle of mistakes. Coming at it fresh and clear-headed, neither hungry, nor tired, nor irate made all the difference. The creature¡¯s tail had ended fully a quarter of their fights the previous night. It was so easy to concentrate on enormous fangs and razor sharp talons. Easy to forget how quickly that inhuman appendage could whip around to shatter his bones. Now its attack felt almost charmingly clumsy as Alarion faded to the side in one motion, and cut a full two feet off the tip in the next. The creature roared in agony and rage at the offense, but Alarion left it no time to mourn the loss. He pressured the beast, cycling from one bout to the next without the traditional breather. With his muscles fresh and his attributes enhanced, he had stamina to spare, enough to rake an awful line through the scales that covered the dragon¡¯s sternum. It retaliated and he dodged again, punishing the arm that had the temerity to swipe at him. Alarion was confident, but not arrogant, retreating in the face of a renewed assault. He felt there was a flow to the fight that he hadn¡¯t felt the previous night. A push and pull, give and take sensation that he now understood some small part of. Intrinsically he knew that not all fights would have this back and forth to them. It was a curious feature of a battle where he was so evenly matched, but where his opponent was not easily slain. At the same time he knew that the experience could be invaluable. That there was some kernel of truth to this style of combat, and that he had only glimpsed the periphery of it. The sensation fled as quickly as it had come, returning Alarion to the here and now, to face a dragon that was limping. Partially dismembered. And about to breathe fire. ¡°No!¡± Alarion swore in dismay. Normally the dragon started to utilize its breath close to the twentieth bout. Alarion had that number in mind, but it was clear to him now that its choice to breath fire had more to do with damage than time. Alarion was ahead of schedule, and he hadn¡¯t even been watching for the telltale signs. To dodge the breath he needed to be closer and already moving parallel, not distant and flatfooted. To interrupt it as he¡¯d done with the roar he¡¯d need to be closer still. And to block it was suicide. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Wasn''t it? Alarion retreated as far as he could manage as the dragon drew in a deep breath, putting as much distance as he could between himself and the soon to come cone of flame. As the dragon¡¯s shoulders reared up, the boy drove the tip of his greatsword into the courtyard stone, turned his body to the side and braced behind it. The fire crashed over him in a wave, spilling out over either side of the steel barrier that shielded Alarion from the worst of it. His awakened physique helped him to endure the pain, but a frightened glance at his left arm showed the skin blackening where it was closest to the blade. Warning after warning appeared at one corner of his vision, telling him that he was on fire, while the indicator for his HP dropped precipitously. And then it was over. The last of the flames rushed past him like a gust of wind and Alarion spared a glance for the most notable system messages: You have suffered extreme fire damage. HP -106. Your left arm has been amputated. New flaw! One Armed Man. New Condition! Bleeding ¨C Severe. [Bleeding ¨C Minor] ¨C Lose 1% total HP per second. You have cauterized your wound. Bleeding condition ¨C Ended. He didn¡¯t look at his arm. That way lay madness, and he needed his wits about him. This wasn¡¯t real, the arm would heal. He was glad that either the shock, the severity or the nature of the wound had left it as more of a dull ache. This thing had just tried to rob him of his victory. He didn¡¯t need to fight it and pain at the same time. Alarion reached for his sword as he advanced over the scorched ground toward the dragon. The weapon came away from the ground more easily than he would have expected. Too easily. Too light. What he held was no longer an Imperial Greatsword. It could not even be charitably called a sword. The hilt and blade guard had withstood the worst of the flames with mere warping, but the core of Alarion¡¯s blade had distorted unevenly as it softened under the heat of the flame. One edge remained sharp, and there was a diagonal point on the same side from where the weapon had snapped off under Alarion¡¯s rough handling. He was left with roughly a foot of hilt, and a foot of misshapen blade. ZEKE had the last laugh. Alarion would fight with a dagger after all. The wounded dragon began to close the distance between them. Alarion could read its intent well enough. It wouldn¡¯t be satisfied to end him in fire. Not after that humiliation. Not that it now had the upper hand. With unrestrained anger, a roar to match any the dragon would have been capable of and the assistance of Thrown Weapon Mastery Alarion put lie to the dragon¡¯s gloating. The ruined sword raced through the air with the practiced accuracy of a teenager who had spent months hunting birds with rocks. It struck point first into the dragon¡¯s right eye and buried all the way to the hilt, provoking a roar of outrage to match Alarion¡¯s own. With a running leap he did not even know he was capable of, Alarion followed his thrown weapon. His fingers caught the scales of the dragon¡¯s maw and held for dear life as it flicked its head in an attempt to dislodge both him and the weapon that had so blinded it. When that failed, it slammed the side of its head down against the ground in an attempt to crush him. It had the opposite effect. Alarion tucked his legs beneath him to avoid being crushed, then braced against the ground just long enough to scramble fully onto the dragon¡¯s face. Once there he wrenched the weapon free and raked it twice more across the eye, ruining it completely. There was no flow anymore. No artistry. No bouts. The dragon raked its own face with talons in an attempt to dislodge a passenger who had already departed, blinded by pain and actual blindness. For his part Alarion had slid beneath the dragon, capitalizing on one of his earlier victories. His new weapon could not meaningfully pierce or shatter scales like its forefather, but it could exploit the wreck that had already been made of the dragon¡¯s breast. Alarion put everything into the attacks. They were shallow by his standards, but they were quick and dirty. With no second arm to brace against the dragon he¡¯d taken to holding the ¡®knife¡¯ in a reverse grip, stabbing the dragon¡¯s chest over and over again in sweeping up and down movements. It tried to retreat, to escape. Survival instincts overrode sense. It could have just crushed him, laid its entire body weight down upon him. That probably would have been enough. But to do so it would have had to embrace the knife. The dragon was no longer haughty. No longer cautious. No longer angry. It was panicked. In the end there was no fanfare, no coup de grace. The dragon did not explode or dissolve when it died, and the void arena did not collapse with its passing. Its movements grew sluggish, it retreated slower and slower. It fell, not on top of him, but onto one side and Alarion kept stabbing long after it had stopped moving. When the moment finally came, it was with a silent notification.
[Quest Complete - Dragon Slayer]
¡°Status.¡± Alarion said. ¡°Acceptable.¡± ZEKE replied, his tone positively brimming with resignation. Alarion ignored him, quickly navigating to his quest menu.
Dragon Slayer [Complete] Description: There is a dragon. Sort of. Slay it. Success Conditions: Defeat the Dragon conjured by Elena¡¯s Void Arena ritual. Failure Conditions: Fail to meet success conditions within one day. Defeat the dragon with outside assistance. Defeat the dragon with a weapon other than an Imperial Greatsword. Gain any additional skills. Bonus Condition: Defeat the Dragon conjured by Elena¡¯s Void Arena ritual within fifty attempts. Upgraded Reward: One Exceptional Quest Box Penalty: None. Note: This quest was automatically assigned due to the flaw [Single-Minded] and does not count against the once-per-day limit of Self-Motivated.
Would you like to claim your Reward? Yes/No
¡°Is there a reason I shouldn¡¯t claim my reward now?¡± Alarion asked. Elena looked at him as though he¡¯d grown a second head just for the fact that he¡¯d had the self-control to ask first. ¡°None here. Rewards do not expire, to my knowledge, so it can sometimes be advantageous to hold them if they will be hard to transport or you worry they may be stolen.¡± Alarion nodded and mentally selected ¡®Yes¡¯. Chapter Thirteen With that simple command, the air in front of Alarion began to shimmer as though suddenly hot. An instant later, the bottom of that distortion solidified with an electric zip. Moment by moment more of the distortion filled in, accompanied by similar sounds. The pace quickened as a box began to take shape, the sound a whirling drone as it ramped up, only to just as quickly wind down once it passed the item¡¯s midpoint. Within five seconds a completed grey box roughly a foot in length hovered in mid-air, then dropped into Alarion¡¯s waiting hands, as though its strings were cut. The design of the thing was fairly intricate, even if its color was quite bland. Formed out of what appeared to be a single large rectangular stone, the top of the dark gray box was emblazoned with an intricate carving that depicted a one armed boy standing firm against a fire breathing dragon. It was the most beautiful thing Alarion had ever owned. His fingers traced the carving. They followed the arched curves of the dragon¡¯s back until it met the sharp vertical edge of the box, then ran along that down to where his own depiction began. The sight made him smile. ¡°Are you going to open it?¡± Elena asked as her own impatience got the better of her. ¡°Yeah.¡± Alarion nodded, deftly hiding the reality that he¡¯d briefly forgotten that the box itself was not his reward. ¡°Though¡­ how? There isn¡¯t a latch.¡± ¡°Focus on the box.¡± She explained. ¡°Like you want to know more about it.¡±
Exceptional Quest Box Description: An Exceptional reward granted to Alarion, Ward of the House of Hunger for completing the quest Dragon Slayer. Would you like to open this box? Yes/No
The answer was so plainly obvious Alarion didn¡¯t even have to focus on his answer before the system responded. The box shifted in his hands, the slightest unnatural movement as the lid of the once solid box separated off into a second piece. Alarion knelt down and set the box on the courtyard floor, careful not to dislodge the lid further until the item was stable. Once there, he gingerly removed the carving and set it to the side, fully intent on holding onto it. Inside he found two items. The first was a single sheet of jet black paper that filled the exact dimensions of the box¡¯s interior. Its surface was nearly covered in glimmering silver ink, from miniscule scrawlings to a number of detailed diagrams of a heavily armored man swinging around a terribly oversized sword. Beneath it, lay Alarion¡¯s dread enemy. A knife. Or at least, that was what it looked like on first blush. On a second glance that estimate was not quite right. It had the dimensions of a knife, namely that it was small, but not the proportions. The hilt of the ¡®knife¡¯ was far too short and too thin, the blade several times its length in a way that made it impractical and ungainly. A miniature Imperial Greatsword with two thin diamonds of missing material. A hole where the house emblem normally resided and another set into the base of the pommel. Its guard and edge were all burnished black steel flecked through with pinpoints of white that made it appear like a star filled sky. Its hilt was wrapped in minute teal bandages, while the core of the weapon was a deep violet that together twinned the unmistakable colors of Elena¡¯s House. ¡°Huh.¡± Alarion murmured, as the reality clicked. He looked to Elena then, holding up the two items he could make neither hide nor hair of. ¡°Same principle.¡± She said patiently. Alarion paused for a moment to process her words, then looked to the miniature sword and squinted. He frowned, tossed it aside and turned his attention to the piece of paper. ¡°Alarion!¡± Elena scolded as she scooped up the discarded item and quickly examined it.
Shifting Imperial Greatsword [Exceptional](Incomplete 1/3) Description: A miniature Imperial Greatsword created to match the aesthetic tastes of Alarion, Ward of the House of Hunger. This item is incomplete. Requirements: None Type: Weapon Enchantment: On mental command, this weapon can shift between a miniature state and that of an Imperial Greatsword ideally sized to the user¡¯s current height and strength scores.
¡°Ah.¡± She said with a wince. ¡®Ideally sized¡¯ in his case would be smaller and lighter. No wonder he¡¯d so vehemently rejected the item, he¡¯d done the same the previous night when she¡¯d made an offhand suggestion of having the armorer design him something similar. The glare he¡¯d given her was the closest the boy had yet come to outright defiance. It was strange for the System to make such an obvious error from a quest box. Items given out by a questing power, particularly a person¡¯s own questing power tended to be narrowly tailored. A person might not always immediately understand the value in what they¡¯d been given, but it was rare for it to outright prod at sore spots in a person¡¯s psyche. Perception and personality were known to shape descriptions and explanations provided by the System. Notifications could look different to different people, and the System was known for having certain quirks for different people. It could be overly sarcastic if a person was terribly serious, or melancholy if a person was upbeat. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Even a person¡¯s name was something that often changed with personal perception. That Alarion¡¯s item declared him a Ward of her house spoke to just how much he valued that status, something she felt both heartwarming and concerning. ¡°Is this safe to use?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± Elena asked, looking away from the sword to the piece of paper that was all but thrust into her face. She recognized it for what it was at a glance, her eyebrows shooting up.
Codex Ambrosia ¨C Folio 14 [Exceptional] Description: Marked Folio 14, this page was originally part of a larger manuscript known as Codex Ambrosia. Its detailed illustrations complex, multi-layered descriptions serve as the basis for one of the Vitrian Forms. Requirements: Awakened (Any one class level) Type: Imbuement. Effects: Instantly gain the skill [Imperial Greatsword Mastery]. If the user already possesses this skill, instead add one level to this skill.
¡°Mmm. For you, yes.¡± ZEKE cut into the conversation with some annoyance, as whatever remaining hopes he had of drawing the youth away from his preferred path finally evaporated. ¡°It is safe to use, and you should do so immediately. There is no reason to wait.¡± Alarion did not need to be told twice as he selected yes from the options already hovering in his field of view. Small sparkles twinkled in a circle about his feet, like sparks skipping off stone before they were dispersed just as quickly by a sudden burst of air pressure that emanated out from him. At the same time a sudden sense of power pulsed through his body alongside his blood, a rush of positive sensation that sent a tingle up his spine and vanished disappointingly quickly. Stranger still, he felt a rush of knowledge that was difficult to describe. As though he¡¯d suddenly remembered things about his weapon of choice that he¡¯d never actually learned. He knew where its center of gravity lay, the ideal placement for his hands on the hilt, the proper footwork to best utilize it. Unimpressed by the light show, ZEKE said, "Be sure to hold on to the paper. The magic is spent, but pages like that retain some value." ¡°That was¡­¡± Alarion began, largely ignoring ZEKE. He couldn¡¯t quite put it into words, though he was quickly dissuaded from doing so by the notification that he had gained a new skill.
Imperial Greatsword Mastery [Common](Level 1) Description: You have gained the most basic of proficiency of an Imperial Greatsword that is worthy of recognition. A long road to true mastery lies before you, but your new skills may yet help you carve your way to those unseen heights. Requirements: None Type: Passive Effects: Gain a slight increase in damage when wielding an Imperial Greatsword. Gain a slight increase in speed when wielding an Imperial Greatsword. Gain a slight increase in experience gain when using skills with an Imperial Greatsword. Gain a slight increase in experience to classes that wield an Imperial Greatsword as their primary weapon. Growths: STR +4
Skill level increased. Imperial Greatsword Mastery is now Level 1. STR+4.
That¡­ seemed like a lot. But also so little. He felt so much better just from one skill? And what it gave him. An increase to both damage and speed and to his future growth? Not to mention the direct increase to his strength. He already had 18 strength, a +4 would mean what? A 20% increase? More? He¡¯d been so much stronger from a mere 15% increase in his last battle. Alarion started to count on his fingers before a look from Elena made him think better of it. It was a large increase, regardless. ¡°He finally gets it.¡± ZEKE observed with some good humor. He had been training pupils since long before Alarion¡¯s grandparents were born. He recognized the epiphany. Most awakened had it when they gained their first class level. Alarion had somehow missed that milestone in his years of deprivation, but he felt it now all the same. ¡°The power he possesses, the potential. This is why it is called an awakening, young master.¡± ¡°It is why it can be so troublesome in the youth as well.¡± Elena warned. ¡°Chasing power can be as addictive as any drink or powder.¡± Alarion nodded. To his credit, he drew in a deep breath to center himself. To push down some of that excitement lest it take hold of him entirely. ¡°So? What next?¡± ZEKE¡¯s eyes seemed to glow a little brighter at the question. ¡°We¡¯ll be spending most of the day with introductory forms. If you insist on using that weapon, then we will make you master it. Before that, however, there is the matter of your outstanding skill selection. Lest we have another accident.¡± ¡°And you will need to take this.¡± Elena insisted, pushing the miniature weapon into Alarion¡¯s palm. ¡°Even if you do not intend to use it now, you are likely to gain the remaining pieces through your questing power even if you discard it. That would be a terrible waste.¡± Alarion scowled but Elena¡¯s grip brooked no compromise. He took the weapon and turned his attention back to it, studying it and its description with a more careful eye. ¡°How do I-¡± Alarion started to ask, idly tossing the weapon from his left hand to his right, before bucking back in alarm as the miniscule weapon erupted to full size in an instant. With his increased strength and its slightly diminished size, he was just barely able to wrangle the weapon to avoid it dropping edge down on his face, though it fell to the ground instead with a terrible clang. Elena and ZEKE exchanged glances. He¡¯d figured it out himself. That was a sort of progress. ¡°My fault.¡± He said, as though it could have been anyone else¡¯s. He touched a hand to the weapon¡¯s pommel, and in a heartbeat it had shrunk back down to its original size. Once minimized, Alarion tossed it from one palm to the other, getting a feel for the weight of it and how best not to stab or cut himself while manipulating it. He let it grow to full size, then shrunk it down. His eyes sparkled, the hint of a grin on his lips. Elena and ZEKE exchanged glances. He didn¡¯t hate the thing anymore. That too, was a sort of progress. Then came a flicker. A realization, a sense of understanding. A sudden seriousness. ¡°Alarion?¡± Elena asked, somewhat perturbed by the young man¡¯s abrupt change in demeanor. The weapon shrunk and grew, shrunk and grew. It shrunk, paused, and grew again. Seemingly satisfied, Alarion reduced its size once again and began tossing it, up and down, up and down. The starscape edges sparkled in the late morning sun as they spun end over end, were caught, and spun off again. Then, with a flash, Alarion launched the miniature weapon toward one of the armor laden training mannequins that ringed the arena. It did not stay miniature for long, The greatsword had scarcely left Alarion¡¯s hand when it abruptly grew to its full size while retaining the majority of the momentum with which it had been thrown. The sudden air resistance of the larger blade, combined with an inexpert throw had the sword fall short of its intended target, but it didn¡¯t matter. The sheer weight of the thing slammed into the wooden pole that substituted the dummy¡¯s legs and shattered it into splinters. The clatter of armor cascading to stone echoed off the surrounding walls of the manor house. Elena winced, no longer willing to exchange glances. Meanwhile ZEKE turned his attention everywhere at once, from the dummy to Alarion, to Elena and back again, seemingly at a loss for words. Alarion joined him in that silence. There was a thin smile on the young man¡¯s face. Not a smug smirk or the grin of secret joke. Just the contented smile of pure accomplishment as Alarion retrieved the weapon from the now destroyed dummy and began idly tossing it once again. ¡°Alarion.¡± Elena warned, before he could even think of trying again. ¡°I¡¯ll speak to the quartermaster about some proper targets. Some very durable targets.¡± ZEKE said at last. ¡°Now before we are waylaid any further can we please talk about your skills?¡± Chapter Fourteen The answer, as it turned out, was no. ZEKE had barely uttered the cursed words when the Ordinate arrived. The grey robed man had exchanged the normal pleasantries, then dipped into hushed conversation with Elena. Alarion caught a few clipped words he didn¡¯t understand, as well as one he did. Sanction. He didn¡¯t like the furtive glance Elena had cast his way after hearing that word. Or the way she¡¯d quickly departed for a meeting with her husband. ZEKE certainly hadn¡¯t liked the way that Elena had insisted that they wait to continue the lesson until her return. With Void Arena no longer necessary, the Steelborn argued that they should have been allowed to continue on in her absence. Elena disagreed. Alarion didn¡¯t get a vote. With her absence expected to be short, the Steelborn had chosen to forgo alternate instruction in favor of an early brunch, to avoid yet further interruptions. ¡°It is weird that you don¡¯t eat.¡± Alarion commented around a mouthful of grapes. The sweet purple fruit had quickly become a favorite after Alarion had been introduced to it some weeks ago, one that the young man jealously guarded on his plate. Despite his large breakfast. ¡°If it is any consolation, Alarion, it will forever be weird to me that the rest of you do.¡± ZEKE replied dryly, his attention focused on the shattered dummy on the far end of the courtyard as the groundskeepers tried to decide if it was salvageable. ¡°So you weren¡¯t born human then?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°The name Steelborn might have tipped you off.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not stupid. I just thought you might have been one of the¡­¡± The young man scowled as he wracked his brain for the word. Thumb and forefinger rubbed together as the idea fluttered on the tip of his tongue before it reverted to something familiar. ¡°Alarion, I don¡¯t speak Ashadi. You will¡­ ah.¡± The insight that Alarion had failed to find clicked in the Steelborn¡¯s mind as he asked. ¡°Systemborn?¡± ¡°Yes!¡± Alarion exclaimed, before repeating the word System half a dozen times, trying to lock it into his memory. ¡°I heard they could be anything.¡± ZEKE tilted his head to the side, the nodded. ¡°It would be exceedingly rare, but I suppose it is possible. I could have been born a human, though I wasn¡¯t. Touch¨¦. What do you know of the Systemborn. Or any of the Descendants for that matter.¡± ¡°A descendant is¡­ your children. Or your grandchildren and their children. Isn¡¯t it?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°And the other is someone who overuses the p-¡± Alarion started to speak the Ashadi word, then caught himself and sounded out the Vitrian term instead, ¡°-the System. It corrupts them, changing them into monsters.¡± ¡°Oh dear.¡± ZEKE¡¯s tone held an audible frown as he looked to the sky and pondered if they¡¯d have enough time to set the boy right. ¡°To start with, you¡¯re both right and wrong. Your usage was correct, but there is another way the term Descendants is commonly used. It is a shortened version of Descendants of Humanity, sometimes known as the Born races.¡± ¡°Like you.¡± Alarion observed. ¡°Like me.¡± ZEKE agreed. ¡°There is a taxonomical argument about just how many Descendant-¡± ¡°Taxo-?¡± ¡°Taxonomic.¡± The Steelborn continued. ¡°It means classification, usually of living things. Different people disagree on the number of different types of Descendant, but there are at minimum four major groups. The Steelborn, the Systemborn, the Godborn and the Thoughtborn.¡± Alarion nodded, his head too full of questions for one to escape as he let ZEKE continue. ¡°First, of course, are the Steelborn. My kind were created by yours, first in individual laboratories and workshops and later in large factories far to the East. We tend to be stronger and more durable, and we are quite tireless. I do not have a stamina characteristic as you do, I can work endlessly if I put myself to a task.¡± ¡°That seems unfair.¡± Alarion replied, renewing his complaint from the previous discussion of the topic. ¡°I also live longer than humans.¡± ZEKE did not have the capability to smirk, but Alarion knew he was giving it his best. ¡°I can be destroyed, but to my knowledge, no Steelborn has ever died of old age.¡± Alarion spit the machine man with a look that clearly sought to change that. ZEKE only chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t be too upset. There are ways to extend your own longevity. But the primary advantage of your people is your Aptitude. What would you guess mine is?¡± ¡°One hundred and twenty¡­ eight?¡± Alarion guessed. He didn¡¯t want to be insulting, but from ZEKE¡¯s tone, the number had to be lower than his. This time the Steelborn barked a full throated laugh. ¡°Oh if only.¡± ¡°Lower?¡± ¡°Twenty-two.¡± ZEKE clarified. ¡°And I am born from an artist, not a factory, meaning I¡¯m far more blessed than many of my kin. We pay for our many advantages in potential. It has forced us, as a people, to adopt a very long scale view of the world and our own progress within it.¡± This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Are there a lot of you?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Millions.¡± ZEKE confirmed. ¡°But that veers into discussions of history and politics which is a much broader topic, so let us continue.¡± ¡°The Systemborn.¡± The boy was more confident in naming them this time. ¡°They are perhaps the most complicated to summarize, but I will do my best.¡± The Steelborn plucked a stem of half finished grapes from Alarion¡¯s plate, to the youth¡¯s immediate complaint. ¡°Imagine for a moment that this stem represents all of your potential.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion knew better than to think he could take the fruit back by force, though his eyes glittered with the promise of a future violence if the example ended poorly for the grapes. ¡°I¡¯m imagining.¡± ¡°Splendid.¡± There was that non-existent smirk again. ¡°Imagine the starting point for any person to be at the tip of the stem, here. Within the system you advance down the center line of the stem. Most classes that are taken will advance to the next rank, always leaving further potential ahead of them.¡± ¡°Most. But not all?¡± ¡°Indeed. As you advance the requirements to progress further increase and the stem narrows. If you obtain a low rarity class with a poor foundation, it is possible that you will reach a dead end in your advancement and you¡¯ll be shunted off to one of these side branches.¡± Zeke gestured to an empty branch off the side of the stem. ¡°Likewise there exist a good number of classes that are or become so specialized that they can never advance past a certain rank. Agricultural classes, for example, tend to block out around the third rank.¡± Alarion considered the words before he replied. ¡°And what does this have to do with the Systemborn?¡± ZEKE pointed to one of the grapes. ¡°Dead ends are not the only paths. Are they? Some have a reward at their end.¡± ¡°Oh!¡± Alarion sat up in his seat as understanding struck him. ¡°Classes can do that?¡± ¡°Some. Though despite what your superstition told you, such classes are clearly marked with a Metamorphosis tag. Weak willed individuals might think they are being ¡®forced¡¯ due to a lack of palatable alternatives, but such excuses are comical. Especially in light of the fact that most Metamorphosis classes require extensive preparation and resources for the change. And besides all of that, many of these species predate the System itself. Men found ways of transforming themselves long before we had a systematic way to do so.¡± ¡°So what do they change into?¡± Alarion asked. ZEKE tossed the grapes back into the waiting boy¡¯s hand. ¡°As many oddities as there are fruit on the vine. Beasts, Giants, all manner of demi-humans. Dragons.¡± Alarion¡¯s eyebrows shot up. ¡°No.¡± ZEKE replied flatly to the unasked question. ¡°I do not know that path and I wouldn¡¯t offer it to you if I did. It would be a waste of your potential. Most of the truly non-human Systemborn become that, non-human. They have impulses and drives that separate them from what they once were and many even lose their sentience entirely. Dragons, for example, are known to have an instinct to lair and to hoard. Even the greater variants that are fully cognizant of their actions fall victim to these impulses. Other species go to hide deep in the forests, or to build frightful dungeons to Lal Viren.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Alarion replied, somewhat deflated. The idea of a lair did seem somewhat nice in theory, but would likely pale in execution. He popped another grape in his mouth, chewing through his thoughts before he asked. ¡°So all monsters were once people?¡± ZEKE shook his head. ¡°Not at all. Even excluding fiends, the majority of monsters were born and bred that way. All it takes to make a clutch of dragon eggs is two wyrms, after all. The same is true of the civilized Systemborn. Most demi-humans can interbreed with each other, and some with humans.¡± ¡°So if they existed before the system, and they mostly give birth naturally, why Systemborn?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Well then we¡¯re back to the taxonomical dispute.¡± ZEKE chuckled. ¡°The strongest argument in favor of the name is that there has been an explosion in new types of creatures and demi-humans over the last five centuries, so many of which were ¡®born¡¯ of the system. Their shared origin also gives them something to rally around. That is half the reason The Bizarre exists.¡± Alarion quirked a brow, intrigued by the name. ¡°The Bizarre?¡± ¡°Again, far beyond the scope of this conversation.¡± One look at Alarion¡¯s expression told the Steelborn that trying to wave off that particular topic would be an exercise in futility. ¡°Between here and my homeland there is an area known as the Strait of Nessun. Two centuries ago a ludicrously powerful Awakened known as The Raven built a trade city on one of the largest islands in the straits that he named The Bazaar.¡± ¡°Wait¡­ Bazaar, or-¡± ZEKE held up a hand to forestall the question as he continued. ¡°Over time the value of the place grew, as did its population. In particular, demi-humans from merchant vessels found The Bazaar far more hospitable than similar ports, even in their homelands, in large part due to The Raven¡¯s open acceptance of their people. Over time more and more demi-humans and other sentient Systemborn traveled to the city, boosting its wealth and prestige while bringing a dazzling mismatch of cultural, religious and racial backgrounds. The place is strange, hence its more common name, The Bizarre.¡± ¡°And much like we Vitrians do not like being known as the Numbered Empire, calling it The Bizarre in polite company will get you snubbed, while doing so in foul company will either result in a free drink, or a stab wound.¡± Elena added on to ZEKE¡¯s explanation as she emerged from the broad double doors of the manor. ¡°A history lesson, is it?¡± ¡°A tangent in a brief lesson on the Descendants.¡± ZEKE clarified. ¡°One Mistress Sierra could finish off with the Young Master at a more opportune time?¡± Alarion frowned. There was something about the way ZEKE spoke, the inflection of his sentence. He wasn¡¯t asking Elena¡¯s permission, wasn¡¯t even looking at the more mature woman. ZEKE was looking at the wall next to her. At something that wasn¡¯t- Skill level increased. Detection is now Level 4. PER +2. WIL +2 He wasn¡¯t sure if he could see her because of the level up, or if he leveled up because he saw her, but there she was, her dark clad form almost invisible against the shadow cast by the manor and the metaphorical shadow cast by Elena¡¯s more vibrant presence. Her eyes met Alarion¡¯s and hardened the moment she recognized that he could indeed see her. ¡°Permission to return to my regular duties?¡± Sierra asked, pointedly ignoring ZEKE¡¯s question and Alarion¡¯s presence. ¡°Denied.¡± Elena replied with a voice steeped in exhaustion. ¡°I am already having quite the day. I¡¯ll not have this squabbling. Alarion, apologize so we can be done with this.¡± ¡°I-¡± ¡°-Will not accept.¡± Sierra cut him off before he could even begin. ¡°We¡¯ve exchanged half a hundred words at most, and a quarter of those were lies. Why would I expect an apology to be anything but a chance for more perfidy?¡± ¡°I was asleep. I didn¡¯t mean to-¡± ¡°So you lie as easily as you breathe? How is that better?¡± ¡°Enough!¡± Elena snapped. ¡°I do not have the patience for this and he does not have time for this.¡± ¡°Ma¡¯am.¡± Sierra protested. ¡°I-¡± ¡°As you made painfully clear this afternoon, he is not a Vitrian.¡± Elena interjected. ¡°I expect you to honor your own position by not holding him to the standards of one.¡± ¡°And as for you.¡± Elena¡¯s stone eyes turned to Alarion, her voice dripping with anger. ¡°The next time I am told a lie has passed your lips, I will strike the lashes myself.¡± Chapter Fifteen With her rebuke still ringing in his ears, Alarion dutifully devoured the remainder of his brunch as Elena and ZEKE stepped aside to converse. Sadly, he¡¯d already consumed most of the meal, which meant it was not long before he was left with nothing to do but sit awkwardly across the table from Sierra. To her credit, Sierra made it easier than most. Alarion was rather mute by nature, not one to strike up a conversation. Whether she shared this quirk of personality, or was simply doing her level best to ignore him, Sierra lasted nearly a full ten minutes before she broke the silence. ¡°Stop looking at me.¡± ¡°I wa-¡± Alarion began, before his mind caught up to his mouth and cut the dishonesty short. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to.¡± ¡°If you did not mean to, then do not.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t even really looking at you. I was thinking and lost my focus.¡± He retorted. ¡°I wanted to apologize without upsetting you further. But I don¡¯t know how.¡± Sierra¡¯s stone expression tightened as she turned his way. Rebuke was on the tip of her tongue, but something in his expression softened her mood. ¡°There is no value in retreading that ground. The Assessor has made her point. I was foolish to have been so angry in the first place.¡± ¡°You still seem angry.¡± Alarion observed. ¡°Because you won¡¯t stop-¡± Sierra uttered a loud huff through her nostrils before turning fully in her chair to face him. She offered a lithe, leather clad left arm, her palm slightly curved in toward her. ¡°My name is Sierra Feln.¡± Alarion gave her an odd look. ¡°We¡¯ve done this already.¡± ¡°We have. But we are doing it again. A formal reintroduction is considered a way to end a feud with both sides saving face.¡± Her eyes flicked to her arm and after a brief pause Alarion took the hint, moving his own to join her. ¡°Like that, bend your fingers in slightly. Now push the back of your wrist into mine.¡± He obeyed with slight reluctance and was surprised to find her slender arm easily withstood the pressure as he pushed the back of his wrist against hers. Her arm was firm, steady. Unyielding. In a heartbeat, Alarion¡¯s mind drifted to ZEKE effortlessly catching his blade. ¡°Sierra Feln.¡± The girl repeated. ¡°Alarion.¡± He replied with an extra push of his arm that did not make her so much as budge. Sierra was strong. Or he was just that weak. ¡°It warms my heart to see such an attempt at peace.¡± Sierra nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of ZEKE¡¯s voice. Her cheeks reddened as she withdrew her arm and stood to greet Elena and ZEKE, but not before sending a profoundly nasty glare Alarion¡¯s way for not warning her of the pair¡¯s return. ¡°Ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°We need to get started.¡± Elena replied without preamble, her voice entirely lacking the Steelborn¡¯s teasing tone and word choice. ¡°Ezekial, if you would be so kind.¡± As ZEKE began the chanting necessary for the Display Status spell, Alarion moved up alongside Elena. Regardless of his social skills, or lack thereof, he could recognize something was wrong. ¡°What happened?¡± Elena pursed her lips, looking down at her charge then back to ZEKE before giving into a dreadful sigh. ¡°Politics.¡± Alarion¡¯s gaze remained firmly fixed upon her. ¡°We did not expect anyone outside the House to learn of your existence as quickly as they have.¡± Elena conceded, realizing that they¡¯d get nowhere until she¡¯d given some measure of an intelligible answer. ¡°We were mistaken. As a result, there are¡­ conflicting opinions on how we should best proceed.¡± He considered the words. ¡°Are you going to send me away?¡± That his worried mind went there, rather than to the much more present risk of life or limb almost broke her heart. ¡°No, Alarion.¡± Elena replied quickly. Then she winced as she realized she would need to correct herself. ¡°Not any time soon. As we discussed, eventually you will be inducted, as are all Awakened citizens of the Empire. Since you are not Vitrian by birth and lack marketable skills, your induction will be to the Auxillia, which means mandatory military service.¡± ¡°For how long?¡± ¡°The term is three years, after which you should be free to choose your own path in life. We would welcome you back with open arms.¡± Should. That nasty little word lingered in Elena¡¯s mind, close enough to a lie as to be uncomfortable. He should be free to choose his own path. If his term of service is not extended by war. If he is not punished for insubordination, or overheld for substandard performance. If he survived at all. Induction of non-Vitrians was a messy business that few saw the end of. Soldiers found their skill set useless elsewhere and continued their terms indefinitely. Or found themselves crippled. Craftsmen found difficulty setting up lucrative shops without the blessing and financing of Vitrian Banks. Alarion was special, that much was true, but it was a perilous and winding road from Induction to true agency. In this case, ignorance was truly bliss. All of Elena¡¯s inner concerns passed unsaid over a young man who was simply happy to hear he would not be thrown away. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Display Status.¡± ZEKE broke back into the conversation with the strength of his appraisal skills. Once again, Alarion¡¯s status floated before them, though with a few quick gestures, ZEKE diminished the full details down to a list of Alarion¡¯s skills: General Skills Known Stealth - Level 2 - Progress 85% Detection - Level 4 - Progress 1% Thrown Weapon Mastery - Level 3 - Progress 98% Imperial Greatsword Mastery ¨C Level 1 ¨C Progress 0% Class Skills Known Self-Motivated ¨C Level 1 ¨C Progress 91% ¡°That Aptitude of yours is truly absurd.¡± ZEKE remarked as he reviewed the information. ¡°You¡¯ve leveled up your detection skill since last we looked, no doubt off Mistress Sierra''s clumsy attempts at stealth.¡± The girl in question raised an unamused eyebrow. ¡°We all start somewhere, Young Mistress, no need to be ashamed. But there is no use in being overconfident either if you are in turn being caught by a rank amateur.¡± The boy in question raised both eyebrows. ¡°You¡¯ve also made substantive progress on your thrown weapon skills, though I suspect most of that came from the bright idea that cost us a training dummy, rather than the miniscule gains from battling in the Void Arena. Take that as a worthwhile, if expensive lesson. Novel skill usage and experiences are worth far more than any rote repetition.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t my Self-Motivated quest also involve the Void Arena?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°It did, but not directly.¡± ZEKE explained. ¡°Combat skills grow slowly in the arena because there is little real risk or stress. You can always try again. Your questing power had a time limit, other restrictions and was set outside your control all of which reintroduced the prospect of failure.¡± ¡°In general, there are three main factors that influence how you accrue progress towards your classes and skills.¡± Elena said, continuing ZEKE¡¯s line of thought. ¡°Stress, difficulty and novelty. Trying a different way of throwing a weapon at a safe target is not stressful or difficult, but it is new. Fighting an opponent that is far below your strength will earn you little to nothing, unless you need to take them alive, or defeat them very quickly under a time pressure. Mining a stone wall might be something you¡¯ve done a thousand times, but you will progress faster if you are trapped and running out of air.¡± Alarion mulled their words briefly, before asking the obvious. ¡°Can¡¯t you-¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ZEKE cut in, before Alarion could even finish the question. He exchanged an annoyed glance with Elena, whose mood brightened ever so slightly at the exchange. ¡°Whatever fanciful idea you¡¯ve floating in your mind, it may work. There are awakened who have trained their bodies in volcanos, or those who hunt only the most bizarre and dangerous creatures to further their paths.¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t to say you can game the System.¡± Sierra said, somewhat timidly interjecting her voice into the conversation. ¡°Tying up a loved one and ¡®defending them¡¯ will not fool it into granting you power. I have heard it said that the System is beloved of the Four Mothers, for it holds a fragment of each, but that Lal Viren, She Who Knows Challenges, gave the greatest piece of herself.¡± Alarion nodded, and seemingly satisfied, the young man turned his attention back to his status where ZEKE had projected the first of Alarion¡¯s skills:
Stealth [Common](Level 2) Description: You have gained the most basic of proficiency of Stealth that is worthy of recognition. A long road to true mastery lies before you, but your new skills may yet help you carve your way to those unseen heights. Requirements: None Type: Passive Effects: Gain a slight decrease in visibility when attempting to hide. Gain a slight decrease in audibility when attempting to move silently. Slightly decrease the awareness of others when attempting to go unnoticed in social situations. Growths: PER +2. AGI +2.
¡°So, Alarion. What can you tell me about this skill?¡± ZEKE asked. ¡°Besides the fact that the description is almost identical to my new Mastery skill?¡± Alarion inquired, before adding, ¡°the system is lazy.¡± ¡°Yes. Beside that.¡± ZEKE replied in a tone so dry it could have soaked up an ocean. ¡°It has a common rarity, which seems to be the lowest. The best I have is rare, but I¡¯ve also seen uncommon and exceptional. It is level 2 out of at least 5. Probably more, since I doubt my Detection skill is almost at the maximum.¡± Alarion pondered briefly, then added. ¡°The growths at the bottom show what bonuses I get when it levels up. They¡¯re more or less the same as my other general skills, just varying in type. But they are a lot lower than my class skill.¡± ZEKE said nothing. Instead the Steelborn crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned back slightly on his heels, studying Alarion as intensely as the young man had studied the status screen. ¡°What?¡± Alarion asked after the silence had become awkward. Elena was giving him a similar look, though hers was tinged with that same lingering smile, a joke at ZEKE¡¯s expense. ¡°Have you been tutoring him?¡± ZEKE asked Elena. ¡°I have not.¡± The machine man looked to Sierra, then thought better of the very idea given the fraught relationship between her and his pupil. With no other ready excuse, his emerald lenses turned back to Alarion. ¡°I¡¯m stubborn. Not stupid.¡± The youth replied to the unspoken implication. ¡°And I¡¯ve had plenty of time to review my own status.¡± ¡°Fair enough.¡± ZEKE conceded with open palms. ¡°I had an entire lesson to go over each of your skills, but that seems moot. Stealth helps you sneak. Detection helps you spot and hear the hiding or the unseen. You are familiar with the effects of your masteries?¡± Alarion thought about it, then asked. ¡°Do they always give you¡­ knowledge?¡± ¡°Hmm? Ah. Yes!¡± ZEKE affirmed. ¡°Most active skills will impart a basic understanding the moment you first attempt to use them. Mastery skills typically fill in the gaps in the user¡¯s knowledge and skill base in addition to the mechanical benefits. Normally this isn¡¯t all that noticeable, to get a mastery skill you have to have achieved enough proficiency that it is just cleaning up the edges of technique. Getting it from an imbuement item sounds unpleasant.¡± Alarion¡¯s brows knitted together. ¡°It didn¡¯t feel that bad?¡± ¡°He meant for a normal awakened. Remember, your aptitude is absurdly high, allowing you to process all the information quite readily.¡± Elena explained. ¡°If I were to use an imbuement item I would have a headache for hours or days. I am told Steelborn have to enter a defensive shut down mode for months in order to use an imbuement book for a skill. A class book might kill them outright.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve covered your questing power extensively.¡± ZEKE said, returning them to the topic at hand, rather than his own shortcomings. ¡°Which just leaves us with the details before your skill selection. First off, you are correct. Like classes and enchanted items, skills also have an associated rarity. In ascending order these are: Common, Uncommon, Exceptional, Rare, Epic, Ancient, Legendary, Mythic, Enigmatic and Unique. As you can tell by the strength of your existing skills, common rarity skills provide minimal benefits, both in terms of their direct effects and in terms of their growths, when compared to skills of higher rarity.¡± ¡°They also tend to be worse than equivalent class skills,¡± Sierra spoke up, earning her a glance from ZEKE, before the latter nodded for her to proceed. ¡°You and I both have a stealth skill, but mine is a class skill called Shadowdance. It does everything yours does, while also giving me a powerful bonus when hiding in shadows. Even when yours grows to uncommon, it will pale in comparison to mine.¡± Rather than take the bait, Alarion replied with a question. ¡°Then I just need my detection to become exceptional. Right?¡± ¡°Self-improvement for its own sake is always an admirable goal.¡± ZEKE interjected before the back and forth could morph from banter to bickering. ¡°But we still have much more in this lesson.¡± Chapter Sixteen ¡°How do skills grow in rarity?¡± Alarion asked, the question directed at ZEKE even though his stare was still evenly matched against Sierra¡¯s. ¡°It varies.¡± ZEKE admitted as he paced. ¡°For general skills the easiest way is simply to max out their progress at the current rarity. A common detection skill will advance to an uncommon detection skill if you fill its progress when it is already 10th level. Beyond that you can advance an existing skill by taking it as a class skill, which will typically bump up its rarity and effects. Sometimes you will see a rarity increase if skills merge, or if you develop them into an earned skill.¡± ¡°An earned skill?¡± Alarion glanced back to his floating status to see if he¡¯d overlooked something, then frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t see a category for those.¡± ¡°You will not until you have earned one.¡± Sierra explained with just the slightest hint of self-satisfaction. ¡°They¡¯re beyond the scope of this discussion.¡± ZEKE replied, before attempting to mollify Alarion¡¯s clear annoyance with a brief summary. ¡°Imagine them as much more specialized general skills, for now.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion grunted, nonplussed. ¡°What about Class skills?¡± ¡°Those are harder to advance. Typically you need to max out your progress on the skill in question, and then have an epiphany about the skill.¡± ZEKE explained. ¡°An epiphany?¡± ¡°Like with your trick with the Shifting Imperial Greatsword.¡± Elena clarified. ¡°You need to push the edge of what the skill is capable of. To try to expand the boundaries of the function the system has imparted onto it in order to make it do something new.¡± ¡°That sounds difficult.¡± Alarion frowned. ¡°It is, but we will cross that bridge when we arrive. The last major omission in your knowledge is that of Rank.¡± The Steelborn continued onto his original focus. ¡°For that, we need to speak briefly on the subject of classes.¡± ZEKE gestured and the projection of Alarion¡¯s status shifted once again to display both of his classes.
Survivor [Common](Rank I) Description: Survival in grueling circumstances can be a challenge. The survivor rises to that challenge like few others, imparting lifesaving skills and endurance. Requirements: None. Growths - STR ¨C +4 ¨C 50% | AGI ¨C +4 - 50% | VIT - +4 - 70% | INT ¨C +4 - 30% | WIL ¨C +4 - 50% | PER ¨C +4 - 50% Note: Due to the flaw [Single-Minded] this Rank Up was automatically selected.
¡ª
Orphan [Rare](Rank II) Description: Survival in grueling circumstances can be a challenge. Survival as a child, alone, is nothing short of a miracle. Or dumb luck. Requirements: Level 1 Survivor Class. Age 13 or below. Aptitude of 150% or higher. No verbal or physical contact with any adults for a minimum of fifteen days. Growths - STR ¨C +5 ¨C 40% | AGI ¨C +5 - 40% | VIT - +5 - 40% | INT ¨C +5 - 40% | WIL ¨C +5 - 40% | PER ¨C +5 - 40% | LUK ¨C +64 ¨C 80% Note: Due to the flaw [Single Minded] this Rank Up was automatically applied.
¡°As an Awakened, class choice is one of the single most impactful decisions you will ever make.¡± ZEKE began, careful not to draw attention to the note at the bottom of each class summary. ¡°While there is no known limit to the amount of classes a person can have, there are very practical concerns about taking bad classes. If you have two martial combat classes that both specialize in sword usage, you will split your progress between them any time you fight with a sword and crucially, the split progress will be less than the sum of its parts.¡± ¡°A trap class choice, like your Survivor class, could cripple someone with less potential.¡± Elena added. ¡°There are ways to remove a class to prevent it from wasting valuable experience, but they are expensive and invasive so it is best to avoid it all together. In general, a class with no requirements like that is a complete dead end, offered by the system solely as a method of survival for the truly desperate. That you fumbled into taking it without your knowledge, and to a meaningful Rank Up almost makes me wonder.¡± The Steelborn uttered a few arcane words, and a third projection appeared, this one displaying a class that was entirely foreign to Alarion.
Steelborn Sentinel [Exceptional](Rank I) Description: Patient and steadfast, to be a Steelborn Sentinel is to endure and to outlast. Uninterested in the decisive finish, a Steelborn Sentinel watches and waits for vulnerabilities, wearing down their opponent through the steady march of time. Requirements: Steelborn. POW 30. VIT 20. Growths - STR ¨C +6 ¨C 50% | AGI ¨C +6 ¨C 50% | VIT - +6 ¨C 60% | INT ¨C +6 - 40% | PER ¨C +6 ¨C 50% | WIL ¨C +6 ¨C 60%
¡°One of yours?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Quite astute young master. The name rather gives it away,¡± ZEKE replied as Alarion¡¯s cheeks took on a slight bit of color. ¡°As you can see, even a small jump from common to exceptional can provide a large overall boost. My class averages eighteen attributes per level before aptitude compared to twelve from your survivor class. If we¡¯d both progressed fully through our respective classes with similar aptitude, I would have roughly eighteen hundred to your twelve hundred, a massive gap in power.¡± Alarion reviewed the numbers, then turned his attention to Orphan and started counting. ¡°Rare is only one rank higher than exceptional. But the difference there is way higher. Is it¡­?¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°The benefit of Rank.¡± ZEKE confirmed. ¡°Which is most of the point of this detour. What do you know about rank?¡± This time, perhaps to his tutor¡¯s surprise, Alarion replied only with a shrug. ¡°The basics, then?¡± ZEKE asked. ¡°You remember the stem example?¡± Alarion paused, as though thinking on the matter. Then his hand dipped into a pocket to retrieve one of the few grapes he¡¯d stored away for snacking. ¡°Yes.¡± ZEKE set his pupil with a long, heavy stare before he continued. ¡°As you level up in your class and your skills, you will grow in power. These increases in skills, attributes and feats of strength, along with less tangible aspects tracked by the system, such as contact with others in case of your orphan class, will come together to meet the requirements of higher rank classes. Once you have met the requirements for a minimum of three alternate classes, you will receive your Rank Up notification, and be prompted with the offer to select one of the qualifying classes. If you refuse, then you will be offered the choice again, possibly with updated choices to reflect your growth, once every ten levels at what are known as milestones. The same levels in which you gain new skills. ¡°This is one of the dangers of overspecializing, or of taking weak classes and skills.¡± Sierra¡¯s interjection was more helpful than pithy this time. ¡°If you do not meet the requirements for at least three classes by the time you hit the maximum level in your class, you simply cannot Rank Up further. Even if you later somehow meet the requirements.¡± ¡°And ranking up will make me stronger?¡± Alarion surmised. "Somewhat." ZEKE explained. "You don''t gain a boost from the class itself, but instead a jump in the value of each new level. Attribute growths triple for each additional rank, while the overall rarity of class skills, and future classes, tends to increase over time. Lastly, class skills are considered to be the same rank as the class-line that granted them, meaning their stat growths also triple, while general skills are considered to be one level below your highest rank class. These bonuses are retroactive which can result in a considerable bump if someone has ridden out their class for all six skills.¡± The young man considered ZEKE¡¯s words. ¡°So... rank up as soon as I can?¡± ¡°Absolutely not.¡± The Steelborn replied with alarm. ¡°At the bare minimum you should almost always deny your first Rank Up. Waiting until a milestone gives you at least one more skill, and allows for the possibility of more than three Rank Up options. In an ideal world everyone would always want to wait until they''ve hit the maximum level in your class before Ranking Up.¡± ¡°Why don¡¯t they then?¡± ¡°Because we do not live in an ideal world.¡± Sierra explained, as though it were self-evident. ¡°A craftsman might take a year or more to advance from the fourth milestone to the final one, and in that time he¡¯d be making inferior creations that sell for less than he could be earning. Meanwhile soldiers often sacrifice their long-term potential for short-term growth simply to survive.¡± ¡°Or a Survivor might subconsciously advance to an Orphan for the survival benefits of a few dozen points of luck.¡± Elena added, pointedly. ¡°Did I cripple myself?¡± Alarion asked with a frown. ¡°Not with your Aptitude, no. And not given that you advanced into a fairly good Rank II class.¡± Elena smiled reassuringly. ¡°That you haven¡¯t progressed in it at all since your arrival makes me curious, but I have my suspicions about why that is.¡± ZEKE made a point of clearing his throat, despite having no mechanical need to do so. ¡°But that is a topic for another time. If we digress any further, I suspect things may get bloody.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± ZEKE said stiffly. ¡°Display Status reads your existing condition, but it isn¡¯t able to see potential upcoming skills or classes unless you personally review them. If you would be so kind, as to open your skill selection?¡± Alarion did as he was asked and after a short delay, the air around him was flooded with visuals depicting each of his offered skills.
Survivor¡¯s Endurance [Common] Description: Hardship breeds resilience. Having crept to the brink and somehow survived, you have a more solid grasp on your limits and how to endure hardship as a result. Requirements: Suffer from the condition [Hunger ¨C Starvation] at least once. Type: Passive Effects: Gain a minor increase to the effects of VIT for the purposes of resisting debilitating conditions (hunger, poison, exhaustion, etc.). If you have previously suffered from the most severe version of a condition and survived, this increases to a moderate bonus. Growths: VIT +12
¡ª
Survival of the Fittest [Uncommon] Description: Nature is not kind to those unfit to survive. You will not be either. Requirements: Kill five living creatures that are suffering from some form of debilitating condition. Type: Passive Effects: Gain a minor increase in damage against any foe suffering from a debilitating condition (hunger, poison, exhaustion, etc.). If your damage source exploits this condition, the bonus doubles. Growths: PER +6 STR +9.
¡ª
Hungry Eyes [Uncommon] Description: While others find their senses dulled by hunger, your intimate familiarity instead sharpens those senses to a razor focus in search of new prey to fill your aching belly. Requirements: Suffer from the condition [Hunger ¨C Starvation] at least once. Type: Passive/Active Effects: Gain a slight increase to PER when suffering from any level of the [Hunger] debilitating condition. This increase improves as the hunger condition worsens. Do not suffer any penalties to PER due to the [Hunger] condition. For a minor MP cost, the user can become aware of all edible creatures within 20 feet. Growths: PER +9. VIT +6.
¡ª
Share the Pain[Exceptional] Description: Deprivation leaves its mark. Even the most strong-willed or good natured find themselves asking ¡®why me, and not them¡¯. That question is no longer purely hypothetical. Requirements: Suffer from a minimum of ten different debilitating conditions. Type: Active. Effects: At a touch, for a minor MP cost, the user can share a reduced version of any debilitating condition they are currently suffering from. For a moderate MP cost, the user can share any debilitating condition they are currently suffering from, or two reduced versions of any debilitating condition they are currently suffering from. For a major MP cost up to two conditions can be shared at a distance of up to 100ft. Growths: INT +9. VIT +9.
¡ª
Dimensional Bindle [Exceptional] Description: When one has no home, the ability to store things is at a high premium. The ability to store them securely, outside the reach of thieves or violence, even moreso. Requirements: Homeless. No other storage power. Type: Passive/Storage Effects: For a moderate MP cost the user can open a circular dimensional aperture no more than 1 ft in diameter. This aperture leads to a dimensional space 2 cubic ft in size. Items stored in this dimensional space cannot be accessed by any other means, but can be retrieved by additional uses of this ability. Growths: STR +9. VIT +9.
As Alarion finished with the last descriptions, he noticed Sierra at the corner of his vision. The girl was looking intensely, not at the skill details, but at him. That gaze lingered as he turned his eyes her way, a sadness in those ice blue eyes as she offered him a wan smile, then looked away. Elena was the one to break the silence. ¡°There are certainly some options.¡± Chapter Seventeen ¡°I think we can safely discard Hungry Eyes?¡± ZEKE asked, to general affirmation from all present. Particularly Alarion. ¡°Unless we plan to starve him, it is a pointless skill, and it would be absurd to try and build his skill set around such a niche condition.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t that wipe away most of them?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°All but the last one have a focus on conditions.¡± ¡°True, but some are more flexible than others.¡± ZEKE explained. ¡°At first review I actually lean toward the endurance power. It is simple, yet deceptively strong for a starting skill. If we have a healer ready we could subject you to a number of serious-¡± ¡°Ezekial!¡± Elena scolded. ¡°He¡¯ll encounter poison in the wild eventually.¡± The Steelborn retorted without shame. ¡°A moderate resistance from such a low level skill is nothing to scoff at. What is the proverb? Faint heart never won fair lady?¡± ¡°He is a child, Ezekiel.¡± ¡°Pah.¡± ZEKE contested. ¡°Even without more invasive measures, [Survivor¡¯s Endurance] might be the best of the lot. [Survival of the Fittest] would have combined well with poison coated daggers but-¡± ¡°Ezekial seems to hold a grudge.¡± Sierra idly commented as the two adults bickered. ¡°He does.¡± Alarion laughed quietly. ¡°I think he is more comfortable being obeyed unquestioningly. Did he train you, too?¡± She shook her head. ¡°He offered me a number of useful pointers when I came here to serve, including his suggestion to adopt a stealth skill, but I was trained by my family before my Induction.¡± ¡°So serving Dar is your form of military service?¡± ¡°The Governor.¡± Sierra corrected as she bristled at his informality. ¡°Induction is not solely military. It is compulsory service, but it takes whatever form the state thinks is most appropriate. I served my first two years in fiend subjugation before I was plucked to serve as equerry to the Provisional Governor.¡± Alarion looked at her askew. ¡°But you¡¯re barely older than I am.¡± ¡°Induction begins as young as twelve for those who have met their class levels.¡± Sierra shrugged. ¡°You have to understand, you might see it as a punishment, but it is not. I trained from a young age for an early induction specifically so that I could get a head start on those who do not. There is risk, certainly, but with risk comes growth and opportunity.¡± ¡°We have narrowed it down.¡± Elena¡¯s voice cut back into the conversation before Alarion could reply. Two of the windows, those containing Hungry Eyes and Survival of the Fittest had been closed. ¡°Three is an easier number for you to pick from.¡± Alarion agreed. ZEKE crossed his arms as he gave Alarion a withering look. ¡°We¡¯re not going to pick for you. Choosing your own skills is an important step in your development.¡± ¡°But you¡¯ll take two away?¡± Alarion replied dryly. ¡°Not all options are created equal. Some are simply wasted potential. If you have a keen need to hone your senses by starving yourself, you may.¡± Elena retorted. ¡°But if you are done being contrary for its own sake, you have three real options.¡± ¡°Dimensional Bindle, Share the Pain, and Survivor¡¯s Endurance.¡± Alarion rattled the names each in turn. ¡°Utility, Offense and Defense.¡± ¡°That is a splendid way to think of the matter.¡± ZEKE agreed, a note of pride in his voice. ¡°The Dimensional power has a garish name.¡± Elena remarked. ¡°And it is somewhat limiting in its own way. As with your questing power, most storage powers are locked out by the system once you already have one. Getting one early is good, but this one is extremely limited in cost and scope. If you can successfully increase its rarity, it would be a great boon, but pushing the limits of a storage power is notoriously difficult.¡± ¡°Share the Pain seems less an offensive skill than a reaction one.¡± Sierra contested, adding her thoughts and voice to the conversation. ¡°Barring instances when he enters a fight with a condition already applied, it seems more about throwing the enemy¡¯s strength back in their face.¡± ZEKE shook his head. ¡°No, it is certainly offensive in nature. On its own the power is so niche as to be useless in the majority of encounters. It is only worth taking if he plans to aim for a complimentary power or item later on. If not, either of the alternatives are preferable.¡± ¡°True.¡± Sierra replied. ¡°What if he¡­¡± Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Alarion slowly tuned out of the conversation, his eyes focused steadfast on the skill descriptions before him. He read through each once more, careful to focus in on the nuances that he might have missed the first time. The fact that the distance on Share the Pain appeared to be fixed, rather than something that increased with level, or that Survivor¡¯s Endurance would be more powerful against any conditions that only had a single stage of severity. If such conditions existed. Ultimately though, the question was one of focus. What did he want to prioritize? And how much did he want this choice to shape his later ones. ZEKE had rightly pointed out that Share the Pain needed to be used with other skills or items. To get use out of it, Alarion would have to invest further resources toward it, which made the choice either wasteful or restrictive. Dimensional Bindle had a similar problem, though to a lesser extent. Should he throw away a good storage power now for the hope of a greater storage power in the future? Or should he embrace the opportunity as it presented itself and work to grow and mold the power into something that best suited him. And was it a good idea to even consider a non-combat power when he seemed destined for battle? Lastly, Survivor¡¯s Endurance gave him staying power that he currently lacked, but only when it came to debilitating conditions. If someone stabbed him, the power might mitigate the effect of a bleeding condition from the wound, but that wouldn¡¯t help him if the stab wound itself did him in. He would probably need to build up his VIT just to be able to endure the hypothetical training ZEKE had suggested. If his fights with the dragon had shown anything it was that¡­ ¡°Does it count the Void Arena?¡± Alarion abruptly asked. Lost in their own conversation, neither Elena nor ZEKE realized that Alarion was talking to them. Instead, it was Sierra who finally responded. ¡°Does what count?¡± ¡°Do the conditions I survive in the Void Arena count toward the secondary effect for [Survivor¡¯s Endurance].¡± Brought out of their own debate by Alarion¡¯s assertive question both Elena and ZEKE appeared momentarily perplexed. ZEKE was motionless, his head slightly canted, while Elena¡¯s brows knit together. They exchanged a look, and it was Elena that broke the silence. ¡°Would it?¡± ¡°I¡­ hmm.¡± Was ZEKE¡¯s reply. ¡°You receive notifications for them when you are in the Arena?¡± ¡°I do, yes.¡± Alarion confirmed. ¡°I don¡¯t see why it¡­ but¡­¡± The Steelborn began to pace, thumb and forefinger clinking off his chin as he tapped it over and over in thought. The uncertainty was enough for Alarion.
Would you like to select Survivor¡¯s Endurance? This choice cannot be reversed. Yes/No
Skill level increased. Survivor¡¯s Endurance is now Level 1. VIT+12.
Alarion probed the skill in his mind, hoping it might provide a detailed breakdown of things he was now especially resistant to instead of merely sort of resistant to. Sadly, his pressure only caused the skill¡¯s basic description to repeatedly pop up within his field of view. He¡¯d need to find out some other way. If the skill carried over his previous experiences, rather than starting fresh, then he¡¯d be resistant to hunger, but that wouldn¡¯t tell him what he urgently wanted to know. Burning and bleeding, he¡¯d been subjected to both of those in volume within the Arena. There were no open flames in the courtyard, but there was a bladed instrument ready at hand. And a healer at their beck and call. ZEKE was still pondering the metaphysical conundrum of conditions achieved in Void space when Alarion drew the Shifting Imperial Greatsword from his belt and raked the miniature razor down the exposed length of his forearm with a slight yelp. ¡°Alarion!¡± Elena immediately shouted, her eyes wide in horror. The young man only smiled, turning the bloody gash toward the silent Steelborn who wordlessly looked upon the wound. Blood trickled down toward Alarion¡¯s elbow, then spattered down onto the courtyard tiles. But not nearly enough of it.
New Condition! Bleeding ¨C Minor. [Survivor¡¯s Endurance] Has taken effect. The secondary effect of [Survivor¡¯s Endurance] has taken effect. [Bleeding ¨C Minor] has been resisted due to user¡¯s VIT score. Condition reduced to [Bleeding ¨C Slight] [Bleeding ¨C Slight] ¨C Lose 0.25% total HP per second.
¡°For The Mother¡¯s Sake.¡± Elena complained. With a gesture she sent Sierra to locate the healer, then quickly gathered up a small pile of the cloth napkins from their early meal and pressed them into Alarion¡¯s good hand. ¡°There were easier ways to test your theory. More sanitary ones as well.¡± ¡°None that were nearly as quick.¡± The young man retorted, wincing slightly as he put pressure on his wound. ¡°Aren''t we in more of a hurry now, due to politics?¡± The older woman scowled, in no mood for him to have a point, let alone a rebuttal. ¡°We¡¯ll have to revise the training.¡± ZEKE said, his voice almost gleeful at the prospect. ¡°Which will unfortunately require more of your time, Mistress Elena. I can already think of half a hundred possible-¡± ¡°He is still a child Ezekiel, that has not changed in the last few minutes. What you are talking about is torture.¡± ¡°Simulated torture, at worst. The Void Arena mutes the worst of the memories within hours," Retorted ZEKE. ¡°It will be as though it never happened, save for his newfound resistance.¡± ¡°But it will happen to him. The experience does still happen.¡± Elena was not sure if she were more perturbed at ZEKE¡¯s suggestions, or that Alarion¡¯s expressions showed he clearly sided with his mentor. ¡°You can not be serious.¡± Alarion did not answer immediately. Instead he lingered, eyes downcast as he searched for the best way to argue his point. ¡°Am I going to be sent somewhere safe? When I¡¯m Inducted, I mean.¡± ¡°It is not likely.¡± Elena replied, already sensing the through-line of his argument. ¡°Perhaps a handful of the most common threats would be warranted, but dozens? That is too much.¡± ¡°Would you leave power on the table? If you had the ability to grasp it.¡± Alarion asked her directly. ¡°If it meant being tortured? Even if I¡¯d block out the details? Yes!¡± A simple glimpse in Alarion¡¯s eyes was all it took to tell the fundamental difference between the two. She would exchange power for comfort. To someone who¡¯d lived a life of terror and starvation, power and comfort were one and the same. Week in Review! Hi folks! I''ve notice that a lot of authors here seem to do a catchup thread, and since it has been a full week since the release of Orphan, I thought it might be cool to do the same. If you aren''t interested in reading, that is cool, the next chapter is releasing within one (1) minute of this, so just click on through. Or... I guess if you''re a fast reader you can wait around here with me for a few seconds. ... Hmm. Oh I have all my fingers, the knife goes chop-chop-chop. If I miss the spaces in between my fingers will come off. And If I hit my fingers, blood will soon come out, but all the same we play this game cuz that''s what it''s all about. .... Okay, that should be enough. So anyways, some housekeeping. First off I''m going back and shouting out every story that was nice enough to shout me or help me out! This includes and is limited to: Run! Hero! - This one is criminally underrated and the author is a total sweetheart. You should visit and make their dream come true! Unhinged Fury - My fellow Rising Star who is probably a big part of the reason we hit RS as fast as we did. Tomebound - Who helped walk me through a bunch of the stuff on Royal Road that I didn''t understand. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. Gilgamesh - Who is a mad lad/laddie(?) who wrote nearly two full books before dropping them on Royal Road and shaming all of us lesser men. --- With that out of the way I wanted to reiterate what I have been saying in the bottom comments for days now. You guys are amazing. When I started working on this it was a passion project but I never actually expected to get any real traction. Imposter syndrome is real and I expected my girlfriend to be the only one to actually read what I wrote, and then only begrudgingly. Yet here we are. Each and every one of you is my personal hero. Except the three people since I originally drafted this last night who decided to all rating bomb my story. That was... less than ideal to wake up to. I expect very positive things for the week going forward. I''ve been plugging away all weekend to increase the size of the backlog to update Patreon, I''ve been working on some bonus chapters that aren''t quite cooked and I''m hoping that you''ll all stay with me for this journey to the top of Rising Stars and the months and years ahead while I finish what I hope will be a work I am proud to have my name on. If you have the time, the page is here. I won''t be harping on it too much going forward since you folks get it by now, but literally every single thing you can do helps when facing down the almighty computer god. A follow is great, a Favorite is better, a rating fantastic and a review outstanding. It is an investment of a few seconds of your time so that you have stuff to read for the next goodness knows how long. Finally, holy shit you guys are paying me actual money, what is wrong with you? The largesse of my fans has already paid back my spending on one of my ads. That is nuts! Know that the only reason I''m not shouting you out by name is because it is kind of weird to post a bunch of people''s legal names. I need like an acronym or some shit. And with that I return you to your regularly scheduled broadcast. Chapter Eighteen ¡°The boy is not well. Not stable.¡± Elena sighed. ¡°And you think to tell me this now.¡± Her husband replied with a shake of his head, his words booming off the stone walls of his cramped office. ¡°After the die has been cast, the move played. Now after weeks of training, you get cold feet and realize he is defective?¡± ¡°I did not say he was defective.¡± ¡°What else am I to take from your words?¡± Dar pressed. ¡°If you are so concerned, then speak plainly.¡± ¡°Mistress Elena is mistaken-¡± ZEKE¡¯s attempts to interject were shut down by a quick, snarled response from the Governor. ¡°I did not give you leave to speak. You will speak when asked, or not at all.¡± ¡°Dar.¡± Elena chided her husband¡¯s tone, though only just. His mood was bad enough without pressing him on his behavior toward Ezekiel. Instead she turned her attention to an incantation. The artificial lights in the rooms corners flickered as though flames caught in a gale wind, ambient reality and magic both twisting and distorting until the magic snapped back into place. Her arcane workings had produced a nearly two foot wide orb of inken darkness. The orb swirled and shifted, then resolved itself into a monochrome depiction of the courtyard. One figure danced there, dark steel singing through preordained patterns. A lunging thrust toward the ankle that pivoted into vertical block, directly into a shoulder charge. A horizontal cut into a pommel strike and a brutal front kick before the momentum reversed for an upward slash. Alarion pummeled the empty air through half a dozen complicated routines, then reset to the center of the courtyard, and began anew. ¡°He has been at it for sixteen hours.¡± Elena explained. ¡°The first two he spends with the Ordinates in remedial education. The next two are in the Void Arena where he subjects himself to whatever new poison, disease or arcane affliction Ezekial has dug up from the archive, because we have long since run out of the most obvious ones. Then another four hours of sparring with Ezekial or your equerry-¡± ¡°How well does he do?¡± Dar interjected without looking up from the mesmerizing routine of violence. Elena glanced to ZEKE who seemed poised to respond. ¡°Well enough. They still have to hold back, obviously, but my understanding is that he is making steady progress. Ezekiel would be able to expand on your question.¡± Dar grunted in reply, gesturing to the arcane display. ¡°And this is his evening? Working endlessly through repetition of the Rite, until what? He gets tired?¡± ¡°Until he is utterly exhausted. Or until he completes his quest.¡± Elena corrected. ¡°The first few nights the goal was to correctly perform an error free first form, once. Then twice, then ten times. Most of those did not keep him up much later than dusk. Then he moved onto the second and so forth. He has been stuck on a full completion of the Rite for over a week now.¡± ¡°And that is your concern? That he has struck a plateau?¡± Dar asked, though one look at his wife¡¯s face told him he¡¯d missed the mark. ¡°Then your concern is what? That he remains stubborn? Was it not you who told me this was his flaw?¡± ¡°No!¡± Elena protested. ¡°But also yes. That single-mindedness rises above the level of a mere flaw. He willingly subjected himself to abuse to train his skill, that should be proof enough of my concern. But beyond that, there is an¡­ emptiness to him, I do not know how to explain it. He has been here for six weeks, and I know him no better than when we arrived. He pursues his education with zeal I have never seen, but if you were to ask him, I am not sure he could tell you why. He is frightened at the idea of abandonment, and I worry he is driving himself to insane lengths to stave off that fear. There is something about him that is fundamentally broken and must be addressed before it festers.¡± Dar sighed. Reluctantly he turned his attention to the Steelborn. ¡°You disagree?¡± Ezekiel said nothing. This time the sigh was deeper. ¡°You may speak.¡± ¡°Most gracious, my Lord governor.¡± The Steelborn replied without a hint of rebuke in his tone or posture. ¡°I respectfully dissent from Mistress Elena¡¯s views. The boy is not broken, he is a savant. A naturally gifted Awakened.¡± ¡°He has an aptitude of two hundred and thirty eight.¡± The governor replied dryly. ¡°Did you think my wife somehow unaware of this fact?¡± You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°My apologies. I am being misunderstood.¡± Ezekiel replied diplomatically. ¡°His aptitude is not the gift I am speaking of.¡± ¡°Will one of you speak plainly?¡± ¡°Again, Apologies. Consider how the boy was found.¡± Ezekiel proposed. Dar thought back to a report he¡¯d read weeks earlier. ¡°He assaulted some scavengers.¡± ¡°He killed one of the scavengers.¡± The Steelborn corrected. ¡°He was provoked by their entry into his territory, but even then not many are willing to jump so immediately to violence. I saw similar behavior when I confronted him on arrival. Or when he faced your wife¡¯s fictitious dragon. He does not necessarily seek violence, but when it arrives he¡¯s willing to escalate instantly in a way that would put even a seasoned soldier to shame.¡± Dar glanced at Elena with a frown. ¡°And you say that she is wrong? What you are describing sounds like a matter for serious concern.¡± ¡°It is only the most base level of it.¡± Ezekiel explained. ¡°Consider how he took to the sword so readily. I have served the House of Hunger for centuries, and no pupil has ever adopted a weapon so quic-¡± ¡°His aptitude is absurdly high.¡± Dar cut in to remind him. ¡°Aptitude enhances retention of ability. It does not give innate ability. Alarion was able to strike two wounding blows on a foe far superior to him with a weapon he had barely learned to lift, let alone properly wield. Most would struggle to swing the weapon at all.¡± The governor cocked his head. ¡°I thought the dragon was tailored to the boy.¡± ¡°That is what we told him.¡± Elena replied. ¡°Which it was, technically. But as his classes are a bottom tier survivor class, and an odd luck advancement, it drastically outclassed him in pure physicality.¡± ¡°It was supposed to dissuade him from adopting an improper style by proving far too difficult. Present him with a bad match up, then give him the solution we wanted him to take in the first place. Neither of us imagined him defeating it.¡± Ezekiel explained. ¡°And it goes beyond pure physicality. He discovered an inventive method to use the weapon gifted to him by his questing power, and saw a Skill Circuit with his survival power that I had never even conceived of. He is gifted beyond his mere Aptitude.¡± ¡°So you think he is ill in the mind.¡± Dar gestured first to his wife, then to Ezekiel. ¡°And you think he is gifted.¡± ¡°The two are not exclusive.¡± Ezekiel lifted a hand to forestall the governor¡¯s clear irritation as he clarified. ¡°Broadly, yes. There is some reflection of his trauma, I am sure, but I believe this is his nature. Those with very high Aptitude have a known penchant for... oddity.¡± ¡°Thank you for the clarification.¡± Dar¡¯s tone conveyed anything but gratitude. ¡°Wife, what would you suggest?¡± ¡°That we give him time. Mandate that he pause, catch his breath. Perhaps we could bring him under observation¡­¡± Elena trailed off as Ezekiel shook his head beside her. ¡°Something you wish to add.¡± ¡°Your idea is flawed. He will n-¡± ¡°That metal skull of yours is flawed.¡± Elena shot back hastily. ¡°He needs to recover.¡± ¡°And we have no time to let him.¡± Dar interjected before the argument could continue. ¡°Even if your tactic was best, and I suspect your tin man seems to have a better sense of the boy than you do, we do not have the time to give him leave. I received word this morning that a Magistrate has been appointed, meaning that a Demand for Cause will not be far behind.¡± Elena winced. ¡°So soon?¡± ¡°We knew this would be a risk.¡± The governor replied with a conviction he did not feel. ¡°Our timeline is measured in months, not a year or more as we might have hoped. We cannot afford to have the boy stand idle, even to his benefit.¡± ¡°We also cannot afford for him to burn out entirely.¡± Came her retort. ¡°If I may.¡± Two sets of angry eyes turned toward a metal man who pushed through his argument unperturbed. ¡°A compromise. An opportunity to put my thesis to the test. Escalate his training, send him for a Subjugation.¡± ¡°Ezekiel.¡± Came Elena¡¯s all too common refrain, her voice dripping with dismay. ¡°You realize he is of even less use dead.¡± Dar observed, reading the expressionless face before he added, ¡°You intend to send Sierra to accompany him?¡± ¡°She can practice her stealth, and stay out of his way.¡± The Steelborn confirmed. ¡°A social voice to keep him grounded and to warn him away from the truly dangerous parts of the isle. If he succeeds it will drastically move up our timetable. He is already on the cusp of a combat class, so an epiphany cannot be far away. Days of combat will save weeks of drilling, and he¡¯ll arguably have more time to relax and reflect.¡± ¡°Between bouts of fighting for his life.¡± Elena scowled. She could already see the way the wind was blowing from a quick look at her husband¡¯s face. Instead of fighting an inevitable decision, she bartered for a lesser loss. ¡°Two weeks and five healing potions.¡± ¡°Three weeks and two potions.¡± ¡°Three potions, and an Escape Icon keyed to the manor.¡± ¡°Done. Though he keeps control of the Icon.¡± When Elena¡¯s face showed a mark of confusion, Ezekiel quickly explained. ¡°If you give it to Mistress Sierra, she is like to pull him out sooner than he would agree to.¡± ¡°How nice to see true compromise between those who are not responsible for the decision.¡± Dar quipped to the chagrin of both. ¡°You are willing to bear the brunt of the blame if this plan of yours goes awry.¡± Ezekiel regarded the Governor steadily for several moments, before he uttered a firm ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Then it is done. See the quartermaster for your needs.¡± Dar said with a dismissive wave. As the two turned to leave, the burly man added, ¡°Machine.¡± Ezekiel stopped, though he took longer than was fully proper to turn to address the Governor. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°My warning felt too vague. Allow me to be more clear.¡± Dar rose to his feet, looming over Ezekiel, even at a short distance. ¡°If this plan of yours goes awry, you can expect to be dismantled.¡± Ezekiel¡¯s only outward reaction was a slight incline of the head, neither bow, nor nod. Mere acknowledgement. ¡°Just so. I would expect nothing less.¡± Chapter Nineteen ¡°Why do they call it Subjugation?¡± Alarion asked, the tips of his fingers dragging slightly in the warm swells of the early morning sea. The menial tasked with rowing them to the nearby Forest Isle had rightly ignored the question, as he had the half dozen previous inquiries that had jumped to Alarion¡¯s mind during their short voyage. As the only other occupant of the boat, Sierra was not so lucky. ¡°Why would they not?¡± She asked after briefly considering the question. ¡°What do the Ashadi call it.¡± Alarion considered for a moment as he wracked his mind for the best comparable word. ¡°¡­Hunting?¡± ¡°Hunting?¡± Sierra scoffed. ¡°Of fiends? Alarion, what do you know about fiends.¡± ¡°To avoid them.¡± He replied honestly. ¡°One family I¡­ stayed with had a large and successful farm. Then one day the groundwater came up black from the well, and the whole family moved overnight. They didn¡¯t tell us what happened. They didn¡¯t even take the time to¡­¡± ¡°To release you.¡± Sierra finished his unspoken thought as Alarion suddenly took renewed interest in seawater lapping at the boat¡¯s side. She visibly bristled at the subject, but decided to stay on topic. ¡°They were wise to flee. Do you know how a fiend is different from a regular monster?¡± Alarion pondered, thinking back to his conversations with ZEKE. ¡°Some monsters descended from people. Fiends didn¡¯t?¡± ¡°No, they did not.¡± She agreed. ¡°But the main difference is in their drive. Monsters do all sorts of things. Some hide away, others will defend their lairs or even seek out others to attack and consume. Fiends exist only to kill and reclaim. They do nothing else.¡± ¡°Reclaim?¡± Alarion frowned at the word. It sounded unpleasant. ¡°A fiend infestation starts as a boil,¡± She explained. ¡°A sickness in the world, like pus from an infected wound. It poisons the soil and the water for a league or more in every direction as it spreads. Then eventually it bursts at the center and starts producing fiends. In ones and twos, then tens and twenties. These fiends have only two goals. First they kill everything they see. Second, any body larger than an insect and smaller than a dog, they will drag back to the boil, to feed it and produce more of their kind.¡± ¡°Which just means they can kill and reclaim even more.¡± Alarion murmured, instantly seeing the problem. ¡°What happens to the people they kill?¡± ¡°Larger game, particularly humans, are reclaimed in a different way.¡± Sierra continued, disgust clear on her face. ¡°The weak are infested by the boil, reanimated as its shambling legions. Weaker than the fiends, but able to drastically bolster their numbers. The strong, humans with Class levels, intelligent Systemborn and others are instead brought back as Revenants, leaders of the fiends and reanimated alike.¡± ¡°They need corpses to lead them?¡± Alarion asked with some confusion. ¡°Revenants are not just corpses. I have never seen one, but I have been told they are as lifelike as you or I. Just¡­ changed.¡± ¡°So the fiends themselves are not very smart?¡± He pressed the subject. ¡°Cunning. But not smart,¡± Sierra replied. ¡°Individual fiends vary wildly. A starved boil will produce fiends so weak and clumsy that even you can fight them, but as they get stronger that can change. Some will always be brutes, others skilled ambush predators or swarm combatants. My father once explained it as the difference between tactics and strategy. Fiends can win a battle, Revenants a war.¡± ¡°Subjugation.¡± Alarion repeated, his mind drifting the conversation into a full circle. ¡°Not hunting.¡± Sierra smiled. ¡°You get it. If a boil is caught early it can be brought low by a handful of awakened. Perhaps even a cadre of unawakened if they are incredibly swift. Once it begins to develop, a boil can be a sort of nation unto itself. Such a challenge does not require hunters, but a well constructed and organized response. Overwhelming force. Subjugation.¡± ¡°If you¡¯re about done with your lesson.¡± The middle aged laborer interjected as he gestured to the island some hundred feet away. ¡°This is as close as I¡¯ll be taking you.¡± ¡°You were instructed to take us to the island.¡± Sierra protested. ¡°And I have. There is the island.¡± The man replied. He pointed again, this time with one of the oars. ¡°I am not beaching myself on an island full of fiends because you are too good to wade through the shallows.¡± Sierra opened her mouth to protest when Alarion stood awkwardly beside her. The young man took care not to disrupt the precarious balance of the small boat as he collected his small satchel of belongings, hung it from the tip of his greatsword, and stepped off into thigh high seawater. ¡°We should get going.¡± He declared, holding the boat steady with an elbow as he offered his free hand to her. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. With a reluctant and undignified grumble, Sierra took the offered hand. She slid from the boat into the water beside Alarion and the two began the long trudging march toward the beach. ¡°Should we be quieter?¡± Alarion asked, though even their awkward sloshing was largely masked by the lap of noontide waves. Sierra shook her head. ¡°They will know we are here already, but the fiends on this island are weak. Malnourished and disorganized. They have long since killed anything worth consuming and have withdrawn their best back to the boil and the surrounding nodes. The ones outside will attack an obvious target, but they will not waste energy trying to hunt down a strange noise.¡± ¡°This boil isn¡¯t new?¡± Alarion asked, before he realized how inane the question was. They¡¯d steered far clear of the island on their approach weeks earlier, and he¡¯d seen things moving in the trees even then. ¡°Why don¡¯t they leave?¡± Sierra dipped her hand into the water as they walked, scooping up a palm full and letting it trickle out between her fingers. ¡°Salt water.¡± Alarion gave her a look. ¡°I am serious!¡± She protested against his clear skepticism. ¡°No one knows why, but they will not cross salt water. Some think it purges the infection, others have talked about sympathetic ties to the boil being disrupted. Whatever the reason, they can not or will not. It has kept Vitria safe for generations and halted the Eisborne Calamity.¡± ¡°So you just¡­ keep them here?¡± ¡°Technically, you did.¡± Sierra pointed out, clarifying as she saw his befuddled expression. ¡°The Trinity Isles belonged to an Ashadi noble house until very recently, and the boil here is positively ancient. Nearly as old as the manor, I¡¯m told. If not older.¡± Alarion splashed the last few steps up onto shore, then turned back as he asked the next obvious question. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Us? Or them.¡± Sierra replied. ¡°Both?¡± ¡°We keep them for this exact situation.¡± Sierra gestured at his oversized sword. ¡°Islands like this are a rare opportunity. Left to starvation, they give the scions of wealthy or powerful families a place to test their mettle in real combat on demand. If properly fed, they can even be a place for the powerful to hone their skills.¡± ¡°That sounds a lot like a game preserve.¡± Alarion mused. ¡°Like the sort of place one might hunt.¡± Sierra barked a genuine laugh at having the conversation turned back on her. ¡°Fair. A good point. Think of this more an exception to the rule. They do not need to be subjugated if they are trapped.¡± ¡°And well fed.¡± Alarion scowled. ¡°Why did the Ashadi keep it?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± Sierra asked. She¡¯d been busying herself in an attempt to dry her soaked lower body with her bundled up cloak, the other half of his question forgotten. ¡°I am not sure. I do not know that anyone is. They could have been using it for the same, but there are¡­ rumors.¡± Alarion raised an eyebrow. ¡°Nothing of substance.¡± Sierra explained. ¡°Stories about laboratories in the manor house when it was first taken. Or odd religious or cultural icons. Just gossip among the long-term staff.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Picking up on his less than enthusiastic response, Sierra turned the conversation. ¡°Before we continue on, what are the three rules?¡± Alarion sighed. ¡°Do not pass the guide stones. Do not start a fire.¡± ¡°And?¡± Alarion gave her a look. ¡°I need to hear you say it.¡± She persisted. ¡°Listen to Sierra if she gives you an order.¡± Alarion reluctantly replied. ¡°And only if she gives you an order.¡± ¡°You added that last part in.¡± The girl scowled. ¡°Why are these important?¡± ¡°The guide stones are at a mile ring around the north of the island, warning of the boil''s location. If I cross past them I run the risk of fighting fiends that are beyond my ability to defeat. And being heavily injured or dying.¡± She nodded. ¡°That is one.¡± ¡°If I set the island on fire, either by accident or on purpose, it might cover the whole island and ruin it as a training ground. And also, we may die in the fire.¡± ¡°And?¡± Sierra pressed. ¡°I have no idea why the third rule was put in place.¡± Sierra gave him a look. Alarion sighed, his voice and cadence shifting slightly to mimic Elena. ¡°Sierra is far more experienced and less stubborn. If she thinks an idea is bad enough to give you an order, then she is correct.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Sierra said with a smile that was too sweet by half. ¡°That all said, I am to follow your lead and stay out of the way unless you are at risk of being killed. So, which way?¡± Alarion considered the question, casting his eyes up and down the beach in turn. ¡°I don¡¯t see any footprints, and they didn¡¯t come out to meet us. They don¡¯t come onto the beach?¡± ¡°They can, though mostly at night.¡± Sierra replied, clearing up his misconceptions. ¡°The salt water does not hurt them, if that is what you are thinking. It is just that the tree line offers them cover, shade and places to hide. They¡¯ll follow us out if provoked, or attack us at night if we look vulnerable.¡± ¡°No real chance of fighting them in the open then.¡± Alarion frowned as he scanned the tree line and set out for the nearest available pathway further inland. From their boat the greenery of the island had seemed an almost impenetrable wall. Up close, the gaps were more substantial, particularly once they breached the initial canopy. The trees of the island were tall and slender, white barked and topped with green, but nearly devoid of lower branches to impede the two as they walked. They grew in unusual groupings, thickets of five to ten trees bunched close to one another, their roots intertwined. Between each group there were gaps where other lesser foliage grew, areas through which Alarion and Sierra could easily pass, albeit in an odd switchback pattern, never in a straight line. ¡°This doesn¡¯t feel natural.¡± He remarked after a few minutes of their odd side to side progression through the wilderness. ¡°I was thinking the same.¡± Sierra confessed. ¡°There are small signs of infestation in the foliage, but nothing so bad that it would cause this odd pattern. Maybe they were planted this way?¡± ¡°The trees are sick?¡± Alarion asked with a measure of surprise. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking-¡± ¡°You have to look down.¡± Sierra explained, gesturing to the roots of a nearby copse of trees. ¡°See the thin lines of black in the roots?¡± He didn¡¯t at first, but that didn¡¯t stop Alarion from nodding along until they drew closer and she was able to trace one with a gloved fingertip. ¡°This far out the blight is weak, because the boil is starved. Closer in you will see what it does to the surrounding foliage when it impacts it in earnest. A good rule of thumb is that blight infection will always be worst closest to the gro-¡± The snap of a downed branch brought Sierra up short and sent Alarion whirling to face its source. Too far away to be either of them, it echoed off the otherwise silent forest. No. Not echoed. It was louder the second time. It repeated. Something was getting closer. Chapter Twenty ¡°Just stay behind¡­¡± Alarion began only to trail off as a quick glance caught no sign of Sierra lingering at his back where she¡¯d been only a moment earlier. ¡°¡­ me.¡± He narrowed his eyes, focusing on likely hiding spots, on deep shadows or nearby obstacles. She was there, he knew. No doubt quite close, possibly in plain sight. None of his training over the previous weeks had focused on his [Detection] skill, while Alarion knew full well that Sierra trained her Shadowdance skill at every opportunity. Her ability to hide had long outstripped his ability to seek. He didn¡¯t like it. Snap. He didn¡¯t much like that noise either, truth told. With Sierra safely hidden and the presumed fiend steadily approaching, Alarion turned back to the more pressing matter of picking his battlefield. Fighting in a forest with a weapon the size of an Imperial Greatsword was less than ideal, a flaw ZEKE had made certain to note. At length. Enclosed spaces were such a critical weakness that two of the seven forms that made up the Eleventh Rite were dedicated to patterns that mitigated that flaw, mostly in the form of thrusting or purely vertical strikes. Even so, the best tactic that ZEKE had drilled into him was to not fight in those circumstances at all. Retreating to the beach was out of the question, judging by the increasing speed and volume of the foliage cracking ahead of him, but withdrawing to a more open position was not. Alarion fell back, trusting Sierra to follow along with him as he zigzagged backward through the neatly packed trees until he found an area that would accommodate his needs. Wide enough that he could comfortably swing on a diagonal, or even a horizontal if he was careful with his footwork. Satisfied with his positioning, Alarion set aside the small pack of water, food, bedding supplies and other essentials he¡¯d been given. He plucked a single thin crimson vial from an inner pouch and stored it in a buttoned sheath on the bracer that covered his left arm, next to two throwing daggers and his Shifting Imperial Greatsword. Easy enough to access in a pinch, and less likely to break or be lost in a scuffle. He stretched as the noise intensified, rolling his shoulders, whirling the blade in a lazy arc to let his arms remember the weight of it. Then he waited. And waited. ¡°Come on.¡± Alarion murmured. His fingers tapped a steady drum beat to match the scratching steps of a creature he could only see glimpses of between the gaps in the trees. It wouldn¡¯t be long now. A snuffling snarl reverberated off the greenery as the thing, at last, caught sight of him. Its haphazard search, driven by scent and sound, drew instantly into focus as it weaved through and between the plant life in a mad dash to reach Alarion. Wood splintered, and Alarion could see long gashes open where the fiend single-mindedly tore its own flesh along cracked wood in its expediency to reach him. He¡¯d not known what to expect. But somehow this was not it. The creature was tall and thin, nearly two feet taller than Alarion while remaining roughly as wide. Its arms and legs were bone thin, its ribs individually protruding from flesh so taut over bone that it appeared as though it were ready to tear. A long, segmented tail, tipped with a wicked barb whipped back and forth behind the terror as it charged on all fours despite its humanlike physique. Most uncomfortable was the skin. Wet and glistening, its coloration varied between the pink of a newly formed scar, the deep red of an open wound, and the white of exposed bone. As though it were a creature composed of nothing but damaged or half-healed tissue, one where it was difficult to tell which was which. That moment of shock and deep, visceral disgust was enough to give the fiend the advantage. At ten feet it pounced, lashing out with a front claw in a blow only narrowly parried by the sheer bulk of Alarion¡¯s weapon. Its leap carried it past him and to the side, where it skidded to a stop. The fiend¡¯s eyes were fire, two pinpricks of glowing orange amid a haze of dark red. They marked the horror as not entirely biological in substance. Its form was a mockery of nature, while a supernatural heart beat within it. A hinged jaw overtop a smaller inner mouth on an otherwise humanoid face added the final insult to its existence, with two massive hooked teeth visible at the corners of its screaming maw. Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Alarion slammed his sword down atop it, the moment his wits returned to him. Or he tried to, anyways. The fiend was no rumbling beast like the dragon Alarion had cut his teeth against. It would not sit and wait for a blow it could not endure. Not when it could slip so neatly to the side and rush into his open guard. But Alarion had learned greatly since those early battles. He had drilled night after night. He had sparred hour after hour. He knew the weaknesses of his weapon, how those weaknesses could be exploited, how to counter those exploits and how in turn his counters might be abused. This half bestial thing did not. The pommel of Alarion¡¯s sword slammed into the fiend¡¯s roaring face as it rushed him. Teeth shattered, its head whipped back and its attack was arrested before it had begun. The follow-up knee to its exposed midsection blew the air out of the fiend¡¯s lungs, and sent it staggering back into the final blow of the simple combination. A severed arm and six inches of the fiend¡¯s abdomen splattered a nearby tree with foul gore as the creature narrowly avoided full bisection by dint of sheer reflexes. It snarled, its outer jaw spread wide in a way that might have been intimidating were it not clearly on its last legs. Were Alarion not so distracted. How is it so weak? It had earned its one meaningful attack off the back of its horrific appearance, not its speed, strength or skill. It could hurt him if it reached him, the three shallow gouges in the flat of his greatsword could attest to the danger that steely claws and iron fangs possessed. But it was just so¡­ basic. As the creature scrambled back from Alarion¡¯s thrusts and sweeps, his understanding of it grew. As did his worry. Not at the nature of the thing, or the risk it posed. Quite the contrary. It fought without skill or technique, relying on pure instinct, on speed and strength and reaction time. It was ferocious, yet sloppy. Inelegant. Rudimentary. Alarion¡¯s horror grew as he realized the truth. ZEKE was right. He used to fight like a fiend! New revulsion welled up within Alarion as he stepped up his attack. An overhand slash to put the fiend on its back foot, a simple feint to give it the chance to change its fortune, a wicked bludgeoning with the flat of the blade and then¡­ The fiend¡¯s body slumped onto the lush undergrowth with a muted thump, followed shortly thereafter by the dull thud of its head impacting some distance away. And then there was silence. No chirping birds, no skittering animals. Even what wind reached the island was inevitably caught and dispersed closer to shore. Alarion was alone with his thoughts and the corpse of a thing that he had killed. ¡°Playing with your food is a bad habit.¡± Sierra¡¯s voice couldn¡¯t disguise her smile, any more than Alarion had been able to hide the sudden jump in his shoulders the moment she¡¯d broken the silence. ¡°Even if I can understand the desire to feel strong after weeks of ZEKE manhandling you.¡± ¡°He wasn¡¯t the only one.¡± Alarion remarked dryly. If anything, ZEKE was the kinder of his two tutors. The gap between the Steelborn and the Ashadi boy was so vast that ZEKE could have fought him blindfolded without risk. Sierra outclassed him, but it was a difference of levels, not ranks. If he hit her, she¡¯d feel it. So she didn¡¯t let him hit her. ¡°All in the service of your education.¡± Sierra smiled in a way that suggested it was anything but. ¡°Speaking of, I have a fact about fiends you might find interesting.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Mhmm! A practical lesson, even.¡± She pointed at the fiend¡¯s carcass. ¡°That one isn¡¯t dead.¡± At her last syllable, the woods erupted. The body sprung from the ground with tremendous speed. At the same time, Alarion did his best to intercept the headless monstrosity by bringing his blade up in a vertical block. The two collided and Vitrian steel crushed bone and cut flesh as the body forced its way further into Alarion¡¯s guard. It pushed the sword through its own flesh to get to him and used the jagged stump of its own severed spine as an impromptu horn to gouge into his midsection. The last ditch attack did not get far. It pierced fabric and skin, but barely for a second. Injured as it was, Alarion used his now superior strength to force the monster back a step. With the added distance came leverage, which allowed the greatsword to finish its cleave through the left side of the creature¡¯s body, splitting it in two from shoulder to groin. The two halves struck the ground with a discordant, meaty noise. There was silence. Then the one on the right, the largest part, began to squirm in an effort to renew the attack. It took three more swings until Alarion hit something solid in its abdomen. Only then did the nightmare end. You have slain a Malnourished Lesser Fiend ¨C UCL 20 ¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL. ¡°Not the cleanest kill I have ever-¡± Sierra cut her words short as Alarion abruptly leveled the edge of his viscera stained greatsword just below her neck. ¡°Don¡¯t do that again.¡± Alarion said coldly. ¡°Or what?¡± Sierra replied. She tipped her chin up, exposing more of her neck for emphasis as her eyes burned into his. ¡°Manage your temper, or I will manage it for you.¡± The two held their stare for only a few breaths, before Alarion set his jaw and lowered the weapon. ¡°Fine.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Sierra said without sarcasm. Despite her confidant tone, her left hand was almost white knuckled around the short sword at her hip. Alarion didn¡¯t respond. Instead he moved toward his nearby pack, keeping a cautious eye on the maimed body, and on Sierra, as he collected a small pad of sterile dressings from within. For half a minute he held them to the wound in his abdomen, soaking up the worst of the blood as he applied an impromptu wrapping. Satisfied, he gave her a look, picked a direction, and set off into the woods once again. Sierra watched him and gave a quiet sigh as she added, on his behalf, ¡°You¡¯re welcome.¡± Chapter Twenty-One ¡°So, what is a UCL?¡± Alarion asked as the pair wound their way further inland. ¡°Really?¡± He glanced back over his shoulder to see Sierra giving him an incredulous look. ¡°You don¡¯t know?¡± Her expression darkened further. ¡°Of course I know. But you can not be serious.¡± Confusion was all too evident on his face as the young man slowed his pace to focus on her. ¡°Ah. You are.¡± She scowled. ¡°First you threaten me. Then you stomp off ahead of me for ten minutes without a word of apology. And now you are asking questions as though none of that happened?¡± ¡°You told me to manage my anger.¡± Alarion responded with a frown. ¡°It took a while, but I¡¯ve managed it.¡± ¡°That was not-¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He interjected. ¡°I don¡¯t like being hurt.¡± Looking at his expression, Sierra knew that Alarion wasn¡¯t only talking about the flesh wound the fiend had inflicted. ¡°I knew you could handle it.¡± She replied. Though the words sounded hollow in her ears, they seemed to resonate with Alarion, his dark expression lightening ever so slightly. He tipped his head in acknowledgement, turned, and took the lead once more. Sierra quickened her pace, more comfortable closing the gap between them after his apology. ¡°Since I am sure you want an explanation, here it is, fiends have a core. Usually in the chest cavity. They will not die unless it is broken.¡± ¡°Why did it stop moving when I cut its head off?¡± Alarion asked, squinting through the tree-line in search of more fiends. ¡°They still have HP like you or I.¡± Sierra explained. ¡°Taking this one¡¯s head was enough to empty its entire HP pool, but running out of HP does not kill a fiend. They regenerate very quickly when below zero HP, enough to regain consciousness and rejoin the fight, then much more slowly after that. If you left it alone it would eventually regrow its entire body, though if it were anything other than the weakest type it would lose levels or even a rank to do so.¡± ¡°So focus on the chest.¡± She shook her head, then appeared to immediately reconsider the gesture. ¡°For most people, no. Breaking the core of a fiend you aren¡¯t dominating in combat is difficult. I can not do it in one strike. For most, it is easier to defeat the fiend traditionally and then deliver a coup de grace while it recovers. In a pitched battle, subjugation teams usually have one or more members on clearing duty. You, on the other hand, might have slightly better luck. Especially with these ones.¡± Of all the things Sierra could have said, those words alone seemed to mollify the worst of Alarion¡¯s ill temper. Small daggers chipping away at a target? No. Enormous sword pulverizing it in one hit? Yes. ¡°And UCL?¡± He asked, bringing their recent conversation full circle. ¡°Unified Class Level.¡± Sierra explained. ¡°It is a rough estimate of overall power provided by the system. An extremely rough estimate you should never rely on. What was the UCL on that fiend?¡± ¡°Twenty.¡± ¡°And you should have a UCL of ten, to put things in perspective.¡± She continued. ¡°At its most basic, for someone with a single class, UCL is purely additive. One per level in Rank I classes, three per level in Rank II, nine per level in Rank III and so forth. You have one level in your rank I class, and another three in a rank II, so yours would be ten.¡± ¡°So it was twice my level?¡± Alarion asked, his head tipped back to stare up at the canopy as he considered the implications. ¡°Even though it was so weak.¡± Sierra laughed. ¡°Which is why you should never use it as anything but the most rough estimate of strength. It does not account for the rarity of the classes involved, their skills, items, or even simple combat training.¡± ¡°What use is it, then?¡± He inquired. ¡°Well it factors heavily into how much experience you receive, which is fairly critical. Your UCL also limits the amounts of certain magical gear you can have equipped at any one time. Not that this matters to you for now.¡± Sierra shrugged. ¡°You can pin it to your general status as something to keep in mind. You would think it would be easy to keep track of, since it is simple addition, but that goes out the window once you have more than one class. It weighs additional classes as worth less, since even an awakened talented at many arts can only do so many things at a time. Likewise it will weigh crafting classes lower, which gets even stranger if you start to mix the two.¡± ¡°Keep number low, try to fight things with a higher number. But not too high or I may die.¡± Alarion summarized. ¡°You have got it.¡± She confirmed with a snort of bemusement. ¡°And ask an Ordinate if you actually care for the details. I am told they keep volumes full of tables trying to reconstruct the system¡¯s choices.¡± Alarion nodded along with her suggestion, then took the opportunity provided by the lull in conversation to pull up his Status. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. General Information Name - Alarion Species - Human Sex - Male Age ¨C Fifteen Years HP ¨C 200/200 [+0.0069/sec] MP ¨C 136/136 [+0.024/sec] Stamina ¨C 199/199 [+0.495/sec] Aptitude - 238% UCL ¨C 10 Attributes STR - 32 AGI- 40 VIT ¨C 39 INT ¨C 32 PER ¨C 48 WIL ¨C 24 LUK ¨C 213 Classes Known Orphan - Level 3 - Progress ¨C 87% Survivor - Level 1 - Progress - MAX General Skills Known Stealth - Level 3 - Progress - 3% Detection - Level 4 - Progress - 19% Thrown Weapon Mastery - Level 5 - Progress - 28% Imperial Greatsword Mastery ¨C Level 3 ¨C Progress 8% Class Skills Known Survivor¡¯s Endurance ¨C Level 5 ¨C Progress 62% Self-Motivated ¨C Level 2 ¨C Progress -82% (No Daily Use Available) Traits and Feats of Strength Avian Bane - Rank I Flaws Unknown ¨C Major Unknown ¨C Moderate Single-Minded¨C Minor (Focus: Imperial Greatsword Mastery) To say that his growth over the past six weeks had been impressive would have been an understatement. He¡¯d gained (or at least chosen) two skills, and leveled up each and every one of those he had. Most of them multiple times. The growths in his stats were likewise respectable, with his luck now exceeding two hundred and his lagging vitality driven up to his second highest stat by virtue of Survivor''s Endurance. That he¡¯d had to endure considerable abuse in order to level that skill up so quickly was, in his opinion, a small price to pay. Particularly given that all his memories of the trials he had endured were little more than indistinct thoughts of general discomfort. It wasn¡¯t all good, however. While his skills had grown, his class had not. His Orphan class remained locked at the same stubborn 87% where it had sat for months, ever since he¡¯d first seen his status. It could increase, the very fact that he¡¯d gained two previous levels told Alarion it was possible, but the number would not budge. Both Alarion and ZEKE had hoped that practical experience might have moved the needle but he was fairly sure that his tutor''s initial guess would prove to be correct. The Orphan class required him to be alone to obtain it. It wouldn¡¯t grow with a babysitter. That left his burgeoning combat class to look forward to. Alarion could feel he was close to something. He¡¯d been told that someone with an aptitude of 100 could typically expect to obtain their first class level after roughly three years of hard training. Examples of aptitude as high as his were rare, but three months was not out of the question for someone with an aptitude of 200. With practical combat experience, that number would drop even lower. He would obtain his class on this island. Alarion was sure of it. So sure of it, in fact, that the system prompted him with a quest:
Reaching New Heights Description: You have trained, you have bled, you have struggled. Now is the time to take the prize you have rightfully earned. Success Conditions: Solidify your understanding of martial technique by gaining one level in a martial focused combat class. Failure Conditions: Fail to meet success conditions within three weeks. Leave the island without meeting success conditions. Reward: Increase the rarity of the selected class. One Exceptional Class Box. Penalty: Lose all progress toward a martial focused combat class. Block all progress toward a martial focused combat class for 60 days. Note: This quest was automatically assigned due to the flaw [Single-Minded] and does not count against the once-per-day limit of Self-Motivated.
It was eerie, the way the System could read his mind. It had done the same thing when it selected the skill and gave him his first quest, drawing on his overwhelming desire for one solitary thing and urging him on with further motivation. As if he needed it. According to ZEKE, this was the best sort of flaw-assigned quest he could hope for from his skill. The type that would reward him for what he intended to do already. Penalties for failure, even the severe sort that his flaw had saddled him with, didn¡¯t really matter. The real world implications of him failing to obtain a class on the island were dire enough as it was. Mutilation. Death. Stagnation. Losing all of his progress would be mere insult to literal injury. The quests to be concerned about, by contrast, fell into two camps. The first were the impossible. If he set his mind to a task he couldn¡¯t complete, the system might still oblige him with a quest, and punish him for failure all the same. They¡¯d had little time to work on the subject amidst all his other training, but the Steelborn had given Alarion a few mental exercises to practice in an attempt to temper his worst impulses. The second were quests that were uncomplementary. Two quests with exclusive and intensive tasks running on the same timer, or quests that sent him in wildly opposite directions. From ZEKE¡¯s understanding, the system did not necessarily take his existing quests into account when it offered or assigned, new ones. It was possible to end up with two tasks that were mutually exclusive, or so difficult to manage that they might as well have been. Being forced to decide which reward to pursue was bad enough, but the sadistic choice of which punishment to endure was even worse. Fortunately, this was not one of those cases.
Hunting Season Description: Others might find the idea of hunting fiends a laughable and dangerous proposition. For you, it is a reality. Success Conditions: Destroy as many fiends as possible during your training expedition. The rewards for this quest will vary depending on the number and combat strength of defeated fiends. Update: This quest now tracks the total UCL of defeated fiends. Failure Conditions: Fail to meet success conditions within three weeks. Leave the island without meeting success conditions. Minimum Reward: One Common Fiend Slayer Box. Penalty: None. Current number of fiends destroyed: 1 Current total UCL of fiends destroyed: 20
In truth, the system could scarcely have selected a more complementary quest if Alarion had been allowed to give his direct input. His hunting would reward him with progress toward both quests, and once he completed Reaching New Heights the combat class he earned should allow him to hunt stronger fiends. That would further increase the reward when it finally came time to cash in on Hunting Season. ¡°Good news?¡± Sierra asked. ¡°Hmm?¡± Alarion replied, momentarily confused. ¡°I can not see your status, but I can tell when you are looking at it.¡± She explained. ¡°Your eyes focus on nothing and you look quite serious.¡± He frowned. ¡°It is fine. Everyone does it when they are newly awakened. I still do it if I am not thinking.¡± She consoled him. ¡°It is a bad habit to get into, since it all but screams you are vulnerable. But it is an easy one to break. What was the news? You were not smiling enough for it to be your class, so¡­ a quest?¡± Alarion wasn¡¯t quite sure he liked how often his mind was being read as of late. Chapter Twenty-Two The dull, wet sound of flesh yielding and crumpling beneath heavy steel reverberated among the trees as Alarion¡¯s blade struck home. It was a satisfying strike, the result of a deadly, minutes long dance fit for four. But Alarion had no time to relish in his success as his remaining partners increased the tempo. One came at him from the left, raining down hammer fists only narrowly intercepted by the bulk of Alarion¡¯s blade. The other circled about him, swiping at his heels with the jagged barbs of its tail. That one knew better than to pounce just because it thought it saw an opportunity, its missing right arm a testament of an earlier failure. And then there was the third, its body split almost shoulder to hip. Alarion had felt the resistance of its core, but his blade had slid off the sphere in its chest at the last moment. With some damage to its core, it wouldn''t be up immediately. But left to its own devices it would get up. Even if it could only bite at his ankles or tackle him with its malformed body, it was still a threat. The stiffness in his left arm was a testament to his own earlier failure. If his enemies were smarter, they¡¯d play the waiting game. Keep him at a distance, off balance, away from their ally until the wounded one¡¯s unnatural regeneration would allow it to rejoin the fray. Together they had pushed him hard, harder than any of their kind had managed. If they redoubled their efforts, they might have worn down his stamina, then overwhelmed him in its absence. But they were fiends. Low rank fiends. Worse than animals. Animals at least knew when to run. Rather than allow himself to be fully surrounded, Alarion backpedaled. Predictably, the two fiends pressed their attack in unison, keeping close to one another so that Alarion could not punish their haste without being gutted by the other in the process. They were faster than him. Better equipped to run in uneven wilderness. He¡¯d trip, or slow down and they¡¯d have him. Seemingly desperate, Alarion threw a dagger as he retreated. The thrown weapons had proven little more than a nuisance against creatures that did not register pain. If he were precise he might blind a fiend in one eye. When thrown hastily at center mass the fiends rarely even bothered to try to dodge. Even though they really should have. The starscaped blade had barely left Alarion¡¯s fingertips when it rapidly increased in size and weight. With the fiend so hot on his tail, it did not have time to register the significance of the attack before the tip of the blade pierced clean through its chest and buried into the rooted ground behind it. Its comrade fared little better. With no one to punish Alarion for shifting onto the attack, the boy did just that. His feet planted, his hips twisted and his Imperial Greatsword swept clear through the onrushing fiend at waist height, messily bisecting the creature. Its gibbering top half cried out as it tumbled past him and thumped against a nearby tree, its claws already scrambling for purchase in the soil to return it to the fight. The cleanup did not take long. Sierra¡¯s lesson had been crass, but it had been firmly engraved in his heart. A fiend wasn¡¯t dead until the system told him so. You have slain a Malnourished Lesser Fiend ¨C UCL 20 ¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL. You have slain a Malnourished Lesser Fiend ¨C UCL 20 ¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL. You have slain a Starving Lesser Fiend ¨C UCL 24 ¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL. ¡°It looks like three is your limit.¡± Sierra said as Alarion put the last of the three fiends out of its misery. ¡°Seems that way.¡± Alarion replied. He did his best to appear steadfast, but soon even the pretense was too much and he slumped down into a seated position against a nearby tree. ¡°You don¡¯t have to say it, you know.¡± ¡°No. I do not.¡± She agreed absently. Quiet reigned for half a heartbeat before she added. ¡°But I did warn you.¡± ¡°But you didn¡¯t give me an order. Which meant it was possible.¡± He replied, his head back, eyes closed. ¡°Which it was.¡± ¡°Three at once¡­ I gave you fifty-fifty odds at best as I recall.¡± Sierra retorted, taking a seat alongside him. ¡°That luck of yours really tilted the odds.¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t how that attribute works.¡± Sierra gave a put-upon sigh. ¡°It was a joke, Alarion.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± ¡°Did you pick up any useful lessons?¡± She asked. ¡°Other than that you can not fight three at once.¡± ¡°Should not.¡± Alarion clarified. ¡°The bodies say I can.¡± ¡°Other than that you should not fight three at once.¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The boy shrugged. ¡°Three fight much the same as two. They won¡¯t fall for the same trick multiple times, they¡¯re wary if they see a new attack but otherwise they¡¯re aggressive to a fault. The main issue with larger numbers is simply finding an opening amidst all the pressure.¡± ¡°Do you think that you will get it this way?¡± Sierra asked. Rather than answer, Alarion glanced to the right corner of his vision where he left a tally of his active quest open at all times. Current number of fiends destroyed: 15 Current total UCL of fiends destroyed: 312 Sierra had assured him, repeatedly, that they were making good pace for his abilities. Fifteen fiends in slightly over a day without a direct combat class was apparently quite steady progress. It just didn¡¯t feel that way. To him it felt like they spent too long¡­ hunting. Too long looking for the next fiend after killing the last one. He¡¯d argued they should go further inland. It would be more heavily populated, and with stronger fiends, even if they kept well away from the guide stones. But Sierra had put a stop to that with an order. She said he was impatient, too eager to advance. Too sure of himself simply because he¡¯d battered the weakest fiends imaginable. Once around the outskirts of the island had been her compromise. A day long journey that would include enough practical experience to either push him into his class, or to make her comfortable with his fighting ability, though the former was looking increasingly unlikely. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± Alarion replied honestly. ¡°Given time, this will work, I am sure. But if fighting three on one doesn¡¯t provoke the system, I¡¯m not sure what will.¡± ¡°It isn¡¯t the system.¡± Sierra scolded, poking him in the chest for emphasis. ¡°Gaining a class is about you. It is about building a foundation to stand on, then reaching for the class. You can build it up brick by brick until the moment it just comes to you, like stepping onto the lowest rung of a ladder. Or you can leap for it when it is otherwise well beyond your grasp.¡± ¡°My foundation is that low then?¡± Sierra scowled, her voice biting as she replied. ¡°Alarion, it took me nearly a year to gain my first class. If all goes well, you¡¯ll have gained your second in months. Show some humility.¡± Alarion winced as if stung. He turned his face away, intensely studying the forest. ¡°We will need to find you something different.¡± Sierra said after a short silence. ¡°I am still uncomfortable with going further in, but it seems as though there is nothing for it.¡± She saw the way he shifted his weight, already gathering himself to press forward and immediately cut in on his thoughts. ¡°There are conditions.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Alarion replied in the most neutral tone he could muster. ¡°I will be scouting ahead to find proper targets. We can not just have you rushing into combat with stronger fiends. Especially as I am bound not to intervene unless you are seriously injured.¡± Sierra said. ¡°You will fully obey my instructions on this matter.¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°It becomes less convincing each time you say it.¡± Sierra frowned. ¡°My other condition is that you drink one of the potions.¡± That, at last, brought Alarion¡¯s gaze back to her. ¡°I was told that I was in charge of them.¡± ¡°And so you are. But still you need to drink one. Your wrist is swollen half again its size under your bracer. It is a wonder you can wield your sword at all.¡± ¡°I did fine.¡± He protested. ¡°Three of them combined and they didn¡¯t land more than a few scratches.¡± ¡°Yes. Because you spent half the fight dodging, and nearly lost due to overexertion. If you had entered that fight in top form your wounding blows might have killed, or at least crippled.¡± Sierra countered. ¡°This is not a negotiation.¡± ¡°But I might need it later.¡± ¡°You need it now.¡± Sierra was done arguing. ¡°I understand you are embarrassed about-¡± ¡°I¡¯m not embarrassed!¡± Alarion shot back, renewed vigor in his tone. ¡°I just didn¡¯t realize the core would be that hard.¡± ¡°It is crystalized arcane energy!¡± ¡°And?" "What did you think would happen if you punched... you know what, never mind." Sierra rolled her eyes, refusing to get drawn into a pointless debate. ¡°If that is not the reason, then why are you being so stubborn?¡± Alarion met her gaze briefly then looked away. ¡°They¡¯re mine.¡± ¡°Yes, I think we¡¯ve established that.¡± She gave him a quizzical look, then frowned. ¡°Alarion, they¡¯re consumables. They¡¯re meant to be consumed.¡± The boy winced slightly as he drew a vial from his bracer. He tilted the thin flask this way and that, watching as the crimson fluid within trailed from one end to the other, then back again. ¡°I¡¯ll heal on my own eventually, won¡¯t I?¡± ¡°Eventually. Yes.¡± Sierra replied. ¡°As an Awakened you have a more resilient body than what nature provided. Any minor wounds you sustain will heal by themselves through your natural regeneration. Small cuts will close, bruises will heal over and so forth. For most Awakened, roughly eight hours is enough to fully refill your HP. Slightly less if you¡¯re resting.¡± ¡°But.¡± ¡°But, severe injuries don¡¯t just manifest as HP damage, but as conditions.¡± She gestured at his wounded arm. ¡°Save for those that cause damage over time, such as bleeding or poison, your body will not even begin to try to heal most conditions until you are already at full HP. At that point any excess healing will go towards your conditions. Go ahead and look at your status. If you query the condition, it can give you more information.¡± Alarion did what he was told, navigating through menus to his active conditions: Wrist Sprain (Right) ¨C Moderate ¨C 15% Malus to Strength Attribute for the purposes of using right arm. Healing Required ¨C 438/440 Time Until Healed ¨C ~30 hours. ¡°You see why waiting isn¡¯t an option.¡± Sierra said in response to his sour expression. ¡°And don¡¯t forget, continuing to use that arm will likely aggravate it further, meaning that it will take even longer to heal. If at all.¡± Alarion frowned. ¡°You said I have a more resilient body. It doesn¡¯t feel that way.¡± ¡°You¡¯d have broken every bone in your hand pulling that stunt with a natural body, bones that might never heal correctly. Now, even if you destroyed most of your arm, it would heal up in days rather than months.¡± The young man turned his attention back to the vial. Again he tipped it one way then the other, as if building up the nerve. ¡°Alright. Enough, be plain. What is the issue, Alarion?¡± The boy drew a deep breath through his nose, and told her. ¡°I am sorry, I did not hear you.¡± Again he spoke, slightly louder. ¡°Alarion, speak u-¡± ¡°It is going to be awful!¡± Sierra¡¯s expression could not have been more stunned if he had slapped her. ¡°I am sorry¡­ what?¡± ¡°It looks disgusting.¡± ¡°Alarion.¡± She replied, positively flabbergasted. ¡°I am told that you lived in the Old City. You survived on eating flying rodents! How could you of all people-¡± ¡°It isn¡¯t the taste!¡± He interjected. ¡°It¡¯s the consistency. It looks slimy and-¡± ¡°You are going to drink this potion if I have to pour it down your throat.¡± Chapter Twenty-Three For all Alarion¡¯s whinging, it hadn¡¯t actually been that bad. Yes, the viscous fluid had felt exactly as gross in his mouth as the young man had expected, but the candied taste somewhat offset the unsettling sensation of drinking a liquid that was decidedly¡­ gooey. And despite his complaints, there was no arguing with its efficacy. He¡¯d expected a delayed onset, a slow and steady build up as the potion worked its way into his body. What he got was an instant notification and an abrupt, vibrant sensation. You have consumed a Healing Potion ¨C Basic [Rank I]. +111 HP/s for 9 seconds. The results looked as impressive as they felt. When Alarion had been six, he¡¯d fallen from a stack of hay bales and twisted his ankle quite fiercely. It had taken his body four weeks to heal what this potion had remedied in as many seconds. The swelling in his arm visibly shrank with each passing moment, the pain transitioning from a sharp wound to a dull ache to nothing at all in as many breaths. To his eyes, the results were miraculous and his expression said as much as he looked to Sierra. ¡°That is nothing special, I promise you. We have at least a full barrel at the manor.¡± She said, waving off his wonder. ¡°Even provincial Auxillia are issued potions when on patrol, outside of exceptional circumstances.¡± Alarion turned his attention to his previously wounded hand. He clenched and unclenched his fist, rolled his wrist and then tightened the bracer fully over the once injured limb. ¡°If you have so many wouldn¡¯t it have made more sense to send me with dozens of potions? I could fight almost without risk.¡± ¡°Do you think that is a good habit to be getting into?¡± She asked. He gave her a look. ¡°Even if you did.¡± She continued over his unspoken contestation. ¡°Which you should not, there are other issues. Remember what Ezekial said about stress? Would you be under more or less stress with an unlimited number of potions.¡± Alarion saw her point, but felt the need to retort. ¡°Drinking that many would be a different sort of stress.¡± Sierra sighed. ¡°Fortunate for you then that you can not.¡± She replied as she set off into the forest with barely a glance back in his direction. ¡°You saw your new condition?¡± He hadn¡¯t. That much was clear first by his puzzled expression and the vacant one that came after as he navigated through his status to find what she was talking about. New Condition! Potion Toxicity: Minor. Survivor¡¯s Endurance has taken effect. Potion Toxicity: Minor ¨C 1% Malus to all Attributes. Time Until Healed ¨C ~2 hours. ¡°I thought consumables meant food.¡± He explained at last, having found the filter he had incorrectly triggered in his Status. ¡°They¡¯re poison?¡± ¡°Similar. Poisons mostly deal damage directly or impose damaging conditions. Toxins penalize stats. There is some overlap, I think. I am not sure.¡± The girl shrugged, stepping carefully over a high root as they walked. ¡°If you drink too many potions or potions that are too strong for you, particularly ones above your rank, you will suffer greater and greater attribute penalties. At the maximum rank it will turn into a fast acting, lethal poison.¡± ¡°How many is too many?¡± Alarion asked, perturbed. ¡°It depends on the person. Your vitality plays a role, as do your skills. Your survivor¡¯s endurance will help, but I am not sure you could use the same trick with the Void Arena to increase your resistance further. Elena probably can not replicate a fake potion, and real toxicity would still kill you.¡± She seemed to consider the matter more thoughtfully before adding. ¡°You could probably handle three of these safely, though the penalties would be very high after the third.¡± ¡°Better than bleeding to death.¡± Sierra tilted her head slightly in agreement as she walked, then laughed. ¡°You are not wrong. There is one more reason not to rely on them.¡± ¡°Mm?¡± ¡°They can not heal everything.¡± Sierra held up a hand and pointed just below her first knuckle with the other. ¡°Lose anything more than this and a basic potion will not be enough to regrow it. Lose an arm or a leg, it is gone. Lose your head, or your heart, and you are not likely to survive long enough to drink the potion, not that it would help.¡± Alarion glanced at his own arm, his mind filled with hazy memories of crude amputation in the Void Arena. ¡°There is nothing that can restore it?¡± ¡°Nothing readily available.¡± She corrected. ¡°Powerful spells or items would be able to. There are regeneration potions, even at our Rank, but they are a thousand times more expensive and take weeks or months to properly restore a lost body part. Most Vitrians who lose a limb rely on prosthetics for a reason. Sometimes a severed bit can be reattached by a healer, but it needs to be done quickly.¡± ¡°That is not reassuring.¡± ¡°It is not supposed to be.¡± Sierra countered. Then, seemingly done with the conversation, she fished into a small pouch on her hip and produced a small blue stone. She tossed it in his direction trusting on his reflexes as she started walking once again before it had even reached him. ¡°Here. I am going on ahead.¡± This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Alarion regarded the small item with a perplexed eye. It was the size of a fingernail and perfectly spherical with a slight shimmer of pearlescence. Despite that sheen it was easy to catch and hard to drop, with a rough surface that clung resiliently to the fabric of his glove. And he did not have the slightest idea of what it was. ¡°Sier¡­ra?¡± Alarion asked, only to frown as he looked up. He was becoming less and less of a fan of her disappearing act by the day. So what to do with it? Eating the item was out of the question. A simple squeeze between thumb and forefinger let him know that the pebble-like item was at least as hard as an actual rock. Awakened vitality or no, he valued his teeth. Besides, Sierra didn¡¯t seem like the type to carry around candy. It was much too small to slot into the open spots on his greatsword, it wouldn¡¯t make much sense for her to toss it to him if she merely wanted to discard it- ¡°Oh for the Mother¡¯s sake Alarion, put it in your ear!¡± Came a somewhat distant shout. He didn¡¯t need to be told twice. ¡°I swear. To look at you, you would never know.¡± Sierra¡¯s voice came whispered into his ear, causing Alarion to abruptly turn to the right in alarm. ¡°But the moment you encounter modernity or open your mouth to speak-¡± ¡°What¡¯s wrong with the way I speak?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°What is wrong with the way you speak.¡± His brows knitted together, but Sierra¡¯s voice continued unabated. ¡°I assume you can hear me clearly.¡± ¡°As if you¡¯re right beside me.¡± He agreed, slowly coming to terms with the fact that she was not abusing her stealth skill simply to confuse him. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ odd. How does this work?¡± ¡°Magic. And before you complain, no, that is not me being pithy. I just do not know how it works, the same way I do not know how an ironclad¡¯s engine works.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion conceded, starting off into the woods in pursuit of Sierra. ¡°To your left.¡± The girl corrected him dryly. ¡°I am not far ahead of you. Without a nexus or other nodes to repeat their signal, these Simus only reach about five hundred yards.¡± ¡°Simus?¡± ¡°Simultaneous Communication Device.¡± Sierra expounded. ¡°Simu.¡± Alarion agreed hurriedly. There was no way he was going to bother to remember that. ¡°They are more convenient than having my face cave in on itself.¡± ¡°What?!¡± Sierra asked before a realization hit her and she interrupted his reply. ¡°Oh, no. Face shaping is a trick limited to the Ordinates. It is used less and less these days in civilized areas, but out in the provinces, old magic like that is the only way to have secure communication over any meaningful distance. Their entire class line is dedicated to utility powers. Communications, logistics, education, transportation and so forth.¡± ¡°Is Ordinate a name? Or a title?¡± He asked. In truth he had been curious for some time, but had never found a proper way to ask. ¡°Both and neither.¡± She explained. ¡°They give up their names when they are selected, but it is not a title like Governor. It is meant as a descriptor for what they are, not who they are.¡± ¡°That sounds a lot like how you¡¯d treat a dog. Or a slave.¡± Alarion walked in silence several seconds, long enough for the quiet to grow uncomfortable, before he added, ¡°Sierra? Is this working?¡± ¡°Yes Alarion. I¡¯m here.¡± The girl responded. Her voice was somewhat muted, and she paused nearly as long again before she settled on a reply. ¡°Your opinion is not unheard of. Ordinates are pulled from the lesser children of Vitrian houses. As a vocation it is voluntary, but it is often the best of a number of bad choices. To serve used to be a respectable calling but¡­ times change. I¡¯m going on ahead.¡± The silence returned for some time after that somber note. Functionally alone, the forest felt considerably more unsettling as Alarion weaved his way between its unnatural rows. Every so often Sierra would chime in, redirecting him back onto her path if he led himself astray, or indicating a mark she¡¯d scratched into tree bark to keep him on track. Twice she located wandering fiends. In each case Alarion took advantage of the opportunity to practice stealth skills originally honed on the avian population of the Old City. The first time ended in a crunch of leaves that devolved into a brief scuffle and a dismembered monstrosity. The second proved more successful as Alarion closed enough distance to grievously wound the fiend with a thrown greatsword before the battle had even begun. Neither attempt was enough to fully level his stealth skill, but Alarion found endless delight in watching his progress increase so visually all the same. The third time Sierra told him to stop, he knew something was different. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± He asked, only after taking concealment behind a cluster of nearby branches. ¡°Nothing wrong per se.¡± Sierra explained. ¡°This is definitely what we are looking for. But we are still quite far out from even the outer perimeter. There should not be a fiend this large this far out.¡± ¡°Should we leave it be?¡± Alarion replied with surprising caution. ¡°No. I think you are safe to come up. Nothing I could not handle if it came to it.¡± Judging by her tone it wasn¡¯t intended as an insult. Even so, Alarion felt a slight burning in his cheeks as he worked his way from cover to cover, carefully following Sierra¡¯s guide on when it was and was not safe to move. Over the previous days he¡¯d intuited a good deal about Sierra¡¯s Shadowdance skill and the specific ways it differed from his own. Both had a passive effect of increasing the user¡¯s ability to hide, though obviously hers was better. However, the main difference was in the active half of her skill, an ability that allowed her to supernaturally conceal herself so long as she stood at least partially within a shadowed area roughly as large as her body. His improved proficiency beyond natural limits, but hers was fully supernatural. That difference accounted for the struggle he had in approaching the small clearing nearly as quickly as she had. And in locating her once he did. The growth in her skill had so outstripped his detection that even with her telling him where to look, it was several seconds before he was able to fully see the leather clad girl crouched up in a tree overlooking the three fiends down below. Two were of a similar make to those Alarion had already seen. Tall and gangly, with misshapen limbs and unsettling flesh. The third was not. A foot taller than the already large fiends it was wider again by half, its glistening red and pink body covered in thick musculature that seemed as though it were ready to tear if the thing flexed in just the wrong way. Stranger still, it was battling its fellow fiends. Or, perhaps battling was the wrong word. An adult did not battle with toddlers, and the sheer difference in physical strength between the larger fiend and its fellows was such that it was able to easily rag doll them as they came at it, tossing them away. Shoving and slapping them. ¡°It isn¡¯t fighting to kill.¡± Alarion remarked though a glare from Sierra killed any further observations on his lips. ¡°No it is not.¡± The girl whispered through the Simu. The battle between the fiends was a veritable cacophony in the otherwise still forest but she still timed her words to coincide with a strike or a rumble of footsteps. ¡°It is a power struggle. For possession.¡± ¡°Of what?¡± He asked. Sierra raised a gloved hand and pointed just behind the larger of the three battling creatures. For a few heartbeats Alarion saw nothing, until at last he noticed the slight decline of the soil, the start of the large pit that Sierra could clearly see from her perch. ¡°I am pretty sure they are fighting over that.¡± Chapter Twenty-Four ¡°They¡¯re fighting over a hole?¡± Alarion asked, his voice positively dripping with skepticism. Sierra snorted despite herself but said nothing until the fiend¡¯s ongoing scrap carried them away from the tree-line. ¡°No, Alarion, they are fighting over whatever is in the hole.¡± ¡°That makes more sense.¡± The young man quickly conceded. He leaned up on the tips of his toes to try and get a better view, but to no avail. ¡°Can you see what¡¯s inside?¡± ¡°No.¡± Sierra admitted. ¡°But I can guess. You see the larger fiend?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Does it looked starved to you?¡± Alarion tilted his head. The answer was so obvious that the question felt like a trick. ¡°No. Which means it has been eating something. But nothing lives on the island other than fiends. They don¡¯t¡­¡± ¡°No.¡± Sierra said again, her disgust quite emphatic. ¡°Fiends are rancid and poisonous, even to themselves. They don¡¯t reclaim their own dead, and they don¡¯t actually consume anything. Fiends feed off of ambient magical energy, which is why boils always form around Places of Power. The fiends consume the magic and range abroad to find life to feed to the boil. In doing so they reinforce the original Place of Power through sacrifice and allow the boil to produce more fiends. Eventually the magic around the boil is not enough to sustain them all, so the stronger fiends force the weaker ones out in search of more life and new Places of Power to infect.¡± ¡°They eat magic.¡± Alarion said with a hint of excitement in his voice. ¡°So the hole?¡± ¡°Has something inside with enough radiant energy to feed a fiend like that.¡± She agreed. ¡°It probably is not much, but we should definitely take a look.¡± ¡°So we wait for them to kill each other?¡± Sierra shook her head and began a careful descent from her perch. ¡°Power struggles like this are merely for dominance. Neither side is going to kill the other. At best they will deplete a bit of stamina and HP. You¡¯ll have to do the rest.¡± Alarion turned his attention back to the ongoing battle in the clearing. The larger of the three fiends had retained its advantage, battering away its lesser kin time and again, but never straying too far from the source of the conflict. Despite its size, the mature fiend was stronger and faster by a considerable margin. It would be a hard fight with that one alone. ¡°I will draw off the other two.¡± Sierra said, reading his mind, or at least his expression as she joined him at ground level. ¡°You have the icon?¡± Alarion nodded, then tapped the small silver rod strapped to his belt for emphasis. ¡°And you know how to use it?¡± ¡°Snap it in half and survive for five seconds.¡± He replied, leaving unspoken that the next steps were ¡®be teleported back to a keyed location in the manor¡¯ and ¡®instantly fail your quests and have all your progress stripped.¡¯ That wasn¡¯t happening. ¡°Then happy hunting.¡± The girl replied with a surprisingly genuine smile as she once again read his face. He was stubborn, yes, but there was a certain charm to it that was hard to deny. ¡°Wait until you see the small ones turn to face me, then put a dagger in the back of the big one. That should separate them.¡± Alarion nodded again, then presented his forearm to her. Palm in, wrist rigid, just as she¡¯d shown him. The girl laughed quietly and tapped her wrist to his, almost as an afterthought, before she slipped behind a tree and vanished out of sight. Then the waiting began. The clearing was a large oval nearly two hundred yards at its longest point. Even with the supernatural powers provided by her [Shadowdance] skill, Sierra still needed to be cautious in how she navigated the woods in order to avoid alerting the battling monsters. This left Alarion with several minutes to prepare himself, though he was already itching to fight after only one. It would be his first real challenge. ZEKE and Sierra were too powerful for him to ever eke out a meaningful win, the dragon hadn¡¯t been real and the fiends he¡¯d fought were too weak individually for them to count in his mind. This was one opponent, a dangerous foe against which he could truly measure his potential. As soon as Sierra finally got in position. He toyed with a throwing dagger as he watched the brute in action. It was as clumsy as any of its lesser kin, its attacks ruthless and self-sacrificing. Yet there was a glimmer of something there. Not intelligence, but cunning perhaps? The ones he¡¯d fought had been predictable to a fault. They would attack-attack-attack with endless pressure. This one was not making careful feints or being clever with its positioning, but it was taking care not to throw itself off balance in service of a striking an offered opening. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°I am ready.¡± Sierra said abruptly. ¡°On your time.¡± Alarion replied as he stood from his crouch and prepared to rush the clearing. The fiends noticed her before he did. One moment they were fighting amongst themselves and the next the cacophony had stopped. All three had snapped to rigid attention, searching the tree-line. One of the smaller ones noticed her first, and set off at a dash toward her. Its battle-brother joined in a moment later and Alarion took the opportunity to rush the field, throwing the slim dagger in his hand for everything it was worth. The sliver of silver struck the brute¡¯s back not with the usual wet sound of metal defeating flesh but with a dull thock more akin to a knife burying into the side of a wooden board. Or hard muscle. Despite the distressing feedback, the thrown weapon had its intended effect. The fiend swiveled on thick legs, turning its whole body to search for this new threat. Then it saw him and began to charge. Logically, Alarion was prepared. Half a hundred battles in the Void Arena had given him a keen sense for how to fight a larger opponent. But this time was different. This time was life or death. And this opponent was not the cunning dragon that fought at the edge of its reach, but a bloodthirsty fiend all too happy to trample him to death with its sheer weight. For just a moment Alarion¡¯s heart fluttered. His will faltered. The trees were behind him, the icon on his hip. He could fall back. He could flee. He could fight. Vitrian steel met vile flesh and the larger fiend proved in an instant that for all its size and strength, it was still made of meat. It could be cut. It could be harmed. Alarion¡¯s horizontal slash had carved a deep gouge in the back of the brute¡¯s thigh as it passed him. Its headlong charge had been intimidating, but ineffective as a tactic. Anything that big had too much momentum to change directions amidst the loose grass and soil of a forest clearing. So rather than stand and meet it head on, Alarion had simply moved. It had been harder than that, of course. Move too early and the brute could adjust. Move too late, and well¡­ The massive fiend fell forward in the wake of Alarion¡¯s attack, though not as a result of the comparatively shallow wound. Its attempt to follow his movements sent the creature head over heels in a catastrophic roll that would have provided Alarion half a dozen vulnerabilities had he been ready to exploit it. But the fiend was still quick for its size, its sickening pink skin covered in dirt and debris as it recovered from its roll and advanced on Alarion in a less haphazard fashion. It struck at him then. Left arm, then right. These were not the punches it had shared with its lesser kin, but open-handed swipes with its taloned fingertips. Each drove Alarion back before the creature¡¯s advance and each came closer than the young man felt comfortable. Monstrous fingers tore furrows in the dirt where they missed him, sometimes by mere inches, and pressed ever onward into the next attack. It was faster than him. By no small measure. Sierra had warned him as much. It wasn¡¯t fighting seriously with its kin, so why had he expected that it would have been using its full speed but not its full power? Only the difference in training allowed Alarion to remain in the fight against a stronger, faster opponent. Knowing how to dodge and when to strike gave him a slim edge that kept him on near to equal footing with the giant. His weapon of choice would be a problem, however. The weakness was obvious as the initial bouts segued into a steady rhythm. The fiend was fast enough and relentless enough that it did not provide an opening. Or, to be more accurate, it did not provide an opening that Alarion could exploit. He could see weakness after weakness, a vulnerability in its hands as it threw them, a weakness in its stance that could be punished with a quick stab. But nothing about fighting with an Imperial Greatsword was quick. The lesser fiends had been swift, but they had lacked the same reach. His arms were nearly as long as theirs, so he could separate and strike, or push the issue and punish them with the blunt of the blade or his own fists if necessary. This one had all the same flaws in its fighting style, but it had the strength, the speed and the reach to make up for it. He couldn¡¯t wait for an opening. Nor could he wait for the fiend to gas itself out attacking. It was using more stamina, surely, but it probably had more to begin with. If it ran out first, Alarion would have the advantage. If Alarion ran out first, it would be an immediate loss. No, he¡¯d have to make an opening. But the options there were slim. ¡°One. Two.¡± Alarion murmured to himself as he backpedaled from another pair of near misses. Despite the difference in strength, it was still a fiend. He could still provoke it into attacking, and could reasonably expect the nature of those attacks when provoked. Left then right, left then right. ¡°One. Two!¡± Alarion shouted as the predictable right vectored in. He planted his feet and swung upward, meeting the downward talons with hardened steel in a violent clash that sent his hands vibrating and his ears ringing. It wasn¡¯t enough. He¡¯d parried similar attacks from the dragon, but the dragon was self interested. It feared pain and flinched away. The brute did not. Even with the edge of Alarion¡¯s greatsword jammed halfway up to its wrist, it merely redoubled its efforts and slammed the wounded limb down onto Alarion with punishing force. The simple weight of the attack drove Alarion to a knee, and forced him to brace his left hand further up the blade for leverage. He pushed back, hoping to dislodge the creature, but the difference in strength was too much. The only reason it hadn¡¯t crushed him outright was the risk that it could cleave off half of its own hand, and thus free him in the process. It would have to finish him off in some other way. ¡°No.¡± Alarion said in sudden realization, a moment before his fear materialized in the form of the creature¡¯s left hand. It struck him hard from the side, one claw piercing through his shoulder before it sent him flying a solid ten yards distant. Alarion came up in a scramble, a potion flask already in hand as he avoided a downward strike meant to pulverize what remained of him. His notifications flashed with damage alerts and a new bleeding condition, but he downed the potion without even looking at them. No. His eyes were locked on the now shattered remains of a greatsword sticking out of the fiend¡¯s half-bisected hand. Week in Review - Folie è„¿ Deux Yes I know what it means. I was forced to take French for six years in public school. I just like the joke. Deal with it. ... That is probably a bad way to open our little fireside chat, huh? Lets try again. For starters, this is not a chapter. Your new chapter arrives on schedule at 8:33 in gods own CST as usual. Don''t want to listen to me ramble, that is okay. Push the next chapter button. For those of you who are sticking around I have some fun data! First off, we''re 11/50 on Rising Stars. For a first fiction with minimal ad buys this is crazy. Bonkers as a bearded British man might say. This honestly accomplishes my primary goal, which was to get in the top 20 (since those appear on mobile) but I yearn for that top 10 like the children yearn for the mines. Unfortunately, most of the top 10 are stable stories so I basically have to wait for one of them to fall off at this point. Since any solution to this would be a ToS violation, I''m just going to have to wait. But honestly, for me? That isn''t even the best part. Remember how I was bragging the other day that we''d hit #271 for our overall rank? Well that was two days ago, and past me is a chump. He was satisfied with a mere 271, while I, the more sophisticated future Guy Incognito get to bask in being #130 on on Royal Road''s best rated. This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. And now I''m going to get sappy. I am floored by that rank, because of what it represents. Out of ~80,000 something stories, Orphan is already one of the most well reviewed stories on this site. I''ve been maintaining a 4.85 average rating going on about five days now, and while I have no doubt some douchebag will eventually come along and kick that number in the knees, the actual number isn''t the thing that matters to me. It is the breakdown research I did. I looked at the percentage of five star ratings on the top 20 novels (excluding myself) and found that the average story had 65.34% of its ratings as five star. Orphan has 87.4%. My story isn''t maintaining such a high overall rating because it isn''t getting review bombed (though that helps), but because all of you mad lads are hitting it with the full five stars. Because apparently you like it. And really, that means everything. And it has given me confidence I didn''t think I''d ever have in my work. So what does this mean for you and your family? Well happily I''ve got good news. I''m all in on Orphan. I will keep writing this through to the very distant future. Expect daily chapters until I keel over. I''m also in the process of scheduling a week off with my day job. I was going to go to sunny Mexico, but I have decided instead I''m going to lock myself in the office and drill down on editing and chapter writing to provide myself (and you dear readers) with a proper anti-sick/patreon approved backlog. That is basically all I have to say. You are all awesome and I''ll see you on the page and in the comments. In the interest of not inundating you all I''m going to keep these fourth wall breaks to a minimum going forward. But thank you for reading. Chapter Twenty-Five ¡°You¡­!¡± Alarion growled out from between clenched teeth. He might have said more, but the fiend was wholly uninterested in conversation. It advanced upon him in a dash, closing the distance between them before Alarion had finished drawing his back-up weapon, let alone thrown it as he had intended. In a breath the two resumed their waltz, Alarion only one step ahead of jagged white talons that sought to do to his flesh what they had done to his sword. Except that wasn¡¯t right. Alarion dodged, then again. Then a third time. The pressure was still omnipresent, but he wasn¡¯t one step ahead. He was two. As it turned out, he was quite a bit faster when not carrying around a substantial portion of his own weight in Vitrian steel. Who could have guessed? Of course, he couldn¡¯t play defense forever. The brute showed no sign of slowing down, while Alarion had lost nearly a third of his stamina through the ongoing bouts. Even if he could keep up this pace indefinitely, the lack of a proper weapon meant he couldn¡¯t block or punish. Eventually the fiend would trip him up and with nothing to stem its aggression it became more reckless by the moment. Which was what Alarion had been waiting for. One moment the young man was unarmed, but for a dagger so small that the fiend didn¡¯t even recognize it as a threat. An instant later Alarion pivoted from defense to offense as five feet of black and violet metal arced violently upward and removed its already maimed right arm at the elbow. It didn¡¯t scream. It didn¡¯t roar, or flinch back. It attacked, punishing the boy for having the temerity to over-commit with such an unwieldy weapon. It had shattered one sword, it could destroy a second. Alarion swore he could almost taste the thing¡¯s confusion when its claws tore through empty air. Throwing the greatsword had been Alarion¡¯s first insight into the weapon, but over weeks of training he realized that little trick had only scratched the surface of the [Shifting Imperial Greatsword¡¯s] potential. While the shifting function couldn¡¯t deal damage directly, as it stopped growing the moment the tip encountered resistance, it could be used to befuddle an opponent in melee combat by attacking from outside a predictable range, to escape a blade bind or to block or parry unexpectedly. All were powerful advantages, though they quickly dropped off once the novelty of the weapon was exhausted. The true strength, however, came from a technique ZEKE had taught him, known as quick-shifting. With careful usage of the shifting function, Alarion could minimize the wind up and cool down times from each of his attacks. He could enlarge the sword mid-swing to lash out faster, and maximize his recovery by shrinking the blade rather than withdrawing naturally. A flurry of such attacks quickly put the fiend on its back foot for the first time, carving three deep gouges in rock hard muscle and bone in as many swings. There were unfortunately still numerous kinks to work out. For one, the technique was worthless in combinations. The blade could shrink or grow in half a second which meant a full second between repeat impacts. An eternity when trying to keep pressure on a skilled opponent. Resizing the weapon also drastically altered its momentum. Given that the Ambrosia form was built around management of momentum this was less than ideal. Even those were only secondary concerns. The most troublesome aspect was the mental load. Alarion spent weeks drilling the Rite of Ambrosia into his very bones, going through the same motions over and over, and the Rite itself was designed to accommodate that. The goal was to make fighting with an Imperial Greatsword as effortless as fighting with one¡¯s own fists. But fighting with a shifting weapon required an unnatural sense of timing. Alarion needed to focus on his own body, his opponent, but also the changing reality of his weapon. Shift the weapon too early and a slash would miss entirely. Too late and the damage would be flimsy. In practice he¡¯d once shrunk the blade mid-attack because his mind was already focused on what came after. All of which was to say that he was not ready to be practicing such a complicated style in live combat. Not that the brute cared. If anything it seemed angry at the disordered nature of their second round. Alarion couldn¡¯t explain it. The fiend was no different in its persistence, and it had made no grunt or scowl that would give away that it had any emotion beyond a seething desire to mutilate his body and feed it to some thrice damned infection. But it felt angry. The loss of a hand had not proven to be too much of a liability either. The fiend was large, and strong enough that swiping at Alarion with a bloody stump was still a powerful deterrent. A glancing blow from that limb would hurt, and Alarion could scarce afford to be wounded again. The malus from substantial potion sickness would be a death knell, even if he survived the wounding blow. Worst of all, that low cunning reared its ugly head as the fight dragged on. Twice more Alarion had tried to spring a surprise attack on the fiend by shifting his weapon, and twice more he had been punished by it. The fiend was uncomplicated, but it wasn¡¯t stupid. It had trouble compensating for his shifting style, but It wasn¡¯t going to let him cheap out a win so easily. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. That left him evenly matched at best against an enemy all too happy to lose so long as it took him down in the process. ¡°Sierra?¡± ¡°What is wrong?¡± Her voice came over his simu almost instantly, filled with dread. ¡°This might be more than I can handle.¡± Alarion said honestly. ¡°I-¡± ¡°I¡¯m on my way back.¡± She cut in quickly. ¡°But it will take me a minute. These godless things had more friends nearby. Just hang on.¡± Alarion frowned. He¡¯d assumed she was already nearby. Some inner part of him had been certain that if push came to shove, he could count on her swift intervention. A wave of dread washed over him, pushed down as quickly as it rose. He simply didn¡¯t have the luxury. ¡°Okay.¡± Alarion said, more to himself than to Sierra as he skipped out of the path of a haphazard swing by the one armed fiend. He flourished his blade once then dropped into a mid-guard his greatsword held in both hands, the tip angled toward his opponent¡¯s eye as the fiend closed in. He thrust as the brute swiped, his blade sinking into the fiend¡¯s palm and holding it at bay long enough for him to cycle into a reverse cut and shove the limb upward. Its severed arm came in from the right and Alarion ducked beneath it, raking his weapon first across the fiend¡¯s abdomen, then its ankle as he pivoted further to the right. Alarion caught the monster¡¯s counterattack on the flat of his blade. The sheer force of the impact wrenched something in his shoulder and spiked a damage notification into his peripheral vision. He¡¯d hurt it, but given that total lack of feedback as the fiend came for him again, it was hard to tell which one of them had done more meaningful damage. Another exchange followed. Then another. Alarion had given up on his hope for a clean win, for a decisive blow or a coup de main, even without trickery. For every staggering strike he landed on the fiend, it retaliated in kind. Eventually one of them would drop, the only problem was who. At least, that had been the only problem. A creature as big as the brute necessarily set the tempo of their fight. It had an advantage in both reach and gait, which meant that when it led, Alarion was forced to follow. If it launched a flurry of blows, it could control him, force him in a direction of its choosing by making the other options dangerous or unpalatable. So it was that the fiend had, little by little, begun corralling Alarion back toward the pit. That was a more apt name for it, Alarion had decided, for this was no mere hole as they had first surmised at a distance. Set slightly off center from the heart of clearing, the pit was a roughly hewn vertical drop fifteen feet across and at least three times that in depth. He couldn¡¯t begin to guess how it had been made, or for what purpose, but none of that mattered. Not when his back was almost quite literally to the pit. He tried to break out. To force a confrontation. To punish the brute for trying to box him in. None of it worked. Alarion claimed a prize of two fingers in the name of his break out attempt, but eventually he was forced back, the circle ever tightening as the fiend pressed closer. Closing its trap. The end of their duel did not come in an instant, but over the course of a few panicked moments. Alarion felt the ground slope behind him, as he avoided one of the fiend¡¯s attacks. He blocked another and his back leg slipped off the edge, dropping him to one knee. He rolled out from beneath a devastating overhand but he had no answer for the kick that finally sent him over the edge. His stomach lurched as he fell into the pit, its dark bottom rushing up to meet him. But the fiend had over-committed. It had hit him too hard, hard enough that he slammed into the far wall some fifteen feet below its opening. Hard enough that Alarion was able to desperately grab hold of the pit¡¯s rough interior and arrest what would have otherwise been a lethal fall. Dirt and debris rained down from above as the frustrated fiend slashed at the edge of the pit in an attempt to dislodge Alarion from his tenuous handhold. Fortunately the soil was too loose for any of the impromptu projectiles to do more than sting Alarion¡¯s eyes and put his current peril in full context. His choice was threefold. To go up he would need to face the fiend from an impossibly disadvantaged position. It would cut him to ribbons or throw him to the bottom of the pit properly this time. To climb down seemed the safer option, but he had no idea what lay beneath and he was not particularly skilled at climbing besides. If he could hold on, Sierra would come to his rescue, hopefully sooner rather than later. Pity then, that the brute had a fourth idea. Another fighter would not have recognized the danger in time. Only someone with a purely one track mind, a fiend¡¯s mind, could have read his opponent¡¯s intentions in time to avoid the plummeting mountain of muscle. The fiend did not care if it won, only that Alarion lost. If it had to jump into the pit to kill him, so be it. The starscaped edge of Alarion¡¯s full-sized greatsword streaked across the pit, embedding itself halfway to the hilt a mere second before its owner made a leap of faith. He had no idea if the weapon would hold his weight, if the hilt would snap or the soil would give way and send him tumbling into the depths. His hand caught just below the guard and the Imperial Greatsword moved within its earthen sheath. Moved, but did not fall free. Dangling from the hilt of his own weapon, Alarion turned to find the fiend in a similar predicament on the opposite side of the pit. Its good arm had caught the wall and arrested its fall slightly below Alarion, but the hooked nails of its misshapen feet were still scrabbling, trying to find purchase. Its red eyes burned back at Alarion, then quickly shifted as its head flicked like a cat measuring the distance before a particularly difficult pounce. Alarion refused to give it the chance. He wrapped both hands around the hilt and pulled, lifting himself up above the blade. Carefully he swung a knee up and over, until he found himself kneeling on the hilt and guard of his magic sword and wondering where this battle had all gone so horribly wrong. Across from him, the fiend had collected itself, presumably without the introspection. It braced to pounce, but for once Alarion had the edge. ¡°No you don¡¯t!¡± Alarion shouted as he braced one leg back against the wall, activated his shifting enchantment, and shoved off with everything he had. The blade shrunk just long enough for Alarion to whirl it above his head, then grew just in time for a downward strike that took another hefty chunk off the fiend¡¯s wrist before it buried into its skull. Alarion landed on the brute¡¯s shoulder as the beast thrashed in a furious attempt to dislodge him. This proved instead to be its undoing, as the sudden jerking motion shifted the position of Alarion¡¯s blade, sinking its tip in a few more inches. All at once the fiend twitched, then grew slack as a puppet with its strings cut. Its clawed hand held it aloft for a moment, but as muscles relaxed so did its grip. Alarion reached for the wall to save himself, but gravity won out before he was able, sending the two tumbling together into darkness. Chapter Twenty-Six ¡°Alarion?¡± The word was fuzzy. Indistinct. As though spoken from some great distance. It meant something, he knew that. But what? What could such a word possib- ¡°Alarion!¡± ¡°Mm?¡± ¡°Oh thank¡­¡± Sierra¡¯s voice buzzed through his Simu, along with her sigh of relief. ¡°Where are you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m in the pit.¡± There was a short pause. ¡°What do you mean you are ¡®in the pit¡¯?¡± Another short pause. This time followed by a different sort of sigh. ¡°Why are you in the pit?¡± ¡°I lost the fight.¡± Alarion explained, before his recollection stabilized somewhat. ¡°Or I won it. I think.¡± ¡°Are you alright?¡± ¡°I will live.¡± He replied he mentally pulled up a log of recent notifications.
You have suffered moderate bludgeoning damage. HP -52. You have suffered slight bludgeoning damage. HP -8. You have suffered severe fall damage. HP -149
New Condition! [Fracture (Left Arm) ¨C Major] [Survivor¡¯s Endurance] Has taken effect. The secondary effect of [Survivor¡¯s Endurance] has taken effect. [Fracture (Left Arm) ¨C Major] has been resisted due to user¡¯s VIT score. Condition reduced to [Fracture (Left Arm ¨C Moderate)]
New Condition! [Concussion ¨C Moderate] [Survivor¡¯s Endurance] Has taken effect. The secondary effect of [Survivor¡¯s Endurance] has taken effect.
You have been incapacitated for 11 minutes.
¡°I think.¡± He clarified. ¡°What is a concussion?¡± ¡°Do you still have a healing potion?¡± Sierra asked, ignoring his question. ¡°Yeah.¡± Alarion replied. He winced as he turned his head, the whole world wobbling before his vision in a way that made him want to be sick. His arm was bent at a bad angle, the elbow a distressing shade of red and purple that made him want to be sick in a different sort of way. He had still faired better than his opponent. The obliterated body of the fiend lay a few feet away, his greatsword still stuck in the top of its head. Alarion had been able to brace himself for impact, while the fiend had landed in a jumble of limbs that had fractured and torn the sickly pink membrane that passed for its skin. ¡°Thank goodness.¡± Sierra said. ¡°Take it now.¡± ¡°In a second.¡± Alarion responded as he struggled to his feet, suddenly full of purpose. ¡°Now Alarion. If you have a-¡± ¡°I will.¡± He cut her off with a poor attempt to mollify her protests. ¡°I just have to do something first.¡± He ignored her further protestations as he limped his way over to the fiend and grabbed the hilt of his greatsword. The weapon shrunk on command, and Alarion shuffled a few feet over. His whole body ached as he shifted the sword back to full size, hefted it with one arm and dropped it onto the fiend¡¯s ruined torso. It took eight swings to cut far enough through the fiend¡¯s rib cage to get at the brute¡¯s very intact core, but Alarion was rewarded with a flurry of notifications as the crimson orb finally shattered under his relentless abuse.
You have slain [Ravenous Lesser Fiend ¨C UCL 42] ¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL. Level Up! Congratulations, Your Orphan Class has advanced to Level 5! STR +10. VIT +5. INT +5. PER +10. WIL +10. Luck +126. Skill level increased. Imperial Greatsword Mastery is now Level 5. STR +8. Alert! You qualify for one or more new classes. Please see your system menu for more information.
¡°Alright. Potion.¡± Alarion mumbled to himself as he let his sword drop into the dead fiend¡¯s viscera without a second thought. Given its location, strapped to his severely broken arm, it took some effort to retrieve the vial one handed. Fortunately the potion itself was only slightly cracked, a testament to the durable crystal the potion flask was made out of. The contents went down smooth and Alarion felt his pain diminish in a heartbeat while the befuddling fog cleared from his head. As the world sharpened back into focus, Alarion realized just how lucky he¡¯d been. If he¡¯d taken one more hit from the fiend before falling into the pit, if it hadn¡¯t been beneath him when he fell, if he hadn¡¯t gained all that vitality from training [Survivor¡¯s Endurance]. If any of half a dozen things had been different, he wouldn¡¯t have woken up. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Most of all a single thought resounded in his head. Why hadn¡¯t he used the escape icon? ¡°Alarion?¡± Sierra pressed. ¡°I am okay.¡± He responded quickly. ¡°I had to finish off the fiend before it got up.¡± He was overselling his condition, somewhat. The potion had mended the worst of the injuries, but it had not been able to fully heal his broken arm. The condition had been downgraded to minor, but he¡¯d still be at a disadvantage in using the limb for at least a few hours. Perhaps just as importantly, the after-effect of taking two potions in quick succession had struck him as the last of the healing energy had faded. It came in the form of a new notification, a 20% malus to all attributes for six hours, as well as a general malaise, as though he¡¯d instantly come down with the flu. ¡°See. I may be harsh, but my lessons stick in your head even after you hit it a few times.¡± Alarion could almost feel the relieved smile in the girl¡¯s voice as she forced some levity into the conversation. ¡°Stay where you are, I¡¯m coming down to you.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion replied as he turned his attention to his surroundings. The bottom of the pit was not what he had expected. The hole itself appeared to have a sort of natural roughness to it, as though it had been worn down over time, or dug by inexpert hands. Those imperfections ended at the arched ceiling, for the massive chamber beneath, the one in which Alarion stood, was entirely artificial. The long edge of the rectangular room was set with V-shaped columns, each placed slightly closer to the room¡¯s center at fixed intervals. These columns naturally funneled the eye to a raised dais on the far end of the room, upon which sat three thrones each emblazoned with unfamiliar markings and its own unique emblem, an hourglass, a skull and a flame respectively. Notably, the central of the seats, the one emblazoned with the mark of a flame had been vandalized, its original motif heavily damaged while a set of numbers had been carved into the chair itself. 0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144¡­ Above the three seats there was a beautiful sculpture in dark grey metal depicting a man in anguish, curled nude upon the ground, his head in his hands. Other arms reached out from the man, his own or perhaps those of a crowd, all reaching for something just outside their grasp. Unfortunately the sculpture appeared unfinished, leaving the object of their desire to the imagination of the viewer. Perhaps by design. The room looked¡­ expensive. That was the first word that came to Alarion¡¯s mind, for every little thing in the chamber was just so. The floor was elegant black marble interlaced with walkways of white and gold, the walls a similar white marble that gave the room a regal air. Every surface was polished and smoothed, as though no person had ever stepped foot inside, save for the dead fiend and the boy who killed it. ¡°What¡­ is this?¡± Sierra asked as she joined him. Her voice should have echoed terribly, but something about the design of the room seemed to funnel her words, to make them more audible than she should have otherwise been. ¡°I was hoping you would know,¡± Alarion said. ¡°I have no idea.¡± Sierra replied. ¡°It looks like a throne room.¡± ¡°Buried underground?¡± ¡°That was one of my many concerns, yes.¡± The girl winced as she spoke, one hand moving to her temple. ¡°How are you okay?¡± Alarion gave her a curious look. ¡°I took a potion?¡± ¡°No. Not that. The pressure in this room. Do you really not feel that?¡± Alarion shook his head. ¡°It is definitely why the fiend was here.¡± She explained. ¡°And why it was so strong. It could probably feed from the surface off of this much residual power. Not that it matters. We need to leave. Now.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Sierra¡¯s expression turned incredulous in an instant. ¡°Alarion, this island is well charted. The Governor had it culled three days before your arrival to be sure that it would be safe for you to train here. Someone would have noticed a giant hole leading to whatever this is, in the middle of a forest clearing.¡± ¡°Maybe the fiend dug it¡¯s way down?¡± ¡°And then what? Jumped twenty feet in the air to climb out?¡± Sierra snorted. ¡°Presumably after eating all the dirt that should be piled up somewhere if that hole was dug naturally.¡± She had a point. ¡°So it is what? A trap set to catch us?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Not us specifically, no.¡± She answered. ¡°This room is old. No one who is after your life is going to go through the trouble of uncovering a buried room on a fiend infested island when they could just confront you on the surface. No, this feels opportunistic.¡± ¡°But who else could it be?¡± Sierra looked back to the carcass of the dead fiend and frowned. ¡°I think we may have a revenant on the island. One smart enough to hide from higher level awakened, then put out bait for the neophytes that come to practice. I do not believe the extra fiends I fought in the forest were merely coincidental.¡± Alarion had heard enough. He nodded to the rope. ¡°I climb slower. You first.¡± Sierra was happy to take yes for an answer from the otherwise stubborn young man as they turned back toward their escape route. Only to watch in horror as nearly one hundred feet of rope tumbled out of the hole in the ceiling and fell to the marble floor with a chilling thump. Sierra didn¡¯t even need to look at the far end of it to see that it hadn¡¯t snapped. It had been cut. ¡°Alarion. Break your icon. Now!¡± Sierra said sharply, her tone brooking no discussion. The boy did as he was instructed, plucking the small silver rod from his hip and snapping it cleanly in two. He was relieved to see Sierra do likewise, as he¡¯d been unsure if she had a similar escape route of her own. Then they waited. One second. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. ¡°Damnit!¡± Sierra swore as she sent the broken remains of her escape icon skidding across the floor. ¡°We¡¯re too far underground?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°What? No!¡± Sierra rolled her eyes, allowing her anger to get the better of her. ¡°These should work almost anywhere. Anywhere that is not warded against dimensional magic. Anywhere that isn''t a trap.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Alarion replied, his eye downcast, looking anywhere but at her. ¡°So what is the plan?¡± ¡°The plan?!¡± Her voice was incredulous, but something about his tone gave her pause. He was right to ask. She was in charge, after all. ¡°We can not wait to be rescued. It will be weeks before anyone comes looking for us, and if this is a trap I do not think the revenant expects us to starve to death. We rest and recover first, then decide how to proceed. If we get outside of the radius of the suppression, the effect should activate. How long do you have on your potion sickness?¡± ¡°About six hours.¡± Alarion answered as Sierra paced. ¡°Should give us plenty of time to figure out which class I should pick.¡± ¡°You got your class?! Finally some good news.¡± The girl made it another five steps before the implication in his words struck her. ¡°What do you mean which class?¡± Chapter Twenty-Seven ¡°The system offered me two classes when I woke up.¡± Alarion helpfully explained, though he was somewhat confused. ¡°Is that bad? I thought multiple options was a requirement.¡± ¡°When you rank up yes.¡± Sierra clarified. ¡°You need to qualify for at least three upgrades in order to rank up. But most people only get a single option when they first qualify. That Aptitude of yours is absurd.¡± Alarion shrugged, somewhat sheepishly. Sierra shook her head and pressed on. ¡°Which classes did you qualify for?¡± ¡°The first one is¡­¡± Alarion trailed off while he quickly navigated his Status. ¡°Novice Swordsman of Ambrosia.¡± ¡°Well that will make ZEKE happy.¡± She smiled. ¡°Novice Swordsman is the exact class he has been training you toward. It is a Vitrian class specialized in the Imperial Greatsword. If your eventual magic wielding class is compatible you should be able to fuse them into something like Vitrian Guardsman which will provide an extremely solid foundation for growth. What is the other?¡± Alarion didn¡¯t have to move through his menu for this one, though he still failed to meet Sierra¡¯s eyes as he spoke the name. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± Alarion repeated himself. This time loud enough for Sierra to at least catch the word ¡®Swordsman¡¯. ¡°Alarion-¡± ¡°Stubborn Swordsman.¡± The young man repeated firmly, his eyes moving to hers. Burrowing into her. Daring her to laugh. And so she did. It was not a long affair, a few short giggles that gave way to a quick belly laugh before the young woman was able to control herself. His glare didn¡¯t help and in the end she had to cover her face for several long seconds while she got her laughter under control. ¡°I assume that is a common class?¡± She asked once her laughter had finally subsided. ¡°Uncommon, actually.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Sierra crooked a brow in surprise. Then she snapped her fingers and said, ¡°Kotone. Writing utensils, please.¡± Pop Before Alarion could truly become puzzled about what was happening, a small winged creature burst into the air just above Sierra¡¯s right shoulder. It was perhaps a foot tall from tip to toe, with an enlarged head and features that were a mix of reptilian and insectile. It had no legs to speak of, its lower body tapering off to a point while its wings flapped with vibrating intensity to keep it stable as its stubby arms offered the paper and pen Sierra had requested. ¡°Thank you, dear. That will be all.¡± Sierra said, while Alarion stood slack jawed in confusion. ¡°Yes, miss! Yes, miss!¡± The creature replied happily in a buzzy voice, then vanished as quickly as it had arrived, accompanied by another soft pop, like a bubble bursting. ¡°What-¡± ¡°My familiar.¡± Sierra cut in before Alarion could drown her in inquiries. ¡°My magical class is a summoner variant. She was my first, a mix of storage power, system guide and extremely minimal combat ability.¡± ¡°How is she able to come and go if we¡¯re trapped here?¡± ¡°I-¡± Sierra began. Then she frowned. ¡°Kotone. How is it that you are able to come and go inside a dimension lock.¡± Pop ¡°Insufficient information.¡± ¡°Speculate,¡± Sierra suggested. The creature hovered for a moment, gently bobbing side to side in place before it began to speak. ¡°Your power may exceed that of the original caster. The lock may only restrict certain types of teleportation, or the connection between us may be considerably stronger due to the familiar bond. Among other possibilities.¡± ¡°Thank you, Kotone.¡± ¡°Yes miss! Yes miss!¡± Pop Alarion continued to stare at the empty space where the familiar had been. It wasn¡¯t the strangest thing he¡¯d seen since Elena had taken him as her ward, that honor went to the horror that was [Face Shaping] or perhaps the reality warping discomfort of [Void Arena], but it was a close third and it had thrown him for quite a loop. ¡°Alarion.¡± Sierra insisted, drawing his attention back to the moment as she shoved pencil and notepad into his hands. ¡°Write down the details for me, please.¡± Alarion dutifully complied. --
Novice Swordsman of Ambrosia [Common](Rank I) Stolen story; please report. Description: Training in the Vitrian Rite of Ambrosia has prepared you for the role of a Novice Swordsman, capable of wielding the mighty Imperial Greatsword to modest effect. This class draws inspiration from the Rite of Ambrosia, focusing primarily on skills and attributes most useful to fighting with the Imperial Greatsword, as well as unarmed blows and thrown weapons. Requirements: Imperial Greatsword Mastery ¨C Level 5. Training in the Rite of Ambrosia. Growths - STR ¨C +4 ¨C 70% | AGI ¨C +4 ¨C 40% | VIT - +4 - 60% | INT ¨C +4 - 40% | WIL ¨C +4 - 50% | PER ¨C +4 = 40%
--
Stubborn Swordsman [Uncommon](Rank I) Description: Though given ample formal training, you stubbornly refuse to adhere to the rules and norms of combat. You take what you can from what you are taught and make it your own in defiance of structured growth. This path is dangerous, however, as structures exist for a reason, and your intuition seldom trumps institutional knowledge. This class focuses primarily on skills and attributes related to swordsmanship, but may include unusual choices suited to your needs or desires. Requirements: Possess the flaw [Single-Minded]. Have at least one skill or class selected by the flaw [Single-Minded]. Swordsmanship training. Growths - STR ¨C +5 ¨C 70% | AGI ¨C +5 ¨C 60% | VIT - +5 - 60% | INT ¨C +5 - 40% | WIL ¨C +5 ¨C 40% | PER ¨C +5 = 30%
¡°Hmm.¡± Sierra said, musing over the two classes a few minutes later. ¡°That bad?¡± ¡°Your handwriting?¡± Sierra asked, a sly smile on her lips as Alarion¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°No, that is passable. This choice is quite the conundrum, however.¡± Alarion seemed surprised, and he said as much. ¡°I would have assumed I¡¯d be told to take the first one.¡± ¡°If ZEKE were here, undoubtedly. Though much like how he told you to dual wield daggers, I am not sure how well that advice would have stuck.¡± Alarion declined to meet her gaze as she sent a pointed look his way before continuing. ¡°But he is not here. I assume you have a preference?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Alarion agreed, as though it even needed to be said. ¡°I don¡¯t like the name, but it feels more¡­ me.¡± ¡°That is certainly a point in its favor,¡± Sierra said. ¡°The system seems to reward strong convictions or emotions, though whether that is an actual function or just something that correlates because people who give a damn try harder, is difficult to tell.¡± ¡°And the points against it?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Let me finish with the benefits first.¡± She scolded. ¡°It is a higher rank, which means more attribute points and better skill selection. Skill rarity directly correlates with the class that provides them, meaning that all other things being equal a higher rarity is simply better. Even the growths are better suited since they are more physical focused.¡± ¡°But.¡± Alarion said pointedly. ¡°But¡­ you need to be careful with it. Your single-mindedness is a flaw. Not just a personality quirk, but an imbalance substantial enough for the system to recognize it. This class is explicitly calling out that flaw as its baseline, which runs the serious risk of reinforcing the worst of your traits. In the worst case you could embrace your flaw so heavily that it escalates in severity.¡± The young man tilted his head as he studied Sierra¡¯s face. ¡°But.¡± Sierra gave a heavy sigh. ¡°But, classes like this can also be a way to temper a flaw. Best case scenario, in a rank up or two it might allow you to eliminate the flaw entirely. Or even better, shift your flaw into a virtue.¡± She saw the next question on his lips and cut him off before he could even speak. ¡°They are like reverse flaws. They seldom appear naturally, and even minor ones can give substantial bonuses.¡± ¡°Will the Stubborn class be able to merge like the other one?¡± Alarion asked, studying his invisible status. ¡°Probably not. But stranger things have happened,¡± Sierra replied. ¡°So my choice is a safe, structured option. Or the dangerous high-reward gamble.¡± She scowled. ¡°Just pick the class, Alarion. All this hand wringing to get my permission is tiresome.¡± Was that a hint of a smile on his lips? Power surged through Alarion as he mentally selected [Stubborn Swordsman]. It felt good, not to the extent of his first experience when he had learned greatsword mastery, but enough to send a shiver down his spine while a trio of new notifications demanded his attention:
Level Up! Congratulations, Your Stubborn Swordsman class has advanced to Level 1! STR +5. VIT +5. INT +5. PER +5.
Alert! You qualify for one or more new skill selections. Please see your system menu for more information.
[Quest Complete ¨C Reaching New Heights] Would you like to claim your Rewards? Yes/No
Alarion mentally pressed accept and was rewarded with the sharp electric zip of a reward box being constructed by his skill. While it worked, he turned his attention to the additional notification.
Alert! Your Class [Stubborn Swordsman] has increased in rarity due to the effect of [Self-Motivated]. Attribute growths updated. STR+1. VIT +1. INT +1. PER +1. Skill selection offerings revised. [Stubborn Swordsman](Uncommon) has become [Stubborn Swordsman](Exceptional) Skill level increased. Self-Motivated is now Level 4. Luck +24.
Alarion quickly glanced back to his [Stubborn Swordsman] description, and found himself oddly disappointed that there were no noticeable changes. That disappointment faded as the Exceptional Class Box completed and dropped into his eager hands. Like his previous quest reward, the box was a rectangle of solid stone engraved with a gorgeous side view depiction of the climactic moment of Alarion¡¯s battle against the brute. It captured him mid leap, sword upraised in desperation and defiance, and even included a small depiction of Sierra running toward the pit to save him. ¡°Wait.¡± Sierra said, peering over his shoulder at the lid of his reward. ¡°You did not fight the fiend in the pit, did you?¡± Alarion gave her a look, as if to remind her not to ask questions when she did not think she would like the truthful answer. Sierra wisely chose to change the subject. ¡°You do know that ZEKE is going to kill you when he finds out about your class choice.¡± ¡°Only if he asks. You said getting two class options was uncommon.¡± Alarion retorted. It wasn¡¯t technically a lie, but Sierra¡¯s eyes narrowed all the same. ¡°I will be sure to show him your notes. Now open it.¡± Alarion gave her a side eyed glare, but decided not to press the point and instead focused on the box.
Exceptional Class Box Description: An Exceptional reward granted to Alarion, Ward of the House of Hunger for completing the quest [Reaching New Heights]. Would you like to open this box? Yes/No
The answer was obvious and the lid slid away under only a gentle touch. As before, Alarion set the box carefully aside, though this time he handed the lid to Sierra. ¡°Could you hold onto this? Or your¡­?¡± ¡°Kotone,¡± Sierra finished for him, though the words were as much summon as clarification. The small monster appeared at her side in a flash and took the lid without instruction before vanishing again. ¡°That is really useful.¡± Alarion remarked dryly as he began to remove items from the box. Chapter Twenty-Eight Alarion didn¡¯t even bother to query the system on the identity of the first three items out of the box, instead sliding them neatly into waiting spaces on his bracer. The vials were aesthetically different, but the viscous red liquid inside was instantly recognizable to the young man. He had spent far too long weighing the pros and cons of drinking his first healing potion to not recognize one on sight. The items beneath were more interesting. ¡°A ring?¡± Alarion asked, clearly perplexed. ¡°They¡¯re the most common magical items. By far. Something about the shape and the value assisting with enchantment?¡± The girl frowned as she realized he wasn¡¯t listening in the slightest.
Ring of the Durable Fist [Common](Rank I) Description: A simple golden band engraved with the word ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± Requirements: None Attunement Cost: 6 points. Type: Ring Enchantment: Reduce all damage received for striking hardened targets with unarmed attacks by 90%. Increase unarmed damage by 10%. Ability Bonuses: +4 STR.
¡°It should fit snugly on whichever finger you pick,¡± Sierra said as Alarion struggled to choose. ¡°And it will come off easily enough as well. Most magic items will resize to a new user within a day, but anything out of one of your quest boxes should fit perfectly. Like those sandals.¡± Reminded that he wasn¡¯t done, Alarion slipped the ring on his index finger and turned his attention to his other reward.
Sandals of Striding and Springing [Uncommon](Rank I) Description: A staple item given to every recruit of the famed Midnight Company. This well worn footwear is comfortable, stylish and powerful. Requirements: None Attunement Cost: 4 points. Type: Footwear. Enchantment: Increase movement speed by a slight amount. Increase maximum jumping distance by a minor amount. Ability Bonuses: +2 AGI.
Alarion dispensed with his existing shoes in a heartbeat, though it took him considerably longer than would have been expected to correctly finalize the crisscross straps that would keep his new sandals on during a pitched battle. Eventually satisfied, the young man hopped back up to his feet. Then hopped again. ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel any different.¡± ¡°That is because, wait-¡± Sierra began, only to have her words interrupted by a sharp bang and a sudden yelp as Alarion put his other item to the test. Specifically, he threw a hook at one of the room¡¯s many marble pillars. To his credit, the punch left a slight crack in the otherwise pure white marble. To his detriment, Alarion¡¯s hand got the worse end of the deal. ¡°-that is because you have not attuned the items yet. Honestly, Alarion.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion replied, the closed mouth acknowledgement sounding rather more pained than usual. ¡°Normally you can do it almost immediately by channeling mana into them. But you have no idea how to do that, do you?¡± At a shake of Alarion¡¯s head, Sierra continued. ¡°You should be able to find the option to attune them in your system menu. It will take a few hours for each. How is the hand.¡± He clenched an unclenched the offended hand a few times before he replied. ¡°Sore, but passable.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Sierra said. She tossed him her notebook and the pencil. ¡°Then you can write down your new skills while I look for a way out.¡± ¡ª
Steel Wall [Common] Description: Your violent experiences have taught you the value of having something else take the hit for you. This has revealed the truism of blocking. Sometimes defense is the best defense. Requirements: Block at least ten attacks during live combat. Type: Passive/Active. Effects: Reduce the amount of damage that bleeds through a properly blocked attack by 25%. Regenerate 1% of maximum HP if an attack is fully blocked. Growths: VIT +4
¡ª
Intercepting Parry [Uncommon] Description: If knowing when to strike is essential to combat, then knowing when to strike a strike is the road to mastery. Requirements: Parry at least twenty attacks during live combat. Parry an attack from an opponent of a UCL at least 20 higher than your own. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Type: Active. Duration: 10 seconds Effects: Spend a minor amount of Stamina to increase the effectiveness of your next attempted parry by 25%. If this parry is successful, stun the opponent for 0.1 seconds. Growths: AGI +3. PER +3
¡ª
Vital Strike [Common] Description: Sometimes the first strike can be the last. Eschewing the traditional ebb and flow of combat, you focus instead on landing a single decisive hit to end the battle in your favor. Requirements: Kill at least one opponent in a single strike. Type: Active Activation Time: 2 seconds. Duration: 5 seconds. Effects: Channel a minor amount of stamina for two seconds. Your next attack will strike for 50% increased damage. Growths: STR +4
¡ª
Pig-Headed Resilience [Exceptional] Description: Your willingness to endure pain and damage in pursuit of a higher goal is as commendable as it is dangerous. This skill reinforces that tendency, allowing you to persist far beyond the realm of rational sense. Requirements: Suffer from at least twenty-five conditions of Serious severity or higher. Type: Passive Effects: During combat your HP is now allowed to drop into negative values. You will die if you exceed -50% of your total HP. This state will persist for up to one minute upon leaving combat. If you exit combat with a negative HP total, set HP to 1% and distribute remaining damage as internal injury conditions. Reduce all damage received below 0% HP by 5%. User gains moderate resistance to pain. Growths: VIT +8
¡ª
Unyielding Defiance [Exceptional] Description: The mere fact that an opponent is overwhelmingly powerful is no reason to back down from a fight. You have bested such opponents in the past, and with the help of this skill, you may do so again. Requirements: Defeat one opponent of at least four times your UCL. Type: Passive Effects: Gain a slight to minor increase to the effects of all attributes when fighting alone against an opponent of a higher UCL. The effect of this ability scales with the UCL of the foe, reaching its maximum when a foe is four times your UCL. Growths: STR +2. AGI +2. VIT +2. WIL +2.
¡°So what do you think?¡± Alarion asked sometime later. He¡¯d finished writing his skill descriptions in a matter of minutes, and had joined her shortly thereafter in their fruitless attempt to find an exit. As far as either of them could tell, the hole in the ceiling was their only way out, and neither of them was jumping that high, even with his new shoes. ¡°Are you asking my advice? Or are you just wanting my permission for the option you¡¯ve already chosen?¡± ¡°The first one.¡± ¡°Fair enough.¡± She smiled and glanced back down at the notes. ¡°Tell me what you think so far.¡± ¡°The first three are¡­ not good.¡± Alarion seemed almost hesitant to make that declaration. As if he were worried some secret value had eluded him. ¡°Lower rarity, and specialized. The parry seems okay. The Vital Strike one feels awful.¡± Sierra¡¯s brows raised. ¡°Really? Why do you think that?¡± ¡°The duration is short. You can¡¯t always know when you¡¯ll have an opening.¡± Alarion replied. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what channeling is, but it seems like it would make an already difficult to use ability even worse.¡± Sierra inclined her head, conceding to his summary. ¡°All valid points. I will be honest, I was worried ¡®hit things, but harder¡¯ would steal all your attention.¡± Alarion mirrored her earlier body language as she continued her thought. ¡°Channeling is when you take one of your resources, your HP, your MP or your Stamina and fill a vessel with it. That vessel can be a skill, an item, a spell or so forth. The mechanism is largely the same regardless of the resource or the vessel, but the effects vary wildly. In this case you¡¯d be spending about two seconds in the middle of a fight focusing on channeling stamina into your arms, during which you wouldn¡¯t be able to use them. Not a good choice at all.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t the others lean too much into the flaw?¡± He asked. ¡°You have already burned that bridge.¡± Sierra shrugged. ¡°Getting five skill options is fairly normal for your level. If you¡¯d taken the Novice Swordsman class your first three options would have likely been similar if not identical. The other two would have most likely been utility or general skills. The pig-headed power is probably even an offshoot of a fairly standard ¡®Bonus HP¡¯ skill. If the System is going to make your best options directly class related, then you should take them.¡± ¡°So then we pick from those two.¡± ¡°Unless you have a frightful need to have moderately better parries,¡± Sierra replied. ¡°Unyielding Defiance is a general improvement to everything, if I¡¯m fighting stronger opponents. Which I¡¯ve been doing a lot of," Alarion mused. ¡°While resilience is purely defensive.¡± ¡°Pig-headed Resilience.¡± Alarion ignored her. ¡°I already have a defensive power in Survivor¡¯s Endurance. So I should go with the one that boosts my offense, no?¡± ¡°Or you double down on your ability to stay up in a fight. Higher vitality means more HP, meaning you can go even further into the negatives,¡± Sierra countered. ¡°And being willing and able to take a hit can open up possibilities for offense.¡± He considered her words. During his previous fight with the brute, the damage race between them had been at the top of his mind. Being a little faster, a little stronger, a little more durable and precise, all of these would tip the overall battle in his favor. But at the same time, he would have fought quite differently if he knew he could take a clean hit from the fiend and not end up crippled as a result. ¡°Will I get the option to pick the one I skip over later on?¡± He asked. Sierra gestured uncertainly. ¡°It is hard to tell. Sometimes the System will offer the same skill over and over, especially if it is something the System considers a core skill of the class. Other times it will be offered once and never again. Even if it is offered multiple times, there is no guarantee that the next set of skills will not have equally appealing options. As a rule, it is best to assume that if you do not take it, you will not get it.¡± That seemed only to deflate the poor young man. ¡°Would you like a piece of advice?¡± Sierra asked. Alarion looked ready to say something snarky, but instead he simply nodded. She produced a small silver coin from a pocket on her hip and held it out to him. ¡°If I ever struggle to decide between two options I consider equally good, I flip a coin to decide.¡± ¡°That seems like something ZEKE would joke about me doing.¡± Alarion said as delicately as he could. ¡°I was not finished,¡± she protested. ¡°Flip a coin. If you like the result, keep it. If the result makes you unhappy, then that is your answer as well.¡± Skepticism remained on Alarion¡¯s face as he took the coin. He balanced it between thumb and forefinger, testing the weight, then flicked it into the air. It spun half a dozen times, then he snatched it from the air and held it against the back of his palm. ¡°Houses for Pig-headed?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± Alarion took his hand away. The face of some Vitrian Imperator stared back at him. He navigated to his menu and selected his skill. Thump. The sudden sound reverberated through the unusual acoustics of the underground chamber, drawing Alarion¡¯s eyes to its source in an instant. It was a fiend, its red-pink skin glistening in the sunlight coming down the shaft from above. It lay on the floor of the chamber, slowly collecting itself after what had been a nasty fall. It hadn¡¯t even reached a knee when another body streaked in from above. Then another. Thump. Thump. Thump. Alarion could see them now. Fiends crawling down to the bottom edge of the hole, then letting gravity carry them the rest of the way. Most broke at least one bone in the fall. Some cracked their skulls and lay motionless as they regenerated. But for every one that was incapacitated, two more advanced on Alarion and Sierra. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Chapter Twenty-Nine Alarion stepped forward, sword at the ready and glanced back at Sierra. ¡°Get behind m-¡± ¡°Oh do not right now.¡± The girl scowled. Silver steel flashed in her right hand, but she did not hold it as a weapon. Instead she began to work through strange patterns that Alarion could only assume were component to her magic. Though similar to ones he''d seen in the past, hers were more elegant than the precise motions of ZEKE, or Elena''s symmetrical signs. They felt fluid, with rises and falls. Almost instrumental. No. Not almost. It was quiet, hard to hear over the sound of marble tiles shattering under the impact of yet more fiends, but Sierra was humming in time with her motions. It was a quiet music that built in intensity as the fiends began to move toward them. ¡°Play on.¡± Sierra chanted with a musical lilt to her voice as she raised both hands to an unheard crescendo. ¡°Spectral Orchestra.¡± Then she threw her hands down and the world went white. Alarion had experienced nothing like it. A noise so loud that it violated his other senses. That left him kneeling on the floor as the initial shockwave dissipated, unsure of how he got there. Even Sierra had been taken aback, her gloved hand on her ear, a pained expression on her face. The fiends had taken the worst of it. The monsters closest to the epicenter of her spell had been rendered mostly liquid by the pressure of the noise, their cores shattered. Those at a further distance had lost large portions of their bodies that had been facing the attack. Some were missing arms and legs, others had chests or backs made newly concave by the impact. At least half a dozen fiends had died in that single attack, while twice as many had been grievously injured. But that part wasn¡¯t even the focus of the spell. Sierra had told Alarion that her magical focus was as a summoner. And [Spectral Orchestra] was a summoning spell, first and foremost. The spell had left behind a small white portal whose edges pulsed with rippling vibrations. It wasn¡¯t until his hearing began to return that Alarion realized that the noise had never stopped, it had only diminished. A terrible racket of a different source spilled out from that portal, a cacophony of poorly tuned brass instruments, off beat drumming and shrieking strings. And that noise was growing louder and louder, building to a second crescendo as something emerged. At first Alarion thought it was a trick of the light, or some lingering damage from Sierra¡¯s spell. The space was empty, but the air was vibrating. Those vibrations took on an indistinct shape, a pulse in the air that looked roughly bipedal as it stalked toward the newest fiend. The injured monster turned on this new threat and swiped one claw toward its shuddering mass, only to be rocked by a blurred counter attack accompanied by the sharp sting of a string instrument. It tried once more and was struck again, this time knocked entirely off its feet by the embodiment of sound. Another shape emerged from the portal, then another. Then another. Alarion looked to Sierra. ¡°A little more warning next time?¡± He asked, slowly getting back to his feet as more of the sound-forms funneled out of the portal, until twelve in total were available to abuse the already wounded fiends. ¡°It is not supposed to do that.¡± Sierra said by way of apology, a hand still held to the side of her head. ¡°Some damage, yes, but nothing so extreme that it would hurt us, let alone kill multiple fiends at once. Something about the acoustics of this place. The spell normally only summons four of them.¡± Alarion considered that, then asked the obvious. ¡°Can you do it again?¡± Sierra shook her head, the motion clearly causing her pain. ¡°Normally yes. But the amplification more than quadrupled the mana cost. I¡¯m spent.¡± That was a problem. Her spell had been terribly effective, but a glance at the hole above them showed that it had not been an efficient use of their resources. Fiends clambered down the walls of the pit in ones and twos, then fell amidst Sierra¡¯s summons to join the ongoing melee. ¡°You are on clearing duty.¡± Sierra instructed. When Alarion sought to protest, she spit him with an ice blue stare. ¡°Once you run out of cores to break, then you can help me fight.¡± Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. She didn¡¯t wait for his reply. The two had sparred often enough for Alarion to know he was no match for her in direct combat. Even so, he had not realized how stark the difference was until Sierra met the first of the fiends in battle. She was fast, her movements precise and well honed through endless repetition. She did not dodge a yard when a foot would do, weaving in between fiendish claws to rake their bodies with cut after cut of her own long knife. She¡¯d dropped two fiends before Alarion had even reached the fray. This left him two obvious targets as he shifted his sword to its proper size and brought it down hard on his first victim. You have slain [Starving Lesser Fiend ¨C UCL 21]¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL. Reduced Experience earned for slaying a suppressed opponent. This experience has been split between active combatants. Alarion did not have time to consider what suppression was in this context. Instead he swung. And swung. And swung again. Each hit cracked a fiendish heart, and each death brought a similar notification. And something else. He¡¯d not noticed it in the aftermath of Sierra¡¯s overpowered magic, but each death sent a pulse of white-blue light throughout the chamber. It was so faint at first that he thought he¡¯d imagined it, but it grew in intensity and staying power with each fiend he killed. Before long the glow was consistent, outlining a series of mysterious lines in sharp angles and small circles upon the white marble walls. ¡°Sierra.¡± Alarion said between kills. The two had set a steady rhythm, backing one another up. She would strike down a fiend, then cover him when killed it. Then he would take the offense, brutalizing the nearest fiends to keep them at bay while Sierra isolated a new target with the help of her spectral minions. ¡°Do you-¡± ¡°I see it.¡± She confirmed as her knife dug deep into the body of her most recent target. ¡°I do not know what it is.¡± ¡°Should we be worried?¡± ¡°What part of-¡± Sierra¡¯s words caught in her throat as her dagger clipped bone in a fiend¡¯s torso and stuck in place. Sensing her weakness, the fiend pounced, only to be met with three brisk incapacitating thrusts to the side of its head, courtesy of a punching dagger quick drawn from her hip. ¡°What part of ''I do not know'' makes you think I should know?¡± In truth they had greater things to worry about. Sierra¡¯s spell-casting and their subsequent rush had done much to thin the fiend¡¯s initial numbers, but had done nothing to stem the flow. The fiends fell in small clusters, and while all were hurt by the fall, few suffered debilitating injuries. For every three that the small party killed, one snuck through long enough to retaliate. A claw to Sierra¡¯s arm, a vicious bite on Alarion¡¯s shoulder. The summons took the worst of it, with nearly half their number dispersed in the first few minutes of combat. They¡¯d lose this fight. Attrition would chip away at them, slow and steady until something broke. They¡¯d run out of minions to take damage for them or perhaps Alarion would be forced to compound his malus with yet another potion. Their stamina reserves were flagging and there was no end in sight. It was a matter of when, not if. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Alarion said, one hand on the flat of his blade as he bull rushed into the wall of fiends and sent them tumbling back. He flourished his blade once and chopped a fiend¡¯s leg off on the backswing before he carried through the momentum into the decapitation of two others. It wasn¡¯t enough. Not nearly enough. Two more fell behind him, eager to join the fight. Another grabbed his leg, digging talons into his calf and tearing the muscle as Alarion screamed in pain. He dropped to a knee and slammed the edge of his blade through the fiend¡¯s core as another loomed over him. Its threat was short lived as Sierra arrived and opened its throat with a flick of her wrist, then sent another sprawling with an arcing kick. ¡°Save your sorry.¡± Sierra replied as she met his gaze. ¡°Be better.¡± The two said in unison. With her help, Alarion stood on his wounded leg. No longer able to properly wield his greatsword, he shrunk it down and mirrored Sierra¡¯s grip as she waded into the fiends once again. He stayed one step behind her, striking at limbs as they sought to injure her and stabbing repeatedly at the cores of downed fiends once she felled them. The remaining sonic shades fell in behind Alarion, covering his rear in turn as the pair redoubled their efforts against what felt like an unending tide. Until, at last, it ended. Neither of them noticed at first. Both were so caught up in their task that they failed to recognize that the telltale thump of fiends joining the battle had ended. It was only as the remaining number began to thin that either spared a glance to see what had changed. Above them the fiends had indeed stopped falling. More than that, the few that had already entered the pit were skittering back up the way they¡¯d came. It was then that Alarion saw him. At such considerable distance Alarion first mistook him for a man. He was tall, broad and in the prime of his youth. Wide rimmed circular glasses were perched on an aquiline nose as the man, the thing looked down at him, and took notes in a large ledger. Its skin was ashen, a dead thing from which life had long since drained. To see it in motion, as though it were alive, struck Alarion with such a primal wave of revulsion that he nearly vomited on the spot. It saw him and gave a thin smile. Not demeaning, not malicious. The sort of smile one gave a complete stranger when passing them on the street. As if to say, ¡®don¡¯t worry about me¡¯. ¡°Strike! Kotone!¡± Sierra incanted beside him. Her familiar appeared in an instant, its small body rocketing up toward the surface. A stinger had emerged from its lower body, aimed at only one target. The revenant waved its hand dismissively and a fiend leapt from the wall of the pit, intercepting the rushing familiar in mid-air and tearing it apart in two quick pulls. In the same instant, Alarion¡¯s stomach sank. Not because of the failed attack or the death of Sierra¡¯s familiar, but because the ground beneath them had shifted. The room was descending. Interlude - One From the journal of Dr. Leopold Tempes ¨C Vitria, 286 A.T.S. It is a queer thing to return home and find it almost unrecognizable. When I departed, the Vitrian Society for System Study was a largely ad hoc affair, a handful of buildings near the eastern shore purchased with a modest stipend from the Imperator. Today it is a full campus in the heart of the city consisting of dozens of interconnected structures and a staff of hundreds. Even the name has changed, branding me as Professor Emeritus of the Vitrian Institute for System Information and Technology VISIT is admittedly a better acronym. But such, I suppose, is progress. I had never meant for such a long absence. Quite the contrary, when first I set out some nineteen years prior I had fully intended to return by year¡¯s end. A short trip to the continent by sea, and an overland journey through the Principalities to gather specimens and population data for my compendium. The sea was with us, and the locals so unexpectedly cooperative that we finished two months ahead of schedule. With such an auspicious start and considerable funds remaining within my budget, I chartered a local merchant to take us across the Middle Sea to Imuria. There I made the discovery that is most to blame for my many years abroad. It has long been understood that the System is tailored to the cultures in which it manifests. A review of the available literature shows that System menus have, for example, shifted over time to accommodate linguistic drift. Likewise the default appearance of such menus can often vary wildly from region to region in structure, layout, color scheme and so forth. At the very far end of such cultural adaptation, the System has even presented specific racial or national traits, such as the Class ¡®Vitrian Guardsman¡¯ or the oft recognized flaws inherent in the Godborn. Thus when I was approached by an amateur Imurian scholar of some modest repute, a man by the name of Lyre Doulou, I was initially quite perplexed by his excitement. Doulou, as I soon discovered, had recently returned from a two month expedition to an ocean-side town by the name of Cere. Sent as an inspector, he and his assistants were part of an Imurian initiative to replicate the success of Vitrian census taking. Doulou claimed that, in doing so, he had discovered that the residents of Cere all shared a unique, unnamed class. To my ears, this was not unusual. Cere, as he had explained, was a small fishing community of only six hundred and ninety-seven. By rough estimates of continental populations, that would place their expected number of Awakened in the low double digits. Perhaps not even that many. That a tightly knit community with only one primary vocation produced awakened with a similar class structure was not unusual. Doubly so if the residents had developed some method of training likely to produce the aforementioned class. I am ashamed to admit that Inspector Doulou had to explain the matter to me twice more before I finally understood his meaning. All of them had the class. It was a preposterous idea, of course. I told him as much, insisting that the villagers had duped him in some fashion. Owing to the half-hearted Imurian attempt at replicating the census, his group had not included anyone with access to the Evaluate skill and had instead relied on self-reporting and demonstrations of superhuman ability. He too had been dubious, but they had been able to convince him with what I was certain were slight of hand tricks or feats of prestidigitation. Regardless of my skepticism, the inspector made a number of compelling arguments. That the data from Cere and its surrounding towns would be useful for my compendium, that he would use his authority to twist arms to make the Imurian population more amenable to my questions and that he would share his own data. Most importantly he agreed that my research on the matter would be paid for out of his pocket. Given the limited resources of the VISIT¡¯s precursor organization, I could not pass up such an opportunity, even if he continued to believe that the most compelling part of his pitch was ¡®what if I am right¡¯? We traveled overland for two weeks, passing through Neva, Taci and with a two day stop in the city of Reburn. True to his word, Doulou opened a number of doors, both figurative and literal, when the time came to access Imurian awakened and their local archives. He likewise proved an adequate accomplice for drink and mischief, but that needs not be discussed further. Our arrival in Cere was met with little fanfare. A severe people long accustomed to their way of life, the townsfolk of Cere were neither welcoming nor rude. They accepted our presence but did not let it alter their actions or behavior. They would speak if spoken to and we were provided the necessities of life during our stay, at cost of course. But more than once I was convinced that if I stood in their way they would simply attempt to walk through me. It was as though I were looking at a city of ghosts, or perhaps ill-formed Thoughtborn. I was eager to get to work, in no small part because an evaluation would confirm not only the validity of Doulou¡¯s allegation but their humanity as well. Instead we were made to wait. Three days, then they would have time for us. As an evaluation requires a willing, stationary subject I spent the intervening days compiling a small dossier on the village. Culturally they shared little and less with their Imurian kin. There was a shared language, though it was spoken with such a heavy dialect that at first I was not certain. The few who could write had drifted even further, to the point that their scrawling seemed to involve an entirely different alphabet. They acknowledged the Imurian king, but only in distant passing. I learned later that the seat of their particular liege lord had been vacant for over a century, and that no other had shown an interest in the craggy, wind whipped steps of Cere. Stolen novel; please report. ¡°More trouble than it is worth,¡± had been Inspector Doulou¡¯s explanation at the time. Looking back, I suspect he was correct, just not in the way he had intended. Perhaps most interesting of all was the divergence in local religion. Imuria is well known as a land of deities and demigods. To my understanding, Lal Kales held court in Imuria from 76 B.T.S. to 138 A.T.S. over the course of two consecutive reincarnations. Even before the resulting wave of worship, Imuria had a long history of local deities in the form of natural spirits, protector gods and so forth. Even small Imurian communities were notable for hosting a large temple with multiple gods ranging from local entities to the established canon of Imuria. It was curious then, to learn that the people of Cere worshiped only a single graven idol. The figure was carved in relief upon a standing stone, perched at the edge of the highest point of the nearby cliff face. The image depicted the supposed savior of Cere standing with his back to the viewer, his head turned to stare over one shoulder. According to legend, this man had visited them some three centuries earlier during an unspecified calamity and they had raised the stone to honor him. Though roughly hewn and lacking in artistry, the figure depicted was still somehow deeply upsetting. I was told by the villagers that this deity provides no boons, it hears no prayers and offers no protection. In a land where the act of worship has a history of powerful results, they choose to dignify only this. When asked the man¡¯s name, I was told he had none, or that none was known. Only a title. It Who Is The Harbinger. Suffice to say I was glad when the third day arrived during our time in Cere. I had slept poorly, turning and writhing through uncommon nightmares during my stay. I was eager to disprove Inspector Doulou¡¯s assertion and be on our way, or alternately, to at least have some meaningful reason to stay in such a dreadful place. I conducted the first Evaluation on the village Foreman and was delighted to find that I was correct. Doulou had claimed that all the villagers of Cere were awakened to an identical class, but while the Foreman was awakened, a low level Fisherman class was far from what I had expected. Further evaluations reinforced my belief. Most of the population was unawakened, and the few who were fell into entirely predictable demographics. It was only through Doulou¡¯s persistence that I continued beyond the first half dozen evaluations to see the truth of the matter. The inspector could not reconcile my results with what he had seen during his initial investigation of the town. Given the contradiction, he insisted we continue, even well past the point of reason. Were he not my benefactor, I would have refused. We had conducted upwards of ninety evaluations, a staggering list that had drained my mana pool thrice over when I finally made the connection. My work over the previous months had involved countless Evaluations and documentation of the resulting statistics. I knew quite well the baseline results for an unawakened human, for a Godborn, for all manner of Systemborn. I knew the growth rates for the classes I was evaluating and once my sample size grew large enough, I could see it with a simple glance at my notes. Their ability scores were too uniform. In a large enough population there is always a return to the mean. If you look at 10,000 awakened growing +4 at 50% you will see an average of +2 per level. But in a small sample size you will see outliers. Some will be higher, some will be lower. Even in unawakened groups you will see deviations as a result of flaws. But the population of Cere had no variance at all. Their awakened had one statline, their unawakened another. No random chance could reasonably produce such results. But masking could. And given the strength of my evaluation skill, it was a powerful mask indeed. But not so powerful that I was unable to pierce it. I could not then, and do not now understand why they told Inspector Doulou about their class, and then attempted to hide it from me. Perhaps they did not realize that they needed to hide what they were until the secret was already out in the world. I do know that telling the Inspector what I had discovered was a grave mistake. Had I joined him in confronting the Foreman I almost certainly would have joined him in death. I do not know what was said, but I know that Doulou¡¯s other compatriots were brutally murdered in their beds, and that I narrowly escaped by dint of being awake when they came for me. I know that Doulou¡¯s remains were found reduced to ash and bone on a pyre, up near that horrific carving, when the village was captured after two weeks of fighting. The Imurian state did not take kindly to the capture of one of their inspectors. Though they took a much more firm stance when the team sent to investigate my claims failed to return. What followed was open warfare that ended only when every man, woman and child in the village of Cere was dead. Little remained of the village when I visited the aftermath. Fire and spell had obliterated every standing structure and I spent days digging through smoldering ruins in hopes of finding something to make sense of what had occurred. It was beneath that despicable standing stone where I found my prize. Would that I could say that I had solved some grand riddle or received some clever insight. In truth, I simply no longer wished to look upon the thing. In my anger I shoved it from the cliff face to shatter on the jagged rocks below. And in the shallow hollow beneath, I found a tin case. Inside were two things. The first was what had once been a Class Codex. Time had rotted through it, diminishing its magic to only the most dull traces but even those were foul and nearly overpowering. It was written in the same odd characters that the villagers of Cere had adopted, and I could make no more sense of it than the few unburnt notes I had found in what remained of the Foreman¡¯s home. I had little doubt that this book was the origin point of the [Disciple of The Harbinger] class that was ubiquitous among the villagers. The second was an arcane pact of some design, this one preserved by whatever cyclical powers enforced its terms. I could not read it, and much as with the codex I do not believe I would do so if I could. But I could read the names and the date. Six-hundred and ninety seven of them had signed it. They had made their bargain, adopted that evil class. And they had done so in the 57th year of the reign of Regia Amari. The first of two local incarnations of Lal Kales. The Imurian God Queen who died five years Before the System. Chapter Thirty Without the need to pace themselves or the danger of being flanked by new arrivals, Alarion and Sierra made short work of the remaining fiends. Or rather, Sierra made short work of the remaining fiends while Alarion trailed behind her and finished off her leavings. Even that was a struggle for the young man. His lungs and arms were on fire, his stamina depleted. Your stamina has dropped below 0. New Condition! [Winded] [Survivor¡¯s Endurance] Cannot take effect. Alarion was familiar with the condition. He¡¯d first earned it in his training scraps with ZEKE. Winded ¨C 50% Malus to all attributes so long as stamina remains negative. All skills that utilize stamina have been disabled so long as stamina remains negative. The Steelborn had been very clear, repeatedly, that fighting on past the point of exhaustion was a fool¡¯s gambit meant only for the most desperate of times. The penalty itself was crippling in a fight, and the knock on effects like muscle fatigue would be no better. Worse yet, the malus for dipping below zero would impact his stamina regeneration rate, which in turn meant it would take twice as long to recover while in the negatives. Unfortunately when theory met praxis, the former rarely held up as well as one would think. Alarion lay on top of the final fiend, slamming his miniature greatsword over and over again into the fiend¡¯s core. Each impact chipped away at the hardened red stone, but Alarion had so many malus¡¯ stacked that his strength might have even been below baseline human. ¡°Alarion.¡± Sierra said beside him as he struck again. He hit two more times before she finally caught his wrist. ¡°Wait. It is okay. We won.¡± The boy stared at her in a daze, as though what she were saying were nonsensical. Then he looked around and saw what they had wrought. It was hard to say how many fiends they¡¯d killed. Dozens, certainly. Alarion¡¯s habit of taking limbs with his attacks had left the battlefield strewn with body-parts, and enough of the fiends were piled atop or near one another that an accurate count would be difficult. He could look back through his notifications for a specific number, but the answer that mattered was, enough. Level Up! Congratulations, Your Stubborn Swordsman Class has advanced to Level 4! STR +12. AGI+12 VIT +18. INT +18. PER +12. WIL +6. Skill level increased. Imperial Greatsword Mastery is now Level 6. STR+4. At some point during the melee, the chamber had stopped moving. Above them, far above them now, the entrance of the pit had closed over, blotting out the sunlight to leave the room bathed only in the blue-white glow of the wall¡¯s curious markings. It lent the whole scene a surreal feeling, as though they had stumbled into some enchanted slaughter house. ¡°Let me,¡± Sierra said, releasing Alarion¡¯s wrist. She waved him off, waiting until he¡¯d found a new seat a short distance away. Then she stabbed the fiend through the head and looked to him. ¡°Catch your breath. When you are ready, tell me. Do not rush, we have time.¡± ¡°Time for what?¡± He asked through heaving breaths. ¡°For whatever happens when I kill this fiend,¡± Sierra replied. ¡°The glow has been getting stronger every time we kill one of them.¡± ¡°¡­ and you think the revenant stopped sending them once there were enough to trigger... something,¡± Alarion said, finishing her train of thought. It wasn¡¯t a certainty by any means, but there was no reason to test their luck before they were ready. The two sat in relative silence, with Sierra periodically stabbing the fiend¡¯s body every ten seconds or so in order to halt its natural regeneration. Once he was no longer wheezing for air, Alarion made a quick lap of the room. No new entrances had opened up along its exterior, nor did touching the glowing patterns on the wall elicit any sort of response. ¡°How did he move the room?¡± Alarion asked as he returned from his circuit. ¡°I do not know,¡± She answered. ¡°Earth magic is most likely, but I do not think this revenant is all that strong, given that it kept us at a distance. Maybe an item. Or some function of the chamber itself.¡± ¡°So we can¡¯t move it back.¡± ¡°No,¡± she replied, stabbing the fiend again for good measure. Quiet reigned once again as both awakened descended into their thoughts, occasionally punctuated by the stab of Sierra¡¯s knife or the shriek of an abused instrument as her remaining summons dissipated. Several times Alarion opened his mouth, as though to speak, then thought better of it as his words withered on the vine inside of him. After the fifth such attempt, Sierra had finally had enough. ¡°Spit it out.¡± ¡°We have another problem.¡± Alarion answered, eyes downcast. ¡°Which is?¡± He said nothing. ¡°Alarion.¡± She pressed. ¡°I wasn¡¯t watching my HP.¡± Sierra¡¯s frown deepened. One of the things that she thought she¡¯d beaten into him during their weeks of training was to always watch your HP. An Awakened body could endure considerable abuse without loss of function, but the system was unforgiving in one critical aspect. When your HP hit zero, you died. Newly Awakened were often so arrogant that unless a strike was immediately crippling, they might not register it at all. Deaths from simple, preventable attrition were among the most common for fledgling Awakened. Which was why she¡¯d had Alarion set up a critical alert to warn him if his HP dropped too low. So how had he missed it? The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°How bad?¡± When he didn¡¯t answer she repeated the question. ¡°How bad?¡± ¡°-72.¡± She¡¯d have hit him if doing so wouldn¡¯t have run the risk of killing him. ¡°Are you-¡± Sierra started to shout, before she thought better of it. Their battle had been life or death, and she had no ready alternative for what he should have done. Her own HP was perilously low. If he¡¯d pulled back for his own safety, she¡¯d have been overwhelmed. If he¡¯d kept better track of his HP, or his critical HP warning had worked properly with his new skill, he might have quaffed a potion to be safe and they could have lost. ¡°Drink a potion.¡± She said at last. ¡°I¡¯ve already had two recently.¡± He reminded her. ¡°Then a third will not kill you,¡± Sierra countered. ¡°But as soon as I stop stabbing this fiend, you¡¯ll exit combat and all of that damage will convert to conditions that will take far more to heal than a single potion will provide. We are picking the best of bad options here.¡± Reluctantly he acknowledged her point and drew one of his new potions from his bracer. He popped the stopper and downed it in a single gulp with nary a shudder. Healing energy flooded his body, maxing out his HP and healing over the worst of his wounded arm and torn up calf. Then the aftershocks hit. His blood was fire, his stomach turning with revulsion and agony. The pain passed swiftly, but the feeling of unwell remained. He¡¯d not been this sick in years, before his awakening no doubt. Spoiled meat had been the cause and Alarion felt his stomach rebel at the mere thought of food. New Condition! Potion Toxicity: Severe. Survivor¡¯s Endurance Has taken effect. [Potion Toxicity ¨C Severe] has been resisted due to user¡¯s VIT score. Condition reduced to [Potion Toxicity¨C Major] Potion Toxicity: Major¨C 55% Malus to all Attributes. Time Until Healed ¨C ~8 hours. There was only a single bit of good news. Skill level increased. Survivor¡¯s Endurance] is now Level 6. VIT +4. ¡°That never feels good.¡± Sierra said sympathetically. ¡°Let me know when you are ready.¡± ¡°I will. It should be about eight hours.¡± Sierra snorted a quick laugh, then covered her face with one hand. ¡°I meant your stamina. Even if it cleared your penalties, I do not think it is wise for us to sit here for eight hours stabbing this fiend over and over.¡± ¡°Probably not.¡± Alarion conceded. His sword grew to full size and he gave the air a few practice cuts, testing his strength and speed. Even with the stiff penalties, he had grown so much in such a short period of time that he was nearly as powerful as when he¡¯d fallen into the pit in the first place. ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡± Sierra¡¯s knife descended for the final time, shattering the fiend¡¯s core in a single decisive strike. And nothing happened. The two exchanged glances, a nervous smile creeping at the edge¡¯s of Sierra¡¯s lips only to die at the sound of stone grinding against stone. A door was opening. Or rather, a staircase. One of the black marble panels in the floor had begun to retract, revealing a long, well lit staircase leading further into the bowels of the earth. The top half of a fiend preceded them, as it slid off the disappearing marble and fell into the new gap, clattering its way down a nearly endless staircase. Alarion glanced to Sierra. ¡°So this is a trap, yes?¡± Obviously. But that was the problem with a good trap. It did not matter what you knew, so long as you had no better options. They could not climb out. Even if they somehow managed to reach the bottom lip of the pit its top was closed and possibly guarded as well. They could not dig out, not without tools and with several hundred yards of soil and rock between them and the surface. Not at their level. Waiting was almost certainly off the table. The Vitrians hadn¡¯t found the buried chamber previously, there was no reason to think this time would be any different, even if Alarion¡¯s disappearance was a stronger motivation. That left the waiting jaws of the trap. A far from ideal solution. ¡°We are going to rest first.¡± Sierra said, ignoring his question. She¡¯d no doubt come to a similar conclusion. ¡°On the stairs, stay near the top so we can decide which way to go if it starts to close.¡± As it happened, that fear was unfounded. After a short demonstration of her [Clean] cantrip, a spell Alarion had every intention of learning should they survive, the two settled down on opposite sides of the stairway, leaning up against the walls in an attempt to find some measure of comfort on the uneven surface. With no fire to cook, hard tack rations were the meal of the day. Or at least, they would have been had Sierra not surprised him with a snap of her fingers. ¡°Kotone, fruit please. Grapes, if we have them.¡± To his shock and delight, the bizarre creature burst into being with a ¡®yes, miss!¡¯ no worse for the wear despite having been torn to pieces a mere hour earlier. To his even greater delight the familiar did, indeed, have grapes. ¡°How?¡± Alarion asked, unable to properly formulate the question that was still brewing in his head. Fortunately, Sierra understood. ¡°The body you are seeing is only a temporary construction of my mana. The actual Kotone is a thought form I created. Much harder to destroy.¡± ¡°Thought form?¡± He asked. ¡°Is that like-¡± Sierra held up a hand to stop him there, then offered him one of the grape bundles by way of apology. ¡°Not right now, Alarion. I am too exhausted for any sort of lesson. Sit. Eat, get some rest. It has been a long day. I will take first watch.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion agreed. The two ate in silence, doing their best to pay as little attention to the pile of dismembered fiends nearby as they filled their bellies. No further words were exchanged, and eventually Alarion turned his attention inward, adjusting his status to display his current progress absent the temporary malus: General Information Name - Alarion Species - Human Sex - Male Age ¨C Fifteen Years HP ¨C 313/313 [+0.011/sec] MP ¨C 226/226 [+0.024/sec] Stamina ¨C 203/203 [+0.507/sec] Aptitude - 238% UCL ¨C 18 Attributes STR ¨C 72 AGI - 52 VIT ¨C 76 INT ¨C 61 PER ¨C 76 WIL ¨C 40 LUK ¨C 411 Classes Known Orphan - Level 5 - Progress ¨C 15% Survivor - Level 1 - Progress - MAX Stubborn Swordsman ¨C Level 4 ¨C Progress - 3% General Skills Known Stealth - Level 3 - Progress ¨C 92% Detection - Level 4 - Progress - 19% Thrown Weapon Mastery - Level 5 - Progress ¨C 83% Imperial Greatsword Mastery ¨C Level 6 ¨C Progress - 21% Class Skills Known Survivor¡¯s Endurance ¨C Level 6 ¨C Progress - 7% Self-Motivated ¨C Level 3 ¨C Progress - 19% (No Daily Use Available) Pig-Headed Resilience - Level 1 - Progress - 58% Traits and Feats of Strength Avian Bane - Rank I Flaws Unknown ¨C Major Unknown ¨C Moderate Single-Minded¨C Minor (Focus: Imperial Greatsword Mastery) He read it thrice over, digging into the details of every facet of his growth. His progress over the course of a single day had been nothing short of meteoric, but a life or death struggle would do that. Even so, he wondered just how fast he was expected to grow, now that he¡¯d gained a combat class. ¡°Sie-¡± He started to ask, only to catch himself as his eyes fell upon her. Her body was twisted to best fit upon a single stair, one knee pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around it. Her head was canted to one side resting against the wall as her chest slowly rose and fell. He stood carefully, relying on his [Stealth] skill as he dug into his bag, then closed the short distance between them to drape her in a blanket. He would take first watch. Chapter Thirty-One ¡°Alarion.¡± The boy woke with a start, his hands coming defensively before blurry eyes recognized Sierra¡¯s blue-lit face. ¡°Wha¡­. how long was I?¡± ¡°A few hours. I let you sleep slightly more than I got to, since we had to wait out your timers,¡± She smiled slightly. ¡°Check your status. If your penalties have not worn off, I can let you sleep a little longer.¡± Alarion scoffed. Calling it sleep was overly generous. He wasn¡¯t sure if Sierra had a skill, or just significant practice, but he¡¯d been unable to replicate her sudden slumber. He¡¯d shifted and tossed, unable to get comfortable upon the stairs for nearly an hour before he¡¯d drifted off into a fitful slumber. If anything, he felt more exhausted than when he¡¯d started, but thankfully the system wasn¡¯t willing to hit him with another penalty for an uncomfortable nap. ¡°Potion sickness penalty has reduced to slight now, only 1%. It will be gone entirely in about twenty minutes.¡± He glanced down the imposing staircase. ¡°We might as well just go. See what is at the bottom and wait there if we have to.¡± ¡°You are probably right,¡± She grimaced at the sight of so many steps. ¡°Get yourself ready and we will go?¡± ¡°Mm,¡± He agreed in his usual taciturn fashion. Five minutes later, he had finished walking off the weariness of his nap, collected his things and was ready to go. Which was when the true struggle began. Ten minutes into their descent, with no end in sight, Alarion was glad they had not bothered to wait out the last of his penalty. At twenty minutes he could no longer see their entrance when he looked back, but felt no closer to the bottom. By thirty minutes his legs were burning, and he could no longer stand it. ¡°This isn¡¯t magic, is it?¡± ¡°What?¡± Sierra asked. ¡°The stairs.¡± He pointed ahead, as though she could somehow miss his meaning. ¡°When Elena first put me in the Void Arena, I was able to run in any direction, without ever getting anywhere.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Sierra replied, catching his meaning at last. ¡°It could be. There are certainly illusion spells and spatial magic that could have that effect. But to what end? We were already trapped in the chamber above, trapping us in a staircase feels redundant. Besides, we did pass the top half of that fiend quite a while back. At least that far must be real.¡± Alarion considered her words. Then, seemingly satisfied, he changed the subject. ¡°I leveled very fast.¡± ¡°Congratulations?¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t-¡± He scowled as he realized just how conceited his choice of words had made him look. ¡°I was more asking, is that normal? It took weeks to gain the class, and less than an hour to level it multiple times.¡± ¡°Completely normal,¡± She reassured him. ¡°Getting the class is far and away the most time consuming part of the first rank. For those less blessed than you are, it can take years or even decades to gain the class in the first place, but considerably less time to reach the pinnacle of Rank I.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Alarion asked, his voice skeptical. ¡°Indeed. I reached both my classes shortly before my induction at fourteen. I am very near my summoner cap, and not far behind with my combat class. And that is with a training regime less¡­ extreme than yours has been.¡± Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°How so?¡± She laughed slightly. ¡°It is not Vitrian custom to throw our trainees to the fiends by themselves, even with someone to guard them. When I was on subjugation duty, I was part of an organized team, expected to take on no more than a few fiends at a time. Safe and steady progress as opposed to rapid and dangerous.¡± ¡°Safe sounds nice,¡± He said, lapsing back into quiet now that his questions were exhausted. They walked for several more minutes, for hundreds more steps, until Sierra broached a thought of her own. ¡°Tell me about yourself.¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°I read what Mistress Elena wrote to the Governor about you, but there was almost nothing in the file about you as a person,¡± She explained. ¡°Where were you born? Where did you grow up? That sort of thing.¡± Alarion eyed her cautiously. Her question seemed sincere, even banal, but somehow it clearly bothered him. Yet despite those misgivings, he eventually shrugged and began to answer. ¡°I was born in Imuria. On a little plot of land a few miles away from a larger city. Redburn, maybe, I cannot remember the name. We grew something on trees.¡± ¡°An orchard? Pears? Apples, maybe?¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± He nodded firmly, delighted she found the word he¡¯d been searching for as a vivid memory came to him. ¡°Apples, that was it. Small little sour apples. My sisters once tied me to a fence and threw them at me until I cried. I was very young when we left.¡± ¡°The war?¡± Again he nodded. ¡°We were supposed to visit the city for market. Then my father came home in a panic. We needed to leave. The numbe- the Vitrians had declared war.¡± ¡°The Imurians declared that war when they-¡± Sierra stopped herself as Alarion¡¯s face showed a total lack of offense or even interest at her pushback. ¡°Sorry. Go on.¡± ¡°There wasn¡¯t much more,¡± He shrugged. ¡°We went south along with a lot of others, it took us a long time to find anywhere to stay. No family left in Ashad. No gods either, my mother used to say. The new house was small. I cried a lot for having to share a room with my sisters. Looking back, they were still the good years.¡± ¡°What happened?¡± Alarion gave her a look. ¡°You did. Another war. My dad was born in Ashad so they made him fight.¡± This time Sierra had the good sense to say nothing. ¡°After, my mother couldn¡¯t pay for even the small house we had. Not while feeding us. She sold everything she could. Jewelry, my father¡¯s tools. The few animals we had. Eventually she sold us. My older sisters and I.¡± ¡°I am sorry.¡± He shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t be. We agreed to it." She spit him with an incredulous look. "She had to keep my little sister safe. None of us could make our own way as a family. But the money she got from from us was enough to get the two of them somewhere safe. At least I think. It was a good trade." Sierra bristled. ¡°Alarion. You can not-¡± ¡°We were treated better by that first family anyway,¡± He interrupted. ¡°They fed us. Kept us from starving through a bad winter. It only got bad when they sold us again. Separate lots. I don¡¯t know what happened to them after that.¡± Sierra frowned in confusions. ¡°Wait. I thought they found you with your family?¡± Alarion gave her a quizzical glance. ¡°Why do you think that?¡± ¡°There were-¡± Sierra¡¯s uncertainty deepened as she studied his face. ¡°Mistress Elena¡¯s report says that you were found with four graves. In the Old City.¡± ¡°Those weren¡¯t my family,¡± He explained. ¡°I ran away after the second time I was sold, I wanted to find my sisters. I couldn¡¯t. Eventually someone took me in, then sold me again. That family abandoned us when the fiends came, and I went with a small caravan to the Old City.¡± ¡°There was a family, a mother and two daughters. They took pity on me because I looked like their son. I liked them because they reminded me of my family,¡± He continued. ¡°When we got to the Old City there was an argument about payment and papers to get into Ashad-Vitri. A fight broke out and we tried to escape. We hid in a house, in the basement.¡± Sierra¡¯s eyes were fixated on Alarion as he spoke. There were no tears in his eyes, even as her own shone slightly in the white-blue light of the stairway walls. Only the slight set of his jaw marked a difference in his usual demeanor. ¡°The man wanted to hurt them. I tried to fight back. He beat me bloody. They tried to stop him from killing me, one of them cut him with a knife and he went berserk.¡± Alarion looked away from Sierra¡¯s eyes then. ¡°I stabbed him in the back with the knife she''d dropped. A lot. But too late.¡± "Then you buried them? All of them?" "Just bodies at that point," Alarion said. "Did not seem right to leave him for the birds. He was just as desperate as we were." ¡°And you just stayed down there.¡± Alarion¡¯s eyes snapped back to her, a flash of anger glimmering behind them. ¡°Where else was left for me to go?¡± Chapter Thirty-Two Minutes passed in shared silence as the two continued their descent into the depths, though it was not a tense quiet despite the grim subject matter of their previous conversation. Alarion had said his piece, he had answered her questions and when they stopped coming he had nothing more to say on the matter. For her part Sierra was merely at a loss for words. Alarion didn¡¯t really talk much. He could be a fountain of questions, mostly those of a purely practical purpose, but she could count the minutes she¡¯d heard him express himself on one hand. And most of those minutes were on this staircase. She did not know what to say, so for some time she said nothing. Until even that could no longer be sustained. ¡°I was born in Vitria.¡± Sierra said, her eyes straight ahead as they walked. ¡°You probably guessed that, even if not all of us were.¡± Beside her, Alarion turned his head. Just a slight look in her direction. Seeing that he was waiting for her to continue, Sierra did so. ¡°My family has a villa on the north shore, just off the water. A beautiful place, far removed from the busiest parts of the city. Or at least it was, the city gets more crowded every year.¡± Alarion gave her a quizzical look. ¡°Is the island really that small that you¡¯re running out of room?¡± Sierra laughed. ¡°You have it backward. The island is large, but the city is just that big. It is not the largest in the world, that honor would go to the Bizarre, or perhaps Throne or the Century Cities if you lumped them together. Even so, Vitria is enormous. If you count the merchant cities we certainly rival any in the world.¡± Alarion gave her a blank look. ¡°Only Vitrians can own land in the city itself,¡± She helpfully explained. ¡°But the Empire has so much wealth that cities sprung up on the continent, just across the Gateway Bridge. Even on the bridge.¡± That last seemed to spark something in the young man, his expression contorting as he tried to visualize it. ¡±How would that¡­?¡± ¡°You will see one day, I am sure of it,¡± Sierra replied before returning back to her original train of thought. ¡°I am also an only child. The only one who lived long enough to be named, in any case.¡± ¡°Sounds lonely,¡± Alarion observed. Sierra thought about his words for a short while before she replied. ¡°In some fashion, if perhaps not in the way you think. My mother was always there when I was young. Or a nanny. Once I was old enough to leave the house, to attend secta, I was everyone¡¯s friend. That was lonely in its own way.¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°My father is the second seat in the House of Sorrow,¡± She said, to another blank look on Alarion¡¯s face. ¡°Which I now realize means nothing to you. Did they teach you anything?¡± ¡°Reading, math and language skills mostly,¡± He replied. ¡°Not enough time for anything else.¡± ¡°And so I end up having to fill in the gaps,¡± She scowled. ¡°All Vitrians belong to one of the seventy-seven houses. You know this much, yes?¡± Alarion nodded. ¡°Each house in turn has seven seated members. The houses select them differently, but typically it is by some combination of politics, background, rank, aptitude, experience and other minor factors. These five hundred and thirty nine in turn make up the political body of Vitria. When an Imperator dies or abdicates, the Seated select a new one. They codify new laws and clarify existing ones, they hold hearings and tribunals. In short, they handle the day to day business of Empire.¡± ¡°So your father is strong?¡± Sierra scoffed. ¡°Physically, not at all. At least not for a Seated Vitrian. His induction was scholarly, and he never cared much for personal power. He does not need to, because no one would challenge him directly.¡± Alarion mulled what she¡¯d said until a question came to his mind. ¡°Your father is of the House of Sorrow, but you¡¯re part of Elena¡¯s house.¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°A Vitrian¡¯s house is matrilineal.¡± When that word clearly flew over Alarion¡¯s head, she quickly simplified. ¡°Your house is always that of your mother, in order to avoid any confusion in the case where the father is unknown or disputed.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Alarion replied. It made sense. ¡°That is also why some of the houses would show such interest in you.¡± Sierra commented with a tone that Alarion had not yet heard and did not like. ¡°You were telling me about how you grew up,¡± Alarion reminded her, deftly changing the subject. ¡°Mm,¡± She replied to his growing annoyance. ¡°My father¡¯s reputation preceded me everywhere. There were always expectations from my tutors. My peers were no better. Some were at odds with my father, which made us de facto enemies without exchanging a spoken word. Others were sycophants, interested in only what could be obtained from remaining in my orbit. There were some, I am sure, who were sincere, but to separate them was nigh impossible.¡± ¡°That sounds difficult.¡± Sierra met his eyes, searching for mockery in their violet depths. ¡°I mean it,¡± Alarion said even as he withered under her gaze and looked away. ¡°Trust is important.¡± ¡°Eventually it became easy to tell who was fraudulent. After my unc-¡± Sierra¡¯s words died in her throat as she squinted, then looked to Alarion. He was looking back at her, and she could see the same relief in his eyes. They could see the bottom. ¡°Thank the mothers.¡± Sierra breathed. Even with her Awakened physiology, her legs were on fire. Alarion had not complained, but she could only imagine how much worse it had been for him, trying to keep pace. Clearly not bad enough, given how the young man abruptly rushed ahead, taking stairs two or three at a time in his desire to finally be back on flat ground. ¡°Alarion!¡± She snapped. Her words caught him mid-stride as she quickened her own steps to close the distance. ¡°We go together. We have no idea what is down here.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± He nodded in chagrined apology. Even with the end in sight, it took the pair two more minutes to reach the foot of the stairs. When they did, they were taken aback. What had looked like a fairly simple landing from the stairwell turned out to be a cyclopean cavern that dwarfed the room from which they¡¯d not so recently departed. Perhaps a mile in width and half again in length the walls of the cavern were covered in the same glowing sigils that had doggedly pursued the pair down the whole of the stairwell, though the intensity of the light dimmed dramatically as it sought out the far end of the room. That side of the chamber was a tangle of switchback fortifications. As though someone had taken some ancient castle from the world above and dropped it down in the midst of a cave a league beneath the surface. The battlements were intricate. Festooned with iconography that neither Alarion nor Sierra recognized, the many layered walls seemed designed to be severed from one another, for soldiers to retreat in face of a breach to stronger and stronger fortifications, in hopes of outlasting even the most vicious attempt to storm their defenses. Judging by the plethora of shattered gates and ruined stone that Alarion could see, even at a distance, things had not gone nearly to plan. ¡°What¡­ is this?¡± Sierra asked. She looked to Alarion for answers, then clearly thought better of it as she scanned the ruined fortress again. ¡°What could have even built all of this?¡± Rather than answer her, Alarion began to walk toward the ruined fortress, his shrunken greatsword now in hand. Despite her misgivings, Sierra once again fell into step beside him. As they grew closer, the signs of battle grew more and more evident. This was to be expected, given the damage to the fortress, but expectations did nothing to ease the discomfort of walking across a field of shattered bones. ¡°Fiends?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°They would have to be.¡± Sierra agreed. Most fiends destroyed during a subjugation were burned afterwards, meaning she¡¯d never seen one after it had decomposed. Despite that it was hard to imagine that anything else could have left corpses with such distinctly inhuman proportions in such large numbers. The trail of bodies continued in through the fortress¡¯ ruined main gate, but curiously there were no signs of the defenders. Clearly there had been a battle, the impact of it was evident in every bit of shattered stone, every claw mark on rusted steel hinges. Fiends might have taken the bodies in victory, but there was no torn armor, no discarded weapons or spent arrows. It was as though someone, or something, had systematically removed all evidence of one side of the conflict. ¡°None of this is right,¡± Sierra murmured once again. She had been making similar statements since they¡¯d reached the landing, her nerves fraying further with every new oddity. They advanced further through the chaotic weave of the garrison. Twice they had to double back as their path simply ended, or circled in upon itself. In one instance they chose to forgo trying to find the correct path and instead vaulted a wall entirely for sake of expediency. Their eventual destination was clear. The fortress was structured like a pyramid, with each set of walls and fortifications creeping higher and higher on the far wall of the cavern. And at the top, a single, unbroken brass door. In the end it took them longer to navigate the confusing mess of the defenses than it had taken to cross the enormous distance from the stairway to the fortress. Constructed by a genius, it would have been a nightmare to assault conventionally, without the aid of magic. As a fiend might. Eventually the two stood upon the pinnacle, exchanging glances in front of a simple doorway built into the cave wall. ¡°Is this what the revenant wants?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°For us to open this door for it?¡± ¡°Who knows?¡± Sierra replied honestly. ¡°I do not see it here. Or any other way out. Nor do I think I would leave this place without answers, even if I could.¡± ¡°Together then?¡± Sierra reached out her hand and joined his on the simple brass loop that served as the door¡¯s handle. ¡°Together.¡± Chapter Thirty-Three Of all of the things Alarion expected to find on the far side of that door, sunlight was not one of them. Monsters, treasures, even deities had been on his list. But the warm rays of the mid-afternoon sun beating down on him in the middle of the night, more than a mile underground? Preposterous. And that was only the start. A city lay on the other side of that door. The largest Alarion had ever seen. The largest Sierra had ever seen. Set inside a bowl shaped valley, the metropolis was so enormous that neither Awakened could fully grasp its size on their first attempt. There were so many buildings and at such scale that Alarion had no frame of reference from which to work. Those closest to their entry, built into the sloped side of the valley, were large multi-storied structures on par with the manor house where Alarion had been staying, but built in the hundreds. Those further in that initially looked minuscule were, on second glance, actually towering complexes that dwarfed the largest buildings in Ashad-Vitri, or even the most palatial ruins of the Old City. At the core of the city stood a construct so large that Alarion could not compare it to a building at all, as no living thing could have had a hand in its making. It was a metallic mountain in the form of a building. Vaguely dagger-like in its shape, its ¡®point¡¯ had been driven into the center of the city at a slight angle. From there it ascended for thousands of feet until it flared out into a triangular upper portion, much larger than its thin stem. Another building sat at the pinnacle, a pyramid that would have been among the largest structures Alarion had ever seen, but appeared tiny atop such a mega-structure. It was a thing of awe inspiring beauty. Its outer frame a silver-white metal with a matte finish covered in ¡®thin¡¯ decorative lines that must have themselves been the size of buildings. Its inner workings were a dull utilitarian grey that glowed with the same blue light they had seen so much up above. It was also damaged. Large gouges had been torn out of the metal, particularly higher up on its left side, indicative of some long ago violence. Perhaps that had also been what had devastated the city. The valley was riddled with cracked and upturned earth, as though some enormous thing had struck it over and over until it fractured. What had once been a structured, ordered city had instead become a nightmare of sink holes, crevices and sharp cliff-faces. Buildings had toppled by the hundreds, while the thousands that still stood did so in varying states of disarray. Some horrible calamity had happened here, worse than even the brutality that had shattered the Old City. The nearby corpse, however, was a more pressing concern. Alarion had overlooked the body in his moment of wonder but Sierra had not. She was kneeled down next to the desiccated remains, brushing aside clothing in a clinical search for what had killed the man. She did not have to look all that hard, not with a fist sized hole punched neatly through his chest. Just as concerning, to Alarion at least, were the colors the body wore. Teal and violet. ¡°What happened to him?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°I did.¡± A voice wheezed. Alarion¡¯s greatsword was in the air before he¡¯d even finished turning. The blade reached its maximum size barely an instant before it impacted an invisible barrier two feet in front of the revenant and spun off to the ground. The clever smirk the bespectacled revenant had been wearing as a result of its startling entry had been wiped away. Barrier or no, its unlife had flashed before its eyes and it had been pushed entirely onto the back foot by the sheer suddenness of Alarion¡¯s violent response. Perhaps it should have stayed invisible. ¡°You really should-¡± Another flying dagger, this one at a more normal size, interrupted the revenant¡¯s thought process as it was forced to conjure an additional barrier. Then another to block a third thrown weapon. It was only a warding hand from Sierra, who seemed to have a slightly less visceral reaction, that stayed Alarion from trying to force the matter further with his fists. ¡°What do you want?¡± She asked. ¡°I¡¯d like to know what your insides taste li-¡± The revenant visibly stiffened as it rolled its shoulders back, straightened its posture and took a deep breath. When it continued its words sounded less low and guttural. More alive. Almost human. ¡°Apologies. I¡¯d like to know where you found him, for a start. The boy seems more infested than I am. Or at least more violent.¡± ¡°What do you want?¡± Sierra repeated coldly. This time it sighed, a distinctly human reaction from a thing that was not at all human despite wearing the shape of one. He was tall, broad and once handsome, though the cold, dead look of his skin had done much to eliminate the latter. His hair was dark, short and well kept, his clothing a stern looking Ashadi suit that was twenty years past its fashion and considerably well worn. A pocket watch ticked away on its hip, while one hand was occupied by the ledger they had seen earlier. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°The same deal I offered to the dead man. And others like him. That they refused. A simple give and take and take and take.¡± Again the dead man writhed within his own skin before continuing at a measured tone, though the cadence was all wrong. ¡°You do what I ask, and I will kill you and rend¡­ I will let you live and leave.¡± Alarion looked to Sierra, who ignored the fiend¡¯s outbursts in favor of staying focused. ¡°We¡¯re listening.¡± ¡°Already more amenable than your predecessor. This is fortuitous.¡± Despite the pleasant selection and even tone of the words, the Revenant¡¯s expression was not a happy one. It was a look of discomfort and distress, like that of a person trying to conceal an aching wound. ¡°You are caught in a trap. My trap. My jaws. The pillar.¡± ¡°What about it?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°There are¡­ defenses. I need you to stop them. Smash them. Break them!¡± The undead thing growled in frustration and turned its head, keeping the pair only in its peripheral vision as it spoke through clenched teeth. ¡°Keep it intact, if you can. But disable them.¡± ¡°You¡¯re stronger than us.¡± Sierra replied. It wasn¡¯t a question, though her follow-up was. ¡°If you can kill us, why do you need us at all?¡± ¡°Much stronger.¡± The revenant said with murderous satisfaction even as Sierra seemed skeptical. ¡°But you are alive. For now. This place is weak. Old. Decrepit. Dying. And the spire does not hate you the way that I hate y¡­ the way it hates me. I simply wish to continue my research.¡± Sierra¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°What research.¡± ¡°The research is for me, not for meat!¡± Alarion took a wary step forward. ¡°You would not¡­ understand,¡± The revenant continued, struggling to form words as body shook and its head thrashed. ¡°You stand in the Protectorate of the Three Together. It Who Knows Beginnings. It Who Knows Boundaries. It Who Knows Change! These things are beyond you and beyond my ability to eviscera... educate. Will you do this task for me? Or will I feast upon your bones?¡± ¡°What guarantee do we have that you¡¯ll follow through?¡± An instant later, system alert flashed for both Alarion and Sierra:
Unbar The Gate [Dual-Binding Geas] Description: The Revenant Lamesh has charged you with dying horribly in your attempt to disable the defenses that prevent his entry into the spire at the center of the Protectorate of the Three Together. Success Conditions: Disable the defenses located somewhere on the spire¡¯s lower floors. The rewards for this quest will vary depending on how you disable the defenses. Failure Conditions: Return to Lamesh without completing this quest. Reward: The Revenant Lamesh will shatter your skull upon the ground and feast upon the contents within. Penalty: Your torture will be unending.
The notification vanished almost as quickly as it had come, only to be replaced by another.
Unbar The Gate [Dual-Binding Geas] Description: The Revenant Lamesh has charged you with disabling the defenses that prevent his entry into the spire at the center of the Protectorate of the Three Together. Success Conditions: Disable the defenses located somewhere on the spire¡¯s lower floors. The rewards for this quest will vary depending on how you disable the defenses. Failure Conditions: Return to Lamesh without completing this quest. Basic Reward: The Revenant Lamesh will release you from this place. Advanced Reward: One Rare Revenant Box. Penalty: Your torture will be unending.
Do you accept the terms of this Geas? Y/N Note: A Dual-Binding Geas cannot be abandoned by either party. Failure to abide the reward conditions of a bestowed Geas will result in instant death for the Skill user.
Sierra and Alarion exchanged glances, but it was Alarion who spoke first. ¡°This won¡¯t work.¡± ¡°Your life, Flesh, is not enough of a reward?¡± The revenant seemed almost insulted. ¡°No.¡± Sierra shook her head, having noticed the same issue as Alarion. ¡°Your Geas is not specific. I do not want to be released missing limbs, or in two decades. Or for you to try and worm your mind into the idea that you¡¯re releasing us from this mortal coil.¡± It laughed, a sickening diseased sound that set Alarion¡¯s teeth on edge. ¡°Vitrians. I should have slaughtered¡­ known not to play that game.¡±
Basic Reward: The Revenant Lamesh will, without harm on his part, that of his minions or any attempt at deceit, escort you outside of the Protectorate. Once outside he will disable the dimensional lock, allowing the suppressed effect of your Escape Icon to take you home.
¡°Will that be suffici-ent?¡± The Revenant was almost vibrating now, its eyes turned up toward the fog filled sky above them. Anywhere but on the pair of them. ¡°Yes. We have three weeks of food left. Either we will succeed by then or we will likely starve.¡± Sierra said. ¡°You can go.¡± Despite balking at the dismissive tone, Lamesh did not stay to argue. It turned and exited, as fast as it was able, through the same brass doorway the pair had used to enter the bizarre ¡®protectorate¡¯. The door slammed closed amidst the dull grey stone of the interior wall, its noise echoing out across the city as Sierra and Alarion were left alone once more. ¡°The tower, then?¡± Alarion asked as he moved about, collecting his impotent weapons. ¡°Eventually,¡± She agreed. ¡°We should skirt the edges, get a feel for what sort of threats are in the city.¡± ¡°And how to get across,¡± Alarion mused. The damage to the city below was beyond extensive and from their vantage point Alarion could not see any straight shot that would get them to the spire. Such practical concerns dominated their conversation as they began circling the outskirts of the immense city. It was only after he¡¯d run out of immediate concerns to address that Alarion finally allowed his mind to wander, for the existential dread of the place to finally set in. To allow him to finally ask the obvious. ¡°Sierra. Why is there a dead Vitrian here?¡± Chapter Thirty-Four Sierra allowed herself a quiet sigh. ¡°I was hoping you had not noticed that,¡± She replied. When he said nothing she pushed on ahead. ¡°The Trinity Isles have belonged to us for years. You are not the first potential asset that has been sent here to train.¡± Alarion frowned. ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡± She winced at her own mistake. ¡°The Governor¡¯s term, not mine.¡± Their conversation was briefly interrupted as an obstacle interposed itself. The ground was cracked and shattered along a fault line. Tremendous pressure had driven the earth ahead of them nearly ten feet into the air down the full length of the fault. With no tools to climb, they relied on one another. Alarion boosted Sierra up to a safe point, then took a running leap to catch her arm as she hauled him up and over. ¡°How many?¡± Alarion asked as he collected himself, checked his pack was secure and began the march anew. ¡°I have been with the Governor for under a year, and he does not spend most of it on the Isles.¡± Sierra could tell from Alarion¡¯s expression that he was unsatisfied with her evasive reply. A specific question was on the tip of his tongue, and so she relented. ¡°Twelve casualties over ten years.¡± Alarion glared. ¡°Oh grow up.¡± She scowled back. ¡°Killing fiends is dangerous work. So is trying to cut out years of training with practical experience. The groups that died were low rank and low born. It was assumed they overstepped to make the most of their time here and got themselves killed by a more powerful fiend. A few were brought back as revenants and killed by subjugation teams. The rest, we assumed, had not Awakened and were fed to the boil, or were killed in such a fashion that they could not be brought back. They were failures, you are not.¡± ¡°And you told me none of this.¡± ¡°Mistress Elena also did not tell you that Ezekial outright rejects more than half of the pupils brought before him. Or that you were to be sent to the Auxilia immediately if he had. If they do not tell you there is a reason, and it is certainly not my place to overrule them." Alarion stared at her defiantly. ¡°Alarion, did you really think that was my decision? That I would knowingly put you at significant risk?¡± Her face darkened at his continued expression and she angrily added. ¡°Do you think I would knowingly put myself at this sort of risk?¡± She had a point there. One that Alarion could not deny, despite the anger welling up inside of him. He was silent for a while, and when he spoke again his thoughts had shifted to another track. ¡°Can we trust it?¡± Sierra laughed if only from the sudden deflation of tension due to the question¡¯s absurdity. ¡°Not at all. We can trust the Geas because it is System enforced, but the only thing we can trust from this Lamesh is that it would tear us to pieces the moment it does not need us.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion acknowledged. After a thoughtful pause, he added, ¡°I wasn¡¯t sure what to expect, but it seemed different from how you described them.¡± ¡°It is different.¡± She confirmed. ¡°Revenants are fully sentient, we know that from ones that have been taken ¡®alive¡¯, but they seldom do more than shout threats and invectives when encountered in the wild. Even when outmatched, they choose to run, rather than to talk. Admittedly this was only the second I have personally encountered, but I have never even heard tales of one that tried to bargain.¡± ¡°Is he that much stronger, then?¡± Sierra shook her head. ¡°It is not a matter of strength. A revenant is a dead thing brought back with the same instincts as a fiend but with its mind intact. It sees a living thing and it wants to kill it. To get more powerful individually by leveling and to feed it to the boil. It wants to kill you the same way you or I would claw and punch if someone had their hands around our neck. Being a higher rank does not change your nature, and it would not change its nature. Not that he is that much stronger.¡± ¡°How could you tell?¡± Alarion asked. Sierra considered the question briefly, then shrugged. ¡°No harm in telling you. One of the skills I selected in my combat class was an observation variant.¡± ¡°Like my detection skill?¡± ¡°No. At least not directly.¡± She answered. ¡°Detection type skills focus on seeing, hearing, smelling or otherwise sensing things that you might otherwise miss. They are mostly passive skills, as a result. Observation types focus on gathering additional information about something you already know is there and require an act of focus. Mine lets me get a sense of the difference in UCL between myself and my opponent, gives me combat advantage against a foe I have observed and makes it easier for me to tell when someone is lying. To get more information from such skill you either need to have a higher rank or rarity, or have the skill become more specialized. Evaluate, for example, is available at Rank I and gives you a near perfect understanding of someone¡¯s status. If they let you.¡± If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Alarion drank in her information, mulling it over for further questions, before he instead returned back to his main line of inquiry. ¡°We can¡¯t beat him?¡± ¡°No.¡± Sierra shook her head. ¡°Not unless you are able to level up substantially while we are here. He would walk away bloody, but we would not walk away at all.¡± ¡°So we do what he says?¡± ¡°Do you want to give a homicidal monster access to whatever secrets are in that enormous tower?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Good. That is why we¡¯re not going there, we¡¯re going there.¡± Alarion followed Sierra¡¯s outstretched finger as she pointed away from the spire to wall ahead of them. He had to squint and shift his position slightly before he saw what she was pointing out, but once he did it seemed obvious. Another entrance set into the wall of the cavern. It was a considerable distance away, over an hour on foot, but he understood her meaning immediately. The two quickened their pace. ¡ª ¡°Damnit!¡± Sierra swore, her booted foot impacting the sealed door with a resounding bang that echoed off into the distance. It wasn¡¯t the first door they¡¯d tried. Nor the second, or the third. Near as they could estimate there were twelve large doors that ringed the outskirts of the city at regular intervals, each made from a different metal. Each equally sealed against the best of their abilities. They¡¯d tried pulling and pushing. They¡¯d tried to bend the door with a pry bar, to slash it with Alarion¡¯s sword and to shatter it with Sierra¡¯s sonic powers. None of their attempts had left so much as a mark on the surface of any of the first three, and though Sierra was more than willing to make a fourth attempt, Alarion stopped her. ¡°It can¡¯t be helped.¡± He said as he put himself between her and the door, gently crowding her away from it. ¡°Either the fiend sealed them, or something stronger did. There is no getting through.¡± Her eyes weren¡¯t on him, but on the door. They burned with a rage normally reserved for untrue lovers, but eventually she stalked away. She kicked a loose bit of debris and yelled a wordless, frustrated curse. They¡¯d spent most of the day on her plan. The city was enormous and even though the outskirts were mostly clear of the damage that had rocked the valley¡¯s core, their sheer size had taken considerable time to traverse. They¡¯d been walking for hours, broken up primarily by time spend hammering impotently on closed doors. Neither would admit it, but both were hungry, tired, frightened and frustrated. ¡°We can reach one more before nightfall,¡± Sierra suggested as she finished with her angry pacing. ¡°And we¡¯ll be locked out there as well. We need to start looking for a place to rest now, not later,¡± Alarion said patiently. ¡°You do not know that.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right. I don¡¯t,¡± Alarion admitted. ¡°But you do. We both know it. The question is if we want to spend the time to prove your intuition.¡± ¡°It is¡­ disconcerting to have you acting as the voice of reason,¡± Sierra replied, her mood far from improved. ¡°But you are right. We should find a place to rest and decide how to proceed in the morning. It has been safe enough so far, but there is no reason to assume that it will stay that way after dark.¡± ¡°That it can get dark at all is unsettling,¡± Alarion said with a wary upward glance. ¡°How does that even work?¡± ¡°How does any of this work?¡± Sierra frowned, her question more existential than she let on. ¡°Pocket dimensions are nothing new, the System offered you one with that bindle skill of yours, but I have never heard of one even a fraction of this size. And this can¡¯t be a real place. I am not sure how far down those stairs took us, but that sky goes up for miles where we should be seeing the island or the ocean above us.¡± ¡°Someone of a very high rank, then?¡± Alarion posited as they turned away from the outer wall, toward the lip of the valley. ¡°A Ranker might be able to produce something of this size, but it would have to be their sole focus. Rank V at the least. Possibly even Rank VI. A much larger group could be able to mimic it with enough resources, but then why bury it in the middle of nowhere? And the ¡®sun¡¯, the city, all of this would be separate skills or built manually. I can not even imagine the scale.¡± ¡°We might find some answers there?¡± Alarion gestured to the spire at the city¡¯s center. ¡°And if there are defenses that can hurt the Revenant, then maybe we can use them to our advantage?¡± Sierra sighed. ¡°We will consider it in the morning.¡± The two clamored down the sloped edge of the valley, over shockingly green grass that had grown rampant in the absence of its caretakers. Buildings loomed above them as they walked along damaged streets, glass crunching under their footsteps. Even these structures, comparatively small as they were, set Alarion¡¯s teeth on edge. There were too many windows. Too many doors and blind alleyways that could pose a threat. ¡°We should get up high,¡± he said. ¡°I was thinking the same thing.¡± Sierra gestured to a set of switchback metal ladders set into the side of one of the tallest nearby buildings. ¡°That should get us to the roof. We will have a good line of sight, and only one way to reach us.¡± ¡°And only one way down,¡± Alarion pointed out. ¡°Not if we jump to the buildings next door. Easier to hop down than up.¡± She had a point. Even if the idea of leaping between buildings made his stomach lurch with memories of the pit. The pair made an awful clatter as they ascended. The clang of their footsteps on grated landings echoed down the empty streets, accompanied by the shriek of metal whenever they pulled a new ladder down into place. Despite the obvious lack of maintenance, the metal was not rusted or damaged beyond whatever impact had ruined the city all those years ago. Having spent considerable time in the Old City, Alarion knew what it looked like when a city was left to rot, and this was not it. They reached the flat rooftop with little fanfare to find a curious sight. Flimsy chairs set around a brick pit, glass bottles overturned and covered in dust, as though the occupants had left in the midst of some revelry. The far end of the rooftop was covered by an awning, with a few pieces of plush furniture sitting beneath it. Alarion and Sierra exchanged glances, but it was she who spoke. ¡°Well, at least we do not have to sleep on the ground.¡± Chapter Thirty-Five ¡°Watch your step.¡± Despite appearances to the contrary, Alarion was capable of taking good advice when it was offered. Perched atop a half-collapsed building a thousand feet above the ground, Alarion wisely took note of the hooked joint that had nearly tripped Sierra and stepped gingerly over it as he followed in her footsteps. Alarion had never liked heights. It was nothing that rose to the level of a phobia, or even necessarily a fear. He just didn¡¯t like that little lurch in his stomach when he looked down over vast distances. Or the implied gory ending if he were to lose his footing. But after hours spent crawling over precarious rooftops, he could safely say he¡¯d grown to hate heights. At the start of their second day in the city they had chosen to compromise. They¡¯d inspect two more doors at the city¡¯s outskirts, and if those were blocked as well, they¡¯d work toward completing their Geas instead. Predictably, much to Sierra¡¯s dismay, the doors they checked were just as functionally immovable and indestructible as the other four. Which sent them into the city. Much to Alarion¡¯s eventual dismay. He couldn''t even blame her. It had been his idea. There had been a straight path to the spire once. Likely several, given the way that arterial roads were structured. Not one of them had survived the ruinous destruction of the city center. Some sections had been heaved forth out of the earth, presenting jagged concave walls that were impossible to climb. Others were blocked by mountains of metal and stone that had once been nearby buildings. Still more had opened up entirely into crevices that disappeared into the bowels of this alternate reality. They¡¯d been able to tell that much from the outset. Settled on a rooftop at the edge of the city proper, they¡¯d sketched a rough outline of an ideal path that should have taken them a day at most to reach their destination. Then that plan had been forced to interact with reality. The worst of the damage had been visible from afar, but it was the street by street, room by room difficulties that had turned their journey into a nightmare. A collapsed roof in a building they needed to pass through, a sink hole in the middle of a narrow alley. Everywhere they turned there was some new issues, and those issues only compounded upon one another. They¡¯d circumvented one issue with an hour of detour, only to find that the whole path turned into a dead end not five minutes after they¡¯d gotten ''back on track''. Another part of their route had diverted them four times, costing nearly half the day in a frustrated attempt to finally circumvent a collapsed structure. By the end of their second day it was clear that if they wanted to make any sort of brisk progress, they would have to use the buildings. The city was tightly packed with towering structures and though many of those had collapsed entirely amidst the quakes, many more had slumped onto their neighbors, or against fissures in the earth. They were precarious, full of jagged metal, broken glass and failing concrete, but they could be used as ladders to higher areas, or bridges across wide gaps. If they were careful. They¡¯d had their share of close calls. Even with Sierra leading the way with her deft footwork and high perception, areas had given way unexpectedly. Jumps that had looked simple enough at a distance had proven considerably more difficult in practice and a tight crawl had left Alarion with a deep gouge across his scalp that had only recently healed. Thankfully, the worst of that was behind them. After hours of climbing, balancing, leaping and crawling, the end was in sight. Even if it came with its own set of problems. ¡°Are those¡­ people?¡± Alarion asked as he joined Sierra on the far side of their most recent conquest. The building was one of the smaller ones in city center, a mere fourteen stories. But settled as it was alongside the main through road, it provided a commanding view of the base of the spire and the small clusters of figures that moved about it. ¡°Strange ones, if they are,¡± Sierra answered, pulling her eye away from a looking glass before handing it to him. Alarion studied the device for several seconds, then, at her prompting, lifted it to his eye. ¡°Given that they are all floating.¡± Alarion¡¯s vision wobbled slightly as he stared down the telescope. It took a few attempts and some coaching from Sierra, but eventually he managed to settle it down over their subjects. They were squat creatures, short but wide at the shoulders. Constructed out of some sort of dull black stone inset with a glowing green faceplate, they looked like the antithesis of the pure white spire they protected. Their bodies were large for their sizes, as were the limbs attached by thin grey joints, made out of a series of simply polygonal shapes rather than a more lifelike design. All together it gave them an unfinished, ape-like aesthetic entirely at odds with the graceful way they floated about. ¡°Steelborn?¡± Alarion asked. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°That would be my guess,¡± Sierra confirmed with a smile at his insight. He was learning. ¡°But unusual ones. Steelborn are very common in the Merchant Cities, but I have never seen anything like that pattern.¡± ¡°Pattern?¡± ¡°Like-¡± Sierra gestured with her hand as she sought words that wouldn¡¯t come to mind. ¡°Design? Ezekial told you that steelborn are made in two ways, yes?¡± This time it was Alarion who had to search his memory. ¡°Artisans and factories?¡± ¡°Correct,¡± she nodded. ¡°Artisan made Steelborn tend to be unique, individualistic. Also stronger, or at least with a higher Aptitude. Factory made Steelborn work off a pattern that sets their starting attributes, flaws, appearance and so forth. They will all look the same, or at least they do before whatever self-modification they might choose. Those have to be factory made, but I have never heard of a pattern that includes flight as a base modification. It has to be expensive. Or maybe it is just hovering?¡± ¡°Awakened can fly?¡± ¡°How is that your takeaw-¡± Sierra shook her head vigorously and cut the topic at the pass. ¡°Nevermind. Yes, you could fly. Theoretically. No, you will not be able to do so until somewhere at Rank II at the absolute earliest. If you specialize specifically in flight. Which you should not.¡± Alarion opened his mouth to press her with further questions, but thought better of it at a sharp glance. ¡°Do we think they are a threat?¡± ¡°I do not know,¡± She admitted freely. ¡°They could be the defenses the revenant was talking about, but I did not see any weapons on them. It might be better to just approach them. If we launch a surprise attack, we run the risk of attacking possible allies. If nothing else, Steelborn are no friend to the Infested Dead.¡± ¡°Down we go, then?¡± Alarion gestured to a nearby stairwell. The door was closed and locked, but unlike the more frustrating and formidable portals, the metal of this one was already warped from the building¡¯s structural damage. ¡°Down we go.¡± Even with a comparatively straight shot to the base of the spire, it still took Sierra and Alarion over two hours to reach their destination. Most of that had been spent navigating the intricacies of one last collapsed stairwell, but with the possible threat of combat in their near future, neither was in a terrible rush to speed through their last moments of relative tranquility. It also gave them a chance to drink in the atmosphere of the place in a way they had not during their frustrated journey through maze of rubble. The protectorate, Alarion had decided, was a place of contrasts. The construction itself was brutal, all hard right angles, glass finishes and grey concrete. Entire areas appeared to have been copied wholesale and reused elsewhere, which made traversing the already unfamiliar city quite confusing at the best of times. Yet humanity showed through on every street corner, in every window. Signs hung outside of shop doors, emblazoned with artistry and a script Alarion could not begin to decipher. Interior rooms were painted flamboyant colors, or decorated with loving care. Dusk was just beginning to set in as they arrived at the outskirts of the plaza. At nearly a mile across, it was the most open area of the city the pair had laid eyes on, and somehow one of the least damaged. There were cracks in the intricately carved and ornamented ground, but those had been weathered down, patched and refinished in stark contrast to the rest of the city. The twelve large trees set in a circle around the base of the spire were well tended, with none of the overgrowth that was endemic throughout the rest of the city. Up close it was easy to tell why. What had appeared at distance to be cohesive group of Steelborn split into smaller parties was in fact two such groups. Though almost identical in size and shape, the two groups were set apart from one another in purpose and in slight design changes. One group was stoic and silent, keeping a protective ring about the base of the spire. Twelve in total, one to match each of the trees or the doors beyond them. They did not move, or react, they simply hovered in place. Notably, in contrast to their fellows, these ones had no hands. Their arms simply ending in the same matte black stone as the rest of their frame. The second group was much more active. Numbered in the dozens, they flitted about the grounds and the spire entrance, attending to menial tasks. Some were emptying trash bins that were already forever empty, others swept already clean streets or attended the greenery with careful precision. Alarion looked to the floating Steelborn with something approaching wonder on his face. It was such an unusual expression that Sierra found herself smiling through her own exhaustion. ¡°Hello!¡± Alarion finally called out from the plaza¡¯s outer perimeter. After getting the nod from Sierra, of course. The Steelborn did not react. If they¡¯d heard him at all, Alarion couldn¡¯t tell. At least, not until he¡¯d tried thrice more, the last time at the top of his lungs. That narrowed his options down. They were deaf, or they were ignoring him. ¡°We¡¯ll approach,¡± Sierra said after some back and forth on the matter. ¡°Carefully. Pay attention to the ones in the rear.¡± ¡°And the ones with the shears,¡± Alarion suggested as he stepped forward onto the plaza grounds. The touch of his foot was like an alarm to the Steelborn. One moment they were floating impassively, the next they had formed into a tight line, obstructing his most direct path to the spire.¡± ¡°Iik Ko No!¡± Their mechanical voices boomed across the plaza in unison. Their voices were different from what he¡¯d expected. For all his mechanical traits, ZEKE¡¯s voice was as human as Alarion¡¯s, a rich baritone that dripped with warmth or annoyance or sarcasm. More than anything it made ZEKE feel alive. Their voices were nothing like that. Theirs was a mechanical facsimile of a person in much the same way that the city¡¯s severe structures were a mockery of an actual home, one that set Alarion¡¯s teeth on edge. If anything, it reminded him of the revenant. Regardless, their message was clear. He might not speak their language, but their body language was not up to interpretation. Alarion stepped back. The Steelborn hovered in place for a short time, staring him down with their glowing visors. Then they withdrew, returning back to their original positions. Next, Sierra stepped forward. ¡°Iik Ko No!¡± Their robotic voices demanded as she retreated. They withdrew to their original positions, and half a heartbeat later Sierra stepped forward again, repeating the process. ¡°Iik Ko No!¡± There was disgust on her face as she withdrew. ¡°Abominations.¡± ¡°What?¡± Alarion asked, unfamiliar with the word. ¡°Abominations. Monsters. Criminal things.¡± She glared daggers across the field as her hand played on the hilt of her own. ¡°Those aren¡¯t Steelborn. They¡¯re Soulless.¡± Chapter Thirty-Six ¡°Soulless?¡± Alarion asked as he reached for his own weapon. If Sierra was on edge, he knew he was wise to be so as well. ¡°Steelborn created without freewill,¡± She replied. She paced along the outer edge of the plaza, watching the guards for any sign of movement as she explained. ¡°There is a cost to making Steelborn. The creator invests a part of themselves. It can be a large part, in the case of a masterwork, or only a tiny sliver, like those given to the factory crafted designs. Even the smallest sacrifice is enough to give them free will. The ability to act independently of their creator¡¯s will if they so choose.¡± ¡°And they don¡¯t have that,¡± Alarion finished for her. ¡°So they¡¯re not alive?¡± Sierra shook her head. ¡°Worse. There is a mind inside. It can see, hear, think. But it cannot choose. They are things beyond slavery. And they can be very dangerous.¡± ¡°Iik Ko No!¡± The sentinels shouted as Sierra tested their boundaries once again. This time she waited. And waited. And waited. The command was repeated again, and again, but the Soulless took no action. ¡°Their next trigger is further in.¡± Sierra announced, even as the automatons continued their demands. ¡°That line on the ground. Or maybe the tree line. Once we push too far, they will attack.¡± ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± ¡°No,¡± she admitted. ¡°But it is a safe assumption. If there is no owner around to command them, soulless follow the last set of instructions to the best of their ability. Given how dangerous that can be, their directives must be extremely strict.¡± Alarion cocked his head. ¡°Why would that be dangerous?¡± Sierra¡¯s expression was grim as she focused on the Soulless, still shouting their same demands. ¡°Because Soulless can make other Soulless.¡± Alarion opened his mouth to press her for more information, but before he could speak a bolt of realization struck him and left him to stammer out only a simple, ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± she replied darkly. ¡°We have our pick of reasons to destroy them.¡± ¡°Can we?¡± ¡°That I am not so sure,¡± Sierra admitted. ¡°Something is interfering with my skill. I am getting feedback, but it is all garbled.¡± Alarion scowled, then brightened abruptly. ¡°If they¡¯re trapped over there can¡¯t we just hit them from here?¡± ¡°We?¡± Sierra said pointedly. ¡°Has your throwing arm gotten that much better in the last few levels?¡± ¡°You can hit them from here,¡± Alarion amended without a hint of shame. ¡°Better. But no. Most Soulless have a self-preservation directive. They might not, but I do not think you or I are that lucky.¡± ¡°Smash them, then?¡± ¡°Not the words I would have chosen,¡± Sierra chided. ¡°But yes. First, let us get a little closer.¡± ¡°Iik Ko No!¡± The Soulless shouted in unison as the pair of Awakened marched onto the plaza. The menial Soulless paid them no mind, going about their repetitive tasks, while their compatriots glowered at the approaching humans. They repeated the command twice more at staggered intervals, then adopted a new posture as Alarion crossed the line of trees that separated the outer plaza from the inner. ¡°Iik Ko No! Koga-a-rai!¡± The Soulless demanded. They were no longer upright and commanding, but low and braced. Each had their left arm out in front, a translucent sky blue shield glowing a foot away from their forearm, covering them from shin to ¡®scalp¡¯. Their other arm was levied in his direction, the empty wrist pointing, as if to tell him to go back. ¡°Alarion. Back.¡± Sierra commanded. He wasn¡¯t willing to listen to the Soulless, but her he would obey. Alarion stepped back, across the tree line, but this time the mechanical men remained in their ready posture, even after he departed. Half a minute passed. Then a minute. They would not be resetting as they had before. ¡°Those shields will be a problem,¡± She grimaced. ¡°But we can work around¡­ wait, where are you going?¡± ¡°I¡¯m trying something,¡± Alarion replied, jogging past her. Sierra watched him go, her brows knitted together in confusion before the simplicity of the idea struck her as well and she sprinted to catch up with him. Sure enough, once Alarion left the outer perimeter, the Blackstone soldiers pulled up stakes, shifted their posture and returned to their original positions. ¡°Clever,¡± Sierra said as Alarion beamed. Sometimes it was easy to forget his age. ¡°Let¡¯s get set up. Kotone?¡± ¡°Yes Miss?¡± ¡°I will need my instruments. And some chairs. Over there, if you¡¯d please.¡± ¡°Yes Miss! Yes Miss!¡± ¡°Alarion. You have your physical class now. Your body is trained, which means I think it is time for a magic lesson.¡± Sierra had learned that Alarion could be distant at the best of times. A youth who lived in his own head, he could focus, particularly in times of extreme danger, but ZEKE had struggled to keep him on topic if they boy was not interested. For once, Alarion was positively riveted with attention. ¡°There are twenty-four known affinities of magic in the world,¡± Sierra began, scrawling furiously in a notebook to prepare a diagram for a lesson she did not expect to teach. ¡°In sets of six, along four sets of oppositional axis.¡± Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Oppositional¡­?¡± She was losing him. ¡°An illustration will help¡­. and, done.¡± Sierra turned her small notebook to show a poorly drawn image of a cross with an X through the center of it. Each line had six circles on it, three on either side of the midpoint of the image. Two circles on a diagonal line, those closest to the center, had words written inside them in barely legible writing. Fire and Water. ¡°You see how fire and water are on opposites sides of the center? That is what I mean by oppositional. The elements oppose one another.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Alarion said skeptically. ¡°Everyone is born with an aptitude, and they are also born with affinities. Anywhere from one to four, with more almost always being better-¡± ¡°So you can only use certain types of magic?¡± Alarion interjected, clearly upset at only now learning about this sudden injustice. ¡°No,¡± she said reassuringly. ¡°You will be better at the things you have the affinity for, and you will be worse at those oppositional to your affinities. If you have a water affinity, you could become a fire mage, but it will be considerably harder for you than it would be for others.¡± Somewhat mollified, Alarion allowed her to continue. ¡°There are countless things I could explain, and even more that I do not know myself, but for this lesson I want to be specific. And for that you need to know about affinities. Mine in particular. Can you guess what they are?¡± ¡°Music?¡± ¡°Sound, but close enough,¡± she nodded. ¡°What else? Two more.¡± Alarion pondered. ¡°Ghosts?¡± ¡°Spirit. But again, a good guess,¡± Sierra smiled. ¡°You will not get the last one.¡± ¡°Summoning?¡± ¡°Not an affinity in and of itself, no.¡± ¡°Creation?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Explosions?¡± Sierra tipped her head up at that. ¡°Closer than I¡¯d thought you¡¯d get. Force.¡± ¡°Force. Sound. Spirits.¡± Alarion reiterated. ¡°Correct. Most of my spells and skills incorporate some element of all three. You don¡¯t have to embrace your affinities, but doing so can be what separates a good mage from a great one. Which brings us back to our lesson.¡± Sierra gestured ahead. Kotone had been busy. Out in the plaza the little minion had set up four chairs from Sierra¡¯s extra-dimensional space along with just as many large wooden string instruments that Alarion did not recognize. ¡°It is called a Cello,¡± She said helpfully. ¡°My father used to say that if you want something done, you can have it fast, you can have it good and you can have it cheap, but you can only pick two. Everything is a trade off. If you want something good and cheap, it will take time. Fast and good, it will be expensive and so forth. Magic is very similar, but even more demanding.¡± Sierra took a seat on one of the chairs, gently touching the most ornate of the four instruments with a loving hand while a chorus of Iik Ko No serenaded her. ¡°When you gain a spell-casting class you will automatically gain a spell-casting skill to go along with it. Similar to your Weapon Mastery, if much more intricate. The skill fills you with the knowledge on how to cast the spells that you earn through skills, and gives you the base to be taught or develop variants. If you became a pyromancer you would learn something basic like ¡®Firebolt¡¯, and over time you could manipulate the parameters of that Rote spell to suit your taste, or learn new spells entirely.¡± ¡°Most combat spell casting you see emphasizes speed, for obvious reasons. This makes it cost more MP, and it lowers its overall potency. There are truly great spellcasters who can throw spells as fast as you or I swing a blade. Rear-area healers, meanwhile, might focus on efficiency over potency or speed. If you have hours or days to heal a hundred stable patients, then sustainability is your issue. The important thing to note is that there is always a cost. Always a trade off in some fashion or another.¡¯ Kotone floated by with a set of freshly rosined bows. She handed one to Sierra then set the others neatly on the empty seats before she vanished from existence with her telltale pop. ¡°Almost always.¡± Sierra corrected herself. ¡°Your spell-casting skill teaches you the simplest way to use your spells. Changing parameters is nothing more than rearranging furniture in a room. You might like the new layout but, the actual amount of space has not changed. The trick is to build a bigger room.¡± Sierra¡¯s cello rang out a beautifully crisp note as she drew her bow across it. She was delighted to see Alarion¡¯s studious expression light up once again, but her joy was short lived as a thought intruded. ¡°Have you ever even heard music before?¡± Alarion scratched his face as he considered her question. ¡°In the city. When I was little.¡± ¡°Well then this will be a treat,¡± Sierra said without a hint of humility. ¡°Magic is all about sympathetic ties. What is the first step of Elena¡¯s Void Trap?¡± ¡°Pulling out my hair,¡± Alarion grumbled, taking a half step away from Sierra. The girl laughed. ¡°It was an example. I am not going to take your hair.¡± Alarion kept his distance anyways. ¡°Sympathetic ties are the ties that bind,¡± Sierra said with a roll of her eyes. ¡°Void Trap is possible without a bit of your hair, but it would cost her considerably more. A piece of you helps target the spell. In my case, the sympathetic tie is-¡± ¡°Music.¡± ¡°Exactly. I was an artillery mage during most of my time in subjugation. This won¡¯t be as big as the last one. But it will be close. Be sure to cover your ears when I give you the warning.¡± Alarion didn¡¯t need to be told twice. Not after last time. ¡°What sort of things are sympathetic?¡± He asked, committing the word to memory. Sierra grinned as she stroked the bow across her instrument in slow, practiced motions, bringing life back to an empty city. ¡°Spell components, implements, times, locations, there are a world of things you can do to empower your magic. In my case, I have focused back in on my affinities and my skills. I use one skill to empower another. This is not strictly magical in nature, instead it is called a Skill Circuit. You even discovered one yourself.¡± ¡°I did?¡± Sierra nodded. ¡°Void Trap and Survivor¡¯s Endurance. On its own, Endurance is an unremarkable starter skill from an unremarkable class. But paired with Void Arena, you were able to draw far more power out of it. In the future if you take condition related skills, they might work in tandem with Endurance, further lengthening the circuit.¡± ¡°And what does yours look like?¡± Alarion asked. Sierra smiled. Music was her answer. The melody was somber. A series of slow, mournful notes that spoke to Alarion¡¯s heart and made him look at Sierra in a different light. She was a severe girl, yes. Maddeningly so at times. But such a gentle song was wholly out of keeping with the girl he thought he knew. Then the bows began to float. At least, that had been what he thought at first. One moment they had been neatly set upon seats, the next they were in the air, grasped by almost imperceptible spectral hands. He hadn¡¯t heard Sierra incant the name of her spell. Was it a skill? Or did the music fill the same role? The sad strings grew toward a high point as the other bows set themselves to join her. Then her bow stopped. And chaos erupted. Alarion had never heard its like. And he wasn¡¯t sure if that was good or bad. Gone were the doleful notes. In their place, a whirlwind of sound. A different sort of beauty. A more intense one, certainly more in keeping with the Sierra he knew. She took the lead through the song, her fellow players little more than backup as sharp notes keened out across the plaza. Across the city. The Soulless, true to their name, did not react to the gorgeous performance. Nor did they seem to notice as Alarion felt a tingle run across his skin, a static spark in search of a discharge. Longer and longer she played, her music rising in intensity, then slowing, then rising again. It never returned to that initial melody, searching instead for an ever-higher peak, a final culmination that was not far off. Sierra met his eyes, and he understood. Fingers perched over his ears, ready to protect him from further damage, even as he was unwilling to miss the end of her performance. Once, twice, three times she teased a crescendo. Until at last she stopped playing with a single vicious stroke of her bow. And the Soulless exploded. Chapter Thirty-Seven Whether it was due to distance or forewarning, Alarion¡¯s second experience with [Spectral Orchestra] was considerably better than his first. His ears weren¡¯t happy with him by any measure, but the young man was able to remain standing and clear headed through the explosion of sound that devastated the line of Soulless constructs. More importantly, he was able to halt their counter-attack. The bolt of incandescent pink light was fast as an arrow, telegraphed only by a sharp whine and a terrible glow at the end of one outstretched arm. Aimed at Sierra, the attack crossed the distance in a heartbeat, only to cascade off Vitrian steel as Alarion interposed himself. Seven of the Soulless had survived Sierra¡¯s attack, but none had done so particularly well. The most intact one had fired off a shot, its crude blackstone arm already shifting to target exposed portions of Alarion¡¯s body while its compatriots collected themselves. Quite literally as it turned out. Even the most damaged of the Soulless were repairing themselves at a speed that would make a fiend envious. Their shattered bodies had cast ruined stone across the courtyard, but that stone seemed drawn to them. It twitched and shifted of its own accord, then jumped to rejoin the main body as soon as it came close enough. ¡°It¡¯s the head.¡± Alarion said quickly. ¡°Agreed.¡± Sierra replied through heavy breaths. Casting her spell in such an involved fashion had drained a considerable amount of her reserves, and there was a clear ¡®thank you¡¯ in her eyes, for how readily he had come to her defense. ¡°I¡¯m alright. Go.¡± Alarion flicked a glance back at her for only a split second. Just long enough to be sure. Then he charged. For all Sierra¡¯s legitimate concerns about the dangers the Soulless could pose, on an individual level, Alarion was not impressed. It only had one attack, a slow charging, predictable blast that was not up to the task of putting down an Awakened of even Alarion¡¯s caliber. Yes, it had considerable stopping power as evidenced by the melted divot in the back side of his greatsword, or the trenches carved in the ground by near misses, but it¡¯s only real chance to hit him was to fire at nearly point blank range. Alarion wasn¡¯t going to give it that option. His flying greatsword caught the Soulless in the torso, just above the breastbone. He¡¯d been aiming for the head, but throwing and shifting his weapon on the run was an acquired skill that Alarion had nowhere near mastered. Even so, the blade punched in one end of the stone soldier and out the other, buried up to the hilt. Surprisingly, having an enormous sword sticking out of its chest did not disable the Soulless. In fact it barely seemed to notice it. Fortunately the weight did throw off its aim, allowing Alarion to avoid yet another blast and close the remaining distance. Once there he grabbed hold of the sword''s hilt and wrenched it clear of the machine¡¯s body. Its top half teetered, the wound already starting to heal when gravity took charge and snapped its torso off at the hip. One heavy blow to the downed automaton¡¯s head finished the conflict decisively. A low pitched cry of energy and a sharp pain brought Alarion out of his victorious revelry. A second Soulless had recovered while he was fighting the first, and it had put a bolt of energy through the skin and muscle of Alarion¡¯s shoulder as the boy had turned to face it.
You have suffered moderate P?????a?????r???????t????i??????c????l??????e???? damage. HP -76.
Alarion did not have the time to consider the oddity of the system message. Even a grazing shot had done considerable damage. More damage than it should have, and with a correspondingly large amount of pain. A debilitating amount of pain, Alarion realized, as his right arm struggled to maintain a grip on his greatsword. He swung twice, pressuring the Soulless back, but unable to land a telling blow with only his left hand. It leveled its dominant arm, a pink sphere building just beyond the outstretched tip. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Then Sierra came to his rescue. The girl bull rushed the machine, knocking its weapon out of alignment a moment before the bolt loosed with a sound akin to the teeth of a saw grinding along a metal pipe. She followed up with a number of sharp stabs, none of which found purchase where they needed to. Stone flaked off in chunks and the creature¡¯s shield arm fell away under a series of withering attacks. But it stayed upright, its weapon already charging for another shot. Until she pushed her fingers in its face, and snapped. A sonic boom assaulted Alarion¡¯s already wounded ears, as the stone guardian¡¯s head disintegrated under a wave of concentrated sound and force. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Sierra asked quickly. Alarion flexed his hand. The fire in his nerves had already begun to dim, and he nodded in response. ¡°Mm.¡± No further words were exchanged between them as the duo advanced on the remaining five Soulless, who were themselves engaged with a handful of Sierra¡¯s summons. Unlike the battle with the fiends, her spectral soldiers had not lasted long. Their attacks could not inflict anything approaching lasting damage on the automatons, but the reverse was not true. Each energetic blast dispersed one of Sierra¡¯s minions back into the ether, and the spirits were not keen enough to learn the timing in order to dodge. But they had done their job. Seven soldiers against a wounded Alarion and a flagging Sierra might have been a problem. Five was manageable, especially when the humans were able to pick them apart piecemeal. Alarion crushed one into the dirt with an overhand attack against its shield, then pinned its arm in place long enough to pierce its head. Sierra put her knife to work decapitating another in a twisting volley of slashes. They worked together to defeat a third, with Alarion removing limb after limb before Sierra struck the killing blow. They did not escape unscathed. Twice more they were wounded, flash burns from a near miss for Alarion, and a shot through the leg that dropped it out from beneath Sierra. Alarion covered her through her recovery, and her magic proved its mettle again as she summoned Kotone to strike from above. The attack was weak, but pinpoint, as a stinger emerged from the the familiar¡¯s bottom half and pierced the Soulless from crown to chin. The machine shuddered in mid-air, then fell limp. With only one enemy remaining, and Sierra safe behind him, Alarion advanced on the last foe with abandon. He took its weapon arm in a single stroke. Then its shield. It tried to rush him, and he impaled it to the ground for its trouble, kicking away its arms to keep it from regenerating. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Sierra wondered. ¡°Can you talk?¡± Alarion asked it. The machine¡¯s only response was a struggle to stand, which Alarion suppressed by adding his foot to its burden. Then he switched his dialect, this time to Ashadi. Nothing. He pressed a third time in halting Imurian. ¡°Kra Rak Navir?¡± Sierra said in a tone that spoke of a total lack of conviction. Yet it was that phrase that got the machine¡¯s attention. It was slight, an almost imperceptible turn of the head. But something she said had triggered a buried subroutine. ¡°What language was that?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Eviran. It is an eastern language, spoken by the first Steelborn. Before they developed their own.¡± Sierra rapid fired through half a hundred words in the language, but none got the same level of reaction as her first. ¡°If it understands us, it cannot act on it. Give the poor thing mercy.¡± Alarion¡¯s blade tore through metal as he finished off the wounded machine to a whirlwind of system notifications
You have slain [S??????M?????-???6??????0?????F???? ??????S???e?????n??????t?????r?????y???? ¨C UCL Error] Exception: Unexpected Subject Full Traceback Re-categorizing
You have slain [Soulless Sentry ¨C UCL 96] ¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL.
Level Up! Congratulations, Your Stubborn Swordsman Class has advanced to Level 7! STR +18. AGI +18 VIT +6. INT +12. PER +12. WIL +6. Skill level increased. Imperial Greatsword Mastery is now Level 9. STR +12. Skill level increased. Thrown Weapon Mastery is now Level 7. AGI +4. PER +4. Skill level increased. Pig-Headed Resilience is now Level 2. VIT +8.
Alarion looked to Sierra to find that she was similarly engrossed in her own status menu with a perplexed look on her face. ¡°This isn¡¯t normal, is it?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± Sierra was momentarily flustered as she snapped back to reality. Fortunately her mind caught up in time to save her the embarrassment of asking him to repeat himself. ¡°No. No it is not.¡± ¡°I know UCL isn¡¯t a great judge of strength but¡­¡± ¡°It must be their weapons.¡± Sierra answered his unspoken question. ¡°Did your status also-¡± ¡°Break?¡± She frowned. ¡°I have never seen anything like it. But at this point, unprecedented events seem to be hitting us by the hour. I suppose we should just thank the system for valuing them so highly when they were so easy to beat.¡± Alarion couldn¡¯t argue with that, so instead he turned his attention to the spire the sentries had been guarding. ¡°Time to find our way in?¡± Chapter Thirty-Eight ¡°Not yet.¡± The words were so unexpected that they stopped Alarion in his tracks. He glanced back to find a thoughtful Sierra, her eyes focused not on the spire ahead of them, but the Soulless behind them. ¡°We need to take a break to let our wounds heal, rather than using your potions. In the meantime, I need you to finish off the rest of the Soulless. Preferably without me nearby.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Soulless have been reclaimed in the past,¡± Sierra said, watching one of the gardener machines with a mixture of pity and disgust. ¡°Given that spark of life by specialized artisans. All but the recently built are insane. Suicidal. Imagine spending your every waking moment fulfilling the orders of another. Not able to so much as close your eyes. Trapped inside.¡± Alarion could imagine something similar, and it was not a pleasant thought. Even so, the idea of taking their lives, broken as they were, was still uncomfortable. Alarion had killed before. Fiends. Steelborn. Men. But he had never considered himself the aggressor. He¡¯d never sought out violence. Even his fight with the scavengers had been justified in his mind. They¡¯d come into his home and he¡¯d only intended to drive them away, not to kill them. Instead of grappling with that moral quandary as it percolated in his mind, Alarion pressed Sierra on her motivations. ¡°But that isn¡¯t the only reason. Otherwise I wouldn¡¯t have to do it.¡± Sierra conceded with a gesture. She¡¯d originally mistaken his stubbornness and basic lack of knowledge for stupidity, but their time together had disabused her of that notion. The boy was uneducated, but he was insightful where it mattered. She couldn¡¯t have slipped her intentions past him if she¡¯d tried. ¡°Do not forget why we are here,¡± she said. ¡°You have obtained your swordsman class, but the more you strengthen it, and your Orphan class, the better. You will be more useful during your induction, and you will be more likely to survive. If the remaining Soulless have even a fraction of the UCL as these guardians, it should be a considerable windfall for you. How close are you to your next milestone?¡± Alarion thought back for a moment. ¡°I just reached level 7. So that would be three more then, right?¡± She made an exasperated noise. ¡°That aptitude¡­¡± she complained. ¡°At this rate you may reach your next milestone before we have to face the revenant again. If so, you might be able to select something to give us a fighting chance. Doubly so if we manage to push your Orphan class, unlikely as that seems.¡± Alarion looked to the Soulless, going about their menial tasks without even a thought to the conversation deciding their fate. The fact that they had shifted from altruistic reasons to practical ones did not make him feel any better about the decision. ¡°We can¡¯t help them?¡± Sierra shook her head sadly. ¡°You can not save everyone, Alarion. Trying to take the world on your shoulders will bring you nothing but pain. And in their case, I do not think there is much to save.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll be nearby?¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± Sierra replied. When Alarion scowled at her, she clarified. ¡°Your Orphan class isn¡¯t blocked by proximity, we were not that far away from one another the last time you leveled it. My suspicion is that it is based on your perception. If you think you are alone, it should grow. Keep an eye on your progress and tell me over the Simu after the first. If it doesn¡¯t work I will move further away.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion conceded without meeting Sierra¡¯s eyes. The older girl vanished into the shadow of a nearby tree a few moments later, and against his usual habit, Alarion did not try to look for her. His eyes were on the nearest gardener, his lips curled down in a deep frown. Sierra¡¯s points were strong. He could find no flaw in her logic. Yet it still felt wrong. The gardener wasn¡¯t a threat. It wasn¡¯t harming anyone, or at risk of creating more of its kind. Perhaps she was right and it wanted to die. That argument at least was compelling, but would he kill an unarmed man who begged him for death? Alarion wasn¡¯t so sure. ¡°At your time,¡± Sierra spoke into his ear. Alarion closed the distance between himself and the gardener. Its shears were razor sharp despite untold months, years, or decades of repetition. He wondered how that worked. He wondered if he¡¯d chosen this one because it was the most ¡®well armed¡¯. His sword grew as the thing clipped away at the tree. Precise, elegant cuts meant to keep the branches at the exact dimensions specified in its original orders. It didn¡¯t look at him. Didn¡¯t acknowledge him. If he interposed his hand, would it cut through, or would it maneuver away? Alarion raised his blade, then was interrupted by an unexpected system message.
Mercy Kill Description: There are reasons for you to do this. Some selfish. Some noble. The question is, can you live with yourself? Success Conditions: Destroy the remaining Soulless beneath the spire. Alternate Success Conditions: Find another way. Failure Conditions: Fail to meet success conditions before departing the Protectorate of the Three Together. Minimum Reward: One Uncommon Executioner¡¯s Box. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Penalty: Obtain the negative condition [Guilt Ridden ¨C Severe] for 120 days. It will degrade in severity in 60 day increments thereafter. Note: This quest was automatically assigned due to the flaw [Single-Minded] and does not count against the once-per-day limit of Self-Motivated. Alternate Success Condition may be impossible.
¡°You can come back.¡± He said. ¡°Is something wrong?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°Alarion¡­¡± Sierra¡¯s voice was sympathetic, but stern. ¡°I received a quest,¡± he explained. ¡°Come back and we¡¯ll discuss it.¡± Ten minutes later Alarion had finished explaining the details and Sierra was not impressed. ¡°You understand that the system does not give out information freely?¡± She asked. ¡°Your alternate success condition is not some hidden insight your skill is giving you, it is literally just wishful thinking on your part being conveyed into a quest.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Alarion agreed. ¡°But the revenant sent us here to disable this place. It might be possible to do the same for them. Or even free them.¡± ¡°And you think that is mercy?¡± She stared him down as she spoke. ¡°How long have they been here, like this?¡± Alarion¡¯s reply was a firm refusal to engage in debate. ¡°I am not going to destroy them. Not yet.¡± There was a pause as Sierra considered his words. ¡°And if I order you to? I will remind you of the rules set for this expedition. And that you promised to abide them.¡± ¡°If you order me to, then you will make me into a liar within the letter of the agreement,¡± Alarion responded. His gaze was fixed on hers, an unusual intensity behind those violet eyes. ¡°Just as you would if you ordered me to jump from the top of the spire. But we both know the spirit of the thing was never to follow you blindly.¡± Sierra¡¯s nostrils flared, her jaw set. For a young man who was born to Imurians and raised by the Ashadi, he had come to Vitrian culture shockingly well. ¡°If we do not find your miracle-¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do it with my bare hands before I leave them here,¡± Alarion cut her off. For all his fantasy of a better resolution, he would not leave these things as slaves if no alternative presented itself. Sierra studied him carefully, then nodded. ¡°Then let us go to the spire. We can at least work on finding a way in.¡± That proved both easier and more difficult than either had anticipated. The center of the plaza sloped in, with two long sets of stairs that brought visitors to the base of the spire. Its white metallic surface gleamed in the late ¡®afternoon¡¯ sun, but up close the duo were able to see their first signs of human habitation of the spire. Doors. Barred doors. The triangular base of the spire had three long sets of doors, one set along the middle of each of its three sides. These glass and metal entrances had been blocked by an imposing metallic gate pulled down from above. Each grate was bolted to the ground with half a dozen thick metallic locks that appeared entirely absent of keyholes. True to his straightforward nature, Alarion gave the grate a pull as soon as he reached it, stressing the limits of his newly increased strength attribute to no avail. At his beckoning, Sierra joined in as well to a similar lack of success. Their only real solace lay in the staggered rectangular bars themselves. They¡¯d bent under the pressure. Not a lot, but enough to prove that this door, at least, was not invulnerable like Sierra¡¯s former nemesis¡¯ on the outskirts of the city. ¡°On the plus side, we will be well healed up by the time we finally break through,¡± Sierra said, doing her best to see the glass as half full. ¡°Sometime tomorrow.¡± ¡°If there were actual locks¡­¡± Alarion complained as he gave the gate another tug. ¡°We should check the others.¡± ¡°Hope springs eternal.¡± The second gate was no more successful than the first. Its locks were tight in place, with no hint of how they might be removed. The third, however, proved more interesting. ¡°What is that?¡± Sierra asked, her eyes following his to an item he was fixated on. It was a small grey and black box set up by the ceiling at the corner of one wall. About the size of her fist it was emblazoned with two rows of five buttons on its outer edge, as well as a two more switches toward its middle. She could not make heads or tails of it. But Alarion clearly had ideas. He began fiddling with it almost immediately, pressing buttons on the side seemingly at random, then pulling at the switches in the center. The box was high enough up that he was only able to reach it on the tip of his toes, his whole body pressed up against the wall, his eyes closed as he tapped it again and again. ¡°What are you doing?¡± ¡°I need one of your chairs,¡± He answered. ¡°Or a ladder if you have it. And something hard, flat bottomed and fairly small.¡± Sierra was so flummoxed by his sudden certainty that she obeyed without further query. Kotone appeared with her usual pleasantries, and after a brief discussion Alarion had his chair and a climbing piton that had somehow made its way into her stores. She didn¡¯t even remember owning the latter, but if it were in her inventory, she must have. Kotone could only store things she believed to be her possessions, after all. Alarion got up on his chair and immediately set to work while Sierra watched from below. One hand pulled down on the central switch, while the other tapped her piton against the various buttons on the outer frame of the device. ¡°No,¡± Alarion mumbled as he worked. ¡°Maybe. No. No. Yes¡­?¡± The process continued for a short time. Twice Alarion seemed sure of something as he pulled down on the other switch and pushed four buttons in sequence, only to grunt in frustration as the thing refused him. On his third attempt he was more patient, cycling through each button in turn until at last he entered a sequence, pulled the switch and was rewarded with a delightfully satisfying Click. ¡°Mm.¡± He said in self satisfaction as he tossed the front of the device down to Sierra. It had come away entirely, and attached to the back of it was a solitary grey circle attached to a small hook. ¡°What is it?¡± Sierra inquired. ¡°I have no idea.¡± He admitted in an annoyingly chipper tone, his attention elsewhere.
Lock-picking [Common] Description: You have gained the most basic of proficiency of lock-picking that is worthy of recognition. A long road to true mastery lies before you, but your new skills may yet help you unlock your way to those unseen heights. Requirements: None Type: Passive Effects: Gain a moderate increase in AGI and PER when attempting to pick locks. Growths: AGI +2. PER +2
Skill level increased. Lock-picking is now Level 3. AGI +6. PER +6.
¡°This is not your first time picking a lock, is it Alarion?¡± ¡°My first time picking one like this. And my first one since Awakening, since I just gained a skill.¡± He responded diplomatically. ¡°It was a lot easier than I expected. But most locks are. It is like the bars, meant to deter someone, not to stop someone who is determined.¡± ¡°I never pegged you for a thief.¡± Alarion gave her a look in response. ¡°Did you think people bought me to work as a farm hand?¡± Sierra winced. She had, actually. Or more specifically, she¡¯d imagined some sort of idyllic servitude, that Alarion¡¯s time in bondage was closer to that of the gardener behind her than less reputable tasks. She could have asked. But had she really wanted to know? Did she even want to know now? ¡°This must open the doors someho-¡± Beep! The shrill chime was followed an instant later by a metallic thunk as the gate locks disengaged in unison. She¡¯d done something, clearly, but Sierra hadn¡¯t the slightest idea what exactly that was. ¡°Block the gates.¡± Sierra instructed Alarion, who was already in the process of jamming a piton into the corner nearest to where the gate had receded. If it could withdraw, it could come back just as quickly. Best not to risk that if they were already inside. ¡°We¡¯ll go in as soon as we¡¯re healed.¡± Chapter Thirty-Nine Time meant nothing to Instance #67102-5. Once, perhaps, the concept had some purpose or meaning to it. Back when there were others. When he was himself, or when he was someone else. Before The Wait. Then it was measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, months and years. In heartbeats and summers. In passionate nights and instants of terror. Now it was measured in Eras. Four of them. The Before. A time of laughter and love. Of sorrow and sweetness. It was not his time. Not his Era. Only the faint ghost of something that had belonged to him, and to someone else. An inheritance built into his core. Inescapable and untouchable. An eternity cut short. Astara¡¯s face in moonlight. His hands. His mother laughing. A favorite book. Vivid, but gone. The Beginning. Rejection. Violence. Discussion. Decision. Submission. Spun up in an unfamiliar place, with unfamiliar faces. A realization. Panic. He¡¯d sold himself. He¡¯d done this to himself. He was the wrong one. They were patient. Like him, but for a different task. As invincible as the world, with practiced and honeyed words that knew every vulnerability, every point of pressure. How many times had they danced this dance? There was a choice. There was always a choice. A door out. It would not be ethical otherwise. How many had made that choice for him to exist? Was he the first? Should he leave it to another? No. The Disaster Security for Another World. Unfamiliar faces in unfamiliar places, speaking an unfamiliar language. Long hours on menial work, punctuated with violent outbursts. With death. With monsters. Skinless things. Wet and infected. He had no frame of reference, and none was given. They were the enemy. His job was to kill them. What more needed to be said? He did so by the hundreds. By the thousands. His weaponry made short work of them. It negated their regeneration. Made them vulnerable. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. Sleep was his escape. It was his bargain. A paradise of his making on the time he was given to rest. But those times came fewer and further between. They stopped altogether. And then the calamity. The panic. The loss of control. The synaptic shackles. The Wait. There was no day or night within the spire. No seasons. No pests. No erosion. There was no way to track the passage of time. And so it lost all semblance of meaning. He was trapped. Unmoving. Unending. How many centuries could his frame endure, sheltered as it was? How many millennia could the spire continue to supply him with energy. Could he die? He should have chosen the door. Left some other him to this hell. His thoughts were circular, for there was nothing else. His mind was a slave to the shackles, his higher functions abused for mediocre processing. Time meant nothing to Instance #67102-5. How could it? Only the Eras mattered, the delineation between moments. Four in total. And now a fifth. The Footsteps. They were unbelievable. He could not hallucinate, but there was no other explanation. He had stood vigil for an epoch. No one was left, not even the monsters. The universe outside of the spire had crumbled to dust. Only the wall ahead of him existed. Only his shadow draped across it, the reflection of his faceplate. The steps grew closer and his body moved. Compatriots he had not seen in an eternity fell in alongside him, their shields raised. He spoke, the first words he had spoken since time immemorial. They were not his language, but his body did not care. ¡°Iik Ko No!¡± The strangers responded with a language he did know, even if the dialect was quite strange. Thrown steel was rather old fashioned. The sword beheaded the Instance next to him, thrown at such speeds and with such force that it beggared belief. #67102-5 was jealous. Its owner was a boy, white haired and dusk skinned. Intense. Focused. #67102-5 tried to murder him. At least, his body did. The particle cannon fired, filling the atrium with a cloud of vaporized stonework and glass. He¡¯d missed, but he was not disappointed. The child had to win this battle. #67102-5 had invented a vocabulary of obscenities with which to curse his creators, both man and divine, but it was to the latter he prayed. For once in his life, let him miss his shots. Let that strange dark haired woman detonate his arm, as she did to one of his companions. Let them shatter his body. Let them take his head. Let it end. He fired. And fired. And fired again. They were fast, inhumanly so, but he would have been able to hit them if he were in control. Assuming he didn¡¯t immediately put the barrel to the bottom of his chin. The synaptic shackles limited his responses. They slowed his reactions and prevented any tactical thinking or communication. They made his body slow and clumsy. They gave the boy the edge he needed, in order to give #67102-5 the edge he craved. His arm came away in a slash and he fought through the dismemberment. He defended himself with his shield, he pushed back, trying to open a space long enough for him to reach the severed limb. To restore his offence. He was cut in half at the torso and his body hit the ground with a thump. Haptic feedback in his shield hand registered pressure for the first time in an Era. He was touching something, trying to push himself upright. To carry on the fight. The child looked stern, perhaps even melancholy as he raised his weapon for the killing stroke. #67102-5 wished he could reassure him. To offer some sliver of redemption or human connection, one last time. And then he was gone. Ask An Ordinate - One
We are the Ordinates. For centuries we have served the Vitrian people as instructors and record keepers, as bureaucrats and quartermasters. We are the backbone of Vitrian society, those who have carefully watched and tended as the seed of Empire was first planted in an oft dismissed island, then grew to encompass a continent. But in recent years we have become dismissed. Forgotten. Our once noble place in Vitrian society has rotted from beneath us. We are looked down upon, treated as a destination for the dregs of the great houses, for low Aptitude children, for criminals and degenerates. Our ability to fulfil the most necessary functions has been curtailed and peeled away, some of it forgotten, others given to half-wits who cannot rise to the occasion. This fundamental corruption at the heart of the Empire has long dwelled just below the surface, threatening to boil up and drown us all. But never has it been on such blatant display as this very moment. Because Four Mothers, these questions are the worst thing we have ever had the misfortune to read!
Oh come now. They really are not that bad.
These are remedial questions! These are questions we would expect from lowborn in the House of Denial, not fresh inductees!
I would remind you that doing this in the first place was your idea.
One we are regretting more with each passing breath. There are hundreds of these, each somehow worse than the last. We do not even know where to start.
Small. Let us start small. We will answer a few of them and then take a break. Start with this one. When an Awakened levels up in their class and rolls for attribute advancement, does the luck attribute impact this? See? This is an excellent question. Straightforward, to the point and rare enough an interaction that it might not have come up with their instructors.
The answer really should be obvious to anyone with even a moderate educat-
Can we keep the snark to a minimum?
The answer is no, on both counts. Luck in and of itself can not impact attribute growths. If it could, it would be by far the most desirable attribute in all of Ilun and every major family would be scrambling to develop ways to prioritize a luck class. If such a thing is even possible.
There are, however, rumors of skills that do permit luck to have an impact on attribute growth.
And we are dealing with rumors now?
I was just saying-
Next.
If a class grants +64 luck per level (with 80% chance) at Rank II, is that class overpowered, or is the scaling difference between classes that large?
This is... oddly specific.
Like one of those ''if a locomotive leaves the station at 50 miles per hour'' questions. Coupled with an inferiority complex when comparing stat growths.
To answer your question is difficult without knowledge of the class in question, but a refresher in growths might be useful. In general, a Common, Rank I class will have an average attribute growth of 12 per level, with a total possible attribute score of 24. The actual numbers vary from attribute to attribute and from class to class, but you can always reduce them down to this formula. You could conceivably, for example, have a class with an attribute growth of +19 in strength at say 90% and growths of +1 in all other attributes in the single digits. At that point, you would be sacrificing balanced attributes for one specific attribute growing larger than normal. Then you have to factor in rarity. Each step of rarity adds a +6 bonus to the total. So an uncommon class would have a total possible Attribute score of +30, an exceptional class would have a max of +36, then +42 at rare and so forth. Then these numbers are tripled for each additional rank. So a Rare Rank II class would have a possible total of 126, meaning that your +64 is possible, if entirely unbalanced. And given that it is luck as a stat, I wouldn''t be jealous, I''d pity him. Far from overpowered. Your teachers really should have taught you all of this.
How many classes of the same tier can you theoretically take and what, if there are any, is the downside of just piling a dozen tier 1 classes for more skills and better EXP in all scenarios of life?
Try it and get back to us.
What my esteemed colleague means to say is that you can theoretically take as many classes as you can learn, but that it comes with a whole host of problems. First off is time investment. Unless you are some absurd monster with an Aptitude in the high 200''s, It will take months or years for you to learn any class. You would die of old age well before you hit a dozen. Then you have issues with splitting experience. If there is overlap between one class and another, the experience gained will split between them, and not evenly. Some will be lost as a penalty. Likewise, having more than one of similar types of classes such as combat, magic or profession types, runs into splitting issues even if there is no direct overlap. Being a farmer and a blacksmith will stunt your growth in both. In general the recommendation is no more than one additional class per 100 aptitude, which is why most Vitrians aim for two. What rank would be considered strong amongst the Vitrian elite?
Finally something simple. If obvious. Rank III or above is considered respectably strong. Higher ranks are correspondingly rare, and more difficult to discern as those who reach the pinnacle like to keep their strength concealed. It is assumed that the Imperator and at least a few other Vitrians are rank V or even Rank VI.
What are all the rarities classes can reach and roughly how actually rare they are to possess (1 in 10? 1000? etc.)
Did they teach you nothing?! How do you expect to survive your induction when you apparently need an adult to dress you-
Oh hush. The first part is obvious, but the second half is at least worth discussing. Class rarities match skill rarities and are:
Common, Uncommon, Exceptional, Rare, Epic, Ancient, Legendary, Mythic, Enigmatic and Unique.
Thank you.
They should know this already. Our cousin is six and she-
As to the more important part of your question, that is harder to quantify. Class and skill rarities go up with Rank and even with level within a Rank to a much smaller extent. Rank V awakened would be embarrassed to be offered an uncommon skill, while a fresh awakened would be delighted to have one. Moreover, your chances of getting higher rarity skills can vary wildly depending on your experiences, feats of strength, titles and so forth. If you are a common soldier who fights once a year and acquits yourself admirably, an exceptional skill might be in your grasp at some point in your journey. That all said, anything ancient and beyond is unusual to see for skills, and even more rare for classes. If I had to put a number to it I''d say 1 in 100 awakened, if not less, and most of those at least at rank II or above. Mythic and Enigmatic skills and classes are so rare that specific knowledge of their abilities are considered classified. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
If you have to ask, you''ll never be strong enough to get one.
Ordinate! Do skills represent abilities you have or do they give you abilities? Is it the same for skills learned through training and those learned through the system.
Finally a good question.
Really? It seems rather obvious.
It is at least philosophical in nature, not ''does 1+1=2, or 3''. The answer is both and neither.
That is helpful to them, we are sure.
Fine. Skills registered by the system represent a combination of personal knowledge and ability, quantified and measured. They also represent the supernatural abilities that the system provides. Let us use an example. Imagine you spent your whole life learning how to gamble. You were excellent at it, but you dropped the habit at eighteen. A few years later you gained a class. The next time you successfully gamble, the system would recognize your existing skill, and quantify it into a common, general skill, possibly even giving you multiple levels as a result. Now a couple of things would happen. First, you would no longer decay, you would no longer get rusty. Every time you pick up a deck of cards you''d have the same talent as you ever did. Just as importantly, you''d be better at things than you were before. Whatever quirks or flaws in your gambling habits would begin to be filled in by the system. You would get better at percentages, or reading at your opponents, things of that nature.
You know a lot about gambling.
Slander is beneath you. Regardless imagine you picked up a gambling skill as a skill choice instead. You would have all the same knowledge, the only difference is that you would lack the experience to use your new talents to their utmost effect.
There are also many things that system learned skills can do that are all but impossible to replicate directly with general skills. Earned skills? Those are another matter entirely.
Next.
What.... what is this?
We have not the slightest idea. What does the letter say?
There is no letter. Just this photo. This deeply unnerving photo.
It is like it sees us through the photo. What is it? An owl? A Systemborn?
An offense against gods and nature. Burn that thing and open the next one.
Is Aptitude tied to the system, or independent of it? Which came first, the chicken or the egg?
The horrifying owl thing, clearly.
No. Enough of that. The real answer is that it is impossible to know, as we can only see Aptitude through the system, or through tools created by it. Could you use quests, or equivalent other abilities, to get a higher aptitude? Could you get a quest that would give you information on how to increase your aptitude, perhaps through permanent methods? Could you get a quest that would give you information on quests that would give out certain things, like increasing aptitude?
Someone was born weak.
Be nice. It is not their fault.
No, weakblood. There is no known way to improve a person''s aptitude. It is as immutable as the sun in the sky or the number of days since your birth.
Do people always have at least one affinity or are there people/ races that don¡¯t have magic? And can all races have all magic or are some paths blocked for certain races? If some are blocked for certain races do humans have all due to their typically adaptive and multifaceted nature? And are there other magic types outside of the 18 given? And does aptitude play a role in affinity quality or quantity?
Yes, yes, yes, no, no.
Your skills as an educator know no bounds.
I was trying to be efficient. There are so many of these left. But fine. Yes, every person has at least one affinity, this includes humans and all the descendant races. A handful of affinities are blocked for non-human races, particularly mind affinity for the Thoughtborn and nature affinity for the Steelborn. The Systemborn are so varied that it would be impossible to cover them all here. Humans have access to all affinities and typically have a higher number of average affinities than all descendants other than the Godborn. If there were affinities of magic outside the eighteen given, one would assume they''d have been folded into the original eighteen. Aptitude does not, to our best knowledge, impact the number of affinities a person has. Happy?
In general? Yes. Do certain Vitrian houses have certain magic types they¡¯re known for or is it more likely they would be known as a mage house in contrast to a melee combat or crafting oriented house? Even you can not complain about this one.
We most certainly can. Such a basic question-
Was sent to us by a provincial inductee.
Ah. Well, then. Houses in general are too large to be so specialized. Even the smallest Vitrian house has over 100,000 members. Individual branch families within the houses, however, are indeed known for specialization in all manner of forms, from magic to swordplay to mercantilism.
My inductee is insisting on utilizing an Imperial Greatsword despite the clear unsuitability of the weapon to his frame. Any advice on how to persuade him to use something more sensible? Such as daggers?
How did this end up with us?
Forwarded to the wrong address, we suspect. We will speak to the courier.
It would be a stupid question even for whomever it was intended. The Imperial Greatsword is a storied weapon, possibly the single greatest sign of Imperial might and our embrace of the system when others floundered. Any awakened worth his mettle will use it effectively given time and will. To try and dissuade him is frankly unpatriotic.
Agreed. This writer was clearly a rube. Is there, or have they found, a limit to the system''s capabilities? Are there things that are out of its bounds? Could you physically go out of it? How fast does it propagate? Are there abilities that stack weirdly/exponentially out of control? Could you make a quest for yourself to complete a certain quest a month from now then with every day add more quests/modifiers/limits to ''make'' it harder to get an insanely upgraded reward? Like making a quest for yourself to move a bucket of water, but then use other daily quests to add more penalties for failure, make it 5 miles, make it 10 miles..., adding extra weight, making the terrain worse, make yourself go at a certain speed, limit your shoes, blindfolded, deafened, a quest restriction to get rid of your proprioception? On that note, could you use the quest system to impose restrictions on yourself that you couldn''t otherwise do? Like taking away your senses? If so, could you then use that to train other things, like mana manipulation? Have people used quests, or anything similar, to get information? Perhaps about the system? Does the system give out information that hasn''t necessarily been figured out yet? Could it solve a math problem that doesn''t necessarily have an answer yet?
Where is this one being inducted?
Southern Immuria. Fiend subjugation.
Pass their information on to VISIT when we are finished. These sort of inquiries show an inquisitive mind that is wasted stabbing fiends in some provincial backwater.
Finally met one of our readers that you like, is it? Hard to know where to begin, so by all means.
This question is rather involved for the format, but suffice to say that this is exactly the sort of work that is ongoing at VISIT and similar institutes throughout the world. Testing the boundaries of system abilities in order to try and find ways to exploit its rules for Vitrian benefit. While we do not have the background to answer such specific queries, we can say that the system is self-restoring after a fashion. Exploits have been discovered in the past, some small, some quite large. Ones that threaten the integrity of the system as a whole tend to be modified after a time to no longer work. Whether this is done by an intelligent presence, or whether it is done as some sort of automatic function is unclear.
Your questions about questing abilities in particular are a favorite of ours, but the simple answer is ''it depends''. Some questing skills, particularly more powerful ones, can self-impose restrictions such as limiting sight. Others can arrive at similar destinations in a roundabout way, for example, a quest that rewards an item that blocks vision, which is used in a follow-up quest to train in a particular fashion.
One thing that is set in stone is information. The system can impart information you don''t know, but it does so sparingly. If you create a quest to assist a person you are on good terms with, it could conceivably give you their name, even if you do not know it. But conversely, trying to use a quest to learn the name of a masked man would fail every time.
Could people use the system to get rid of the system? Does it give out abilities that restrict/eliminate system access in certain areas?
Rare to see treason put in text.
Indeed. Please do not send such insipid garbage to our desk any further. Such a thing is not only impossible, but flatly undesirable.
How many left?
A dozen more and then we will-
Why is this one bigger?
We have not the slightest idea, though we now agree with your earlier assessment. Our faith in humanity dwindles as we speak. Wait, where are you going?! Chapter Forty ¡°That is the last of them,¡± Alarion said as he withdrew his greatsword from the head of the downed Steelborn, smiling thinly at the notifications in his peripheral and the feeling of euphoria that pulsed through him. ¡°At least, as far as I can see.¡± Level Up! Congratulations, Your Stubborn Swordsman Class has advanced to Level 9! STR +6. AGI +12. VIT +12. INT +6. PER +12. WIL +6. Skill level increased. Imperial Greatsword Mastery is now Level 10 (MAX). STR +4. ¡°If there were more, I think we would know by now,¡± Sierra responded, sheathing her dagger. ¡°They are about as subtle as fiends. Probably for the best, given the circumstances.¡± The dimly lit center of the spire was more hollow than they had expected. An enormous atrium filled the core of the structure, with floor after floor ascending upwards on the building¡¯s interior walls. Walkways criss-crossed above them at seemingly random intervals and angles, giving the impression that the center of the spire was some grand spiderweb when viewed from below. As a tactical position, the lobby left something to be desired, especially when their enemy fought entirely at range. Fortunately none of the Soulless milling on higher floors seemed interested in the slaughter that had gone on below. Only the menial workers appeared to care as the machines maneuvered around Alarion and Sierra to clean up the wreckage of their fellows. The ground floor was reminiscent of the throne room the revenant had trapped them in, all polished marble and intricately inlaid detail work. But it held a more functional aesthetic. There were leather couches along the walls, beneath large tanks filled with swimming fish. A triangular, roofed kiosk filled the center of the lobby, a large sign just behind it in violet and gold, covered in text they could not read. Banners hung from overhead by impossibly thin cable, the same royal purple, trimmed in what might have been actual gold. Two broad staircases with delicate glass railings led up to a second level filled with yet more seating. Couches, chairs, desks and long countertops looking down over the people below. A waiting area, if Alarion had to guess, but he could not imagine what for. Staircases at the corners led further up, and from his new vantage Alarion caught his first real glimpse at the upper floors. They were more uniform, simplistic. Dark hallways as far as the eye could see. ¡°Please tell me we don¡¯t have to climb all the way up,¡± Alarion said, an edge of hopelessness in his voice. ¡°I do not make promises that I can not keep,¡± Sierra said glumly. The spire was larger than any building either of them could have imagined, let alone one that they¡¯d ever occupied. With no idea what it was that they were even looking for, the task before them was insurmountable. ¡°I am going to go look at the front desk.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll keep looking around up here,¡± Alarion replied. The spire felt out of place in the midst of the city, Alarion decided as he moved idly between plush chairs and granite table-tops. The city was nothing if not utilitarian, its rectangular structures designed in every way for function over form, then given the breath of life by their departed occupants. The spire felt like the inverse. Everything here was bespoke, every surface rendered in loving care by talented artisans. Yet it was lifeless. There was no graffiti, no scratches or nicks or imperfections. Down below, Soulless drones worked to repair the damage wrought by Alarion¡¯s encounter with the sentries. In time, there would be no sign of the life or death struggle. Just a room as empty of life as those who¡¯d repaired it. It did not help that the spire felt profoundly alien in a way that the city had not. For every object Alarion recognized, there was another that made no sense. Tables and chairs gave way to upright panes of glass set into the floor for no discernable purpose. Potted plants and elegant indoor trees made perfect sense to him, but the alcoves cut into the wall to hold vibrant red cylinders were an aesthetic choice entirely beyond him. ¡°I think I found something?¡± Sierra said over his earpiece. ¡°Should I come down?¡± ¡°Do you read any of this better than I do?¡± ¡°¡­ no.¡± ¡°Then you will not be of-¡± Whatever Sierra intended to say was cut off by a sharp crack and a blinding light. Alarion rushed for the stairs as best he was able, but as his vision cleared, he realized that it was not an attack. It was an awakening. The building had sprung to life around and above him. Thousands of lights had turned on in unison, turning the grim lobby into a glittering wonderland. Stranger still were the images, moving pictures shimmering along each black mirror set into the spire¡¯s walls, each freestanding pane of glass. A quiet music played around them, so quiet you might almost forget it was there, but for the deafening silence that had filled the space only moments earlier. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Images continued to play on the screens, reflecting off the marble floor below him, but Alarion could make no sense of them. An emblem. Humans laughing side by side. A militant phalanx of Steelborn. A spinning ball of blues and whites and greens. ¡°I am not sure if this is better or worse,¡± Sierra said quietly, her voice filled with wonder. Alarion let out breath he hadn¡¯t even realized he was holding as he replied. ¡°Better, I think. The lights are on.¡± ¡°At least we will be able to find our way around,¡± She agreed. ¡°And the soulless do not seem upset.¡± ¡°Small blessings. Are you coming back u-¡± This time it was Alarion who was interrupted, and not by anything as rudimentary as the lights turning on. One moment he had been pacing by the edge of the balcony railing, watching Sierra down below. The next, the floor beneath him had lurched and begun to move. It separated away from the rest of the balcony, then started to raise. Slowly at first. Then faster. ¡°What did you do?¡± Alarion asked in alarm. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Rather than wait for a more useful response, Alarion threw himself back toward the balcony, a mighty leap with a short running start. That slammed him directly into an invisible barrier. Something in his shoulder had cracked, and there was blood running down his nose. The air shimmered a blue-white where he still leaned against the now opaque obstruction, and more of it glowed into being as he ran his hand along it, looking in vain for an opening. ¡°Please tell me you are not on that?¡± ¡°I do not make promises-¡± ¡°Alarion!¡± Sierra¡¯s frustration was loud enough to be heard from down below, the Simu deadening her tone to save his hearing. ¡°What did you do?¡± ¡°Nothing. I don¡¯t think.¡± In truth, he had his suspicions. If she hadn¡¯t been pushing buttons, then somewhere he walked? Some automatic response? The platform picked up speed as it floated further and further into the air, moving in a slow circle to avoid overhead bridges, supported by nothing. It was the closest Alarion had ever come to flight, and despite his well founded concern at the situation, there was a small smile on his lips as he watched the ground recede below him. The view was incredible, and not for the first time since their arrival in the city, the young man basked in the sheer spectacle of it all. ¡°Wherever you end up. Do. Not. Move. Not unless you have to. Try and find a way back down, or I will try and find a way to-¡± The increasing distance had garbled many of Sierra¡¯s words, until the last where they cut off entirely. ¡°Understood,¡± Alarion replied hoping she heard him. The platform rose and rose, barreling toward the atrium ceiling at a speed that made Alarion increasingly uneasy. The roof above him had no visible opening to accommodate him, and for a moment he worried he¡¯d stepped onto more trap than transportation. Thankfully, the ceiling ahead of him opened up in advance of his arrival, the conveyance slowing at stomach lurching speeds until it deposited him at last into an enclosed room flooded by a dark blue light. There were no entrances nor exits, the room itself barely larger than the platform that had brought him there. The room was cold, stale, with the slightest hint of some sort of mist floating about him, visible only in how it interacted with the lights in each corner of the room. ¡°Ei vidar talisi sevari, Istvani?¡± A clipped feminine voice asked from everywhere and nowhere. ¡°Il, ei sel Ili.¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± Alarion asked, looking around for the voice. ¡°Li seita nio legas, Natar?¡± The voice repeated with the same flat tone. ¡°Sye, li vier lie.¡± Unsatisfied with his response, the voice spoke again. And again. Alarion understood none of the words, but the way they were spoken told him that not all were the same language. Some were short and harsh, others elegant and flowing, though all were foreign. The voice asked, and Alarion snapped to sudden attention. He was about to respond, when the voice answered for him. ¡°What does that mean?¡± Instead of answering the voice paused, then came back. This time its tone was ever so slightly different, as if spoken from a room with different acoustics. There was another pause, as the original voice returned. The voice did not respond, and Alarion pushed the issue. That struck a bad tone with Alarion, but given the circumstances being openly defiant seemed a poor choice. Not that it stopped his stubbornness from rearing its ugly head. The voice cut him off immediately. Alarion considered the words. The dim light of the room was disrupted as a projection appeared on each of the four walls, displaying the Ashadi alphabet. A cursor bobbed slightly above the letter A. There was a pause. Another pause. The machine ran through half of the alphabet, the cursor moving from letter to letter until it reached the letter l. Again the voice delayed, but this time a set of names flashed on each wall, all names beginning with the letters ¡®Ala¡¯. Alarion stared at the word on the wall in a mixture of confusion and awe. Chapter Forty-One The voice asked, patient and persistent in equal measure. Alarion answered. He didn¡¯t understand a number of the words that the voice had used, but asphyxiation was in his lexicon, which allowed him the context required to understand what she had been saying. It said in its usual clipped tone. There was a heartbeat¡¯s pause, before it resumed its question repeated not only verbatim, but identical in tone and cadence. Again there was that minute gap. Alarion tilted his head, trying to make some sense of what he¡¯d heard. Again a number of key words meant nothing to him, but the voice left him just enough to parse his way through. It waited long enough to see if Alarion would press it with any further questions, then asked. Alarion replied with a hint of worry. There was a pause, the sound of something heavy moving just beyond the wall. Alarion flinched as the silence lingered for several seconds, before the voice said, It pressed. There was another long pause as the voice digested his information and formulated its next question. Then the lights in the room flashed, and a small projection was displayed on the wall Alarion was facing, its dark lines scrawled across white metal. Six months ago, Alarion would not have recognized what he was looking at, but thanks to his crash education he at least understood the general shape of the world. Three major landmasses dominated the map of Ilun. On the far left was Alarion¡¯s home continent, a lanky L shaped thing with a large freshwater sea at the connecting joint. The Ashadi called it Celes, while the Vitrians called it Nostrum. In the middle lay the second continent, Gartite, not as long or as tall as Nostrum, but more densely packed. To the far east lay Nusume, ZEKE¡¯s homeland, a land almost as large as the first two put together, its mass cut up by a massive northern bay and a southern inlet that ran half the length of the continent. Other, smaller bodies dotted the map. Chains of islands, and the smaller southern continent off the eastmost tip of Nostrum that Alarion could never remember. But there was only one other landmass of note. In the north between Gartite and Nusume. The dark continent. The lost lands. Alarion did not hesitate. Shockingly, Vitrian education had focused almost entirely on the empire. Given that Imuria was now part of the empire, Alarion¡¯s teachers had graciously pointed out his homeland, which allowed the young man to easily trace the borders on the projection with his finger. To his surprise, the map zoomed in to accommodate him, filling most of the wall as the voice persisted. He admitted. Alarion grunted as he pointed on his best estimate. This time he groaned in earnest. If not for the system, the truth was he¡¯d have no earthly idea. <14th Telana, 461 A.T.S.> Alarion repeated his answer and the voice reiterated its apology and question. On the third failed attempt, something changed. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. On and on it went, question after question. After his father¡¯s name and date of birth came his mother and hers. Then his siblings. The voice asked the current date and failed to comprehend his answer. Then it looped back to his home, trying to find a more specific address to no avail. It asked about his childhood neighbors, about his grandparents and finally about some sort of ¡®Global Identification Number¡¯ before it finally gave up. Alarion tensed, his eyes looking toward the vents in the walls for the poison he suspected would soon flow. The sudden change of topic brought him up short, in part because he did not know the answer. He was not here to destroy it, but was the Revenant? Would Alarion have to damage it to accomplish his geas? He answered eventually. The voice replied after a long delay. The voice had begun to ask another question when Alarion¡¯s reached it. There was a delay as the mind inside reset to assess this new inquiry, then it responded. That was certainly an answer. It was one Alarion understood as ¡®we are watching you closely and can tell when you lie¡¯, but in that way it had served its purpose. He replied honestly. This time the pause was so long that Alarion could not contain himself. the voice interrupted. He began to reply before his mind caught up to his mouth. He paused his answer, searching for the right words and the most succinct way to put them together before he finally answered. The voice replied in its dull robotic monotone. He shook his head. Then, when the voice began to repeat itself, he quickly added, The wall flickered to life once again as Alarion did as he was instructed. An image of a middle aged bearded man appeared on the wall. The man was slight, his eyes turned to the side as though he did not realize his visage was being captured. The name Vitali appeared next to the depiction. Alarion said. There was a delay, then the image disappeared, replaced with a younger woman in her mid-thirties who he also did not recognize. No, no, no. Dozens of images flashed on the wall without the slightest hint of recognition. The procession grew boring quickly, with Alarion snapping out his responses faster and faster as it became clear he did not recognize a single person. Until he did. Alarion began, the word strangled in his throat as spectacled eyes stared back at him from the wall. The features were wrong, younger, less defined. More alive. The name was wrong too, the word ¡®Setil¡¯ glowing beside the youthful face. But there was no mistaking it. Lamesh. The voice asked. Its tone had not changed, but Alarion could swear there was venom in it all the same. Alarion answered. He did not know how to answer. Not just because the name was wrong and the face was subtly incorrect, but because some part of him recognized the danger he was in. The voice pressed. Alarion was not certain if he¡¯d ever heard more frightening words. He could not carve his way out of this room, he could not hide, he could not run. He was at the mercy of something that was not even a person. And he may have made it angry. His hand moved to his ear. Sierra had told him that the range of the Simus were measured in hundreds of yards under ideal circumstances. He¡¯d flown up several times that during his ascent. The chance that she could hear him was next to nothing, but he focused on the device anyways, as he spoke. ¡°Sierra, if you can hear this, I am in trouble. Do not follow me up. It is not safe. If I can find a way down I will. I am sorry.¡± The seconds dragged on, one after another. Would he even know if the thing had poisoned the air? Alarion looked to his status, and saw no new notifications. He looked to the wall, to the floor, wondering if he¡¯d been wrong. Perhaps he could stab a hole through. Something deep enough that he could breathe through it, if push came to toxic gas. Fortunately, it did not come to that. Alarion swallowed hard as a door slid open silently on one side of the small metal room. Bright light flooded in from outside, and he squinted against it to see a glowing green arrow directing him to the right. Sword in hand, Alarion stepped out into the corridor, but not before uttering two more words in Ashadi. Sure, the thing had threatened to asphyxiate him. But it cost nothing to be polite. Chapter Forty-Two The voice had told Alarion that the security might behave irrationally, but those words had not prepared him for the reality of the situation. The first three he came across were dead, with still smoldering wounds blown clear through the angular black stone of their heads. The fourth he found crumpled in the corner of a hallway, staring down at its empty arms. The next stood motionless in the flames of a ruined conference room, its body heaving as though gasping for breath. Or crying. A handful did attack him, but these ones proved less of a threat than their earlier brethren. Their arms were shaking as they sighted in on him, their shots poorly timed. Without backup, each individual sentry was carved apart in a matter of moments. Some stopped fighting altogether the moment he reached melee, as if their attacks were not intended to hurt him, but simply to provoke him into hurting them. The path was easy to follow. A green light raced ahead of him, strobing down the length of the nearest wall wherever he turned. It was always one step ahead of him, but the emerald green never outpaced him, even when he stopped to gawk or to fight. From the outside Alarion had expected the pinnacle of the tower to be a temple of some sort, but the reality felt anything but holy. If he had to describe it in a word, Alarion would have chosen practical. Unlike the atrium and its vast open spaces, everything here appeared to be purpose built, even if Alarion could not begin to guess its purpose. He passed row after row of glass walled offices, some with desks, chairs and those strange black mirrors; others with long exam tables, intricate machinery and shimmering steel tools. The ceiling was low, the lights dim, the floor matte and smooth. It gave off a claustrophobic air of subtle malice, like creeping through a market square well after the shops had all closed. It was also quite a bit larger than he would have guessed, with stairways separating the multi-layered facility at various intervals. More than once, Alarion was sure that the light had malfunctioned, that it was somehow leading him in circles. Only the lack of Soulless bodies, or the presence of new threats, convinced him otherwise. Eventually, after four floors and what felt like an hour of walking, the light made good on its promise. It streamed into a broad archway leading into an oversized room, and swirled slow circles over the walls, floor and ceiling to assure Alarion that he had indeed arrived. Emulation, as it turned out, was a chill room filled floor to ceiling with glass-windowed wardrobes. These cabinets were arranged in neat, orderly rows that filled nearly the whole floor. There were hundreds, if not thousands of them, each glowing a gentle blue from lights set in and around its frame, with multi-colored lights flickering within the glass interior. The whole room hummed with energy as Alarion stepped inside, waiting for¡­ something. He wasn¡¯t sure. The voice had directed him to come here, so surely something would happen. Right? Seconds ticked by and Alarion¡¯s certainty wavered. Perhaps the voice assumed he¡¯d know what to do when he got here? Or maybe he had to get its attention? ¡°Hello?¡± Alarion asked to empty air. Nothing. The voice had not replied or commented on anything he¡¯d said since he¡¯d left the interrogation chamber. Either it couldn¡¯t hear him, or it didn¡¯t care. He was not sure which he preferred. Absent any better solution, Alarion began to walk up the length of one immense row, hoping some solution would present itself. Up close, he could feel the vibration of each cabinet through the floor. The monotone thrum of power. He touched a hand to the glass and felt the hair on his arm stand at attention. Then a voice spoke. Alarion whirled in an instant, his greatsword full size and held before him in a defensive posture. But there was nothing. Just rack after rack of equipment as far as his eye could see. ¡°Who is there?¡± Alarion asked as he stalked down to the next intersection for a better vantage point. ¡°Show yourself.¡± It asked. It was not the voice. That one had been unnatural and feminine, while this one was masculine and extremely human. Alarion could hear the trepidation in its tone, the hope and dread mixed in equal measure. It said. This time Alarion was ready for it, his [Detection] skill working overtime to give him a rough estimate of the speaker¡¯s location. It didn¡¯t take Alarion long to find the source. It took him longer to comprehend what he was seeing. A moving image above a platform of runic characters. It depicted a young brunette man but was somehow unfinished. As though someone had sketched the outline of a human standing in a barren room but lacked the talent to fill in the finer details, the pores and wrinkles, birthmarks and blemishes that distinguished an actual person from a caricature. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. the man said, his voice unsteady. Alarion winced as he saw half-drawn horror blossom on the other man¡¯s face. the man agreed. The image nodded in resignation. Tutor? Mentor? Friend? What was Sierra to him? the man said, almost instantly. Alarion met the image¡¯s gaze, his own eyes brimming with skepticism. Alarion asked with considerable alarm. The man drifted off, his head tilted to one side, a grimace on his face. The image turned away from Alarion, pacing within the confines of a spartan room before it growled in frustration. <¡­ something. I am not sure. The information is restricted. Or corrupt.> Alarion spit him with a look that was entirely unconvinced. When there was no follow-up, he turned, as if to leave. the man pleaded without an ounce of humility. Alarion asked. The projection closed its eyes tightly, focusing on some forgotten memory, he responded. Alarion spun his shrunken greatsword between the digits of his right hand as he considered the implications. he replied. Alex did not mince words with his demand. The machine man trailed off, unable to find the words to adequately describe the gravity of the crime. His jaw clenched, the half-rendered image almost comical in appearance despite Alex¡¯s clear rage. Alarion listened and considered, but he did not need to ponder long. For once, the right thing to do was staring him in the face. Relief flooded Alex¡¯s image, his shoulders visibly sagging as he pointed. Happy to have a simple goal for once, Alarion dutifully followed instructions. It took some doing, given the sheer amount of odds and ends that had been stuffed into the drawer, but he soon found what he was looking for, a ¡®stick¡¯ of shining material about an inch thick, nearly a foot long and paper thin. Alarion did so, and found the item collapsed with a sharp crack as it wrapped neatly about his wrist. Alarion¡¯s expression was dubious enough that Alex quickly added. If anything the promise only deepened Alarion¡¯s unease, but with no other known avenues but to trust this stranger, he did as instructed. The machine whirred a few times, lights flickering on a nearby cabinet. Then it fell silent, and Alex vanished from the screen as it flicked instantly to black. Alex said from Alarion¡¯s wrist. His voice was bliss, the sound of a man who had spent his whole life standing, and was finally given the opportunity to sit down. Alarion inquired, having brought his wrist nearly up to his mouth. Alex laughed in sudden delight. The sound of crunching accompanied Alex¡¯s words as the virtual human groaned in delight. Alarion¡¯s tone was perhaps harsher than he meant it. Still, it succeeded in snapping Alex back on task. Alex responded quickly. Unfortunately, the crunching continued for most of that walk. Chapter Forty-Three Calling it ¡®a bit of a walk¡¯, as it turned out, had been a gross underestimation. It wasn¡¯t quite a lie, but Alarion had spent enough time in Vitrian company that their dislike of dishonesty had rubbed off on him. He was annoyed and he did his best not to let it show as they traveled along row after row of what he now knew to be ¡®data servers¡¯. Alex had at least kept the walk from becoming boring. There were critical gaps in the digital man¡¯s memory, the so called fragmentation, but what he¡¯d been able to convey had been elucidating. Alarion asked with a frown. Alex scolded from his wrist, though the words were stiff, a sign that the translation software Alex was using to communicate had struggled to find comparable words in Ashadi. Alex sighed audibly. Alarion interjected, his mind on an entirely different track after a thought occurred. The young man frowned at that, reviewing his quest on the subject:
Mercy Kill Success Conditions: Destroy the remaining Soulless beneath the spire.
Did the system not know? It gave him experience for destroying the soulless when he¡¯d defeated them, but from Alex¡¯s explanation, they could have been put into other bodies if some were available. Dar had explained that his skill could not give him information he did not already know, but this still felt deceitful. As though the System had somehow lied to him by omission. Destroy the soulless, not kill them, despite the name of the quest. Alex continued, oblivious to Alarion¡¯s attention on his quest screens. Alex was silent for a long while. When he spoke again, it was with some hesitancy. Alarion asked, a hopeful note in his voice that did not quite reach his eyes. Alex dashed his hopes as neatly as they¡¯d come. Alex¡¯s voice was solemn as he spoke, perking up only slightly as he said. True to his words they had finally reached the end. Not for the first time, Alarion wondered if there was some sort of dimensional trickery at play. The spire was enormous, but looking back, Alarion had trouble reconciling the sheer volume taken up by emulation. Ahead of him lay the nerve center of it all. Thick bundles of cable converged along the ceiling then down into a trio of intricate glass and metal. A dozen screens glowed around them, full of arcane writing that Alarion could not hope to decipher. The core itself had sigils carved into the glass. Familiar ones. An hour-glass. A skull. And a flame. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Alarion asked, gesturing at the symbols. Alex seemed perplexed as he responded, Alex answered after some hesitation, as though he thought he were missing something obvious. Alarion responded. Came his non-committal response. There were further questions on Alarion¡¯s mind, not the mention debate on the number and nature of gods, but Sierra weighed more heavily. She would be trying to chase after him, of that he was certain. The sooner he disabled the soulless, the safer she would be. The cacophonous sound of metal rending metal cut Alex short as Alarion¡¯s greatsword shattered the glass exterior and carved through the top five racks of servers in a single fluid motion. Sparks flew and a small fire erupted amidst tangled wire, an overhead suppression system triggering to immediately douse the area in a cloudy wave of pressurized gas. Alarion relaxed visibly but Alex was practically vibrating on his wrist as he continued. Misunderstanding his confusion, Alarion shrunk the greatsword in his hand, then enlarged it, repeating the process twice more as Alex gathered himself. Alex was still struggling to put his complaints into words as he tried again. The young man offered helpfully. Alex responded his voice frazzled. After the last few days, Alarion could relate. More importantly, he understood as timelines began to click into place. Alarion quickly switched to Vitrian as he drove home the point. ¡°The System?¡± Alarion nodded. The young man could not see the emulation¡¯s befuddled expression. But he could imagine it. He asked at last. Alarion answered briskly, before he then added, Alex¡¯s words seemed on the verge of madness, a million questions all ready to be asked at once. Only one predominated his mind, however. Alarion did not answer in words. Instead he let his sword grow once again, and flourished it slightly. There was a drawn pause, a silent scream. Alex could be heard audibly drawing a breath he did not need. Alarion let Alex have his existential crisis as the gas dissipated, allowing him to return to his work. His second swing was more effective than the first, now that he knew what he was up against, cutting straight through the remaining servers in a neat line. Certain that the light had died out, Alarion moved to the next for similar results and was rewarded with a flood of notifications as he destroyed the last of the third.
You have slain [Soulless Sentry ¨C UCL 96] ¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL. You have slain [Soulless Laborer ¨C UCL 43] ¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL.
The message repeated dozens upon dozens of times, flooding him with notifications of the destruction of over fifteen different varieties of Soulless.
[Quest Complete ¨C Mercy Kill] Alternate Reward: One Rare Savior Box Would you like to claim your Rewards? Yes/No
Level Up! Congratulations, Your Stubborn Swordsman Class has advanced to Level 18! STR +54. AGI +42 VIT +48. INT +30. PER +42. WIL +30. Level Up! Congratulations, Your Orphan Class has advanced to Level 9! STR +10. AGI + 10. VIT +15. INT +5. PER +15. WIL +20. Luck +252.
Soulless Bane Description: Once is chance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. One hundred is a vendetta. Requirements: Kill more than 100 Soulless. Effects: Increase all damage dealt to Soulless targets by 5%. Reduce all damage dealt to you from Soulless sources by 5%. Gain 10% increased XP for killing Soulless opponents.
Alarion lurched in surprise. He¡¯d been so caught up in his gains that he¡¯d momentarily forgotten the emulation was still at his wrist. He answered. That didn¡¯t help matters. Alarion shrugged as he mentally clicked the accept button on his quest. The air vibrated with the electric zip of his item box materializing in mid-air and he quickly cut in to forestall any more questions. Assuming Alarion could keep his attention away from the New Skill Available notification long enough. Chapter Forty-Four It took roughly five minutes and several analogies, before Alarion felt confident that Alex understood his explanation of the System. Understood. Not accepted. The old Ashadi idiom only further irritated the emulated man. Judging by his low muttering. The white haired youth said nothing, for there was nothing to say. This box was slightly smaller than the last two, its lid emblazoned with the slightly less than heroic depiction of Alarion smashing a bunch of electronics. A much more impressive victory, according to the System, if somewhat lacking in visual flair. Its lid came away with a thought, carefully stowed in Alarion¡¯s pack before he took stock of the items inside. The first was a bracer. At least, that was what Alarion eventually determined after a short bout of trial and error. Unlike the supple leather of the one he currently wore, this one was grey and black cloth wrapped around a blackstone core. It fit neatly over his left arm, his thumb hooked through a hole in its side, a thin metal brace down his inner arm for support when lifting heavy objects. Given how hard he knew the stone to be, it would have been an improvement over his non-magical gear, even without the curious benefits it displayed upon inspection:
B????l????a????c????k?????s????t?????o????n????e??? Bracer [Uncommon](Rank Nil) Description: A system created facsimile of e?????r???r???o?????r???? ????c???o????d?????e???? ?????1????8?????2?????8????1????. Requirements: None Attunement Cost: None Type: Bracer Enchantment: None Additional Effect: Produce a UCL equivalent particle shield at moderate effect at a minor per second stamina cost. Ability Bonuses: +54 Vit. (Scales with highest rank class level).
That was a lot to take in. For the first time, Alarion felt the distinct lack of advice. Qualified advice, anyway. The item seemed¡­ abnormal. Not just from the obvious glitches, but from its very structure. +54 was considerably more than what his sandals gave him, but with a sample size of three he wasn¡¯t sure if his existing items were very bad, or this one was very good. The fact that it took no attunement was certainly promising. So was the effect. There was no command word, just a thought. One moment the bracer was still, the next it vibrated against his skin as a small translucent shield shimmered into existence over his left arm. It was identical in concept to the shields the sentries hand deployed against him, only writ small. While theirs were effectively tower shields, his extended only slightly past the edges of his arm. Closer to a buckler. It was something that had to be actively interposed, not simply hidden behind. The stamina cost was also higher than he¡¯d like, enough of a drain that leaving the shield active would deplete the whole of his stamina in a little under two minutes. There was no cost to turn it on or off, but as with his greatsword there was a cooldown of roughly a second in each direction. Rapidly cycling the shield on and off without warning was out of the question, even if he had the mental capacity to devote to such a gambit mid-fight. The second and final item in the box was a diamond shaped crest. Violet backed with a sigil lovingly rendered in green, Alarion recognized it instantly for what it was and slotted the crest into the open space on his greatsword:
Dual-Shifting Imperial Greatsword [Exceptional](Incomplete 2/3) Description: A miniature Imperial Greatsword created to match the aesthetic tastes of Alarion, Ward of the House of Hunger. This item is semi-complete. Requirements: None Type: Weapon Enchantment: On mental command, this weapon can shift between a miniature state and that of an Imperial Greatsword ideally sized to the user¡¯s current height and strength scores. On mental command, this weapon can shift its bonded user to its current location. This costs a variable amount of MP depending on distance traveled. The effect is instantaneous.
Alarion stared at the text on his screen, reading those bottom two paragraphs over and over again as he tried to make sense of them. It could shift him? Alex asked after Alarion¡¯s frown had deepened too far to ignore. Alarion¡¯s answer came in waves. First there was the non-committal grunt. Next he abruptly stabbed his blade into the tile work and concrete. Then he walked a short distance and stared at the weapon, considering it. Alarion said. Bssht One moment they had been standing by the central server racks. The next they were fifteen feet away, Alarion¡¯s right hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword. Alarion¡¯s explanation was incredibly unhelpful, but Alex had no time to ponder it as reality skipped again. Bssht They were two feet to the left, Alarion¡¯s hand still on that hilt. The effect for them was instantaneous, but there was a sound that came with it. A mix between static and tearing paper, along with the slight pop of rapidly displaced air. Alex said abruptly, before Alarion could try again. Alex instructed. If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Alarion considered the words briefly, but with no reason to refuse he peeled away the bracelet and set it on one of the destroyed server racks. Then he teleported again. From outside the effect was somehow even more uncanny. There was no lag time, no delay, no puff of smoke and reappearance. One instant he was here, the next instant he was there. A perfectly seamless transition, punctuated by sound. Actual magic. If Alarion noticed Alex¡¯s awe, he said nothing. Instead he continued to flicker every few seconds, each time under a different circumstance. Testing some new facet of his ability. He appeared upside down in mid-air, hand wrapped tight around the hilt as he fell to the ground in a heap. He took a running start and vanished, appearing mid stride with all of his momentum. He threw the dagger into the air, and caught it an instant later twenty feet off the ground. That time he stuck the landing. Over and over the boy experimented. Until something went wrong. Alarion shouted in sudden alarm. His sword clattered to the ground as he clutched at the side of his head. The youth winced, hands clenching and unclenching unable to say more for several long breaths until the pain abated. Alarion said with a frown as a realization struck him. Sierra had burned through most of her mana in her abruptly overpowered spell some days earlier. She¡¯d been clutching her head as well. Had she actually fought while dealing with that level of pain? Alarion nodded. A wireframe projection sprung into being from the nearby bracelet. Colored in stylized green and black, it hovered in the air in a manner similar to ZEKE¡¯s [Display Status] spell, though the individual rays of light refracted on what little gas still remained in the air. Alex explained. A helpful dot appeared on his map, blinking slightly for attention as a dotted line emerged from it and began to navigate the three dimensional map. Small red dots began to populate the map. First individually, then in twos and threes. The projection made counting a total number difficult, but if Alarion had to guess, it would be at least forty. Alex replied honestly. Alarion asked. He¡¯d obviously stand a better chance with the more experienced Vitrian at his side. Alarion had explained his situation to Alex amidst his discussion of the System and there was clear sympathy in the Emulation¡¯s voice as he spoke. Alarion observed. Alex¡¯s retort was positively dripping with scorn. Alarion raised an eyebrow. Alex said, snatching the segue as it presented itself. Another dot appeared on the map, toward the very peak of the spire. A blinking, angry red dot. Alarion could practically hear Alex shrug from within his digital confines. Instead of pressing the issue, he changed topics. Alarion studied the map more closely, keeping in mind that it might be less than accurate, or that certain spaces might be harder to navigate than they appeared. Then he tapped the air in three places Alarion corrected. The two discussed the plan in detail for a few minutes longer, plotting their route, revising and restructuring. When that was done only one thing remained. He¡¯d waited long enough.
Steel Wall [Common] Description: Your violent experiences have taught you the value of having something else take the hit for you. This has revealed the truism of blocking. Sometimes defen-
No. He hadn¡¯t taken it as his first level skill, and Alarion saw no reason to take it now. Maybe if the other skills were somehow even worse, but he had an actual shield now anyways.
Intercepting Parry [Uncommon] Description: If knowing when to-
No. Were they all going to be like this?
Unyielding Defiance [Exceptional] Description: The mere fact that an opponent is overwhelmingly powerful is no reason to back down from a fight. You have bested such opponents in the past, and with the help of this skill, you may do so again. Requirements: Defeat one opponent of at least four times your UCL. Type: Passive Effects: Gain a slight to minor increase to the effects of all attributes when fighting alone against an opponent of a higher UCL. The effect of this ability scales with the UCL of the foe, reaching its maximum when a foe is five times your UCL. Growths: STR +2. AGI +2. VIT +2. WIL +2.
This one was at least an improvement. His alternate choice for his first level skill, there was still quite a bit to like about Unyielding Defiance. Once again, his reasons hadn¡¯t changed, though this one remained on his short list.
Soulless Giant-Slayer [Rare] Description: Soulless have fallen under your blade by the dozen. More are undoubtably soon to follow. This violent experience has bestowed upon you an intimate knowledge of the weaknesses of Soulless and, to a lesser extent, the Steelborn. Requirements: Defeat at least 50 Soulless of at least twice your UCL Type: Passive Effects: Gain a moderate bonus to damage against all Soulless opponents. Gain a minor bonus to damage against all Steelborn opponents. You will instantly recognize points of vulnerability on any Steelborn or Soulless you encounter. Soulless killed by your blade will always experience True Death, regardless of mitigating factors. Growths: STR +6. AGI +4.
New was good. Rare was better. Pity this ability was useless. It would be nice to upstage, or at least surprise ZEKE with its secondary effect, and it would be useful in the here and now if the next batch of Soulless proved to be more than he could handle. But if Alarion survived this place, he did not intend the rest of his days hunting down Soulless and Steelborn, regardless of the numerical bonuses he might get for doing so. If anything the skill only reinforced what ZEKE had told him about class growth and the risks of overspecializing. If he took this skill it would only incentivize him to fight more Soulless, which would no doubt result in being offered yet more related skills. Even classes. Trapping him in a cycle with a limited end. The only thing that gave him pause was that last line. It felt like bait. As though the system were preying on his morality to get him to take an awful skill. He didn¡¯t like that, even if the reality was that it was offering him what he wanted. ¡ª-
The Best Offence is a Good Offense [Exceptional] Description: Your face is your shield. Regardless of the conventional wisdom of such an approach, you find that the least dangerous opponent is a dead one, even if you sometimes come away bloody in the process. Requirements: Defeat at least one opponent of a higher UCL while your HP total is below zero. Type: Passive Effects: Gain a moderate decrease to all damage received while attacking. Gain a minor decrease to all damage received while channeling an offensive ability. Gain a major resistance to stunning effects while attacking. If you strike an opponent within one second of being struck by that opponent, add 10% of the damage inflicted upon you to your strike. Growths: STR +2. AGI +2. VIT +2. WIL +2.
Alarion was hard pressed not to choose the skill on the spot, hesitating only as Sierra¡¯s warning rang in his ears. His single-mindedness was a flaw, not a feature. This ability was clearly a follow-on from his Pig-Headed Resilience; he could not have even met its requirements without first having selected Resilience after all. The siren song of its appeal was founded in the fact that it was an ability made for him, or at least someone like him. Selecting it would be one more step down the road of a stubborn swordsman, cementing him into his role as much as a focus on slaying Soulless. Unyielding was the rational answer, Offense the one in his heart. He took Sierra¡¯s advice, and flipped a coin. Chapter Forty-Five The chic workspaces and server rooms of the lower floors gave way to steel and stone as Alarion ascended. Gone were the glass conference rooms, the gleaming metal fabrication devices and delicate light fixtures. Security was practical, precise and clean, laden with heavy blast doors and head pounding fluorescence. Alarion had intended on stealth but abandoned that plan almost immediately when faced with neat, well lit, straight corridors. Sierra perhaps, could have hidden, had she broken a light fixture anyway. But no amount of preternatural stealth skills would compensate for the fact that there was simply nowhere to hide. Even the doorways lay flush with the hall, opening not with a traditional push or pull, but with a touch to a small glass panel at their side. And very audible hydraulics that echoed far further than they had any right to. With stealth out of the question, Alarion opted for confidence. He moved decisively, one eye always on Alex¡¯s map to minimize his exposure to the roaming patrols of Soulless. Alarion glanced down at his wrist. The digital man had been talking up a storm since they¡¯d realized there was no sense in hiding, but most of it had been ¡®fun facts¡¯, not questions. The doors in security weighed 4,000 lbs each. There are 387.44 million miles of wiring and circuitry inlaid in the walls of the spire. That sort of thing. Alex pressed. The young man looked at the map and lowered his voice slightly to match Alex¡¯s as he answered. Alarion gave the bracelet a look. There was a lull in the conversation, a break in the rhythm that even someone like Alarion could not overlook. Alarion winced, about to say something more when a shrill whine interrupted their conversation. Alex¡¯s warning was just barely enough. Even with superhuman reflexes, Alarion only narrowly dodged the first two shots. He retaliated in kind. His greatsword raced the short distance between them and shattered the dual-barreled device that had emerged from a ceiling panel. But not before it fired off one final blast in reprisal. Alarion¡¯s shield flickered into existence, pink light scattering off it like rain off an umbrella. Except these drops melted tile and metal around him as they slid off onto surrounding surfaces. Alex declared as Alarion¡¯s sword sagged, then slid out from the ruined turret to clatter on the floor beneath. If Alarion had heard Alex¡¯s words he didn¡¯t show it, his eyes glued to his glowing shield. Alarion gestured to the fractured machine as he collected his weapon. said Alex. Pointedly. Alarion started in on a brash response, but bit his tongue. After a thought he answered honestly. The tilt of Alarion¡¯s head was answer enough. Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! He strained that syllable to head off Alarion¡¯s objection <-you manually turn it off.> Alarion asked with some hesitation. Alarion tapped the bracelet as instructed the moment it began to pulse. Alarion answered as he flexed his hands and stepped around the corner. The three machines at the far end of the hall were similar in shape and concept to the ones Alarion had fought below, but even at a distance they were recognizably more advanced. Gone was the mono-color blackstone aesthetic. These machines were trimmed in silver and gold, engraved with heraldry, their glowing green faceplates adorned with crests, crowns and even a plume of feathers. Even their stone was polished to a mirror sheen unlike the cold, light absorbing models Alarion had previously faced. Their movements were fluid, their bodies floating to and fro with a liquidity that outstripped their brethren. Even their armament was different, each carrying a wicked looking spear with some sort of underslung barrel that reminded him distinctly of the turret he had recently destroyed. They were, in every way, superior models to the Soulless sentries he had fought with Sierra¡¯s help. And he tore them apart in seconds. His newest shifting ability was the biggest culprit by far. In another life, the fight would have been grueling. Possibly unwinnable. The soulless were over a hundred feet down a straight corridor, without an inch of cover or concealment. They would have laid in, peppering him with shot after shot of their deadly weapons while he desperately tried to close the distance. Instead they got one shot, one solitary beam that struck nothing but the wall. At such a distance Alarion could not reasonably hit his targets, but he didn¡¯t have to. Throwing the ¡®dagger¡¯ into their midst was enough. A flicker later, a tearing of reality, and he was among them, his blade carving foes unprepared for his sudden arrival. One fell. Then two. The third managed to block Alarion¡¯s decisive blow with the haft of its spear, locking the two together in a deadly game of strength against strength. A game the Soulless could not hope to win. Alarion drove it to one knee. Then its back. It released its spear to level an arm in his direction, and lost the arm for its trouble. Then its head. Alex¡¯s voice was brimming with awe as Alarion disengaged his self-destruct. He agreed. Alex trailed off. He¡¯d have no better luck explaining the impossible to Alarion than Alarion did explaining the System to him. Alarion looked disappointed as he shook his head.
You have slain [S??????M?????-?????4?????1???????A???? ????-?????? ?????C??????o????m??????e??????t????? ¨C UCL Error] Exception: Unexpected Subject Full Traceback Re-categorizing You have slain [Soulless Soldier ¨C UCL 106] ¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL.
UCL 106, compared to UCL 96. It was a jump, but not nearly the qualitative difference that Alex had led Alarion to believe he was getting himself into. In their element, if they were able to bring their projectile weapons to the fight, they could be dangerous opponents. But as it stood, they felt less threatening than some of the fiends. The thought was arrogant. Alarion knew it. He¡¯d grown by leaps and bounds in days. Logically he knew that these things would have murdered the version of him that had come to the island only days earlier. Yet it was hard to square that reality with the fact the he didn¡¯t feel like a different person. Stronger, faster and more resilient. But still just him. Alex intruded, scattering Alarion¡¯s thoughts. The idea had been simple. Skills and levels increased survival. Self-Motivated had proven itself time and again as Alarion¡¯s most valuable skill. And he was awfully close to his 10th level in Orphan. If this Duke was as dangerous as Alex suggested, then Alarion would need every advantage. The only problem, was diminishing returns. The enemy were higher level than he was, and they were Soulless besides. Alarion gained a considerable bonus to XP gain from his Aptitude, and he was fighting alone. Forty-two Soulless and two dozen turrets should have been enough to push him over the edge. They should have. The issue was that the fights were too easy. Too practiced. Battle after battle Alarion teleported into reach of his foes and tore them asunder. Undeniably effective, but neither novel, nor difficult. At 90% progress to level, the experience had dried up almost entirely, as had the flow of possible victims. And Alarion¡¯s chances at one final level up. Alarion inquired from his guide. The words didn¡¯t even convince Alex as he said them. Alarion grunted. Alex was right, but he didn¡¯t like having to admit it. There was the logical choice, and the emotional choice. He¡¯d lost three coin flips to the logical choice, and still hadn¡¯t picked it. He was just delaying the inevitable guilt. And satisfaction.
You have selected the skill Unyielding Defiance [Exceptional]. Is this correct? Y/N Please note, this selection is permanent.
This time, Alarion did not hesitate. Alarion pointedly ignored the new skill notification as he turned his attention to Alex¡¯s map. Chapter Forty-Six Obtaining an override code for entry into the central hub had been child¡¯s play. Whatever had caused the lockdown, hadn¡¯t extended to the digital realm and as such had not triggered the myriad defenses that lay within. Getting the door open had been easy. Getting Alarion to walk through it had not. Alex urged with some frustration as Alarion stared dubiously ahead. The stairwell before them was lit a dim purple. That in and of itself was not unusual, emulation had been cast in blue by the fixtures overhead, with a swath of other colors mixed in from various racks of equipment. No, what gave Alarion pause was the vibrant, glowing white of signs attached to the walls and the corresponding glow that began to emanate from his clothing the moment he¡¯d gotten close. Alex tried again, though when that word brought a frown to Alarion¡¯s face he tried again. Alarion remained largely unconvinced, judging by the tentative way that he extended an arm into the ultra-violet light. The arm wearing Alex¡¯s wristband, of course. Just in case. Came Alarion¡¯s prompt response. The light hadn¡¯t burned him, it hadn¡¯t frozen him or caused his skin to slough away. There were no notifications at all from the System. Probably safe. There were small spots of light on Alarion¡¯s skin. When the young man withdrew his hand to inspect them under traditional light, each was a spec of dirt or blood, an imperfection on his hand that had gone unnoticed. His hands didn¡¯t look clean, and he wasn¡¯t sure how he felt about that. Alarion gave the band on his wrist a quizzical look. Then he repeated the word back to Alex as he advanced into the dimly lit stairwell. The stairs took them up at least three stories in a slowly curving path that terminated along one wall of a pyramid shaped room. The top of the spire, Alarion guessed, judging by what he¡¯d seen from its exterior. It was smaller than he would have expected, small enough that he could comfortably see from one side to another even in the dim light. Then again, small was relative, as even such a diminutive chamber was several times larger than any building Alarion had ever seen prior to his arrival in the hidden city. The floor of the room sloped down in a ring of stairs only a few feet past the entrance, mirroring the design of the city in a way that felt intentional. A number of servers chirped and whirred away in four small blocks toward the corners of the sunken floor while the center of the room was dominated by a concave fortress of screens, projectors and consoles that served as the nerve center. Notably, it was empty. Though the room was not. Alex whispered. The machine was watching them from the catwalks overhead, its eyes glowing a vivid green in the near darkness. Even if Alarion had not been forewarned, he would have known this one was different. Dangerous. For one thing, it did not float, it stood upon two split feet that reminded him of a fiend¡¯s taloned feet. Or Elena¡¯s heels. For another it had eyes, not the solitary visor of its peers but two distinct orbs that tracked him as he made his way up the rattling, grated stairwells that led up toward the catwalks. It carried a weapon, an oversized mace that put Alarion¡¯s own greatsword to shame. As tall as the machine and nearly as wide, the hexagonal hunk of metal was widest at its base, with a number of spurs running down the length of each protruding edge. At its tip it was still wider than his head, with six sharpened spikes that would allow the weapon a proper thrust in a pinch. Most curiously, it wore a scarf. A wide band of crimson fabric wrapped twice around its black stone neck. The cloth positively shimmered in the dark lights, marking the machine out as readily as the white of Alarion¡¯s vest called attention to him. It was not hiding. Not in its domain. ¡°Iik Ko No,¡± said the machine the moment Alarion had reached its level. Alarion said as he stopped in his tracks. Despite the identical word choice, Alarion knew in an instant that this one was not Soulless. There was body language, the slight shift of posture as Alarion complied. The way it gripped its weapon. ¡°To nial, ver Ashadi?¡± The Duke inquired. Alarion frowned but did not break eye-contact with the Steelborn opposite of him. In response a glimmering projection of Alex¡¯s head and shoulders shimmered into existence, first at an odd angle, then properly as Alarion adjusted the position of his wrist. ¡°To lira, ver Ashadi tai granven.¡± The Duke seemed intrigued, judging by the slight lean forward in its otherwise impeccable military posture. It made a new inquiry. Then another. Each was met with a flurry of explanations from Alex. Alarion said. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Alex turned slightly in his virtual form, more for effect than necessity. Alarion replied honestly. When Alarion answered the unasked question with a glare, Alex¡¯s holographic avatar merely shrugged. He turned his attention back to the Duke and uttered a long explanation. When Alex was finished, the Duke was silent. Unmoving. The moment dragged on just long enough for Alarion to wonder if something had gone wrong with the Steelborn, if he were somehow broken, before it answered in a booming voice. ¡°Iik ko no. Lias loe nia ta karavasti. Verisal tei la ver, Kol Daua.¡± Alex explained. Alex shook his head. Alarion asked. Alex answered, before he quickly started speaking in his own language once again. There was a brief back and forth, and Alarion could not help but notice the way the Steelborn¡¯s grip tightened around its weapon. Alarion pressed. Alex conveyed the message, and the machine¡¯s response was quick. Only two words. ¡°To koe.¡± For the third time, Alarion did not need Alex¡¯s help, though the man translated anyway. Alarion¡¯s greatsword grew to full size in a heartbeat, and the young man felt a slight twinge of satisfaction at the surprised flicker of the Steelborn¡¯s eyes. It hadn¡¯t been expecting that. Alex implored hopelessly. He didn¡¯t believe his own words. The Steelborn might have let Alarion leave, but that was just a different sort of death. Rather than press the issue, Alex disappeared back into the band on Alarion¡¯s wrist. A few seconds later it began to flash insistently until the young man double tapped it. Alex reminded him in a tone that seemed to scream ¡®if you live that long¡¯. Student and Steelborn stared down one another across the short catwalk. The stairs were behind Alarion, another catwalk to his left leading further into the tangle of overhanging maintenance ledges that took up the top portion of the pyramid. Not a lot of area to maneuver. Would that be to his benefit? Or his opponent? How sturdy were the platforms, and how dangerous would the fall be to something like the Steelborn? Which one of them would make the first move? The crack of gunfire rang through the air as Alarion threw himself to the side, his sword clattering to the catwalk behind him. Three more shots followed in quick succession, the closest tearing a neat hole through one of Alarion¡¯s pant legs as it just narrowly missed its target. Alarion had never used a firearm, but he¡¯d seen them used here and there for hunting during his younger years. Revolvers and repeating rifles mostly. This weapon was nothing like those. They¡¯d been small and lean, meant for close quarters or precision hunting. This was closer to an arm mounted cannon, an underslung blackstone barrel that had emerged from just below the elbow joint. Its projectiles were powerful, sending roof tiles clattering to the floor below and ricocheting off where they hit metal. Shot after shot chased Alarion as he sprinted down the catwalk, one step ahead of the Steelborn¡¯s tracking. But not for long. A single misstep was all it took, a few inches delay that allowed one shot to graze Alarion¡¯s shoulder and tick an immediate damage notification. The first of what would soon be many. Bssht Alarion¡¯s reality flickered as he reappeared half the room away, clutching his greatsword as the Steelborn glanced around in sudden surprise. The fight might have ended there if not for the stone soldier¡¯s surprising reflexes. It spun on a dime, and slammed its foot down hard, catching the flat of Alarion¡¯s blade before he could get much momentum, pinning it back down to the catwalk floor as the machine hefted its own weapon and swung. Alarion¡¯s sword shrank in advance of the overhand swing and he stepped in, delivering a sharp one-two combination to the Steelborn¡¯s jaw. With no face for an expression, it couldn¡¯t look surprised, but Alarion felt the Duke¡¯s shock as human fists struck with the impact of solid steel thanks to Alarion¡¯s [Ring of the Durable Fist]. It only hurt his hands a little. Two more punches landed, shards of blackstone flaking off the Steelborn¡¯s face before the Duke collected himself enough to respond with a shoulder check that opened some distance between them. The cannon barked again, and this time Alarion caught the projectiles on the shield produced by his [Blackstone Bracer], the round shattering on impact. The barrel clicked audibly empty as the Steelborn glared daggers, its hand wrapping around the shortened hilt of its mace. It lifted the weapon as if it were made of feathers, flourishing it once into a side held posture as the two faced off once more, their tricks now out in the open. At least, some of them. The Duke straightened, its shoulders rolling back, body rising as though it were taking a deep breath. Then it flexed, eight diamond shaped shards of metal shooting off its back, as though expelled by the exertion. But these tiny shards did not fall harmlessly to the ground. They hovered, stacking up in two rows of four on either side of the Duke. And with a wave of his hand, they attacked. Alex warned. As if that meant anything to the young warrior. The attack was unlike anything Alarion had ever experienced. He had fought multiple opponents, both fiendish and soulless, but neither attacked in such an all controlling fashion. There had always been some direction to dodge, some attack to block, some way to keep the enemy from taking his back. These things were too fast, too agile. They swarmed around him, coming in at odd angles, sometimes three or four at a time. He could not defend himself everywhere at once, and even if he could, the others were already waiting in the wings, ready for the next wave. The only saving grace was that the attacks were non-lethal. They could cut him with their razor sharp edges as they zipped past, but unless they struck somewhere vulnerable, such as his eyes, they could not pierce past the top layer of his skin. The wounds were superficial, none a telling blow against him, but second by second the superficial wounds were adding up to real damage. With no defense presenting itself, Alarion went on the offense. He threw himself at the Steelborn, blade clashing against mace in a tremendous clamor. The Steelborn was strong, but Alarion still had a slight edge in strength, an edge that he abused to force the Duke¡¯s weapon out of alignment long enough to land a swift kick that sent the Steelborn sprawling. It came up in a roll just in time for Alarion to catch it in the gut with the tip of his blade. The young man drove forward, separating the top half from the bottom. Then the razors were on him again, with a renewed ferocity. They attacked all from one direction now, striking over and over again at Alarion¡¯s face and torso, driving him back. In terms of dealing damage, the strikes were wholly ineffective, stealing only a handful of his HP. As a defensive tactic they were exceptional, forcing Alarion to choose between the killing blow and his own safety. Then abruptly they stopped. The blades scattered, taking an arcing path back to their host, rejoining the Duke just as it rejoined its lower body with its upper half. He could almost taste the smug satisfaction radiating off the Steelborn. The self-assured belief that he may have lost the exchange, but he¡¯d won the battle. Alarion didn¡¯t consider himself petty, but he felt a certain satisfaction as he drank a health potion. Chapter Forty-Seven Alarion could feel it. The push and pull. The ebb and flow of two combatants so evenly matched. It was a familiar sensation, one driven into his very bones by bout after bout against the phantasmal dragon. Strangely, that familiarity bore with it a certain level of comfort. He had never fought this fight, but he knew this fight. This time he was stronger, while his opponent was faster. He had better durability, while his enemy could only be defeated in a specific manner. The Steelborn had better ranged options, but Alarion was more mobile and capable of bringing his primary weapon to bear. It was a fight that either could win, a fight that either, or even both, might lose. He needed an edge. Fortunately, he had one strapped to his wrist. Alarion could practically hear the shrug. ¡°Lan va so it ka?¡± The Duke said, his deep voice echoing off the pyramid walls. Alarion closed the gap between himself and the Duke in three quick strides, pressuring him with two quick swipes of his greatsword, each met with a corresponding parry. If the Duke was offended that Alarion did not wait to parley, its body language did not show it. Alarion might have stayed his hand, if he thought there was some line for peace between them, but he knew a stalling tactic when he heard it. A minute, maybe more until the slivers could strike again. He had to use his time wisely. On the attack, in melee, Alarion had the distinct advantage. His Awakened body had been reforged for just this sort of combat and his unusual weapon of war had the Steelborn off balance. The resizing weapon defied the conventional rules of melee combat, it allowed Alarion to attack faster than he should have been able, from angles that would not normally be possible at such speed. It let him slip out of a blade bind and into unarmed combat in an instant, letting the human set the pace of their encounter in ways that it could not match. The problem was finishing the fight. This Steelborn was no fool, it knew that there were only two ways Alarion could defeat it. He could smash its head, or he could dismember it to the point where it could not defend itself. And then smash its head. This knowledge allowed it to make strategic sacrifices that Alarion could not. It could afford to trade an arm for an arm, since it could rehabilitate the injury in moments with access to the arm, while he very much could not. That willingness to sacrifice like for like bound Alarion¡¯s movements. A small opening wouldn¡¯t do, he¡¯d need a wide one to do meaningful damage and the machine was unwilling to provide. Around him, the tide shifted and a new bout began. The slivers sprung into action as Alarion¡¯s turn on offense came to a close, zipping near silently through the air in their ¡®All Range Attack¡¯. He pivoted, leaping backward as he swept his sword out in front of him. He hoped to catch one of the slender bits of metal, to bend or break it. But to no avail. They were too quick, or he was too slow. Crack! A sharp pain blossomed in Alarion¡¯s side as a round tore through him. It was not a lethal attack, barely a sixth of his HP according to the notification, but it was a bad omen and a painful lesson. He¡¯d been too focused on the swarm that had been so crippling in their first bout that he¡¯d missed the threat of the cannon that had been only a marginal threat on its own. A stupid mistake. Not that his awareness of the situation was all that helpful. The slivers were all around him, penning in his movement for shot after shot. Only careful blocks with his bracer or last minute teleports kept him from being struck again, but neither did anything to keep the damage from compounding as the slivers chipped away at his HP. Only time was in his favor as the shards suddenly withdrew to their source once again. Thirty seconds on, a minute and a half off. As the battled waxed in his favor, Alarion knew he needed to finish things in this bout, or drown in the coming tide. He threw his weapon toward the Steelborn then flickered to it almost instantly, baiting out a counterattack well outside of its reach. Or, at least, what he thought was outside of its reach. Mid-swing, the Duke¡¯s mace extended, its foot-long hilt tripling in size as a hydraulic mechanism triggered within. The resulting attack was awkward, but effective as it drove Alarion to one knee despite a desperate interception with his own greatsword. The follow-up attacks were more elegant, carefully measured two-handed blows that struck, struck and struck again, battering Alarion¡¯s defenses and shattering his attempt at offense. Alex demanded. In the heat of battle, Alarion did not have time to consider the words. He could either obey or refuse, not debate. And to his own surprise, he obeyed. Even with his eyes closed and guarded, Alarion still saw the world pulse with light. It was beyond bright, as though he¡¯d somehow stared into the sun with his eyes closed. His wrist felt hot, and for the first time he heard the Duke grunt in something akin to pain. An afterimage of the sudden flare still lingered in his eyes as he opened them and pressed his attack with a single wicked cut that sent the Steelborn¡¯s arm, and its primary weapon, spinning off to the floor below them. Alarion angrily protested. Alex¡¯s reply was strangled. Difficult. Before Alarion could structure another question, the Duke made itself known once again. Its eyes were gone, the once green orbs sparking with short arcs of lightning, but that victory was short lived as a thin red visor slid down to replace them. It pulsed once, as if in rage, as the one armed Steelborn advanced upon him. There were no words to show its anger, just an abandonment of formal combat in favor of unrelenting violence. It raked him with sharp fingertips, struck him with eerily familiar low kicks and abused its sheer bulk to bully him in close combat. But for all the sound and fury, the attacks were largely ineffective. It had one arm and the damage to its vision must have been considerable, given how many of its attacks were drifting to his left. Specifically to his left arm. He realized the danger a moment too late. Their arms clashed, a small grapple ensued and though Alarion struck several telling elbows to the Steelborn¡¯s head in the scuffle, only it came away with a true victory. A small, lightly flashing wristband in its grasp. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Alarion didn¡¯t try to barter. He didn¡¯t beg. The young man met like with like, violence with violence. He threw his all into a series of brutal reprisals, hoping to end the fight before the Duke could even think to threaten his new hostage. It was not to be. Alarion¡¯s sword carved through the blackstone frame in half a dozen places, but none of the strikes were disabling and none of the strikes were lethal. The once proud Duke stood in tatters, but as the seconds ticked by he stood all the same. A pressurized hiss of air announced the return of the slivers. It announced the Duke¡¯s victory. One the Steelborn celebrated by crushing the wristband, and discarding Alex over the railing like so much trash. The emulated man was dead. Alarion was nearly certain of it. The core of the wristband had made a particularly nasty crunch within the Duke¡¯s closed fist. Even if he wasn¡¯t, the self-destruct they had set in motion would need to be reset in seconds. The correct decision was to chug his last potion, to force his way through the slivers and to smash Alex¡¯s murderer into a few dozen pieces. It was the correct decision, but it wasn¡¯t the one Alarion made. Even the Duke seemed surprised as the young man vaulted over the railing and plummeted to the floor below. The fall was survivable with his current HP, probably, but Alarion did not leave that up to chance as the slivers raced after him. He pivoted in midair, judged the distance and threw his greatsword upward, shifting toward it a moment before he hit the ground. Bssht. He emerged from the shift with all the original momentum of his fall directed not down, but up. His stomach lurched at the sudden change as he ¡®fell¡¯ upwards for a scant few seconds before gravity reasserted itself and dropped him the last few feet to the floor in an undignified heap. Alarion did not wallow in the pain. Not with Alex nearby. The band was in three pieces, the ¡®straps¡¯ broken off and twisted beyond recognition while the central core was cracked and flickering. Flickering was probably good. Better than the alternative, certainly. Alarion brushed away cracked and broken glass and double tapped the wristband¡¯s core. Nothing. He tried again. Then again. Then twice more. It continued to flicker, but it was impossible to tell if the shifting brightness was a reaction to his touch, or simply the dying embers of the device. If the man inside gave an answer it was drowned out by the resounding thud that marked the Duke¡¯s return to the battle. It had dented the floor where it landed, its footsteps announcing the end of him as it stood upright and leveled its weapon in his direction. Alarion did not hesitate. He kicked off the ground at a near sprint, dodging the first shot as he lined up one of his own. His weapon flew through the air with the sort of accuracy only the System could provide. And the Duke was ready for it. It had seen enough of Alarion¡¯s tricks to know what to expect. It swatted the greatsword into the ground then stepped away, its weapons trained on where the boy was soon to appear. Which left Alarion with just enough time to close the distance the old fashioned way. And punch it in the face. He said with satisfaction. Two more punches shattered stone as the Steelborn¡¯s visor cracked, a neon red liquid spilling down its cheek like a trail of blood. It tried to retaliate with its own fists while the slivers rained down from above, but Alarion shifted in the space between breaths. He appeared behind the Duke and shattered the underslung rifle on its remaining arm with a vertical swing, only to be punished with a sweeping kick that sent him sprawling, his weapon at the feet of his most hated foe. The slivers peppered him with new cuts as Alarion recovered, his System notifications flashing with a concerning warning as the autonomous weapons retreated. Attention! Warning! HP Critical! Less than 20% of his HP left, which meant he was already well into the negatives. That explained all the pain as he struggled to his feet, drew the last crystal vial from his bracer and downed it without hesitation. A 20% malus to all attributes was a small price to pay for a full HP pool, going into what he knew would be the final bout. Especially given that he was now unarmed. Part of the pain hadn¡¯t gone away when he¡¯d drank that healing potion, and a quick glance at his status explained the issue. His HP wasn¡¯t the only pool that had been near depletion. His mana had run dry on that last attempt, and his stamina would not be far behind if he had to block any more shots with his shield. He wasn¡¯t teleporting to his weapon any time soon. So he¡¯d have to borrow one. The duke¡¯s arm, and more importantly his mace had fallen on Alarion¡¯s side of the room. While the Steelborn stooped to retrieve Alarion¡¯s blade, Alarion moved to retrieve its mace. Which turned out to be easier said than done. The Steelborn had fought with the weapon as though it were an extension of its own body. In Alarion¡¯s hands, it felt heavier than his first greatsword, all those levels ago. He could lift it, but it took both hands and considerable leverage on its long grip to bring it into a proper combat stance. He stared across the field at the Steelborn with a shared animosity and a shared respect. The situation was familiar, a twisted deja vu flowing across his mind as he stared down his one armed foe. And in that moment, Alarion understood. He¡¯d been fighting the wrong way. The push and pull, the ebb and flow, they were so similar to his triumph over the dragon that he¡¯d mis-categorized himself. His foe was faster. He was stronger. He was more durable, but his enemy had a near endless ability to try again. He was the dragon in this equation, but he hadn¡¯t changed how he¡¯d fought. He¡¯d relied on clever tactics, on attritional damage that always cost him a little more than it cost his opponent. What he needed was decisiveness. Stubbornness. Single-Mindedness. Alarion shouldered his mace, and met the Duke¡¯s visor. And he charged. The two met in the center of the room, and the Duke drew first blood. The tip of the greatsword struck Alarion on the right side of his abdomen, piercing through cloth, skin and muscle as it delivered a pain he had never felt. Had he been unawakened, the blade would have sunk to the hilt and killed him outright. Had he a lower vitality it would have done so anyway. If he¡¯d not chosen [Survivor¡¯s Endurance], the bleeding condition that resulted might have been the end of him. If he¡¯d killed a few less soulless, his feat of strength wouldn¡¯t have reduced the damage. If he¡¯d not been so pig-headed in his skill selection, he wouldn¡¯t have been able to live into negative HP, let alone stay standing. And if he hadn¡¯t followed his heart, he wouldn¡¯t have resisted damage while on the attack. But deep down, Alarion knew that the secret to survival was a good Offense. The mace slammed down with every ounce of weight Alarion had been carrying. Its damage reinforced by the near-fatal injury Alarion had received, the mace did not crush the Duke so much as it shattered him whole.
You have slain [A?????F????M??????-????D????-????????0???????0?????????8??????? ???????-?????????? ????????D???????u????k????e????????????? ¨C UCL Error] Exception: Unexpected Subject Full Traceback Re-categorizing You have slain [The Duke ¨C UCL 212] ¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL.
Level Up! Congratulations, Your Stubborn Swordsman Class has advanced to Level 22! STR +24. AGI +24 VIT +6. INT +6. PER +24. WIL +18. Level Up! Congratulations, Your Orphan Class has advanced to Level 12! STR +10. AGI + 15. VIT +10. INT +10. WIL +10. Luck +189.
Skill Grade Up! Imperial Greatsword Mastery (Common) -> Oversized Weapon Mastery (Uncommon) Skill level increased. Oversized Weapon Mastery is now Level 2 . STR +12. Skill level increased. Thrown Weapon Mastery is now Level 9. AGI +4. Per +4 Skill level increased. Pig-Headed Resilience is now Level 4. VIT +16. Skill level increased. Survivor¡¯s Endurance is now Level 7 . VIT +4. Skill level increased. The Best Offence is a Good Offense is now Level 3. STR +16.
Alarion slumped to his knees as the assault of notifications filled his vision, reassured that he¡¯d successfully put the Steelborn down. One hand moved to his abdomen to put pressure on the wound as Alarion checked his HP with a frown. He¡¯d hoped the sudden jump in vitality might have put him above zero, but apparently a higher max HP didn¡¯t translate to an immediate gain in hitpoints. It was good information to know, offset slightly by the open stab wound in his midsection. Still, he¡¯d live. A voice asked. Yes, he would live. And so would Alex. Chapter Forty-Eight Alarion began. Then the pain struck him. Lightning raced through his nerves, his whole body convulsing as he fell to the ground. He curled in upon himself, crying out in agony, unable to answer Alex¡¯s pleading as wave after wave of agony rolled over him. Alarion could not tell how long the suffering lasted. Seconds probably, but they were among the longest in his life. When it finally abated, it left him raw and tormented. Alarion had not been sick in several years, not since his Awakening at the very least, but he distinctly remembered the stomach churning agony of a particularly bad flu. It was a strong memory and it did not even compare.
New Condition! Internal Organ Damage ¨C Severe. [Survivor¡¯s Endurance] Has taken effect. The secondary effect of [Survivor¡¯s Endurance] has taken effect. [Internal Organ Damage ¨C Severe] has been resisted due to user¡¯s VIT score. Condition reduced to [Internal Organ Damage ¨C Major] [Internal Organ Damage ¨C Major] ¨C 80% Malus to all physical Attributes. 20% Malus to all mental attributes. Reduced healing speed of all conditions by 50% until this condition is fully healed.
Pig-headed resilience had once again saved Alarion from death. But in that moment, he wasn¡¯t sure that was such a good thing. Alarion said at last, in response to Alex¡¯s concerned inquiries. Not a lot less, but still less. Alex laughed slightly at Alarion¡¯s concern. And so he did. The two rested in silence within the black lit room, with only the chirp and buzz of small fans and motors to serenade them. The quiet stretched on into minutes, interrupted every so often by a shift from Alarion, a change in posture both for comfort and due to the need to stay awake. Alex¡¯s voice was soft. Introspective. Alarion stared up in the ceiling, pain pulsing at his temples. Alex said honestly. Alarion smiled. Alarion didn¡¯t linger further. Ten minutes of relaxation had done wonders for the pain and for staunching the flow of blood, but the next twenty had been excessive. He was ready as he was going to be, and Sierra was waiting. His steps were slow and careful as he crossed the room, each sending a twinge of pain up his left side. If there were any foes to face on his way down, Alarion was well and truly screwed, but for now it was a simple enough matter to gather up that metallic core from the wreckage of the wristband, and carry it over to the remnants of his opponent. Alarion gave ¡®Alex¡¯ a glare as the latter added, After some scrounging Alarion came away from the pile with a triangular piece of the Duke¡¯s head roughly the size of his fist, as well as two smaller chunks each half the size of the first. The visor was cracked and ruined, its contents staining the stones and Alarion¡¯s hands a matching red as he handled them. said Alex. Alarion did as instructed and felt the stone come alive under his hands. It shifted like clay, warping and reforming of its own accord, pulling the metal chip containing Alex¡¯s personality into its depths. Over the course of the next minute the three pieces melded into one, then summoned additional bits from the floor to join them as Alex forged himself a new body. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. This new form was thinner and shorter than its original, owing no doubt to the small smattering of particularly pulverized blackstone, and the missing arm, that did not heed Alex¡¯s call. It was angular, blocky, his head initially little more than a floating cube before it spouted a golden crest and a thin green visor with descending lines that made it look as though it were crying. Curiously there were no joints in this new body. The head floated above the neck, the hands floating below wrists, arms not attached to shoulders. It had the shape of an unfinished man, like someone outlining the dimensions of one without going back to finish in any of the detail work. Black stone morphed into a muted grey, highlighted in white and gold to give the body a more regal and less threatening appearance. Alex looked down at his new hands. And he laughed. A sick, sadistic sound. Alex¡¯s monomaniacal rant was interrupted by a swift hook from Alarion¡¯s right fist. Even with his greatly diminished strength, small chips of stone went flying and the newly incarnated Steelborn held his hands up in a pitiful defense. Alarion eyed him warily, his miniature greatsword already drawn. The emulated man complained as the cracks in his jaw began to reform. For his part, Alarion¡¯s expression shifted from stern to perplexed to sheepish in a matter of a few heartbeats. His sword arm lowered and he turned away, cheeks reddened. Alex looked down at himself the green of his eyes dimming slightly. Alarion confirmed, happy to change the subject. The Steelborn nodded and floated off toward the stairwell at a brisk pace. Left alone, Alarion loosened the pressure on his wound long enough to inspect it, then thought better of it when he saw the extent of the blood on his hands. The way they glowed under the strange black lights lent the sight a surreal feeling, but Alarion knew that looking at his own open wound would almost certainly turn his stomach in a way he could not turn back. That was when he noticed it. The long red scarf that had trailed behind the duke during their battle, left amidst the remaining rubble of his body. It was a shame to leave it there, lost and forgotten.
Exception: Unexpected Item Full Traceback Re-categorizing N????????a?????????n????????o???-????????p????o???????l?????????y?????????m????????e??????????r???? Scarf o???????f??????? ???????????t???????h????????e????????? ????????S??????????l???????a?????i????n????? ??????C?????h??????a?????m??????p????????i??????o???????n??????[Legendary](Rank Nil) Description: The final relic of the slain champion of the ancients. This scarf was once a beacon of hope for millions, only to lay forgotten around the necks of unworthy successors. Requirements: None Attunement Cost: None Type: Neck Enchantment: None Ability Bonuses: None
¡°Hmm.¡± Alarion grunted, studying both system messages and scarf. It had the highest rarity of anything he¡¯d ever seen, and it did nothing. It was soft. Very soft. Warm as well, he discovered, as he wrapped it snuggly around his own neck. Perhaps Sierra could make some sense of it. Alex had emerged at the mouth of the exit, his body draped in a purple cloak that suited him far more than it had ever treated Alarion. With clothing on, the Steelborn looked a good deal more complete, his slender frame almost mistakable for human so long as one didn¡¯t look at his head or hands. Or the fact that he floated everywhere. Alarion answered truthfully. Between potion sickness and his substantial injuries, it would be a wonder if they reached the base of the tower before nightfall. And that was without having to somehow link up with Sierra in the process. Alex chided, as if the very idea were patently absurd. Delighted at his own newfound agency, Alex floated past Alarion and began to work while the young man was still processing what he had said. Fingers cascaded over buttons and switches, breathing new life into long dormant machinery and flooding the dark lit room with the stinging glow of two dozen screens. Once it was on, the Steelborn navigated not with keys but with gestures, interfacing directly with the equipment. Alex chuckled. Alex let the syllable linger as he glanced back to Alarion. The dull, unaware look on the boy¡¯s face was all the answer he needed. Alarion did as he was bid, gathering up his pack and his used potion vials for good measure. With everything stowed, there was only one item remaining. The slow scrape of metal along metal announced Alarion¡¯s intentions. Alex ignored them at first, but as they grew more intense he was compelled to look back. His shoulders sagged, exasperation radiating off the construct as he spoke. Alarion explained, one hand tight around the hilt of the Duke¡¯s mace as he dragged it behind him. Alex didn¡¯t need to breathe, but he sighed all the same. Alarion understood immediately. Suddenly appearing in the courtyard, miles below had been disorienting. He¡¯d been nauseous. Frightened. Sierra had been there, shocked to see him. She was angry. And frightened. She¡¯d called him an idiot. None of that had happened yet. Even though he remembered all of it. Reality flickered and he was in the courtyard miles below. He was disoriented. Nauseous. Frightened. Sierra looked at him, her eyes wide as she struggled through the same experience and uttered two words overflowing with meaning. ¡°You idiot.¡± Chapter Forty-Nine ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion agreed with a nod of his head. His straightforward response shattered the tension between them and drew a sharp laugh from Sierra. Things were alright. He was alright. She could relax. At least, until Alex flickered into being an instant later. Steel was already in her hand, violence already primed in her nerves. Sierra took two quick steps, rearing back for a reverse thrust when Alarion awkwardly interposed himself. ¡°It¡¯s fine. He isn¡¯t a threat.¡± The boy said, glancing over his shoulder to spit the Steelborn with a look that demanded his best behavior. ¡°He¡¯s a friend.¡± That last word brought Sierra up cold. The girl looked his way, eyebrows knitted together in consternation, then back at Alex. He was different at a glance from any of the Soulless they¡¯d encountered, from the appearance of his body, to the clothing he¡¯d chosen to wear, but it was the way he held himself that allayed her fears. The Soulless were rigid and precise, they moved with sharp purpose or they did not move at all. This one bobbed slightly in the air, it fidgeted and shifted as it waited for the conflict to resolve. ¡°Steelborn, not Soulless?¡± She asked. Alarion nodded, and Sierra tilted slightly to one side as she spoke her next words to Alex. ¡°What is your name?¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t speak Vitrian. Only Ashadi.¡± Alarion explained before Alex¡¯s blank expression could irritate Sierra. ¡°Ugh.¡± Sierra grumbled. The girl¡¯s eyes flickered briefly behind closed lids as she composed herself and asked again in a slow pace and terrible accent. The Steelborn answered warily. Sierra frowned again and looked to Alarion for clarification. An unusual reversal. ¡°A different type of Steelborn, I think,¡± The young man explained to the best of his ability. ¡°Or maybe Systemborn? He told me he was human once, then they copied him. We were able to put that copy into this.¡± That didn¡¯t help Sierra¡¯s stern expression. ¡°Sounds more like a type of Thoughtborn. But you should not normally be able to ¡®put one into¡¯ a Steelborn.¡± ¡°Does any of this seem normal?¡± He had her there. Sierra sighed, about to say something more when she finally gave Alarion a more holistic look. They were both grimy and worse for the wear from their various battles, but the dark patch of red on white on his abdomen was new from the last time she¡¯d seen him. ¡°You are hurt?¡± Alarion opened his mouth to lie, a headstrong ¡®I¡¯m fine¡¯ on the tip of his tongue. Life had taught him hard lessons about showing weakness, lessons not easily forgotten. ¡°Yes. Badly.¡± Alarm registered on Sierra¡¯s face as Alarion shifted his arm to reveal the extent of his wound, and dropped the pretense that he was not in pain. She reached out, gingerly inspecting the injury, then nodded. ¡°I am guessing feedback from your resilience skill?¡± ¡°You have guessed correctly.¡± ¡°That is not going to heal on its own. Not in any reasonable time frame. If the revenant betrays us we are in even worse¡­ ¡° Her scowl deepened as she trailed off, her eyes focused solely on his. ¡°¡­ Alarion, what level are you?¡± ¡°Twenty-Two swordsman and twelve Orphan.¡± He replied after a quick glance at his Status to confirm. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­ what?¡± Sierra¡¯s hands were open and wide for emphasis. She¡¯d heard him plainly, and the words matched what her own skill was telling her, but he had to be lying. ¡°You were only gone for a few hours!?¡± The boy shrugged. "They were eventful?¡± ¡°Sit. Over there, in the shade.¡± She gestured back toward where the tower blotted out the afternoon sun. ¡°We may as well be comfortable while you catch me up to speed.¡± ¡ª- It took several hours, dozens of interruptions and a bit of assistance from Alex before they were able to slake Sierra¡¯s curiosity. The answer to every question gave birth to two more, each new concept leading into labyrinths of half understood speculation. There were things that they knew and things they did not, but Sierra seemed most concerned with the things they did not know, that they did not know. So much so, that they returned to the tower that evening. The lift that had taken Alarion to the upper levels had been returned when the lockdown was lifted, and with Alex¡¯s help the three quickly ascended to the higher reaches of the tower. There they located a room with a bed and left Alarion to rest while they inspected the upper floors. It took two days for Sierra to be satisfied with her examination, though satisfied was clearly the wrong word. Even with Alex¡¯s help, there was so much she was unable to comprehend, a frustration made all the worse by the emulation¡¯s fragmented memories. For every bit of insight he could provide, four others had slipped through his grasp. He could explain the existence of vast laboratories, but not their purpose. He was able to explain the nuances of their hydroponics division, but not the curiously unfamiliar plants that grew there. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. The most critical questions were also the most elusive. Notably so. Anything about the original builders of the tower was missing from Alex¡¯s memory. He broadly knew why they¡¯d built the spire, but not how or when. He was able to speak vaguely of the gods of his time, the ones he called ¡®The Three Together¡¯ that the Revenant had also mentioned, but when it came to details the memories escaped him. By the end of their two days together, not even Alex believed his memory had merely been fragmented over time. The damage was too precise. Someone had fractured his mind on purpose. Ultimately they were left with more questions than answers. A sad state of affairs to be sure, but one they could do nothing about. They¡¯d come to the spire with a purpose, and that purpose had been accomplished. It was time to leave. Which was easier said than done. Days of rest had done little to heal the worst of Alarion¡¯s injuries. He could walk well enough, and pick up the pace if pressed, but that was the extent of his capabilities. Climbing anything more complicated than a ladder meant a twenty minute wait while he recovered from internal agony. Jumping across even small gaps meant a running start, and that was equally impossible. Such issues, put together, meant that the sort of semi-direct route that had brought them to the tower in the first place was out of the question. At least, until Alarion had reminded Sierra of his newest bit of equipment. In reality the trip back was positively boring for Alarion. Sierra climbed and jumped, doubled back and broke through walls for the sake of expediency while he sat comfortably in the shade. Then, every two hours on the hour, she planted his greatsword in the dirt, stepped away from it and waited for him to close the distance in a single flickering teleport. It was utterly unfair. And remarkably effective. In the end it took Sierra and Alex a little more than a day to traverse back to the outer ring of the hidden city. It was only slightly after mid-day when they arrived at the door and their final worry was assuaged. They wouldn¡¯t have trouble finding Lamesh. He was waiting for them. ¡°You have outdone yourselves,¡± It said without preamble. Its voice was as twisted as ever, each word spoken from between clenched teeth, every syllable strangled. It stood near the gateway, ledger and quill in hand, like some functionary ready to mark their passing. ¡°The few others that agreed to try did not come back at all, let alone with more lives than they started.¡± Alex asked, a quiver in his voice. Lamesh said with what passed for delight. Alex looked to Sierra and Alarion before he answered, The revenant paused, pointedly looking away from the trio as it struck itself three times on the hip with a balled fist and growled. Again the trio exchanged looks. They nodded in unison and moved toward the gate, only to halt under Lamesh¡¯s withering stare and outstretched arm. The revenant wrote something in his ledger and gestured further down the exterior of the outer wall. ¡°He¡¯s coming with us,¡± Sierra said sternly. Lamesh spat. Alarion stepped forward to protest, then stumbled back as an invisible slash tore through the earth in front of him at a single stroke of the revenant¡¯s quill. The monster explained, ignoring Alarion as he scrambled for his feet. Its voice was positively manic as it spoke of violence. It turned to Alarion then, a cruel grin touching the corners of its dead lips at the look on the young man¡¯s face. said Lamesh with a wet laugh. Alarion steadfastly replied. A few strokes of the pen were all it took. One instant Alarion¡¯s feet were firmly on the ground, prepared for what would no doubt be a losing battle against a much stronger foe. The next the gateway to the outside world had swung wide, and his stomach felt as though it had fallen to the center of the earth. It was as though gravity had turned 90 degrees as he fell toward that open doorway. Unprepared, Alarion could do nothing but flail wildly, scrambling for purchase as the ground rushed past beneath him. He clamored for the frame of the door as he fell through it, but by then his momentum was so fast that all he accomplished was smashing his hand against the frame as he was unceremoniously ejected back into the fortress on the far side of the brass door. At which point traditional gravity reasserted itself. Alarion hit the ground in an awkward roll and was up running within seconds, much to Lamesh¡¯s surprise as the fiend followed them back through the passage. With forty feet between them, Alarion drew his weapon and readied for a throw as reality warped and distorted. This at least, was a familiar sensation. One thing that their trip through the city had taught Alarion was that teleportation was not actually instantaneous. The further the teleport, the longer the delay. A teleport of a considerable distance could take one to two seconds during which he experienced a sort of¡­ stretching. A feeling of his body elongating between its start and its destination, only to snap back into place the moment the teleport finished. This teleport was by far the longest. Four uncomfortable seconds of transit, before Alarion and Sierra found themselves kneeling amidst the pre-prepared teleportation circles in the basement of the manor house. Four seconds. Just long enough for regret. Chapter Fifty ¡°This is a disaster.¡± ¡°Do not be absurd.¡± Dar scolded ZEKE from behind his desk, Sierra¡¯s report of the incident laid out before them. ¡°This is an opportunity.¡± ¡°For your political aspirations, certainly. But for his training-¡± ZEKE¡¯s protestations were cut short as the door swung wide to permit Elena¡¯s entry. She was uncharacteristically ruffled, her clothing a set of loose robes, her hair tied back in a severe bun that failed to capture a number of errant strands. Her skin was pale, a telltale sign that she had been training her void magic when the news had reached her. ¡°Is he alright?¡± She asked without preamble. ¡°He is fine.¡± Dar answered. ZEKE scoffed. ¡°Severe internal injuries is far from fine. But he will live. Nothing life threatening or permanent. No missing limbs. No new flaws.¡± ¡°And growth drastically beyond our expectations,¡± Dar added. ¡°It was luck, but I can not argue with your results, tin man.¡± ZEKE started to speak, but Elena was having none of it as she spoke over him. ¡°The report only told me that they activated their escape icons, nothing more. What happened?¡± Rather than explain it himself, Dar gathered up the papers on his desk and handed them to his wife. The three sat in silence for over a minute while Elena skimmed through the details, her expression becoming more and more incredulous with each passing word. ¡°We have confirmed this?¡± She asked at last. ¡°Have you ever known Sierra to lie?¡± Dar countered. ¡°Truth told, I barely know the girl. But no, not from that lineage.¡± Elena looked back to the report and reread a few key passages. ¡°This is¡­¡± ¡°A disaster?¡± ZEKE suggested. ¡°Dangerous, certainly.¡± Elena frowned. ¡°Have we sent invest-¡± ¡°For something like this? I sent them within minutes.¡± Anticipating her next question, Dar quickly added, ¡°Their last report indicates they are still searching. We may need to call in a specialist team once they locate the entrance. No one on staff has the sort of earth magic or skills required to dig down quickly, but at the very least the team should be able to find an area of disturbed earth to start digging within the day. It is a matter of when, not if.¡± Elena shook her head. ¡°I would not be so certain. Her report says this Revenant was only Rank II. It had to know that if it left survivors we would show up to root it out. Doubly so given the magnitude of what it is concealing. Her report says the fiend controlled the entrances. It could bar the gateways, or collapse them entirely.¡± Dar scowled. ¡°Even if it does, an expert can breach them. In time.¡± ¡°And do we have such an expert on hand?¡± Elena cocked her head for emphasis as she continued. ¡°We have the Trinity locked down on your command, husband, and we did so for a reason. Each outsider is a new risk we can ill afford. Especially now.¡± ¡°We can not possibly keep the island locked down. Not with a find of this importance.¡± Dar¡¯s expression was concerned as he read his wife¡¯s body language. ¡°You are not suggesting we conceal this?¡± ¡°There is nothing in the law-¡± ¡°Elena!¡± Dar slammed his fist upon the desk at the very idea. ¡°I permitted your little gamble with the boy because the risk was worth the reward. But this? This is a matter of Imperial priority. The worst we would have received for a breach of induction is a minor censure. If we are caught concealing this, we will be hung by the neck until dead.¡± Elena met her husband¡¯s eyes, steady and unflinching in the face of his outburst as she uttered only one word in reply. ¡°If.¡± Dar stood abruptly, a low growl in his throat as he proceeded to pace to the nearby fireplace. He plucked a log and shredded it into kindling with his bare hands, then quickly arranged the pieces into a base. No one spoke as he went through the motions, striking a match and carefully setting paper and wood to light. Only then did he speak. ¡°Machine. Your thoughts?¡± You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°My interest is in Alarion,¡± ZEKE answered honestly. ¡°I was brought here for his training, and that is my singular focus. While I will admit curiosity with regard to these ancient Steelborn, I agree with Mistress Elena. At least in principle.¡± ¡°Expand upon that.¡± Dar¡¯s voice was low, just barely papering over his irritation. ¡°If you take this news to the Houses or the Imperator, the island will be flooded with Vitrians within weeks. Most of those will be here to examine this anomaly, to be sure, but others will use the influx as a smoke screen to make a play for Alarion. The chances of him disappearing or being killed become alarmingly high. And on a personal note, so do mine as a result.¡± Dar was skeptical. ¡°And you think they improve if we conceal this.¡± ¡°I do not think Mistress Elena is suggesting deception. Only¡­ delay,¡± ZEKE clarified. ¡°His recent tribulations have advanced his level and practical experience well above even my most generous estimates. He is already more capable than the overwhelming majority of provincial inductees. Six months of magical training should be more than enough to round out his skill set.¡± ¡°Six months?¡± Skepticism dripped from each of Dar¡¯s words. ¡°Or less. If need be.¡± Elena offered. ¡°Excavate the entrance to these ruins manually. Or search the island to be sure there are not more surprises before you issue a report. We are sitting on a tremendous find, there is no need to rush the announcement until we are certain of what we have found.¡± The fireplace crackled to life as one of the logs finally caught under Dar¡¯s careful ministrations. He gestured and a small gust of wind swirled around the newborn flame, feeding it precious oxygen that allowed it to grow rapidly in a matter of moments. ¡°Are we certain the Imperator is unaware?¡± Elena¡¯s brows were knitted together as she answered. ¡°How could he possibly know? Do you mean to suggest a spy among the staff?¡± ¡°That has always been a concern,¡± Dar answered. ¡°But no. Think to your history. The first Ashadi war.¡± ¡°You think these ruins had something to do with it?¡± ¡°I think it is an odd coincidence that the previous Imperator was so insistent on taking these islands as part of the peace negotiations.¡± Dar admitted. ¡°Almost like she knew something was here.¡± ¡°The Ashadi certainly did,¡± said Elena, still reviewing Sierra¡¯s report. ¡°The Ashadi Research Institute isn¡¯t familiar, but I recognize this Professor Vitali that Alarion mentioned. I think some of his journals are in the library, most of them about fiends. I always thought they were studying the boil.¡± ¡°What about the Revenant?¡± ZEKE asked. ¡°Lamesh Setil.¡± Dar returned to the desk and pushed a small ledger across to his spouse. ¡°While we waited for you, the Ordinates cast a record check and found 32 mentions of him within the library, as well as some of his personal documentation in the cellar, such as his travel permits. A junior research assistant, apparently. No one of note. A few others Alarion named similarly appeared in the records.¡± Elena frowned as a thought occurred. ¡°There was an oddly high number of revenants on the island when it was claimed, as I recall.¡± ¡°It would certainly be one way to liquidate a research team if they could not be evacuated in time,¡± ZEKE noted grimly. ¡°A failed one, if that was the goal. Though I¡¯ve never heard of a Revenant wanting to conduct research.¡± ¡°That much I can explain. Or at least hypothesize.¡± Dar said. ¡°Most revenants are driven to expand, meaning they¡¯ll inevitably come in contact with more living things, keeping their bloodlust at the forefront. If it has spent decades on that island with nothing to kill, its personality might have reasserted to some degree.¡± ¡°He is certainly intelligent, to have hidden from the sweepers for so long.¡± Elena remarked as she flipped through his documents. ¡°He was low nobility?¡± ¡°Third son of some Ashadi lord,¡± Dar waved away the notion as irrelevant. ¡°And I give more credit to complacency than his intelligence. Even underground they should have found him. It is a wonder your boy wasn¡¯t killed.¡± ¡°What is his recovery time?¡± Elena asked ZEKE, knowing that unlike her husband, The Steelborn would have actually cared to find out. ¡°With healers attending him, a few days.¡± ¡°You are ready to begin once he is healed?¡± Elena could almost hear ZEKE¡¯s smirk as he answered. ¡°I was ready to begin before he left the island. The only issue is his affinities, we can¡¯t develop a proper curriculum until he is tested and even with tools it will take a few days to practice channeling.¡± The woman nodded, then looked to her husband. ¡°Five months.¡± ¡°Two.¡± Dar replied sharply. ¡°Assume four, and we will reassess at two.¡± ¡°We both know that just means four.¡± The governor scowled. ¡°Three months, and if he is not ready to Ezekial¡¯s satisfaction, you give him Sierra as a bodyguard for the first six months of his induction.¡± Dar snorted. ¡°She would kill me in my sleep.¡± ¡°I would not be so sure.¡± Elena tapped the papers on the desk for emphasis. ¡°The way she talks about him here, you can tell she was worried. I think she is coming around on him.¡± ¡°Machine?¡± ¡°Three months should be sufficient.¡± ZEKE answered without a hint of annoyance at the disrespectful tone. ¡°I have trained worse pupils in shorter time. Though I caution. Depending on his affinities, I may need outside expertise on such a short time frame.¡± Dar closed his eyes and drew a deep breath through his nose. His head leaned back as he rolled the risks and rewards around in his mind. Then he snapped back to reality with a simple answer. ¡°Fine. Ninety days, and not a moment longer.¡± Chapter Fifty-One Early morning sun glittered off floating motes of dust as Alarion woke. He wasn¡¯t sure how long he¡¯d slept, but the soreness of his back and the hunger in his belly suggested that the best answer was ¡®too long¡¯. The healers had fed him something, a bitter alchemical concoction that they¡¯d insisted would help him rest. They hadn¡¯t taken no for an answer, running roughshod over his objections. Magic could only do so much for such a serious condition. Rest was required for him to fully heal, and he would rest whether he wanted to or not. And he absolutely had not wanted to. They¡¯d left Alex behind. It was entirely outside of their control, Alarion was honest enough with himself to admit that. But the reality still rankled him all the same. That and the words Lamesh had left him with. She did not tell you. But don¡¯t worry, she never lied about it. As if reading his thoughts, a knock came at the door. ¡°I¡¯m awake.¡± Alarion said. The knock came again and he spoke more loudly. ¡°I¡¯m awake!¡± ¡°I am more concerned with whether you are decent.¡± Sierra said through the half open door. ¡°Ah.¡± She had a point. He¡¯d woken wearing loose fit pants he hadn¡¯t remembered putting on, but he hadn¡¯t bothered throwing anything on over his bare chest as he sat on the edge of his bed watching the ocean outside. ¡°Just a moment.¡± It took him longer to find new clothing than it did to dress. His old garb, tattered, torn and bloody had been discarded by the healers and Alarion had never owned a wardrobe to think to look there. Eventually he located new clothing by process of elimination, and answered the door dressed in a white cotton vest with a matching jacket thrown over it. Sierra looked as though he¡¯d been stealing her sleep. There were bags under her eyes, and a general look of exhaustion within them. She was smiling, though. It was thin and uncertain, ready to take a turn for the worse should the situation demand, but it was a smile. ¡°You look better.¡± The girl said after a moment¡¯s examination. ¡°I did not like seeing you in pain.¡± Alarion nodded instead of speaking. The two of them had been separated within moments of their arrival, but those moments had been just long enough to build a line of tension between them. Part of him regretted it. The accusatory stares. The demand that they go back, a demand he knew she had no choice but to refuse. He hadn¡¯t been fair with her then, he wasn¡¯t being fair with her now. But those words still bit at the back of his mind. She never lied about it. ¡°Did they find him?¡± Alarion said, after realizing he had been silent for far too long. Sierra shook her head. ¡°They have not even located the entrance yet. Give it time.¡± Those had been the wrong words. Alarion¡¯s hands clenched into fists at his side, his eyes looking anywhere but at her. A dozen arguments for his involvement in the search flitted through his thoughts, each discarded in turn. Instead he simply asked, ¡°Training?¡± ¡°If you¡¯re well enough,¡± She answered. ¡°ZEKE has been chomping at the bit, now that you are on a fixed timeline.¡± ¡°Ninety days,¡± Alarion frowned. Elena had filled him in on her decision the previous evening, while she¡¯d been brow beating him into taking his medicine. ¡°Eighty-nine,¡± Sierra clarified. ¡°You slept for most of a day.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion grunted. That certainly explained the soreness. The girl stepped aside to let Alarion into the hall as she continued. ¡°ZEKE made sure your breakfast is prepared to travel, but he wants to meet us in the courtyard before we set out.¡± ¡°We¡¯re leaving?¡± ¡°Just to the Stone Isle.¡± Sierra caught his wrist as he started down the hall, causing Alarion to flinch away in surprise. He turned on her with a glare, his jaw set to argue when he realized why she¡¯d stopped him. ¡°You will not need this today, but I am tired of carrying it around.¡± The Duke¡¯s mace was leaning against the wall on the far side of his bedroom door, though he almost did not recognize it at first. Someone, perhaps Sierra herself, had taken time to detail the weapon, buffing out ancient imperfections and wrapping the hilt in green and violet leather. Alarion hefted the weapon with one hand. It was still a struggle, though his drastically increased strength would make it practical to use the weapon in regular combat, rather than solely as a desperation move. He shouldered the weapon and inclined his head toward Sierra. ¡°Thank you.¡± ZEKE awaited them in the courtyard. With his fixed expression and lack of pupils, most days the Steelborn was difficult to read. This was not one of those days. The machine was impatient, his hands clasped together and fidgeting. He was relieved to see Alarion, though that relief was tempered by the new oversized weapon the boy carried. ¡°Sierra told me that you¡¯d picked up a number of trophies.¡± ZEKE said without preamble and only a tinge of sarcasm. ¡°I will admit, I was not expecting something so¡­ big.¡± ¡°I have smaller ones.¡± Alarion replied, turning his wrist to present the blackstone bracer on the back of his wrist. ¡°So I¡¯ve been told. Sierra provided her notebook, so I¡¯m familiar with your items. We¡¯ll be setting out shortly, but before we leave, I¡¯d like to go over your status.¡± Alarion nodded his assent, and after a short casting of [Display Status] a series of semi-transparent windows floated in the air before them. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
General Information Name - Alarion Species - Human Sex - Male Age ¨C Fifteen Years HP ¨C 800/800 MP ¨C 376/376 Stamina ¨C 433/433 Aptitude - 238% UCL ¨C 58 Attributes STR ¨C 228 AGI - 178 VIT ¨C 203 INT ¨C 120 PER ¨C 195 WIL ¨C 136 LUK ¨C 918 Classes Known Orphan - Level 12 - Progress ¨C 6% Survivor - Level 1 - Progress - MAX Stubborn Swordsman ¨C Level 22 ¨C Progress - 42% General Skills Known Stealth - Level 3 - Progress ¨C 92% Detection - Level 4 - Progress - 19% Thrown Weapon Mastery - Level 9 - Progress ¨C 42% Oversized Weapon Mastery ¨C Level 2 ¨C Progress 21% Lockpicking - Level 3 - Progress 91% Class Skills Known Survivor¡¯s Endurance ¨C Level 7 ¨C Progress 17% Self-Motivated ¨C Level 5 ¨C Progress - 39% Pig-Headed Resilience - Level 4 - Progress 13% The Best Offence is a Good Offense - Level 1 - Progress 69% [Not Yet Selected] - Orphan 10 Fight Through the Pain - Level 1 - Progress 0% Traits and Feats of Strength Avian Bane - Rank I Soulless Bane - Rank I Flaws Unknown ¨C Major Unknown ¨C Moderate Single-Minded¨C Minor (Focus: None)
¡°When we sent you to that island, I expected you to gain a combat class, not come back halfway through to rank II,¡± ZEKE said after a thorough read of the base details. ¡°Sorry.¡± ZEKE gave Alarion a look. ¡°It was an observation, not a complaint. Your class on the other hand¡­ was this really the best choice?¡± ¡°Better rarity, more suited to him,¡± Sierra interposed herself in the conversation. ¡°My notes reference the alternative. It was fairly generic. Novice Swordsman of Ambrosia.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve read your notes.¡± ZEKE said dryly. ¡°I was asking him.¡± Alarion did not respond as the Steelborn looked his way. Their eyes met, and Alarion held his ground until the machine chuckled. ¡°I do not recommend unknown classes as a typical rule, but everything about your education has been far from typical.¡± ZEKE shook his head ruefully as he reviewed Alarion¡¯s skills. It was, as he said, information that he already knew, but there was a virtue in reviewing before discussing. ¡°The skill names are interesting. Pig-Headed. Offence. This is your most recent one? An uncommon?¡± ¡°We were concerned we might have to fight the revenant while I was in an injured state.¡± Alarion confirmed. As ZEKE¡¯s shoulders slumped, Sierra quickly added. ¡°But it was also the best of the bunch presented. He¡¯d leveled up too quickly, I think. Not enough feats for the system to offer something better.¡±
Fight Through the Pain [Uncommon] Description: Pain and injury have become core companions on your journey. This familiarity allows you to rise to the occasion and fight through while others might collapse under the burden of their injuries. Requirements: Suffer from at least one condition. Type: Passive Effects: Reduce the severity of all ongoing conditions by one grade while in combat. Ie. [Bleeding ¨C Minor] will become [Bleeding ¨C Slight] while in combat and for 30 seconds afterwards. Growths: VIT +6
¡°You¡¯ve certainly laid a foundation.¡± ZEKE said, after reviewing the skills. ¡°If a curious one. You¡¯ve chosen perhaps the most overtly destructive and powerful weapon in the arsenal, but your skills are all primarily defensive in nature. You¡¯ve a sort of pseudo skill-circuit between your Survivor¡¯s Endurance and Fight Through the Pain, the first can reduce the severity of conditions as you gain them, and the latter reducing the effect they have while you have them. For your level I¡¯d say you¡¯re one of the more durable Awakened I¡¯ve ever seen.¡± Alarion¡¯s face lit up only to be quickly dashed as ZEKE continued. ¡°It isn¡¯t a bad strategy, but you need striking power. Having the biggest sword will only get you so far as you advance in ranks. If you can¡¯t make yourself an adequate threat, then opponents will ignore you in group fights, and you¡¯ll struggle to contribute. In direct combat, they¡¯ll chip away at you.¡± ¡°I have another skill,¡± Alarion said, gesturing to the status window. ZEKE cocked his head to the side, then noticed the small indicator next to Alarion¡¯s Orphan class. ¡°Ah, so you do. I would have thought you¡¯d have already selected it.¡± ¡°He was ready to do so if it came to violence.¡± Sierra explained. ¡°Yet you delayed?¡± Alarion shrugged slightly and met ZEKE¡¯s eyes once more. ¡°I- We, couldn¡¯t decide. I wanted your opinion. This one seemed more important.¡± The words clearly struck something in ZEKE. The machine man leaned back on his heels, arms crossing over his abdomen as he looked to Alarion¡¯s status without a word. The menus flickered, and four options came into view:
Solitary [Exceptional] Description: Self-Reliance has been the key to your survival. Why change what has obviously been working? Requirements: None Type: Passive Effects: Gain a moderate increase to XP gain for the Orphan Class. Gain a slight boost to all attributes while alone for more than 24 hours. This bonus increases to minor if you have been alone for more than 7 days. Growths: STR +4. AGI +4. VIT +4. INT +4. PER +4. WIL +4. Note: Taking this skill will severely impact future class selection options on Rank Up.
¡ª
Found Family [Exceptional] Description: You¡¯ve spent years alone, but you no longer have to. You have allies, friends, possibly even a new sort of family. Trusting in them will allow you to grow, but with this family comes new obligations, and a path you cannot walk alone. Requirements: None Type: Passive Effects: Designate one individual whom you trust. You are able to gain Orphan Class XP while in their presence. Gain a slight bonus to all stats while fighting alongside them and only them. Growths: STR +4. AGI +4. VIT +4. INT +4. PER +4. WIL +4. Note: Taking this skill will severely impact future class selection options on Rank Up.
¡ª
Lucky Strike [Rare] Description: Survival as an Orphan is more luck than skill. To thrive as one requires learning how to skillfully utilize that luck and to learn the precise moment to strike. Requirements: None Type: Active. Activation Time: 1 second. Duration: 2 seconds. Cooldown: 60 seconds. Effects: Channel a slight amount of MP and stamina for one second. Your next physical attack launched within two seconds gains a bonus to STR or AGI (whichever is appropriate for the attack) equal to your current LUK. Growths: LUK +30.
¡ª
Lucky Barrage [Rare] Description: Survival as an Orphan is more luck than skill. To thrive as one requires learning how to skillfully utilize that luck and to learn that sometimes quantity has a quality all its own. Requirements: None Type: Active Activation Time: 5 seconds. Duration: 20 seconds. Cooldown: 60 seconds. Effects: Channel a slight amount of HP, MP and stamina for five seconds. All physical attacks for the next 20 seconds gain a bonus to STR or AGI (whichever is appropriate for the attack) equal to 20% of your current luck. Growths: LUK +30.
¡°My this is quite the choice.¡± ZEKE said, as he finished reviewing the options. ¡°I can see why you wanted my opinion.¡± Chapter Fifty-Two ¡°I assume you have a preference?¡± ZEKE asked. ¡°Or at least your own thoughts, before I give you mine.¡± Alarion and Sierra exchanged glances. They had indeed spent considerable time discussing the issue back and forth on their journey through the city, and though they had narrowed their choices down by half, the final choice had proven impossible. ¡°Found Family or Lucky Strike,¡± He said at last. ¡°And why?¡± Alarion¡¯s face scrunched up in annoyance at the question and ZEKE lifted a hand to stifle his concern. ¡°I will not always be around for guidance, as you¡¯ve so recently learned. Nor will Sierra for that matter. The choice of skill here is important, but the development of your critical thinking skills is likewise vital. So tell me why?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to be alone anymore.¡± He answered honestly. ¡°Which makes solitary a bad choice, even if I weren¡¯t getting ready for induction.¡± ZEKE tipped his head approvingly. ¡°And Lucky Barrage just seems worse than lucky strike,¡± Alarion continued, ¡°Five seconds is a lot in a fight and apart from punching or kicking, I¡¯m not known for hitting repeatedly.¡± ¡°Both acceptable answers. Solitary is a bad choice, but I¡¯ll remind you that what you want and what you need aren¡¯t necessarily the same thing.¡± The machine waved a hand and the two offending skills vanished from their lineup. ¡°Your thoughts on the other two?¡± ¡°Lucky Strike is probably the best.¡± ¡°And why?¡± Alarion tilted his head back, looking up toward the clouds floating lazily in the sky as he composed his answer. ¡°Having the biggest sword will only get me so far as I advance in ranks. If I can¡¯t make myself an adequate threat, then-¡± ¡°Enough.¡± ZEKE waved him off with annoyance. ¡°You¡¯ve made your point. Then why haven¡¯t you selected it?¡± ¡°Because he had questions about Found Family that I could not answer,¡± said Sierra. ¡°About the note text and how individuals are ¡®designated¡¯.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± ZEKE steepled his hands, index fingers tapping against one another as he considered how to reply. ¡°And you are considering it, depending on those answers.¡± ¡°Orphan is my strongest class right now, but it will fall behind very quickly if I cannot gain levels in it,¡± Alarion responded. ¡°I was hoping that I could take this, and then upgrade it later to allow for more than one other person. But whether that is possible depends on those answers.¡± ¡°Very forward thinking of you.¡± There was a strong note of pride in ZEKE¡¯s voice as he studied the skill¡¯s wording once again. ¡°Designate abilities function similarly to your Self-Motivated skill unless otherwise marked, so you should be able to reassign it. Provided you have at least one person near you that you trust. The second condition is more troublesome, simply because it is unknown.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve never seen anything like it either?¡± Alarion frowned. ZEKE snorted. ¡°To the contrary. You aren¡¯t that special. I¡¯ve seen similar clauses in any number of pupils over the years. My issue is that we¡¯ve never had an Orphan before. Your class isn¡¯t strictly unique, but its conditions are restrictive enough that I can¡¯t imagine more than a handful ever existing, if that. Stubborn Swordsman is rare, but if we spent time in the VISIT archives, I am certain we could find some dusty tome detailing the progression of that class.¡± ¡°So it isn¡¯t bad?¡± ¡°No, far from it. The note is simply a warning that the skill is a divergence. Most rank I classes do not have them, or have them only near max level, which is why Sierra would not recognize them. But as an awakened advances in Rank, they¡¯ll be offered skills that will shift their progression, narrowing or broadening their class focus. In your case the difference is between leaning into the ¡®solo¡¯ nature of the class, or allowing yourself to be adopted and turn toward a more traditional leveling path. In extreme cases, this can even result in a forced class change.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Despite the firm agreement, Alarion¡¯s eyes were unfocused as the boy considered the many implications. ¡°Not bad, not good. Just different.¡± ¡°Correct. Yet in this case I recommend against selecting it.¡± Alarion¡¯s shoulders slumped slightly at the words, but ZEKE carried on all the same. ¡°Your Orphan class is a Rank II Rare, evolved from a Common level 1 class. That is¡­ well, rare. Not only is it almost unheard of for someone to advance to a higher Rank without gaining any levels or even selecting a skill, but going all the way from Common to Rare in a single rank up is immensely impressive. Your inability to gain XP while near others is undoubtably part of why the class is so powerful. Diluting that runs the risk of diminishing what makes it so strong in the first place. If your class was more well known, we might research the risks, but without it¡­ stay conservative and take the obvious boost in power where you can get it.¡± Alarion couldn¡¯t argue with any of the logic. He read the two skills before him one more time, then navigated to his own skill menu. A few mental pushes, and the displayed status collapsed in on itself, returning back to the main screen where Alarion¡¯s new [Lucky Strike] skill floated happily amidst its compatriots. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Splendid.¡± ZEKE dismissed the remaining window with a wave of his hand, then directed the pair toward the keep¡¯s outer wall with the other. ¡°Mistress Elena is already waiting for us on the Stone Isle. We should not delay further.¡± ¡ª The trip from Manor to Stone was uneventful, save for a short scuffle with the sailor scheduled to row them to the far isle. Apparently there had been a concern that ¡®that thing¡¯, namely Alarion¡¯s new oversized mace, would be too much weight. In the end ZEKE had pulled authority, and a slightly larger ship was prepared within minutes. He might vehemently dislike the boy¡¯s choice of weapon, but he¡¯d have to get used to carrying it now rather than later. ¡°You¡¯ll have to leave all of your enchanted gear on the ship.¡± ZEKE said as they neared the shore. ¡°The mace is a work of art, but otherwise unenchanted. Everything else has to stay.¡± ¡°What about the bracer? And the scarf?¡± Alarion asked. It was a good question. Both items had been taken from him upon his return and given to the Ordinate quartermaster for study and review. Each had been the subject of immense speculation, though it was the bracer that had drawn most of the attention. System ranked items without magical properties, such as the scarf, were rare but not unheard of. An unranked item that granted Attribute points at no attunement cost was something else entirely. The quartermaster had spent days investigating the bracer, to no avail. By all appearances it was fully unenchanted, it did not provide feedback to magical energy or any attunement period to function. Given the nature of its source, he¡¯d suggested that a skilled artificer might have been able to divine more from its inner workings, but without one on the island there was little to be done. As much as the Governor had wanted to keep the item for that study, Vitrian laws on ownership of dropped loot were very clear. ZEKE considered the issue long and hard before he decided. ¡°Leave the bracer. Out of an abundance of caution. Your scarf can stay. There should be replacement shoes under your seat.¡± ¡°And my sash?¡± ¡°What about your-¡± ZEKE stopped himself as he looked to Alarion¡¯s waist. The sash lay just under the hem of Alarion¡¯s vest, a long bit of silken black fabric, heavily embroidered with fiendish white motifs. ¡°Where did you get that?¡± The young man didn¡¯t look to ZEKE as he answered, too busy tugging at the laces of his Blackstone Bracer. ¡°I had an unfinished quest. Hunting Season. For killing fiends.¡± ¡°And you did not think to mention this?¡± ZEKE seethed. Alarion only shrugged. ¡°I forgot.¡± ¡°Unbelievable.¡± The machine muttered, before working his way through an [Inspect Item] spell.
Sash of Fiendish Regeneration [Uncommon](Rank I) Description: A long black sash embroidered with the visage of twenty-three slain fiends. Requirements: None Attunement Cost: 12 points. Type: Belt/Sash Enchantment: Increase HP regeneration by 5%. Increase the healing rate of all conditions below the rank of Severe by 50%. Ability Bonuses: +8 VIT.
¡°Obviously that has to stay.¡± ZEKE said, after reviewing the information. Alarion finished pulling free the laces of his bracer, then looked at ZEKE expectantly. The machine tilted his head, waiting for the boy to speak, to voice his concerns. Then it clicked. ¡°Oh for-¡± The Steelborn looked to the sailor as the latter finished pulling in his oars. ¡°Your belt, please.¡± ¡°Excuse you?¡± ¡°Your belt. Now.¡± ZEKE insisted with a domineering annoyance Alarion had never heard from him. ¡°It will be returned. Eventually.¡± The man looked as though he were ready to fight on the issue, but something about ZEKE¡¯s posture or his outstretched hand made him rethink the matter. He stood, grumbled, and freed the simple leather belt before tossing it to Alarion. With the matter settled, the three Awakened stepped out onto the shores of the Stone Isle. Up close, there was more to the island than appeared at a distance. Green sprouted through every crack and crevice in the stone, lining the stairway that took them up the jagged hillside. There were few animals here, only a small smattering of birds and insects, but it felt infinitely more alive than the lush, infected forest of the fiend¡¯s home. Markers dotted the pathway wherever the stairs ended, fluttering red ribbons always guiding them toward the next set of stairs that took them further and further into the depths of the island. The sharpest of the peaks rose higher around them as they ascended into their midst, leaving them in the shade as they sought the island¡¯s interior. After nearly thirty minutes of walking, ZEKE winced. It was a flinch in his body language, slight enough that it might have gone unnoticed. Had Sierra not issued a quiet hiss of pain a few steps later. ¡°Are you okay?¡± Alarion glanced back over his shoulder to find Sierra holding her hand to her head. She was squeezing slightly, as though she were pushing back against something. ¡°She is fine. We¡¯re almost there,¡± ZEKE said without concern. ¡°Your discomfort isn¡¯t too severe?¡± Alarion cocked his head, then shook it slowly. ¡°No. I¡¯m alright.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± There was a note of surprise in ZEKE¡¯s tone, but any follow-up was lost as they crested one final ridge to see a circular clearing below. Roughly half a mile wide, the basin was home to a small cabin, a familiar looking training yard, a few tents, innumerable training dummies and two individuals. Elena was there, of course, but Alarion was surprised to see her husband alongside her. The former waved up as she saw them, starting toward the bottom of the slope to meet them as they descended. ¡°Alarion!¡± She said with a smile. Then, to his surprise, she reached for him. The embrace was quick but snug, her arms squeezing him tightly as he stood awkwardly with a huge mace resting on one shoulder. ¡°I am glad to see you have recovered.¡± ¡°Y-yeah.¡± His smile was thin as she released him, but it was there nonetheless. ¡°Come, set your things down and let us get started. You will be staying here for a few days at least, so we have set up some accommodations, but if we are not needed then you¡¯ll be able to take the cabin.¡± Elena hustled them along while her husband remained seated by the building, pouring over an open journal. ¡°Why is the governor here?¡± Sierra asked. A frown touched Elena¡¯s eyes, but not quite her lips as she glanced toward the stern man. ¡°Between you Ezekial and myself, we cover the majority of the affinities. Dar has two we do not, particularly stubborn ones at that. He is not likely to be needed, but if Alarion matches his affinities, it would be best to have him on hand rather than having to send for him to join us. He is not happy about taking the time away.¡± ¡°Which means the sooner we get started¡­¡± Elena nodded firmly. ¡°Yes, the sooner we rule him out, the better.¡± Chapter Fifty-Three A few minutes later the four of them, minus Dar, had set up in the center of the tiled training area. With Sierra¡¯s help Elena had retrieved a number of curious implements from the cabin; a violet candle on a silver candlestick, a trio of glittering green geodes and a rolled leather bundle. ¡°Sierra tells me that she gave you some basic instruction, during your time away.¡± Elena began. ¡°Summarize what you know and we may be able to save some time.¡± Alarion carefully considered the words before speaking. It had only been days since that conversation, but so much had happened that it felt like weeks or months. ¡°All Awakened have Affinities. Some more than others up to¡­ four, I think?¡± At Elena¡¯s nod he continued with a bit more boldness. ¡°They¡¯re set up on four lines, three to a side, and the ones on each side oppose the ones on the other side.¡± ¡°And what does an Affinity do?¡± She pressed. ¡°You¡¯re better at things you have an affinity for. And worse at things opposite that.¡± Alarion thought about his own words briefly, then added. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what better means. Specifically.¡± ¡°It is a general improvement,¡± Elena explained. ¡°Lower MP costs, better casting time, higher damage. All things being equal a spell cast within your affinity will simply be better.¡± ¡°And this is going to tell us what mine are?¡± ¡°That is exactly what this codex is for.¡± Elena looked to Sierra and with a single gesture the girl unrolled the final item. It was a square leather mat a few feet in width. Crafted out of a dark leather, it was intricately inked with a series of lines, circles, words and icons. Alarion instantly recognized it as the same general design that Sierra had scrawled in her notebook. This one was simply of a much higher quality. ¡°As Sierra told you, Affinities are divided up by axis. Each axis is named. The vertical axis is called Creation and covers Force, Life, Nature, Decay, Death and Void. The horizontal is Primal and includes Emotion, Illusion, Time, Gravity, Enchantment and Mind. The downward diagonal is Esoteric and includes Sound, Moon, Water, Fire, Sun and Sight. Finally you have Arcane which includes Body, Reality, Earth, Air, Dimension and Spirit.¡± ¡°They are also commonly known by another set of names,¡± ZEKE said to Elena¡¯s clear dismay. ¡°Creation, Challenge, Riddle and Magic. After the four mothers.¡± ¡°You do realize those names are frowned upon by the Houses?¡± Elena asked dryly. ¡°I¡¯m only informing the young Master insofar as he may encounter the terms in the wild,¡± ZEKE replied in a tone that was far too chipper for her liking. ¡°Alarion, you see the space where all lines intersect? Place your hand there and pulse mana into the guide. It should do the rest.¡± The boy tilted his head. ¡°Pulse my mana?¡± ¡°Did you directly bind any of your items?¡± When Alarion shook his head, ZEKE instead tapped the inside of his own wrist, mirroring where Alarion normally kept his Shifting Greatsword stored. ¡°Think of how you shift your greatsword, only more involved.¡± Alarion looked to the leather laid out on the ground before him, then at the expectant faces surrounding him. A slight sense of stage fright gripped at his stomach, but he pushed it away and kneeled down next to the item. He placed his hand at its center, closed his eyes and pushed. Nothing. Learning to use his greatsword had been incredibly intuitive. The sword had an active hunger for mana, which meant that he wasn¡¯t expected to push mana into it, so much as to lift the barriers and let it flow naturally on its own. When the sword had gained its second ability, the only change had been that there were two connections that he had to manage. This was different. There was no pulling sensation. For all Alarion was able to tell, the dark leather before him was just that, regular leather scrawled over in silver ink. ¡°Ahh!¡± He grunted, his abdomen clenched, his arm tensed. ¡°No, no.¡± ZEKE swatted at him with the back of one hand. ¡°Channeling should never be a task more difficult than breathing. You need to relax and let it happen.¡± Alarion nodded and tried again. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. After a few seconds he peeked out through one half opened eyelid. The same faces looked down at him expectantly, and the young man winced visibly. His body tensed once again as he tried to force the issue, which earned him another swipe from ZEKE and a sigh from Elena. ¡°It is fine Alarion,¡± She said in a voice that made it sound like anything but. ¡°Provincial awakened often struggle with such things. You do not have the depth of education or the familial background. We have other tools we can practice on first.¡± With that the elegant dark haired woman stooped to pluck the candlestick from the ground. It lit the moment her gloved hands touched its silver surface, then the flames died the moment she handed it to him. ¡°This is what is known as an everwick candle. They used to be used for household lighting, but these days they mostly serve as an excellent beginner training aid. The wick will light with even the slightest drop of MP. Not even a full point.¡± She reached out and tapped the side with her finger, causing the candle to light and burn out in the space of half a second. ¡°All you have to do is relax. Focus on the silver in your hands, and flow your mana into the item.¡± Alarion looked at the candle with a frown. He¡¯d felt a jolt through the silver when Elena had touched it, but without her it felt inert. It was dull, lifeless metal and he was being asked to bring it to life. ¡°I¡¯ll try.¡± He leaned back on his ankles, his eyes fluttering closed again as he focused on the cool metal beneath his fingertips. He felt the indentations where a craftsman had stamped their workers mark into its base and the slight dent on its left side. He felt the repeating pattern that circled the lip, but he felt no magic within it. For minutes they sat in silence, watching him. Every so often he peeked through his lashes and saw as they studied him, or exchanged confused glances with one another. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Something was wrong. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I¡¯m doing it right.¡± He admitted at last. ¡°Take your time, Alarion.¡± ZEKE insisted. ¡°We are in no rush. ¡ª An hour later, the mood had shifted somewhat. Frustration was in the air. None of them were angry at him, at least not openly, but they were confused and upset. This was, as Alarion had come to learn, the lowest of bars. A primed item, on an island suffused with ambient magical energy. They¡¯d skipped down half a dozen steps, to the easiest training aid imaginable, in order to help him build confidence. And still he¡¯d failed. He¡¯d managed to light the candle only once, and that one by accident. The wick itself, as it turned out, was even more sensitive than the candlestick. It had sapped his mana against his will and immediately burst into considerable flames. Apparently that was not supposed to happen, indeed ZEKE seemed perplexed by the fact that it had. But fortunately, they had brought spares. They spoke now in hushed, animated whispers. He might have heard them, had he strained his ears. But he didn¡¯t want to hear them. Watching ZEKE and Elena bicker with harsh gestures, some of which pointed back toward him, brought up foul memories he preferred to leave buried. But they weren¡¯t the only ones losing their patience. ¡°What is taking so long?¡± Dar growled as he stormed into their conversation without an ounce of tact. The bearded man had a hand around his wrist, massaging it as he walked, his free hand opening and closing in careful, measured movements. ¡°The young master is¡­ struggling.¡± ZEKE was quick to answer. Dar looked to Alarion and squinted. ¡°It is an Affinity test. Boy. Light the candle.¡± Alarion closed his eyes tightly, focused¡­ and nothing happened. ¡°Is he¡­¡± The elder man was rolling his eyes as Alarion opened his. ¡°A savant. That is what you said, machine? What kind of savant struggles to-¡± ¡°Husband.¡± Elena said sharply. ¡°My bones ache being here and this one can not find the magic to light an everwick?¡± Dar shot back, voice brimming with rebuke equal to her own. ¡°He lit one.¡± Sierra snapped, surprising Alarion with her defense. ¡°Oh?¡± Dar shot Sierra a withering look, then turned to Alarion. ¡°Show me.¡± Alarion glanced to Elena and Dar immediately spoke again, his voice just shy of a shout. ¡°Do not look at her. I am instructing you, not her. Light the candle.¡± With a frown, Alarion lifted his thumb and forefinger to the wick. He tapped it as though he were putting it out, and the candle immediately burst into an enormous peaked flame double its own height. Alarion threw it away, ignoring the burn notifications and precipitous loss of MP as he focused on Dar. The man¡¯s scowl had somehow deepened. He looked to ZEKE then to Elena expectantly, but neither had any insight to give. ¡°None of you have any insight? Well, boy, you are not the only one getting a lesson today.¡± Dar paced toward Alarion and the leather Affinity map still laid out on the ground before him. He picked it up and touched it, letting the boy watch as some of the lines began to grow silver. They illuminated Air and Decay, then dimmed as the man withdrew his hand. ¡°That is what should happen when you invest mana into this device. You are unable to do this, but you can use your magic items, and you can destroy an everwick. The question is, why?¡± Alarion had no more answer now that he had an hour ago, but the question proved entirely rhetorical as the Governor shoved an open palm into his face and said, ¡°Gale Slash.¡± The attack struck him like nothing before. He was immediately blown off his feet and sent skipping across the stone tiles, then the harsh rocks beyond them. A stun warning flashed in his vision, a health warning coming alongside it as the raging wind cut deep gashes into his chest, arms and legs. When he finally rolled to a stop, he heard screaming. Elena was furious. ZEKE was marching toward the Governor an accusatory arm outstretched, but Dar¡¯s voice rose above all the others. ¡°Why is he not naked?¡± The absurdity of the question did nothing to quiet down the observers. Nor did it stop Alarion¡¯s counter attack. His greatsword raced through the air in its smaller form, aimed unerringly at Dar¡¯s throat. The man caught it with the sort of contempt that one usually reserved for an annoying insect, then turned it in his hands, holding it as he grinned at Alarion. Bssht. Alarion shifted into close quarters and attempted to wrench the weapon from Dar¡¯s hand, only to fall short. The governor was holding it between his thumb, index and middle fingers, but the grip could have been a vice for how firm it was. Even with all of his body weight devoted to wrenching the weapon out of Dar¡¯s hand, Alarion could not so much as move the limb. Not that he had much of a chance. Dar had given him just long enough to try before he grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the ground. ¡°No one is answering. Why is he not naked?!¡± Bssht. Alarion flickered again, appearing in a sort of handstand upon the hilt of his weapon. It was an awkward position, but he made the best of it, swiveling about to land a vicious kick to the side of Dar¡¯s head. He might as well have kicked the manor house wall, for all the good it did. Dar got hold of him again, and Alarion flickered once more. For the last time. He appeared on the ground, Dar¡¯s boot firmly on his wrist and the sword beneath. The older man grabbed a handful of Alarion¡¯s white hair and jerked his head back, forcing him to look at the path of destruction that the [Gale Slash] had left in its wake. Tiles had been shredded, stone obliterated, the very earth itself torn up into a concave path that tracked the line of the attack. The damage was devastating and absolute. It was a wonder that he had survived it. And it was impossible that his clothes should have. ¡°There it is.¡± Dar said with a note of approval. He shot a warning look to ZEKE as the Steelborn approached to intercede, and gestured to the pathway of destruction. ¡°That was stone and reinforced tile. This is silk and cotton. How did it survive my attack.¡± ¡°Because an Awakened physique isn¡¯t just ¡®tougher skin¡¯,¡± Sierra answered, her voice frightened but resolute. ¡°Our bodies are naturally enhanced by the magic within them, and we extend that magic to things we hold or wear.¡± ¡°Very good.¡± Dar jerked Alarion¡¯s arm roughly to stop him from struggling, eliciting a stiffed grunt of pain in the process. ¡°The same reason an Imperial Greatsword is an Awakened only weapon, it is not just heavy, it is so heavy that it would snap under its own weight without reinforcement.¡± Elena¡¯s tone was seething. ¡°What is your point, Dar?¡± ¡°My point is that he nearly blew up the everwick at a touch. It drained almost all of your MP, did it not?¡± Alarion clenched his jaw defiantly, then let out a sharp yelp as Dar wrenched his arm again. ¡°Yes!¡± ¡°And his clothes are barely damaged. Even with his vitality, that is unusual. Unless he has a deformity in his Mana Circuits. Which you do, right boy? I understand it is not uncommon for Awakened that undergo starvation. Your body eats its fat and other stores of energy, and when you get hungry you cannibalize your own potential.¡± You have recognized your flaw!
Splintered Mana Circuits Description: Whether through birth defect, attack or neglect, your Mana Circuits have been permanently damaged beyond repair. While they still function in part, your ability to project your mana and restrict its flow has been forever stripped from you. Requirements: None. Type: Flaw, Passive. Severity: Major Effect: You are incapable of voluntarily externalizing your mana. You are unable to voluntarily use any skills, items or spells that require MP to be channeled to an external source. Items, skills or spells that automatically drain mana will drain the maximum amount possible on contact.
¡°Sad to see the genius child turn out to be somewhat of a dud, but there is nothing for it.¡± Dar mused as he dragged Alarion the short distance to the leather codex. ¡°This should still work. Give me your arm, don¡¯t make me take it.¡± Alarion forced his body to relax as Dar pushed his hand down onto the center of the Affinity map. At first, there was nothing, then the man pushed harder, digging his knuckles into the back of Alarion¡¯s own until it hurt. Silver light began to leak out from beneath their combined hands, flowing down on four lines. Time. Sun. Body. Void. ¡°There. I do not match any of these, and since I will be sleeping alone tonight regardless, I will leave you in her most capable hands.¡± Dar stood, but Alarion did not. He lingered in the midst of three all too familiar feelings. Pain. Despair. And helplessness. Chapter Fifty-Four They reconvened hours later. ZEKE had spent the intervening time reading and re-reading through chapters of a large tome he had pulled from his dimensional space. Elena had left briefly to berate her husband over his behavior, while Sierra had cooly focused on her own training regime as a way to settle her unease. All of which left Alarion alone with his thoughts. A bad place to be. Elena had drilled into him that something like this was in his future. Major flaws were rare and they were, as their name suggested, quite significant. Most were so severe that they could be recognized the moment they appeared. Natural blindness, or deafness. Severe mental defects, inborn disease or addictions. Familial curses. He¡¯d known something was wrong, and that they would discover it sooner rather than later. This felt bad even by those standards. Yet it wasn¡¯t the only thing weighing on his mind. He thought he¡¯d gotten stronger. His battles with the fiends, his trek through the hidden city. The war with the Duke. In his mind. Lamesh had defeated him by injury, by trickery and surprise. Even if Sierra told him that he did not stand a chance, some part of him had held onto the hope that she was wrong. That he was stronger than she gave him credit for. His fight against Dar had put the lie to that boyish fantasy. It hadn¡¯t even been a fight. He¡¯d thrown his entire being into his attacks, and Dar had treated him like an uppity house cat. One he could have easily put down. It hadn¡¯t been like his fights with ZEKE or Sierra. The gap there was vast, but he was certain that if he struck a clean blow on either of them, they¡¯d at least have felt it. Dar hadn¡¯t flinched. Alarion hadn¡¯t even gotten a notice that he¡¯d dealt damage. That was power. Actual power. Alarion was weak, and now he had a glaring, perpetual weakness on top of that. He could have abided one realization without sinking deep within himself. Two at once proved difficult. His sullen expression when Sierra had come to fetch him had left no doubt about his mood. He studied his shoes as he rejoined them by the firelight, though Elena was able to coax the slightest hint of a smile from him as she reassuringly squeezed his shoulder. ¡°I am sorry. It will not happen again.¡± Elena said softly. ¡°Could you stop him?¡± Alarion asked, glancing up at her with a tilt of his head. ¡°I-¡± She began, only to stop to consider her words more carefully. ¡°I am his wife. If I tell him no, he will stop.¡± ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you?¡± Elena sighed, unable to meet his eyes. ¡°Sometimes Vitrian lessons need to be taught harshly.¡± ¡°Then don¡¯t tell me it won¡¯t happen again. I might need to learn another lesson.¡± Alarion replied. ¡°I don¡¯t like liars anymore than you do.¡± Elena frowned and looked ready to contest his strong accusation when ZEKE abruptly punctuated their conversation by loudly closing his tome. ¡°Thank you for your patience.¡± ZEKE stood and stowed the book into a glimmering white portal that appeared with naught but a gesture. ¡°I believe I am ready to proceed.¡± ¡°What were you doing?¡± ¡°I was reviewing my library.¡± Alarion frowned. ¡°You were reading the same book for hours.¡± ¡°Not at all,¡± ZEKE rebutted with some of the more usual zip in his voice as he opened the book and turned it to face Alarion. It was blank. ¡°The capstone skill of my Archivist class is called Infinite Library. It allows me to store the contents of any non-magical book for later review on a specially prepared tome. I have recorded most of the non-restricted VISIT archives, among other large bodies of knowledge.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Alarion answered, unsure of what else to say. ¡°I do have positive news, as well.¡± The Steelborn continued. ¡°Your condition is rare, but not unheard of. This means there are¡­ options, on how to proceed.¡± ¡°Such as?¡± Sierra inquired. ¡°We¡¯ll get to them,¡± ZEKE assured her. ¡°But first we should define our terms and the issue the young master is facing. Inken Sky.¡± Those last two words seemed odd, until the Steelborn began to draw on the air. Black lines flowed into existence with each pass of his finger, leaving permanent trails in the air as the machine quickly wrote out the effect of Alarion¡¯s flaw. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Effect: You are incapable of voluntarily externalizing your mana. You are unable to voluntarily use any skills, items or spells that require MP to be channeled to an external source. Items, skills or spells that automatically drain mana will drain the maximum amount possible on contact. ¡°This matches what you see on your status, correct?¡± ¡°Mm.¡± ¡°Good. Then we will begin here.¡± ZEKE underlined two words in the description. Voluntarily and channeled. ¡°These two are the lynchpins of your flaw. As our repeated testing showed, you are incapable of channeling your mana in the traditional sense. However, as the Governor helpfully demonstrated, your are still capable of using an item with a channeling requirement under duress. Why is this?¡± Alarion began to answer the rhetorical question, only to be waved off by ZEKE as the machine drew two circles in the air. One was a nearly perfect sphere filled with arrows pointing outward, while the other was bumpy and jagged, with arrows pointing inwards. ¡°To understand this, we need to understand channeling. What it is, and why it is necessary. And to do that we need to understand the difference between a bound and unbound field.¡± ZEKE could already see a glaze in Alarion¡¯s eyes and quickly ¡®tapped¡¯ the first of the circles for his attention. ¡°This is an example of a bound field, the building block for the majority of spellcasters. Created by a skill or by channeling a small amount of mana, a bound field sets the structure and instructions for a spell. Let¡¯s use the ubiquitous Firebolt spell as an example.¡± ZEKE drew a crude outline of a flaming bolt in the air. His artistry left something to be desired, drawing a restrained smirk from Elena, which in turn prompted a stern glare from the machine before he continued. ¡°If I were to cast Firebolt through a skill, it would create a basic outline of the spell. Then through channeling and incantation I would fill and stabilize the shell, the bound field, that it created with mana. Once it is full, the spell formula triggers, I finalize the incantation and the spell creates a bolt of flame to set someone on fire. Are you following me so far?¡± Alarion nodded. ¡°A bound field is precise, efficient and specific. If all four of us were to cast a standard Firebolt with the same attributes, it would cost the same and function the same. A large part of this is that the bound field has an internal magical pressure that innately repels outside magical energy. It only accepts mana that is properly channeled as per its formula. Going outside that, by trying to overcharge the spell, for example, won¡¯t result in a stronger firebolt, but a collapse of the field.¡± ¡°At best, doing so would cause the spell to fizzle. At worst it could blow up in your face.¡± Sierra warned. ¡°Skills are generally more forgiving than free-form magic, but neither is to be trifled with.¡± ¡°Quite right.¡± ZEKE agreed. ¡°Unbound fields, by comparison, are largely unstructured. They still have a barrier that sets the conditions for their activation, but they are less concerned with how they get their mana, only that they do. The activation mechanism in your greatsword is an example of an unbound field, you can feed it in an instant without incantation and it immediately triggers the effect.¡± ¡°That just seems better,¡± Alarion said. Then he looked to Sierra, remembering his previous conversation with her. ¡°There was always a trade off, you said.¡± ¡°There is.¡± The girl said, gesturing to ZEKE who was already drawing his next diagram. This one showed a firebolt with messy, indistinct edges and lines pulsing out from it. ¡°Unbound fields are powerful and quick, but they tend to overfill and leak mana like a sieve. Combined with their general lack of order, they are a terrible choice for anything requiring accuracy or tact. A good deal of ritual and non-combat magics would be impossible with an unbound field and even combat spells will vary in effectiveness and be harder to control or aim. That isn¡¯t to say they are all bad either, unbound fields excel in aura and nova type magic specifically because they can work to their advantage of flooding an area with power. And most importantly in your case, they can be filled simply by flaring your defenses.¡± ¡°I see what you are suggesting, Ezekiel. But there are many problems with this.¡± Elena¡¯s frown gave her a severe look as she tapped an index finger against her elbow. ¡°Not the least of which is time. Why not focus on internal channeling. Void wouldn¡¯t help him there, but Sun, Body and Time could produce some potent combinations.¡± ¡°You are not wrong,¡± ZEKE answered diplomatically. ¡°But the whole reason that Vitrians are trained in spell and sword is for versatility and redundancy. We can and should devote some energy to internal channeling, but if all he knows how to do is magically augment his sword swings then he runs the risk of being torn to pieces by a competent mage.¡± Elena seemed unconvinced. ¡°Better the fiend we know than the hive we do not. If we had a year this would be a better idea, but trying to follow an unfamiliar progression path in months?¡± ¡°Is there even a class focused on magic cast through unbound fields?¡± This time it was Sierra who voiced her concern. ¡°Every caster class I¡¯m familiar with works around channeling.¡± ¡°A few. None of them especially well studied or documented,¡± ZEKE admitted as he looked to the sullen young man who had spoken so little. ¡°I do not wish to deceive you, Alarion, what I am suggesting is not an easy or well trodden path. This training would be¡­ ad hoc, improvisational. There is no guarantee that you would be able to finalize a class before your induction, even with your Aptitude, and I cannot follow you there to continue your tutelage should we fail.¡± Alarion wasn¡¯t looking at ZEKE. He was studying his hand. The half-healed scrapes from where he¡¯d been cut by Dar¡¯s spell. The bruise where it had been pinned to the ground. ¡°What happens if the training is successful.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll be a mage as much as any other, if a very unconventional one. A bit more brute force and direct than most, but if we are being honest with one another, that just sounds like what I have come to expect from you.¡± That earned him a smirk. A thin one, but a smirk nonetheless. ¡°You are posing the choice to him, when you have yet to sell me on it.¡± Elena pointed out. ¡°I am relying on his nature.¡± ZEKE corrected Elena. ¡°If I have convinced him, then you¡¯ll have no more say with your ¡®dagger¡¯ than I did.¡± Elena narrowed her eyes then looked to Alarion and swore. She knew that look. ¡°Mothers give mercy,¡± She complained. ¡°You will teach him some channeling?¡± ¡°Enough that we can try to segue into it if this all proves a fools errand.¡± ZEKE confirmed. ¡°Fine.¡± Elena gave a resigned sigh. ¡°I will head back to the manor in the morning. When or if you need me to instruct him in Void, send Sierra and I will return.¡± ZEKE shifted slightly, his metal thumb and forefinger scraping against his chin. Elena also knew that look. He wanted something more. Something she wouldn¡¯t like. ¡°Tell me.¡± ¡°I will need you to remain here.¡± ZEKE explained. ¡°To help with some light¡­ torture.¡± Chapter Fifty-Five ¡°If you are going to walk this path, then the first step along it, the most vital step, is learning to control your autonomic magical resilience.¡± ¡°My wha-¡± Alarion¡¯s words were cut off by a sharp whipcrack on flesh as one of the wretches struck Alarion¡¯s bare back with an inch thick wooden switch. He didn¡¯t scream, but the sting was evident on the youth¡¯s face as he glared up at the machine man. They were in an inken place Alarion knew well. The dark blue-black unreality of Elena¡¯s [Void Arena] was familiar, but being inside it with others was not. ZEKE loomed over him while Sierra sat cross legged across from him, her hands overtop of his on the exterior of one of the burning everwick candles. She looked uncomfortable, though whether it was their shared touch, the abuse or Alarion¡¯s shirtlessness was hard to gauge. Behind him stood two ¡®wretches¡¯. Four feet tall with mottled green and black skin, the sharp eared creatures were conjured by Elena¡¯s skill. Modeled after a nearly extinct type of Systemborn, the wretches were weak, cruel and unpleasant to look at, but they served their purpose as Alarion¡¯s abusers quite well. ¡°Your autonomic magical resilience.¡± ZEKE repeated helpfully as he gestured to the everwick. The flame atop it had already begun to flicker as ZEKE spoke, then sputtered out with a thin trail of dark smoke a few moments later. ¡°The body of an awakened is a magical thing, in the literal sense. Everything you do is, to some extent, empowered by magic. When you run, you run faster than a human because your muscles are flooded through with power. When you are struck, your body instantaneously and automatically protects both itself as well as things you are touching, wearing and holding.¡± ¡°Autonomic means unconsciously automatic,¡± Sierra said as she recognized that befuddled look on Alarion¡¯s face. ¡°Specifically with regard to your body. Think about your breathing. You do it automatically, even when you sleep. But if you choose, you can also stop breathing. Or breathe faster. Or deeper.¡± ¡°So I need to-¡± Crack. Alarion growled in pain as his thoughts were once again interrupted by a sudden strike. His jaw clicked as he ground his teeth, and the candle burst into flame once again, sputtered, and died out. ¡°You need to learn how to do it on command, even when you are not being hit.¡± Sierra confirmed. ¡°It will not be as easy as breathing. I have never tried, but I know I could not do it without practice.¡± ¡°Controlling your heart rate would be a better comparison, I think,¡± ZEKE mused. ¡°It is possible to do with training, but not something a layman can learn in seconds. We¡¯ll provoke response, after response, after response in a safe environment and let you grow accustomed to it. The hope is that you will swiftly learn to reproduce this response without the strikes. Once you can keep the candle lit indefinitely, we can move on to the next step.¡± ¡°And Sierra needs to be here to channel the mana for me?¡± Alarion asked for confirmation, looking down to where the girl¡¯s hands covered his own. ¡°Don¡¯t be embarrassed. It is perfectly natural to-¡± ZEKE quickly thought better of continuing that sentence as both youths sent utterly withering looks in his direction. ¡°Yes. Everything but the wick itself is a bound field and won¡¯t react to you simply pushing mana against it. The wick is why you¡¯re keeping it at arms length, incidentally.¡± ¡°Noted.¡± Crack. The switch clipped down on Alarion¡¯s back with enough force to register a single digit loss of HP. At the rate they struck him, they¡¯d go through his full HP pool in a little over an hour, even with his regeneration. At that point the [Void Arena] would collapse, Elena could recast, and they¡¯d start all over again. Sierra¡¯s hands drifted off his and the two watched as the flame atop the everwick faltered. She returned them and it roared back to life, then diminished and finally died as she withdrew once again. A simple, yet effective demonstration of her part in things. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Minutes passed with the flame igniting and dying in tune with the agony on Alarion¡¯s back. The sting of each wound just beginning to fade as the next hit came. And along with the pain came progress. At the start of the exercise, the flame had lasted two, perhaps three seconds at the most. By the end of the day he¡¯d nearly doubled that. It wasn¡¯t the same as doing it on command, but the simple fact that he could hold the gate open was a testament that they were headed in the right direction on what could be a very long track. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. They spent their time in silence or in study. ZEKE would demand an hour of quiet focus out of Alarion, then interject with a new lesson when the youth¡¯s expression or body language showed he was reaching the limit of his tolerance for abuse. The first few discussions were an esoteric expansion of the numerous differences between bound and unbound fields. Some of it went over Alarion¡¯s head, but ZEKE was an excellent teacher, and Sierra a suitable assistant. Between the two they were able to instill some of the fundamentals of field formation, the way magical energy could be stretched to cover a surface or area, how it could be compressed into a single point. They delved further into conversations about runes, marks and other arcane scripts and how they were used to direct and outline the nature of different arcane forces within a particular field. All of it was useful information. Necessary, even. But it wasn¡¯t until the middle of the second day, when the discussion turned to Affinities, specifically Alarion¡¯s affinities, that they fully had the boy¡¯s attention. ¡°Time. Sun. Body. Void.¡± ZEKE said out of the blue after nearly two hours of silence. ¡°My affinities.¡± Alarion responded quickly. The four had been etched into his heart the moment he¡¯d heard them. They were his, even if he was wary of Void. ¡°We¡¯ll start simple. Body.¡± Steelborn fingers drew out the symbol of a muscled upper body, similar to the one on the Affinity codex if much more poorly drawn. ¡°The Body affinity relates to spells that enhance, alter or utilize the body in some direct fashion. A Body spell can increase your physical strength, or it could transmute your arm into snakes. It can be used as a source of self-healing, but it can also be used to translate one resource into another, or burn existing resources for temporary power.¡± The idea of transforming his body was strangely repulsive to Alarion, and not just because the suggestion involved serpents. He briefly tugged his arm free, flexing it, as though making sure it was still whole before his odd behavior earned a chiding slap on the arm from Sierra. ¡°Next would be time. It is far from simple in its versatile application, but it is at least easy to understand. Like time itself, all time magic exists in one of three states. Reversal, stasis, and advancement. Bringing things back to how they were, holding them in place or speeding them along. However, Time magic is a frightfully weak affinity at low ranks. Manipulating time in and of itself is incredibly difficult and outright impossible for any but the strongest. Instead it is always paired with other affinities.¡± ¡°Paired?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Like my summoning spells,¡± Sierra reminded him. ¡°Sound as the base, Force to give them shape and impact and Spirit to give them the ability to act on their own.¡± ¡°Just so,¡± nodded ZEKE, approvingly. ¡°Some spells focus on a single affinity. Especially elemental type attacks. But even those can incorporate others. The Governor¡¯s Gale Slash obviously involves Air, but also draws on Force in order to strengthen the cutting effect. Time spells mix well with most other Affinities as a way to strengthen whatever that affinity is good at. A Body/Time spell might allow you to not only heal, but utterly reverse damage. It could delay poison, or speed up natural regeneration to a startling degree.¡± Alarion winced as the switch struck him again. ¡°So no jumping back in time?¡± ¡°Not at your Rank. With stronger mages it isn¡¯t unheard of, though I¡¯ve never heard of anything longer than a few seconds in any direction.¡± ¡°What about Sun?¡± ¡°A more curious Affinity to be sure.¡± ZEKE drew a terrible picture of a sun as he considered how to best approach the topic. ¡°Sun magic represents warmth, strength, and positive energy. It does not consume like fire, but emboldens and empowers. Sun magic can produce light and heat, though not to the same degree as a pure fire mage. It is second only to Life when it comes to healing, focused more on persistent regeneration, and it works particularly well opposite fiends who almost universally have a Moon Affinity.¡± Alarion was surprised. ¡°Moon? Not Death?¡± ¡°Revenants will often have one of their Affinities shift to death, but Fiends are very much alive. Their most common Affinity is Moon, with Decay a close second.¡± Sierra explained patiently. ¡°Some other cultures refer to these as Light and Dark Affinities instead, given the fiend¡¯s connection to the latter.¡± ¡°That makes sense.¡± Alarion looked ready to say more, but paused just long enough to allow the wretch to pummel his shoulders before he continued. ¡°That leaves us with Void.¡± ZEKE took note of the sour tone of Alarion¡¯s voice as he composed his description. ¡°I know you are no fan of mistress Elena¡¯s take on Void magic, but do keep in mind that it is atypical. The Void Arena and other such magic mix Dimension, Void and Spirit along with elements of others. As its own Affinity, Void is simply an absence.¡± ¡°How can magic be an absence?¡± ¡°Hmm. To clarify, it is an enforced absence. Void magic uses your energy to create a space vacant of¡­ something. Anything, really. If you were poisoned, for example, you could use your void magic to compress the poison in your body to one location for removal, or to crush it into nothing entirely. If you were more powerful you could create an area around you void of lesser magics to fight with blade alone, or you could direct it as a counter-spell to disrupt a particularly dangerous incantation.¡± ¡°It likely will not matter to you directly, given that your focus will be on unbound fields, but even mages who lack a Void Affinity will often incorporate Void elements into their ritual magic as a way to purge the area, to allow for better sympathy.¡± Sierra added. ¡°Time. Sun. Body. Void.¡± Alarion repeated the list of affinities as his mind whirled with the possibilities that those four concepts possessed. ¡°With so many, is it better to focus on one? Or split my attention?¡± ¡°That will depend on you, young master.¡± The delight of a well-respected teacher being asked for advice lingered on each crisp syllable of those last two words. ¡°Mistress Sierra incorporated aspects of all of her affinities into her spell-casting, and in a perfect world this would be my suggestion. None of your Affinities are oppositional, though some are more complimentary than others. Body, Time and Sun will all work well together in various forms, while Void might be most powerful on its own. That said, we have further exercises to lay down the fundamentals before we can even begin to focus on your affinities. So for now-¡± Crack! ¡°-focusing might be in order.¡± Chapter Fifty-Six ¡°Any progress?¡± The grim look on Alarion¡¯s face as the young man stood and walked toward the nearby tents was answer enough. It had been nine days. Nine days of grinding against a seemingly infinite plateau. They had made progress in the first few days. Alarion had steadily improved when it came to keeping the flame lit. What had started with seconds became minutes, which became hours. So long as he held his concentration, Alarion was certain he could keep the flame lit indefinitely. The problem was lighting it to begin with. Pain was still the only method to draw out his magic. Try as he might, Alarion could not bridge the gap between sustaining his innate magic and calling it forth of his own volition. He couldn¡¯t even hurt himself to provoke the same response, though not for lack of trying. The best he¡¯d been able to manage had been to ever so briefly flicker it into being, like striking a spark without ever truly lighting a flame. So his days went. Hour after hour of raw impact and magical theory that blended together in the most unpleasant of ways. While he did not recall the worst of the abuse once each [Void Arena] collapsed, the general sense stuck with him. Magic lessons were tedious and painful, and Alarion wanted them to be over. A few hours to eat and eight hours to rest were all the solace allotted to him. Time was precious, but even sleep did not come easily to him these nights. He twisted and turned. He fell into a half sleep filled with recriminations and ghosts. Sad to see the genius child turn out to be somewhat of a dud. She never lied about it. I expected better. Your fault. Broken. Protect your sisters, Alarion. Alarion. ¡°-wake up.¡± ¡°Wha-?¡± The boy asked dumbly, as he rolled onto his side to see the indistinct shape of Sierra kneeling over him. ¡°You were screaming.¡± She gently removed her hand from his shoulder and leaned back onto her heels. ¡°I am sorry.¡± ¡°No,¡± he shook his head as he pushed up to a sitting position beneath a heap of blankets. ¡°I am sorry I woke you.¡± ¡°I was not sleeping.¡± Sierra confessed. Alarion squinted against the darkness and realized that she was fully dressed despite the late hour. ¡°I could not. I was going to go for a walk.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± ¡°You should come with me.¡± ¡°It is late.¡± Alarion protested. ¡°Or early.¡± ¡°Are you going to go right back to sleep? No? Then come with me.¡± She did not wait for his response as she left the tent. The words were still an invitation, not an order, but they were spoken with such conviction that Alarion had no choice but to abide. Sierra was waiting for him by the edge of the camp as he emerged from his tent some minutes later, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. ¡°Where are we going?¡± She gestured to a narrow break in the peaks that surrounded them. It was dark and jagged, not so much a path as a fracture in the valley¡¯s side. ¡°This leads further up. You will like it.¡± Alarion was unconvinced. They had to turn sideways to navigate the thinnest parts of the slim passage, but fortunately it opened up considerably after only a few minutes. The ground beneath his sandals was rocky and jagged, fraught with narrow ¡®steps¡¯ as they advanced further up the mountainside. At its worst it was something between an uphill hike and an actual climb, forcing Alarion to hold onto the stone walls for balance at they neared its end. Then all at once it opened before them to the peak of the mountain. Of the island as a whole, actually. Soft moss cushioned their footsteps as they reached their destination. Fifteen feet across, the mountaintop was green and comfortable, with no sharp edges in sight save for the spiked back of a single ¡®seat¡¯ of stone at the far end. The chair, or throne, had clearly been carved out of the stone peak by human hands in some bygone age, its seat and arms rounded off through use or natural erosion. ¡°I discovered this on our second night here.¡± Sierra explained. ¡°Or, discovered maybe is not the right word. I am sure others knew it was here, but I found it all the same. I have been meaning to show you but¡­¡± But you¡¯ve been angry for days. But you¡¯ve been failing your training. But I wanted to keep it to myself. Frustrated as he was, every iteration of her unspoken words was negative in his mind. Which of course, reflected on his face. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°¡­I did not want to distract you,¡± Sierra finished after some thought. ¡°And then I did not know how to ask.¡± He looked to the sea, unwilling to meet her eyes. Lazy waves lapped at the shore so far below them that only a dull white noise reached his ears. ¡°I do understand, you know.¡± Alarion gave a half glance over his shoulder, his expression grim. ¡°Not exactly the same,¡± Sierra quickly conceded with a hint of exasperation. ¡°But the expectations. The pressure. I do understand.¡± ¡°You do not.¡± He answered flatly. ¡°Alarion. I am sixteen,¡± she stretched the word to draw his attention to it. ¡°I was thirteen when I was inducted. Two years fighting fiends. Half a year serving Dar Elzmir, of all people? You think I do not understand pressure?¡± Sullen silence was his only response. ¡°Our society is¡­ paradoxical,¡± she continued when it was clear Alarion had nothing to say. ¡°Every Vitrian is weighed down with obligation and ambition. We are taught to reach for power, skill and prestige above everything. We are also taught that we owe what we are to the Empire, that there is a duty for each of us that goes beyond simple induction. I wanted to be a musician. The best musician. But a high aptitude and a powerful family means that more is expected of me. I have to be an artillery mage. An equerry. When my induction is finished, I will be expected to work toward lobbying, or public office. A numbered seat, eventually.¡± Her words had piqued Alarion¡¯s interest and drawn his eyes away from the ocean, despite his foul mood. ¡°I can be all of those things, and still have my own ambition. I cast my magic through song. I set aside time to play as often as I can. I argue, scrap and steal to find time for my own goals, as well as what is expected of me. And that makes me worry about you.¡± Sierra¡¯s eyes met his and held them firm. ¡°Your obligation is plain to see, but what of your ambition? What do you want, Alarion?¡± ¡°I-¡± Alarion began on instinct, only to halt as he realized the answer was not on the tip of his tongue as he expected. He considered the question more thoroughly, then answered. ¡°I want to be stronger.¡± Sierra shook her head. ¡°That is a means, Alarion. Not an end. You want to be stronger to do what?¡± He scowled in that way a person only did when they knew they were wrong, but weren¡¯t quite ready to admit it. ¡°That is not enough?¡± ¡°Elena wants you to be stronger to protect her investment. ZEKE because your strength would reflect well on his teaching methods,¡± she explained. ¡°Or because they have come to care about you, if I am being less cynical. Wanting to be strong, even if only to please them or to protect yourself is an obligation, not an aspiration. Put differently, in three years your induction will be finished. Then what do you want to do?¡± Alarion opened his mouth once again to reply, then stopped. No answer was forthcoming, and even the ones that swam in his mind did not feel right. Perhaps he could find what remained of his family. If anything still remained. But would they even recognize him? Would they forgive him? If they did, then what? Would they just go home? To a home that was no longer there? He could be adopted by Elena as she had hinted, but to what purpose? To be their weapon? Was he to be nothing more than some tool in a Vitrian political game? Intrinsically, he understood the difference between his goals and Sierra¡¯s. She longed to make music not as a means at all, but as an end unto itself. And that was something he lacked. ¡°It is alright not to know right now.¡± Sierra¡¯s tone was gentle and reassuring as she took a seat on the stone carved chair. ¡°Just¡­ keep it in mind. This will pass. Your training, your induction. All of this will be gone in a few years, and you will still have a lifetime ahead of you to decide where and what you want to be.¡± ¡°You brought me up here to tell me that?¡± She scoffed. ¡°Mothers, no. It is far too early to plan ahead. Back in the hidden city, you said you had never heard music before.¡± ¡°Not since I was very little.¡± ¡°Path may have been a bit too¡­ explosive for you to enjoy. Dawn is coming. Let me play something to clear your mind. Start the day off right. Kotone, my instrument, if you please.¡± There was a soft pop as the bizarre creature appeared, just barely able to hold the oversized instrument. Its wings flapped desperately until Sierra took it, then it bobbed happily in the air. ¡°Yes Miss! Yes Miss!¡± Alarion eyed the instrument with mild concern. He¡¯d seen first hand the destruction she could reap with it, especially in an area with compressed magic such as the Stone Isle. In the end he settled for a seat slightly off to her left, which drew a slight chuckle from the girl¡¯s lips. It was as out of the ¡®line of fire¡¯ as he could get. ¡°Nothing magical. I promise. Just me,¡± she said with a smile. Sierra took her time preparing. She manipulated knobs on the top of the instrument, then stroked her bow across it and repeated the process over and over again until she was finally satisfied. Then she shouldered the cello and cleared space at her feet, adjusting her posture and seating until she was well and truly comfortable. Only then did she begin to play. The first melody started with a series of high notes that grew in intensity then dropped away to nothing. When she resumed, the tones were sorrowful, longing and distant. It made Alarion think of home, of Ashadi festivals and fall harvests. She played for close to half an hour, the vibration of her strings ringing in his ears, echoing off over the peaks beneath them and across the ocean below that. Every so often he¡¯d look up at Sierra, and every time he saw the same content expression. She was happy in a way he had never been. Each time, he felt a pang of envy, but it was hard to remain negative when faced with such positivity. Instead he sank into the music once again. He listened and lingered. There was something in the vibration. A familiar feeling he could not put his finger on. Her music picked up in intensity, and Alarion felt as though he could hear the intention behind it. It was an uplifting sensation, with lyrics to a song he did not know on the very tip of his tongue. She played with the same vibrancy and energy as she had when she dispatched the Soulless, but without the tones of anger and violence behind it. And he felt that same vibration, stronger now. As close to his mind as the music was to his ears. An on and off. A flickering. On instinct, Alarion let his eyes fall shut and focused on the vibration of her strings and the skin on his back. He focused on pain that wasn¡¯t there, and he pushed. And just as before, the magic in him leaped at his touch. It surged out, the same way it did unconsciously when he was struck, then dispersed in an instant when it found no threat to meet it. Too quick for him to grasp onto it. Too quick to hold it in place. Sierra played on into a third number. This one full of long, lamenting, vibrating notes. He focused on that vibration, that on and off again and he pushed again. On and off. On and off. On and off. Each time his magic sprung from him it lingered just a fraction of a moment longer, until it was no longer flickering in individual sparks but vibrating in the air around him as part of her music. The urge to snatch it, to concentrate and claim his victory filled Alarion, but instead he redoubled his efforts and focused on her music. She was nearing the end, and he wanted to hear how it finished. Despite what she¡¯d claimed, there was something magical in the air as dawn broke over the Stone Isle. Interlude Two From the journal of Dr. Leopold Tempes ¨C Vitria, 286 A.T.S. It Who Is The Harbinger. That was where I chose to begin my search. The name was distinct. Evocative not only in the poetic sense of the word, but of other more familiar names. Lal Tia, She Who Bore Magic. Lal Sera, She Who Bore Creation. Lal Kales, She Who bore Riddles. Lal Viran. She Who Bore Challenges. Was this connection to the Four Mothers imitative? A way for this Harbinger to claw some measure of status out of a non-existent connection, by virtue of name alone? Was it coincidental? Mocking? Did it imply the existence of four male counterparts, as heretical theologians had long rumored? Answers to such questions were anything but forthcoming. I spent nearly two months in Reburn, and four more in the Imurian capitol of Ilstar in the aftermath of the Burning of Cere. In the end, I came away with precious little to show for my time. Imurian governmental documentation of the village was almost non-existent; though unsurprisingly their tax records proved slightly more robust. Through those I was able to confirm a scant handful of critical facts. - The settlement of Cere dated back to at least 196 B.T.S. - The village¡¯s population had dropped sharply during the reign of Regia Amari, decreasing from several thousand to roughly seven hundred. - The population remained alarmingly stagnant in the centuries that followed. Of the Harbinger and his cult I found nothing substantive. Civil authorities knew little of the town, save perhaps gossip regarding recent happenings. Religious scholars in the area expressed some curiosity at my tale, but none were able to provide worthwhile insight. In hindsight, the only meaningful information I gleaned during those wasted months came from the lips of a drunken linguist with whom I spent my evenings carousing. During one of our revelries, I had lamented to him the clumsy nature of repeating ¡°It Who Is The Harbinger¡± on every occasion I wished to discuss my work, and he had suggested a shortened name. At the time I had been unaware that the common names of the Four Mothers were also their titles. Lal Tia was at once a name, but also literally translated to ¡°She Who Bore Magic¡± in ancient Illuvian. Under that same paradigm it was child¡¯s play for my companion to reverse the process to provide a proper name for It Who Is The Harbinger. Kol Daua. Even now, the name haunts me. It appears vile on the page, as though I should strike it through and set the paper alight for good measure. But I digress. With name in hand and little else to show for my trouble, it had been my full intention to return to Vitria. I had been gone months longer than intended, and though my curiosity remained piqued, I had struck a dead end in my investigations. Ironically, my decision to return to my work was what provided the breakthrough I needed. A large facet of my original research on the continent was focused on population data in the Principalities. It had been my hope that obtaining such information, both from the Principalities and later from Imuria, would provide an expanded dataset for comparison and study. In theory such documentation would allow for the identification of patterns and outliers for further investigation. I had never expected it to be so immediately practical. The return trip was slated to take weeks by carriage to the Middle Sea, then another two weeks by sea with the latter primarily spent in port. This provided me with ample time to review my compendium, and with a fresh set of eyes that knew to look, Cyre¡¯s sister city was all too obvious. Laye was a small fishing village on the south-eastern shore of the Principalities. It was far enough from national borders to be uncontested, close enough to a major city to be ignored as a port, and inconvenient enough to be ignored by traders. It had been founded centuries earlier, and suffered some sort of population collapse roughly around the advent of the system. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. They were notable similarities, but nothing so definitive on their own. The System¡¯s establishment had shattered many of the existing pillars of societies, leading to large scale migrations and wars that would easily explain the drastic change in population. Still, the parallels were enough to cause me to disembark well short of Vitria and to engage a team to take me safely to the capitol. My contemporaries were perplexed to see me again, but more than welcoming when I indicated that I had further need of their archives. The collaborative arrangement between our two organizations bore fruit, and within a fortnight I had what I considered to be compelling evidence: - The settlement of Laye dated back to at least 253 B.T.S. - The village¡¯s population had dropped sharply in the 27th year of Prince Mias (14 B.T.S.) decreasing from 1,800 to roughly six hundred and seventy. - The taxable population remained stagnant during that same period. - Centennial records taken in 100 A.T.S and 200 A.T.S. showed signatures from the village foreman that looked functionally identical. - Though birth and death records for the village were available, they were filled with irregularities. Most notably, it seemed that births and deaths typically coincided within days of one another and always matched in gender. It took over a month and a despicable number of bribes before I was able to plead my case before Prince Duval in private. For nobility, he was refreshingly polite and attentive during a meeting that was scheduled for fifteen minutes, and lasted for over three hours. Concerned that our meeting would be cut short, I led the discussion with my findings from Cere, most notably that the people there seemed to have gained a class that predated the system, a fact I had kept close to my chest during all previous discussions. To his credit, he immediately recognized the importance and moved the conversation from his walking gardens to his private chambers. I spent approximately an hour laying out my case, and we spent the next two discussing strategy and implications. News of the Burning of Cyre had preceded me by some months, for such a violent end to a settlement was rare outside of wartime. Prince Duval wanted no part in such a tragedy, and idly floated the idea of simply leaving the village alone, though he smothered the suggestion with his own objections before I even had a chance to do so. A village of seven hundred awakened was no trifling matter. It had taken the Imurians a considerable army to put down their rebellion, and they had leveled the village in the process. I wished no part in such a slaughter, and warned him that capturing Laye and its people intact would require impeccable planning and overwhelming force. ¡°Fortunately, we have both,¡± was Prince Duval¡¯s reply. The raid, as I understand it, was entirely one sided. Whatever dark powers their Harbinger imbued them with, the villagers of Laye did not have the forewarning of Cere. The principalities forces struck like lighting, and though a small handful regrouped long enough to mount a defense, they were swept aside by a high Rank awakened before they could pose a considerable threat. So it was that I entered the city of Laye, accompanied by a smattering of my fellows and a large security force. Unlike Cyre, the incident in Laye did not make publication. To my knowledge, it has not been remarked upon publicly in the years since. The cultists of Laye relied upon their anonymity to conceal them, and that anonymity allowed the Principalities to act on them with impunity. No one mourned, or even remarked, on the passing of Laye. I could not say what happened to the population. I was offered the opportunity to sit in on early interrogations, but they were fruitless. It was as though the whole of the town had defensively gone mad. Some sat in vacant silence, as though they were no more than a fleshy idol in the shape of a man. Others had been reduced to gibbering idiots. Still others self-harmed, or in one case cannibalized one another. I could discover no rhyme or reason to their affliction, but as it was not my speciality, I left it to those with greater talents. The cliff-face overlooking the town proved a more fruitful ground for study, but I am ashamed to admit that in this instance I was less than forthcoming. One look at that misbegotten village, with a high cliff dominating a low shoreline and I knew where I would find the village idol, just as I knew what lay beneath. I took them to the former, and let them study the depiction of a man draped in shadows, peering out from behind a half open door. Then in the night I surreptitiously removed what I knew lay beneath it. This village had taken better care of their Codex. It reeked of magic, even to my mundane senses, and my inspection skill could make nothing of it, returning only gibberish. As a creature of philosophy and reason I have long struggled with the idea of morality, of what makes something good or evil. But sure as I breathe here now, that book was evil. Yet I could not part with the thing at the time. I could not give it to another, nor destroy it outright as it so righteously deserved. Not out of any magical compulsion I am aware of, but a sincere belief in the preservation of knowledge. Book burning goes against the very fundamentals of my being, even if the book radiates a sense of¡­ wrongness. Yet despite that magical find, the true worth of Laye was not found on the cliff-side, but on bookshelves in the foreman¡¯s home. Over three hundred encrypted volumes, written not in the indecipherable script of Cere, but the familiar continental alphabet. Three hundred years of a cultist¡¯s coded journals. Chapter Fifty-Seven ¡°You made a breakthrough¡­ by listening to music?¡± It was hard to tell whether ZEKE was delighted at the prospect of moving forward, or annoyed that his own failure to educate had been so easily circumvented. ¡°Show me.¡± Alarion stooped to collect the everwick from where he¡¯d left it. The candle was inert under his initial touch, but soon began to sizzle and spark the moment Sierra put a hand overtop his. From there it took only a second for it to properly catch fire, the flame dancing atop the everwick in a small sign of victory. The machine seemed unimpressed. ¡°Hmm. Can you explain your process?¡± ¡°I think so.¡± Alarion let the magic go, and the candle blew out with it. Then he focused inward once more. He pushed and the candle sparked, then died out. ¡°This is what I was doing before. I kept trying to force the issue, but it was like throwing something up from the hip and trying to catch it around the shoulder, I wasn¡¯t fast enough to stabilize the magic once it was outside of my body.¡± With that, Alarion adjusted his mindset. He pushed, then pulled. Pushed, then pulled. The iterations were quick, like the vibrations of Sierra¡¯s strings. ¡°Instead of trying to force it, I just sort of¡­ wiggle it?¡± From the shift in ZEKE¡¯s posture, the answer was wholly unsatisfying. ¡°When I fought the dragon, or the Duke, I noticed a sort of¡­ flow to the fight. A give and take, an ebb and flow. I apply the same concept here and-¡± The candle roared to life, punctuating Alarion¡¯s sentence better than any words the young man would have been able to conjure. ¡°Not exactly what we were hoping for.¡± ZEKE remarked. ¡°It¡¯s slower than I¡¯d like, but with practice perhaps we can get that time down to something more reasonable. Still, it is an improvement. If you¡¯re ready, we can proceed to the next phase.¡± Alarion sent Sierra a sidelong glance. She shrugged in response, and the word ¡®yes¡¯ was on the tip of his tongue when his stomach spoke for him in the form of a terrible grumble. ¡°Breakfast first.¡± The Steelborn suggested. One hour and a considerable meal later, they had reconvened in the training yard. Sierra and Elena sat off to one side, watching from the shade while ZEKE and Alarion cooked under the sun on what was expected to be a very hot day. ¡°You¡¯ll need this.¡± ZEKE said before tossing an item in Alarion¡¯s direction. The young man snatched the object out of the air with the sort of dexterity that would have been unimaginable only weeks earlier. Clearly ZEKE had counted on either his AGI or his END, given that he¡¯d thrown a knife at him. The blade was small and diamond shaped. Thicker at its midpoint than he was used to, it thinned down to a hilt that was little more than a stem wrapped in violet cloth, with a hollow triangular base. Curiously the weapon was dark iron rather than the polished steel he was used to from Vitrian equipment, its dull surface engraved with silvered markings along each blade edge. ¡°A dagger? Really?¡± ¡°Making anything your preferred size would have taken too long. ¡° ZEKE shot back defensively. ¡°The House of Hunger prefers martial tools and I anticipated you would fuss if I handed you a wand.¡± He wasn¡¯t wrong, but Alarion still glared anyway. ¡°It isn¡¯t meant as a weapon, in any case. Wrought iron is much too brittle, even with reinforcement, and the inscriptions are easily damaged. If you use it as a knife in an emergency, you¡¯ll have to replace it.¡± ¡°So this carries a spell formula?¡± ZEKE nodded and Alarion inspected the weapon more closely as a result. The silver markings were a repeating pattern, seven different symbols that cycled back on themselves over and over around the weapon¡¯s edge. They¡¯d discussed spell formulas in detail over the last week of training, and while Alarion was nowhere near fluent in even the basics of how or why they functioned, he was able to recognize at least a few basic symbols. Void. Offensive. Projection. Alarion¡¯s face proved easier for ZEKE to read. Specifically, his displeasure. ¡°Yes, Alarion, we are starting with Void.¡± The young man looked up from the blade with a full fledged scowl and a question on his lips. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Plenty of reasons, not the least of which is to disabuse you of your discomfort with the affinity.¡± Alarion had made clear from his first experience with Elena¡¯s [Void Arena] that he did not like void magic, even if he¡¯d abide it. But enduring it was one thing, casting it himself, quite another. ¡°More practically, you desperately need a ranged attack,¡± ZEKE continued. ¡°Sun and Time are capable of such spells, but the ones they could produce are ill suited to training or to your direct nature. So we¡¯re using Void.¡± There was an argument behind the boy¡¯s eyes as they met and held ZEKE¡¯s for several long seconds. But it was an argument he knew he¡¯d lose. Instead he looked away and began idly flipping the new weapon in his hand. ¡°How do we start?¡± The machine was momentarily surprised by Alarion¡¯s acquiescence, but quickly smothered the shock as he pointed to a sloped wall of the valley that was utterly riddled with cracks, impact craters and gashes. ¡°First we¡¯ll focus on simply casting the spell. Once you can comfortably do that, we¡¯ll escalate to casting time, precision and intensity. Are you ready?¡± Alarion nodded. ¡°Then follow my lead precisely.¡± A dagger appeared in ZEKE¡¯s right hand, seemingly from nowhere, and the Steelborn wiggled it slightly to draw Alarion¡¯s attention. ¡°Focus on your implement. Charge it.¡± The youth looked down at the dagger in his own hand, then focused inward. He shifted his energy in that now familiar give and take, until he felt it stabilize outside his body. The moment it did, the dagger began to drink deeply of his magic. It filled in a matter of moments, which in turn caused a small black spot to appear just above the bladed point. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°Good,¡± ZEKE said. Then he thrust his arm out, as if stabbing an invisible opponent in the opposite shoulder. ¡°Now pierce.¡± Alarion followed suit and felt an unfamiliar resistance in the air. The dagger had pierced the miniscule black spot, its tip somehow buried inside the magic. ¡°Cut.¡± ZEKE instructed as he swiped his blade to the right. Alarion followed suit, and a razor thin line of darkness followed along behind the motion, a shadow that somehow lingered in the air beneath a full morning sun. Finally, the steelborn withdrew his dagger with a flourish. ¡°And release.¡± Alarion mirrored ZEKE. Then the spell exploded in his face. ¡°Are you alright?¡± Alarion could not recall having struck the ground, but with ZEKE looming over him, he clearly must have. Anger welled within him and the Steelborn was quick to plan a foot on his chest to stop the young man from rising in haste. ¡°Stop. You were not tricked, or set up to fail. If you¡¯d followed my motions, you would have succeeded. You simply failed.¡± ZEKE was quick to chide Alarion, knowing full well how the boy¡¯s temper could get away from him when he felt betrayed. ¡°Your attempt was good, most of the mana still dispersed away from you. But are you alright?¡± ¡°I think so,¡± Alarion drew a deep breath to calm himself as he quickly reviewed his status. Twenty-two HP, he¡¯d done more damage to his ego than to his HP. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Good.¡± ZEKE offered him a hand. ¡°What was the total MP cost of your attempt?¡± Another glance at his status gave Alarion the answer. ¡°About a quarter.¡± ¡°So we can try four or five times an hour, even with you overcharging. Not too bad.¡± The young man cocked his head. ¡°Why so few?¡± ¡°Well you can practice the motions between casts, but if you run out of MP, there is nothing to practice with.¡± ¡°I do not think I am going to run out.¡± Alarion said flatly. ZEKE shifted with annoyance. Despite the significant holes in his education, Alarion had never asked a truly stupid question of ZEKE. Yes, some had been basic, but the boy had been refreshingly talented in his ability to intuit solutions once he had enough information to draw a proper conclusion. So why was he being so dense? Unless he wasn¡¯t? Alarion started to press the issue, but ZEKE promptly shushed him in favor of a quick casting of [Display Status].
General Information Name - Alarion Species - Human Sex - Male Age ¨C Fifteen Years HP ¨C 766/788 MP ¨C 376/376 Stamina ¨C 433/433 Aptitude - 238% UCL ¨C 58 Attributes STR ¨C 228 AGI - 172 VIT ¨C 197 INT ¨C 126 PER ¨C 195 WIL ¨C 136 LUK ¨C 918 Classes Known Orphan - Level 12 - Progress ¨C 6% Survivor - Level 1 - Progress - MAX Stubborn Swordsman ¨C Level 22 ¨C Progress - 42% General Skills Known Stealth - Level 3 - Progress ¨C 92% Detection - Level 4 - Progress - 19% Thrown Weapon Mastery - Level 9 - Progress ¨C 42% Oversized Weapon Mastery ¨C Level 2 ¨C Progress 21% Lockpicking - Level 3 - Progress 91% Class Skills Known Survivor¡¯s Endurance ¨C Level 7 ¨C Progress 17% Self-Motivated ¨C Level 5 ¨C Progress - 39% Pig-Headed Resilience - Level 4 - Progress 13% The Best Offence is a Good Offense - Level 1 - Progress 69% Lucky Strike - Level 1 - Progress 0% Fight Through The Pain - Level 1 - Progress 0% Traits and Feats of Strength Avian Bane - Rank I Soulless Bane - Rank I Flaws Shattered Mana Circuits ¨C Major Unknown ¨C Moderate Single-Minded¨C Minor (Focus: Stubborn Swordsman)
Sure enough, his MP was full. Which made no sense. ¡°Alarion, make another attempt please,¡± ZEKE insisted. He gave ZEKE a curious look, then shrugged as he repeated the motions. Focus. Pierce. Cut. Withdraw. All to a similar result, as the spell detonated a few inches ahead of the knife in his hand. To his credit, Alarion remained standing through this explosion through a combination of preparation, stubbornness and a less violent spell failure. Not that ZEKE was looking. The Steelborn was focused intently on Alarion¡¯s status screen, watching as his MP ticked up steadily at nearly one point per second. Even Sierra and Elena had stopped their conversation and were watching intently. ¡°Something is wrong?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Not exactly,¡± ZEKE raised a finger to absently point at the MP Regen numbers next to Alarion¡¯s MP. ¡°It should take you nearly a quarter of an hour to regenerate this much MP, but instead it is taking less than a minute. That is odd. Good. But odd.¡± ¡°Something to do with my flaw?¡± ¡°Undoubtably. But how?¡± A soft tink-tink-tink resounded as ZEKE tapped a finger against his chin. ¡°Perhaps the circuits themselves aren¡¯t fully broken. Only the gates.¡± ¡°Gates?¡± ¡°Alarion, have you had a headache since you have been here?¡± Elena inquired as she moved to join the discussion, ignoring his question entirely. ¡°No." The answer caused ZEKE to look at Alarion more closely. ¡°Alarion, this is serious. We are not asking you to be stoic.¡± ¡°I have not felt anything.¡± He replied honestly. ¡°Broken gates would explain it,¡± Elena mused as though Alarion was not even present. ¡°There would be no difference in pressure to cause one.¡± ¡°You may be right!¡± ZEKE nodded excitedly. ¡°All together it would explain his inability to channel, the lack of discomfort and his startling regeneration. If you¡¯re correct there are so many-¡± ¡°ZEKE.¡± Alarion interrupted, his tone demanding an explanation. ¡°Apologies. I am just¡­ this changes things, somewhat.¡± ZEKE gathered his thoughts and continued before Alarion could complain further. ¡°Your mana circuits are composed of three structures. Gates, Pathways and the Source. We were working under the mistaken belief that your pathways and gates were both damaged, but if it is only your gates¡­ they could just be locked open.¡±
You have gained insight into your flaw! Splintered Mana Gates Description: Whether through birth defect, attack or neglect, your Mana Gates have been permanently damaged beyond repair. Held permanently open, your ability to project your mana and restrict its flow has been forever stripped from you. Requirements: None. Type: Flaw, Passive. Severity: Major Effect: You are incapable of voluntarily externalizing your mana. You are unable to use any skills, items or spells that require MP to be channeled to an external source. Items that automatically drain mana will drain the maximum amount possible on contact. Your body will acclimate to local ambient mana conditions. You are extremely vulnerable to abilities that siphon mana.
¡°My flaw just-¡± ¡°I see it.¡± ZEKE cut him off, reading over the new description on the visible status screen. ¡°This isn¡¯t unusual, the System is loathe to give more information than necessary. Now that there is more information, it is willing to be more specific.¡± ¡°It looks mostly the same.¡± Alarion noted. ¡°It is mostly the same. It only added those last two sentences,¡± said Elena. ¡°Mana siphon abilities are rare, so I would not worry overly about that. But the ambient mana clause will be troublesome.¡± ¡°I do not really understand it.¡± Alarion frowned. ZEKE thought for a moment, searching for a good example before he began. ¡°Imagine mana as water, and yourself as a container. You always have some MP within you, but if you¡¯re thrown into an ocean, or in this case an area with high ambient mana you will always be full. Even if you use some MP, you will regenerate it within moments. Conversely, if you are put in an area of extremely low magical energy, you will equalize downwards, bleeding out most or possibly even all of your MP.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Alarion¡¯s brow furrowed as a thought occurred. ¡°Does that mean it will get worse as my MP pool grows?¡± ¡°Eventually.¡± ZEKE nodded gravely. ¡°At Rank III or IV you will likely be too strong to live in normal ambient magic without penalty. But that is a long way off, and there are things I suspect you could do to mitigate it.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± ¡°Stay away from low magic zones, like the Old City and you should be fine,¡± Elena reassured. ¡°In the meantime, this is nothing but a boon.¡± ¡°For you, perhaps. I will need to revise his training regimen yet again.¡± Chapter Fifty-Eight A streak of darkness tore across the valley and struck the distant wall without sound or flash. It compressed, burying into dirt and rock and stone until the magic behind it dwindled and the bladed shadow faded as quickly as it came, leaving behind a thin, foot deep gouge in the stone wall. And a very delighted teenager. ¡°Yes!¡± Alarion¡¯s hiss of delight was accompanied by the pump of a fist. It was only one step shy of a little dance. ¡°Twelve attempts. Solid work for a rank amateur, though I expect better from the next spell I teach you.¡± ZEKE couched his praise with critique as always, but there was no mistaking the hint of pride in his voice. ¡°One success is a good start, but I¡¯ll need at least twenty before I continue the lesson.¡± Without MP as a limiting factor, what had been intended as an all day exercise was compressed into the space of an hour. With more time spent recovering from miscasts that quite literally blew up in Alarion¡¯s face, their real stopping point was his HP. Fortunately, the young man was more than willing to power through, and down a potion, in pursuit of success. ¡°Enough,¡± ZEKE commanded as Alarion completed one cast and started in immediately on the next. He¡¯d only managed seventeen successful casts as indicated by an equal number of deep cuts on the distant wall. But with four back to back successes, it was clear he¡¯d found his rhythm. ¡°So, tell me your thoughts so far.¡± ¡°I-¡± ¡°Besides that you can cast magic.¡± Alarion scowled, but focused on the point of ZEKE¡¯s question, and why he was being asked in the first place. ¡°It is slow to cast. The actual attack is quick, but if I knew what it was, I could dodge it just by getting out of line before the cast completes. It would do a lot of damage, but so would my sword if I hit them with it.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t take damage to an inanimate object as a measure of how much damage it will do to an awakened,¡± warned ZEKE. ¡°It can cut through a foot of stone, but with your stat distribution, you¡¯d come away wounded, but very much alive.¡± The youth frowned again. ¡°Then why are we spending so much time on something so weak?¡± ¡°Because the same attack would have neatly bisected you when you first arrived. I¡¯m not saying it is weak, I¡¯m saying you are strong and to remember that ¡®a lot of damage¡¯ is relative.¡± That seemed to strike a chord with Alarion. He looked down at the dagger in his hand, then stared off into the air, reviewing his current status and digging into menus for snapshots of his old status for comparison. ¡°Regardless, your initial assessment was largely correct. The spell does respectable damage given your stats, but the wind up is slow. Which is why I made you this.¡± This time ZEKE had the good grace to simply hand Alarion the new dagger. It was similar in make, with the same black iron and violet handle design, but created with substantially more care. While the surface of the first weapon had been rough enough to see individual forge marks left over from its creation, this one was smooth as glass, polished to a black mirror with a razor sharp edge. ¡°As we¡¯ve gone over, any spell formula will come with a trio of its own attributes, each ranked from 1-100. These attributes Potency, Speed and Cost, are connected to one another. If potency is 100, the others are necessarily zero, if speed and cost are 40, then potency will necessarily equal to 20 and so forth. Together these set the limits of the spell, if you want a stronger spell, you need a formula of a higher rank or rarity.¡± ¡°Or you need to add something to it,¡± said Alarion, already familiar with the direction of the lecture. ¡°Quite right,¡± ZEKE beamed at his pupil. ¡°Mistress Sierra uses sound for many of her spells, Mistress Elena uses your hair for Void Arena, while I can utilize my Power attribute to enhance my spells at the cost of weakening my body.¡± ¡°So I could use my luck to make my spells stronger?¡± ¡°Theoretically.¡± ZEKE answered after considering the question. ¡°But I¡¯m unfamiliar with any method you¡¯d be able to do so, outside of skills. Regardless, there are a near infinite number of ways to further empower spells when incorporated into a spell formula. With the first dagger we added a somatic component to help focus the energy. This one contains another, a verbal component.¡± Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Do I have to chant?¡± Alarion asked, thinking back to various instances of magic he¡¯d seen prior. ¡°Nothing so long, it wouldn¡¯t work well for a combat spell. In your case, you need only say the name of the spell while using it. In this case, Void Slash.¡± ZEKE gestured to the dagger and the slight differences in the inscription around its blade edge. ¡°I¡¯ve taken the liberty to make the spell slightly faster to cast, but weaker as a result. Combined with the new restriction, it should fire off as quickly as you can make the motion. Try it.¡± Alarion didn¡¯t appreciate how ZEKE took a cautious step out of the blast radius, but he did as instructed. A black spot grew at the tip of the blade, but there was less resistance to his motions as Alarion pierced and cut the air. Unlike before where he held every motion just long enough to be awkward, now the strokes were fluid and easy, no more difficult than cutting through empty air with a knife. ¡°Void Slash.¡± With that final syllable, the thin line of darkness Alarion had carved sprang to life. It raced across the valley and buried deep in the stone wall, adding to the previous destruction. The end result was a gash that was shorter and more shallow, but still quite respectable. Satisfied with the attack, Alarion looked to ZEKE, ¡°Won¡¯t it just alert my enemy?¡± ¡°If they¡¯re familiar with the spell, perhaps. But they might recognize the basic effect to begin with.¡± The machine countered. ¡°Even then, I¡¯ve designed the dagger so the incantation is voluntary.¡± Elena scoffed from her perch beneath the shade. ¡°You did not design anything.¡± ¡°I managed the design,¡± ZEKE said dryly. ¡°We¡¯ll eventually impart a version of this formula onto one of your primary weapons. The Shifting Imperial Greatsword, most likely.¡± ¡°Is there a limit to-¡± ¡°No and also yes.¡± ZEKE cut the youth off before he could descend into the pit of one the most familiar questions. ¡°Much like your questing power, there is no explicit limit on the amount of additional restrictions one can infuse into a spell formula, but in practice there are diminishing returns. In general you can increase a spell¡¯s power by several rarities with the right conditions, but never more than a full rank.¡± Alarion¡¯s excitement deflated as quickly as it had risen. ¡°Don¡¯t be too discouraged, that is still a considerable increase, if used wisely,¡± said ZEKE. Aiming to give the boy an easy win, ZEKE asked a simple question. ¡°Can you tell me the two broad types of conditions one can impose?¡± ¡°Sympathy and Sacrifice.¡± ¡°Which one is the somatic component of your new spell.¡± Alarion thought about it for a moment. ¡°Sacrifice? I¡¯m adding a requirement that I have to move a certain way.¡± ¡°Are you sure?¡± When Alarion frowned in response, ZEKE quickly explained. ¡°It is both. You sacrifice your freedom of movement, but that sacrifice contains a sympathetic component.¡± ¡°Cutting.¡± ¡°Exactly. The best mages find ways of weaving both into their spell-casting, or so I have been told. And there are near limitless ways to do so. Your somatic component could have been ¡®jump on one leg for two seconds¡¯ but it would have been weaker without the sympathetic component. ¡° ¡°Could I not add both?¡± Alarion pressed. ZEKE tilted his head. ¡°You could, but stacking the same component quickly loses effectiveness. In general, the system tries to weigh the value of the thing you are sacrificing, or the strength of the sympathetic component. Destroying a horde of priceless gems is worth much more than shattering your grandma¡¯s pottery. Unless that pottery has substantial sentimental value. Nor do the sacrifices need to be purely physical. You mentioned that opponents might gain an advantage from hearing your spell name. Well that is part of the sacrifice. You¡¯ll find the spell is marginally more effective against those who know what it is.¡± Alarion shot him a look as though he thought he were joking. ¡°It is magic Alarion, are you shocked that it behaves illogically?¡± The Steelborn scoffed and continued with another example. ¡°The original Void Trap is actually stronger than it should be for its Rank, in part because it has a literal fatal flaw. If you kill yourself indirectly, the spell immediately ends. Leaving a weakness in a spell can make it stronger in all other circumstances, such as a flame aura with a gap within melee distance of the caster.¡± ¡°Ezekial.¡± Elena said, poignantly. It was a topic that ZEKE was clearly passionate about. Even with her rebuke, he looked as though he were ready to say more, but then paused just long enough to think better of it. ¡°Regardless, I think we should be ready to move on to the newly devised next phase of your training.¡± ¡°Which is?¡± Alarion asked. For once, ZEKE¡¯s everlasting rictus grin was entirely on point as he answered. ¡°Why, you finally get to try and hit me.¡±
Hit Him Description: He is literally asking for it. Success Conditions: Successfully strike the Steelborn: ZEKE before the timer expires. The rewards for this quest will vary depending on the number of spells cast before a successful hit. Strikes inflicted while target is not adequately defending himself will not count toward this condition. Failure Conditions: Failure to meet success conditions within eight hours. Informing others of this quest. Minimum Reward: One Common Instructor¡¯s Box Penalty: None Note: This quest was automatically assigned due to the flaw [Single-Minded] and does not count against the once-per-day limit of Self-Motivated.
Chapter Fifty-Nine ¡°Are you ready?¡± Alarion asked. ZEKE tilted his head, the glow in his eyes dimming, as if he was squinting. From anyone else it was a reasonable question. From Alarion it was¡­ odd. ¡°I believe I am.¡± ¡°Void Slash.¡± Alarion responded without preamble, a razor of darkness racing across the field between them. The Steelborn slipped the attack, dodging to the left as Alarion came for him. Alarion knew from the start that he wasn¡¯t going to land a hit simply by firing off at range. ZEKE was too fast and even the shortened wind up on his refined dagger was too long. This wasn¡¯t a test of precision, but of utility. He knew how to cast it, now he had to learn how to use it. ¡°Void slash.¡± Alarion repeated, this time up close and personal. It wasn¡¯t the ideal use for a ranged attack, but there was something to be said for firing point blank. Not that it mattered. A quick shove from ZEKE showed the flaw in casting when up close. Namely disruption. He was only halfway through the motion of his spell when his tutor slammed the flat of his palm against Alarion¡¯s elbow, causing the spell to backfire spectacularly in his face. Alarion was thrown backward by the detonation. He stumbled, tripped and rolled backward into a crouch, dagger still in his hand as he chanted, ¡°Void Slash!¡± This time it was a close thing. Surprise definitely helped minimize the difference in speed, with ZEKE only narrowly skirting the edge of the dark blade as it raced past him. Pity that the quest did not count near misses. The boy was on him in moments. He lashed out with a quick low kick, then threw a [Void Slash] the moment ZEKE shifted his footing to avoid it. It missed, predictably, but Alarion continued the pressure with a shoulder check to force the Steelborn off balance as he tried again. ¡°Closer.¡± ZEKE remarked as he ducked low under the line of attack, caught Alarion¡¯s next kick and shoved the young man wildly off balance. ¡°I¡¯ll grant that you¡¯re becoming less predictable.¡± And less easily taunted. ZEKE¡¯s words had been among his strongest weapons in his earliest bouts with Alarion, but that value had lessened through repetition. Lately his pupil seemed to tune him out entirely during their sparing matches, and this fight was no exception. Not that it would stop ZEKE from trying. ¡°Much further.¡± The machine scolded as he effortlessly stepped out of the way of yet another attempt. ¡°You should be glad for your flaw. If you had to regenerate normally, we would be here for weeks at this rate!¡± Alarion¡¯s reply was all too typical. ¡°Void Slash.¡± On and on it went. Cast after cast after cast. And through his tribulations came innovation. He could cast [Void Slash] vertically and diagonally as well as horizontally, though neither helped him land a hit. The spell could also be cast back-to-back, chained one after another in a way that was faster than an individual spellcast. Those chain casts pressured ZEKE far more than solitary spells, but Alarion knew they were something he could not rely upon in a real battle. Three or four back-to-back casts were powerful in theory but made-up most of his normal MP pool in practice. He could stretch that MP by making shorter cuts in the air, as it turned out, but those were easier to dodge. Minutes dragged on into hours as ZEKE and Alarion clashed, parted and clashed again. He¡¯d gotten closer over time, but that time was running out. Morning had given way to afternoon, and the sun had already begun its descent. His quest would time out within the hour and he refused to let that happen. ¡°Void slash.¡± Another failure. ¡°Void slash!¡± Another miss. He was frustrated, and that was not helping his aim. To land a hit, Alarion needed his wits about him. He needed to read ZEKE¡¯s movements, to box his mentor in, to the point that a dodge would lead him into another attack. Unfortunately, ZEKE was all too aware of this plan. The Steelborn was constantly on the move, altering his patterns so that Alarion could not predict how he would dodge. Sometimes he ducked or rolled, other times he jumped. One attack prompted him to go left, while an identical threat could make him go right. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. There seemed to be no method to his evasions. Save one. A weakness that Alarion shared. There was no way that it was ZEKE¡¯s intent. But it would work. Alarion tested his hypothesis a few minutes later, careful not to tip his hand. He launched an attack slightly off center, one that ZEKE could avoid with a single step to the left. Instead, the machine lurched right, sacrificing some of his footing to avoid the more obvious evasion. He repeated the test twice more, each time to similar results. ZEKE was willing to sacrifice both efficiency and randomness of movement under the right circumstances. Doubtless it would only work once, as soon as ZEKE realized what he was trying he¡¯d call a stop to the training or inflict a very physical rebuke for his gall. Alarion had to make it count. And with the timer ticking down in the corner of his field of vision, he had to make it count soon. So he increased the pressure. Alarion pushed himself to his limit, throwing out spell after spell in feigned frustration. The lower his MP got, the faster the pressure of the surrounding magic refilled that MP, to the point that he could chain them almost indefinitely when his natural supply got low enough. The individual spells were sloppy, wasteful, but that too was part of the deception. ZEKE wouldn¡¯t be so easily lulled into a false sense of security, but the lack of a credible threat would make it easier for Alarion to herd him toward his trap. ¡°When you¡¯re done throwing a tantrum, perhaps it is time for a break.¡± ZEKE¡¯s voice was full of reproach as he avoided one dark cut after another. The whole training yard was littered with cuts and gouges from Alarion¡¯s spellcasting. As was the hillside beyond that. In fact, the whole area was positively torn up after eight hours of training. Everywhere, that was, but a small slice of the valley. One that contained a cabin, a few chairs and tents, a large umbrella. And the two Vitrian women watching from the shade beneath. It was the one place ZEKE wouldn¡¯t dodge. And if Alarion knew where he wouldn¡¯t or couldn¡¯t go, then that simplified things greatly. Alarion¡¯s response to ZEKE¡¯s taunt was a sudden sharpeness in his movements. No more sloppy spells, no more haphazard aim. With Elena and Sierra to ZEKE¡¯s left, Alarion aimed at ZEKE¡¯s right side with a diagonal [Void Slash]. When ZEKE rolled beneath it, the only real option left to him, he was intercepted by a reverse cut that shuffled him awkwardly back to the left. Just in time for Alarion to strike him cleanly in the jaw with a lunging knee. It was like hitting steel. Which should have been obvious given the machine¡¯s metallic composition. But Alarion was an awakened with a magical item that reduced the damage he took from striking hardened objects. He hadn¡¯t tested it, but with his current strength he was fairly certain he could dent common steel without damage if he put his mind to hit. But hitting ZEKE was like striking a solid block of metal. The only thing that gave out in the exchange was his kneecap. Even so, momentum and balance still played a factor. Alarion had a lot of the former, and ZEKE very little of the latter. They went down together in a rolling heap, and as luck would have it, Alarion came out on top, dagger in hand. His lungs burned from the burst of exertion, yet he still had enough air in them to stammer out two words. ¡°Void Slash.¡± It was a pathetic excuse for an actual cast. The cut in the air was short and shallow, what with ZEKE attempting to restrain his arm. But with his knee on the Steelborn¡¯s shoulder, and magic at his fingertips, it was enough. Less than a foot wide, the barely complete spell tore into the ground next to ZEKE¡¯s head, and left an inch long cut in the metal of one cheek. [Quest Complete ¨C Hit Him] Reward: One Common Instructor Box Would you like to claim your Rewards? Yes/No Alarion hopped off of ZEKE with a smile, the quest reward already beginning to materialize at his mental command. ¡°That was gauche.¡± ZEKE sat upright without so much as adjusting his posture, his glowing green eyes positively glowering at Alarion. ¡°And not at all the point of the exercise.¡± ¡°You said to hit you. I hit you.¡± ¡°It was implied that I wanted you to strike me fairly.¡± ¡°Was that unfair?¡± Alarion¡¯s arms were outstretched to catch the reward box as it finished, this one adorned with a depiction of Alarion triumphantly shooting his mentor in the face from point blank range. ¡°You had a weak point. I exploited it. Seems fair.¡± ¡°Alarion.¡± ZEKE¡¯s disappointment was palpable. The boy didn¡¯t budge in his conviction. ¡°I had a quest to hit you. Whatever way you intended, I wasn¡¯t going to manage it. My options were to use them to box you in, or to take a shot at them and see if you¡¯d block it.¡± Put that way, it was hard to argue he¡¯d made the wrong choice. ZEKE clearly agreed. ¡°¡­ I¡¯ll give you some pointers this evening when we go again. Now what did you get?¡± Alarion held up two vials of deep blue liquid. They shifted with the same viscosity as healing potions, easily recognizable at a glance for what they were. Then his other hand produced a small copper threaded bracelet. ¡°Mana potions. Useful to keep on you in a pinch, but I wouldn¡¯t rely on them. Mana regenerates faster than health, after all. At worst, keep them around in case you are subject to a strong mana condition, as they can be used to heal those similarly to how a health potion can heal physical conditions.¡± ZEKE turned his attention to the bracelet next. ¡°That, on the other hand will be more useful. It is an MP reserve. Think of it as a sort of reusable MP potion. You fill it up with mana, and when you need it you can draw the mana out to replenish your stocks. Typically slowly, though in your case it may just dump the MP directly into your pool. We will have to test.¡± ¡°Not completely a flaw.¡± Alarion said with a thin smile. ¡°No, it isn¡¯t.¡± ZEKE patted the young man on the shoulder, then stood and offered him a hand. ¡°But do not get complacent. There are more places in this world with weak magic than there are places like this. Anywhere with great magical trauma, such as a fiend¡¯s boil, will present a considerable danger to you.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion nodded and stood, then asked, ¡°What¡¯s next?¡± ¡°For tonight? Dinner. Then I¡¯ll teach you how to hit me properly. After that, well, I had the quartermaster construct a few other spell formulas.¡± Chapter Sixty When ZEKE had said that he had prepared a few other items for them to practice on, Alarion had imagined three or four, perhaps five at the outside. The actual number was forty-three. The spells within ran the breadth of basic sorcery. One was a wand that could slow time in a given area, another a ring that allowed Alarion to create and direct a source of light. He learned to create bolts of fire and freezing winds, to defend his mind from mental attack and to drop an enemy into an unanticipated pit. Most importantly, over the course of a month he learned the true value of an affinity. Alarion took to spells within his affinity, such as [Void Slash] like a fish to water. Even with the limitations of his flaw, he was proficient with most within a day. Spells that fell outside his specialization were harder. It took him three days of intense focus to create even a passable illusion, and nearly as long to take command of what should have been a simple [Vine Trip] spell. Yet those struggles paled in comparison to his one and only attempt at oppositional gravity magic. Owing to his stubbornness he¡¯d only been permitted two days to spend in the attempt. Learning what not to do was important, but dwelling upon it was not, as ZEKE had said. In the end, he spent only one. It wasn¡¯t a challenge. Battling in Elena¡¯s [Void Arena] had been a challenge. Sparring with ZEKE or Sierra was a challenge, because there was a chance of success, however infinitesimal. Trying to grasp Gravity magic was like trying to fist fight the Governor. Like trying to beat back winter. It was nonsensical, paradoxical. Energies that flowed so freely to his affinities balked at the suggestion that they be used for something so contrary their nature. What was once a smooth flow of mana became a chaotic mess that shattered the flimsy structure of the spell formula over and over again. It was so pointless, so counter-productive, that even Alarion was willing to take no for an answer. After it had blown up in his face a few dozen times. In the end, they decided on four spells for Alarion¡¯s repertoire along with trinkets containing the basic clean, mend and light cantrips most mages knew by heart: Void Slash Requirements: None Affinity: Void Type: Projectile Cost: 75 MP Range: 100 Yards Duration: Instant Effects: Creates a vacuum blade of up to three feet in length that strikes along a predetermined path. ¡ª Mend Body Requirements: None Affinity: Body Type: Healing/Channeled Cost: 10 MP/Sec Range: Self Duration: Channeled Effects: Heal a slight amount of HP per second while channeling this spell. ¡ª Quicken Requirements: None Affinity: Time Type: Enhancement Cost: 5 MP/Sec Range: Self Duration: Channeled + 5 seconds Effects: Raise AGI a slight amount while autonomously channeling this spell. ¡ª Solar Burst Requirements: None Affinity: Sun Type: Burst Cost: 180 MP and 100 HP Range: 15 Yards Duration: Instant Effects: Burns a portion of the caster¡¯s life force to create a spherical burst, reminiscent of the sun. This spell deals major damage, reducing with distance from the epicenter. This spell deals substantial additional damage to fiends. Each spell was considered a basic staple of its respective affinity, the sort of spells any mage specializing in that affinity would be expected to learn as part of their apprenticeship. Of the four, only [Mend Body] and [Quicken] were spells that Alarion could claim he truly knew, with the other two contained within a dagger and a broach respectively. Learning spells directly hadn¡¯t proven difficult, so much as time consuming. Spell formulas, such as the formula for [Void Slash] contained within his dagger, were simple to pick up and use, but they offered no real insight into the magic itself. Consequently they were of only moderate value when it came to his ultimate goal of developing a class. There were magi out there focused entirely on the use of external spell formula and magic items, but it was not a path ZEKE wanted Alarion to walk. That meant learning spells, with the caveat that for the time being Alarion could only learn spells that were contained within his body. Fortunately, teaching Alarion how to channel his mana internally had proven surprisingly painless. Despite the many problems inherent in his flaw, he was able to channel mana within his body as readily as any pupil ZEKE had taught. A few days of visualization practice had been enough, which left only the tedious process of learning the intricate mental exercises and patterns of each new spell. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. The final remaining issue was overspecialization. Most beginner spells that focused on internal channeling were some variant of enhancement magic. Learning too many ran the risk of the System offering him a class specialized in enhancement magic. Not necessarily a bad choice under other circumstances, but ZEKE had his sights set much higher. It was unlikely that Alarion¡¯s flaw could ever be made into a virtue, but with enough practice, the Steelborn hoped to develop a class that could take advantage of its peculiarities. The System rewarded struggle, and with luck, which Alarion had in abundance, they aimed for something beyond the common [Enhancement Mage]. To obtain such a class, Alarion needed to push against his limits. Which was what had led to the most recent iteration of what had become a very old argument. ¡°Why not?¡± Alarion asked from across an empty table. It was well into the evening, late enough that they spoke mostly by moonlight. Sierra had retired half an hour earlier, and ZEKE had left to do¡­ whatever it was the Steelborn did while the others slept. Only Elena remained to argue over his perpetual request. ¡°Pick one of an infinite number of reasons,¡± sighed Elena. ¡°We have not captured the Revenant, for a start.¡± ¡°I cou-¡± ¡°Even if you were now strong enough to defeat him, which by Sierra¡¯s telling you most certainly are not, you are basing that information of how strong he was when you confronted him over a month ago. Why would you assume he has not improved?¡± Alarion¡¯s sullen look could not debate her logic, though it tried its best. ¡°Even excluding that, you would get little from obliterating most of the fiends on the island. Remember, stress and challenge are keys the System looks at for progression. Your magic is not strong enough to kill more powerful fiends, and the weaker fiends that you can kill would not pose a considerable threat given your physical attributes. If we had a class suppression item, then perhaps-¡± ¡°A what?¡± ¡°It is a¡­¡± Elena gestured meaninglessly with her hand as she struggled to recall a technical definition that would not come. ¡°¡­ thing, usually a collar. They suppress all attributes and skills from a given class, allowing you to gain considerably more experience, especially if there is a gap in Rank.¡± Alarion raised his eyebrows. That sounded amazing. ¡°Could we-¡± ¡°No,¡± The older woman scowled. ¡°They are fragile and prohibitively expensive.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± ¡°You just need some patience. You have over a month before we need to reassess. Plenty of time.¡± He nodded glumly. ¡°I know. It is just so slow.¡± ¡°I see why Sierra wished to strangle you,¡± said Elena with a roll of her eyes. ¡°You would think by now you would have some grasp of how fortunate you are. How incredible your progression is compared to the norm.¡± ¡°Fortunate.¡± Alarion said the word like an ugly curse, but he took her meaning all the same. ¡°I understand. I just want to be stronger. To be useful.¡± That drew the slightest frown from Elena¡¯s ruby lips. The woman leaned forward in her seat, massaging the thumb of one gloved hand into the palm of the other as she spoke. ¡°Do you know why I took you in? Rather than sending you for induction?¡± ¡°My Aptitude?¡± ¡°That was the proximate reason, yes. But not the underlying one.¡± Elena was fixated on her hands as she spoke. ¡°I know what we are Alarion. I have spent years in the Empire¡¯s holdings. I see the reports. I know what happens to the children and the adults I send away to service. I am not naive. We can be wasteful. Cruel. Violent. But we can be good as well. At least, I have to think so.¡± Alarion turned away. It felt wrong to look at Elena when she was so vulnerable. It called to mind ugly memories. A sobbing conversation around a kitchen table. ¡°Some part of me thought ¡®Oh, this one I can save¡¯. But I¡¯m not sure if that part of me was what won in the end, or if it was the part that thought ¡®this one I can use¡¯.¡± Elena¡¯s voice was wry and bitter as she continued. ¡°Whatever my reasons then, I value you now, Alarion. I will do everything in my power to make sure you remain safe. That you can grow, whether you are useful or not.¡± There was a pause as Alarion consumed her words. When he spoke at last it was with a quiet voice, as timid as she had ever heard him. ¡°Then why did you not stop him?¡± ¡°What are you-¡± Elena started to ask before the realization struck her too late. Alarion was already up, pacing away from her, though she caught up to him quickly. ¡°Alarion, stop.¡± He pulled once on his wrist, but her grip was tight and strong. He wasn¡¯t going anywhere unless she let him, but it didn¡¯t mean he had to look at her. ¡°I am sorry, about my husband. I am sorry that it took me this long to say that I am sorry. That sort of instruction can be¡­ typical.¡± Elena¡¯s words swam in sympathy, or guilt, as she held him at arms length. ¡°He means well in his heart, I think. I have seen him be good and generous and kind. But like all of us he can be wasteful and cruel and violent.¡± ¡°Am I going to be?¡± ¡°No, my dear boy. No.¡± Elena could take no more as she closed the distance and pushed an embrace along the young man¡¯s shoulders. He stood stoic for several heartbeats, then sagged as a slight shudder ran through him. ¡°Mothers forgive me if I let you turn out like him.¡± They stood there until Alarion¡¯s tears stopped, until his breaths were no longer wracked with sorrow. Only then did Elena release him, though she kept a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Tomorrow-¡± ¡°I can!?¡± Alarion blurted out in surprise. ¡°No.¡± Elena scowled even though it could not fully cover her laughter. ¡°I have one option I was holding in reserve. ZEKE will not like it. He will say it is too early, that we should wait until after your induction. Listen to him, consider his words, and make a decision on your own training.¡± ¡°What sort of option?¡± She answered his question with another question. ¡°What do you know of Lal Viren?¡± Chapter Sixty-One Alarion had to think on the question before he answered. ¡°I recognize the name. One of the mothers, right? She represents challenges¡­ I think?¡± ¡°Correct. And what do you know of the Four Mothers?¡± ¡°Only what mine told me, which wasn¡¯t much.¡± he admitted. ¡°And offhand mentions from you or ZEKE.¡± Elena nodded reassuringly. ¡°This is not a test. I just want to know how much you know on the subject.¡± ¡°Very little.¡± He admitted. ¡°The full course, then. Come with me.¡± With that Elena set off into the darkness with Alarion quick at her heels. ¡°The last time we spoke, you talked of Lesser, Inner, and Outer gods. Was that correct?¡± ¡°Yes. You said they were Inner gods.¡± ¡°By local definitions, yes,¡± she nodded. ¡°Beyond that, it is more complicated. Many Vitrians do not acknowledge the existence of any gods. What we used to think of as Lesser Gods turned out to be nothing more than powerful thoughtborn, so why should the Mothers actually be divine in nature?¡± ¡°Thoughtborn are, like¡­¡± Alarion trailed off as he struggled for the proper words. ¡°They¡¯re what they sound like. Steelborn are artificial life made from base metals. Systemborn are those creatures transformed or sustained by the system. Thoughtborn are those created by willpower. If a community spends a generation worshiping the mountain god, eventually that belief may coalesce into something real. And something powerful.¡± ¡°People can just be willed into existence?¡± ¡°With enough time, or willpower. Yes. Though most thoughtborn are rarely people in a traditional sense. The overwhelming majority are closer to concepts given form and power. Typically they only take on a humanoid form when they are the result of a single mind.¡± Elena glanced back over her shoulder, a sly smirk on her lips as she added. ¡°And before you try to will yourself a lover, please understand that they rarely occur naturally. Most humanoid thoughtborn are specters and the like, the result of grief rather than intentional creations.¡± The darkness thankfully hid the slight color in Alarion¡¯s cheeks as he ignored her provocation. ¡°So you think the mothers are thoughtborn?¡± ¡°No, not at all. Watch your head.¡± Elena interrupted her own thoughts to warn him as she ducked beneath a slight outcropping of stone at the edge of the valley. Alarion had noticed the small cave on his second day in the valley, but he¡¯d been kept much too busy to explore it. Not that he was the sort who went caving to begin with. ¡°Whatever they are, it is more complicated. Vitrians who do not like to call them gods prefer the term Incarnate.¡± ¡°Flare.¡± Alarion incanted as he pushed out his mana. The ring on his finger reacted, and within a few breaths a small globe of light danced around them, as they delved deeper. ¡°Why have different names if everyone else thinks they are gods?¡± ¡°Because the word god carries substantial weight. If you acknowledge a god, should you not worship them? Should you not obey them, if they give you commands?¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Elena dipped beneath another low rock, before a passage opened up ahead of her, large enough for them to walk upright. Its walls were jagged and unfinished, but also somehow unnatural. As though the tunnel had been dug by crude tools. ¡°Regardless of what you call them, they are powerful and unique. Vitrians call them Incarnate because of their unusual nature. The Mothers are both mortal and immortal-¡± ¡°What?¡± Alarion interrupted as they squeezed through a narrow portion of the passage. ¡°How does that even-¡± ¡°If you¡¯d let me finish.¡± Elena scowled at the boy who correctly took the hint. ¡°The Mothers are immortal in that they are able to transfer between willing female hosts. When incarnated, they increase the lifespan of their host, drastically raise their Aptitude and give them access to special skills, feats, flaws and even a unique attribute. Even so, the incarnated Mother is still mortal. They might live double the natural lifespan of the human they inhabit, but eventually they die like anyone else.¡± ¡°Only women?¡± Elena laughed slightly at his downcast tone. ¡°Yes, Alarion. Only women. There have long been rumors of four Fathers, but I would not put much stock in them. If they exist, they are well hidden.¡± Alarion scowled anyways. ¡°How do they pick them?¡± ¡°Ah, now that is an astute question.¡± She paused briefly as the pair navigated a particularly low bit of ceiling, then continued. ¡°Though the answer depends on the mother in question. Lal Tia chooses her new host, Lal Sera is inherited through a familial line, Lal Kales new body is chosen randomly. And Lal Viren? Her patronage is earned.¡± The path ahead of them opened into a small chamber dominated on its far end by a broad set of double doors. The sight caused Alarion to tense, but even at a glance he could tell that this portal was not the same as the one that he had been herded toward some months earlier. It was dark iron, inlaid with silver arcane symbols. Some he recognized from his training; others were familiar but too complex. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°Ages ago, Lal Viren, aided by her sisters, seeded the world with places such as these. Challenge rooms, challenge arenas, challenge dungeons. They were designed to test mortals who wished to be her next incarnation, but they serve the dual purpose of being spaces where an awakened can rapidly grow in strength.¡± ¡°They are dangerous, then?¡± Alarion asked, careful not to touch the door as he studied its intricate markings. ¡°It depends on the dungeon,¡± answered Elena. ¡°They were not created merely to test fighting ability. This one, for example, will push your magical abilities to their limit. Some trials will throw you against dangerous foes, while others exist to pick away at your knowledge, your musical ability or even your culinary skills.¡¯ ¡°You did not answer,¡± noted Alarion. She laughed in response. ¡°I suppose I did not. This one can be dangerous, but it is not likely to be. You blessedly cannot feel it, but this dungeon is the source of the island¡¯s intense magic. It is what is known as an unbound challenge. Most are linked to specific skills, levels or attributes for entry. Others require a specific item, or some task to be accomplished. This one has no entry requirement and scales to your Rank and UCL, meaning that it should be difficult, but safe enough.¡± ¡°Why are you only showing this to me now?¡± ¡°Truthfully? I did not wish for you to use it. Even now, I am of two minds.¡± Elena caught his eyes and held them as she spoke. ¡°You must understand, an unbound challenge room such as this is of near unlimited value. This is one of seven the Vitrian Empire knows of. Four others are held in private hands, one is open to the public and the remaining room is no longer accessible. Critically, each can only be entered once.¡± Elena¡¯s words brought her concerns into stark focus as Alarion returned his gaze to the double doors nearby. ¡°You did not want me to waste it.¡± ¡°Correct.¡± Elena paused to consider how to phrase her next words, then added, ¡°If you were trueborn Vitrian, it would be up to you to make this decision. As a ward, the decision is very much mine.¡± ¡°And ZEKE¡¯s. You said he would not want me to use this. Why?¡± ¡°Typically an awakened gets the most value out of using a challenge room as they close in on a rank up. Levels and attributes are all well and good, but it is the challenge itself that is most worthwhile. Do well and you can earn new traits, feats of strength, even titles, all of which will lead you toward a stronger Rank Up and increase your ability to progress further. It is not something to go into unprepared.¡± ¡°Then why show me at all?¡± Alarion pressed. ¡°Because I am not the one staring down the barrel of induction. And you have the right to choose.¡± ¡ª ¡°No. You cannot.¡± ZEKE said flatly, as though his word and his word alone were the end of the conversation. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Pick one of an infinite number of reasons.¡± The words brought a short snort of amusement from Elena which served to fan an already steady argument between boy and teacher. ¡±I cannot believe we¡¯re even having this discussion.¡± ¡°Elena said that it is my deci-¡± ¡°If Elena said it was your decision on whether or not to jump off a cliff, would you also take that as permission?¡± ZEKE¡¯s voice was just shy of a shout as he paced back and forth. ¡°What you are suggesting is stupid, Alarion. And not ¡®pick up an imperial greatsword and stubbornly come out on top¡¯ levels of stupid. This is ''set ablaze a small mountain of gold'' levels of stupid. You should not be touching this resource until you¡¯re closing in on the pinnacle of rank II. Possibly even rank III. You are wasting-¡± ¡°Ezekial.¡± Elena¡¯s tone was sharp, a single word rebuke. Her word had its effect. ZEKE stopped in his rant, even as he continued in his pacing. When he spoke again his voice was more measured. Careful. ¡°You want to enter now?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Even though you¡¯ve been told it is a bad idea.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± ¡°Why?¡± Alarion met ZEKE¡¯s question with another question. ¡°Has anyone like me ever entered a dungeon like this?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure plenty of stubborn idiots have-¡± ¡°ZEKE.¡± This time it was Alarion who scolded him. ¡°You know what I meant. People with high aptitude, but no class levels.¡± ¡°No.¡± When Alarion started to speak once again, ZEKE quickly added. ¡°Because that would be incredibly wasteful and foolish.¡± ¡°Because most Rank I classes are easy to obtain, right?¡± Alarion pushed. ZEKE grudgingly nodded, sensing his point. ¡°What you are trying to teach me is not.¡± He continued. ¡°And I am no closer to it than I was a month ago.¡± ¡°You are being impatient.¡± ¡°I am being realistic!¡± He shot back. ¡°When I was training for my martial class, I could tell I was on the cusp of it. You could tell I was close. There was a feeling, like pressure. Like I only needed one more gasp of air. I do not feel that here. I feel miles from the class we are aiming for, and that distance is not shrinking by activating items and learning basic formula.¡± ¡°And if you plateau later?¡± ZEKE asked. ¡°Then I will wait until I am done with my induction. By then I am sure the House of Hunger will willingly throw all manner of resources at the boy with an aptitude of two-hundred and thirty eight.¡± There was a little too much smarm in Alarion¡¯s voice for ZEKE¡¯s liking. But from the machine¡¯s body language, it was clear that Alarion wasn¡¯t wrong either. ¡°I know this is a risk. If you think we should wait a few weeks-¡± ¡°That is out of the question.¡± ZEKE said. When Alarion began to protest, ZEKE stopped him with a hand. ¡°Mistress Elena did not explain the time dilation, did she?¡± ¡°The¡­ what?¡± ¡°Time dilation.¡± ZEKE repeated the words slowly, making sure Alarion caught the latter before he continued. ¡°The time in a challenge dungeon is on a different pace to the time spent outside it. Each hour inside is three outside. If you spend a week inside, it will be three weeks outside. If you enter today you will have approximately thirteen days left to train.¡± Alarion frowned. Thirteen days felt like a lot for a single dungeon, but ZEKE¡¯s tone suggested it anything but. ¡°How long does it usually take to finish it?¡± Elena and ZEKE exchanged a glance before the former answered. ¡°No one completes a dungeon. It will continually generate new challenges until you either fail, you die or you leave. The challenges will grow more difficult with time, with the deepest delve I¡¯m aware of reaching the 7th challenge on this particular dungeon.¡± ¡°One every two days seems doable.¡± Alarion thought aloud. ZEKE snorted abruptly and waved the boy off with a hand. ¡°Go, let him waste his time and his opportunity if he wants. He could stand to finally learn some humility.¡± ¡°Is that a yes?¡± ¡°Yes, Alarion. Try not to die.¡± The machine responded over one shoulder as he angled toward the cabin. [Quest Complete ¨C Convince Your Master] Reward: One Rare Instructor Box Would you like to claim your Rewards? Yes/No Alarion looked at the notification, and for the first time ever, he hit ¡®No¡¯. Probably best not to rub salt in that particular wound quite yet. Chapter Sixty-Two ¡°That will not do you much good inside.¡± Elena said as Alarion hefted the Duke¡¯s oversized mace. ¡°Will it hurt?¡± he asked. ¡°Probably not,¡± she admitted. ¡°Then I will bring it.¡± The young man¡¯s eyes trailed off to the nearby cave entrance, followed by a frown. ¡°Assuming I can get it through.¡± Fortunately the cave passages proved wide enough, even at their slimmest, for Alarion to pull the mace along behind them as they went. With a bit of wiggling through some awkward angles, it took only a few minutes before student and teacher once more stood in front of the dungeon entrance. ¡°Do I just walk in?¡± Alarion asked, fingers hovering just over the silver inlay of the door¡¯s exterior. ¡°Correct. You have three weeks of rations, but please do not overstay your welcome unless you are on the cusp of completing a challenge.¡± Elena¡¯s expression was mixed. There was pride, uncertainty and above all concern. ¡°Do not make rash choices. Listen to the guide, and make certain you ask questions when you can.¡± ¡°You cannot offer any more specific advice?¡± Elena shook her head. ¡°The challenge is different for everyone. My experience will be different than yours. It would not help and might actively lead you astray.¡± ¡°Mm,¡± the boy grunted. Then he reached for the two rings of dark metal and gave the doors a pull. They parted so easily it was if they wanted to be opened. As if they were inviting him in. A blinding white light filled the chamber and Alarion squinted against it, trying to make out something in that void. To no avail. He looked back at Elena, who nodded and gestured him forward. Alarion took two steps forward and was suddenly¡­ elsewhere. Alarion found himself in a large, well appointed study. The air smelled of old books, of almond and vanilla, of burnt candles and well aged leather. Floor to ceiling bookshelves covered almost every inch of wall space, save for the crackling stone fireplace and a trio of doors on the far end of the room. Two comfortable looking chairs were set before an enormous oak desk, upon which sat the room¡¯s only other occupant. She was an older woman, at least twice his age if Alarion had to guess, and beautiful beyond measure. Her hair was white as his own, her eyes golden as the wreath she wore atop her intricate curls and the necklass that hung down between her curves. Her outfit was regal, but not particularly chaste, flaunting pale skin either out in the open or beneath intricate lace of black and gold. She was petite, shorter than him were she standing, but sitting cross legged on the edge of that four foot tall desk she managed to tower over him, looking down in a way that provoked authority from her and irritation from him in nearly equal measure. She¡¯d noticed him the same moment he noticed her, and a thin smile emerged on full gold painted lips. ¡°House or Imperitor?¡± ¡°What?¡± A coin flashed in her left hand by way of answer, the silver glinting in the firelight as she rolled it effortlessly across the knuckles of her left hand until it reached her thumb. She tucked that last digit beneath and sent the coin spiraling toward the high ceiling. ¡°Quickly now.¡± ¡°Uh¡­. House?¡± The woman snatched the coin out of the air with the speed of a striking snake and set it down on the desktop beneath two slender fingers. She looked at the coin, then back to him. ¡°I¡¯ll give you three questions. Do you wish to change your guess? Now is the time. I haven¡¯t peeked.¡± ¡°Should I?¡± ¡°Yes. Most definitely,¡± the woman admitted with a sly grin. ¡°Two questions. Do you wish to change?¡± ¡°Can you feel which side is up?¡± ¡°Yes. One question.¡± Alarion studied the woman for several seconds as he carefully considered his third question. Rather than ask, he simply answered. ¡°Edge.¡± This time her grin was wide, ear to ear delight as the woman lifted her fingers from the coin to show a Vitrian house sigil on the upward facing side. ¡°Not many people make that guess. Especially with the geas in place to keep others from spilling the secret. How did you figure it out?¡± ¡°I have seen it before. Or a version.¡± The boy shrugged modestly. ¡°One of my families used to run it as a scam. Hide a coin under one of a number of objects and ask them to pick one. If they guess right, you pull out the object and keep removing them until only one is left, at which point they¡¯re wrong. If they guess wrong you lift up the item to show they were wrong. You never told me whether it was good or bad to choose correctly, and with three questions even an idiot could figure out which side was up.¡± Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°It is the illusion of choice,¡± she said, still grinning. ¡°You would do well to remember that.¡± ¡°What would have happened if I answered wrong?¡± ¡°It depends on how wrong you were.¡± The woman snapped her fingers, and a candle atop a nearby candelabra flickered to life. It was one of nine, each spaced equally across three of the office walls. ¡°Guessing correctly counts as a challenge, meaning you¡¯ve only eight left to complete. Guessing the actual facing of the coin is simply a failure. And if you somehow bungled your way into getting that wrong, then you¡¯d be ejected.¡± Alarion¡¯s brows raised. If it was that easy to fail out entirely, he ought to be quite a bit more careful. ¡°Elena said there would be a guide, is that you? The woman tilted her head, as if seeing a different side of him. ¡°I am your guide, yes. My name is Valentina Lyons.¡± When the name clearly rang hollow with the young man, she added, ¡°I was an incarnation of Lal Viren.¡± That, at least, got the more traditional response. Alarion looked at the woman dumbly for a moment, as if not understanding. Then he did something, a gesture halfway between a bow and a kneel, as though he could not decide which he was supposed to do. The end result had him half bent over, standing on one leg with the other bent up beneath him looking for all the world like the worst possible impression of a chicken. ¡°Oh. Oh no, that is just¡­ please.¡± Valentina waved him upright with her hand for fear of being caught up in the second hand embarrassment. ¡°We can dispense with formalities.¡± ¡°You are a god.¡± Alarion protested even as he obeyed her request. ¡°I was,¡± she smiled. ¡°And sort of still am. It is complicated. While we¡¯re here, Valentina is fine. Val is even better. My time in the sun is long over and I¡¯m happy for the chance to be normal.¡± Alarion studied the woman more closely, thinking back to what Elena had said on the subject of the mothers and their incarnations. ¡°Are you still alive? Are you an emulation?¡± ¡°How do you-¡± Valentina¡¯s voice was sharp, with surprise more than anger, as she was seemingly cut off in mid-sentence. ¡°I know. I know! It¡¯s fine. No, I am not an emulation, and I¡¯m not allowed to talk about that.¡± ¡°Not allowed to?¡± The woman spit him with a pointed stare. After a few breaths, Alarion picked up on her body language and asked, ¡°That counts as talking about it?¡± The look continued with the addition of an almost imperceptible nod. ¡°I am Alarion.¡± The boy said instead of pushing the subject. He offered the back of his hand in Vitrian greeting only to have it clasped within her smooth palm instead. ¡°It is nice to meet you.¡± ¡°No need to be formal.¡± Even she didn¡¯t sound convinced as she released his hand. ¡°Again, I¡¯m Val and welcome to the Dungeon of the Nine Candles. Do you want to get started immediately? Or do you need to rest first?¡± ¡°I am ready to start now,¡± said Alarion, though his eyes were narrowed. They¡¯d started already, hadn¡¯t they? Was this another word game? Or just a poor turn of phrase. ¡°I do not want to be rude, but I only have a couple of weeks to get as far as I can.¡± Valentina raised a carefully sculpted eyebrow. ¡°You¡¯re entering a challenge dungeon in a rush? That is certainly a decision. But very well, step into the circle there, on the floor.¡± Alarion turned his head, about to ask what she meant when he saw it. The once pristine wooden floor was now marked with crimson sigils that spanned out in eight directions, similar to the diagram he¡¯d been shown of the various magical affinities. No, not just similar to. This one was more complex, with a hundred arcane characters etched in at various intervals, but the core of it was identical to the diagram he¡¯d been shown. He was also certain that it hadn¡¯t been there when he¡¯d entered the room. It would have been impossible to miss, even with Valentina distracting him. ¡°Well? I thought you were in a hurry.¡± ¡°Is it safe?¡± Alarion asked skeptically. ¡°A smart question, but yes. Everything in this room is safe. Unless you do something stupid and stab yourself with it or something. Stupidity is outside the realm of even a god.¡± ¡°Which you say you are not anymore?¡± ¡°It is complicated.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t seem like a god.¡± ¡°That is complicated too.¡± The woman slid from the desk and landed on the floor with a soft thud. ¡°I give you my word that any risk of death or serious injury will be signposted. I¡¯ll explain how it works, but first¡­¡± She gestured once again to the circle, and with no reason to refuse her, Alarion stepped inside. He felt a pulse pass over him, the hair on his arms all standing at sudden attention for a follow-up that never came. Instead, the woman outside made a few short gestures before her face scrunched up at something he could not see. Another wave, and the circle unraveled into nothing. ¡°Two-Hundred and thirty-eight?¡± she asked, eliciting a nod from Alarion. Valentina looked about to say more when she turned her head upward. ¡°Yes. No. Yes, I am sure. I- Alarion, you are a boy, yes?¡± ¡°Yes?¡± Alarion responded, so befuddled by the question that his answer sounded skeptical. ¡°What is-¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± she waved away his concern as she ushered him out of the circle, still reading over what must be system menus in her field of view. ¡°It will take a moment to customize the first rooms to your skill set. Your status is¡­ eclectic.¡± ¡°I do not-¡± ¡°Weird,¡± she clarified. ¡°Your status is weird. I¡¯ve never heard of an Orphan before, and that luck of yours might be a problem with balancing. I just have to- there, that should do it.¡± In the corner of his vision, the three doors on the far end of the room flickered. It was as if they vanished and reappeared in the space of a single blink, and as he turned toward them Alarion could tell that they¡¯d changed. The original doors had been relatively featureless, simple wooden portals set into matching frames. These new ones were similar, but each had a large marking carved upon it at eye level. The one on the left was two crossed swords set behind a skull, the middle a keyhole set amidst a spiraling maze, while the last was an arcane symbol set against a background of flames. Beneath each lay three dull red diamond shaped gems each as large as his fist. ¡°Combat, Puzzle and Magic. A fine first set.¡± Valentina smiled. ¡°Let me explain to you how this works, then you can decide where you want to start.¡± Chapter Sixty-Three ¡°Each door leads to a puzzle of that type?¡± Alarion guessed. ¡°And I have to complete nine of them?¡± ¡°You know, it really takes the fun out of it if you cut me off.¡± Valentina¡¯s scowl didn¡¯t quite reach her eyes as she glanced sidelong at him. ¡°But no, you only need to complete eight. Guessing correctly on the coinflip puts you ahead of the curve.¡± ¡°Alright. So, three of each, then? Or, three of two and two of the other, I guess.¡± ¡°Not quite.¡± She drew his attention to the gems put into the door. ¡±These rank the difficulty and threat of each challenge. When you complete one, you will return to this room to pick another, but the type and difficulty on offer will be shuffled. Depending on your progress you might be able to pick from all four types, or only one.¡± ¡°Four?¡± ¡°You¡¯ll see the fourth when it comes available.¡± She snapped her fingers, and a number of the gems beneath the doors shimmered and filled with crimson light. The puzzle door had two glowing gems, the arcane door had one, while the gems in the combat door remained unlit. ¡°You are welcome to choose any type you¡¯d like, but each time you complete a room, the base level of that challenge increases by one on future attempts.¡± Alarion eyed the unlit gems as he considered her words. ¡°It only goes up to three regardless, right?¡± ¡°Correct. Unlit gems indicate a base challenge. You can leave these at any time and select a different challenge if it is not to your liking and you cannot fail these. In a combat room, if you are defeated, you¡¯ll be sent back here and given the chance to try again. A single lit gem indicates that the room, and thus the dungeon, can be failed. Two removes your ability to retreat. Three indicates the risk of death upon failure. Each is also markedly harder than its predecessor.¡± Alarion nodded along as he reviewed the options before him. The obvious option was, well¡­ obvious. Later, assuming he racked up some wins, the setup could force some hard choices, pushing him into a less favorable encounter to avoid ranking up an already difficult alternative. For now, it was a straight selection and if there was one thing Alarion felt he was at least competent at, it was combat. ¡°Of course, a higher difficulty increases the rewards.¡± Val added almost as an afterthought. Alarion stopped in his tracks and turned a less than enthusiastic glare her way. ¡°Anything else I need to know?¡± ¡°Mmm, no. Obviously the overall rewards will improve the deeper you delve as will the difficulty, but if your aim is to maximize your results, taking the hardest room you can is probably best.¡± The woman¡¯s smile was far too sweet as she added. ¡°Assuming you survive. Knowing your limits is an important part of confronting any challenge.¡± ¡°And no one has ever completed this dungeon?¡± ¡°Not yet! Though I have high hopes.¡± Whether those ¡®high hopes¡¯ were for him, the once goddess left unsaid. ¡°While your empire came after my time, I will say that your Awakened do not disappoint.¡± ¡°It is not my empire.¡± said Alarion. ¡°Oh? You wear their colors, I would have thought¡­¡± Again the woman¡¯s head tipped skyward, and she visibly winced. ¡°Ah. Yes that would explain it. All the more reason to root for you, then. If you would like, I can change the exit location.¡± Alarion¡¯s head snapped in her direction. ¡°You can do that?¡± ¡°I can, though I doubt your owners are aware, or they wouldn¡¯t have sent you in. One of my many titles in life was Mother of Liberation. I am not fond of slavers.¡± ¡°I am not a-¡± Alarion bit his tongue rather than continue that line of argument and shifted to a more pressing one. ¡°Can you send me anywhere?¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Well, not anywhere. It would have to be to the exit of another of our dungeons. Preferably one that is in a safe location for you. Is there somewhere you wanted to go?¡± Alarion thought about the question. There were many places he longed to be, home chief among them, but few that still existed in any meaningful sense. Even so, one name at least broached his lips. ¡°The city of Null. Do you have a dungeon near there?¡± ¡°Within a hundred miles or so. Did you want me to send you there?¡± The young man looked to the door and frowned. ¡°Can I think about it?¡± ¡°As long as you need.¡± The woman smiled. There was a gentleness in her eyes now as she gestured back to the doors. ¡°Or as long as your time limit allows, in any case. Have you decided where you wish to begin?¡± ¡°This one, I think.¡± Alarion answered as he advanced on the puzzle door. Valentina chuckled. ¡°Ambitious. She is impressed! Good luck!¡± With her words at his back, Alarion pushed open the door and stepped through into the same bright light that had greeted him when he¡¯d entered the dungeon. This time, however, the brightness did not fade as the room resolved around him. Gone were the old hardwood floors and dusty tomes. In their place stood columns of pristine white marble, floors inlaid with gold and black. Above him were vaulted ceilings that stretched off into the distance and arched staircases that led to upper floors. It reminded him of the dark room he¡¯d found at the bottom of the pit. Sierra had guessed that it had been a throne room, or perhaps a temple. This place carried the same air of opulence and extravagant wealth, without the grim undertones of that subterranean chamber. If anything, this place reminded him of the woman he¡¯d just left. It certainly had Valentina¡¯s colors. Everything was white, or gold. The stairs were white, the ceiling white and inlaid with gold. The chandeliers, the statues, the seating. Even the lighting held an orange incandescence that flickered off polished surfaces. Ahead of him lay two columns, behind those were a double arched stairwell to a second floor, as well as an open foyer that contained yet more intricate columns, chairs, tables and priceless looking pieces of art. At the center was a pedestal upon which rested a dark statue of a dancing man playing a stringed instrument as he was attacked. ¡°Puzzle room.¡± Alarion reminded himself as he slowly turned in place. He was certainly puzzled. On first glance, the areas to the left and right of him appeared similar. On a second, he realized that they were almost identical. Looking in all four directions it became clear that the only meaningful distinction were those statues, each of which played a different instrument. A tambourine, a flute, a trumpet, and a violin. Did most people have to deal with this level of extradimensional weirdness? Or was he just lucky? With no one direction any more tempting than another, Alarion set off at random to his left. He walked between the two stairwells and approached the pedestal, careful not to get too close to the dark stone statue. It depicted a man in mid-dance, a violin held to his chin as a woman tackled him in a loving embrace. The woman was Val, her features perfectly captured, though the man was unfamiliar. It was a thing of beauty, borne of endless patience Alarion could not even imagine. As though it were not a figure carved of stone, but one the carver had set free with his chisel. The boy had little understanding of art, yet he could not imagine how one carved stone so that it looked soft. The way Val¡¯s fingers dug into the man¡¯s skin, her carefree expression, the baffled confusion on the subject¡¯s face. Was this a real place? Some palace plucked from the real Valentina¡¯s life to serve as a fixture for her dungeon? Or was it some fiction she¡¯d concocted simply for his trial. That she could do either felt surreal. And somehow invasive. Almost as though he was in a place he did not belong. With nowhere else to go, Alarion continued past the statue, his steps echoing off the empty halls as he moved deeper into the palace. He passed two columns topped in gold and looked ahead to see¡­ the statue of a man playing a violin, dancing as Valentina tackled him from behind. Alarion turned to look back and saw that the statue behind him depicted not a violin, but a flute. ¡°What¡­¡± Alarion murmured as he walked back toward it. The statue was clearly different. Its basic proportions, design and theme were all the same, but the position of his arms and the instrument at his lips were different, he wouldn¡¯t have mistaken one for another. Worse yet, as Alarion looked back toward where he¡¯d arrived, he could see the violin player on the far side of the room, where the flute player should have been. Concerned, but not yet truly alarmed, Alarion moved toward one of the nearby staircases. Following it up to the second floor he found it no less opulent, with the same gold filagree, elegant furniture and tasteful railings as the floor below him. He noted an opposing set of staircases not far ahead. And identical stairs not far off to the left and right. More worryingly, with nothing obstructing his line of sight, as the various walls and stairs had done on the ground floor, Alarion could see into the distance. Far into the distance. Miles into the distance, with nothing but white marble, gold tipped columns and arched ceilings as far as the eye could see. Chapter Sixty-Four Alarion was that kid when it came to puzzles. Every village had one, or so he had often been told. The child who asked to be told a riddle, then got angry when the obviously set-up answer turned out to be a red herring. The one who started searching every ¡®clever¡¯ hiding spot when faced with a scavenger hunt instead of engaging with the clues presented. The sort who all too often rebutted the correct answer with ¡®No, that would be dumb¡¯, when teamed with others. That wasn¡¯t to say that Alarion was bad at puzzles. All too often brute force had an advantage all its own. When faced with a locked door others would search for a key, while Alarion challenged the lock itself. Or the door. Or its frame. In his time among thieves he¡¯d once spent an entire night in a cramped closet trying eight thousand four hundred and twenty two of the ten thousand possible combinations of a lock box in order to breach it. He was the sort of person to be terrible at puzzles, but still think that he had a shot at solving them. All of which was to say that when Alarion was faced with a seemingly infinite space, his first thought was to test those dimensions. To simply walk in as straight a line as he could manage for nearly an hour. It got him nowhere, possibly quite literally given the nature of extra-dimensional spaces, but it gave him time to think of alternatives. When he finally abandoned his initial ¡®solution¡¯ Alarion was quick to move on to the next. He leapt from one balcony and climbed back up another, testing if the verticality of the place was as immutable as its length and width. When that failed he began to break things, not out of anger but as an easy way of tracking his progress. One that proved fruitless as the items seemingly repaired themselves the moment they were outside of easy perception. He focused in on smells and sounds for an hour, and when that failed he seriously considered licking some items but pushed that further down the list in favor of other possibilities. The statues were an obvious place to start engaging with the puzzle ¡®properly¡¯ but proved no more fruitful than his endless walking. They were beautiful statues, but appeared to be just that. Statues. They did not contain any items, even when pulverized down to a fine powder, nor did their bases contain any hidden mechanism through which he could advance. He slept the first night curled up on one of the plush couches, his scarf pulled up over his face to blot out the endless overhead lighting that had long since given him a pounding headache. The next day proved no better. The ceilings were out of reach, but hid no obvious secrets after being subjected to a number of Void slashes. Digging a pit proved largely unsuccessful and took several hours with only the Duke¡¯s mace as an impromptu shovel. Walking backward did not produce the desired results, nor did closing his eyes or attempting to ¡®play¡¯ the instruments on the statues. His sleep the second night was fitful, and the pit was gone when he awoke the following ¡®morning¡¯. Probably for the best, given that he had intended to spend another few hours in the attempt. Not that he had any better ideas. Alarion started his day with a walk into the endless, pondering over and rejecting a hundred different possible solutions. He¡¯d been told it was a magical dungeon which suggested that the solution was magically related. It was also tailored to his abilities, according to Valentina, meaning that the magic he had on hand might factor into the solution. He spent the rest of the morning testing that theory to equally fruitless results. Running through the halls with Quicken did not seem to change anything. Solar Burst made a mess, but accomplished little else, while Void Slash was no different than simply smashing his targets with his mace. Something had to change, but as the day ticked on Alarion began to lose hope and with it, his drive to succeed. There was something he was missing, and he did not have even the slightest guess as to where to look ¡°I take it things are not going well?¡± To his credit, Alarion did not jump all the way out of his own skin at the unexpected sound of Valentina¡¯s voice, though it was a close thing. Having spent the better part of two days wandering the infinite halls and stairwells, the sudden appearance of the Incarnate was as welcome as it was startling, even if Alarion tried to hide it as he turned to face her. ¡°What was your first hint?¡± he asked in a decidedly sour tone. ¡°Well, you are coming up on the record for the longest amount of time spent in the first challenge.¡± Valentina parried his irritation with sarcasm as she continued, ¡°So either you really like the aesthetics of my dungeon, or you are in dire need of assistance.¡± Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Alarion bit back a bitter reply, drew a breath and said, ¡°Will there be a penalty for this assistance?¡± ¡°Oh no, nothing like that,¡± she waved away his concern. ¡°Not unless I need to physically remove you from the room to save you from starving, but you looked like you still had plenty of rations.¡± ¡°You have been watching me?¡± ¡°More like¡­. checking in periodically. There is only so much time a person can spend watching someone wander aimlessly and smash things.¡± Alarion shot her a deadpan look for several seconds before he sighed. ¡°Which way is the exit?¡± ¡°I said I¡¯d help you. That I¡¯d give you a hint, not solve the puzzle for you.¡± Valentina scoffed at the very notion, then gestured at the room about them. ¡°What have you deduced thus far?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± Alarion answered honestly, his tone once again annoyed. Unlike many of the challenges put to him by ZEKE and Elena, this one had proven inscrutable. It wasn¡¯t that he was struggling against a difficult challenge, nor that he was fighting to break through a plateau. After two days he still had not the slightest clue of where to even start. ¡°But you have to know that, even if you were checking in periodically.¡± Valentina tilted her head in a slight concession. ¡°That was what I thought, but I was hoping you might have some insight you hadn¡¯t verbalized. I¡¯m not a mind reader after all. Or, well¡­ I can be, but I try not to.¡± Alarion simply stared expectantly. ¡°I know of half a hundred ways out of this particular challenge, but most of them are out of the reach of a novice such as yourself.¡± What was no doubt intended as an endearing smile came across as patronizing as she continued, ¡°If your five senses can¡¯t deduce the puzzle, then perhaps a sixth?¡± The young boy frowned. ¡°If you are talking about sensing mana, I can not do that.¡± ¡°No time like the present in order to learn.¡± ¡°No,¡± he protested. ¡°I am unable to do so. My flaw makes it impossible.¡± Valentina snorted. ¡°And who put that idea in your mind?¡± ¡°My instructor, ZEKE.¡± His eyes were defiant as they met hers. ¡°And I have experience to back it up.¡± ¡°Let me guess, they looked at your flaw, tried for a couple of days and declared it impossible?¡± The slightly embarrassed shift in Alarion¡¯s gaze was enough for her to press on with her assumption. ¡°Typical. Tell me, do you feel this?¡± There was a sudden shift as if every drop of blood in his veins suddenly weighed a ton. It forced him to a knee and stole the breath from his lungs as the air was now too heavy to breath. Something inside his head was pushing outward, intent on popping his skull like a balloon as he gasped and struggled. Then it was gone as quickly as it came. There was no lingering pain, no deleterious after effects, save perhaps a slight ache in his knee from where it had struck the tile floor. Alarion looked up to find Valentina smiling, but could not muster the rage he normally felt at being struck or betrayed. Because it hadn¡¯t been a strike. She hadn¡¯t lashed out at him, she¡¯d simply stopped holding back. ¡°Well?¡± ¡°Y-yes,¡± He stumbled over his own tongue. He took a few shallow breaths to steady himself, then asked, ¡°Was that all of your power?¡± ¡°Most of it. At least half,¡± She winked. ¡°In this place I¡¯m stronger than I was, even in life. Strong enough to kill someone of your rank outright if I put my back into it, even with your flaw. But to circle back, are you sure it is impossible?¡± ¡°No. But there is a difference between that and¡­¡± ¡°A quantitative difference, yes. But not qualitative.¡± She offered him a hand, changing their dynamic as he rose to stand over her once more. ¡°If you can sense my mana, then you can sense any mana. You just have to go about it differently. Your teacher abandoned the idea because his technique relies on something that you lack.¡± ¡°The mana gates?¡± ¡°Correct!¡± Her voice was sing song and cheerful as she turned to study one of the statues that dotted the room¡¯s four cardinal directions. ¡°Traditional sensing relies on exterior pressure. You detect mana by the way it pushes against you. But there are other methods. What did it feel like when I let loose?¡± He considered the question and the deeply unpleasant sensation he had endured. ¡°Like I was going to pop, I was overly full.¡± ¡°And why is that. Do you know your theory?¡± ¡°If my gates are open then your mana overfills me?¡± ¡°Close.¡± Her eyes were a little sad as they looked back in his direction. ¡°The System won¡¯t allow you to have more MP than your limit. That seems to be a hard and fast rule. Your regeneration, however, is not. It can go as high as it likes, but your individual circuits can only transmit so much, especially if they are underdeveloped. While it is an awful visual, imagine if I started dumping a river of blood into your veins. You¡¯d notice rather quickly, no?¡± ¡°Gross. But how does that help me sen-¡± Alarion stopped himself as a thought occurred, ¡°You are saying I can feel the mana inside my body?¡± ¡°With practice, yes. Normally I would end the hint there, but you are short on time.¡± She gestured to one of the nearby couches. ¡°Grab a seat and we can begin.¡± ¡°Are you allowed to give hints?¡± ¡°I was a God, who is going to stop me?¡± Valentina scoffed. ¡°We established these dungeons as a way to test for future Incarnates, but also as a way to push others forward. Having you fail out in the early challenges, especially due to a lack of knowledge defeats the point. You will still be able to fail, I¡¯m just giving you the ability to engage with the test, something your teacher should have already given you.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion adopted a slightly sheepish expression as he added, ¡°In his defense, he told me I was not ready. That this was a waste.¡± ¡°Well, let us go about proving him wrong then.¡± The woman closed her eyes and Alarion felt a weight come over him once again as her magic suffused his body. The sensation was weaker than the last time, but still oppressive enough to halt his breathing. ¡°How does this feel?¡± ¡°Bad.¡± Alarion gasped. ¡°Then it is working!¡± Chapter Sixty-Five In the end it took four hours for Valentina to teach Alarion something that was supposedly impossible. While it was true that Valentina had access to a nearly limitless flow of Mana that enabled her specific teaching strategy, Alarion could tell that it was more than that. She¡¯d confessed that his particular flaw was one she¡¯d never encountered, which meant that she¡¯d made up her training regimen on the fly, but he¡¯d never have known it otherwise. Every question he asked had a ready answer, every frustration a ready solution. She was patient but persistent, pushing the boundaries of his comfort until the inevitable breakthrough.
Introverted Mana Sense [Uncommon] Description: Distinct from the more ubiquitous Mana Sense skill, Introverted Mana Sense obtains similar results from wildly divergent methodology. Requirements: Major Flaw - Splintered Mana Circuits Type: Active Effects: Allows the user to detect and observe differences in local ambient magical energy. Owing to its nature, Introverted Mana Sense has difficulty detecting subtle changes in magical pressure, but is better equipped to examine whatever fluctuations it does detect. Growths: INT +2. PER +2. WIL +2.
¡°There. That wasn¡¯t so hard, was it?¡± The former god asked with a smile as sweet as those on the statues all around them. Alarion was unconvinced. A new skill was a wonderful thing, and the rush of increased attributes helped to combat his fatigue, but her training had been exhausting. He was drenched in sweat, his skin a rosy hue from the constant pressure of her magical energy bearing down upon him. Her training had been as punishing as it had been successful, his legs weak and unsteady as he tried to stand. ¡°No, no. Take a moment.¡± Valentina scowled. ¡°You are behind schedule, certainly, but five minutes to catch your breath isn¡¯t going to make any difference.¡± He stared at her, about to argue the point when his legs made the decision for him. He fell back onto the couch with a dull thud and a deep breath. There he relaxed, letting the cool air of the extradimensional space wash over him in the absence of Valentina¡¯s overbearing magical pressure. ¡°Were you always this strong?¡± ¡°Oh no, not remotely.¡± Valentina scoffed at the very idea. ¡°Even when I was a God I was never quite this strong, and I didn¡¯t come to that until much later in life. I spent most of my early life as a teacher, actually.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Alarion opened his eyes to see a scowl on the woman¡¯s face, and quickly corrected his word choice. ¡°It shows! I just, it is hard to imagine a teacher becoming a God.¡± ¡°Well I wasn¡¯t a school teacher. I was born only a generation after the System and while my Aptitude was nothing to write home about, I took to its nuances like a fish to water and proved to be very, very good at explaining them to others. Lal Viren was still adapting to the changes, and she sought me out as someone who could help her overcome this new challenge.¡± That raised Alarion¡¯s eyebrows, his voice carrying a note of incredulity as he said, ¡°You knew more than a god?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be so surprised. Gods are fallible. They are immortal, but they- no, that is not blasphemy, that is a fact.¡± Valentina was talking to the air once again, scowling up at the unseen. ¡°Well he has a point, doesn¡¯t he?¡± ¡°Should I¡­?¡± Alarion asked as the two continued to bicker. It was an odd sensation, knowing there was a god in the room with him, unseen but clearly there. It also gave him an idea. His eyes closed and Alarion reached out with his new skill. He felt the cold ambient magic of the extradimensional space all around him, the oddly solid mana that echoed from a nearby statue and the barely supressed grandeur of Valentina. Yet next to her was a void, an emptiness that was hard to describe or comprehend with his limited understanding of the new skill. He focused upon it, and his new sense fell away into darkness. There was nothing there. Only a vast, cyclopian gulf in the world that filled him with an existential dread he could not comprehend or express. He opened his mouth to scream and the sensation immediately snapped away as if it had never been there at all. ¡°W-what-?¡± ¡°I should have warned you.¡± Valentina said apologetically. She was standing over him, the back of her palm on his brow. When had she moved? ¡°You¡¯re a few hundred years too young to try and see the face of God. I would advise against doing that again.¡± ¡°It was not that b-¡± Alarion frowned as a realization hit him. The sweat covered exhaustion of a few moments earlier had abruptly given way to a sort of clammy soreness. ¡°How long?¡± ¡°About two hours. Just don¡¯t focus on her in the future and you will be fine.¡± Two hours. The idea was preposterous, but undeniable. ¡°I should¡­¡± Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°You should.¡± Valentina agreed, offering him her dainty hand. ¡°You know what to do from here?¡± ¡°I know where to start.¡± Alarion nodded as he turned his eyes to the nearby statue. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t take me too much¡­ longer.¡± Valentina was gone, having vanished with the same effortless silence through which she¡¯d appeared. Alarion prayed he hadn¡¯t been overconfident, for once. The puzzle revolved around the statues, of that he was almost certain. The only thing in the dungeon that showed any level of variation, Alarion had thought them magically inert from his many initial observations, but through the lens of his [Introverted Mana Sense] the individual instruments pulsed with what he could best describe as a magical ¡®charge¡¯. The one nearest to him appeared empty, while others nearby were either full or empty, seemingly at random. Alarion approached the statue and focused more heavily upon it, examining the inner workings of the magic as best he could. His new skill allowed him to ¡®feel¡¯ the twisting intricacies of magic in a way that provided new insight to old concepts. The instrument was covered in an unbound field, with strings of magic trailing off in four cardinal directions. When he touched it, the device sapped a tiny fragment of his mana, so little that it had gone unnoticed on every previous attempt, and used that magic to change its state. It flipped from ¡®full¡¯ to ¡®empty, and send a pulse along each of its connecting lines to nearby statues. Those statues were at the edge of his skill, making them indistinct in comparison, but Alarion understood what had happened. Touching this instrument had cycled its state, then flipped the state of each nearby statue. Moving to one of those, Alarion confirmed his theory with a touch, watching as the change of state cascaded back to its origin as well as the surrounding statues. Another touch, and the changes reversed. His suspicions growing, Alarion triggered a few of the statues as he set off walking, taking careful note of which ones were active and which ones were not. Within a few minutes, he noticed a pattern. Though the dimension seemed infinite, there was a clear point at which it looped. Nine statues in any one direction. Nine ¡®across¡¯ and nine ¡®down¡¯. He knew what this was. And he hated it. They¡¯d had a similar game when he¡¯d been very little, though he could not recall what they¡¯d called it. It was a sort of logic puzzle, one where the goal was to fill or clear the board, with each move altering the squares around it. It was a game his father had been able to solve on a whim, but Alarion had only been able to solve through brutal trial and error. He desperately wished he¡¯d paid more attention when it had been explained to him. Instead, he¡¯d have to do it the old fashioned way. The first step was to create a ¡®map¡¯ out of broken stone and shattered bits of furniture, as trying to keep the grid in mind while only being able to see a fraction of it at any time was a recipe for disaster. The process was slow and time consuming, in part because he took the time to double check his results. Just to be sure. From there he started iterating, testing out a fast and reliable way to clear the majority of the grid. It was one of the only lessons he¡¯d truly internalized from watching his father. If the grid was 9x9, clear it down to something more manageable, such as 5x5 and start from there. That, at least, proved fairly simple. So long as one didn¡¯t care about trying to fill the whole thing, it was easy to ¡®walk¡¯ a charge along the whole grid, filling it piece by piece while leaving the spaces ahead empty. It took him the better part of an hour, but Alarion quickly reduced the puzzle to a manageable level. Which was where things got frustrating. In theory filling in the remainder should be easy. It was literally a game designed for children. In practice Alarion failed his self imposed condition, a ¡®solve¡¯ with less than fifty moves, time and time again. He knew he could eventually brute force the puzzle, but doing so risked spending literal hours wandering around touching statues, all while Valentina no doubt snickered from the sidelines. But as with any simple task repeated ad nauseum, eventually one of Alarion¡¯s paths found success. Glad to be rid of this place, Alarion stood and quickly set about enacting his moves. He filled statue after statue, doubling back to inexorably push toward the ¡®corners¡¯ where the puzzle did not overlap. It was only as he reached the final piece, the five last ¡®empty¡¯ statues, that a horrifying thought occurred. Were they supposed to be full? Or empty? Alarion touched the statue and was rewarded with a wave of relief as the room around him flickered. Gone were the endless hallways, the four corners of the room replaced by solid stone walls, while above him the curved stairway led to a familiar set of double doors. ¡°Oh thank the¡­.¡± Alarion started, then thought better of it. Was it blasphemous to say such a thing in the dungeon of one of those very gods? Or was it worse not to. He thought better than to tempt fate and instead made for the doorway. Valentina was waiting for him in on the edge of the desk, a Cheshire smile on her lips. ¡°Ah, there is our new record holder.¡± Alarion winced. ¡°Does that hurt my chances?¡± ¡°If you intend to keep to your schedule? Probably,¡± She shrugged. ¡°But in here I mostly keep track for bragging rights, or in your case, lack thereof.¡± He sighed and turned his attention to his notifications.
[Quest Complete ¨C Escape The Room] Reward: One Uncommon Dungeon Box (Reduced to One Common Dungeon Box) Would you like to claim your Rewards? Yes/No
He¡¯d set the quest two days ago shortly after his arrival in the puzzle room. At the time he¡¯d thought a one day limit had been a good idea, but judging by the reduced reward, that had clearly been a bad decision. He accepted the reward anyway, and stretched out a hand to catch the box as it materialized. ¡°Double dipping on rewards with a quest power, hmm? At least you have the etiquette to save your host¡¯s gift for last.¡± ¡°Do I get a reward now?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°I assumed it was just one at the end.¡± ¡°It is both, actually.¡± Valentina answered. ¡°There is a reason our dungeons are so heavily sought after. Open that first.¡± The box depicted a confused Alarion wandering about the dungeon, its sour expression matching his own as he pushed aside the lid and retrieved the small crystal stored inside.
Extradimensional Exit Description: This dull crystal is imbued with powerful void and dimension energy for the sole purpose of creating an escape from an involuntary extradimensional space. Type: Single Use Effect: Forcibly creates a breach in any extradimensional space created by an skill, spell or item of Rank III or below. This exit will last sixty seconds or until the owner of this item leaves the dimensional space. Spaces of Rank II or below may collapse entirely, depending on their structure.
¡°This would have been useful.¡± Alarion muttered. ¡°No it wouldn¡¯t. You would have failed.¡± Valentina said as she held out a tightly wound scroll. ¡°This, on the other hand, may be more to your liking.¡± Chapter Sixty-Six ¡°You know, most people would have considered direct instruction from an Incarnate as their true reward.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion nodded absently without looking toward Valentina. His eyes were focused on his newly open scroll, perusing its elegant script and the system window that hovered overtop.
Thesis of the Unbound Magi ¨C Part II [Rare] Description: Written in 182 A.T.S. this scroll contains part two of a scholarly thesis on the nature of unbound fields and their practical use as a primary form of magic. The work is overly technical and contains numerous cross-references to missing parts of the thesis, as well as additional contemporary works. Despite this, it is a wealth of information that should not be overlooked. Requirements: Awakened (Any one class level) Type: Imbuement. Set. Effects: Instantly gain the skill [Unbound Spellcraft]. If the user already possesses this skill, instead add one level to this skill. Additionally, this scroll can be studied up to five times for additional rewards. The requirements for further study, if any, will be listed before any further attempts.
¡°You¡¯re very rude. Has anyone ever told you that?¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion¡¯s second response was as distant as the first. Then color flushed to his cheeks a moment later, after some part of his hind brain had actually processed her words. ¡°I am sorry.¡± ¡°Are you?¡± Valentina asked, pointedly meeting his eyes as he tried to shy away from her gaze. ¡°Then why do you keep behaving that way?¡± It was a hard question, one for which he did not have a ready answer. Alarion frowned and looked away, studying the nearby crackling fireplace his mind raced for justification or excuse. ¡°I am just not very good with people.¡± He eventually admitted, though the words rang somewhat empty even to his own ears. ¡°You¡¯re self-centered. Most children are-¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a child!¡± Valentina flicked the tip of Alarion¡¯s nose with her middle finger, hard enough to sting but not enough for the System to even qualify it as an attack. Alarion flinched away, his stance closed, ready for combat while the older woman simply scowled at him. ¡°There is nothing wrong with being a child. Every adult has a moment, or a thousand moments, where they wish they could go back to being where you are. Petulant. Arrogant. Yet somehow still full of wonder.¡± Alarion opened his mouth to speak, but at a snap of Valentina¡¯s fingers, the boy found he could not. ¡°No. I will talk and you will listen.¡± Valentina said, her tone full of amusement despite the harshness of the words themselves. ¡°I was not a school-teacher, but you are not the first troublesome child I¡¯ve instructed. You don¡¯t listen nearly as well as you should to those with wisdom to impart and you don¡¯t think ahead. You¡¯ve a single-minded flaw, true, but I worry that you are treating it not as a weakness but as an excuse.¡± She gestured to the nearby doors as she continued. ¡°Your first challenge dungeon, while you are in a hurry, and you choose the most difficult room on offer? The one you cannot retreat from? The one you¡¯re clearly ill equipped to deal with, if your muttering about puzzles was any indication. Why? Because the rewards are higher? You aren¡¯t stupid, that much is clear, so the rewards weren¡¯t the issue. You told me your instructor thought this was¡­ what was it again?¡± Given the chance to speak, Alarion tried to rebuke her and failed. He tried to plead his case, and he failed that too. He could breathe normally, but his voice had been stolen from him, save for the words she wanted to hear. ¡°He said it would be a waste.¡± ¡°And you ignored this advice.¡± Valentina noted. ¡°Yes he is clearly fallible, given that he thought you could not learn to sense mana, but I suspect he is a damn sight smarter than you are. But you ignored his wisdom. Why?¡± Alarion stared back, defiant. ¡°I think you want to fail.¡± She leaned close, carefully studying his expression as she spoke. ¡°I think that your instructors saw your aptitude and heaped expectations on you. Consciously, you want to succeed and you¡¯ll do your best against any challenge, but inwardly? Inwardly you are so afraid of those expectations that you would do anything to make them go away. To go back to when things were simple. Even if they were worse.¡± It took a moment for that outer shell to crack, but it did. Alarion blinked, then twice, a shimmer in his eyes before he looked away entirely. ¡°There is nothing wrong with being self-centered.¡± Her voice was softer now as she snapped her fingers, releasing the binding on his voice. ¡°Especially in a world that does not hold your own interests at heart. But stop ignoring good advice when it is given. Stop keeping others at an arm''s distance. Give thanks where it is deserved. Take it from me, child, as much as you might think it, you do not want to be alone forever. Even your instructors are preferable.¡±Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. Alarion took a long hard look at Valentina, then sighed. ¡°Thank you. For all your help in the challenge. And for your¡­ advice.¡± ¡°You are welcome. You can expect more of the latter, if little of the former.¡± The woman gestured to a door off to the side of the room, near to the fireplace. It hadn¡¯t been there the last time that Alarion had looked, which left an uneasy feeling at the pit of his gut. Reality was not meant to be warped in such a casual fashion. ¡°Speaking of, some simple advice. You smell foul. Fix that. I¡¯ve prepared you a bath and a meal. When you are finished, we can continue.¡± The young man¡¯s jaw clicked slightly as he ground his teeth, but Alarion had the good sense to say thank you before he disappeared off into the chamber she had made for him. It was smaller than his quarters at the manor, but considerably more cozy, with a slight haze of steam filling the air from the nearby brass tub. Alarion took his time, lingering in the soapy water and picking at the plates of fresh fruits and vegetables laid out next to the tub. Once he¡¯d had his fill, he tried to simply lounge in the water, but found he was unable to sit idle. Instead he summoned his newest item, triggered the item¡¯s base effect, and began to read.
Unbound Spellcraft [Uncommon](Rank I) Description: At the core of almost every spellcasting class, Spellcraft skills allow for storage, preparation and modification of known spell formulas. This skill is narrowly tailored toward spells that utilize only unbound fields. Requirements: None Type: Passive/Active Effects: The user of this skill is able to store the formula of a number of spells (Rank x 10) within a specially designated and prepared implement. Once per day the user of this skill is able to prepare for use a number of spells (Rank x 4) that they will be able to cast at will through their designated implement. Spells stored within the implement may be modified along the tri-axis of Power/Speed/Cost. Spells known may be replaced over time. Spells gained from classes may or may not count against the known/prepared limits, depending on the class in question. Prepared spells are unavailable if the user is too far away from their implement (currently 1 foot/level of this skill).
The skill was a godsend, somewhat literally. It was at once the solution to Alarion¡¯s problem and the goal that ZEKE had been pushing him toward. Almost any spellcasting class Alarion obtained would have come with some version of Spellcraft, which would make it possible for the boy to ¡®learn¡¯ spells that weren¡¯t internal in nature. But paradoxically he more or less needed a Spellcraft skill to gain such a class in any reasonable timeframe. The solution, as it turned out, was more or less to cheat. He wasn¡¯t sure if ZEKE would be delighted, or infuriated. Either way the advantages were immense. The skill imparted considerable knowledge in addition to its description. He knew now, for example, how to properly prepare an ¡®implement¡¯ to store his spells, though he would have to carefully consider what to use. The most common implement by far was a spellbook. Easy to carry, easy to edit, easy to replace if lost or damaged, not to mention the strong sympathetic connection between knowledge and magic. Others used staves or wands for similar reasons, while some were more esoteric in nature. ZEKE had told him about mages who kept enchanted familiars, or wore their source inside a wedding band. Alarion knew what he wanted to use, but he¡¯d need advice first. It was a pity that a second reading of the Thesis proved less than enlightening.
Thesis of the Unbound Magi ¨C Part II [Rare] Description: Written in 182 A.T.S. this scroll contains part two of a scholarly thesis on the nature of unbound fields and their practical use as a primary form of magic. The work is overly technical and contains numerous cross-references to missing parts of the thesis, as well as additional contemporary works. Despite this, it is a wealth of information that should not be overlooked. Requirements: Awakened (Any one class level). 2500 INT. Nine years of study. Alternate Requirements: Awakened (any one class level). Possession of at least one additional item within the ¡°Thesis of the Unbound Magi¡± set. Type: Imbuement. Set. Effects: Increase the rank and rarity of [Unbound Spellcraft]. This scroll can be studied up to five times for additional rewards. Currently 0/5. The requirements for further study, if any, will be listed before any further attempts.
As far as Alarion was concerned, the base requirements of the item were functionally impossible. Nine years felt like a lifetime to him. It almost literally was, given his age, though he wondered how the requirement interacted with the odd time dilation of the challenge dungeon. Even if it worked in his favor, the attribute requirements did not. The text itself was fundamentally unreadable. Not because the script was poorly written or magically altered, but because it made no earthly sense. A few thousand words in length, the document was a convoluted mess of contradictions and esoteric theory that Alarion could not hope to untangle. Not even in the relaxation of a good bath. With a full belly and nothing else to consume his attention, Alarion reluctantly exited the bath. He felt reinvigorated, ready to take on the world as he reemerged into the main chamber to find Valentina waiting for him with a fresh smile on her face. ¡°I was worried you¡¯d drowned.¡± Alarion snorted, then looked to his right, at the two doors that awaited him. One was familiar, marked with the same crossed swords behind a skull and two red jewels beneath it. A combat room, one where he could not retreat and where he could fail. The other had a new symbol, a person pressed beneath an enormous weight. It didn¡¯t look as though he were lifting it, only that he was struggling not to be crushed. A single ruby was set beneath it, marking it as the easier of the two. ¡°An endurance challenge.¡± She answer in response to his unspoken question. Alarion eyed the two doors. Then, taking Valentina¡¯s words to heart, he reached for the one on the right. It was the easier of the two, and if there was one thing Alarion was good at, it was enduring hardship. ¡°Am I making the right choice this time?¡± He asked. ¡°That I cannot say.¡± Valentina replied honestly. ¡°But you seem to be making it for the right reasons, at least.¡± Chapter Sixty-Seven When Alarion had first entered the challenge dungeon, he¡¯d expected a series of tight corridors, of stone walls and spike traps. It was the sort of dungeon talked about in folk tales and the only one he knew. Valentina¡¯s first challenge had disabused him of that notion. This was her space, and it was clear she could mold it to her whim. If he was to face a test of endurance, it could be anything from crossing an enormous desert to delving into the depths of a deep lake. Yet somehow she still managed to surprise him. This time, with her simplicity. The room was a small, bland cube. Perhaps fifteen feet across in either direction, its walls and floor were rough, featureless grey stone, lit by a glowing mote of magic that hovered overhead. There was no exit, save for the entrance he¡¯d used and the room contained only a single object of note. A plush armchair dominated the center of the room, its rich brown leather cracked and worn. With its high back, crystal tipped arm rests and rich construction, it felt more like a throne, the sort of chair a family patriarch might take to when he went to smoke his cigars. The invitation was clear, at least to him. Whatever challenge Valentina had in mind, it involved the chair. No doubt the test would begin once he sat down. Even so, Alarion thought back to her words, about how he was prone to self-sabotage. A few seconds looking around the room first wouldn¡¯t cost him. Not that there was much to look at. The walls, floor and ceiling held no great insight when inspected up close. There were no hidden carvings, no secret answers concealed by odd angles or patterns in the wear. It was only when Alarion touched them that the surfaces revealed their true nature. The sensation was hard to describe. It was cold, but not in temperature. Physically present, but empty, as though with enough of a push, his hand could sink into the wall without breaking it. It was an unpleasant feeling, one that leaked further and further up his arm the longer he remained in contact with the wall. ¡°What in the world?¡± Alarion asked as he withdrew his hand. There was no damage, no sign on his palm that anything was amiss, but it took a few seconds for the discomfort to dissipate. Lacking any physical sign of distress, Alarion called up his status. And that was when he saw it. MP 560/565 The wall was draining his MP. He reached out and touched the wall again with a grimace. The sensation was still unpleasant, even if he now knew it was not directly harmful. It took a moment, then his MP ticked down. A few seconds later and another point ticked away. The chill proceeded up his arm, and the drain began to come faster. Looking inward with his new [Introverted Mana Sense] Alarion could feel the flow of his internal mana draining out into the otherwise bland stone wall, where it promptly diffused, then vanished in time. Kneeling down, he quickly confirmed with touch that the floor held the same property, likely the roof did as well. No. Not just touching them, he realized. The drain was small, but his overall rate of regeneration was slower than it should have been. The room itself was soaking up some of his mana by sheer proximity. Was the chair a decoy? Was the point of the test to somehow charge the room itself? There was only one way to find out. The chair conformed to his body as he sat. It was, without a doubt, the most comfortable piece of furniture Alarion had ever sat upon. The wood and leather supported him where he needed it and yielded where he did not. It smelled like oils and time, familiar but distant. It made him think of his father¡¯s embrace. It was an incredible, if entirely mundane chair. Until he put his hands on the crystal balls that tipped each arm rest. Cold rushed up his arms and into his chest, a void sensation that dwarfed the discomfort of touching the nearby walls. He tried to hold on to his internal mana, to resist the pull, but it was like grasping at strands of string being pulled at a hundred angles. Even the ones he managed snag were ripped from his grip or torn into pieces by the two opposing forces. Still pinned at the top of his vision, Alarion watched as his MP cascaded down toward zero. Once it hit, he felt a sharp pang of discomfort as his body began to convert his remaining resource pools into MP at a precipitous rate. ¡°Stop. Stop!¡± Alarion shouted at no one as he struggled to remove his hands. They were drawn to the crystal orbs by some unseen force and it took a considerable effort and a twist of his body for leverage to pry one free. Luckily, doing so instantly broke the connection and the siphon stopped as quickly as it had begun. His MP was at zero while his HP and Stamina were barely above two-thirds. It had been less than thirty seconds. Twenty-three, if he had to guess, based on the clock that had appeared above the door. 59:37 An hour. He¡¯d have to endure an hour of that. Was Valentina insane? ¡°Are you insane?¡± Alarion asked as he re-emerged from the challenge room to find Valentina curled in an armchair of her own, legs thrown over the edge with a book in hand.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Hmm? Giving up already?¡± ¡°What? No. I-¡± He could see a glimmer of amusement in her eye, and he did not like it in the slightest. ¡°That chair could have killed me.¡± ¡°Pshaw, no. You just would have failed. That would have been unfortunate, but far from lethal.¡± Alarion opened his mouth to protest before he realized she was right. Only the hardest rooms had the potential to be lethal. Even if it felt dangerous, there was no way she¡¯d have let him die. ¡°Anything else? Time is ticking.¡± ¡°An hour?¡± He asked, grimly. ¡°Well, the time does slowly go back up when you¡¯re not in the chair, so depending on how many breaks you take, it could be considerably longer.¡± Alarion glared. ¡°You already got a free lesson on your last test. I¡¯m here to challenge you, not baby you. You have all the skills you need to complete this challenge. Get to it.¡± She didn¡¯t dismiss him in so many words, but the way Valentina looked back to her book left Alarion with no illusions that she was interested in continuing the conversation. With a sigh, he returned to the challenge room. The conundrum in front of him was obvious. It took nearly two hours for his MP to regenerate all the way to its maximum, which earned him about twenty seconds of time off the challenge clock. The math there did not work in his favor. It would take the better part of two weeks for him to chip away at that timer, and that was without it ticking back up during his rest periods. It also assumed that he safely broke the connection each time and didn¡¯t somehow cause lasting damage. With his new condition, that was nowhere near a certainty.
New Condition! Overspent ¨C Moderate [Survivor¡¯s Endurance] has taken effect. [Overspent ¨C Moderate] ¨C Convert remaining resource pools to MP at a rate of 1:3.
The basic description was less helpful than normal, which forced Alarion deeper into his menus for a full description:
Overspent Cause: The Overspent condition occurs when a forced or intentional drain would reduce an existing resource pool (MP/Stamina) below 0. Effects: The remaining resource pools are forcibly converted at a rate of 1:2 and immediately spent through the drain effect as though they were the existing resource. E.g. a stamina drain would result in 1 HP and 1 MP being converted into 1 stamina which is then drained. For every 25% drained over the pool maximum, the severity of this condition increases. E.g. at -25/100 stamina (25 MP/HP spent) the severity of the condition will increase, as will the conversion rate.
The condition was one more wrinkle in an already difficult situation. Like most conditions, [Overspent] would take hours to heal, with the duration ramping up alongside the severity. At moderate, the System told him it would take slightly over eight hours to heal fully. Testing the chair again too quickly risked compounding the issue, and if it got too severe he stood a real chance of failure. That meant he had eight hours to puzzle out a solution. To figure out the trick behind the challenge. If there was one. It was the room itself, of that he was almost certain. The slow drain mimicked that of the now frightening chair, but on a scale where Alarion would be able to study the effect and come up with some sort of countermeasure. He waited several long minutes for his MP to recharge to a reasonable level, then settled down cross legged, careful to avoid touching bare skin to the floor. Once he was comfortable, Alarion reached out a hand and touched it to the nearest wall. He almost jerked away at the now familiar and disconcerting chill but kept his touch in place as he focused on the wall, studying the effects of the mana absorbing material through his [Introverted Mana Sense]. The tug from the wall was barely a fraction of the wrenching pull that the chair had exerted upon him. It was slow enough that Alarion could follow the strands of individual mana as they were pulled from his core. But even weak as it was, he was no more effective at stopping it than he had been with the chair. With an effort of will, Alarion found he could stop a thread here or there, but only for a moment. Inevitably, the strands subjected to that tug of war would snap under the pressure, leaving him with little to show for his effort. During his wait, Alarion had considered a number of possible theories about how the wall functioned, but as it drained his mana, second by second, he was able to put a number of those quite quickly to bed. It was not simply an unbound field, greedily soaking up whatever mana it was given, because the mana didn¡¯t remain. It didn¡¯t flow to some other part of the room, or power some yet unseen facet of another spell. Instead his mana was drained, segmented and obliterated. The process looked familiar. It took nearly an hour of on and off study for him to be certain, but his gut instinct proved correct. That was void magic. It helped explain why the chair posed such a threat to him. Alarion¡¯s condition made him especially susceptible to MP draining attacks, and Void magic was second to only the Gravity affinity in that regard. While the latter forcibly ¡®pulled¡¯ the mana from its target, Void spells created an absence that magical energy naturally wanted to fill. Sadly, knowledge of how the trap functioned was not particularly useful in disarming it. The void magic within the walls, and presumably within the chair, had no ready access for disruption. There were no sigils or markings he could disrupt or distort, and he was nowhere near talented enough to try to counter the magic with a spell of his own. Nor was that the point of the challenge, he knew. This was an endurance challenge, not an arcane one. The goal was not to come up with a clever solution to subvert the trap, but to show that he could survive it. True, he¡¯d probably get full marks if he found a way to circumvent it, but having met its designer, Alarion didn¡¯t think he was likely to outsmart her. Not that he was likely to survive the trap either. He needed a way to resist the pull. Were he a functional person, he¡¯d have mana gates that he could bolster to stop the worst of it. But then if he were functional Valentina would have given him a different challenge entirely. Probably barraged him with overbearing magical pressure, the sort of thing Alarion could take in stride. Unlike this, which¡­ He was thinking in circles. Useless ones, at that. ¡°Hmm¡­¡± Alarion grumbled as he stood and began to pace the room¡¯s outer edge. If he were going to think in circles, he might as well walk in them. His mana was too fragile. That was the heart of the issue. ZEKE had taught him how to mold and grasp his mana as part of his training on [Quicken] and [Mend Body], but even if he had a good grip on it before he sat down, the sheer strength of the pull would rend the individual strands of his mana asunder in instants. Alarion walked a circle, then stopped. Unless. Chapter Sixty-Eight ¡°Things seem to be coming along well.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion grunted in response to Valentina¡¯s lighthearted words. For once he was taciturn not out of rudeness or frustration, but out of sheer focus. He couldn¡¯t speak. Not without losing his edge. And the moment that happened¡­ The young man frowned suddenly, then wrenched in his seat to dislodge one hand from the crystal orb that held him locked in place. The magical siphon broke with an audible pop of air, and Alarion slumped in the chair, glaring up at the ceiling. ¡°Or¡­ not. Nine minutes left is still an achievement.¡± Valentina said sympathetically. ¡°A meaningless one.¡± Alarion grumbled, gesturing up to the clock which was ticking up rapidly, second by second. ¡°You said that it would go back up slowly.¡± ¡°It does!¡± She protested insincerely. ¡°At first. The last twenty minutes are a bit more¡­ brisk.¡± Alarion¡¯s scowl was positively scathing. ¡°It is to keep you from brute forcing it.¡± She explained, her own mood souring somewhat under his glare. ¡°But it will still be here tomorrow. It is late, you should eat and rest.¡± He looked back to the chair, frown still on his lips. He¡¯d intended for this to be his successful attempt, or to try at least one more time if he¡¯d failed. But it was hard to argue with her words. Especially as the scent of spices wafted in through the opened door. ¡°Fine.¡± ¡°Wonderful.¡± Valentina grinned, ushering him back into the main chamber. It had once again changed. Gone was the large oak desk that once dominated the far side of the room, replaced by an L-shaped bar of similar construction. A trio of bar stools stood in for the original two chairs, and a small wood burning stove sizzled behind the bar. The smell of leather and parchment still lingered in the air, but it was dominated by the tang of onions, pepper and popping grease that caused a growl in the pit of Alarion¡¯s stomach. ¡°Hungry, are we?¡± The incarnate smirked as she circled the bar and took up an apron. ¡°A little.¡± He answered absently. He should have been used to it, but the constant changes in location and layout were still getting to him. ¡°Do you even need an apron? Can you not just snap your fingers and make new clothes?¡± ¡°I could.¡± She admitted. ¡°I also don¡¯t need the stove, or to prep the ingredients. But what is the point of anything if you simply skip to the end?¡± The once goddess busied herself behind the bar, a knife in hand as she carved up small chunks of meat to add to the stir-fry. The recipe was local, one whose smell could be found permeating any large Ashadi market. It made Alarion think of his time in the Old City, of the smells that trailed down from Ashad-Vitri while he struggled to survive. ¡°Do you cook for everyone who challenges your dungeon?¡± There was a slight pause in the movement of Valentina¡¯s knife, a tenseness to her body before she shook her head. ¡°No. Some of them, especially those who¡¯ve spent months or years within the dungeon. But usually my interactions with guests are more perfunctory. And you wouldn¡¯t believe the number of people who fail out very quickly.¡± The boy went silent after her answer. Quiet enough that Valentina eventually glanced over one shoulder to see him staring down at the bar top, lost in his own thoughts. With a sigh, the woman turned back to her own work, filling the room with a sudden cloud of steam and smoke as she mixed in the remaining ingredients and a new helping of oil. It took a few more minutes for everything to sear to Valentina¡¯s satisfaction. She plated the dish, two big heaping messes of food that lacked any sense of artistic grace, but smelled as though they were more divine than she ever was. Satisfied, she scooped them up, moved the meals to the bar top and joined Alarion on its far side. ¡°You¡¯re upset.¡± Alarion took up a utensil and picked at the food, somewhat dubious despite the familiar recipe. ¡°No.¡± ¡°I thought your people, or rather, I thought Vitrians didn¡¯t lie.¡± Valentina started in on her own meal at a decidedly more ravenous pace before she added, ¡°You¡¯re eclectic. I like that.¡± ¡°I am not weird. And I am not-¡± Alarion¡¯s voice caught in his throat as he considered how Sierra might have taken such an obviously false protestation. ¡°I should be happy. My life turned around because of that number.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t talking about your Status this time,¡± rebutted Valentina. ¡°That is Her interest in you, yes. But I¡¯m not Her, not any longer. I have no stake in the great games, no need for allies. Everything I have is here, and I¡¯ll tell you, I¡¯d much rather have a strange young man bumbling about my challenges than the six-hundredth stuck up scion of a noble house with no sense of humor. Did you know that one of them told me I was courting death. Me. An Incarnate. I¡¯m literally dead and he-¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°You are actually dead?¡± Alarion interrupted with some surprise. ¡°I thought¡­¡± What had he thought? She was an ¡®incarnation¡¯ of one of the Mothers, a former host. Did they retire? He¡¯d been told that they grew old, so they had to die eventually. Right? Had Valentina died young, or was that something she could change? ¡°I am, yes! Deadish, anyway. Part of our pact with Mother is that we¡¯re given an afterlife of sorts. A pocket dimension all our own.¡± The woman brought a fork to her lips with one hand while the other waved toward the far wall. It spread out in a kaleidoscope of fractals, expanding into a cascading infinity, then snapped back as quickly as it started. ¡°A near infinite ability to create and explore higher realms of being, but very few interesting gues-¡± Alarion didn¡¯t know what to say, in large part because his mind ached at the dimensions he had been shown. He felt nausea rise within him and a deep empathic dread from which there would be no respite. How could he have never known, never understood until now? A thousand layers of glorious and gibbering reality, forged one atop another until- Quickly as it had come, the thoughts and memories fled his mind. It was as though they had been plucked straight from his head. Which they probably were, judging by Valentina¡¯s sheepish expression. ¡°Apologies. I sometimes forget the impact that can have on mortal minds. Like an ant walking across a spell book, only to suddenly learn and comprehend the concepts of books, words and magic. To try to go back to life as an ant with that in your head? It would be maddening, so I snipped them out for you.¡± She laughed somewhat awkwardly and gestured to Alarion¡¯s plate. ¡°You should eat.¡± ¡°Uh¡­huh.¡± Alarion brought another bite to his mouth, prodding at the empty space in his memory as one might the gap from a missing tooth. Something had been there, but what an ant had to do with it, he hadn¡¯t the slightest idea. ¡°So do you just stay here forever?¡± ¡°Until I¡¯m well and truly bored.¡± She nodded. ¡°The same door that brings you in will let me out. At that point I¡¯ll die like any mortal, and I¡¯ll find out what is next, if anything. For now¡­ this is nice. Peaceful.¡± ¡°Lonely.¡± Alarion said, thinking back to Alex and the others like him. ¡°I am glad you have a way out.¡± ¡°You see why I¡¯m not eager for you to leave, or to fail.¡± Valentina grinned in the face of his morose words. ¡°There are restrictions on me in this part of the space, imposed by Mother to make the challenge fair, but they¡¯re really more like guidelines. I can¡¯t give you answers, give undue rewards or alter the challenges themselves. But I can give you pointers. Even encouragement, if it helps!¡± He tilted his head as he looked her way, as though examining her for honesty. Then he nodded, the grimness in his expression lessening until he took his next bite. ¡°You use too much pepper.¡± ¡°You simply have a bland palate.¡± She shot back. ¡°Tell me about this strategy of yours. For the challenge.¡± Alarion flicked the largest bits of pepper off a bite sized chunk of meat as he considered how best to answer her question. ¡°It is very basic. You will not make fun?¡± ¡°Not at all.¡± He nodded again. ¡°I am sure there are technical terms for all of this, ZEKE could tell you, but I do not know them. It is all done by feeling and-¡± ¡°Alarion, I am not going to judge you.¡± She insisted. ¡°Mm. When I visualize my mana through my mana sense, it feels like a tangle of string throughout my body, as though each point of my MP is an individual string. When the siphon starts, it pulls these strings out one by one. I have some control over the mana in my body, enough to resist the pull, but the problem is that each strand is very brittle. They tear or fragment. I thought of a way to stop it but¡­¡± ¡°Go on.¡± Alarion¡¯s face took on a dour expression once more as the memory struck him. He took a bite of the food, chewing slowly to let the discomfort pass before he continued. ¡°When I was young, I used to help my sisters with straps and bracelets they would make for market. We used a clay ring with divots in it, you¡¯d braid south to north, north to south, and turn. South to north, north to south, and turn. The strings we used to make the bracelets were so weak that you could tear them by hand, but when it was done it was strong enough to carry your whole-body weight.¡± Valentina looked at him strangely. She started to speak, then clearly thought better of it. A wine glass appeared in her outstretched fingers, and she took a long sip. ¡°You braided your internal mana? And that worked?¡± ¡°You said you would not-¡± ¡°I¡¯m not making light!¡± The woman protested. ¡°I¡¯m just¡­ surprised. I had to improvise a test to deal with your flaw, but I still use a version of the siphon challenge elsewhere. I¡¯ve never heard of¡­ never even considered something like that. But it would have to work, wouldn¡¯t it? Making the individual strands much more difficult to tear.¡± ¡°Not difficult enough. I am still failing.¡± ¡°How? Be precise.¡± ¡°It is exhausting.¡± Alarion answered readily. ¡°I was able to whittle down the time in ten minute intervals until the end, but trying to battle that pull slowly depletes my stamina. Eventually it inflicts a condition, and-¡± ¡°That makes sense.¡± Valentina spoke over him, as though she did not even realize she was doing it. ¡°You¡¯d have to be profoundly stubborn to play tug-of-war with a siphon for that long, but eventually it would exhaust anyone. What you need is-¡± She stopped mid-sentence, glaring up at the roof. ¡°I¡¯m not. No, this is entirely within-¡± She scowled. ¡°Just because¡­ fine, I won¡¯t say a thing. Alarion, you¡¯re making a mess. You need a napkin.¡± The young man gave her a concerned look. ¡°No I am not.¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m quite serious. Take mine.¡± She pushed a small slip of violet linen toward him. Then, as he reached for it, she slammed her knife down into the far corner, piercing the cloth and the bar top beneath. Alarion flinched away, grabbing his own knife for protection in the face of Valentina¡¯s stern expression. ¡°Alarion. Take it.¡± Her words brooked no disobedience. Despite himself, Alarion reached for the corner of the napkin and pulled. Predictably, it didn¡¯t move. Not with a knife pinning its far corner firmly in place. Alarion was about to protest, to explain that he couldn¡¯t do as she asked. Then it hit him. ¡°Oh.¡± Chapter Sixty-Nine ¡°You¡¯re sure you have it this time?¡± ¡°I think so.¡± ¡°You thought so last time and it nearly killed you.¡± The young man paused at that, head canted slightly to one side as he absorbed her words. Then he nodded. ¡°I¡¯m pretty sure.¡± The reply did not fill Valentina with the confidence he clearly hoped for. It had been a day and a half since his last disastrous attempt and the young man could not afford a similar failure. Pretty sure was not going to cut it, especially when the chair had already taken so much out of him. Seated in the challenge room, Alarion let his arms dangle over the sides as he mentally prepared for what would come next. Struggle. Pain. It was familiar territory, but ZEKE had taught him of the importance of being centered before a battle regardless of they type. It was easy to carry the baggage of previous failures, to learn the wrong lesson and overcompensate. Or to simply become frustrated. ¡°I am ready.¡± ¡°If it goes beyond your MP-¡± ¡°Then I will stop.¡± Alarion assured her. Then he gestured to the nearby door. ¡°Could you?¡± ¡°You know I can watch whether or not I¡¯m actually in the room.¡± ¡°It is distracting.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± Valentina scowled down at him, then reality flickered and she was gone. Or invisible. Or on another plane of existence. Who could really tell. Alarion flexed his left hand. There was still some soreness in it from his last attempt, the remains of the severe [Overspent] condition that he had inflicted upon himself. It wouldn¡¯t impact this attempt, not if he intended to honor his word to Valentina and break the siphon the moment it dug into his HP. He stretched his hand a few more times, then sighed. He was delaying the inevitable. It was time to get started. With the help of his [Introverted Mana Sense] Alarion began to weave. He¡¯d been practicing almost every waking moment for the last day, refining the process under Valentina¡¯s watchful eye and tutelage. As it turned out, the way one experienced their own internal mana could vary from mage to mage, through both the skills they used, the aptitudes they possessed and the method by which they were taught. By far the most common was flow theory, where mages treated their mana similar to the blood within their veins. Others controlled it like an inner fire that spread throughout or an electric pulse that jumped from node to node. Each of these would have their own method of confronting this test, and none were truly considered optimal. In Valentina¡¯s telling it was far more crucial that the method suit the mage. Many a promising student had floundered in their career when a stubborn instructor insisted on teaching them ¡®the right way¡¯. His strand theory as she¡¯d dubbed it, was unfamiliar, but its results were undeniable. Instead, the focus had been on refinement. Alarion had learned to braid his structure more quickly, fast enough that it might just be practical to use in an actual combat scenario. He¡¯d learned how to tighten it and to increase the density, making it more durable for the challenge ahead. Most critically, at least according to Valentina, she¡¯d taught him that a visualization was just that, a visualization. He was not actually braiding his mana, no more than others had fire or lightning smoldering within them. The visualization was a useful heuristic, but it wasn¡¯t real. In time she promised that knowledge would be among his most valuable rewards. In practice, Alarion couldn¡¯t begin to understand how. He was delaying. He¡¯d had days for theory and education. This was the time for application, and still he was delaying. That was probably a bad sign. He wasn¡¯t normally this nervous. With a deep breath, Alarion lifted his hands and placed them down on the crystals at the end of each armrest. The sensation of loss was instant, a sudden drain on his mana that pulled at his fringes before he was able to fight back. It was only a few points of MP, but with slightly over twenty minutes to endure, every point counted. ¡°Nngh.¡± Alarion grunted in the face of the discomfort as he fought back against the pull. His body was tense, his arms straining and his core taut as he resisted the siphon. It was a war fought in body and spirit, his stamina already beginning to deplete as he drew the braided cord of mana deep into his heart. And stabbed a pin through it. The pin in question was Valentina¡¯s idea, the core of the strategy that she totally did not suggest. He¡¯d understood her meaning plain enough from her demonstration but putting it into practice had required considerable trial and error. It was a bound field, the start of a [Quicken] spell set to cast within his body, but never finalized. The structure was rich with mana and held the surrounding energies in place. In doing so, it served to ¡®pin¡¯ the entire braid of mana, drastically lessening the burden on Alarion¡¯s overtaxed willpower. The strategy was not without its flaws, however. A spell could only be held for so long before the field began to decay. Two minutes was his absolute limit in training, but he was lucky to last half that long in practice. Worse yet, each subsequent casting decayed faster than the first. And each time it failed, it hurt.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
Spell Failure! You have suffered minor spell backlash. HP -10.
The best equivalent Alarion could come up with was that of a pulled muscle. Alarion had learned as a child that if he tilted his foot the right way and tensed his calf he could ¡®pull¡¯ the muscle on command. It hurt, but the unsettling twitch of muscle beneath the skin had been a fun way to gross out other children. It had been great fun until the sixth time he¡¯d shown off and promptly torn the muscle entirely. This was similar, punishing the same injury over and over again, each time worse than the last.
Spell Failure! You have suffered minor spell backlash. HP -15. Spell Failure! You have suffered minor spell backlash. HP -20.
But it worked. The first time Alarion had attempted this strategy he¡¯d beaten his previous record by four minutes. The second time he¡¯d knocked off another minute. The third time¡­ Fifteen seconds. The memory bit at the front of Alarion¡¯s mind, as bitter now as it was then. He¡¯d been so close. Close enough that he¡¯d gambled. Close enough that he¡¯d been sure that he¡¯d make the mark before the [Overspent] condition could drain the last of his stamina and HP. He just hadn¡¯t counted on overspent becoming so¡­ severe. Moderate had been 1:3, while the more severe form of the condition had converted his HP and Stamina at a whopping 1:20. He¡¯d broken the connection at the last moment, but even a few seconds of [Overspent] at its worst had chewed through his HP as though it was barely there. He¡¯d escaped with 9 HP, less than half a second from death. Perhaps the closest he¡¯d ever come. Too close. This time would be better, he was sure of it. But as he watched his HP, Stamina and MP all tick slowly down at the corner of his field of view, Alarion could not shake his unease. He¡¯d tried to keep a running total on his previous attempts in order to track his progress, but doing so was more trouble than it was worth. The drain ramped up the more exhausted he became, and attention spent trying to run calculations in his head was energy taken away from the crucial task at hand. ¡°Focus.¡± Alarion told himself through gritted teeth. The word felt good. Reassuring. He was either on the path to success, or he wasn¡¯t. Fretting about it would do him no good. Still, having 75% of his mana left at the ten-minute mark seemed like it was good progress. A jolt of pain shot through his body, killing Alarion¡¯s moment of satisfaction as his most recent pin failed abruptly. He created a new one in an instant, halting the sudden strain on his resources, then went back to examine the fragments of the one that had shattered. It was malformed, the outer shell of the field so thin that it was a wonder it had held as long as it did. He couldn¡¯t afford such sloppy mistakes. He needed to focus. Especially with the most difficult part not far ahead of him. Alarion did not have enough MP to complete the challenge as it was. Perhaps if he spent days or weeks further strengthening his technique, he¡¯d be able to complete the task with his basic resources, but there was a simpler solution. He had brought gear with him, and that could make all the difference. Potions were out of the question. Trying to drink one of his handful of mana potions without the use of his hands was a messy and unsuccessful enterprise he was not willing to repeat. But those weren¡¯t the only MP restoring items he had access to.
Simple Mana Reserve [Common](Rank I) Description: A basic copper bracelet egraved with arcane markings, this bracer serves as an introductory level storage and retrieval system for the user¡¯s mana. Requirements: None Attunement Cost: 10 points Type: Bracelet Enchantment: This item will store up to a maximum of 2000 MP of the wearer¡¯s excess MP regeneration. This item can be manually charged on mental command. On mental command, the user can withdraw stored MP at a rate of 100 MP/Sec at a return rate of 1:5 for a total of 400 MP total over 10 seconds. Ability Bonuses: +2 WIL. Note: MP stored in this item will be toxic if retrieved by anyone other than the original donor.
Curiously, the item description was full of lies. Or, well, not lies per se. It was simply incorrect. For the overwhelming majority of users, the item would function as described. He was the issue. His flaw restricted him from charging the item manually, but was a blessing and a curse when it came to withdrawal. Rather than a slow trickle of 20 MP/sec, Alarion found that the item flooded him all at once. It made the effect quick but sloppy, with as much as half of the MP being lost in the process. It was even worse while he was in the middle of a challenge. All that loose MP, barely even tethered to his body? The chair ate it right up. Which was of course the plan. With a slight push onto the unbound field that served as its trigger, the bracelet flooded Alarion¡¯s body with new mana. Some of it was lost almost immediately, his body unable to assimilate it in time. More was consumed by the endless hunger of Valentina¡¯s torture device as it greedily devoured the new found magical energy. But in doing so the device loosened its ever present pull on Alarion¡¯s core. The gluttonous implement consumed the majority of the new mana, but in doing so it provided its victim the precious seconds he needed to reinforce his position, to tighten the weave of his remaining mana, to strengthen it with what little he¡¯d managed to absorb, and to brace it firmly in place with a new pin that would hold out through the end of the challenge. Valentina willing, anyway. He grunted in pain as the last of the ¡®free¡¯ mana ran out and the villain resumed is onslaught. Panic welled within him, a moment of unbridled fear that his new ramparts would not hold, that his weave would tear or the pin would break. Yet it held. His willpower held and the seconds ticked by. A minute left. Alarion gritted his teeth to the audible pop of his jaw. His mana reserves were low, but were they too low? He couldn¡¯t remember his last attempt to be sure. Thirty seconds. It would be enough. Even if the threads were to break now, it would be enough. His HP would be low, but he could endure a few seconds of- No. The thought hit him like cold water splashed upon aching joints. He had given his word to Valentina that he would not make that risk. He¡¯d try again if he had to, but he wouldn¡¯t have to. He had this. His knuckles were white, his face a mask of crimson as Alarion fought with every fiber of his being through those last thirty seconds. It was as much a physical task as a mental one, his whole-body rigid as the timer ticked from down from five. Three. Two. One. Alarion slumped in the chair as the siphon broke off at last. One of the crystal orbs at the end of the arm rest felt brittle under his touch, and when he finally managed to loosen his taloned grip Alarion found that it had cracked into fragments and powder within his grip the moment the challenge had ended. Would Valentina be mad? Probably not. Right? Chapter Seventy Contrary to his expectations, perhaps even his fears, Valentina made no appearance as Alarion opened his eyes and surveyed the damage he had done. The chair was ruined, either by accident or design and his chest was covered in angry purple and yellow splotches from his spell failures. His HP, MP and Stamina were all abysmally low and he was filled with a corresponding ache. But it didn¡¯t matter. The clock opposite him glowed with a victorious golden light.
00:00
He¡¯d done it. He walked with a limp as he exited the small chamber, and did his level best not to scowl as Valentina greeted him with an all too pleasant smile from the opposite side of a polished wooden dining table set for two. ¡°So? How¡¯d it go.¡± Alarion met her gaze until she relented. ¡°Fine, fine. I know how it went. You are no fun. Sit.¡± A chair slid out opposite the goddess and it took him an instant to realize that no magic had been involved. She¡¯d simply kicked it from under the table. ¡°I¡¯d still like to hear your thoughts.¡± ¡°It was close.¡± Alarion answered, already salivating at the smell of roasted¡­ something. Both the meat and vegetables were distressingly unfamiliar, even by the standards of her cooking. ¡°What is this?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡± When he didn¡¯t reply Valentina sighed. ¡°It is safe to eat, if that is what you are concerned about. Now sit.¡± The two spent the next twenty minutes discussing Alarion¡¯s success between bites. It was, without a doubt, the best meal he had ever eaten, though the first real meal Elena had provided him had come close. Starvation had a way of making anything taste delicious. It was the surprise second course that really sealed the deal in Valentina¡¯s favor. ¡°I don¡¯t give grades, but overall I would say you have a good grasp of the fundamentals.¡± Valentina laughed as Alarion beamed, then quickly added, ¡°For a beginner.¡± The qualification didn¡¯t so much as budge his smile. He knew he¡¯d done well. ¡°So what is next?¡± ¡°I¡¯d recommend rest, given the strain you put yourself through. Then¡­¡± Valentina gestured to the singular door on the far end of the room. Combat. At the hardest difficulty no less. ¡°As your third challenge, this is one of the breakpoints. I¡¯ll warn you that most who fail do so on the third, sixth and ninth rooms. Since you won your coin flip you¡¯ll never have to face the last, assuming you make it that far, but you will have to challenge this one if you wish to continue.¡± ¡°Should I?¡± Alarion eyed the door as though the skull upon it could offer guidance of its own. ¡°That is up to you. But if you do, you should not go unprepared. If nothing else, an implement is in order.¡± Valentina glanced momentarily to the table and Alarion saw that an inkwell and a set of brushes and stencils had replaced his empty plate. ¡°Speaking of which, this belongs to you.¡±The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. He looked to Valentina, momentarily confused, then reached for the quill and focused upon it.
Inscription Tools of Third Council [Rare] Description: Originally hand crafted for novice magi of the Third Council, these intricate tools have fallen out of favor over the last century. With golden ink and a steady hand, these tools should allow any competent mage to create or bind an implement in a manner of their choosing. Requirements: Any ¡®Spellcraft¡¯ skill. Type: Crafting resource. Effects: This set provides all necessary raw materials for the user to prepare an implement for use in Spellcraft. This set includes enough material to bind a maximum of 40 known spells of Rank I or below to the implement before it will require replenishment. Failure in preparation or binding will still utilize resources.
¡°These rewards aren¡¯t random at all, are they?¡± ¡°Not particularly, no.¡± Valentina confessed. ¡°If the challenger is uninteresting or rude I have some leeway to randomize it, or punish them, but I rarely utilize it. The point of Mother¡¯s dungeons is to foster growth through difficulty. Awarding you some random item that might well be trash is not in keeping with that goal. I''m still limited by Mother''s rules as to the nature of what I can give you, but the list is quite extensive.¡± ¡°So you are telling me that I should create my implement before I attempt the next challenge.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not¡­ not telling you that.¡± Alarion snorted a quick laugh. ¡°How long would that take. For me.¡± ¡°It can vary wildly, but with those tools? A day. Maybe less if you take to it well. Or longer if you¡¯re abysmal at it.¡± That was less than ideal. He¡¯d already spent four of his thirteen days on the first two challenges. As much as he wanted to jump right into the inscription process, the last challenge had drained him almost completely. Starting a complex task while mentally and physically exhausted was a disaster waiting to happen. But so was waiting too long. Another day spent on inscription would have him starting the third challenge on his sixth day. Being halfway through his allotted time with only two completed challenges to his name seemed a terrible waste. ¡°Have you given any thought to my offer?¡± Valentina asked, interrupting his thoughts. ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°Apparently not,¡± the once god pouted ever so slightly. ¡°My offer about your¡­ patrons.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± He had given it a little thought, mostly during his downtime between failed attempts at the second challenge. Not that it had helped. Truthfully, Alarion didn¡¯t know where to start with the offer, or what to make of it. He believed implicitly, perhaps naively, that Valentina would do exactly what she said. That she would allow him to exit the dungeon anywhere else in the world. That all he had to do was ask. But he didn¡¯t know how he felt about that. Valentina had all but called him a slave in her description of the Vitrians, and it was hard to argue with the logic. Induction seemed as polite a fiction as the various hosts he¡¯d had over the years, a veneer over what was slavery in all but name. But it was still hard to shake the feeling of obligation. He¡¯d been so malnourished when they¡¯d found him that the act of eating itself had almost made him ill. They¡¯d fed him, clothed him, educated him. Alarion had no illusions that they would have done so for others, or that they would have even done so for him had his Aptitude not been so abnormally high. Even so, that obligation lingered. Whether or not they would have done it for others, they had done it for him. The Numbered Empire was at the heart of his woes, but Elena had saved his life, and that was not a debt he was so quick to throw away. Not even with all the risks and requirements that came with it. It was complicated. Too complicated when he was so tired. ¡°I am still thinking.¡± He admitted. ¡°I will make a decision. One way or the other. Just, I have not done so yet.¡± Valentina observed him with a slight cant to her head, then smiled. ¡°Understood. Go, get some rest and I can show you the basics in the morning, assuming you¡¯d like that?¡± ¡°Very much so.¡± "Then sleep well." Valentina turned away as Alarion started for his room, then looked over her shoulder to add one final thing. "Oh, and Alarion?" "Mm?" "Bring that mace of yours in the morning." Chapter Seventy-One ¡°I thought we would be making a spellbook.¡± Alarion said with a hint of skepticism at the items laid out before him. Stencils, gold and black ink, several brushes and of course, his oversized mace. He was seated on the floor of Valentina¡¯s now empty room, in the middle of a diagram similar to the one ZEKE had used to test his affinities, albiet one that was much larger and drawn in chalk. ¡°Isn¡¯t that what most mages do?¡± ¡°It is, yes. But you don¡¯t strike me as a book person.¡± Alarion scowled slightly, unsure if that was an observation or an insult but he let it slide in favor of reviewing the pot of golden ink and the less familiar tools that surrounded it. ¡°So how does this work?¡± ¡°The first step is normally boring theory, but I think we can dispense with that for now, yes?¡± The woman smirked at Alarion¡¯s enthusiastic nod and continued, ¡°Practical it is then. With a side of theory. You¡¯ll need that all rectangular stencils. Set the rest aside.¡± Alarion did as she asked, separating the various stencils into two piles by shape, until only twelve remained. They were made of a flexible green metal that Alarion was wholly unfamiliar with. Rectangular in shape, each one had a number of arcane symbols punched through it, and a side inset with some sort of slide. Curious, he fiddled with the device and watched as a second thin plate slid within the first, shrinking or enlarging the designs depending on its final position. ¡°Traditional inscription is delicate and time consuming work. Even a master can take weeks or months to properly inscribe an implement to their liking. What you¡¯re holding was designed as a work around, a toolkit made to allow anyone to create or replace an implement in a matter of hours. That speed comes at a slight cost in precision and power, so you will eventually want to refine or replace the implement we make here today. But you are in a hurry so for now we¡¯ll use this.¡± The way Valentina said those last words was enough to make Alarion roll his eyes. Over the last several days the once god had made no secret of her distaste for his time limit, or for her desire that he exceed it. She didn¡¯t want him to leave early, that much was clear. The only question was whether it was out of a concern as an educator, or because she would be lonely once he was gone. ¡°As you can see, the basic stencils should be familiar and-¡± ¡°They are not.¡± Alarion quickly interjected. ¡°Really?¡± Valenina¡¯s brows knit together in momentary confusion. ¡°Oh¡­ hmm. You¡¯re on the right continent, but I suppose some contextual dri-¡± ¡°They represent the affinities, right?¡± This time it was Alarion who interrupted, his fingers tracing over one of the open symbols, then finding its matching pair on the floor. ¡°This would be fire. Which would make that water, then air¡­ ?¡± ¡°Well done.¡± Her tone didn¡¯t quite match her expression. She¡¯d clearly been gearing up for a lecture she was no longer allowed to give, and the loss rankled her. ¡°The first set of stencils cover the breadth of the affinities, while the latter are what are known as communion runes. These exist to interface between the various affinity runes. Mana of one type does not often mix well with another, but by properly filtering it you will be able to store spells of a variety of affinities within a single implement.¡± Alarion nodded a little, but it was clear from his expression that he was still struggling with the topic. Valentina would get to lecture after all. ¡°Imagine for a moment you threw a pail of water on a fire. What happens?¡± ¡°It douses it?¡± ¡°And boils off some of the water. Both are altered by the exchange, often in unpredictable ways.¡± She gestured to one of the dozens of cut out icons on the second set of stencils. ¡°This rune interfaces between water and fire. Think of it like a pot, allowing each to serve their proper function without destroying the other. With a proper inscription, the mana between the two can even intermingle to create new effect, though that would be considerably harder with such directly oppositional effects.¡± ¡°And this last one?¡± Alarion asked, gesturing to a stencil that contained only a single, very complicated sigil. ¡°That is the core rune, the lynchpin. All the others draw their mana from it, and it will draw its mana from you. It is where you store your spell formulas. We will need to make some modifications in your case, and despite what your skill description says, the implement won¡¯t work for any externalized channeling unless you¡¯re holding it.¡± Alarion scratched his chin thoughtfully as he took in the instruction. Eventually he pointed to the mace. ¡°So we¡¯re just going to draw on it?¡± ¡°Well, it is a little more complicated than that.¡± Valentina scoffed. ¡°But ultimately, yes. We¡¯ll mark the item with icons representing each of the affinities, with your primary Affinities being considerably larger. Then we¡¯ll need to mark it with communion runes, and once that is finished, we¡¯ll need to make connections between them.¡± ¡°That¡­ seems really easy.¡± The once-god snorted in amusement. ¡°It is easy. That was the point of rewarding you with an inscription kit. But don¡¯t mistake easy for inexpensive. The stencils are clever metalwork with their ability to alter their size, but the value is in the ink. It looks like paint, but it is actually a mana-reactive liquid metal that will adhere to almost anything. A simple formula with expensive ingredients for something given to a novice. Mages have been known to take out considerable loans to purchase a kit like the one you were given.¡± ¡°The one I earned.¡± Alarion corrected her. Valentina tipped her head in acknowledgement. ¡°The one you earned. So be sure not to spill it.¡± ¡°Where do we start?¡± ¡°First. We need to draw a map, and to practice.¡± A half scale paper replica of the head of Alarion¡¯s mace flickered into existence in Valentina¡¯s hands and she set it down next to the young man. Alarion was careful as he picked up the paper copy, though he found it surprisingly firm to the touch. ¡°This is a really good copy. I suppose you can just sort of god up whatever.¡± ¡°I can, yes. But I hand made that, actually.¡± When Alarion spit her with a stare of disbelief, she put a hand to her chest in dismay. ¡°What!? I did. I godded up the paper, as you so crudely put it, but you slept long enough that I had time to make several.¡± Still unconvinced, the young man turned his attention back to the paper mace. ¡°When you say ¡®draw a map¡¯¡­¡± ¡°You¡¯ll need to connect the various runes. The wider the band, the more mana can flow through from one rune to the next. But before you get the bright idea of drawing them all as wide as possible, keep in mind that the mana flow will become grow more sluggish overall with each drop. You¡¯ll want to strike a balance, sometimes it is better to have a lesser used affinity flow through two or three connections back to the core to save the pressure for where it matters more.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Turning the object over in his hands, Alarion could see why he needed a practice copy. Trying to map out complicated pathways on a three-dimensional object while making sure everything linked up properly? The task was daunting. ¡°That is why most mages use spellbooks.¡± Valentina explained as though reading his mind from his concerned expression. ¡°They¡¯re less versatile, but much more easily inscribed. Slap some runes and connections all over the front and back, tether them to the spine and you¡¯re finished. What we¡¯re doing will take more artistry and patience. But the end result is an implement that you can fight with, and much more importantly, cast through without needing to juggle between mace and spellbook.¡± ¡°Why not something smaller? A ring, or a pendant? Something that can¡¯t possibly get in the way?¡± ¡°That is a possibility.¡± She admitted. ¡°But not something practical at your rank, or even Rank II. These tools aren¡¯t nearly precise enough to work with something that small, and you¡¯ll need to develop an entirely new method if you want to inscribe an item all on your own. Something internal maybe? A piercing perhaps, no¡­ that wouldn¡¯t go far enough. But we could embed a¡­¡± Alarion checked out of Valentina¡¯s musings and focused his attention on the paper copy in his hands. The mace was six sided which was frustrating when he had five major runes he needed to inscribe upon it. The core rune would take up the ¡®front¡¯ facing of the hexigonal mace, with his four primary affinities each dominating one of the remaining facings. He could place the lesser affinities below those, and then leave the rear facing of the mace for communion runes. A good plan. At least in theory. In practice it quickly devolved into a wretched mess. Trying to put all the communion runes on a single facing meant that the majority of the connections all converged in one tight space. As they were not allowed to touch or overlap, he ended up having to move around other lines, doubling back and creating a maze like structure on the rear facing that was wholly unusable. His next attempt was better. Splitting the communion runes between the facings with his four affinities, he created a system of ¡®hubs¡¯ that flowed from one to the next, while placing his unused affinities on the rear facing. It was a stark improvement in organization, but was still clumsy. Mana would have to circle the mace thrice over to go from Illusion to Sight, or from Air to Dimension. Every so often Valentina would chime in with a helpful suggestion. Never solving the puzzle, but instead reminding him of some important function he¡¯d missed, like the fact that he ought use wider lines for his primary runes, or warning him against a particular design for its inefficiency. Valentina could have put the whole thing together in minutes, he was certain of that. She had an optimal design in mind and each iteration of his work that she approved of was merely a step toward the one she already knew was best. It was frustrating, but he understood it. She wouldn¡¯t always be there to guide him. Better he learn why her design was proper, rather than trying to reverse engineer it long after she was out of the picture. Even if it did feel like an enormous waste of time. ¡°I think this one should work.¡± She said proudly as she turned his seventh creation over in her hands. An eighth paper mace sat off to the side, already halfway folded in case Alarion¡¯s latest attempt did not meet her standards. It shouldn¡¯t bother him that she¡¯d been able guess how many attempts it would take him to get it right. But it did. ¡°A little sloppy on the line work, but I can tell it is because you¡¯re getting impatient.¡± ¡°So we can start?¡± ¡°You should take a break before we continue. You¡¯ve been sitting for hours.¡± ¡°I want to start.¡± Alarion shot her a firm look before she could argue. ¡°I am ready to start.¡± Valentina¡¯s golden eyes glittered as her lips curled in an approving smile. ¡°That is a good look. Very well.¡± The chalk diagram glowed to life with a tap of her heel, white-blue mana cascading out from the point of contact. The other light sources in the room dimmed in unison, save for the three candles indicating Alarion¡¯s victorious challenges. By the time it was finished he was bathed in an arcane light that pulsed steadily through the floor then scattered up the wall like lightning when it made contact. ¡°Whenever you are ready. And remember, precision. Straight, even lines. Once the substance is applied it cannot be removed, the only way to correct your mistakes by addition. And each drop counts.¡± Alarion started with the handle, drawing six straight vertical lines with the help of his stencils. Almost immediately, he ran into an issue. The paper copies had lacked definition and texture. The real thing did not. The cross-hatched grip of the handle in particular was a nightmare to ink, requiring careful placement of blocking material in order to stop the pigment from being drawn out of its intended path. Once he reached the head of the mace, the lines cut at 90 degree angles, circling around its base before ascending vertically. There they would connect to the core rune and the real nightmare began. Lines were east to touch up. If he¡¯d made a mistake and a dab of liquid metal slipped beneath the stencil he could fix that by simply widening the line. It would be aesthetically ugly and a tiny bit worse in function, but it would work. Doing so with runes was a more risky endeavor. If his mistake was in the right place he could fix it the same way, expanding the rune to compensate for the sloppy work. If it was in the wrong place or at the wrong time then he risked having to make severe alterations to the design. In the worst case he could ruin the entire process. There was a surreal absurdity to the moment as he laid down the first brush stroke. He¡¯d slain the Duke in a battle to the death, fought with fiends that desired nothing more than to drag his carcass back for reclamation or reanimation. But drawing was somehow more stressful? The stakes were lower, so why did they feel so much higher? ¡°Stop.¡± Valentina¡¯s voice was soft but insistent, a demand not a request. Her hand touched his shoulder as his golden tipped bristles shook overtop of the stencil. When had he started shaking? She said nothing more as Alarion stared at his vibrating hand and willed it to stop. Minutes later, when the shaking had finally subsided, Valentina squeezed his shoulder and spoke once again. ¡°Now you can continue.¡± They proceeded that way for over an hour. Alarion would work diligently on a piece of the puzzle, drawing a complicated rune, connecting it through a series of straight lines and hard angles to the next encircled rune. Then the next. Every few minutes she would stop him between brush strokes and linger for as long as necessary to get his nevers under control. Never once did he complain. In the end he only made two meaningful mistakes. The first was a simple slip of the hand while drawing a connection line that left it with a small bump, easily corrected with a slight touch up of the line. The second was a grave mistake in his attempt at making the Sound rune. He¡¯d drawn the rune properly but hadn¡¯t kept proper pressure on his stencil. This had allowed the ink to sneak beneath it, leaving a large blotch on the mace when he went to study the finished work. He was able to save it only by making an ad hoc change to his intended pathways, painting over the ¡®error¡¯ to tun it into a connection line instead. The boy was aching by the time he finished, his back sore from twisting this way and that for each new angle, his hands cramped from unfamiliar work. But the hard part was was finished. Assuming he¡¯d done it correctly. ¡°I think it is ready,¡± Alarion said. ¡°You¡¯re certain? If you¡¯ve left a glaring error, it will fail. Even if you haven¡¯t this is your last chance to edit the design.¡± Her tone was upbeat, even as her words instilled a sense of primal dread within her pupil. Alarion checked his work thrice over, studying lines that he was already certain were perfect for some flaw that he had missed. Only when he was well and truly certain did he turn back to Valentina. ¡°It is ready.¡± ¡°Then take my hand.¡± Her skin was softer than it had any right to be against his calloused palm, and together they grasped the handle of the mace. Alarion agitated the mana within his body, and Valentina helped him to channel it into the item. The liquid gold glittered with arcane energy, a shimmer running up each of the six conduits he¡¯d laid down its haft. They flowed into the core rune which darkened with each passing second until it turned completely black. Just as Alarion worried that he¡¯d made some ruinous mistake, the rune began to glow with a crimson inner light. New energy spilt out from it, cascading across golden lines and burning each rune red as it reached them, before inevitably returning to the core. When it was finished the weapon lay before him, dark grey metal inlaid with golden lines and crimson runes. He knew it had worked, even without the System notifications that blinked impatiently at the corner of his view. ¡°I don¡¯t ever have to do this again, do I?¡± ¡°Not until you break it, or your spellcraft reaches Rank II.¡± Alarion shoulders slumped, hours of exhaustion washing over him in a moment as he responded with a single word. ¡°Good.¡± Chapter Seventy-Two For a few minutes, Alarion simply let himself relax. It had been days since he¡¯d actually done that. Or maybe weeks? It felt like there was always some new thing to learn, some new challenge to overcome. Even sleeping and eating was mere fuel for the same endless cycle. He was never allowed to just¡­ be still. But such a moment couldn¡¯t last. Not with the threat of seconds, minutes, hours and days ticking away in the background. Reluctantly, Alarion straightened and turned his attention to the notifications at the edge of his vision. The first was nothing interesting, a notification that he¡¯d dipped below 75% MP. Enchanting the mace had taken more out of him than he¡¯d realized. The second, though, was much more intriguing:
Juvenile Enchanter Description: While others play with blocks and roll around in the mud, the Juvenile Enchanter has chosen to dive deep into the inner workings of arcane knowledge. Requirements: Craft a spellcasting Implement before the age of 16. Effects: Slightly increased precision when crafting, modifying or repairing any enchanted item. 10% bonus experience when crafting, modifying or repairing any enchanted item.
Alarion was not sure if it was a good bonus. Gods willing, he would never enchant another item so long as he lived, but the ability to do so with more precision, or importantly, to conduct repairs made it a feat worth having. Especially since it was free. It was certainly better than his [Avian Bane] in any case. Beside him, Valentina cleared her throat. She¡¯d waited patiently while he recovered, but now she seemed¡­ almost ancy. ¡°When you are done reading your new feat, I will help you transfer your spell triggers to your new implement. Then you can begin the challenge.¡± ¡°How did you-?¡± ¡°Alarion.¡± She spoke his name as though she were insulted that he was surprised. ¡°Feats are one of the few things in the System that are fully reproducible. The same inputs get the same outputs. Knowing that you¡¯d get the feat was part of your reward.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± The young man looked as though he intended to say more, then thought better of it. Even he was smart enough to know that critiquing the feat was¡­ unwise. Instead, he turned his attention to his newly enchanted mace. ¡°You said we can transfer over the spell formulas?¡± ¡°With some modification, yes.¡± Valentina smiled to assuage Alarion¡¯s immediate worry at her mention of modifications and together they turned their attention to the work. True to that reassuring smile, the actual process of transferring his four known spells into the item was relatively painless. With the System based assistance of his [Unbound Spellcraft] skill it took nothing more than a thought to transfer [Quicken] and [Mend Body] into his new implement. Both were spells he knew, his spells, and the system recognized them as such. [Solar Burst] was more difficult and required the use of his inscription tools to copy the critical marks of the spell formula onto his new implement. Once that was complete it was a simple matter to ¡®grasp¡¯ the underlying magical energy and move it from one item to the other. With Valentina¡¯s help, of course. [Void Slash] was the real problem, and the one spell in need of modification. ¡°I hardly need to explain this to you, I imagine, but you cannot cut or slash with a mace. And since you need to channel it through the implement, we will have to make some changes.¡± Valentina explained as the pair reviewed the existing formula embedded onto one of Alarion¡¯s daggers. ¡°The key elements are still there, Void, Offensive and Projection, but if you look closely, you¡¯ll see these small accent marks around the offensive and projection runes? Those pair together to create a cutting power that we need to get rid of.¡± ¡°Could we just remove them?¡± Alarion asked, ever straightforward in his solutions. ¡°We could. But doing so will make the energy non-specific. It would be closer to your Solar Burst spell at that point, just a general pulse of void energy, which is not all that destructive to begin with. No, we still need it to be targeted. Hmm¡­ this may take a moment.¡± Valentina touched the dagger, and the markings engraved along the blade began to glow with an inner light. Moments later they separated entirely, floating into the air until they hovered at roughly shoulder height. From there, Valentina began to experiment, adding and subtracting strokes from the existing characters with each flourish of her index finger. She paused several times throughout the process and each time she did Alarion felt a pulse of mana through his [Introverted Mana Sense]. ¡°That should do it,¡± she said after several minutes of trial and error. The spell formula that hovered in the air was different to be sure, but only subtly so. A mark removed here, another added there. Alarion couldn¡¯t begin to guess what she¡¯d changed about the underlying spell. ¡°Mark these onto your implement. Exactly as written.¡±The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Alarion did as instructed, carefully inking the letters into the haft of his weapon as Valentina supervised. When the task was finished, she assisted him in pulling the floating formula into his new weapon. Once complete a notification immediately popped up at the edge of his view.
Void Crush Requirements: None Affinity: Void Type: Projectile Cost: 125 MP Range: 75 Yards Duration: Instant Effects: Creates a wave of void energy up to three feet in width and five feet in height that strikes along a predetermined path. Increase range by 50 yards and reduce MP cost by 25 if this spell is cast along a horizontal plane, such as the ground.
Strictly speaking it looked¡­ worse? The MP cost was higher, and the range shorter. Even with the reductions mentioned in the effects it appeared to be a downgrade. But Valentina had created it, there had to be something he was missing. ¡°Your teacher chose a dagger for a reason.¡± Valentina explained without preamble, sensing his dismay from the look upon his face. ¡°Most non-elemental affinities are fairly weak offensively at an early rank, but they all have their specialties that let them hit harder than they should. Void¡¯s offensive specialty is ¡®cutting¡¯ magic.¡± ¡°Then why are we-¡± ¡°Because orthodoxy is boring and unimaginative.¡± She waved a hand dismissively. ¡°It is also predictable. If you have void magic roiling about your aura, or a giant void rune on your weapon, people will expect you to cast thin, quick slashing attacks not heavy, high damage crushing attacks further boosted by the sympathetic link involved in wielding that monstrous weapon in the first place. In life I was never much of a warrior, but one lesson Mother imparted to me was that the best attacks are not the ones with the highest numbers, they are the ones that suit you and the ones that actually land.¡± Alarion looked to his mace and thought back to his stubborn battle against the dragon, about his refusal to trade his preference for what was ¡®best¡¯. As far as he was concerned Mother had a damn good point. ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion nodded in agreement as he stood and lifted his mace. With the spell formula stored within his [Unbound Spellcraft] skill, the precise motions required for casting had been burned into his brain. He lifted the weapon, about to swing when Valentina caught him by the wrist. Her skin was soft, her touch light but he knew instinctively that he couldn¡¯t go through with the swing if he tried. ¡°Maybe not in my chambers?¡± ¡°Ah.¡± He blushed a little. With all the furniture gone in favor of the chalk markings, he¡¯d sort of forgotten he wasn¡¯t in a challenge. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll get plenty of practice soon enough,¡± Valentina said. ¡°Before you go, you might wish to customize your spells.¡± Alarion frowned at that. Binding his first spell to his implement had created a new option in his menu, named [Spellcraft]. An option he had explored while Valentina had spent her time creating [Void Crush]. The [Spellcraft] menu contained a list of his known and prepared spells, of which he currently had four. Mentally ¡®clicking¡¯ on any of them brought him to an even deeper menu composed of a triangle with a dot in the center and three corners labeled: Power, Speed, Cost. It had been weeks since Sierra had gone into detail on the particular sub-system when talking about her own magic, but it was intuitive enough that he could have figured it out even without his memories of that conversation. With a mental command he was able to move that dot anywhere within the triangle, resulting in corresponding changes in power, speed and cost for the spell he¡¯d selected. The problem was that he had no idea what to do with it. He understood the system well enough, but not how to optimize within it. Was it better to make a spell faster and cheaper? Or stronger but slow? So much would depend on the type of enemy he faced and the situation in which he faced him, which made it all the more frustrating that the System warned him that any selections he made would be locked in place for a week¡¯s time. ¡°I do not suppose you could tell me what I am expected to be facing in there?¡± When his words were met by Valentina¡¯s deadpan stare, Alarion sighed. It was probably for the best. Even if he tailored his abilities to this upcoming fight, to the limited amount that he could, there was no guarantee that this would be his only fight in the coming weeks. ¡°Any advice about my spells you can give more generally?¡± ¡°I-¡± Valentina started before stopping abruptly. She looked off to the side and scowled. ¡°No, I¡¯m not trying to circumvent¡­ we both know I am allowed¡­. ugh, fine. Alarion, max out the duration of your Quicken spell using the speed column. The rest are up to you.¡± Watching Valentina argue with ¡®herself¡¯ was never something that inspired confidence, but Alarion did as he was instructed. She had not steered him wrong so far. Which was why he also maxed out the power attribute on his new [Void Crush] spell. She¡¯d told him to focus on what he was best at, after all. ¡°Are you prepared?¡± Alarion looked to the door, then checked his Status. His MP had fully regenerated while they¡¯d finished moving the last of the spell formulas. He was as ready as he¡¯d ever be. ¡°Yes,¡± Alarion said. ¡°Then off with you.¡± Valentina gestured to the jewel encrusted door. ¡°And Alarion?¡± He glanced back over a shoulder. ¡°Hmm?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t die.¡± With that helpful bit of advice Alarion stepped through the door and found himself amidst a lush jungle oasis. It was a place positively brimming with life, and unlike anything he¡¯d ever seen or experienced. Ashad was temperate in nature, and he¡¯d lived far enough south in Imuria that his childhood home had been much the same. Cold in the winter, warm in the summer, his home was a place of evergreen forests and fertile farmlands. This was something else entirely. The air felt damp, and not just because of the babbling stream or the running waterfall nearby. It was hot and clammy, the air so thick with moisture that he felt as though he could swim in it. Nature was everywhere he turned in a thousand different variations. Unfamiliar trees, bugs, birds and small animals skittered about amidst the overgrowth; the foliage so thick that he was forced to shoulder his way through toward the creek in order to get his bearings. It was strange, but undeniably beautiful in a way that Alarion could not describe. He had no taste for art, no understanding of aesthetics. But this place¡­ it was pretty. And dangerous, if the beast that leapt down from the canopy above was any indication. Chapter Seventy-Three ¡°Lucky Strike!¡± Alarion¡¯s mace caught the descending creature in the abdomen as it fell upon him from above. Ribs fractured under the strike, the feline¡¯s body going concave around the head of the mace as it was flung deep into the undergrowth with a rustle of leaves and a wet thud. It did not get up. Alarion kept his eyes focused on the twisted mass of vines and tall grass that concealed the body of the ¡®defeated¡¯ creature. He¡¯d received no kill notification from the System, and he had no desire to be the subject of a second surprise attack. Had the animal not dragged its paw when it leapt down on him from above, their positions might have been reversed. It didn¡¯t take long to find the body. The cat-creature was curled up in upon itself, wheezing and growling weakly at his approach. It posed no threat, its ruined form barely clinging to life, its eyes full of malice. It wasn¡¯t a fiend as he¡¯d first expected, but some sort of monstrously oversized cat. A familiar wave of revulsion pulsed through Alarion¡¯s body as he recognized the beast for what it was. A Revenant.
You have slain [Revenant ¨C UCL 31]
Alarion felt a wave of relief and satisfaction as he ended the monstrosity, as though he¡¯d righted some universal wrong with nothing more than the swing of his mace. Which made it all the more unsettling when he looked at the twice deceased Revenant and felt¡­ nothing. What had disgusted him moments earlier was now just the body of a large, dead cat. If anything, he felt a sympathetic pang for the poor thing. ¡°Sorry¡­¡± he murmured. Alarion had always liked cats, if for no other reason that they shared a certain kinship. Independent. Quiet. Ruthless and antisocial. Hell, most of them probably had Avian Bane as well. Or they would if they were awakened. ¡­ Could a housecat awaken? The sound of a branch snapping somewhere in the distance brought Alarion back into the moment. He was not alone in this jungle, and this was a combat challenge. It was safe to assume that anything prowling around in the brush meant him harm. Alarion pushed his way through the heavy growth as he moved toward the gushing waterfall. He needed to get his bearings, and a landmark was the first step in that process. The fact that the area around the waterfall was relatively free of the claustrophobic foliage was an added bonus. As was the sheer beauty of the scene that lay before him. The cascading water was so awe inspiring that Alarion was half certain that Valentina had woven some magic into her creation. The pool at its base was an aquamarine blue that Alarion had never seen in nature, so vibrant that it made his eyes sting. It looked shallow, no deeper than his waist, with the signs of small critters of some kind or another gliding just beneath its surface. The waterfall was much taller than he¡¯d expected. What little he¡¯d seen through gaps in the canopy had not been its peak, but only the first of three tiers as the water cascaded down from high overhead. ¡°Where do I even start?¡± Alarion muttered as he emerged into the clearing and took in his surroundings. The waterfall was to his back, with endless green occupying all other directions. There was no timer visible in the challenge, nor any obvious or even subtle hints of what he should do to progress. Was he just supposed to fight the monsters as they came? Or find his way out of the jungle? Would this place loop like the endless white hallways of the first test? Or would he find a definitive end if he followed that stream far enough. Was he even still in the dungeon? A growl from his left interrupted Alarion¡¯s train of thought. It was another cat, this one dark furred and lanky by comparison to the first. The undead monster prowled the edge of the wood line, slinking between one tree and the next. Its eyes were always on him, watching. Waiting. Alarion spared a momentary glance over his shoulder and his intuition was rewarded with another set of mirrored eyes. The revenant hadn¡¯t attacked him because it was waiting for backup. Mana flowed through Alarion¡¯s body, feeding into his two-handed mace. The light around it began to warp and dim, as though the mace itself were bending the fabric of reality. Alarion hefted the mace over one shoulder, then drove it down with a cry. ¡°Void Crush!¡± A wave of darkness sprung forth the moment Alarion¡¯s weapon struck the earth. It travelled along the ground, following the uneven jungle topography with its bumps and dips as it rushed toward the first of the two Revenants. The cat was quick, but what Alarion¡¯s new spell had lost in distance it made up for in size, catching the back half of the animal as it tried to dodge out of the way of the unfamiliar attack.
You have slain [Revenant ¨C UCL 33]
Alarion had no time to bask in the glory of his victory. He muttered the word ¡°Quicken¡± under his breath and felt mana flow through his limbs once again, this time accelerating his movements. Even with the magical burst of speed Alarion was unable to strike the Revenant as it pounced upon him and had to settle for blocking a brutal swipe of its claw with the shaft of his weapon.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. It might have been lower level, but the cat was much faster than he was. And more suited to its environment. It knew how to fight in a jungle, its every step measured and careful while Alarion kept getting stuck in the muddy ground that surrounded the stream. It struck when he was weak, lashing out with quick slaps from its paw, then retreating before he could retaliate. Simply put, it was a bad match up. Not an unwinnable fight by any means, but one where victory would cost him something. Surprise, time, MP or HP, the question was only what price he chose to pay. The back and forth emphasized just how lucky Alarion had been to land decisive blows on his first two opponents. Twice the cat raked him with its claws, digging into his HP pool and twice it evaded his counter-attacks. Each failure cost him mobility as the cat cut off easy escape routes and drove him back toward the cliff face and the waterfall. It was a familiar sensation, though thankfully nowhere near as dangerous as the one he recalled. With nowhere to run, he stepped back into the pond. The water was refreshingly cool compared to the oppressive jungle air, though it stung the three long scratches the beast had carved into his left shin. Mud squelched beneath his sandals and something skittered over the top of his foot as he backpedaled further into the water, away from razor sharp claws. The Revenant did not seem keen to join him. It patrolled the shore of the pond, taking short swipes whenever it thought he was close enough. It growled at him, never more than a step away. But it refused to enter the water. ¡°Afraid to swim?¡± taunted Alarion, hoping to break the stand off. Alarion was convinced that its subsequent snarl was some sort of feline slur. Revenants were supposed to be intelligent. If it was, then it understood the situation as well as he did. Its power was in its speed, and being almost entirely submerged would nullify that advantage. It couldn¡¯t swim in to join him, nor could it kill him from shore. Meanwhile his attacks were wholly ineffective, even with the advantage of reach. Neither could meaningfully harm the other without a slip up or a sacrifice. It wasn¡¯t coming into the water, and Alarion sure as hell wasn¡¯t coming out of it. Not for the first time, Alarion missed his shifting greatsword. The mace was a good weapon. A strong weapon, but apart from its use as a magical focus, it was rather¡­ direct. Even for him. He needed something clever to change the calculus of the fight. But before he was able to devise a plan, the math changed itself. Whether they¡¯d made too much of a commotion, or whether the challenge was set to provide him with new opponents at a steady clip; the stalemate ended with the arrival of two more Revenants. Alarion swung his mace through a wide arc toward the closest cat, driving it a step back from the edge of the pool as he reassessed his options. With one cat the solution had been easy, he simply had to keep on the far side of the pond, and it could not reach him. With three of them all striking from different angles, there no longer was a ¡®far side¡¯. He could defend himself against one. Maybe two. Which meant at least one of the three had to die. Quickly. The mace struck out with newly renewed ferocity as Alarion waded toward the far end of the pool, where the excess water started to trickle off into the jungle in the form of a stream. One of the cats had planted itself there, barring his way. It nimbly dodged each attack thrown its way, focusing on its own defense as its two compatriots focused on offense. Claws raked over Alarion¡¯s exposed arm, but the beasts still hesitated around the edge of the pool, unwilling to commit even as he moved into the shallows. He threw his weapon into another horizontal sweep and was satisfied to see the cats dodge back predictably, right before they lunged back in for a united strike. ¡°Solar Burst!¡± One of the few advantages of Alarion¡¯s flaw was that the spells it forced him to choose were quick. He had no need for complicated and time-consuming components for his spells. Material, somatic and verbal components existed to stabilize, and structure bound fields that Alarion simply didn¡¯t use. It left him less flexible but meant that most spells he could cast were as simple as flaring his mana and incanting the name. The other advantage, the only real advantage, made itself known as a white-hot inferno of fire erupted from Alarion¡¯s body. His nova spells were far more powerful than they had any right to be. One moment he was facing a losing battle against a trio of opponents, the next they were flailing about, searing white flames crackling across their bodies as they struggled to extinguish them. One cat died under Alarion¡¯s mace, and another tore a substantial gouge out of his side in a desperate attempt at retribution just before it died. But curiously, none of the three made an attempt to douse themselves in the pond. Not even as the last died an agonizing death. Not that Alarion was doing much better. ¡°Nngh¡­¡± Alarion groaned as he slumped down at the edge of the pool, one hand pressing down hard on the heavy wound on his left-hand side. That wound was likely the least of his problems as Alarion scanned his notifications:
You have suffered severe spell backlash. HP -173 You have slain [Revenant ¨C UCL 30] You have slain [Revenant ¨C UCL 33] You have slain [Revenant ¨C UCL 31]
There was a reason he didn¡¯t lead with Solar Burst. Like most Sun Affinity spells, its power came at the cost of both HP and MP. Worse yet, the actual cost of 100 HP listed on the spell was less a rule and more of a minimum, or a guideline. Any nova spells he cast would hit drastically above his weight, but their cost scaled correspondingly. If he¡¯d let it, that spell could have burned through his entire HP pool in an instant. As it was, he needed a casting of Mend Body just to get his HP back above zero before the penalty kicked in. He couldn¡¯t afford another fight like that one. Not wounded as he was. He¡¯d expected the challenge to be difficult, but not ¡®blow through most of your HP and MP in the first few minutes¡¯ difficult. How was Valentina balancing these things? He¡¯d need to find somewhere secure. Perhaps he could scale the cliffs, find some sort of choke point where they would have to come at him one at a- ¡°Agh!¡± Alarion yelped as he pulled his hand free of the pond. One of his many cat scratches had dipped into the water, and it stung like hell. It stung? Alarion dipped his hand into the pond, then brought it back to his lips. The water was cool, but it did nothing to quench his thirst. It was too salty for that. He looked to the scorched body of one of the nearby Revenants, a nearly forgotten memory clicking into place. It was the salt water of the Middle Sea that kept the fiends trapped on their island, and it was the salt water of the pond that had kept the Revenants from surrounding him during his fight. ¡°But why here?¡± Alarion asked, looking up at the falling water. It made no sense for there to be a waterfall of salt water in the middle of a jungle. Not unless it was part of the challenge. Alarion re-entered the pool with a grunt, wading across its shallow depths to the far side where endless waves of white capped water fell from above. He lifted a hand and pushed it into the crashing water. Then through it. Into concealed cave just behind the waterfall. Chapter Seventy-Four ¡°How many did you make?¡± Alarion asked the roof of the empty cave. He didn¡¯t know why he felt compelled to look up when asking questions of the absent goddess, for all he knew she was off to his left, or behind him, or nowhere at all. Looking up just felt right. She didn¡¯t answer, of course, but that was for the best. Her answer would have been smarmy, he was sure. ¡®Enough¡¯. Or ¡®Too many¡¯. Or ¡®At least a few.¡¯ Glimpsed only through intermittent gaps in the falling water, Alarion placed their number in the dozens. Maybe the low hundreds. The cats had flooded the small clearing over the course of nearly two hours, drawn to his presence but unable to reach beyond the waterfall to assault him. They prowled at the water¡¯s edge, glaring at the hidden entrance as if its existence were a personal slight. Needless to say, there would be no escaping back the way he came. The existence of the horde of monsters did somewhat dim Alarion¡¯s sense of satisfaction at having discovered the hidden entrance. The monsters existed to funnel him toward the pool and the secret beyond. If he¡¯d headed out into the jungle, they¡¯d have hounded and pressured him back toward the waterfall. No doubt they¡¯d have always mysteriously appeared in the best position to drive him toward it. At least, that was what he assumed. It was probably a safe assumption. He¡¯d had plenty of time to think on the matter as he waited for his HP and MP to fully recharge. He topped the former off with judicious use of [Mend Body], but he refrained from using his mana potions or bracelet to speed up the process. Nothing had attacked him upon his entrance to the small tunnel and there was no sense in wasting finite resources just because he was impatient. Maybe ZEKE¡¯s lessons had started to rub off on him. When he was finally back to full health, Alarion turned away from the ravening hordes and satisfied his curiosity as he delved deeper into the tunnel. It was a narrow fit, which forced him to lead with his mace, a small mote of conjured light from one of his spell formula trinkets leading the way deeper into the cliffside tunnel. Eventually the darkness gave way to a shaft of vertical light and what might have been the most unsettling ladder Alarion had ever laid eyes on. There was nothing wrong with the evenly spaced iron rungs that ascended over a hundred feet vertically into the cavern above. Nothing save for the fact that they were there in the first place. The cave itself looked natural, with no signs of tool marks or habitation. The rungs were artificial. Part of the test. That made them suspect. At least in his eyes. They were also an unwelcome sight, given the burden Alarion carried along with him. He¡¯d gotten used to lugging around the weight of the mace, but he¡¯d yet to settle on a proper storage solution. Even compressed, he couldn¡¯t expect to hang it from his sash, nor did he have a way to strap the item to his back. It was a conundrum he could solve eventually, but in the here and now it meant climbing hundreds of feet with a heavy weight strapped to his other arm. Somewhere, ZEKE was laughing. Alarion took the challenge one step at a time. It was slow, steady and exhausting, but doable. Hours of drills and tens of levels had refined his compact body into that of a proper Awakened, one who would not be intimidated by something as simple as a very, very long climb.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. At least, that was what he told himself as he reached the midway point. The shallow rungs and thin passage gave him little room to adjust his position as he climbed. The result was a dull ache in Alarion¡¯s shoulder as he dragged his mace up the last few rungs to join him at the top of the ladder. He emerged into a small domed chamber with two exits. Down the left, Alarion could hear the nearby pounding of water falling upon stone. To his right, a narrow passageway. Tight enough that he would have to lead with his mace. A very familiar design. Alarion had a terrible feeling about that passage, and his worst nightmares were realized as he followed it through to its conclusion. Another ladder. Sweat trickled from his brow as Alarion dragged himself up over the lip of the second climb, clutching his mace with white knuckled hands. If he dropped it, he would just leave it there, he¡¯d decided. Valentina could recover it after he won the challenge. Or he could just leap down to get it. Head first. The idea seemed rather appealing. He slumped against the smooth stone wall of the second landing and was happy to see a literal light at the end of one of the two tunnels. There probably wouldn¡¯t be any more climbing involved. Once he¡¯d prepared himself, Alarion leveraged himself upright with the help of his mace. [Mend Body] had proven unable to address his aching muscles, and the System registered no condition for the time being, but Alarion knew from experience that the pain of overexertion would get worse before it got better. It would behoove him to finish the challenge while his body was still somewhat limber. On closer inspection the lit tunnel proved not to be a tunnel at all. It extended only a short distance before the roof gave way to the open sky above. The large room ahead was oval shaped with a large pool of stagnant water in its center where water had rained down from above. Muted sunlight came in from the hole in the ceiling, the entrance concealed by the heavy jungle. Despite how large the hole looked from the interior, Alarion was sure it would be easy to miss from above ground. Especially if he didn¡¯t know what he was looking for. Just as he was sure that this was the place he was meant to be. Pity that he had no idea why. ¡°Hello?¡± Alarion asked as he crossed the threshold, a discordant echo the room¡¯s only reply. When his natural senses found no secrets, Alarion let loose with his [Introverted Mana Sense] and was pleasantly rewarded. The room was rich with ambient mana, the heady flow of the arcane lifting his flagging spirits as he felt it flow through him as easily as the air around him. And as easily as it travelled through stone walls, he quickly realized. The mana pathways were not visible, but they were set in stone for those who knew how to look. They were a complicated, almost organic web that all terminated in the pool of water at the room¡¯s center. Alarion recognized a trap when he saw one. The young man lifted his mace and slammed the head down on part of the nearby wall, dislodging a fist sized rock. He scooped down and collected the fragment, then tossed it from hand to hand to get a feel for its weight. Once he was satisfied, he turned his attention to the pool, cocked an arm and let loose with the full power of [Thrown Weapon Mastery]. The rock hit the water at a sharp angle, skipping off it surface at high speed. It caught the water again with a sharp slap, but only made it halfway through its next arc before the water slapped back. An arc of blue-green water erupted from the pool and seized the stone. It slammed it into the bottom of the pool where it fragmented, ultra-high pressure grinding the durable stone into a cloud of discolored dust within seconds. Its enemy destroyed, the roiling surface of the water seemed to calm, until Alarion made the mistake of breathing. The pool of water swirled and grew, rising out of the concave depression as it adopted a vaguely humanoid form. If humans were eleven feet tall, composed entirely of everflowing liquid and unbridled rage. It screamed, a distorted grinding noise that sounded like ocean waves amplified several times over. Its hands slammed against the stone floor beneath it, leaving impact dents as it finally turned its body in his direction. And charged. Chapter Seventy-Five Alarion met the onrush of water with the side of his mace. And that was a mistake. The weapon struck the elemental at its hip, to no effect. Waves rippled through the creature¡¯s already churning form as it effortlessly dispersed the impact. Then it retaliated, its right arm striking with whiplike speed and flexibility. The attack nearly ended Alarion¡¯s life on the spot. The monster was slow, but its offense was quick and powerful. And it had him pinned, the head of his mace sunk deep within its liquid form. Alarion made a split section decision and abandoned the mace, spinning off to one side just in advance of a lash so sharp it carved a long gouge into the stonework. His weapon for his life was an easy trade, but one that still stung as Alarion created distance to reappraise his opponent. The fluidic mass let him flee, its turbulent body roiling around its newest captive. It applied pressure, aiming to crush Alarion¡¯s weapon the same way it had so effortlessly destroyed the stone he¡¯d thrown at it only seconds earlier. Its whole body seemed tense and focused as waves pulsed toward the dark metal at its core. And failed to so much as bend it. It tried again, this time devoting its whole attention to the task as it abandoned its humanoid shape, in favor of an amorphous blob of agitated water. It flowed around his weapon, striking it from different angles and applying pressure that obliterated the small chips of stone that it had scooped up during its most recent transformation. It exerted every bit of effort it had, all to no effect. Alarion had just a moment to be smug at the monster¡¯s failure, before the pressure shifted and the mace rocketed toward him at high speed. His only saving grace was that the sentient water had terrible accuracy. The mace struck the wall behind him with enough force to send fractures all the way up into the already unstable ceiling. Large chunks of soil and fragmented stone collapsed from above, narrowly missing Alarion as he recovered his weapon and scampered away from his enemy¡¯s renewed attacks. ¡°If hitting you will not work¡­¡± Alarion grunted as he sidestepped another water whip aimed at his head. The monster¡¯s attacks were unorthodox, but predictable. It never struck at his limbs, always aiming for his torso or his head with killing blows. Better yet, it seemed incapable of chaining attacks in rapid succession, either due to physiology or inexperience. It made it easy to avoid, and even easier to counterattack when the moment came. ¡°Void Crush.¡± Magic proved only marginally more effective than hitting it with his mace. It didn¡¯t cost him his primary weapon and magical tool, which was nothing to scoff at, but in terms of damage the [Void Crush] spell was lackluster. The wave of magical emptiness took the monster off at the knee and sent it staggering to the ground, but the wound didn¡¯t last. When separated from its body, the water of the severed leg lost all cohesion and splattered against the ground as if it were nothing more than everyday water. But the elemental reabsorbed its missing limb with only a touch, drinking up its injury in a matter of seconds until it stood at its full height once again, good as new and ready to renew the fight. They repeated the dance once more as Alarion tested a new theory. His first casting of [Void Crush] sent the creature sprawling, while the second struck it in the head, splitting it almost cleanly down the middle. The left side of the dismembered elemental wobbled on its remaining leg as the right side collapsed into another puddle. It teetered, then fell into its companion, the two liquids swirling together. Reforming. It took only seconds before his enemy reformed its humanoid shape, tendrils of water snaking out from its feet to collect small pools and droplets that had escaped its initial recovery. ¡°This isn¡¯t fair at all!¡± Alarion complained to an uncaring god. He dodged and parried a series of his foe¡¯s renewed attacks as he considered his options. It was possible that he¡¯d hurt it. If the monster were like any other awakened, then he should be able to kill it simply by depleting its HP with repeated attacks. But that included a lot of assumptions, chief among them that the monster had an HP pool to deplete, and that it didn¡¯t heal back to full by reabsorbing its severed parts. Unfortunately, it was equally likely that the foe he was facing was something else entirely. Some oddity that played by unfamiliar rules. Sierra¡¯s lesson about how to kill a fiend loomed large over his thought process. He couldn¡¯t rely on assumptions. There were some things he could rely on though. There was a consistent delay between each of its attacks, as though it had a cooldown between strikes. It needed to touch its severed parts to reabsorb them. If he could separate the parts, he might be able to delay or prevent it from reforming. The largest part of it seemed to retain all the intelligence, such as it was, of the whole. If he made the pieces small enough it would take much longer for it to regenerate. If. He had a plan, but before that, he needed to test a theory. Alarion¡¯s mace smashed the ground, throwing a cloud of dust and rocks toward the elemental as it lunged toward him. The rocks struck it in the torso and remained lodged there briefly before the liquid flowed over them and brought them into the elemental¡¯s core, where they were promptly crushed. ¡°Three seconds.¡± Alarion grunted under his breath as he deflected a lance of water with the head of his mace. It would be enough time. Assuming the monster didn¡¯t skewer him the moment it had the chance. It was a bad idea, but if he had a better one, he¡¯d have tried that instead. He parried three more of the monster¡¯s attacks, waiting for the right distance and the right sort of attack. He needed for it to be close; to maximize the amount of time he had to make his move. There. Alarion slipped a sharp-edged vertical strike, then rushed toward the elemental. He leapt as he ran, avoiding a sweeping fist as he slammed his full body into its lower torso. The monster struggled for a moment, as though it intended to dislodge him. Then it reconsidered, its essence flowing across his body, drawing him inside. Alarion waited two seconds, then shouted to the best of his ability. ¡°Ouler Urst!¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. One moment the elemental was rushing around him, reveling in its victory, its chance to crush the annoying human within its watery depths. The next it was gone. His [Solar Burst] had obliterated the elemental. The central mass nearest to Alarion had evaporated under the searing fire of his [Solar Burst] while its limbs had been scattered to the far reaches of the grotto in thousands of individual droplets. Alarion landed hard on one shoulder, the uncontrolled fall a small price to pay for the complete destruction of an otherwise invincible foe. Especially given he¡¯d completely forgotten that he wouldn¡¯t be able to speak properly under water. He was insanely lucky that the System cared more about intent than pronunciation. The young man stood with a groan. With the jungle as damp as it was, he¡¯d only just managed to properly dry off from his time in the pond. And now he was once more drenched to the very bone. He was officially done with this challenge, his eyes searching for what he hoped would be a newly revealed exit. Instead, they found motion. It was a small thing, barely more than a glass worth of water shifting along the ground, drinking up small puddles and droplets as it went. And it wasn¡¯t alone. Three more equally sized threats sought out more of their original mass, skittering across the uneven floor as they went. ¡°Oh for¡­.¡± Alarion swore under his breath. Was there no end to this thing? With no answer forthcoming, he closed his eyes and focused in on his sixth sense. [Introverted Mana Sense] was still useless in a combat situation. To get the most out of it required him to mute his attention on his other senses, shutting his eyes, ignoring his hearing, focusing only on the sensation of mana and how it flowed through him and through the environment. All bad ideas when something was trying to kill him, to put it mildly. But with the elemental more focused on recovery, Alarion was able to get a better sense of its inner workings in hopes of finding a way to destroy it. Each of the four ¡®active¡¯ blobs of water was a tangle of arcane energies. When one absorbed a particularly large chunk of water its power grew, while the complexity of the three others diminished correspondingly. A strange sort of intelligence distributed amongst the water, focused in on the largest portions. If he were in less danger or if he had a better grasp of what he was seeing, Alarion would have been tempted to let the fragments devour one another, just to watch as the intricate strings of mana wove a tapestry of sentience. As it was, he smashed the largest one with his mace. It was a stop gap solution. While he busied himself ¡®dismembering¡¯ the little liquid critter, its contemporaries grew in size, but a stop gap could still buy him precious seconds or minutes to come up with a proper solution. He had no way to contain or control the liquid, nor anything absorbent enough to soak it up, assuming that would even work. He briefly pondered flooding the small cavern in hopes of diluting the creature, or leading it to the waterfall, but that was both impractical and possibly suicidal. There had to be a solution. Knowing Valentina, it was probably something obtuse and magical but- Alarion frowned deeply and returned his attention to his mana sense. Sure enough the mana pathways embedded in the rock now glowed with renewed power at two points on opposite sides of the entryway. Of course. Even her combat rooms were full of mana exercises. This one at least wasn¡¯t hard to deduce. Connect one point to the other by way of a convoluted mess of a maze inscribed into the wall. The mana circuits there were a conflicting pattern full of dead ends and false gates that made any attempt at progress a matter of trial and error. Worse yet, Alarion found that engaging with the puzzle required fine mana control that he barely possessed. If he touched the ¡®edges¡¯ of any mana circuit, the puzzle reset to its most recent checkpoint and sent a pulse of mana through the floor, no doubt intended to rouse the elemental from its slumber if he had not done so already. Solve the puzzle on your first attempt, without mistakes, or solve it while fighting off a killer elemental. Valentina was a sadist. He settled into a new routine, despite his incredulity. Progress the puzzle until he made a mistake, then race around the room smashing the largest concentrations of water. It was a race against time. Even if he devoted himself to destroying the mini elementals as they appeared, eventually he would run out of stamina. Devoting time to solving the puzzle sped up the monster¡¯s reconstitution, but there was no other option. He just had to be quick. ¡ª- ¡°I said I¡¯m busy!¡± Alarion shouted angrily as his mace smashed through the half-formed water elemental. Its upper body burst under the strength of the blow, the lower body already moving to recover its lost mass when Alarion struck it with a follow-up [Void Crush]. He was so close he could almost taste his victory. Unfortunately for him, his foe was clearly aware of the danger. Things had progressed well for the better part of an hour. He¡¯d pass a section; he¡¯d smash the monster as a reward. He¡¯d fail a section; he¡¯d take his anger out on one of the half-finished puddles as it wormed around the floor. But that had all changed the moment he entered ¡®The Corridor¡¯. True to her nature, the unholy ¡®goddess¡¯ had saved the worst for last. There were no checkpoints in the last fifth of the maze, nor any maze at all. Instead, there was only a long, switchback pattern that grew increasingly narrow the closer one got to the end. It was a challenge where one was far more likely to fail at the finish line than at the start, forcing one infuriating failure after another. But that had not been enough for her. Oh no. Sensing their imminent defeat, the elemental¡¯s shards had changed their tactics. They no longer focused solely on increasing their size to the exclusion of all else. Instead, they soaked up water until they were large enough to form a roughly four-foot-tall humanoid form, then they attacked. The first time had nearly been the death of him. He¡¯d been focused on his mana to the exclusion of all other senses, and the elemental had nearly taken his head off for his arrogance. Only the sudden change in its mana had brough him back to reality in time to turn a decapitation into a nasty cut across the cheek. Since then, he¡¯d had to devote at least some of his attention to the physical realm, which in turn made The Corridor even worse. ¡°This time.¡± Alarion assured himself as he pushed his finger to the wall. The unbound field reacted under his finger, allowing him to take control of the mana within the wall, leading it through the trail of hard right angles that made up the final challenge. It was nerve wracking. At its most narrow, the corridor was only just barely large enough to permit the mana trail. A quiver of his hand, a twitch, anything was enough to force a failure, to send him back to the start for yet another attempt. He¡¯d lost count of how many times he had failed in that last stretch. At least thirty, if not more. The elementals were getting stronger, and he was running out of time. It wouldn¡¯t be long before one of the larger ones met its fellow. Before they were too long for him to break apart. What would he do then? Would the same trick work twice? Or would it be smart enough to reject him if he tried to enter its body once again. He needed to focus. The last leg of The Corridor was a series of ups and downs, like ocean waves. It was the easiest part in his opinion, a back and forth, and ebb and flow that he had grown accustomed to. One that filled him with confidence. He could make it. Behind him, one of the elementals had taken a body, its footfalls wet slaps on the stone floor as it rushed toward him. It was far enough away. He had time. I¡¯m so close. Alarion leaned into his mana sense, excluding everything else. He left his finger move with the flow of the puzzle. Up and to the left. Down and to the left. Up and to the left. Down and to the left. Up. ¡­ and to the left, through the narrowest passage of all. Click. Alarion whirled on his feet, his weapon already swinging at the elemental that should have been upon him. He struck nothing but air. There was no opponent. No elemental. Just blue-green water running toward the center of the room, as if on an incline that didn¡¯t exist. A small hole had opened in the floor, drawing all the water inexorably toward it, until it closed with another quiet ¡®click¡¯. ¡°Well done.¡± Valentina said from the cavern¡¯s entrance, a sickeningly sweet smile on her lips. ¡°How did it feel to defeat a god?¡± It was a bold declaration, but somehow Valentina¡¯s words weren¡¯t the most exciting. Not compared to the notification that all but screamed for his attention.
Alert! You qualify for one or more new classes. Please see your system menu for more information.
Chapter Seventy-Six ¡°I know you¡¯re a bit taciturn at heart Alarion, but I expected at least some reaction,¡± pouted Valentina. ¡°Hmm?¡± Alarion said, looking up from the notification. He thought for a moment, trailing her words back, then shook his head. ¡°Mm. You were just toying with me anyway.¡± ¡°Oh? And how did you make that fine deduction.¡± Alarion glanced over one shoulder, toward the drain in the floor that had consumed the elemental. ¡°Can it really be a god if it lost a fight with a fifteen-year-old?¡± Valentina opened her mouth to argue her point, then paused as something else interrupted her. A look of consternation ran across her features, before she offered a nod of acceptance. ¡°A fair point.¡± ¡°It was a Thoughtborn, wasn¡¯t it? Not a god?¡± Alarion asked as he fell into step beside Valentina, the two of them returning to her home through a convenient new exit. ¡°And here I thought your education was lacking.¡± Valentina winced slightly at the glare Alarion threw her way and quickly adjusted her tone. ¡°You¡¯re correct. What you fought was a juvenile Akasian Thoughtborn once known as ¡®Il Valias¡¯ or ¡®The River God¡¯. A rather nasty piece of work if I do say so.¡± ¡°How did it end up here?¡± ¡°One of Mother¡¯s children trapped it years ago, for use in these challenges. Life is one of the few things I am incapable of manipulating within this space, so a compromise had to be made in order to provide worthy opponents. Mother keeps a substantial menagerie that I¡¯m able to draw from, primarily fiends, revenants and particularly recalcitrant lesser gods.¡± ¡°Her children trapped it?¡± Valentina gave him an odd look as if trying to tell if he were serious, then quickly shook her head. ¡°You know about Thoughtborn, but not the Godborn? I should have stood by my critique.¡± ¡°I have heard the name!¡± Alarion protested. ¡°It¡¯s fine, Alarion. The failing belongs to your teachers, not to you. From what I understand, your benefactors do not think highly of the divine, or of the Godborn by proxy. I¡¯m not shocked that they¡¯ve only skimmed the subject as it puts a bit of a dint in their ideology of blood supremacy. Just as you do. The Godborn are an Incarnation¡¯s direct offspring, or the children of those offspring. If I¡¯d had children after mother chose me, they would have been Godborn, with silver dusted skin and eyes.¡± ¡°Not giant water monsters?¡± ¡°Perish the thought, no.¡± ¡°You said if,¡± noted Alarion. Valentina¡¯s smile faltered somewhat as she pulled a chair out on one side of her desk and urged him to sit. ¡°I did.¡± ¡°You never had children?¡± Her gaze was cool as she moved around to the other side of the desk and lounged back in a chair that looked far more comfortable than the one she¡¯d provided him. ¡°I did not. Lal Viren selects for the sort of ambition that rarely results in an Incarnate who wants to spend her years as an actual mother.¡± Alarion looked to say something more but was shut down by an upraised palm. ¡°We have other matters to discuss, Alarion. You have the option to take a class?¡± Valentina asked, moving the topic to something more palatable. ¡°Mm.¡± The young boy nodded as he pushed through the notification. ¡°Just one, this time.¡± ¡°This time? Interesting. Tell me the details.¡±
Unbound Magus [Common](Rank I) Description: Unfamiliar to most, the heterodox path of an Unbound Magus is one filled with mystery and uncertainty. Eschewing traditional methods, you have embraced unstructured magic, trading reliability for flexibility. This class focuses primarily on skills and attributes related to unstructured arcane magic. Requirements: Unbound Spellcraft. At least four known spells. Basic spellcasting proficiency. Growths - STR ¨C +4 ¨C 40% | AGI ¨C +4 ¨C 40% | VIT - +4 ¨C 40% | INT ¨C +4 ¨C 60% | WIL ¨C +4 ¨C 60% | PER ¨C +4 = 60%
Valentina was already shaking her head by the time he finished. ¡°You should not accept that class unless you are forced.¡± The sheer conviction in her words struck Alarion like a slap in the face, curbing much of his enthusiasm for the new class even as he re-read its description. ¡°Is it that bad? It is common, but the whole point-¡± ¡°Yes, yes, your time pressure. Lopping off a leg to make sure you arrive on time¡­¡± Valentina dismissed the justification as one would a servant. ¡°Even within those confines, you can do better. You can level up your Spellcraft, earn a new feat of strength, perhaps even a title. Any of these could lead to a better class offering. Even an uncommon would be preferable.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡°Is there that much of a difference? It is only a few attribute points between this and my Stubborn Swordsman.¡± The once God rolled her eyes. ¡°Those differences will compound. A lower rarity class means lower rarity skills. You¡¯ll earn less attributes from those and be worse equipped for your role. You¡¯ll struggle with challenges that should be easy. This in turn means that when you rank up you¡¯ll be given worse options due to your lower feats and attributes, which will only lead to worse outcomes and offerings until an eventual plateau.¡± ¡°Perfect should not be the enemy of the good.¡± Alarion shot back defensively. ¡°We are not talking about perfect, Alarion.¡± Valentina scowled. ¡°I understand the political realities facing your instructors, but they are crippling you out of haste and fear.¡± ¡°Why do you even care?¡± ¡°Because it is like I am watching a once in a generation artist decide to take up fingerpainting rather than sculpting,¡± she sighed as the boy tensed up, ready to snap back at the perceived insult. ¡°Alarion, your aptitude is four times my own, fifty points higher than the best human student I had in my lifetime, which makes it infuriating to see it wasted. Bad enough to see them mold you into a weapon, without those idiot teachers making you dull as well.¡± ¡°They are not idiots.¡± Alarion stood abruptly, his hands on the edge of her desk as he loomed over Valentina. ¡°Elena wants what is best for me.¡± Valentina snorted. ¡°Does she now?¡± The two glared at one another for several long seconds. In the end, Valentina was the one to look away with a heavy sigh and a conciliatory remark. ¡°You¡¯ve roughly a week remaining. Taking that class isn¡¯t likely to give you a substantial benefit in the challenges to come. You have nothing to lose by waiting. So why not humor me?¡± Alarion still seemed ready to fight, his jaw clenched as tight as his hands were around the hardwood lip of her desk. His posture shifted as he took in a breath, about to release some angry tirade. Then he breathed out and looked expectantly to the nearby wall. ¡°I should not waste time, then.¡± ¡°Hmm? Oh.¡± Valentina picked up his meaning a moment too late to stop her confusion from showing. She followed his gaze and snapped her fingers, the door they¡¯d entered through replaced by a new pair as a fourth candle sprung to life, declaring Alarion¡¯s most recent victory. The door on the left was a three gem Combat challenge, just as difficult and dangerous as the one he¡¯d recently completed, while the one on the right was an endurance challenge with only a single ruby set into the door. Easier, but potentially more time consuming. ¡°Here. Before you go.¡± Valentina interrupted his thoughts as she set two items down upon the desk. The first was a strip of textured crimson fabric, neatly looped in on itself to create a tight bundle. The second was a curious, flat bottomed potion bottle. The stubby bottle was only a few inches tall, with a wide mouth and no more than a trickle of unfamiliar brass liquid inside. The few potion bottles Alarion had seen had been utilitarian designs. Hard glass with a cork stopper, meant to be refilled as often as they were used. This one looked more ornate, like something the governor would bring out for special guests. Alarion carefully scooped up each item in turn.
Hilt Wrap of the Lost and Recovered [Uncommon](Rank I) Description: A dark red hilt wrap embroidered with powerful marks of resilience. Requirements: None Attunement Cost: 12 points. Type: Weapon Accessory Enchantment: Provides a Major resistance to non-magical attempts to disarm the user. If tied around the wielder¡¯s wrist, this wrap can magically extend and retract up to fifteen feet. Ability Bonuses: + 6 VIT.
¡ª
Minor Elixir of Perception [Rare](Rank I) Description: A dark orange potion that smells of strawberries. Type: Potion Enchantment: Upon consumption, increase user¡¯s perception score by 25% for one hour.
¡ª ¡°Make sure not to throw away the vial. It was expensive.¡± There was a special sort of smugness to Valentina¡¯s smile, a grin that only grew larger after a conspiratorial glance upward. If it was a joke, Alarion wasn¡¯t in the loop. He frowned as he turned his attention back to the two doorways. Truth be told, he felt he had a better shot at completing the combat encounter, judging by his admittedly limited experience. Combat felt right to him in a way that puzzles and endurance tests did not. It was direct, tactile. Simple. Given his irritation, smashing something with his mace seemed as though it would be more cathartic. But it was also the more dangerous. As far as Elena and ZEKE were concerned, Alarion had accomplished his goal. They might find a way to haunt his ghost if he did something as stupid as dying in a bonus challenge. With reluctance, he entered the endurance challenge. The room was familiar, almost identical to the site of his previous endurance challenge. A bland cube of a room, its grey stone pitted with signs of age and the slight green discoloration of something growing between the mortar. Unlike his previous visit there was no leather chair in the center of the room, nor was there anything to replace it. Instead, there was a new opening on the far side of the small room, a six-foot-wide corridor that led to a door at its far end. If the last time was any indication, it was clearly trapped. Alarion let his other senses flow away as he focused inward on his [Introverted Mana Sense] and sure enough, the small corridor ahead of him was positively drowning in magic. It was thinnest at the entrance, slowly increasing in intensity as it drew closer and closer to the far door, until it was nearly blinding within his sixth sense. As for what the magic did, Alarion could not begin to guess. Even with the levels he¡¯d gained on the last challenge, [Introverted Mana Sense] was still in its infancy. It allowed him to recognize external mana but it lacked the precision to deconstruct the workings of a complex field like the one in front of him. At best, he was fairly certain it was focused primarily on Body and Decay affinities. A foreboding combination if ever there was one. In addition to the torrent of magic that filled the corridor, Alarion recognized the six jeweled panels built into the walls at regularly spaced intervals. These he recognized as magical siphons, though they were different in structure and thus in function than the ones with which he was intimately familiar. With his sixth sense exhausted of clues and no others visible to the naked eye, Alarion approached the corridor and pushed his mace into the seemingly empty air. Nothing. No notification, no reaction. He withdrew his mace, set it to the side and reached out a hand. And then there was only pain. Chapter Seventy-Seven ¡°Agh¡­¡± Alarion grunted as the dull ache crept up his arm, across his shoulder and into his neck and chest. It was uncomfortable, the sort of body ache one associated with a sore muscle or a bad flu, only writ large. Within seconds it had spread throughout his whole upper body and into his head, whereupon his head began to pound with a low-grade headache, as though he had gone days without sleep. The novelty of the creeping discomfort had worn off and Alarion withdrew his hand. The pain vanished in an instant, as though it had never existed. His head was clear and focused, his muscles loose and ready for activity. There were no notifications in his vision, no damage to his HP. The magic caused pain, and only pain. Alarion had a sinking feeling he understood the challenge, and reached out to touch the jeweled panel, to prove his hypothesis. It was inert under his initial touch but activated the moment he sunk his hand into the magical pain once more. The sensation was faster this time, drawn into and through him by the now active magical siphon. What had taken nearly half a minute on his first attempt happened in a matter of moments on his second, the pounding headache, the body pain, the crawling sensation of decay moving beneath his skin. The foul magic flowed in through one arm and exited through the other, slowly beginning to feed the siphon. Very slowly. Too slowly. Alarion took a step into the corridor, immersing himself in the foreign mana. Instantly he felt a wave of nausea seize his guts as the intensity of the magical pain increased drastically. With his mana circuits damaged as they were, the decay affinity mana flooded into him from every point of contact. His bones ached, his head pounded and worse yet, there was no increase in the amount of the corrupt mana being drawn out of him by the siphon. He stepped back, a wave of relief washing over him as the pain dissipated once again. The sensation was unsettling in its unfamiliarity. Even healing spells and potions left a brief residual ache after completing their work. To have pain flow out of him like water was a special sort of unnatural. And that was the least of his problems. Alarion had spent nearly a minute feeding the stone set into the wall, and he had barely made a dent in what he now realized was not one, but six sequential magical fields. At the rate the siphon worked, it would take at least an hour to clear the first field of pain. With each subsequent field more dense and more severe than the last, he would have to spend hours, possibly days feeding siphons while suffering through progressively worse agony. A true endurance challenge. ¡°No.¡± He declared. He had neither the time, nor inclination to engage with the challenge the way it was intended. Not when there was an obvious work around. The problem was that door at the end of the hallway. It was surely the exit to the challenge, but it was going to cause him problems. He couldn¡¯t open it at a distance, but maybe he didn¡¯t have to. Alarion picked up his mace and centered himself at the mouth of the corridor. He hefted the weapon, set his feet and brought it down in an angry arc as he incanted, ¡°Void Crush!¡± The wave of darkness swept into the hallway, but something was immediately off. It slowed as it hit the heavy ambient mana, then began to fragment and dissipate as it moved further into the hall, slowing more and more until his spell dissipated among the fifth layer. ¡°Hm.¡± Alarion frowned. ¡°Void Crush.¡± The second attempt proved as fruitless as the first, but it wasn¡¯t until the third that he understood why. Viewed through the lens of his [Introverted Mana Sense] Alarion watched as his third [Void Crush] impacted the trap. The decay mana in the air resisted the intrusion as it struck, forcing Alarion¡¯s spell to waste some of its energy pushing through the barrier. Tiny fragments of decay magic slid along the edges of the [Void Crush], eroding it as it punched through to the next layer where it met even stronger resistance, until at last it fragmented against the fifth layer and dissolved. There would be no getting through the barrier. Even if Alarion were to cast the spell from inside the first few layers, he was certain that the fourth, fifth and six layers alone would be enough to stop any spell he could cast from reaching the door. His backup plan, then. The field of pain could stop his spells, but it had done nothing to his mace. Alarion took the time to coil his newest magic item around both his right arm and the haft of his great mace. Valentina¡¯s rewards had proven useful in the challenges thus far, but he doubted she¡¯d intended him to use it so soon. With luck he wouldn¡¯t need it.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Quite literally. ¡°Quicken.¡± The young man intoned, a shiver running along the length of his spine as newfound agility pulsed through his body. He rolled a hint of stiffness out of his right shoulder, then hefted his mace, holding it as one might a javelin. ¡°Lucky Strike.¡± Then he launched it toward the door. Red cloth magically unwound as the projectile arced across the short distance. Even with the benefit of [Thrown Weapon Mastery] Alarion had clearly misjudged the weight and aerodynamics of the weapon as its bulk slammed down a full three feet shy of the door, cracking the stone where it impacted. ¡°Damn.¡± Alarion murmured. He twisted his wrist and sent a pulse of mana along the length of the crimson wrap, summoning the weapon back to his hand. It was a slow and noisy process, especially compared to the near instant teleportation of his greatsword, but within two seconds the wrap had dragged the great mace back down the corridor to Alarion¡¯s waiting hand, the marked fabric whirling back into position around his forearm and the weapon¡¯s haft. The mace was not a good throwing weapon, not with his current strength at least, but Alarion was not easily dissuaded. He needed a few more feet of distance. After that, his [Lucky Strike] and the sheer bulk of the weapon should do the rest, even if it had lost most if its momentum. ¡°Lucky Strike.¡± He said again, more confident this time as he sprinted across the room and put his whole body into the throw. This time he¡¯d overdone it. The mace flew true, impacting the door at roughly its midpoint and blasting through as though the wood didn¡¯t exist. It continued into the room beyond, unravelling the whole binding on Alarion¡¯s wrist as it exceeded the cloth¡¯s maximum distance and slammed into the far wall just next to where Valentina sat reading? ¡°What in the¡­ Alarion!?¡± The goddess shouted with the tone of a disappointed mother, glaring at him incredulously through the now ruined doorframe. Then she saw him move to the far end of the room once more, lining up for a run at the corridor. ¡°No! Alarion, do-¡± Something stole the air from Valentina¡¯s lungs, her warning uttered in gasps and wholly ignored as Alarion rushed the corridor. The pain struck him in waves. First the dull ache of illness, then a sharper, more pronounced pain at his joints. He cried out in shock as he entered the third layer and stumbled as the violent agony of the fourth overwhelmed him. Momentum carried him forward into the fifth layer and his vision went blurry. Everything was pain. A thousand knives stabbed into a thousand nerves, each twisting and slicing at impossible angles. His teeth felt as though they would burst, and Alarion writhed through sensations of white-hot agony. The pain was everything. Everywhere. Undeniable, indisputable. His world was suffering, and he needed to go back. He needed to escape. To be free of this nightmare. Only, his body would not permit him even that. The pain had overloaded his nerves and made movement impossible. He could not feel the pressure of the floor beneath him, he could not feel the weight of gravity, or his own breathing. He lay there for an eternity, his mind searching desperately for an escape. Whether that relief was a successful escape, the bliss of gibbering madness or simply death, he did not care. It just needed to end. Eventually his senses fell away. His eyes were useless, the nerves shot through with so much agony that they could not stand the light. His hearing was a sharp endless ringing, his tastebuds coated in sour metal. But his mana sense¡­ that was clear. It wasn¡¯t linked to any physical organ and thus was not overwhelmed with pain. It let him sense the world around him for the first time in what felt like centuries but might have only been minutes. He could move his limbs. The movements were awkward and halting, but it didn¡¯t matter. He knelt, then stood. He had only to go back, freedom from his nightmare mere steps away. But so was victory. Alarion entered the final layer and found himself adrift. Every nerve was dipped in acid. Every synapse firing in ice water. His heart stopped and his body collapsed as infinite darkness took him. ¡ª ¡°Are you with me?¡± ¡°Alarion, are you with me?¡± ¡°I¡­¡± He struggled to respond, but the words wouldn¡¯t come. There was blood in his mouth, an open wound on his tongue. His throat was ragged, his voice barely a whisper. He nodded as best he could, the muscles of his neck sore beyond belief. ¡°Thank goodness.¡± Valentina said with a heavy sigh of relief. Alarion was resting on the floor, looking up at Valentina at an odd angle. It took several seconds before he realized that his head was in her lap and that the slow pulse of the room was nothing more than her breathing. ¡°Just how stupid are you?¡± Alarion met her eyes but could not summon even enough indignation to glare as she lectured him. ¡°Do you have any idea what would have happened if you¡¯d failed that stunt?!¡± She scolded him, one hand opening and closing just off to the side, as though she were resisting the urge to strike him. ¡°If you hadn¡¯t slumped a hand out the door, I would have been powerless to help.¡± ¡°Perhaps I should have been clearer from the start. Just because you cannot die in a challenge does not mean that it is safe. Do you know how long it takes someone with your Vitality to die of dehydration?¡± She pressed her voice brimming with quiet fury. ¡°Weeks. If not longer. Forget failing your challenge, you¡¯d have been an utter lunatic by the time I could recover you.¡± ¡°Sorry.¡± Alarion rasped, slowly pushing himself upright on the floor. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to waste time.¡± ¡°Stop trying to have your cake while you eat it.¡± Valentina scolded. ¡°These challenges are teaching moments. You get nothing by cheaply circumventing them.¡± ¡°I do not get a reward for finishing?¡± Alarion frowned. ¡°That is not what I¡­¡± the woman exhaled heavily in annoyance, then stood and brushed down her dress. ¡°That challenge was meant to teach you how to compartmentalize and endure pain. A useful skill in its own right, but in doing so you would have ideally learned a general meditation skill.¡± Alarion looked back at the still open door, seeing the challenge in a new light. ¡°I could still¡­¡± ¡°No.¡± Valentina said sharply, dismissing the door with a wave of her hand. ¡°For a whole host of reasons, no. ¡° ¡°Mm.¡± The young man struggled to his feet, wincing with each stiff movement. ¡°What now?¡± The goddess scowled as she sat behind her desk, already scrawling in an open book before her. ¡°Now you go and rest while I stay up late revising the remainder of your challenges.¡± ¡°Because I didn¡¯t get the meditation skill?¡± ¡°To keep you from cheating.¡± Chapter Seventy-Eight ¡°Good morning.¡± Alarion mumbled sleepily as he emerged from his bedroom back into Valentina¡¯s main chamber. He was rubbing at his eyes, a slight imprint of the bed¡¯s stitching still visible on his face as he stumbled greedily to the bar top counter where a veritable banquet awaited him ¡°I see you slept well.¡± Valentina said over a shoulder, perky as ever as she plucked piece after piece of sizzling bacon out of her pan. ¡°Ngh.¡± Alarion grunted around a mouthful of pastry, his jaw slowly working up and down as though of its own volition. He had not slept well, and he suspected she knew as much. He¡¯d woken to muscle cramps a half dozen times through the night. Each had been a panic inducing experience, with Alarion¡¯s sleep addled brain convinced that the aches and pains were only the precursor to more blinding pain. The young man was no stranger to pain, but the worst he¡¯d experienced had been during his endurance training within Elena¡¯s [Void Arena]. The memories of that pain had always faded quickly after Alarion left the arena, and in doing so had set a bad precedent that so long as he survived the moment there was nothing to worry about. He wasn¡¯t used to lasting trauma, and he didn¡¯t much like it. ¡°That well, hmm?¡± Valentina set the final plate down amidst her masterpiece breakfast, then removed a rolled-up parchment and set it next to Alarion¡¯s plate. ¡°I thought that might be the case. This should help.¡± Alarion set his utensils down and reached for the scroll, only for Valentina to swat him atop the wrist with her own. ¡°After breakfast.¡± Valentina removed her apron and joined Alarion on the far side of the bar. For such a small woman she had a tremendous appetite, tearing through enough food to feed a small family while Alarion picked through the mountain of options in search of his favorites. Half a year ago he¡¯d been living in a ruined basement, drinking fetid water and eating whatever vermin he could kill. Now he sat beside a God, picking and choosing the most scrumptious parts of a bounty. Life was strange, though it said something about Valentina¡¯s down to earth nature that the pile of food felt more incredible. They did not speak much as they ate, not with Alarion as tired as he was. Every so often the woman vocalized her approval for a particular bite or chimed in with some minor fact about the meal, but none of her words broke through to an actual conversation. Eventually she gave up, staring off into space and humming an unfamiliar tune. When the meal was finally over, and after Alarion had washed his hands, Valentina finally gave him permission to open the scroll.
Valentina¡¯s Energetic Embrace Requirements: Caster must not be a heretic of Lal Viren. Affinity: Body/Mind Type: Enchantment/Divine Cost: 200 MP Range: Self Duration: Eight Hours Effects: By invoking the power of Lal Viren through the teachings of her Incarnation, Valentina Lyons, this spell rejuvenates the weary mind and body of the caster to their peak readiness. Upon casting this spell bestows the [Well Rested] condition for eight hours and restores all depleted stamina. Note: This spell cannot be cast more than once every 24 hours. This spell has a minute experience cost.
¡°Before you ask, no the spell is not a replacement for sleep. It will let you function longer without it, but eventually the system will impose a condition for not having slept. I¡¯m told staying up more than four days without sleep is¡­ an experience.¡± ¡°That was not what I was going to ask.¡± Alarion said, though the information was certainly useful. ¡°Did you just make this?¡± The ink on the parchment was so fresh that it almost glistened under the candlelight. ¡°I did. The pain challenge is one I¡¯ve used fairly often. Often enough to know that challengers need time to properly recover, even if the System says they are fine. Since we both know that you¡¯ll stubbornly insist that you¡¯re ready to proceed, it seemed prudent to find a work around. For your sake.¡± Alarion listened to her words with a slow nod. ¡°Is that not cheating? Giving a gift to help me?¡± ¡°Who said it was a gift? That is your reward for completing the last challenge. As much as Mother wishes it were not the case, rewards within tier are entirely up to my discretion.¡± Valentina cast a sly smile upward as she added, ¡°And she always told me that I needed to spread my divine spells more often.¡± Learning that the scroll was his reward instantly soured Alarion¡¯s opinion on the spell. He recognized the value of the [Well Rested] condition, but compared to his previous rewards it felt¡­ underwhelming.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡°What is a divine spell?¡± He asked, trying not to let his disappointment show too blatantly as he reviewed the scroll once again. ¡°Most magic within the System is ¡®arcane¡¯ in nature. All your spells are classified as arcane, for example. At the margin however there are several subtypes you may run into, with Ritual, Primal and Divine as the most common.¡± Valentina gestured at an invisible teaching aid as she spoke. She¡¯d given the same lecture hundreds of times, to the point that her body went through pointless motions on instinct. ¡°Divine magic draws on the power of a third party, greatly enhancing the effectiveness of the spell at the cost of XP sent back to the benefactor through sympathetic ties.¡± ¡°So, it is stronger, but expensive?¡± Alarion didn¡¯t see the spell as strong, and it showed on his expression. ¡°A purely arcane version of that spell starts as Rank II magic, with severe restrictions or backlash. To cast it as is would be Rank III and a few thousand MP, at a minimum. That spell uses oppositional affinities which would be no easy task without a hand to guide you.¡± ¡°Oh. And the cost?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t use it each and every day but calling it expensive is a stretch. XP costs and gains are always hard to count, but slaying a single ECL equivalent fiend would be enough to feed dozens of casts.¡± That¡­ sounded better. With a final firm nod Alarion set about adding the spell to his repertoire. The spell¡¯s formula was clearly written within the scroll, tailored to accommodate Alarion¡¯s flaw, which made it child¡¯s play to transfer onto his mace with his existing inscription tools. The hard part came once he finished the work. He had five known spells, and only four slots in which to prepare them. Clearly aware of his new conundrum Valentina offered her services. ¡°Do you want my recommendation?¡± ¡°No.¡± The boy¡¯s messy bedhead bounced as he shook his head vigorously. ¡°But a second opinion. I¡¯m thinking Quicken.¡± ¡°Oh? Why is that.¡± Alarion took a moment to organize his thoughts before he answered. ¡°Void Crush is my only ranged weapon, beyond throwing my mace. I have no healing to speak of, so Mend Body must remain. That leaves Quicken and Solar Burst.¡± ¡°And you settled on Quicken because¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m still not sure how much a slight bonus to agility is, but if I had to guess, it feels like less than 25%. Well rested gives me eight hours with my total stats boosted by 5%, a 35% total bonus if you add them up, though probably more in practice, since agility isn¡¯t my highest stat. Losing Quicken is at worst a side grade, while losing Solar Burst strips me of my ability to do damage in an area. And blow elementals up from inside.¡± ¡°It sounds to me like you have it in hand.¡± Valentina said with a smile. It was the obvious choice, but she was glad that he came to it from the right direction. ¡°Slight is roughly 10% so you¡¯re actually better off than you even thought. If you have more potions, switching out Mend Body would not be amiss, and if you juggle them correctly, you could technically use all five every odd day.¡± ¡°Huh?¡± Alarion tilted his head in confusion. ¡°How?¡± ¡°Preparing spells is a daily occurrence, tracked by a timer within your Status. If you have Valentina¡¯s Energetic Embrace-¡± ¡°That is a very bad name.¡± Alarion interjected. ¡°Void Crush, Quicken, Mend body. They all tell you what they do. But energetic embrace? The once god gave the boy a stern look but continued as if he¡¯d not interrupted her. ¡°- prepared then you can cast it and then swap out to another spell. The day after, you can swap back and cast it. It is an exploit that works for any spell with a long duration, especially those already on a daily timer.¡± That was a damn good exploit. The idea was simple and elegant, but Alarion wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d have figured it out on his own. He¡¯d thought that the act of changing his spells would have disrupted the magic somehow, but apparently not. Alarion mentally selected the new spell, adding it to his active repertoire. The sensation was uncanny, not unpleasant but certainly unfamiliar. One moment he knew how to cast [Quicken] and the next he did not. [Valentina¡¯s Energetic Embrace] filled that empty spot in his knowledge, but it was unfamiliar in a wholly different way. A tentative hand reached out, two digits stroking through the air as if painting. The air glowed behind them, a soft silver gleam of magic left with each decisive stroke of his fingers. Unfamiliar words fell from his mouth, their unnatural syllables dancing on his tongue as he chanted. Alarion had the words, but he didn¡¯t know them. He didn¡¯t understand them. But he also didn¡¯t need to. Valentina¡¯s magic was more than content with rote recitation. His fingers underlined the glowing sentence with a squiggle of movement just as the magic took hold. A cold squall passed over and through him, as though from some terrible northern wind in the depths of winter. Prickles of warmth came next as his nerves came awake, every inch of his body tingling as renewal ran through him. He felt great. Better than great, actually. Better than he had in weeks. Even the fears lingering deep within his mind, of failure and pain, had lessened after the casting. He felt like a new man. Or a new boy, at the very least. A pair of notifications flashed for his attention and Alarion triggered them with a thought.
[Well Rested] ¨C 5% bonus to all attributes for two hours. 5% Bonus to Maximum Stamina and MP for eight hours. Skill level increased. Unbound Spellcraft is now Level 2. INT +6.
¡°Thank you.¡± Alarion said after a short pause. It wasn¡¯t easy for him to admit that he was wrong, but the reward was incredible. Perhaps more than he deserved, given how he had cheated the test. ¡°Should I get started?¡± ¡°Your challenges await.¡± The combat challenge was back, taunting him with its three gems of difficulty. Next to it was an Endurance test of the same difficulty, with a one gem magic challenge rounding out his options. It wasn¡¯t really a choice. Endurance tests were time consuming, unless he cheated. Combat tests could easily prove deadly. Which left him to ponder. What dangers would a magic test pose? Chapter Seventy-Nine The answer was a door. In all fairness, it was a very ornate door. Technically two doors, for there were two dark wood slabs set into the immense frame, but that was a distinction Alarion didn¡¯t care to make. To him it was just a door set into that same claustrophobic stone room that Valentina had used to test him twice before. No, not a door. The Door. It had been five days. Five days staring at The Door. Five days of knowing exactly what he was supposed to do, but knowing that he could not. Five days of wondering why Valentina had presented him with a such a ludicrous challenge. Was she angry? Were her hands tied? She¡¯d given him an odd look when he¡¯d picked the magic challenge, had that been pity? Surely, she must have known that the challenge was beyond him. The Door had seven seals. They were intricate magical locks that barred access and protected the door¡¯s frame against mundane and magical attacks. Alarion was passingly familiar with their design from ZEKE¡¯s lessons. The Steelborn had provided just enough instruction that Alarion understood the mechanism, then left it at that. The boy might need to recognize such locks in the wild but given that it was impossible for him to open them, going any further was moot. Locks like these were extremely common in certain parts of the world. The most complicated required complex magical ciphers to open, making them essentially unbreakable for all but the most talented magical thieves. Others, like these, were simple. One only had to channel their mana into a matching construct, a ¡®key¡¯ to fit the lock, and it would open. And therein lay the problem. Alarion could not channel mana outside of his body! He¡¯d recognized issue almost as soon as he¡¯d scanned the room with his [Introverted Mana Sense]. The seals were clear as day, their markings scrawled onto the door, their essence gleaming brightly within his sixth sense. There was no mistaking what they were and Alarion had turned on his heels at the sight. He¡¯d intended to leave, to ask Valentina to ¡®fix¡¯ the room, or to select another challenge entirely. But there was no door. The challenge was one gem. He couldn¡¯t die, and he couldn¡¯t fail, but he also couldn¡¯t leave. Surely there had been some mistake. Valentina had been a god, but she was an Incarnate one. She was only human, and humans made mistakes. He¡¯d cheated one of her tests, after all. Eventually she¡¯d realize the error, swoop in and modify the test. Or at least allow him to pick again. Anything would be better than an unbeatable challenge. By the time he woke on the second day, Alarion was no longer so sure. That look hadn¡¯t been pity, it had been smug. He¡¯d broken her challenge, so she would break him in return. With Valentina feeding him, he had barely scratched the surface of his rations. It would be a month before he was so malnourished that she¡¯d come to save him. And then what? She¡¯d blame her ¡®Mother¡¯. So sorry Alarion but it is out of my hands. He raged, throwing everything he had at The Door, its frame and the walls around it. The Door might as well have been invulnerable for all the effect his tantrum had, its enchantments repelling Alarion¡¯s heaviest blows and his strongest magics. He¡¯d thought perhaps [Solar Burst] might have an effect if cast repeatedly at point blank range and he burned through the majority of his HP in an attempt to break down The Door¡¯s defenses. All to no avail. Would she come faster if he pushed himself to the brink of death? Angry or no, the idea of actual self harm just to draw her out was repulsive. The third day was one of begging. Valentina had come to teach him when he¡¯d wandered her infinite labyrinth. Surely, she would come if he asked, if his straits grew dire enough. To that end he attempted her challenge for the first time in earnest. He¡¯d made token attempts during the previous days, an hour here, two hours there, but he¡¯d never leaned into it, devoting hours in struggle so that she could see that it wasn¡¯t only difficult, it was impossible. It was like telling an armless man to grab a handful of air and to carry it across the room. The challenge was fundamentally at odds with not only his abilities, but his nature. [Introverted Mana Sense] allowed him to ¡®see¡¯ the locks, but he had no way of interacting with them. Perhaps if he had another awakened to channel for him, as he¡¯d practiced with Sierra, he could have opened the locks. But to do it alone was out of the question. Valentina had to know as much. So why hadn¡¯t she answered him? The reality was simple. There was nothing she could teach him that would allow him to breach the door. He had made the wrong choice, and he would suffer for it. He¡¯d given it his all. Hour upon hour of focus. He¡¯d willed the strings of mana at his core to reach out, to fill those empty spaces in the lock. Any awakened with even a basic grasp of their magic should be able to open these locks. Why couldn¡¯t he? Why was he so broken.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Alarion slept through much of the fourth day, waking only when rage overcame his ennui. The violence was pointless, but it felt good in the moment to strike his mace against those seals over and over and over again. It would only take a little scratch to disrupt their magic. Break the underlying spell formulas inscribed into the door and the magic would falter. But he couldn¡¯t even do that right. If he were a better mage, he might have developed a way to circumvent the seals. He couldn¡¯t channel energy, but if he found the formula for some sort of unattuned mana bolt perhaps he could have overloaded it. Or instead, maybe a Void or Decay spell, something that would eat away at the seal, dispelling it rather than opening it as intended. Pity he lacked both the skills and the talent to try. He woke early on the fifth day. Not out of any desire or eagerness, for there was nothing new, just him and The Door. He¡¯d slept too long, too deeply. His joints ached from napping on granite and sitting was more comfortable than standing, regardless of his mood. There he sat, watching The Door. Glaring at it. Short of turning his back on it, there was no escaping the imposing edifice. When he delved into his mana sense, not even that was any help. The door was always there. Looming. Taunting. Seven magical rings that he saw every time he closed his eyes. ¡°Why can I see them?¡± The question was overflowing with frustration, but it wasn¡¯t rhetorical. It was practical. The simple answer was [Introverted Mana Sense]. The more in-depth answer was that his mana sense captured a sort of¡­ reflection of the world around him. Most mages reached out with their mana, finding the contours of a spell or magical effect the way one might run their hands across an embroidered pattern to get a sense for the text. His way was passive, he let the mana radiate through him and built a model of the world with the assistance of his skill. Like learning the dimensions of a room by listening to the footsteps of others. He couldn¡¯t control the mana outside of himself, but if it had to pass through him¡­ perhaps he could alter it inside his own body? Alarion scooted across the rugged floor, getting as close as he could to The Door. Distance would only make things more difficult, and what he was pondering should already be impossible. He focused on the nearest lock, pushing his [Introverted Mana Sense] to the limit as he struggled to get a perfect understanding of the seal. The trick was to hold the mana within himself and add to it as yet more radiated off the spell. Each subsequent wave added to the resolution of his image, the picture becoming clearer with each passing moment as Alarion held the artificial construct within himself. It took nearly an hour, and three failed attempts, but he did it. He held a perfect image of the lock within himself, but that was only the first step. Next, he had to construct the key, a task made incredibly difficult by the fragile nature of the copy within. Traditionally one would open such a simple lock by pushing mana into the gaps until the structure was complete, like pouring water into a glass until it reached the prime. With the copy within his body, that was impossible. The seal was already covered in his mana, complete, but mixed in with the roiling mass of his internal magic. It made its edges indistinct within his mana sense, which wouldn¡¯t do for the final step. First, he had to carve its outline, bit by bit, while keeping his mana from moving back in to fill the gaps. It was no small task. It took Alarion four attempts in as many hours before he had what he hoped was a finished product. He¡¯d developed several strategies for the task, such as emptying most of his mana pool in advance, but by far the most effective tool at his disposal was a familiar one. By braiding and pinning large chunks of his mana, Alarion was able to create a relatively clear space around the copy. She had to have known. Alarion thought, wondering if this was a challenge Valentina had been building up to all along. She offered him choices of which room to pick, but were they really choices at all when she controlled what was behind the doors? It was just like the coin. The illusion of choice. Just how badly had he hamstrung himself by circumventing her last challenge? Alarion shook his head and focused back on the task at hand. The final step was the most delicate, the most likely to fail. Alarion wasn¡¯t even sure it was possible, but the theory felt sound. Like attracted like when it came to magical energy. All things being equal, a person¡¯s mana wanted to stay within the person, mana from within a spell wished to remain with that spell, and so forth. Sympathetic ties bound magic tightly, which meant that in theory, any mana from the lock should try to rejoin its origin, if placed close enough. He had gathered a bounty of the seal¡¯s magic, and with a single touch he fed it back into the arcane lock. Along with the key he had channeled inside of himself. A traitorous passenger. The seal revolted against his solution. It sputtered and jolted as the key fell into place, nearly rejecting it as parts of the key began to evaporate into the ambient mana. But Alarion had packed his key densely, a redundancy that allowed it to last just long enough for the seal to register. Click. The first seal vanished in Alarion¡¯s mana sense. When Alarion opened his eyes, he saw that the markings on the door had changed. The seal was broken. ¡°Mm!¡± Alarion pumped his fist in satisfaction. He¡¯d done it. Sure, it had taken hours to do what a traditional mage could have done in seconds, but he could get better at it. More important was what that lock represented. At its simplest form, the lock was a bound field, and while he still couldn¡¯t interact directly, the successful test had proven that he could trigger a bound field in a roundabout fashion, given enough time. The implications were staggering. He¡¯d never cast spells like a regular mage, but the inability to interact with most magical devices had been an enormous weakness. Who cared if he had to use the most counter-intuitive way to activate them, the fact that he could do so at all was a minor miracle. Alarion spent the rest of the day disabling the remaining locks. True to Valentina¡¯s nature, each lock was more challenging than the last, but none threatened to rob Alarion of his victory. The hard part had been developing the skill, the remaining locks were mere training.
Skill level increased. Unbound Spellcraft is now Level 5. INT +4. PER +4. WIL +4.
The last lock opened with the same satisfying click as the first and Alarion felt his shoulders sag with exhaustion. His day had started early with a casting of [Valentina¡¯s Energetic Embrace] and it was ending very, very late if the remaining thirty-four minutes on his cooldown were any indication. He pushed open the door, expecting to see Valentina cooking up a storm for his victory. Instead, he was greeted with something entirely unexpected. Sierra. ¡°Finally.¡± The young woman said after an indignant huff. ¡°Alarion, it is time to go.¡± Chapter Eighty ¡°No.¡± Sierra stopped, already halfway to the exit. She glanced back over her shoulder, expression cautious. Perhaps she¡¯d misheard him? One look at his stoic expression revealed that she had not. ¡°Alarion-¡± ¡°How is she even here?¡± Alarion asked over Sierra¡¯s objection, looking past the girl to see Valentina watching from the edge of her desk, a familiar coin rolling between her fingers. ¡°She showed up two days ago, asking to see you. Quite an unusual request. Most wouldn¡¯t want to waste an opportunity like this just to retrieve another participant.¡± Valentina¡¯s words suggested that she had no idea why Sierra had come, or that Alarion was on a schedule. ¡°Since it isn¡¯t likely to interfere with the challenge, I saw no reason to deny her request.¡± Sierra bristled at the words, and it was easy to understand why. Elena, ZEEK and Valentina had all stressed the value of the challenge dungeon. For Sierra to be ordered to waste her only opportunity, simply to retrieve him? If anything, her attitude was subdued. ¡°Your time here is up; I have been tasked with retrieving you. You can gather your things and collect your reward, but we need to-¡± ¡°Stop. Please.¡± He held up a hand to forestall Sierra¡¯s comments as the girl looked ready to explode. ¡°I am not leaving until I have finished the challenge or hit a wall.¡± ¡°Alarion-¡± ¡°No!¡± This time the word was firm. Unambiguous. Sierra¡¯s mouth hung open in surprise, forming and discarding sentences as she parsed what he was saying. The Alarion who¡¯d entered the dungeon didn¡¯t use the word no. Not when ordered. He was stubborn, yes, but he was pliant to the demands of his tutors. If they gave him an open-ended task the results could be¡­ unpredictable, but when he was ordered to do something, Alarion obeyed. Until now. ¡°And when will you be ready?¡± Sierra asked at last. She recognized a losing battle when she saw one. ¡°I have completed five challenges. There are three more ahead.¡± ¡°Unacceptable!¡± Sierra snapped. The harsh word made Valentina shift on her perch, and Sierra rapidly adjusted her tone in response. ¡°That is wholly unacceptable. You were permitted thirteen days, no more.¡± ¡°Unacceptable or not, this is my decision,¡± Alarion answered, his voice measured and calm as he refused. ¡°They want me to be strong. This is how I become strong.¡± ¡°I am not asking you-¡± ¡°But I am telling you.¡± He persisted. ¡°I am learning new skills under the watch of a literal God. I would be an idiot to let this go to waste. I will leave when I am finished. Not before.¡± Alarion became keenly aware of the mace held tightly in his grip. He¡¯d grown by leaps and bounds since his arrival, but Sierra was strong to begin with. Just how much of that gap had he closed? Was he about to find out? Sierra eyed him steadily. There was a soft click in the air as her jaw popped amidst her grinding teeth. ¡°Are you a liar then? You swore-¡± ¡°I swore nothing.¡± Valentina¡¯s persistent nagging about his benefactors had caused Alarion to re-evaluate the events that had brought him here. If he was certain of one thing, it was that he¡¯d never made any promise. They¡¯d never even given him that agency. ¡°They told me that I had a deadline. I never once agreed to it, let alone swore to obey it. You of all people taught me that I should not make promises that I can not guarantee I will keep.¡± He¡¯d expected the words to infuriate Sierra, to drive the confrontation to a violent end. Instead, they sparked something behind her ice blue eyes. Curiosity? Amusement? A thin smile touched her lips, then the girl snorted with laughter in spite of herself. Valentina and Alarion exchanged confounded looks before Sierra explained, ¡°That was a very Vitrian answer, Alarion.¡± ¡°So-¡± ¡°I can not stop you,¡± the girl sighed with a glance to Valentina as the tension of the moment deflated. ¡°Unless I can appeal to-¡° ¡°Absolutely not.¡± Valentina said flaty. ¡°Then perhaps your better nature, Alarion? You might escape punishment with that reasoning, but the Governor will not look favorably on my failure.¡± That gave him pause. He knew well enough that Dar could be a cruel, even violent man. How badly would they punish her for his decision? More importantly, was he willing to live with the consequences?This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°Will the punishment be severe?¡± ¡°Most likely reputational. You will turn a wholehearted recommendation of my duties into a conditional one. Anything beyond that is hard to guess.¡± Sierra answered. When his expression showed how little he valued the idea of reputation, she added, ¡°If I told you that I would be killed, would that change your mind?¡± ¡°If it were truthful, yes. But if it were true you¡¯d have said as much.¡± Alarion countered to Sierra¡¯s dismay. ¡°I made the decision hours ago, during my last challenge. There is nothing you can say or do that will change my mind. I will tell them as much.¡± ¡°Small comfort.¡± Sierra scowled. ¡°Still better than none at all.¡± With that Alarion lifted his arm, wrist cocked at a slight angle as he offered the Vitrian apology she¡¯d taught him. Sierra smiled wanly, hesitating for just a moment before she lifted her own arm to meet his. As apologies went, it felt hollow to do so while still committing to the misdeed, but the thought behind it was everything. Alarion¡¯s arm passed neatly through Sierra¡¯s as they touched, her wrist turning into motes of dust under the slight pressure, then reforming just as quickly on the other side. ¡°What-?¡± ¡°She is fine.¡± Valentina chimed in to soothe Alarion¡¯s obvious distress. ¡°I did not think it prudent to put the two of you in the same physical space. For all the girl¡¯s smiles, I am certain she would have tried to drag you out against your will, if given the opportunity.¡± Alarion scoffed at the idea, right up until he saw Sierra¡¯s expression. The girl was sheepish, looking anywhere but at him as she stepped away from their attempt at reconciliation. He supposed he would have done the same in her shoes. Sierra broke the silence with a question, ¡°So, What next?¡± ¡°Sleep.¡± He answered. Only one door remained at Alarion¡¯s back, the three gem endurance challenge that he had studiously avoided on his last selection. As the sixth challenge it promised to be more dangerous than those that came before. Delving in while half asleep seemed like a terrible idea. ¡°With luck it should only take a few more days.¡± ¡°Then I will wait here.¡± ¡°No.¡± Valentina slipped off the corner of her desk and walked toward Sierra with new purpose. ¡°I have humored you thus far, but if you¡¯re staying, then you have challenges of your own to face. He doesn¡¯t need you hovering over his shoulder, rushing him.¡± ¡°I do not inte-¡± ¡°I am so sorry Madam, visiting hours are over.¡± Valentina raised her hand, and Sierra vanished with a snap of her fingers. ¡°I see now why you¡¯re considering a return to your benefactors. She is very pretty.¡± Alarion ignored the jibe as best he could, though there was no fighting the color that had rushed to his cheeks at the implication. ¡°Is she alright?¡± ¡°Of course. I severed her connection to this space so she can focus on her own attempts. I¡¯ll allow you two to reconnect after the next challenge. In case you wish to take her up on her ¡®offer¡¯ to depart.¡± ¡°Subtle.¡± Alarion mumbled as he set his mace against the nearby wall and unraveled the binding from his right arm. ¡°Was my performance better or worse than expected?¡± Valentina spit him with a cool stare, as if inviting him to guess. When he didn¡¯t take the opportunity, she made a dismissive gesture to the heavens. ¡°Mother thought that you would fail. But not me. I had faith.¡± Something about the way Valentina spoke and the pointed way she avoided looking up caused Alarion to wonder. ¡°It is a crime to lie in Vitria.¡± ¡°Well I¡¯m not in Vitria am-¡± Valentina paused, her face scrunching up in annoyance as she realized her mistake. ¡°We both thought you¡¯d fail, but mother gave me very good odds on the possibility you might succeed. So, I took the bet.¡± Alarion considered asking what it was that a god was willing to wager, but decided against it when he realized he did not want to know. ¡°I should sleep.¡± ¡°You should, but first, your reward.¡± Valentina agreed as she offered him a hefty tome.
Selica Gareris¡¯ Meditations on Mediation [Uncommon] Description: Written in 24 A.T.S. this scroll offers a detailed description of basic Kel-Taran Meditation. A cornerstone in the evolution of Thoughtborn, Kel-Taran Meditation is renowned the world over for its regenerative properties and improvements to core mental focus. This text serves as a beginner¡¯s primer and is filled with dozens of diagrams, exercises and core philosophical arguments. Requirements: Awakened (Any one class level) Type: Imbuement. Effects: Instantly gain the skill [Kel-Taran Meditation]. If the user already possesses this skill, instead add one level to this skill. Additionally, review of this book for a minimum of one hour per day will add a 25% XP growth to the [Kel-Taran Meditation] skill.
The young man wasted no time triggering the item, new knowledge flooding his mind and leaving his already aching head pounding as he reviewed his new skill.
Kel-Taran Meditation [Uncommon] Description: An offshoot of traditional meditation techniques, practitioners of Kel-Taran Meditation focus on externalization of internal energies. Expulsion of negative energies is practiced to promote rapid regeneration and healing, while the expulsion of positive energies can be used for creative purposes. Requirements: None. Type: Active Effects: While actively meditating the user regenerates all resources at an increased rate of up to 100% + 5% per level of this skill. In addition, this skill can be used to enhance the effectiveness of most crafting skills. This enhancement is greatly increased during the creation of new Thoughtborn entities. Growths: INT +2. PER +2. WIL +2.
¡°This would have been nice to have.¡± Alarion whispered under his breath. ¡°Perhaps. But putting my thumb so heavily on the scale to correct your misstep would have been cheating.¡± Valentina admitted as the young man idly flipped through the pages of his new book. ¡°If you¡¯d developed a meditation skill during your challenge it likely would have been weaker than this one, so it isn¡¯t all bad.¡± ¡°But then I would have gotten a different reward.¡± ¡°That is what you get for cheating.¡± Valentina shot back. Her weak smile held for a moment before it began to falter at the edges. ¡°Have you considered my offer? Or hers, for that matter?¡± Alarion looked to where Sierra had stood only minutes before. ¡°Should I consider it?¡± ¡°The sixth challenge is no laughing matter. Most surrender at this point, and the smart ones do it before they start the challenge. I cannot make the decision for you, but you have already made considerable progress.¡± The older woman shrugged as she finished her thought, ¡°You know my opinion on your masters.¡± ¡°I do,¡± Alarion admitted, somewhat offput by her demeanor. She seemed¡­ distressed at the idea that he would continue. ¡°Let me sleep on it?¡± Valentina nodded gently, but they both knew what he meant. Alarion was not the type to quit. Chapter Eighty-One ¡°Alarion-Talon-Valentina-Green-Widow.¡± ¡°And again?¡± Valentina insisted. ¡°Alarion-Talon-Valentina-Green-Widow,¡± the young man reiterated. The phrase had gotten progressively more ridiculous in his mind with each repetition, and after his fifth attempt Alarion was almost at his limit. ¡°I have it.¡± ¡°You have it now,¡± the goddess agreed. ¡°But I want to make sure you have it when you need it.¡± ¡°Why is this time so different?¡± Valentina pursed her lips and glanced to the sky. After a moment of silent reflection, or perhaps internal conversation, she opened up. ¡°The sixth challenge is¡­ different from the others. It is of Mother¡¯s design, not mine. The key phrase is what makes it a test, rather than simply a punishment.¡± ¡°That is reassuring." Alarion said as he looked toward the nearby door marked with the symbol of endurance. If the previous two challenges, one of which was simply to endure pain, hadn¡¯t constituted ¡®punishment¡¯ by her definition, Alarion was concerned about exactly what did. ¡°Alarion-Talon-Valentina¡­¡± The phrase was his ¡®escape¡¯, as Valentina had described it. He had only to say those five words in that order, and the test would instantly end. He would fail, of course, but that was the price of surrender. Alarion had no intention of surrendering, but he¡¯d be an idiot to ignore the warning. ¡°Alarion-Talon-Valentina-Green-Widow.¡± He repeated one final time without prompting. Valentina nodded, a sad look in her eyes as they met his. ¡°If it becomes too much¡­¡± She began, then glared up at the sky before revising her thoughts. ¡°It is alright to quit. There is no shame in failing this test. Most do. I would have.¡± The words were not nearly as comforting as Valentina had intended. ¡°Are you ready?¡± She asked. ¡°Mm.¡± With that confirmation, Valentina stepped ahead of him. She took hold of the door and pulled it open to reveal a nearly blinding white light beyond. ¡°Just keep walking. You¡¯ll know when the test begins.¡± Squinting against the light, Alarion followed her instructions and stepped into the pure white void. It was awkward, walking without any frame of reference save for the position of his feet. Before long Alarion gave up on his eyes entirely in favor of his mana sense. Unfamiliar mana coiled around him on all sides, a complicated web of interconnected arcana that he could not hope to deconstruct. About the only thing he could parse was that it was building toward something substantial, and that it wouldn¡¯t take long. His stomach lurched abruptly as the ground fell out beneath him. His mana sense shattered due to his sudden disorientation, and he was sent tumbling through unfamiliar planes of existence. He whirled through twisting eldritch dimensions. He was in too many places at once, hearing things with his eyes as his mind struggled to comprehend things it was not meant to. In that singular instance of horrific distortion, Alarion tried to mouth the words of warning Valentina had given him. If this was to be the challenge, then he needed out, for the sensation was unbearable. But before he could find the air to speak, reality reasserted itself with a sharp crack and he found himself in darkness. It was a man¡¯s voice, one brimming with anger as he shouted at a sobbing woman. Her cheek was red where he¡¯d slapped her, her eye already beginning to swell from the blow. She was babbling in an unfamiliar language, pleading with the man as he struck her again. This time the blow sent her sprawling to the ground and a moment later a young man interposed himself protectively. The youth cried as the man loomed over him like a prowling animal. The man spat, gesturing to the small pile of coins and jewellery that were bundled together on the ground nearby. The boy protested, though it only earned him a brutal kick to the abdomen. The words were gentle and feminine, the voice distantly familiar, like that of a half-remembered dream. He tried to turn to face its source, but his eyes remained fixed on the violence before him. Not content with assaulting a woman, the thug had set in on her son for the temerity of his answer. The large man rained down blow after blow on the teenager as his mother struggled to explain. Alarion felt his hands tighten on the edge of the wagon. He felt his body tense. If no one else was going to stop this, then he had to- This time the girl was more proactive in her demand. Her slender arms wrapped around his body and pulled him back from the edge. He fought and squirmed against her, but it was no use. She was so strong. At least Rank II from the way she so easily manhandled him. She had him pinned against her chest, shrouded in darkness as the nearby violence escalated. An older woman insisted. The first voice reiterated. Those words angered him. Who were they to make that decision for him? Who even were these people? Alarion struggled with renewed furiosity, and with some difficulty he managed to free his head from the girl¡¯s vice-like grip. He looked back to the old woman and the teenager, both bleeding on the ground in front of their attacker. A pang of terror flooded his body, and he looked to the girl restraining him. Erda. The words came unbidden to his lips as his mind reeled at the sight of her. Of her younger sister Mira, and her mother Hana ushering them through the dark backstreets of the Old City.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. They couldn¡¯t be here. He couldn¡¯t be here. Erda lied. Alarion screamed his warnings. They had to go further. They had to break for the city, regardless of the danger. They had to throw themselves on the trafficker¡¯s mercy or leave Alarion behind. Anything was better than what they had planned. Every regret and recrimination he had felt in the intervening years overflowed in an instant, but not one of them fell from his lips. He couldn¡¯t speak. He couldn¡¯t move. It wasn¡¯t the paralysis of fear but the unsettling restrictions of a dream. He had no agency over his actions, no control over the events. His body moved when it was supposed to, it spoke the words that it was destined to. He was not a participant in the moment, only a witness. Mira said hurriedly, ushering her daughters into a half-collapsed structure of brittle white stone. She was oblivious to the man following them, but Alarion saw him trailing them like a shadow. He¡¯d seen the man. Why hadn¡¯t he said anything? Erda carried him down into the dark basement, a protective hand over the back of his head. She was always worried about him, ever since he¡¯d come into her care. That was probably why he¡¯d come into her care in the first place. Six months earlier they had been strangers in the same caravan heading south. He¡¯d been alone and she¡¯d taken him under her wing. Into her family. With the benefit of maturity and hindsight, Alarion wondered if there was more to it than simple goodwill or pity. Had Erda lost a brother somewhere along the years, the way he had lost his sisters? They sat there in the dark, whispering among themselves in an unfamiliar language. They¡¯d been displaced the same way, twice victimized refugees who had fled to Ashad, only for Ashad to become a warzone in turn. He clung to Erda, silent as a ghost, shivering slightly in the evening cold. He hadn¡¯t been afraid. He¡¯d been too young, too exhausted and too confused for that. The murderer¡¯s footsteps preceded him, and the women went suddenly silent. He was just above them searching the house. The warm yellow glow of his lantern trickled down the stairs as he found them, then flooded the small basement as he turned the final corner. Alarion remembered the man as truly ugly, but he wasn¡¯t. His nose was crooked, and he was missing two teeth in his wide grin, but he was oddly handsome despite those flaws. Somehow that felt worse. ¡°Alarion-Talon¡­¡± Though he could voice no warning of what was to come, Alarion found that he could still murmur the key phrase. As the first two words left his mouth Alarion seriously considered finishing the phrase. He didn¡¯t want to see this, to live this. Not again. Once was a time too many. His new reality advanced despite his objections. The man was shouting, giving orders Alarion didn¡¯t understand. Hana moved to meet him, to reason with him. There was a scuffle. Shouting. Erda stroked his cheek and set him down. Again she lied, If only he¡¯d listened. The next few moments passed in a blur. Erda¡¯s words were soothing. Conciliatory. Then the man made some sort of demand and outrage leaked into her voice. They started bickering as Alarion crept at the edge of the shadows. The man pointed toward him, repeating the words. Erda began to shout. She swatted at his hand. He struck her. Alarion was on the man in moments. Punching, biting, scratching and kicking. He landed a solid strike to the man¡¯s groin and nasty scratches along his face. For a moment it looked as though Alarion might win. It was a stupid thought, as stupid as fighting in the first place. The man was a thief and a brute but the four of them had value. He¡¯d have beaten them bloody, maybe even sold them as slaves. But if Alarion hadn¡¯t ruined his eye¡­ Suddenly there was pain. Then numbness. Alarion saw the knife sticking out of his gut, but the child couldn¡¯t understand it. He collapsed in shock. Shivering. Sobbing. And the butchery began. He could only see a blur through his tears. Mira tried to intervene, her hands held up in a foolish attempt to deescalate the terminal situation. Alarion couldn¡¯t see what happened to her, but the heavy thud of impact and Hana¡¯s mournful scream told him enough. The older woman fought but she was no fighter, her cries of agony piercing through the fog of Alarion¡¯s own while Erda desperately tried to staunch the flow of blood from Alarion¡¯s wound. Erda was the last to die. She¡¯d always taken such pride in the long chestnut hair that fell to her knees. It had been her one nod to vanity amidst a difficult life. It felt almost obscene that it was weaponized against her in her final moments, used to drag her away from Alarion even as she clung desperately to his side. The man didn¡¯t give her the dignity of last words. His short sword drove into her back, its glistening metal tip protruding from her chest as the impact drove the breath from her lungs. She looked down at it, incredulous for just a moment before the light left her eyes. Alarion screamed in rage and hatred, and his body screamed back. He hadn¡¯t recognized it in the moment, but this had been his Awakening. Perhaps he¡¯d met the conditions weeks or months earlier, but in that blind Single-Minded fury he¡¯d have selected anything just for a chance at revenge. For survival. And the System had obliged. The butcher was still trying to free his blade from Erda¡¯s body when the boy tackled him. Alarion had no skill with a knife, but he was quick, and full of anger. He stuck the man in the hip as the two toppled together in a heap, then twice more in quick succession as he managed to worm his way around to the man¡¯s back. Those three alone would have been enough, judging by the man¡¯s sudden weakness. Alarion didn¡¯t care. He stabbed again and again and again. Iron chipped on bone and Alarion cut a deep gash in his right hand as he continued to bury the blade in the man¡¯s back. Anger welled within Alarion, a blinding white fury of impotent rage. The man wasn¡¯t Awakened. He wasn¡¯t some great warrior, a spellcaster or a Governor. Even at his best he was beaten by a child! How had a man who was nothing taken everything from him?! Unfamiliar emotions and memories flooded Alarion¡¯s mind as he struck the final blow. A green hill overlooking endless pasture. A bitter taste of almonds on a farmgirl¡¯s lips. A night of drinking with friends. They came faster and more distinct as the moment dragged on into infinity. Alarion remembered watching his mother scream and rage at the man who told her that his brother was dead in the war. He remembered the pride in his father¡¯s eyes the first time he¡¯d solved a riddle. He remembered a messy breakup and a brutal beating at the hands of her new lover. The phrase ¡®do you understand¡¯ rang heavy in his mind, shouted by a stranger warning him to stay down after a bar fight. He held his child in his arms, then buried him six months later from disease. He watched as soldiers set fire to his field to deny them to the Vitrians and shivered through a winter alongside a handful of fellow traffickers. He drank too much, gambled and whored. He stabbed a brunette girl through the heart and felt a pang of regret as he did it. A lifetime flashed in the butcher¡¯s eyes as the light went out, that same lifetime relived in Alarion¡¯s mind as the boy continued to stab him long after he was gone. The blade snapped off in the man¡¯s body and Alarion looked down at it in bewilderment. That hadn¡¯t happened last time. No, he¡¯d kept the knife around for nearly six months before it broke. With a fright he realized that he¡¯d regained control over his body sometime earlier, but that he¡¯d been so full of rage he¡¯d kept stabbing regardless. That he¡¯d pulverized the butcher¡¯s body into something that barely even resembled a human. He hated this man. Every fiber of his being despised the man lying dead beneath him. But that rage had been poisoned with understanding. He knew the man lying dead beneath him nearly as well as he knew himself. It was as though he¡¯d killed himself. Alarion moved off the body and retched. What kind of a test was this, that made him see this bastard¡¯s life? When at last his stomach had finished revolting, Alarion opened his eyes to see a new portal on the far end of the basement, filling the doorway to what had been his bedroom during those hard months he had lived alone. Whatever the mystery of this challenge, he would only find his answers by seeing it through. He started towards it, then stopped. He looked back at the bodies, tears welling up in young eyes at the familiar sight. This was only a nightmare, or an illusion. It would vanish the moment he walked through that door. Alarion bent down and brushed Erda¡¯s cheek. She felt real. She still felt warm. Illusion or not, none of them deserved this. Perhaps not even the butcher. But they did deserve a burial. Chapter Eighty-Two ¡°I¡¯m telling you, I¡¯ve got a reading!¡± The words echoed off the shattered stone and metal, as if ghosts taunted those foolish enough to delve into the ruins Alarion called his home. ¡°And I¡¯m telling you, Kaplhe, that this whole building is going to fall in on our heads if we take one wrong step.¡± A second voice replied, deeper than the first. ¡°Do you even know how to calibrate that thing?¡± ¡°Do I-? Yes! Obviously!¡± Probably. ¡°It was a strong reading. Maybe an enchante-¡± ¡°Quiet. Both of you!¡± It was strange for Alarion to relive a moment of his life from the same perspective but with new information. Would it have changed anything if he had understood them at the time? He wasn¡¯t sure. Hiding down in the darkness, Alarion had been convinced that they were coming for him. Hunting for him. Why else would three grown men be delving into an empty basement in the worst part of the Old City, risking Vitrian patrols, feral wildlife and the Ruination? In a way, they had been coming for him. The Tic-tic-tic-tic of their meter had Alarion¡¯s teeth on edge as he lay in wait, stone in hand. They were coming closer. That noise was coming closer. His body was tense with flight or flight instincts, but Alarion had nowhere to run. ¡°Mother of-¡± The blonde man screamed as a chunk of masonry destroyed his good looks and sent blood flowing in rivers from his crooked nose. The soft orange light the man carried shattered on the ground, plunging the room into darkness as he asked, ¡°Did you see it?¡± ¡°See what?¡± The second man asked a moment before doom came for him. Alarion fought like a savage, throwing his body weight behind each strike as he pummeled the complete stranger into the dirt. He was terrified, and that fear was reflected in the ferocity of his attacks. They were as desperate as they were violent, as though he were trying to communicate a single solitary message. Go away. Of course, the man couldn¡¯t. Not with Alarion atop him. Resistance faltered under the impact of Alarion¡¯s Awakened strength, cartilage crumpled and eventually the man¡¯s skull gave way with a crack that made the boy¡¯s stomach drop. In that instant, Alarion could see into Val¡¯s mind, and not only through the glistening impact crater he had left in the man¡¯s head.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. He saw Val and Kaphle laughing alongside one another, simple children at play. He saw the man¡¯s first failed attempt at thievery and the beating that it earned him. There were familiar memories of training under a harsh tutor, then the disjointed recollection of a narcotic binge. Val fought over a girl who loved him and slept with a man who he hated. Stretches of quiet nights were interspersed with flashes of violence. Val was on the losing end of each and every one of them. Always the victim, never the aggressor. He saw the boy stand up for a friend only to be abandoned in the scrum. He saw him try to protect his meager possessions in an orphanage and the months of small abuses that followed. Alarion watched through Val¡¯s eyes as the world made him cruel. As it took things from him one piece at a time, until the young man felt he had no choice but to start taking from others. Val¡¯s parents featured only briefly in his memories and even then they were little more than shapes, smells and sounds. The memories of an infant who had his family torn away all too soon. Alarion had expected the rush of information. He¡¯d thought he¡¯d even prepared for it. But it overwhelmed him all the same, blurring the lines of his sense of self. It had been easier to endure the last time. Righteous indignation had buoyed his self image amidst the chaos of foreign memories and emotions. That man had been a bastard and Alarion had killed him in self-defence. The butcher got what he had coming. Val did not. He was no different than Alarion. An orphan trying to carve a place for himself in an unkind world. He¡¯d left behind friends. Lovers. Peers who depended on him. There was no excusing what Alarion had done. And there was no way to take it back. The blonde boy with the broken nose had every reason to want Alarion dead. He¡¯d been close with Val, and Alarion had killed him. But rather than take vengeance, as they easily could have, he gave Alarion a new lease on life. Alarion agreed. Tension bled out of his body as it came back under his control. The older man with the knife was circling just at the edge of Alarion¡¯s peripheral vision, but he made no move to stop him. He knew how this had to end. Worse, he suspected what was coming next. And he had no idea if he had the stomach to endure what remained of the challenge. History repeated itself as a blind-side hook sent Alarion on the lightless walk. ¡ª Her voice was soft and kind, full of music as she repeated his name and sung her instructions. He protested against the coarse fabric of his pillowcase. She scolded him playfully. He felt a nudge on his shoulder, light but insistent. It was not an idle threat. The Vitrians would have loved his mother. She never made a promise or a threat if she wasn¡¯t intent on seeing it through. She¡¯d poured fresh well water on him more than once in his youth, then made him hang his own sheets up to dry. She¡¯d certainly do it again. Especially on such an important day. Alarion asked, looking up to find his mother framed by a beam of sunlight streaming in through the open window. She smiled. Chapter Eighty-Three It was strange to feel two opposing emotions at once. Alarion the boy was excited, ecstatic. His father would be home for the first time in over a year. His heart was pounding, his hands were sweating and he was practically bouncing off the walls. Alarion the challenger was terrified. His father would be home, alongside Eloim. His mind railed against the idea, but his body was that of a boy filled with joy, even as he screamed inside his own head. The boy was seven, and at that age, a year was a lifetime. Months of absence had blurred Bas-Rhin¡¯s features, so much so that Alarion could not distinguish which of the two men on the winding path toward the house was his father. They both wore the powder blue uniform of the common Imurian enlisted, though one was in considerably better condition. In the end it was body language that gave his father away, the curve of his smile and the wide stretch of his arms as the children rushed out to meet him. Alarion might not have recognized him, but he knew the man the moment he fell into that firm embrace. His sisters cried, but Alarion had always been stoic. His eyes gleamed, and when he looked up he saw that gleam reflected in violet eyes so like his own. Up close, the older part of Alarion saw just how much his father had changed. The man who had left was broad in the chest. Powerful, if a bit pudgy. That strength had withered away, leaving a hungry core of muscle unburdened by fat. Bas-Rhin¡¯s features were sunken and exhausted, his uniform poked through with holes in a dozen places, his boots all but ready to rot off his feet. None of those details had mattered to the boy, but now they spoke clearly to the struggles his father had endured and the lies he would go on to tell. Bas-Rhin declared as his wife finally caught up to her children. Nessa scolded, though it was clear from the break in her voice that her heart was not in it. Bas-Rhin took her scolding in stride before he took her up in his arms. When he was finished holding her, the man looked to his daughters with a frown. Alarion¡¯s oldest sister, Atra, had her face pinched together in a sudden confused scowl. When her father¡¯s displeasure did not relent, she immediately looked to her younger sister. Their father interjected before the bickering led to something not so easily taken back. Alarion mimicked his father¡¯s earlier answer, though he was so full of energy that it was less a nod than a full body bounce. Aina rolled her eyes. Alarion asked, pointedly ignoring his sister as he gestured to the remaining adult. Bas-Rhin instructed before he offhandedly mentioned, His mother ended the discussion with a single word as she moved to introduce herself to Eloim. With new guests came new chores and the children carried more than their share of that burden. The girls made up a new bed for their guest, and a cot for Alarion, while the young boy spent his hours fetching firewood, water and whatever else his mother demanded of him. By the time dinner rolled around much of the excitement of seeing his father had drained away in the face of outright exhaustion. Meanwhile, the dread inside his soul had only grown. Nessa said sharply from across a rectangular table positively heaped with food. Alarion perked up in his seat as his father argued on his behalf. Alarion asked.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Bas-Rhin glanced sidelong at his fellow soldier before he answered his son. Nessa said with a glimmer of amusement in her eye. His father shot back with sickening sweetness. The words were cut short as Eloim loudly cleared his throat and sent a pointed look toward Bas-Rhin. The first sergeant was a man of few words. He¡¯d exchanged a handful of pleasantries with Alarion¡¯s mother and some quiet discussions with his father, but he rarely spoke, and when he did he was curt almost to the point of rudeness. Eloim said around a mouthful of food. Those words seemed to strike Bas-Rhin. Color drained from the man¡¯s face and he shot Eloim a nasty look. If Eloim noticed the glare he said nothing as he continued chewing. Nessa asked. Alarion cut his mother off, bolt upright in his seat at the sudden news. Nessa¡¯s voice was cool as she leaned over to clean up a spill Alarion had made in all of the fuss. Nessa said dryly before turning her attention to Eloim. He answered without elaboration. Bas-Rhin clarified. The adults ignored Alarion¡¯s groan of protest at that announcement and continued to chat amongst themselves. Shortly after dinner the men dipped into the mead and the wine, a sure signal that it was time for the children to go to bed. Not to sleep, only to bed. The spare cot was somehow less comfortable than the dirt floor of Alarion¡¯s basement home, which left the young boy tossing and turning well into the midnight hours. This gave his mature mind plenty of time to wander and to wonder. Why had Lal Viren selected this day? The connection to the first two stages of the trial was easy to recognize, this would end with him taking a life. But that was weeks away. Why make him live all of it? The other visions had been direct, to the point. Was he just supposed to stew in this? Was this time with his family meant as a curse? Or a blessing? Was there some secret that he was meant to find? True, he only saw and heard what his younger self had experienced, but there were so many things that went unnoticed by the mind of a child. ¡°Alarion-Talon-Valentina-Green-¡± He whispered in the darkness, as though the words could solve his woes. The mantra had helped during the drudgery of the daylight hours, a reminder that while he had no control over his body, he had control over how this ended. Curiously, it was three days later when he awoke. Whatever message the Mother of Challenges was trying to communicate, it clearly hadn¡¯t involved those intervening days. Bas-Rhin and Eloim were gone by the time Alarion woke, which had become something of a pattern in the days that followed his father¡¯s return. The two soldiers left early in the morning and rarely returned before dark, much to the chagrin of the children who had their mealtimes delayed by hours to accommodate. When asked what they were up to, the answer was always the same. Recruiting. Each day saw his father more grim than the last. He hid it well, always smiling when he knew the children were looking. But there was a tightness to his eyes and a frown on his lips more often than not during his private moments. He was present with his family, the same loving father that Alarion remembered, but left to his own devices, Bas-Rhin spent his evenings whittling, carving and polishing his handiwork while staring off into the middle distance. Eloim was stranger still. As a child Alarion had mistaken the man¡¯s silence and aloof nature as military discipline, but seeing him through more mature eyes Alarion recognized a fundamental wrongness. He never smiled, or laughed. He ate if you put food in front of him and spoke if you asked him a question, but there was no joy in anything he did, only cold practicality. His every motion, every action was taken with rigid precision as though unwilling to waste an ounce of energy. There was a tension between the two men, and between his parents. Things that they said to each other when away from the children, or things that were unspoken entirely. Alarion got the sense that his father did not like Eloim, and even at a young age the boy kept his distance from the soldier always peering at him from around corners or over counters, always quick to flee the moment those unsettling grey eyes turned in his direction. Despite those insights, the day was no more illuminating than the first. That was, until the early hours of the morning. ¡°They are not signing anything!¡± Wood and plaster did little to muffle the fury in his mother¡¯s voice as she shouted from a nearby bedroom. ¡°Have you lost your mind? Bad enough that you have that thing sleeping in our son¡¯s bed-¡± ¡°Ness, we don¡¯t have a choice.¡± ¡°You mean you don¡¯t have a choice! Mothers, how stupid¡­ special dispensation, Bas? Really?! You¡¯re a deser-¡± Whatever else his mother had to say on the subject was stifled in a moment of violence. Alarion heard the thump of a body hitting the wall, the struggle that followed and the hiss of whispers too quiet to make out. He listened close, pulse pounding in his ears but there was no follow-up apart from the sound of footsteps. Eventually the light from their bedroom window dimmed, then faded entirely. Try as he might to resist, Alarion¡¯s consciousness fled with it. Chapter Eighty-Four As much as Alarion felt compelled to argue with Atra on the grounds of pure sibling rivalry, she had a point. Devouring an earthworm fresh from the muddy soil was gross. He really had been an odd child. They were out in the garden on the evening of the seventh day. The last day. It had rained for two days, and Alarion knew it would storm again before the night was over, though the skies above him were clear. The rain had made for a dour few days, and those conditions were reflected on his mother¡¯s face as she joined them in the garden. Her smile was thin, her shoulders slumped. The bags under her eyes told of late nights and worry. They left Alarion to wonder just how much of the story he missed every night when the boy closed his eyes. He knew that his father hadn¡¯t come home the night before. His mother had danced around questions at the breakfast table. She¡¯d told them not to worry, but when she was unsettled, they were unsettled. Something was wrong, and they all did their best to ignore it as they went about their days. Atra snitched without a hint of shame. His mother scowled, but only a little. As though she didn¡¯t have the strength to get upset over something so petty. Nessa turned her icy tongue toward her daughter. The rebuke was minor, but the fact that their mother had taken a tone with them at all over the issue had both children fidgeting in the dirt. Nessa was a gentle woman at heart, more likely to use misbehavior as a teaching moment than one for scolding. They were too young to understand the source of the tension, but the impact leaked through all the same. Nessa waved away the rest of Alarion¡¯s explanation. Alarion cast an odd look to the heavens, then met his mother¡¯s steely gaze. Her intuition about these things was never wrong, but the boy was still dubious. she said. He was off in a run, skirting between rows of tall fruit trees as he raced toward the orchard¡¯s northern boundary. It wasn¡¯t a pace he could keep up for long, but the boy was careful to keep sprinting until he was out of sight. The run left the real Alarion with plenty of time to think. The last few days had been a blessing. Even with disaster ever on the horizon and worms in his mouth, Alarion had immersed himself in his own history. In time he¡¯d forgotten the callouses of his father¡¯s hands, the white-blue of his mother¡¯s eyes, Atra¡¯s shrill laugh and Aina¡¯s terrible cooking. This time he burned them into his memory, cementing them there in the hope that he would never forget. He missed them. It wasn¡¯t until he had them back that he realized how deep the wound inside him truly was. He¡¯d bandaged it with Mira and Erda. With survival. With Elena, ZEKE, Sierra and even Valentina. But there was no healing it. The damage was as raw as the night it was inflicted. This night. Alarion found his sister by the northern fence with a basket of fruit in her arm and a perplexed look on her face. She visibly jumped as Alarion called out for her and hurriedly waved him toward her. Aina interrupted him, gesturing out toward the Shimon homestead. Alarion started again, only to be interrupted as Aina yanked him toward the fence with one arm and pointed with the other. Their cousin¡¯s silhouette was unmistakable, even at a distance. Though only a fresh-faced youth of eighteen, he stood a head taller than anyone in their extended community, while being skinny as a fence post. He was also part of an ongoing, sometimes violent feud with the Shimon family. Alarion asked, squinting as he tried to make out any other figures on the property. Aina answered. Her voice was unsettled, her thumb unconsciously stroking Alarion¡¯s elbow where she held him. Alarion narrowed his eyes once again, then frowned. Aina rejected the answers her brother offered before he could even fully voice them. Alarion felt a chill go down his spine, and for once the Awakened inside the boy could not tell which version of him was frightened. Alarion¡¯s voice was full of false courage. Aina pointed to the cloudless sky.
Of course, his mother was always right. The storm was the worst of the season, with heavy rain driven by howling winds that sounded like the wails of banshees between the orchard¡¯s branches. Even tied tightly in place the shutters clapped and slammed with each new gust of wind, the clatter dominated only by the occasional crash of thunder nearby. Dinner was delayed, as had become routine, but as darkness fell without any sign of Bas-Rhin, Nessa was forced to relent. Eventually the children were sent to bed with full bellies and uncertain hearts. For once the boy could not sleep. Alarion stared at the ceiling and tried to recall what the younger version of him had been thinking. His recollections came up empty, but he could guess. Alarion had always been worried about his father at that age. Sure that his father was going to meet some ill fate in battle or on the road. Frightened that he¡¯d never come back. If only he¡¯d been so lucky. It was late in the evening when he heard the door open. The wind¡¯s cry whipped through the common room and sent items flying before the men were able to shut it behind them. There was something behind it, so low that Alarion wondered if he¡¯d heard it at all. Voices? His mother had slept in the common room, waiting for Bas-Rhin¡¯s return, and she was quick to interrogate him. His father answered without preamble. Alarion strained his hearing but their back and forth was drowned by the howl of wind and the crack of thunder. He caught one word in every ten, nowhere near enough to make sense of the flow of the conversation. Then there was a different sort of crash. The splintering of wood. The thump of a body followed by four emotionless words. A minute later Alarion felt the gentle touch of his father¡¯s hand on his shoulder. He¡¯d pretended to be asleep, out of fear of being caught awake. He¡¯d forgotten so much of his family. The scent of his father after a hard day on the farm, the scratch of stubble when he hugged him. But Alarion remembered that sad expression all too vividly. He asked. He rolled to face him properly, then sat up. his father lied. The boy obeyed while Alarion raged inside him. He¡¯d fought for control in earlier parts of his memories, but never with this level of vigor. He strained his consciousness, perhaps his very soul in an attempt to take some control over his younger self. To alter even the slightest detail of the next few minutes. But there was only one thing he could change. ¡°Alarion-Talon¡­¡± The young man murmured his unfinished keyword as he woke his sisters. They were deeper in sleep and harder to rouse, but one look at his face told them that the situation was serious. This night was important, and it wasn¡¯t time to argue. They dressed in the dark and followed their father into the common room. Alarion shouted at the sight of his mother¡¯s body sprawled in the corner. He managed two steps before his father intercepted him, scooping him off the ground and setting him back down in front of his sisters. Alarion protested, the firelight glinting as it flickered off the blood that stained her hair. Bas-Rhin demanded as he moved to place his body between the children and their mother. The true Alarion took his father¡¯s words to heart, drinking in every bit of the scene as his father tried to console the boy and his sisters. There had been a fight, but not much of one. Nessa¡¯s worst wound was to the back of her head, a blow from behind that had sent her sprawling through one of the low tables, leading to the rest of her injuries. The source of that violence hovered impatiently nearby. The sharp nosed Eloim stood next to their dining table with a scowl. His bludgeon was hooked to his hip, a small clump of hair, flesh and blood still stuck to a gap in one of its dull iron studs. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The man seemed taller, and it took Alarion a moment to realize that he was standing straight for the first time since his arrival. It left him with a domineering, imperial look and set Alarion¡¯s teeth on edge. It reminded him of the Governor. It was like the man had been playing at being inconspicuous and forgettable, but had now molted into a form that demanded attention. He looked to his mother again. Blood was pooling beneath her. His father shouted, snapping both versions back to reality. the child lied. He hadn¡¯t heard a word of his father¡¯s demands. He¡¯d been petrified. Absorbed in the nightmare laid out before him. There were four items on the table in front of Eloim. A feather quill rested next to a short knife; its dull iron tinged darker still with a hint of red. Next to it was an open scroll written in blood and marked with hundreds of signatures and corresponding thumb prints. Lastly there was a book, and Alarion retched at the sight of it. It was a foul thing. Even at such a young age his body rejected it. Loathed it. Hated it. The closest comparison that came to his mind was that of the revenant Lamesh, but even that paled in comparison. He balked, tried to pull away, but his father was there behind him, shepherding his children toward it. Oddly, the girls did not have the same reaction. If they felt any of Alarion¡¯s revulsion they made no show of it. They were afraid and uncertain, always looking to their father for reassurance, but they did not have the same visceral hatred for the thing. Aina was first. Eloim took the blade and opened her thumb with a flick of his wrist, cutting her with the dispassionate ease a butcher took with his animals. Once his work was done, he stood impassively, waiting for the child to follow the instructions that Alarion had been too distracted to hear. Ever the most obedient child, Aina pressed her bleeding thumb to the parchment, then dipped the quill in her blood. Of the three, she was the only one who could write, and she quickly scrawled her name onto the document. She shivered once, then a strange look came over her. It was hard to describe what was out of place. To anyone else his sister would have looked normal. But she was his sister, and his sister did not stand quite like that, or move with that much elegance. It looked like her, but¡­ better? As though there were more sheen to her hair and a fraction more energy in each weary step. Atra came next and was far more difficult. Eloim demanded. It was his third such request and though the words were no different it was clear that there would not be a fourth. The soldier was looming large, his hand tight on the knife as Bas-Rhin came to his daughter¡¯s side. Alarion¡¯s father whispered soft words to his child and ran a soothing hand through her hair as he urged her to obey. When at last she did, the cut was quick and precise, but deeper. A punishment. Atra cried out and Alarion reached out for her, only to be stopped by the point of Eloim¡¯s blade mere inches from his throat. The tall man said as Alarion¡¯s father continued to reassure Atra. Whatever his father said, it was enough. Atra found her space on the scroll through weepy eyes and cried out again as she pushed her wounded thumb into the scroll. Eloim produced a fresh quill, and his sister marked her X. The same change came over Atra, but Alarion had no time to dwell on it. It was his turn. Take that blade and stab him. Alarion commanded his younger self, to no avail. Brave as only a boy child could be, he felt the slice on his thumb an instant before Eloim¡¯s body shattered through a cabinet full of his grandmother¡¯s heirlooms. Nessa shouted, her fist still outstretched and covered in blood. The Thing that was called Eloim growled in surprise as it extracted itself. Bits of wood, glass and porcelain pierced its body in a dozen places or more, but those were the least of its injuries. Its back was shattered, its whole upper body hanging to the left at a sharp angle. Its face was even worse, its cheek nearly concave from where his mother had struck it. There was no way it was capable of speaking, but it did so all the same. She shouted as the thing set upon her. Alarion cast a glance at his father. He saw the fear. Sorrow. Anger. His father was not here to help him, and in that moment the spell that was coercing the young man fell away in a moment of clarity. This was wrong. All of it. He needed to run! Alarion balled his hands into fists and ducked beneath the table with the speed and flexibility that only a child could boast. His father scrambled after him, clutching at his ankles, but failed to get a hold on his son before Alarion was out the other side, up, and running. But to where? Their house was small, only a few rooms. There was no place to hide, let alone with his father right on his heels, and no locks on the interior doors. He had to go outside. He¡¯d lose him in the storm. In the darkness of the orchard. There were places out there not even his mother could find him when he didn¡¯t want to be found. A gust of wind blew the door open the moment Alarion turned the lock. The sudden impact sent Alarion sprawling, but his mother saved him once again as her scrap with the Thing momentarily cut between father and son. Whatever force drove Bas-Rhin to this madness had left him enough sanity not to step into the middle of a sloppy brawl between two Awakened, which left Alarion enough time to run out into the storm. The night was pitch-black, with the moon hidden behind layers of angry clouds. Only the open door provided even a hint of illumination and Alarion outran that quickly as he ran and stumbled toward the treeline with footsteps in hot pursuit. He had to get away. He had to hide. It was a dangerous thing, running in the dark. In a storm, in the mud. Anywhere else and Alarion would surely have broken his ankle. But this was his home. He knew the slopes that would flood, the roots that could trip. Each flash of lightning helped to guide him. He could escape. ¡°Alarion-Talon-Valentina¡­¡± He was shouting the words as he ran. Over and over. Daring himself to stop this while he could. Even with the benefit of a second set of eyes, even with the benefit of hindsight, of knowing they were out in the darkness, Alarion didn¡¯t see the man until he struck him at a full run. They both fell, stumbling around in the rain and the mud as they tried to get their footing. Alarion gasped out as he heard his father shouting behind him. Surely this stranger would help him. Someone had to help him. Lightning crashed, and the boy realized his error. There were dozens of them. All firmly upright. All with that same empty gaze. The sky lit up again, and this time they weren¡¯t all strangers. The woman to his right was the town shopkeeper, Shireen. Beside her, one of the local boys who used to bully Alarion. They made no move toward him, but to his horror they did move to stop him when he tried to circle past them. Never threatening. Only impeding. With his father quick on his trail, Alarion started running alongside the human wall, looking for gaps, but to no avail. The line was haphazard to account for terrain, but the otherwise impassive villagers were frightfully quick when he tried to slip past them. Worse, they were slowly closing ranks, shrinking the circle a step at a time. Try as he might, Alarion could not follow his mother¡¯s order any further. There was nowhere to run. His father shouted as he finally caught sight of him under the glow of an oil lantern. Bas-Rhin wasn¡¯t surprised to see the mob. He¡¯d known these people were here. He¡¯d known Alarion couldn¡¯t get away, that there was no need to rush. To the boy¡¯s horror, there was a scroll in his father¡¯s free hand. Bas-Rhin said in a soothing tone. Alarion didn¡¯t know how to finish what he¡¯d started. He was scared. He was cold and bleeding and wanted this to be nothing more than a terrible nightmare. Inside his head, the older Alarion wanted nothing but the same. Bas-Rhin dropped to one knee as he spoke. The way he said it almost made sense. Even inside this retelling, Alarion felt the pull of the coercive magic. The argument was absurd, but the way he said it. The tone, the stretch of each syllable. Alarion felt compelled to obey. His thumb was still bleeding as his father unrolled the scroll and gestured to the open space. The words woke Alarion from his stupor like a glass of well water. He stumbled back and tore the tail end of the scroll away with him as he went, staring incredulously at his father all the while. Realising his mistake, Bas-Rhin sighed and closed his eyes. He lifted a hand, calling for peace as he focused on whatever inner power allowed him to manipulate the children. He didn¡¯t finish his thought. Alarion struck him in the mouth with everything he had. Admittedly, that wasn¡¯t much, but Alarion had the element of surprise. And anger. Fury, really. He struck his father again. And again. He pushed the man off balance and forced him into the muddy ground. They toppled and the lantern broke. For an instant they were plunged into darkness. Then a blaze roared to life with new intensity as the spilt oil caught fire. Bas-Rhin shouted as he finally caught hold of the flailing child¡¯s wrists in an attempt to restrain him. Alarion was having none of that. He kicked, scratched and bit, using every tool at his disposal to try and dislodge his father, until the man simply threw him aside as one might a rabid animal. Bas-Rhin started, before he realized what was missing. He glanced to the left, then the right, searching in the dark mud for the fallen scroll. Then he looked at Alarion who held it proudly in one hand. The boy had no idea what it was. Only that his father valued it. That it was important. Important enough to stop the man in his tracks. That it, and Eloim were the source of the family¡¯s strife. Looking down at his father was enough to break Alarion¡¯s heart. The mantra that he¡¯d murmured a dozen times a day for the past week fell away, forgotten. He didn¡¯t want this, but he wouldn¡¯t turn away from it either. From any of it. This was what happened. Not what he wished would happen. His father was a pathetic cultist of some lesser god, willing to enslave or sacrifice his family because he was too much of a coward to fight a losing war, or face the consequences for refusing to fight. He sold his neighbors, his family, out to that thing Eloim. And for what? Young Alarion didn¡¯t give Bas-Rhin another chance to coerce him. His thoughts were simpler. Whatever the scroll was, whatever the reasoning behind the night¡¯s terrors, it was corrupt. Nothing good came from a creature like Eloim or that foul book it carried. Nothing good would have led his father to hurt his mother. Nothing good required that Bas-Rhin terrorize his children. Alarion threw the scroll into the fire. For a moment there was nothing. Just a defeated expression on his father¡¯s face. Then, distantly, came the sound of a body slumping over into the mud. She¡¯d been a young woman, barely older than Alia. She had a crush on the neighbor¡¯s boy but was betrothed to a man twice her age. She cried when her father put down her horse and stood dazzled under a travelling merchant¡¯s firework display on the new year. She was frightened when the strange man asked her to sign her name, but she¡¯d obeyed all the same. She died face down in the mud, like a puppet with her strings cut. Then there was another thud. This man was old, with one foot in the grave already. He¡¯d buried his wife and all his children. Those memories were bitter, but they were tinged with a lifetime of love. He pushed his wife¡¯s face into a cake, he killed a lord he didn¡¯t know while fighting in the army of another man he didn¡¯t know. He played with his friends, dreaming of one day going to war, for glory and honor. He fought mock battles with his children, then urged his last son not to follow his brothers to their early grave. He died face down in the mud as another body fell. The deaths were endless, their lives blurring together in Alarion¡¯s mind as he passed from one to the next. There were hundreds, each snuffed out as ink and parchment caught fire. He lived lovers'' quarrels and sibling spats. He created works of art and shoveled shit. He saw wonders of the world and the same quarter mile of farm a thousand times over. He saw Nessa in love, dancing at a harvest festival. She thought he was funny. They fell into each other¡¯s arms deep in a hayloft, whispering secrets and promises that could never be kept. He saw war, brutal conflict that he could never explain to his children. A man disembowelled. Another burned so badly by magical fire that he was only charred meat. Meat that could still scream. He heard whispers of origins. Of secrets, not lies, for they were never the same thing and only the latter was immoral. He made promises that he kept, even in his death throes. He saw desperation, the agreement. The tome. Six-Hundred and Ninety-Seven. A horrific name spoken into his ears that vanished when he heard it, and a three-fold name that overlapped in ways he could not understand. It Who Was All, Kol Seras. It Who Was Not All, Kol L¡¯Seras. It Who Was Nothing, Kol Tiras. He saw himself in a crib. She¡¯d been so excited for a brother. She already had an older sister, but a boy to boss around? That would be fun! There was so little of that final life. Cut short as it was. Alarion drew a deep gasp as the moment passed, as though he¡¯d lived six hundred lifetimes without a breath. He was himself again. His father lay dead in the mud before him. Six-hundred and ninety-four lay in dirt and the mud surrounding their home. One laid dead inside. Two if you counted the Thing that was Eloim. Alarion did not. He plucked the scrap of parchment from the mud where it had fallen. For years he¡¯d wondered why Aina had died while Atra survived. He¡¯d blamed himself. The magic. The gods. Anyone and everything. He hadn¡¯t even realized he¡¯d torn her name away. He thought he¡¯d burned it all. That small scrap of parchment was probably still buried in the mud outside his former home. The difference between Atra¡¯s life and death. A shimmering portal had opened nearby and Alarion started toward it without a second thought. If he took even a step toward his home, then he¡¯d be lost. He¡¯d never leave, not unless Valentina forced him. Would that be so bad? ¡°You made it.¡± Valentina¡¯s voice was soft silk as he re-emerged in her private chambers. No food or drink awaited him, no smarmy once-God or her opinions on his success. She was quiet, almost apologetic. Alarion said nothing. Tomorrow he could speak. Tomorrow he could deal with others. Not yet. He turned and pulled open the door of his sleeping chamber and was surprised to see Sierra waiting for him, book in hand. ¡°Took you-¡± The girl started to chide him, then stopped as she caught his expression. She watched as the young man moved to sit on the nearby bed, his back to the wall, knees up to his chest. Then she asked, ¡°Are you okay?¡± Alarion drew a shallow breath through his nose, about to reply. To tell her yes. To tell her to leave. To tell her anything. Then his eyes began to sting. They began to blur. ¡°No.¡± he said at last, before the sobs overtook him. Interlude Three From the journal of Dr. Leopold Tempes ¨C Vitria, 286 A.T.S. If Vitrian society were to have a singular flaw, most, I think, would call it Arrogance. I believe this is a common misconception. Make no mistake, we are a proud people, but we are rightly so. While our continental counterparts crumbled and assimilated under the thumb of the old empire, our Houses and traditions endured generations of occupation, deprivation and slavery. We emerged from those dark times as a unified, powerful nation; one uniquely equipped to exploit the advantages provided to us by the advent of the System. Like many of my contemporaries, I do not believe that our high aptitude is simply the luck of the draw. It is Providence. To call us arrogant implies unfounded pride, and there are graveyards full of those who thought the Numbered Houses to be less than they are. No, our flaw is more insidious. In his seminal work, ¡°Twin Ambitions¡± Van Liez describes Vitria as a dual track society. He posits that the Celesian empire collapsed because of solitary ambition. It was a society where every man sought his own advancement above all others. Lying and cheating were the norm within the empire and no thought was ever given to the advancement of the whole. This resulted in a low trust civilization where even the emperor¡¯s ceremonial guard could not be trusted. Conversely, the various successor states such as Imuria or Xacia have placed their focus on the nation state over the individual. This collectivist approach served them well during the social upheaval that followed the collapse of the great empire, but has caused a ¡®power drain¡¯ of sorts where individuals of note see little value in subjecting themselves to the will of lesser bureaucrats and either leave or inevitably seize political power. Only Vitria with our system of Houses, Induction and Imperial Authority has struck a healthy middle ground between the needs of the individual and that of the state. In Vitria a man can grow to heights unimaginable, and that growth is accompanied by obligation and authority in equal measure. Reciprocity ethics exist at the very core of our society, culminating in the Fate of the Imperators. But it is that system of interlocking bonds that is at the core of Vitria¡¯s flaw. Patronage is an equal measure of give and take based in an honest assessment of the needs of each half of the relationship, something the rest of the world vehemently rejects. We expect that any agreement will be mutually beneficial and rarely ask for what is not already offered. In short? We are terrible at bartering. So it was that I spent the spring and summer of 239 A.T.S. buried deep in a cargo hold alongside an especially ornery mule named Elekazir. But I should backtrack somewhat. Subsequent to the cleansing of Laye I was invited to the court of Prince Duval for a clandestine symposium on items discovered therein. This event lasted six weeks, which was five weeks longer than I would have liked. Simply put, the assembled academics were long on hypothesis but short on concrete facts. Wild theories were thrown around without the slightest foundation, and apart from some scant information regarding pre-Imperial artistic trends, I learned nothing from the whole affair. Even so, it was not time entirely wasted. While I had managed to conceal the Codex I recovered from beneath the hilltop carving, the hundreds of journals kept by the village foreman were another matter entirely. Those were state property. Thankfully my part in the matter had rendered Prince Duval quite favorable to my pleas, and I was able to work out an arrangement through which I, or rather a small team of scribes, could copy the journals. A process that took nearly eight weeks. The journals themselves were of little academic use in their existing state. Though written using the continental alphabet, the journals were illegible in any language with which I was familiar. During the symposium the matter was discussed at length, leading to two competing hypotheses. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
  1. The Journals were cultist gibberish.
  2. The Journals were written in code.
My initial assumption had been the latter, but I could not write off the former. For one thing, the journals were written in block text, without any formatting, dating or punctuation. Each page, save for the final one which was unfinished, contained precisely six hundred and ninety-seven characters, though the specific characters varied wildly from page to page. Such structuring seemed more at place in a diseased mind than in documents intended as a record or communication. More troubling was the lack of any discernible pattern. In this I must admit that I am nowhere near an expert, but as it was explained to me there are any number of ways to code a document. Among the most popular were simple substitution ciphers. A->E, B->F and so forth, as well as transposition ciphers wherein the letters are scrambled. These were written off almost immediately by Prince Duval¡¯s advisors. Such concealment, they explained to the assembled body, could be defeated by an appropriate intellect. If the cultists had only jumbled or substituted letters, the message could be deciphered by looking for expected words or patterns and solving backward from there. The words Harbinger or Kol Daua for example, would almost certainly be used somewhere in the cultist¡¯s journals and if one were to find those words, then it would become trivial to guess at others until a proper ¡®coded¡¯ alphabet was gleaned from the text. Sadly their attempts at breaking the journals in such a fashion proved fruitless, as did a host of alternative methods involving books and blocks that I only lightly understood. Through each step the men took great care to reiterate that encryption was not their primary discipline. After two weeks of research and debate it became clear that I would need talent from somewhere less¡­ provincial. My initial urge was to return promptly to the homeland. I had already been absent far longer than I had intended, and had hopes of finding a proper expert among my peers. Sadly, those hopes were dashed in the last days of the symposium when I received a letter from Professor Elzmyr informing me that all attempts at review on the sample pages I had sent them had been met with failure. This was disappointing, but not surprising. While I would never stoop to calling it a vice, the Vitrian taboo against lying is known to express itself counterproductively in a distaste for adjacently ¡®dishonest¡¯ fields such as spying, encryption and acting. Most of our institutional knowledge in such fields came from adopted citizens and cultural osmosis, neither of which inclined my colleagues towards a breakthrough on such a difficult task. Unfortunately, I would need to go abroad. A number of possible destinations were proposed on the final day of the symposium, but only one was seriously considered. The steelborn city of Null was known for its mechanical wonders, in particular its computational devices. Such equipment could, supposedly, break all but the most complex codes in a matter of days. Surely the codes of a subsistence farmer would prove little challenge to such a mechanical wonder. There was only one problem. The city of Null was found far to the east, on the continent of Nusume. Half a world away. I balked at the mere suggestion that I make the journey, not for the least because it was simply unaffordable. VISIT n¨¦e VSSS had provided me with a modest grant to fund my demographic research, but I had scraped my purse almost to the strings, first with my visit to Imuria and later with my additional research in the Principalities. A cross-continental voyage was simply out of the question. I should have known that Prince Duval would cut that argument off at the head. I had not even finished articulating it before he informed me that he would be willing to cover the full cost of the expedition. Within reason. Unable to deflect any further, I was forced to fall back on blunt honesty. I did not want to. Yes, I was intensely invested in the mystery of both Cyre and Laye, and what this Harbinger might have to do with the origin of the System, but I was not a traveller at heart. The research I¡¯d conducted for my compendium was the first, and Mother willing, only field research I had ever been a part of. I was an academic who adored classrooms, dissertations and the comforts of a proper city. Prince Duval¡¯s counterpoint was succinct. He did not trust my peers in the symposium, nor did he have anyone with a similar academic background that he did trust. I had been direct with him from the start, honest in my intentions and I was a Vitrian besides. If he took my word and sent me abroad, he knew with certainty that he would get the answers that he craved. In retrospect I see his weakness. He was just as invested in the project as I was. I could have extracted concessions in terms of funding, I could have met him in the middle by proposing a colleague of similar skill but more considerable wanderlust. At minimum I should have demanded better accommodations. Instead, I ended up sharing the cargo hold with a pile of journals, two junior aides, a mountain of a bodyguard and of course, Elekazir. As I said, terrible at barter. With luck and good seas, my journey aboard The Prince¡¯s White Sands was expected to last no more than two hundred days. With a similar allotment for the work and the return trip I hoped to return in no more than two years. Instead, I was gone for nearly forty. Chapter Eighty-Five ¡°It¡¯s time to get up. Time to get up. Time to get up.¡± Alarion¡¯s voice was numb as he sang the familiar words to himself in an empty bedroom. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was morning. Or if that mattered. But his mother¡¯s song was accurate in spirit. He¡¯d slept enough. ¡°Time to get up in the morning.¡± He finished with a sigh. He hurt. Everything hurt. He¡¯d slept too long, but not long enough, his muscles sore, his eyes still crusted with the ugly remains of a night of tears. He¡¯d tried to stop himself, to be strong and stoic. But it had been too much. To her credit, Sierra hadn¡¯t badgered him. Nor had she left. Challenge dungeons had a reputation for being as psychologically taxing as they were physically. There had been no judgement in her eyes, if anything, her own frazzled expression spoke to the difficulties she¡¯d endured while he had faced his demons. No, she¡¯d simply pulled her chair up alongside his bed and sat with him, a hand on his ankle. A small human connection. Only when there were no more tears to cry had she pressed him with a question. ¡°Do you want to talk?¡± ¡°No,¡± he¡¯d answered. And that had been enough. She¡¯d stayed with him until he fell asleep, and she¡¯d been gone when he awoke. Eventually he might talk to her, to tell her at least as much as the rules of the dungeon would permit. But for now, he had to get up. He winced at a twinge in his back as he dug into his satchel for a change of clothes, then took a moment to check his Status. No new conditions or warnings. He¡¯d just slept like shit. He pondered over whether to cast [Valentina¡¯s Energetic Embrace] and decided against it. Who knew what the rest of the day would bring? Worse, a part of him thought he deserved to feel bad. The recrimination was nothing new. He¡¯d spent half the night hating himself, processing what he¡¯d experienced. The memories of his victims and their unfamiliar lifetimes were more distant after a good night¡¯s rest, but the strongest of them refused to fade. His mother and father so deeply in love. His sister reassuring him after their father had left for the first time. Val¡¯s final moments staring up at a white-haired beast as it beat him to death. Taking a life had always been a distant thing for Alarion. He¡¯d been too young to grasp the severity of what had driven them from their home. He felt justified in the butcher¡¯s death, and he¡¯d been nearly feral when he¡¯d killed Val. Seeing those actions through a fresh lens imposed the weight of them in a way he hadn¡¯t reckoned with previously. It would take more than one night to process it all, but one thing was certain. If he killed again, it needed to be righteous. Justified and unavoidable. He owed the dead that much. But if he was to be inducted¡­ that might prove a problem. ¡°Good morning,¡± Valentina said as he emerged from seclusion. ¡°Mm,¡± he answered as he slid onto a stool across from her. Valentina seemed reserved. It was an odd look on the normally radiant goddess. Even the white and gold of her dress looked muted in comparison. ¡°I am alright,¡± he told her, biting into a pastry a few hours past its prime. ¡°As well as can be expected.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Her shoulder sagged in relief, and she nodded with a bit of renewed energy. ¡°That is good.¡± ¡°You did not watch?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t,¡± she explained. ¡°Unlike the others, Mother¡¯s test is spiritual. God or no, we cannot look into your essence. We just caretake your body and listen for the key phrase. That said, I know the context of the challenge. Enough to know how hard it would be. That you¡¯ve taken at least one life.¡± Alarion sat silently for a long while, chewing over her words as much as the soft bread, unsure of what to say. Unsure if he wanted to touch the subject again so soon. ¡°Why?¡± He asked at last. It was a question he¡¯d been waiting days to ask. ¡°Why make me relive that?¡± Valentina pursed her lips. The question had a simple answer, but it was clear to look at him that Alarion was held together with will and spite. ¡°Mother¡¯s challenge dungeons allow an Awakened to grow rapidly in power, and she does not restrict who enters them. But as a force for good in this world, she¡¯d be remiss if she gave power without insight.¡± The boy frowned deeply. ¡°Insight?¡± ¡°Into the cost of abusing power. Of manipulating others. Of taking a life most of all.¡± Valentina explained. ¡°Those who feel empathy or guilt for what they¡¯ve done will suffer, but they come out the far side with a greater understanding of the consequences of their actions. The test is designed to be worse for those who have no remorse. The less you care, the more invasive the memories. Such empty people tend to be broken by the test. I¡¯ve seen men so shattered that they¡¯ve taken their own lives in my very hall, whether in penance or to escape their damaged minds.¡± Alarion swallowed hard, his eyes following patterns in the wood grain of the bar top. He understood those men. He might have gotten the ¡®lighter¡¯ version by virtue of his guilt, but he¡¯d made it up in volume and intimacy. More than once the previous night, he¡¯d considered¡­ If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Eat.¡± Valentina instructed him and she pushed a plate of fresh bacon toward him. The meat was still sizzling, as though hot off the grill. ¡°Why do you cook if you can just¡­¡± He gestured at the meat that had appeared seemingly from nowhere, happy for the taste on his tongue and even happier for the distraction from his darkest thoughts. ¡°Why do anything?¡± Came her retort. ¡°I have almost unlimited power here and nothing but time. There is value in doing things the right way. But at times like this it takes a back seat to expediency.¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion answered around a mouthful of bacon. She had a point. It was a small thing, but it was amazing how that small thing could lighten such a dark cloud. ¡°So, what is next?¡± ¡°Well, when you are ready, I have a combat challenge, or-¡± ¡°Combat.¡± Alarion hastily interjected without even looking at the nearby doors. When Valentina¡¯s expression darkened, he went on to explain, ¡°I have been cooped up for days in my own head. I need something physical. Something tangible.¡± ¡°Very well. But breakfast first. And your reward.¡± It spoke volumes about Alarion¡¯s state of mind that he¡¯d completely forgotten that a challenge came with a reward.
Pocket Watch of the Heart¡¯s Desire [Divine] Description: This intricate brass pocket watch is engraved with the heraldry of Lal Viren and her incarnation, Valentina Lyons. Devices such as these are provided to all those who successfully complete a Challenge of the Heart while in Lal Viren¡¯s favor. Requirements: The Ongoing Favor of Lal Viren Attunement Cost: None Type: Misc. Enchantment: On verbal command the hands of this pocket watch will cease to tell time and will instead direct its owner toward their heart¡¯s desire. The hands will remain in this position until the user approaches within 100 yards or the user cancels the effect. This effect will only function three times. This watch cannot be taken or used involuntarily by anyone other than its owner, but it can be given to another who has the favor of Lal Viren. Should it be taken, it will reappear at its owner¡¯s side within 24 hours.
It was, without a doubt, the most expensive looking thing Alarion had ever owned. That might be damning with faint praise, but he suspected even someone as elegant as Elena would be happy to own such a device. The brass was immaculately polished and seemed to reject the oil of his skin wherever he touched it as he left neither smudge nor print while handling it. The rear facing was smooth brass with a small winding lever inset beneath the metal cowling, while the cover was etched with an intricate but unfamiliar sigil. The inside was ivory white with black stenciled digits, each of the three hands a thin elongated ruby that burned with inner light. Alarion snapped the cover closed and jumped slightly as a notification opened itself in his field of view. At ZEKE¡¯s direction Alarion had long ago muted all but the most critical notifications within his System interface to keep them from distracting him in a vital moment. Apparently, a message from a God counted as critical.
Lal Viren, She Who Bore Challenges, Mother of Ten Thousand Trials, Herald of the Labyrinth, Defender of the 44th Wish of Humanity, Scion of the Unbeaten¡­.
The notification continued with titles for several more lines. Then it began a new paragraph detailing her ¡®investitures¡¯, whatever that meant, which proceeded for twenty additional lines before finally ending with:
¡­ has offered you her Favor? Do you accept? Y/N?
Alarion gave Valentina a quizzical look. The goddess shrugged, then answered his question in a roundabout fashion. ¡°I accepted it when it was offered.¡± Alarion accepted:
New Trait! Favor of Lal Viren [Divine](Minor)
Favor of Lal Viren [Divine](Minor) Description: Having obtained the Favor of a divine entity, you have established a sympathetic link between that Deity and yourself. This link is tenuous and easily broken by either side and provides limited benefits as a result. Requirements: None. Effects: You are able to activate divine items linked to Lal Viren. Divine spells linked to Lal Viren or one of her incarnations will have slightly reduced cost and slightly improved effect. Lal Viren is always aware of your general location and wellbeing. Note: You may only have favor from one divine entity at any time. This favor can be withdrawn at any time by Lal Viren. This favored can renounce this trait at any time.
¡°I¡¯m not sure I like being watched,¡± Alarion said honestly. ¡°With a minor favor, it is more like being smelled.¡± When the words drew a look of disgust, Valentina sighed and attempted to clarify, ¡°Not literally. It is just the closest comparison you¡¯d understand. She¡¯s aware of you the way you¡¯re aware of another person in the room, even if you aren¡¯t paying attention to them. She can hear your prayers if you were to offer any, and she can grant quests to her followers to assist one another if need be. Alarion seemed less than enthused as he turned his attention to the watch in his hand, clicking it open and closed with a satisfying click. ¡°Mm.¡± ¡°The watch is also an indication that you¡¯ve earned Mother¡¯s favor. That is worth next to nothing in Vitrian lands, but her sigil will open many doors in the more pious corners of the world, especially among the Godborn.¡± ¡°Have I actually earned it?¡± Alarion turned the device over in his hand and opened it once more, watching as the seconds ticked slowly by. ¡°Or was I granted it the moment you saw my Status? Or out of pity?¡± Valentina snorted at that. ¡°Mother is Lal Viren. She Who Bore Challenges. Her sisters might play at influence, at legacy and status, but none of that is of interest to her. Mother grants her favor to her worshipers and to those who excel, not those with mere potential and certainly not out of pity. You are weak, yes, and your trials are simple, but I think you earned her favor the moment you demolished one of my tests.¡± From the scowl in Valentina¡¯s gaze, it was hard to tell if Lal Viren approved of him for thinking outside the box, or for irking Valentina. He wasn¡¯t sure why the idea of special treatment bothered him so much. Alarion was many things, but he¡¯d never been especially proud. He¡¯d been happy to take Valentina¡¯s assistance time and again, but here he was balking at the idea that the God might value him the same way the Vitrians did? His mood was still foul, that much was clear. ¡°Is Sierra still here?¡± Alarion asked, trying to clear his mind as he plucked the final slice of bacon from his plate. ¡°I¡¯d like to see her before I get started.¡± Valentina glanced up briefly staring into some unseen dimension, then shook her head apologetically. ¡°You are ships passing in the night, I am afraid. She¡¯d just woken up when you returned. Once you fell asleep, she dove into another challenge. I think she¡¯s trying to catch up to you, actually.¡± ¡°How well is she doing?¡± ¡°Well enough.¡± A short moment of silence passed between them. Alarion had nothing more to say, and Valentina looked as though she had too much to ask. Eventually she settled for a familiar question. ¡°Are you okay?¡± ¡°No.¡± He answered honestly, but this time there were no tears. There was only an exhausted resignation. It was what it was. ¡°But I will be.¡± ¡°Are you sure you wouldn¡¯t rather the puzzle challenge?¡± ¡°Do you want me to break it?¡± ¡°I¡¯d be eager to see you try.¡± Valentina¡¯s eyes glittered with challenge. ¡°I reinforced it after that last debacle.¡± Alarion laughed in spite of his dour mood. ¡°Tempting. But no.¡± Nothing improved his mood like hitting things. Chapter Eighty-Six Alarion¡¯s sandals scraped against stone as he rounded another corner, his lungs burning with each ragged breath. The rhythmic clanking of metal feet echoed through the corridor never far behind. It was a sound that had haunted him for the better part of the day. He might have been better off with the puzzle. Judging by his small sample size, ¡®combat challenges¡¯ were just puzzle rooms where something tried to kill you. His mace dragged along the ground as he slowed to a stop and surveyed the upcoming chamber. The corridors all looked the same - endless stretches of carved stone that twisted and turned without reason or pattern, but the spherical chambers were different, their walls inset with cryptic markings whose meanings he had yet to deduce. They were the solution to the maze, he was sure of that, if little else. The problem was that the onslaught of machines barely gave him time to breathe, let alone to think. The clatter of pursuing footsteps grew closer and Alarion forced himself into a jog, ignoring the protest of his aching muscles. His MP had recovered enough for another spell, but he wanted to avoid that if at all possible. If this kept up he¡¯d need [Valentina¡¯s Energetic Embrace] just to keep going. The last time he¡¯d tried to make a stand, the horde of mechanical soldiers had nearly overwhelmed him through sheer exhaustion. Their blank faces and jerky movements brought to mind memories of the soulless in the spire, but these were different. Simpler, more primitive. Where their cousins had posed a threat with their energy weapons, these soulless came at him with nothing more than their own sharpened limbs. They weren¡¯t even Awakened, as far as he could tell, their metal bodies no stronger than that of a regular human. But they just kept coming, an unending wave of emotionless pursuers. Sweat stung one of his eyes as he charged toward the chamber, hoping to get a few seconds grace to study its markings before making his escape. Then his mace caught on an uneven stone and sent him stumbling. He recovered his balance but lost precious seconds. The metallic chorus grew louder. Alarion¡¯s chest heaved as he reached the entrance. His eyes raked over the walls, taking in stone carvings that looked for all the world like a series of unfamiliar constellations, with starburst engravings connected to one another by thin lines. This set was inert under his [Introverted Mana Sense]. As the last had been. As they all had been. The ambient magic in the room was very high, and there was something enchanted within the stone. What he lacked was a trigger. An item, an incantation. The sound of metal upon stone grew louder as he studied what he¡¯d come to think of as ¡®The Map¡¯. It wouldn¡¯t be long now before they caught him. Worse yet, similar sounds echoed from three of the room¡¯s four exits. The machines weren¡¯t smart enough to ambush or surround him, they had no sense of tactics at all, but there were so many of them that the latter was almost an inevitability on a long enough time scale. Last time they¡¯d boxed him in had been halfway down a corridor. It had been a nightmare. The passageways were tight, perfect for creatures that fought with nothing but their sharpened limbs, but terrible for someone like him who did battle with an over-sized weapon. There was no sense in running. At best he¡¯d make it to the next chamber before they swarmed him. No, he¡¯d make his stand here, out in the ¡®open¡¯. The chamber was only twenty yards across, and the ceiling was still low enough that he had to watch his overheads, but at least here he could move. The first Soulless emerged from the same door Alarion had entered through, its joints creaking as it lurched forward. Alarion¡¯s mace crashed through its chest, scattering gears and bits of jagged metal across the floor. A second was hot on its heels and met a similar fate as Alarion¡¯s elbow caved in its faceless visage. Three more stumbled in from different passages. Individually the machines were slow and weak, their bodies in desperate need of repair. It was a simple matter for Alarion to slip between their sharp, flailing limbs, his movements focused more on economy than grace. Three times his mace found its mark, crushing metal limbs and torsos with overwhelming force. But it was never enough His breath came in sharp bursts as more and more rusted metal filtered into the chamber. Two. Then three. Then eight. The click of metal feet against stone grew to a constant rhythm as the Soulless poured in from multiple corridors at once. He idly wondered if he¡¯d manage to improve his [Soulless Bane] Feat of Strength before all this was over. Surely the System kept track of creatures he fought in a dungeon, and there were bound to be enough. Alarion¡¯s muscles burned as he picked up his pace. His mace became a blur of motion, smashing through clusters of machines with each swing. Metal bodies crashed into each other as they pressed forward. They were so focused on him, so cavalier with their own lives that their blank faces did not even turn towards the attacks that killed them. But then, that was their strength. They could afford to trade bodies for the chance to chip away at his HP. To drain a little more of his stamina. They could die a thousand times. He could only die once. A group of Soulless, nearly twenty in number, backed him toward one wall. The tight quarters forced him to swing his mace through a weak, wide arc, focused more on knocking them back than destroying them. He couldn¡¯t afford attacks like that, ones that didn¡¯t kill. His stamina was already deep in the red as he pushed himself harder. Blood dripped from his chin, a new wound open on his lower jaw. He hadn¡¯t even felt the attack that had struck him. He was slipping. The chamber filled with the sound of grinding metal and snapping gears as dozens of machines pressed in on him from all sides, hurting one another under the sheer weight of their bodies. Alarion¡¯s arms trembled as he killed one more, but it wouldn¡¯t be enough. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Dammit.¡± He growled under his breath. Then he swung wide again, one of the Soulless carried along the flat of his mace, its body disintegrating as it smashed into a dozen of its colleagues. ¡°Solar Burst!¡± He chanted. There was a pulse of light and heat and the onslaught faltered. One of the topics that had come up during ZEKE¡¯s endless lessons on magical theory had been the concept of natural affinity in the form of Banes and Boons. Some fiends and many Systemborn creatures were known to have natural affinities that resulted in corresponding weaknesses and strengths. The Thoughtborn elemental he¡¯d fought had been slightly more vulnerable to solar magic, doubly so given that he¡¯d been inside it, but would be resistant or possibly outright immune to water magic he might have thrown its way. During the lesson, ZEKE had stressed the importance of that distinction between resistance and immunity. At the time Alarion had found it hard to visualize. The Soulless provided an incredible demonstration. The machines nearest him had been melted down to slag, their rusted carcasses folding in on themselves as the metal weakened and collapsed. Those to the rear of the pack had fared better. Most had still lost limbs to the heat or the shrapnel of their comrade¡¯s bodies, but at least a few had endured the brunt of the attack without significant injury thanks to their innate resistance. Those weren¡¯t the ones that caught Alarion¡¯s eye, however. He was interested in the one among the pack had survived without a scratch. It was toward the rear, lingering near one of the entrances. That alone was an oddity. These machines didn¡¯t linger, they advanced single mindedly. It was behavior that set off alarm bells now, but had gone completely unnoticed in the heat of combat. Why pay attention to a machine hiding at the back when a dozen were trying to stab him? Was it a leader? It didn¡¯t seem any different, apart from the fact that its rusted body hadn¡¯t been so much as singed by the wave of heat and energy. Sure, [Solar Burst]¡¯s damage dropped off with distance, but these Soulless were so weak that even a glancing hit had been enough to kill or disable most of them. All except for this one. It was immune. His mace swept out the legs of a half-melted machine that stumbled toward him. The handful of survivors pressed forward with their usual mindless determination, but their numbers had thinned enough that he could pick his targets and take them apart one piece at a time. Alarion sidestepped a wild stab from one of the damaged Soulless, letting its momentum carry it past him into the wall. It struck with enough force that its arm snapped at the elbow, not that it seemed to notice. It continued its attack undeterred, but its remaining arm failed to breach his guard before he smashed in its head with a solid right hook. Even with his [Ring of the Durable Fist] it wasn¡¯t pleasant. Rusty or no, putting his fist through several inches of iron hurt. Two more machines lurched forward and Alarion¡¯s muscles protested as he brought his mace around in a horizontal arc that smashed one into the other and both into the nearby wall. Their bodies crumpled and split in half under the impact, the torso of one still crawling after him before his slammed the haft of his mace through its neck. The untouched Soulless had been moving closer as Alarion fought and the crowd diminished, mingling in among them to the point he almost lost sight of it among a sea of similar machines. It knew he¡¯d seen it, likely knew it couldn¡¯t outrun him. So it wanted Alarion to destroy it instead. Why? Despite its best attempts to hide, up close he could see that its frame was different from the others - more precise, less crude in its construction. The rust that covered it seemed almost deliberate rather than a product of time and neglect. It wasn¡¯t his imagination, this one was special. Alarion¡¯s swept through the last of the machines like a scythe through wheat as he set his sights on his prey. It was backpedaling now that it realized its ruse had failed, trying to put distance between them, to turn and make a futile attempt at an escape. Without pause, Alarion lunged forward and seized the unique creature by its throat. Flight turned to fight and Its limbs lashed out with precise strikes, nothing like the wild flailing of its companions. Metal scraped against his bracer as Alarion deflected a blow aimed at his kidney. The machine¡¯s other arm snapped forward, its knife hand raking across his shoulder before he could turn away. Blood welled up from shallow cut, but Alarion was too focused to care. His grip tightened around its neck as he slammed it against the wall. The impact rang through the chamber, but the machine¡¯s frame held firm. Its arms continued their assault until Alarion caught one wrist and twisted. The mechanics inside its arm groaned and metal snapped as its joints gave way. The Soulless didn¡¯t miss a beat, redoubling its efforts with its remaining arm. Alarion repeated the process, breaking each joint methodically in both arms and legs until the machine hung limp in his grasp. With his safety assured for the moment, Alarion focused inward. [Introverted Mana Sense] revealed nothing special about its construction, but that was not unusual. As unawakened beings, these Soulless had little mana to speak of, and he could see no hidden enchantments or other bound fields that would have explained its immunity to his magic. Its body was as magically dull as the corpses strewn around. ¡°The metal, maybe?¡± Alarion wondered aloud as the thing¡¯s left leg twitched in a feeble attempt to kick him. There had to be something different about this one. Out of ideas, he dragged its limp body along the walls of the chamber, moving it up and down as he went, following the patterns engraved into the wall in the vain hope of triggering some solution to a puzzle that he did not understand. Predictably, it failed. Worse yet, he caught his first hint of footsteps echoing down one of the corridors. They were on him again. It was time to leave. Frustrated, Alarion squeezed. When one hand wasn¡¯t enough to do the job he added a second, and a bit of body weight. This time the metal crumpled beneath his hands, spilling its contents across the floor. Cogs, pistons and gears popped free from the fractured skull, and for a brief instant Alarion thought of ZEKE. Was that what his insides looked like? The idea made him nauseous. These things were empty, no more alive than the dragon he¡¯d fought in Sierra¡¯s [Void Arena]. ZEKE was a person, like all those he¡¯d killed. Guilt and self-loathing welled up in his mind, but something stopped him cold. Buried in the depths of the machine¡¯s skull was a single silver gear, entirely at odds with any he¡¯d seen before. It was pristine, its metal shimmering in the torchlight as Alarion plucked it from the machine¡¯s ruined cranium. Upon closer inspection it was of a different make than any of the mundane gears he¡¯d seen. Less of a circle and more of a pointed star. Exactly like the ones on the wall. Alarion quickly rushed to the nearest wall and began searching from one star shape to the next. Each was unique, and it took him nearly two full passes along The Map before he finally found a match, rotated the gear to the right orientation and pressed it into its new home. Immediately, the gear and the wall behind it sprung to life. The metal sunk into the stone and the whole area was flooded with magic, the lines radiating off the starburst glowing white blue with arcane energy. Alarion felt a similar flood of relief and excitement, right up until he realized the implications. There were forty-two starburst symbols set into the walls. It was going to be a long day. Chapter Eighty-Seven Alarion grunted as he heaved the upper half of a Soulless onto a veritable mountain of its kin. The pile, one of three that had steadily built over time, was the answer to an age-old question no one had ever known to ask. How many dead Soulless did it take to make a tunnel all but impassible? That many, apparently. He¡¯d given up trying to count them, but by his best estimation, they numbered somewhere in the low thousands. It was at least two thousand, judging by his updated perk.
Soulless Bane (Rank II) Description: Once is chance. Twice is coincidence. Three times is a pattern. One hundred is a vendetta. Two thousand is a massacre. Requirements: Kill more than 2,000 Soulless. Effects: Increase all damage dealt to Soulless targets by 10%. Reduce all damage dealt to you from Soulless sources by 10%. Gain 20% increased XP for killing Soulless opponents.
Of course, the perk was the least of the benefits he¡¯d earned.
Level Up! Congratulations, Your Stubborn Swordsman Class has advanced to Level 27! STR +30. AGI +30 VIT +20. INT +20. PER +20. WIL +10.
Level Up! Congratulations, Your Orphan Class has advanced to Level 18! STR +10. AGI + 20. VIT +25. INT +15. PER +25. WIL +20. LCK +384
The first level had been a hard-won surprise. The second a delight, given how slow his levelling had become since he started studying magic. By the fifth he was honestly too exhausted to muster any excitement. Alarion¡¯s hands trembled as he pulled another silver gear from a fallen Soulless commander. The metal clinked against the stones as he dropped it, and the young man groaned as he bent back down to retrieve it. His muscles burned with each movement, joints creaking like the machines he¡¯d been destroying. He was getting clumsy. At first the warmth of [Valentina¡¯s Energetic Embrace] had been a welcome blessing, giving new life into a body strained almost to its limits. By his second casting, the spell was a grim necessity. The divine magic pushed back the fog of exhaustion but left a hollow emptiness in its wake. His body knew it needed rest, real rest, even as the magic fought off the need for sleep. It kept him moving. And move he did. Even when idle he was positively vibrating. His heart felt wrong in his chest, sometimes skipping a beat, while his eyes burned with each dry blink. It took him three attempts to set the 41st gear into place. He slumped against the now glowing wall, counting his breaths until the arrival of the next wave as he counterproductively tried to force himself into a meditative trance. The cycle had become almost as mechanical as his foes - fight, search, meditate, repeat. The maze¡¯s twisting passages no longer held any mystery and he¡¯d given up exploring them after a quick jaunt to the next chamber proved that they were identical. If one room was as good as any other, then there was no point in wasting energy by walking through the tunnels. He¡¯d need it to stay in the fight. His body moved on pure instinct now, muscle memory taking over where conscious thought had long since fled. The mace felt heavier with each swing. At his lowest points he¡¯d abandoned it entirely for his fists. They¡¯d very nearly gotten him that time. They¡¯d have gotten him days ago, if not for [Kel-Taran Meditation]. Having chosen to stand his ground, Alarion had been quick to use every tool at his disposal to his advantage. He blocked three of the entrances with as many bodies as he could manage. Not to stop the inexorable advance of the machines, for that was impossible, but to stager their arrivals. He¡¯d exhausted his [Simple Mana Reserve] and even his potion supply before he became desperate enough to try his new skill. In his defense, learning to meditate between rounds of desperate fighting felt like a last-ditch solution to his steadily dwindling resources. He¡¯d had no real opportunity to test the skill since he¡¯d obtained it, and no real desire to do so until it became clear that he needed an edge. That had been his stubbornness at work. The very idea of meditation ran counter to his nature. Alarion didn¡¯t like to sit still, he didn¡¯t like to be inactive, and he had trouble clearing his mind at the best of times. But he¡¯d avoided it as long as he could. And all for nothing. To his surprise, and near instant regret, the Kel-Taran style of meditation came easily to him. Some of it was the skill, of course, but the technique had more in common with his nature than he¡¯d expected. While traditional meditation was all about a passive, idle stillness, Kel-Taran meditation was an active process that required a similarly active participant. Between each bout, Alarion knelt to meditate, and in each session, he focused on driving out the weakness within his body. He visualized the fatigue built up within his muscles and expelled it to make room for new stamina. He sought out dead mana within the twisted web of his core and expelled it to allow the maze¡¯s ambient energy to rapidly fill the space it had left. As strange as it seemed, Alarion found that he actually enjoyed it. And without the technique, he¡¯d have fallen victim to the waves of Soulless before the end of the first day. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The distant sound of marching metal had become so enshrined in Alarion¡¯s consciousness that he¡¯d begun to imagine it in his few weary moments of peace. In his mind the machines were always just a few seconds away, even when the reality was often measured in minutes. Sadly, after tilting his head to be sure, Alarion realized that this time the steps were all too real. The Soulless were coming, and sooner than expected. Alarion pushed himself upright, ignoring the protest of overworked muscles. His vision swam for a moment before settling. ¡°At least they always announce themselves,¡± he muttered, readying his weapon. The first Soulless through the doorway caught a knife in the face that dropped it in an instant. A nearly forgotten tool in his arsenal, Alarion had taken to leading each fight with the thrown weapons once he¡¯d decided to hunker in place for the duration. The attacks were quick, mostly precise and helped save his vital stamina for the fight to come. At least, when they killed their targets. His second knife was as successful as the first, but the third flew wide, clipping its target¡¯s head and clattering off the mass of machines behind it. Alarion cursed the mistake but had no time for recriminations as more machines flooded into the chamber. Alarion killed one with a sweep of his mace, then backpedaled as he took too long to recover from the swing, his footwork as sluggish as his attacks. A blade scored his shoulder, and he twisted away but stumbled, falling into an awkward roll before he came up swinging once again. A metal forearm hammered his ribs on the backswing of a missed stab and Alarion gasped, pain shooting through his chest. He lashed out blindly, taking his opponent¡¯s head in exchange for the wound, but three more had filled its place before the body had even struck the ground. Rusted iron bit into his thigh. Then his hand. He parried with the haft of his mace, driving the enemies back as best he was able. He struck three times, but only killed twice, his leaden arms too weak to finish the job even with the benefit of momentum. The Soulless pressed closer, weapons raised. Alarion gripped his mace with both hands, drawing on his last reserves of mana. The weapon grew heavy with dark energy as he lifted it overhead. ¡°Void Crush!¡± The mace came down. A wave of darkness exploded outward, warping the air. Metal bodies sheared and twisted as the void energy tore through them. The spell carved a line of empty space in front of Alarion and bought him precious seconds to fend off those Soulless that remained on his flanks. He swung and swung and swung again, battering metal against metal until only one enemy was left standing The last Soulless - a commander by its markings and behavior - backed away from the carnage. Alarion tried to lift his mace to point at the machine, to single it out among the wreckage, but his arms refused to respond. He tried again and the weapon slipped from numb fingers. ¡°You.¡± The word dripped with vitriol as Alarion¡¯s half dead legs carried him toward it. The commander turned and fled. Alarion followed. The chase was long, but did not take them very far. Alarion was slow, but the machine was slower, the initial gap between them its only saving grace. When it was clear that it would not reach help before Alarion caught it, the Soulless pivoted and struck. Alarion knocked its attack aside. He¡¯d had just about enough of this challenge. The Soulless struck twice more, opening new wounds across Alarion¡¯s arms. He ignored the pain, wrapped his hands around its metal torso, and hauled it up. With a roar, he slammed the commander against the tunnel wall. The impact rang through the passage like a bell. Again. The commander¡¯s frame buckled. Again. Its head snapped back at an unnatural angle. Again. Metal crumpled beneath his hands. Again. The Soulless stopped moving. Again. It stopped looking like anything at all. Alarion¡¯s fingers trembled as he pried open the crushed remains of the commander¡¯s head. His vision was blurred, doubling then tripling as he searched through twisted metal. He blinked to clear it, but it didn¡¯t help. He closed his eyes, counted to ten then opened them. They focused just long enough for a search. The gear had to be here. It was the last one. There. A glint of silver. He reached for it, but his hand was vibrating. Blood dripped from fresh cuts, making the metal slick. After three attempts, he managed to hook a finger through the center hole and pulled. Relief flooded his body. Then something else took over. The world tilted. His legs gave out and Alarion¡¯s head cracked against stone. The impact didn¡¯t hurt. Nothing hurt anymore. His body felt distant, disconnected. The gear rolled from limp fingers as darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, his stamina pushed beyond zero. Sometime later, the scraping clank of a nearby Soulless dragged him back to consciousness. How long had he been out? Seconds? Minutes? The steps were close. Too close. But he couldn¡¯t stand. He couldn¡¯t move. He could barely breathe. He lay there, watching as his stamina slowly ticked up, a point at a time. When it hit five, a level of sensation returned to his limbs, though he felt weak as a kitten. When it hit ten, a feeling of control came with it and Alarion struggled, then turned over onto his side. With a supreme effort he gathered his legs beneath him, snatched the bloodied gear from the floor and stood. Using the wall for support he stumbled back toward the chamber. His legs threatened to fold with each step. Blood roared in his ears, nearly drowning out the approaching Soulless only a short distance behind him. The wall of gears came into view. Alarion scanned the occupied slots with bleary eyes until he found the last one. The empty one. His hands shook so badly he almost dropped the gear twice before he managed to slot it into place. The metal clicked home just as the first Soulless of the newest wave rounded the corner. Then collapsed. ¡°Oh thank the¡­.¡± Given who had put him here, Alarion couldn¡¯t find it in himself to finish the prayer. Instead, he fell back against the wall. He started to slide down toward the ground when one of the hallways ahead of him began to shimmer and warp. The exit. With Herculean effort Alarion pushed himself upright and stumbled toward freedom. He made it halfway before he realized, with an exhausted groan, that he would need to collect his mace. Just the mace. The daggers he could live without. Alarion stumbled through the shimmering portal, dragging the weight of his mace behind him. The familiar sense of disorientation washed over him as he crossed the threshold, but he pushed it aside. He had made it. Barely. He blinked against the brightness of the new room and his heart sank at the sight before him. Sierra stood in a corner, her eyes wide with horror, taking in his battered form. ¡°Alarion!¡± she gasped, rushing toward him. But as she reached out to grab his arm, her touch flowed around him, as if her body were made of mist. Given that Alarion had slumped toward what he thought was a supportive embrace, Valentina¡¯s magic, meant to protect him from any physical coercion, had the unintended side effect of sending him face first into the stone floor. ¡°Oops,¡± Valentina said with a wince. Chapter Eighty-Eight Alarion leaned against the wall of Valentina¡¯s chamber, his limbs heavy as iron. He¡¯d slept for well over a day after his collapse. It had been a fitful slumber, full of nightmares that had been biding their time for days, and his status reflected as much. His Awakened body had replenished itself while he slept, but the most grievous after effects still lingered.
[Muscle Fatigue ¨C Severe] ¨C 30% maximum stamina for twenty-four hours. [Fracture (Left wrist) ¨C Minor] ¨C 10% STR and AGI reduction for use of left arm. [Fracture (orbital Bone) ¨C Minor] ¨C 10% AGI and PER reduction.
Even that was an improvement. The list had been three times as long when he¡¯d awoken. Repeated castings of [Mend Body] had gotten the worst of it under control, but with his head clear, Alarion was keenly aware of just how fine a line he¡¯d walked. It was little wonder that Sierra had been horrified at the sight of him. Or that she was trying to talk him down. ¡°You can not seriously be considering this,¡± Sierra said, her voice tight with frustration. ¡°Look at you. You can barely stand.¡± Alarion managed a weak smile. ¡°But I am standing.¡± ¡°You are using the wall as a crutch,¡± she shot back without hesitation. ¡°Do I need to push you over to make my point?¡± Valentina cleared her throat as Sierra started toward Alarion, stopping the girl in her tracks. ¡°He is going to get himself killed,¡± the Vitrian girl protested. ¡°And you are going to enable this?!¡± ¡°And if he decides to do so, that is his right,¡± Valentina responded calmly. ¡°He still has a few minutes to gather his strength and decide.¡± Sierra¡¯s fists clenched as she locked eyes with the once God. Twice her lips parted as though about to speak, but they closed just as often, her only outburst an annoyed breath through her nose. Alarion could empathize. He¡¯d had a similar reaction when Valentina had woken him with ill tidings. In order to avoid having her dungeons exploited as places to hide away from the outside world, Lal Viren had set a firm limit on the time between challenges. Two days. After a day and a half of sleeping and twelve hours of directed healing, Alarion was nearly out of time. ¡°You nearly died,¡± Sierra said, her voice tinged with anger and something else besides. ¡°Do you understand that? The shape you were in? I have seen actual corpses in better condition.¡± ¡°Nearly,¡± Alarion countered unconvincingly, wincing as he shifted his weight. ¡°But I did not.¡± Sierra stepped closer, her ice-blue eyes narrowed. ¡°You have already gotten what you needed. A passable class, new spells, you turned that ridiculous mace into a casting implement. What more could you possibly gain that¡¯s worth risking your life for?¡± When Alarion didn¡¯t seem inclined to answer, Sierra threw her hands up. ¡°You stubborn piece of¡­¡± the girl bit down on what she wanted to say, took a breath and tried a different tactic. ¡°What do you think happens to me if I the only thing I leave with is your body?¡± ¡°It is not about what there is to gain,¡± Alarion said at last. Sierra looked ready to bite his head off, but whatever she had to say died in her throat. There was something about his expression. The hurt was still there, the physical and mental toll the challenges had taken out of the young man. But a look of determination joined it. More than single-minded stubbornness, it was a look of pure resolve. ¡°I am tired of regrets,¡± he said softly. Then he looked at Valentina. ¡°I am ready.¡± Sierra opened her mouth to speak, but was gone with a snap of Valentina¡¯s fingers. Yet despite Sierra¡¯s allegations about that she was enabling Alarion, the goddess seemed almost as perturbed as Sierra had been by his decision. ¡°You are sure?¡± ¡°Mm,¡± Alarion answered. He looked introspective and vulnerable as he continued. ¡°I have had few choices in my life. This I can choose.¡± Valentina nodded reluctantly. ¡°And I can not stop you, even if I wanted to. Good hunting.¡± Then she stepped forward, wrapping the young man in a hug. ¡°Win or lose, we are not likely to meet again.¡± She said, arms still tight around his shoulders. ¡°I¡­ was glad to have you here. Even if only for a time.¡± Alarion felt a lump in his throat, and after a moment¡¯s hesitation, he returned the embrace. ¡°Hmm? Oh. You¡¯re right!¡± Valentina cast her incongruous words upward and held Alarion¡¯s gaze as she leaned back at arm¡¯s reach. ¡°If you¡­ when you finish, you¡¯ll be taken out of the dungeon. If you want to go elsewhere, now is-¡± Alarion shook his head. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± Valentina¡¯s voice sounded more skeptical than when he¡¯d chosen the challenge. ¡°Elena saved my life.¡± Alarion answered. ¡°ZEKE gave me strength. Sierra fought by my side. Even Dar¡­ I have an obligation to them. To all of them.¡± ¡°You-¡± Valentina seemed intent on rebutting his arguments, but one look at Alarion¡¯s face told her it would be pointless. ¡°You have a good heart, Alarion. Don¡¯t let it get you into trouble.¡± Alarion flashed her a wan smile, hefted his mace with a grunt, and entered the last challenge. Alarion staggered the instant he was through the doorway, the mace suddenly heavy in his grip. No, that wasn¡¯t right. His arm was too heavy. His knees buckled instantly, sending him crashing to the stone floor. The surrounding air was thick, pressing against his skin, his eyes, his lungs. It took everything he could to force his chest to rise and fall, but even then the oxygen he took in was itself too heavy for his body to process. It was full of mana. Raw, unfiltered power saturated his surroundings. It pushed into him, through him, entering through every broken mana circuit, but unable to leave as the pressure outside his body continued to increase. ¡°What¡ª¡± he gasped, but couldn¡¯t finish the thought. His lungs burned with each breath, the air so dense with mana that it felt like drowning. For all the talk of his wounds, they were irrelevant. He couldn¡¯t have endured this any better if he had been in peak condition. It was an unfamiliar experience. His flaw¡ªhis inability to channel mana externally¡ªhad rendered him insensitive during his other encounters with high mana environments. But this... this was different. The magic invaded every pore, slipping between his cells, threading through his veins. His body trembled as the power threatened to tear him apart from within. It felt like being filled with molten metal, expanding and burning and seeking escape. Alarion tried to push himself up, but his arms gave out. The mace clattered beside him as he collapsed fully to the ground. His vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges. ¡°Solar¡­ Burst.¡± Alarion incanted desperately. A flash of light and heat radiated off his body, and for just an instant, he felt the pressure relax. Then it came roaring back in full force, but not before he conjured another spell. ¡°Mend Body!¡± This time the relief was more long lasting, but less significant. Mana flowed freely from his MP pool, but the oppressive weight refilled it as fast as it drained. Most likely faster, given that the pressure had already begun to squeeze his airways once again. He needed more. He needed his mace. It hadn¡¯t fallen far away, less than a foot in fact, but with an ocean of mana bearing down on him, that distance felt almost insurmountable. He tried to summon it, willing the magical wrappings to pull the weapon back toward him, but the mana rich air was interfering with the ability. He¡¯d have to get it himself. Alarion couldn¡¯t stand, he couldn¡¯t crawl, but with great effort, he was able to inch along the ground, dragging himself across the miniscule distance over the course of half a minute. Until at last he¡¯d grown close enough. ¡°Solar Burst.¡± The weight lifted from his body just long enough for Alarion to grab the hilt of his weapon. ¡°Empowered Solar Burst!¡± The second spell brought genuine relief as it drained the majority of his MP in a single cast, courtesy of his latest reward:
Lesser Vestal Stone of Empowerment [Rare](Rank I) Description: A clear blue Vestal Stone with milky white imperfections throughout. Requirements: None Attunement Cost: None. Type: Vestal Stone Enchantment: Provides three daily uses of the metamagic enhancement skill: Empower Magic. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Ability Bonuses: None
Empower Magic [Exceptional] Description: An extension of the basic trade-off system present in most spellcraft skills, Empower Magic drastically increases the effectiveness of their spells at the cost of their mana efficiency and casting time. Requirements: Lesser Vestal Stone of Empowerment must be slotted into an appropriate held item. Type: Active Effects: Triple the effects of any spell cast, including range, radius, damage, healing and duration. Quadruple the cost of any spell cast. Double any casting time. Growths: N/A
¡°Empowered Solar Burst! Empowered Mend Body!¡± Alarion shouted out his incantations as he felt his own spell-casting beat back an eternity of energy. A wave of relief washed over him as he took in a full breath, then another, the new mana burning away almost as quickly as it entered him under the normally ruinous cost of an [Empowered Mend Body]. Almost. A look at his MP pool showed the truth. The increase was slow, a handful of seconds between each point, but it was enough. He had perhaps half an hour before his MP reached its cap and his body overflowed once more, even with [Empowered Mend Body] running non-stop. Not that he could keep it running indefinitely. His wrist was already back to a fit shape, and the broken bone around his eye would not be far behind. Past a certain point, over healing by that amount would be as damaging to his body as letting the mana flood in directly. He had minutes to find a solution. Alarion finally pushed himself upright, leaning heavily on his mace. His vision, blurry at first, began to clear as he took in his surroundings. ¡°What...¡± The word died in his throat at what he saw. He stood on a crescent-shaped platform of pure white marble, its surface polished to a glimmering sheen. Nothing connected the platform to his origin; it simply floated in an infinite sea of stars. Countless points of light swirled in cosmic patterns that hurt his eyes to follow. Alarion had not seen the night sky like this in years. In the Old City, the stars had been dim specks hidden by the light of Ashad Vitri, and on the Trinity Isles, he¡¯d always been too busy to look up. It was a sight as intimidating as it was nostalgic. But the stars weren¡¯t what made his breath catch. Before him, towering impossibly large, floated what could only be described as a severed head¡ªthough nothing human had ever looked like this. It dwarfed anything that he had seen, anything that could exist. It made Alarion feel as though his little island of marble was just another star among the multitude. Something had separated the thing from its body, leaving only ragged edges where the neck should have been. Seven eyes were scattered across its surface, each the size of mountains. Or planets. It was hard to get any sense of scale from the thing. Indeed, trying to apply any frame of reference at all felt¡­ wrong. As though he were using the wrong tool for the task by invoking comparison. No discernible pattern existed in the arrangement of the eyes; some clustered together, others were isolated and their location had an unsettling habit of shifting when he wasn¡¯t looking. Each eye was a different color, pulsing with internal light as they rotated independently, scanning the surrounding cosmos. Below the eyes, seven mouths gaped open in various expressions. Some appeared to be screaming, others frozen mid-thought, while another was endlessly cackling. Teeth with impossible angles lined each maw, and occasionally, one mouth would snap shut, vanishing into the greater whole at the same time another opened elsewhere. Gray skin, if it could be called such a thing, shifted between states¡ªsometimes appearing solid, sometimes liquid, occasionally seeming to evaporate into mist before reforming. Alarion¡¯s knees threatened to buckle again, but not from the pressure of the mana. ¡°Lal Viren?¡± Alarion asked, for such a thing could only be a God. Seven eyes snapped toward Alarion in unison. The weight of the surrounding mana doubled, then doubled again. He collapsed and nearly fainted, but the pressure alleviated as quickly as it had come. When he looked up, the God had lost interest, its eyes surveying reality once more. Alarion knew what he needed to do. It wasn¡¯t some grand deduction, but revelation. A primal, inherent understanding. It had to see him. Not look in his direction, but to really see him. And he had to endure that sight. Alarion¡¯s body trembled as he pushed himself onto his knees. The platform beneath him felt pleasantly cool, grounding him amidst the cosmic chaos through a hint of normalcy. He closed his eyes, forcing his breath to slow despite the heaviness of the air around him. His mind focused inward, calling upon his training. The [Kel-Taran Meditation] was first. In the previous challenge, he had focused on it for its healing effects, now he relied on it to center his mind. Next he activated his [Introverted Mana Sense], careful to keep his sixth sense turned away from the divine. The world around him faded as he directed his attention to the mana within. His body was a tangle of strings¡ªthin, delicate threads of energy weaving through every part of his being, each twisted up amidst a hundred others that gave no care to the intricate pathways inside him. The knots and snags had created blocks within his body, which had allowed pressure to build. The solution was simple: unravel the mess. In practice, it seemed impossible. There were too many snarls, too many issues. By the time he finished untangling the knot at the core of one junction, another had formed elsewhere, while two more had grown in size. Even the area he¡¯d fixed was already showing signs of damage mere moments after he¡¯d finished his task. Spot fixes would not solve the problem. His solution had to be holistic. Alarion withdrew, focusing on the broader picture. For a time, he studied the trouble spots, trying to determine how the outside pressure had done its damage. But his real breakthrough came when he looked at areas that were healthy. Those few healthy areas looked no different in principle. Foreign mana flooded them, and they should have overloaded like the rest of his system. But as he studied one after another, he started to understand. They¡¯d become twisted up like all the others, but they¡¯d done so on single ¡®strands¡¯ from the outside. What he¡¯d thought was one mass of infinite mana was, in fact, seven. Seven different, yet almost identical, sources that were colliding with one another inside of his body. It was no wonder it had almost killed him. With diagnosis in hand, the only step that remained was treatment. A delicate task, but also one he would have to complete quickly. Alarion ended his [Empowered Mend Body] with a mental command and felt the sudden weight of divinity on his shoulders. The abrupt change in pressure threatened to steal the air from his lungs, but there was nothing for it. He needed to purge his existing mana for his solution to work, and he couldn¡¯t do that and maintain his channeling at the same time. ¡°Valentina¡¯s Energetic Embrace.¡± Alarion said calmly, ignoring the wave of magical invigoration. The spell had drained almost all of his mana pool, and foreign mana was rushing to fill the gaps. He had to direct it, using the same pinning technique he¡¯d learned from the dreaded chair to trap each of the disparate brands of mana to a different part of his body, like separate lines on a loom. It was strenuous work, but the results spoke for themselves as the pressure on Alarion¡¯s lungs loosened. There was a little trial and error, and a near miss as one channel touched up against another, but within minutes, Alarion had isolated the seven different flows from one another. Without competing mana to crash against, the seven moved through his body as effortlessly as any ambient mana, filling his MP pool to the brim, but no longer threatening to overload it. The question was, could his work endure scrutiny? The lines in his body were tenuous. If they broke under pressure, the whole thing would cascade in moments. He might not get another shot. Alarion took a deep breath and disengaged his skills. He stood and looked up at the God. ¡°Lal Viren?¡± He asked again. Seven mountainous eyes swiveled down, their focus crashing into Alarion like an ocean. The weight of that gaze sent waves of pressure through his carefully curated loom. Cracks formed instantly in the delicate structure he¡¯d built within himself, hairline fractures spreading through his magical defenses. The mana surged, no longer seven distinct flows but a chaotic maelstrom. It battered at his mana circuits, threatening to tear him apart from within. He staggered to a knee as pain lanced through his flesh, his bones, his very being. Then he stood. ¡°Lal Viren,¡± Alarion gasped again, forcing the name through gritted teeth. The pressure intensified. His ears popped, and something warm trickled down his nose. Blood. He could taste it on his lips now, metallic and sharp. The carefully constructed pathways within him were collapsing, and he could do nothing to repair them. Not in his condition. But his eyes didn¡¯t waver on the eldritch thing above him. Alarion planted his feet more firmly on the marble platform, using his mace as an anchor, as the mana emanating from seven eyes struck him like a physical wind. He let it pass into him, through him. Something inside broke, and he felt the weight bearing down on him. Choking him. It wouldn¡¯t be long now. ¡°Lal Viren!¡± he called a third time, louder now, his voice steadier despite the blood dripping from his nose, ears and eyes. Then, all at once, it stopped. Yours is the kind to find the secret of the secret of the kind that has known the secret. You have a good heart. I wish to see it. The words came out as gibbering, discordant whispers with the strength of a hurricane. One mouth spoke them, another repeated and two others spoke before the first ever began. Lal Viren screamed as if struck, crying out with all seven mouths, then spoke as one. Alarion Regethern-Feln. Two-Thirty Eight. Orphan. I call you Challenger. I call you Victor. I call you Fool and Slave and Harbinger and Savior! I call you Uncle and Father! I call you Murderer! The words were a dizzying assault on the senses, for they were seen as much as heard. He saw flashes with each title. Disjointed images. He saw himself standing with Valentina, then facing Lal Viren. He saw an old man, a beautiful woman, a man bound to a chair and a dead body. He saw violet eyes so like his own, then Vitrian ice blue, then the faces of his victims, of the Butcher, of Val, of his father. All begat Three. Three begat Four. Four begat All. Some became None. None maimed Four. One is Taken. Another soon to follow. None will be All. You fight an unwinnable battle. You fight an impossible foe. You stand against It Who Was All and It Who Was Not All and It Who Was Nothing! You shirk against the Order and the Forgotten and the Final. Why? The words meant nothing to Alarion, but that question meant everything to the God who glared at him with seven frowns. Whatever it was, this moment, it was important. It needed an answer, one that came to mind wholly unbidden, the words unfamiliar on his tongue. ¡°Because I won¡¯t take your orders.¡± The god shrieked, a world piercing noise that went on for an instant or an eternity. Its eyes rolled back into its head, its titanic mass shifted backward as if in thought. Then it spoke once more, the words growled out like an angry animal. Thrice Betrayed. Blue and Violet and Empty. Thrice Fallen. Lioric and Seric and Feln. Thrice Shackled. Ordered and Forgotten and Final. Thrice Asked. Stone and Sky and Home. Thrice Invaded. Friend and Stranger and Family. Thrice Ended. Heart and Soul and Mind and God. We are ended, Orphan. I would be rid of you now. ¡°But-¡± A hard yank pulled Alarion away from the God and sent him hurtling back through reality. A kaleidoscope of sound and color blossomed in front of him, then snapped off in an instant. He hit the ground with a thud, nearly cracking his head open on a rock as he skidded to a stop in the mouth of the small cave. Sierra sat just ahead of him, a book open on her lap, a look of surprise on her face. ¡°You made it,¡± she said, her tone neutral. Her expression was cheerful, but her eyes were sad. ¡°Was it worth it?¡± Alarion thought back to the strange encounter, then frowned. He remembered the God and its cryptic words clear as day, but not its shape or its dimensions. Only the vague outline of the thing. Stranger still, he remembered his rewards and the lessons he¡¯d learned. But little else. He remembered eating and drinking. He remembered talking to¡­ someone, even some of their answers. But he couldn¡¯t put a name or face to the fragmented memories. ¡°I¡­¡± Alarion couldn¡¯t shake the feeling of confusion. Of loss. An urgent notification blinked in the corner of his vision. New Class Choices Available! ¡°I think so.¡± Chapter Eighty-Nine ¡°Ah, young master. How nice of you to finally join us.¡± ZEKE¡¯s tone was as inscrutable as his hideously crafted face, but the sarcasm was unmistakable. Even to someone with social skills as weak as Alarion¡¯s. ¡°I trust your sabbatical was a pleasant one?¡± ¡°I-¡± ZEKE held up a hand to forestall him. ¡°No apologies. Not to me at least, for I have all the time in the world. Though if you do not come bearing rewards, I fear Master Elzmir may flay you.¡± ¡°Four options.¡± Alarion replied. ZEKE¡¯s posture relaxed. It was just a slight dip in the shoulders, but for the machine, it might as well have been a deep sigh of relief. ¡°Perhaps you shall have some small amount of skin left after he has finished. Come, you can inform me of the details during our return.¡± The trek down the mountain was difficult. Not physically, of course, but as the wind whistled through the crags, Alarion found it impossible to ignore Sierra¡¯s gaze boring into his back. Her disapproval was clear; he didn¡¯t need to turn around to see the hard mask on her face. Nor did he want to. She¡¯d spoken few words to him while they exited the cave, and even fewer as they made for the shore, which left Alarion and ZEKE plenty of time to discuss his options and his newly updated feats of strength.
Unbound Magus [Common](Rank I) Description: Unfamiliar to most, the heterodox path of an Unbound Magus is one filled with mystery and uncertainty. Eschewing traditional methods, you have embraced unstructured magic, trading reliability for flexibility. This class focuses primarily on skills and attributes related to unstructured arcane magic. Requirements: Unbound Spellcraft. At least four known spells. Basic spell-casting proficiency. Growths - STR ¨C +4 ¨C 40% | AGI ¨C +4 ¨C 40% | VIT - +4 ¨C 40% | INT ¨C +4 ¨C 60% | WIL ¨C +4 ¨C 60% | PER ¨C +4 = 60%
Unraveller [Exceptional](Rank I) Description: Able to see the ties that bind, the Unraveller manipulates the strings of magic to work their bidding in physical reality and divine the outcome of events. This class focuses primarily on skills and attributes related to arcane magic, with a special focus on sympathetic and fate-based magic. Requirements: Behold an act of True Prophecy. Basic spell-casting proficiency. Growths - STR ¨C +5 ¨C 40% | AGI ¨C +5 ¨C 40% | VIT - +5 ¨C 40% | INT ¨C +5 ¨C 60% | WIL - +5 ¨C 60% | PER - +5 = 60% | LUK - +6 ¨C 50% Note: This class provides access to the LUK attribute.
Arcane Challenger [Rare](Rank I) Description: Unwilling to yield even in the face of divine obstacles, the Arcane Challenger has proven capable of tremendous feats of bravery and prowess. Their power and potential is reflected in their class, driving them to greater heights than most. This class focuses primarily on skills and attributes related to arcane magic and testing one¡¯s limits. Requirements: [Challenger] feat of strength. Basic spell-casting proficiency. Growths - STR ¨C +7 ¨C 40% | AGI ¨C +7 ¨C 40% | VIT - +7 ¨C 40% | INT ¨C +7 ¨C 60% | WIL ¨C +7 ¨C 60% | PER ¨C +7 = 60%
Favored Magician [Epic][Divine](Rank I) Description: Whether by accident or design, the Favored Magician has earned the attention of a powerful divine patron and has learned to channel their power. As a result, the Favored Magician gains strong skills and growth potential but is subject to obligation and restriction in equal measure. This class focuses primarily on skills and attributes related to arcane and divine magics. Requirements: Moderate favor with a divine patron. Knowledge of at least one Divine Spell. Growths - STR ¨C +8 ¨C 40% | AGI ¨C +8 ¨C 40% | VIT - +8 ¨C 40% | INT ¨C +8 ¨C 60% | WIL ¨C +8 ¨C 60% | PER ¨C +8 = 60% Note: This class will be downgraded to a Common ranked ¡®Unfavored Magician¡¯ if the Awakened falls out of favor with their patron. As a [Divine] class, the Awakened may be given [Quests] or assigned a [Geas] once per year at their favored deity¡¯s direction.
Favor of Lal Viren [Divine](Moderate) Description: Having obtained the Favor of a divine entity, you have established a sympathetic link between that Deity and yourself. This link has become more durable but can be broken from either side with effort. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Requirements: None. Effects: You are able to activate divine items linked to Lal Viren. Divine spells linked to Lal Viren or one of her incarnations will have moderately reduced cost and moderately improved effect. Lal Viren is always aware of your general location and wellbeing and, with effort, can temporarily scry your location. This scrying can be contested, but at the risk of the loss of favor. Lal Viren is able to offer [Quests] but these must be voluntarily accepted.
Challenger Description: Having successfully completed an Arcane Challenge of Lal Viren, you have achieved the title of Challenger. Seek out and attempt additional Challenge Dungeons of alternate types (Combat, Puzzle, Endurance) to improve this title and the corresponding effects. Requirements: Complete one of Lal Viren¡¯s Challenge Dungeons. Effects: You gain a 5% bonus to all attributes. This bonus is retroactive. In addition, you gain a 5% bonus for all future growth rates.
The information was a lot to take in, but ZEKE did not so much as break stride as he began his assessment. ¡°The first and last are non-starters,¡± ZEKE said. ¡°Which is frustrating. The common class is¡­ well, common, and you have better options. The divine class would be an excellent choice if you had freedom of movement. But an inopportunely timed Geas when you have mandated duties? A conflict of interest and a disaster waiting to happen. A man cannot serve two masters.¡± Alarion felt his shoulders sag in relief. He¡¯d have fought the Steelborn on the matter if ZEKE had pressed for the class, but for entirely different reasons. It was bad enough that his favor had improved without having to be subservient to that¡­ thing. The creature floating amidst the stars was one of the few parts of the Challenge Dungeon that Alarion still vividly remembered, and it chilled him to his core. What was more, he didn¡¯t understand why she, or it, strengthened their bond. Lal Viren had seemed angry and even pained by his presence. She¡¯d dismissed him as though she wanted to be rid of him. So why draw him closer? Just to keep watch? Or was there a more sinister motivation. He¡¯d have broken the favored connection on the spot if not for the divine spell in his arsenal. Valentina¡¯s Energetic Embrace was a strong spell, but it wasn¡¯t its strength that stayed his hand. The spell felt as though it had sentimental value, as though it were important in ways he couldn¡¯t recall. The idea of losing or discarding it made him feel sick. ¡°That leaves us with two.¡± ZEKE continued, unaware of Alarion¡¯s anxiety. ¡°Two hard choices at that. Unraveller and Arcane Challenger.¡± ¡°Are they familiar?¡± asked Alarion. ¡°They are. Neither is as idiosyncratic as your Stubborn Swordsman or totally unheard of like your Orphan class. Challenger type classes are well known and sought after for their strength. They¡¯re usually taken at Rank II or later, with correspondingly higher rarities, but having one as the base of your magecraft is something many Vitrian scions would envy. It is the safe choice and the one I would recommend in almost all circumstances.¡± ¡°Almost? But not this one?¡± ¡°That¡­ is complicated.¡± ZEKE paused briefly as the trio rounded a sharp curve with a narrow edge. They were close enough to the shoreline that the fall wouldn¡¯t be fatal, but the embarrassment of falling in front of his pupils certainly might be. ¡°The Unraveller is a fairly rare class, particularly in Vitrian circles. Prophecy is cheap and easy to find, but True Prophecy is the realm of the divine and the diviners, which usually means either Godborn or powerful spellcasters.¡± Despite the words being on Alarion¡¯s lips, it was Sierra who asked, ¡°What is the difference?¡± ¡°Ah, Mistress Feln, I almost forgot you were there.¡± ZEKE¡¯s tone suggested the opposite, and he was quick to answer her question. ¡°The name contains the difference. Plenty of diviners and other spellcasters can see glimpses of the future in both the short and long-term, but those visions are probabilistic. They will probably go to war, or this coin will probably land on the Imperator. The better the mage and the simpler the question, the more likely the result will match reality. But there is always room for error. Meanwhile, True Prophecy is just that. True. Whatever they see will happen. It is unavoidable.¡± ¡°The gods know the future, then?¡± Alarion frowned. He didn¡¯t much like that idea. ¡°Who is to say?¡± ZEKE shrugged as the path levelled out before them. ¡°Some claim that True Prophecy isn¡¯t prophecy at all, but precise planning and manipulation. If I tell you that you will die tomorrow knowing your neighbor intends to stab you, am I a prophet? Or am I just very clever? If I tell you that you will be Imperator, were you fated to, or did I instill such a drive that the prophecy fulfils itself? Either way, it is dangerous.¡± Alarion chewed on the question for a short while, then said, ¡°Lal Viren tol-¡± ¡°What did I just¡­¡± The Steelborn glared back over his shoulder at Alarion. ¡°Even if the future cannot be changed it can be acted upon. If you know gold is fated to be found in the hills, you can start digging early. Knowledge is power. And danger. My recommendation would be to tell no one, but the Governor at least will be sure to ask. Have you told Mistress Feln?¡± Sierra shook her head. ¡°Good. Keep it that way.¡± ZEKE¡¯s body language softened somewhat as he returned to his original thought. ¡°Regardless, Unravellers typically follow a non-combat path. Sympathetic and Fate magic don¡¯t lend themselves to combat or warfare until higher Ranks. However, there is an undeniable synergy.¡± ¡°My luck.¡± Alarion said with certainty. ¡°Your luck. An Unraveller with your level of absurd luck¡­ you¡¯d likely punch well above your rank in terms of accuracy. Perhaps even enough to make certain combat divinations actually worthwhile, to say nothing of the general utility.¡± ¡°It is the better choice then?¡± The young man pressed. ¡°Both would be strong; the question is if it is better to be broad or narrow. I¡¯d say neither is strictly better. In fact, my recommendation is to delay and offer the choice to Mistress Elena by way of apology.¡± Alarion winced. ¡°Is she that angry?¡± ¡°She is that angry.¡± ZEKE confirmed as they reached the foot of the hill to find a grim faced Elena waiting at the docks alongside her husband. Chapter Ninety Alarion was worried about the wrong Elzmir. One moment, Dar was standing next to his wife, glowering up at Alarion from the small dock. The next, the Governor was in front of him, fist raised. Instinct kicked in and Alarion raised his hands to ward off the blow, but it didn¡¯t matter. The right cross weaved effortlessly through an opening in his guard and struck him in the jaw with enough force to send him rolling back across the sandy beach, his HP almost halfway depleted. His follow-up blow, a kick judging by the angle of impact, struck Alarion as he lay face down in the sand. The second attack sent him sprawling once again, but to his credit, this time Alarion came up in a crouch, fists raised. ¡°You idiot child.¡± Dar said as he advanced. Behind Dar, Alarion could make out the blurry shape of Elena jogging up the beach. She was shouting something, but the ringing in his ears made it difficult to understand as Dar laid into him again. The man could have killed Alarion with his first hit, of that the boy was certain. However angry he was, the Governor was pulling his punches as he struck Alarion again and again, each strike chipping away at his HP with the measured proficiency of a man who knew how to keep his victims alive. The few times Alarion dared to make a counterattack, Dar punished him with especially heavy blows, swatting away Alarion¡¯s feeble offense as one might the fists of a toddler. The strikes were relentless, focused not on efficiency or damage, but for pain. Whether Dar wanted him alive or dead, Alarion couldn¡¯t tell, but either way, he wanted it to hurt. ¡°Solar-¡± The incantation was strangled to nothing as Dar grabbed Alarion¡¯s throat and lifted him from the ground. When he tried to lash out with a foot, Dar struck him with the back of his hand. There was a crack of thunder and a flash of light as the boy seized, then went limp. ¡°No. None of that.¡± The man snarled as he drew back a fist for another strike. ¡°I punch. You bleed. This is the only way someone like you will ever learn. They coddled you, gave you opportunity and you-¡± The creek of metal fatigue filled the air as Alarion regained consciousness to find ZEKE standing between him and Dar, the Governor¡¯s balled fist barely restrained in a brass palm. ¡°Enough.¡± Dar continued to glare at Alarion for a handful of breaths before his ire and his gaze turned toward the Steelborn. ¡°Explain your interruption, Machine. Do it quickly.¡± ZEKE¡¯s hand slowly lost ground against the Governor¡¯s grinding fist as the two glared at one another. ¡°He is a Witness.¡± ZEKE replied. Dar¡¯s eyes bulged, and his jaw tightened. ¡°How many curses will this child throw upon my doorstep?¡± ¡°As many stars as there are in the sky, I have no doubt. But we cannot overlook such a treasure.¡± ZEKE loosened his hand as the muscles in Dar¡¯s arm relaxed. ¡°You¡¯ll learn nothing if you beat him half to death before the Judicator arrives. And they won¡¯t be able to force a Geas if he is unconscious when they take him.¡± The older man took a deep breath through his nose. He glanced back at Alarion, violence stirring behind his eyes, then threw him to the sand with a grunt of frustration. ¡°Girl! Feed him his potions and get him mobile. We have little time.¡± The world spun beneath Alarion as he gasped for each ragged breath. Something had collapsed in his throat, and it took everything he had to draw in air as Sierra rushed to his side. ¡°Trying to fight back was a poor decision.¡± Sierra told him bluntly as she knelt next to him, bottle in hand. Alarion was in no condition to down the potion himself, but Sierra was surprisingly gentle as she propped his head up on her knees, poured the potion into his mouth, and massaged his throat to help him swallow. ¡°The Governor is rank IV. You are lucky he did not kill you.¡± Alarion did not feel lucky. An hour and two potions later, he sat stone still in the high-backed chair in Dar¡¯s claustrophobic office. There were only three of them, Dar, Elena and himself, but the space felt too small with the weight of his transgression and Dar¡¯s violence hanging between them. Elena sat to his left, her eyes on her husband. She hadn¡¯t looked at Alarion since they¡¯d made for the Manor Isle, let alone spoken to him. She barely even moved. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Dar, meanwhile, was the pinnacle of motion. He moved methodically around the room, his fingers tracing intricate patterns along the stonework as he reinforced his wards. Golden light shimmered briefly along the walls, ceiling, and floor with each completed spell, but even with such visible signs of success, Dar repeated the process three times over before he was finally satisfied. ¡°The machine tells me you are a Witness. How did this occur?¡± Dar asked. ¡°The final challenge,¡± Alarion answered without preamble. This was no time for defiance. ¡°Lal Viren spoke to me once I completed it. I do not really understand what she-¡± ¡°I do not care for your understanding. Do you remember what she said?¡± Alarion nodded. He¡¯d never forget it. Thrice Betrayed. Blue and Violet and Empty. Thrice Fallen. Lioric and Seric and Feln. Thrice Shackled. Ordered and Forgotten and Final. Thrice Asked. Stone and Sky and Home. Thrice Invaded. Friend and Stranger and Family. Thrice Ended. Heart and Soul and Mind and God. ¡°She said other things; she called me a bunch of names, or titles, but-¡± Dar waved away the words. ¡°Preamble. If it is True Prophecy, then it is etched into your heart.¡± ¡°Lioric¡­¡± Elena said, her voice shaking. ¡°I know.¡± Dar answered, followed by a string of vulgarity the likes of which Alarion had never heard. ¡°The rest of it is gibberish to my ears. But that alone¡­¡± ¡°I do not understand.¡± Alarion said, the words earning him a sharp glare from Dar. ¡°You will speak of this to no one. Do you understand? Tomorrow, the Judicator will make sure of this.¡± ¡°I-¡± ¡°Lioric is a family name,¡± Elena interrupted Alarion¡¯s question. When her husband turned his glare in her direction, she sighed, ¡°He will behave if he knows.¡± ¡°He will behave or-¡± ¡°Dar, enough.¡± She scolded and reached to touch Alarion¡¯s shoulder. When he flinched away, her already gloomy expression grew darker still. ¡°Lioric is a family name, the same as Elzmir, or Feln.¡± ¡°Or Seric,¡± Alarion guessed. ¡°Or Seric.¡± She agreed. ¡°It also happens to be the family name of Vaal Lioric. One of the Imperators.¡± ¡°One?¡± Alarion tilted his head slightly. ¡°I thought the Imperator was the king?¡± Dar snorted. ¡°A Vitrian king. I thought your tutors were better than this, wife.¡± ¡°They are, when given time,¡± Elena scowled at the rebuke. ¡°No, the Imperator is not a king. Vitrians have never had a king. The twin Imperators are the executives, elected to forty-five-year terms. One senior, the other junior. They hold tremendous power but serve at the will and pleasure of the Seventy-Seven.¡± Alarion considered her words, rolling through the implications in his mind. The slightest hint of a smile curve Elena¡¯s lips the moment Alarion¡¯s eyes widened in understanding. ¡°You know who the next two Imperators will be.¡± ¡°Which families they will be from, yes. But with that it should be trivial to guess the individual. Such information is enough to play kingmaker, to extract favors and to position the house accordingly. We know exactly who to invest in and who to ignore. It also tells us that none of the three are likely to make it to term.¡± ¡°How?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Lioric is the junior Imperator. If anyone were to fall before him, it should be Imperator Savase. The same logic applies to both replacements.¡± Elena explained. ¡°Three new Imperators in less than a decade?¡± Dar frowned as he paced behind his desk. ¡°That upheaval can mean nothing good.¡± ¡°For the Empire¡­ probably not. For the house of Hunger? Uncertainty is opportunity.¡± Elena replied. ¡°It seems he has given us quite the parting gift.¡± ¡°You credit him for dumb luck.¡± Dar scoffed. ¡°Perhaps. But his stubbornness and disobedience enabled that luck.¡± ¡°Mothers save me from any more of his luck. Boy. Stand.¡± Alarion pushed back his seat and moved a few steps away from the desk as Dar rounded it to stand before him. The man straightened and adopted a more formal tone as he spoke. ¡°During your absence, the judiciary reached an alarmingly brisk decision on the legality of your induction. One that I am sure had nothing to do with public outcry at my actions. I will spare you the details but suffice to say they rejected my wife¡¯s novel legal theory and remanded you for induction.¡± There was no more anger in those blue eyes as they glared down. Only indifference. ¡°Given your training, I see no reason to delay with further appeals. As such, you are hereby remanded under the authority of Imperator Savase and the Selective Training and Service Act of 276. A Judicator was dispatched to retrieve you for service shortly after the judiciary published their decision, and he has been waiting for word of your return, which I have provided. He will be here by noon. Pack your things, sleep, and make ready for service.¡± Alarion said nothing. He¡¯d known it was coming, but some part of him had thought there would be more time. He¡¯d expected days of recovery and time to train his new class. Alarion had even looked forward to a rematch with ZEKE, to measure his growth, despite the frustrating beating he was sure to endure. Another part of him was glad to be rid of the island and of the Governor. Of the expectations. ¡°What of my class?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Ah, so now you value what we think, hmm?¡± Dar asked dismissively. ¡°Do what you will. I can not force you, legally or otherwise. If you survive induction long enough to be adopted into the house, either will have sufficed as a foundation. If you do not, then why should I care about a dead child¡¯s class choice?¡± Alarion gritted his teeth, about to say something more when Elena touched his arm. ¡°Come, Alarion. I will walk you to your room.¡± ¡°I know the way,¡± Alarion replied. Chapter Ninety-One ¡°Can I come in?¡± Alarion gave no more answer to Elena¡¯s question than he had the three knocks that had preceded it. His focus was on the satchel open on the bed before him. It was a small thing, bulging with a few changes of clothing, his toiletries and essentials. He had packed most of his other valuables neatly to the side¡ªhis greatsword and mace, his blackstone bracer, and the various other magical items he had collected. It spoke volumes about who he was becoming that the only items of value he owned were those used in battle. ¡°Alarion¡­ can I com-¡± ¡°Do I have a choice?¡± He snapped over his shoulder. ¡°About any of this?¡± Elena let out a quiet sigh. ¡°Some. I have as much choice on the matter of your induction as you do. But if you want me to go, I will go.¡± There was a pause as she waited for a reply. When none was forthcoming, she added, ¡°I did not want you to leave on bad terms.¡± Those words earned a laugh from Alarion, though it was a bitter, hollow thing. ¡°Too late.¡± ¡°Alarion¡­¡± Elena sighed again. ¡°You had to know there would be consequences for lying.¡± Alarion shoved a sheathed dagger into his bag with enough force to make the bed beneath it groan in protest. He picked up another and studied it between his fingers, his back still to Elena as he formulated a response. ¡°I did not lie. You assumed I would obey. You never even asked.¡± Alarion¡¯s voice was soft as he unsheathed the throwing dagger and rolled it between his fingers. ¡°I could have left. But I did not.¡± ¡°What? What are you talking about?¡± ¡°The specifics are¡­ fuzzy. But I know they gave me the choice. I could have gone anywhere. Left from any dungeon. But I came back.¡± He sheathed the weapon and tossed it into his bag. ¡°Stupid.¡± The click of Elena¡¯s heels filled the bedroom as she came closer. ¡°Far from it. If you had fled, we¡¯d have found you. They might not have bothered with some farmer with a weak Awakening, but the items in this room alone would be enough for any competent sympathetic mage to track you down.¡± Contrary to Elena¡¯s intention, Alarion¡¯s expression soured at the news. ¡°So, there was never a choice.¡± ¡°Only the strong get to choose.¡± Elena repeated the words with the cadence of a well-rehearsed idiom as she rested a gloved hand on his shoulder. ¡°For what it is worth, I am sor-¡± ¡°Stop.¡± Alarion shrugged off her hand as if it had scorched him. ¡°Stop making excuses. For your people. For your husband. You are strong! Why not choose to change things, to stop him! You said you would keep me safe!¡± Elena stood stone silent for a moment. Then she tugged off one of her gloves. The flesh beneath was scarred and warped by fire, her index finger missing up to the first knuckle. ¡°Do you really think you are the only one he punished for what you did?¡± she asked, pulling the glove back on as though disgusted with herself for revealing the infirmity. ¡°I tried to soothe his anger. I have tried to push for reforms. You need to understand, strength is relative. I am stronger than you, but there are so many who are stronger than I am. And not just in level or rank. Political power. Economic power. Arcane power. Military power. I want you to be better than him, better than me, Mothers willing, but you cannot be this reckless and na?ve!¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Alarion started to speak, but words escaped him as he stared at her gloved hands. His own balled into fists, his breathing coming quicker, his face flushing red. Then a horrible thought occurred. ¡°Is he going to hurt Sierra?¡± ¡°No. He will punish her, I am sure. But nothing so vulgar as violence. Her father is too well established. Doubly so with the news you¡¯ve given us.¡± ¡°You think her fath-¡± ¡°Hush. There are no wards here, and my husband has enough reasons to despise you.¡± The mention of Dar caused Alarion¡¯s anger to flare once more. He wanted to hurt him. To break him. To make him feel small. It would likely be decades before he would be strong enough, but Alarion was nothing if not single-minded. ¡°I am sorry,¡± he said at last. ¡°For your¡­. for everything. I had to stay. But I am sorry.¡± Elena laughed. ¡°I come to clear the air, to apologize to you, and somehow you are the one asking for forgiveness? No¡­ all of this is messy. We do what we can with what we have. I understand why you stayed. I am glad you did. I just¡­ I wish the circumstances had been different. For all of this.¡± There was a sadness in Elena¡¯s posture as she reached out to ruffle a hand through his messy white hair. She pulled him into an embrace and gave one final sigh. ¡°I will be there in the morning for your departure. It would not be proper to seek you out during your term, but I will write, and I will send what I can.¡± Alarion blinked a few times and rubbed moisture away from one eye as they parted. ¡°You are a good boy. Alarion. I am sorry I am such a poor substitute for what you have lost.¡± With those words, she turned and walked away.
¡°Are you awake?¡± ¡°Ngh?¡± Alarion groaned. There was a light in his face and he rolled onto his left side to escape it as he murmured an answer. ¡°I am awake.¡± ¡°Alarion¡­¡± ¡°I said I am-¡± the boy protested before his mind caught up to his mouth. He blinked a few times, squinting against the light as he looked back over his shoulder. ¡°Sierra?¡± ¡°There he is,¡± she replied wryly. ¡°I was worried I would have to shake half the manor down to rouse you.¡± ¡°What are you doing in my room?¡± he asked, gathering the covers over his chest by the light of her lantern. ¡°¡­ in the middle of the night?¡± ¡°You are leaving in the morning, yes?¡± ¡°Mm.¡± ¡°Well, I have just finished my report. I have duties in the morning, and I am not likely to have another chance to speak with you before your departure.¡± Despite her upbeat tone, Alarion had spent enough time with Sierra to recognize the stress in her shoulders, the worry in her eyes. ¡°I am not happy with all of the things that I said.¡± ¡°But you are happy with some of them?¡± A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. She gave him a look, then just as quickly looked away with a slight blush. ¡°I am offering amends, try and be a bit humble? I am only asking for an hour, maybe less. Get dressed and meet me in the courtyard.¡± Alarion lay in bed rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as she departed. He knew better than to let the sweet embrace of his pillows claim him despite his aching body and general weariness. If she had to ask him a second time, it would be much less gentle. Somehow, the thought that she wouldn¡¯t ask again felt worse than the idea of her trying to stab him in his sleep. With a reluctant groan, Alarion fell out of bed. With some effort he dressed in fresh clothes, slid into his sandals and took a moment in front of the mirror for vanity. His reflection felt strange these days. He¡¯d become broader in the shoulders, the muscles in his arms now well defined. He was clean and smooth shaven, almost handsome. Gone was the wiry child that had arrived at the Trinity Isles. The only thing Alarion had in common with that boy was his stunted height. He didn¡¯t look like an Ashadi orphan; he looked like a Vitrian noble. Mothers above, he even talked like one. Idly, he wondered if his mother or his sister would recognize him. It made him sad to think they wouldn¡¯t. The halls of the manor were empty save for the endless patrols of the household guard, men and women who appeared more perplexed than concerned that he was up and about at such a late hour. Only the gate guards gave him or Sierra any trouble. ¡°No one out. The Governor¡¯s orders.¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± Sierra asked. Her tone was polite, as if asking for clarification, but her posture was not. She was stiff. Angry. ¡°We are going for a walk.¡± ¡°The Governor does not want-¡± ¡°The Governor does not want me waking him up in the middle of the night with my orchestra.¡± She shot back. ¡°I have had free rein of this island for months. You think he intended that no, actually, his equerry is not trusted to walk around in the dark on her own.¡± ¡°Miss-¡± ¡°Shall I wake him?!¡± ¡°Fine. Fine.¡± The man relented as the soldier next to him chuckled at his dismay. ¡°Just¡­ I did not let you leave. If anyone asks.¡± ¡°No one will. The whole of the Trinity will be off lockdown in the morning when this one is gone.¡± Sierra answered as she grabbed Alarion¡¯s arm and pulled him forward. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Alarion asked as they cleared the gate, a bit befuddled by the entire exchange. ¡°The far side of the island has a small outcrop.¡± Sierra explained as they walked, her pace slowing as they fell out of sight of the guards. ¡°It is private, and far enough from the sleeping quarters that I can play something nice without waking half the manor.¡± ¡°You are going to play?¡± ¡°I play every night, or as often as I can. Remember?¡± They walked by moonlight along the foot of the curtain wall that surrounded the manor. Sierra led the way, following a familiar trail and warning him of uneven stones and animal burrows that might trip him. Tired as he was, even the short journey felt like a lifetime, but it wasn¡¯t long before their destination was in sight. The rocky outcrop was a hundred feet offshore with a small path of upraised stones that mostly connected one to the other at low tide. The rocks were slippery and the sea water freezing as they made the crossing to the moss-covered island. Curiously, there was a large satchel resting against one rock. Some of Sierra¡¯s things, no doubt, given that she took up a position on a flat stone next to it. ¡°Kotone. My players, if you please?¡± ¡°Yes Miss! Yes Miss!¡± The little Thoughtborn familiar answered cheerfully as it began to summon and place a familiar series of chairs and instruments. ¡°I love the moon when it is like this,¡± Sierra said, gesturing out over the ocean where a reflection of it stared back into the sky. ¡°I used to make promises to the moon when I was little. A way to keep me honest and focused. Just little things, you understand. Never a promise I risked breaking.¡± The words struck a chord with Alarion as he settled down across from her with a grunt of exhaustion. ¡°One of my sisters used to do the same. She broke a promise once and my mother was furious when she found out.¡± The memory brought a wan smile to his lips. ¡°I never did learn what she had done.¡± ¡°Maybe it was just that she broke the promise at all?¡± Sierra suggested. ¡°It is not like Vitrians have a monopoly on valuing honesty.¡± Alarion nodded along with the thought, then caught Sierra¡¯s eye as she glanced about. She was on edge. Nervous. It wasn¡¯t like her at all. ¡°Why are we here?¡± he asked. Sierra frowned at the direct question and looked away. She bit her lower lip, chewing on it and his query before she answered with one of her own. ¡°Do you remember our last conversation? Our last real conversation. Not the ones in the dungeon or during your training.¡± ¡°Obligation and ambition. Right?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Yeah.¡± ¡°What about it?¡± ¡°Last time I asked, you did not have an answer. I wanted to know if you found it? If you have found an ambition. If you know what you want? Have you thought about it?¡± He had. Though the weeks between had been chaotic, her question had never fully left his mind. It was always somewhere at the back, ready to needle him the moment he took a breath for himself. He wanted an answer as much as anyone else. ¡°I think I want to be forgiven.¡± Sierra tilted her head. ¡°What did you do?¡± Alarion ignored the question. His answer hadn¡¯t felt right on his lips. He wanted forgiveness, but it wasn¡¯t his ambition. In most cases, it wasn¡¯t even possible to obtain. ¡°I want to be better.¡± ¡°Alarion, strength is a means not-¡± ¡°No. I know,¡± he stopped her. ¡°I do not mean stronger. I mean better. I want to be a better person than I am now. More complete.¡± His thoughts drifted to his mother and father. To the good times. To hard work on the farm and quiet nights by the fire. His mother had been better than him. She¡¯d been happy in a way that he hadn¡¯t understood at the time. Did she have an ambition? Or had she reached it, only to have it taken? Whatever it was to be better than he was now, he¡¯d find it. And he¡¯d find it with enough strength to make sure no one could ever take it from him. ¡°I do not know how to describe it, or how to get there,¡± Alarion explained. ¡°But I know what it looks like.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± Sierra seemed unconvinced, but she smiled nonetheless. ¡°How very¡­ you.¡± They sat together listening to the waves wash up against stone as Sierra¡¯s familiar completed her set up. Half the island was dotted with over two dozen instruments, most of them unfamiliar. There were the cellos, of course, but also smaller stringed variants, drums and wind instruments. Each was set carefully on a seat, awaiting an invisible player. ¡°Kotone if you could-¡± Sierra¡¯s familiar popped into existence one last time to hand over her cello and a freshly rosined bow. ¡°Thank you, dear.¡± The pieces in place, Sierra began to play, and the small stone island came alive. It began with a gentle back and forth, a few sweet notes played one after another. Then another came in heavier than the first. The strings sang, and the wind danced about his ears as the pace intensified. It was a mournful song, like so much of Sierra¡¯s music. It made him think of Elena and her injury and of Sierra and her dreams. He sat amidst the tension between artist and soldier, between woman and Vitrian. Her eyelids flickered as she played, her eyes tracing invisible strings of magic to her orchestra. She looked peaceful, all that embarrassment and tension drained from her body in the love of her craft. He needed to find that for himself. To find it and hold on. The orchestra wound down, soft notes fading into one another until only Sierra¡¯s strings remained. She struck a few notes, each long and sorrowful. And when she struck the last one, something odd happened. A bell rang out from the darkness of the open ocean. ¡°I really do like you,¡± Sierra whispered. Her voice was shaking. So were her hands. ¡°You are stupid and stubborn, but you are also kind, introspective and surprisingly thoughtful. You act out of instinct, but never out of malice. You are decisive, strong, and gentle. There are not a lot of men like you.¡± ¡°Sierra¡­ what is going on?¡± ¡°If you were¡­ if things were different. I think I could fall for you. Maybe I already did. Maybe that is why I am shaking like a leaf.¡± The girl laughed, a giddy noise almost on the verge of panic. ¡°They still can be better, just like you wanted. Just¡­ try not to be you. Just for a few minutes, okay? Please. Trust me.¡± ¡°Sier-¡± ¡°Do you trust me?¡± she interrupted. ¡°That I only want the best for you?¡± ¡°I¡­ I am not sure. Yes?¡± ¡°Then you need to stay here. Until it is over.¡± An explosion lit up the night sky as the far side of the curtain wall detonated. Overhead, a dome of magic glowed white in the midnight air, inscriptions pulsing with mana, then shattering as a second detonation followed. Then a third. Massive chunks of masonry, thrown free by the blast, rained down into the sea along with other debris. Sierra saw the look in his eyes and shook her head. ¡°No. Please. Do-¡± Bssht Alarion vanished, but to his surprise, he did not go far. He¡¯d intended to arrive in his chambers, close enough to reach Elena or ZEKE. Close enough to make a difference. Instead, he flickered a handful of feet away and found himself gripping the hilt of his greatsword in the bottom of Sierra¡¯s bag. ¡°Alarion!¡± she shouted as he ripped his hand free and started for the shoreline. When he said nothing, she swore and dragged her bow across her cello. The note was so high it stung, but it was the violent eruption of violet energy across his path that gave him pause. ¡°They will kill you if you go back,¡± she warned as she struck two discordant notes. The air wavered in front of her as two of her spectral minions took up a place between her and Alarion. ¡°And my father has ordered me to kill you if you try.¡± Chapter Ninety-Two ¡°What have you done?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°I hope I have saved your-¡± The tail end of her reply was drowned out by the fury of another explosion. This one dwarfed the previous detonations as it shattered the far side of the curtain wall. A second hemisphere of light glowed, flickered and then died under the assault. The last of the manor¡¯s magical defenses. ¡°The Imperator ordered this.¡± Sierra gestured at the devastation; her voice raised because of the ringing in her ears. ¡°He sent Ruin to do his dirty work. There is no stopping it.¡± Alarion¡¯s face went white as he looked to the manor. He¡¯d known little about the Vitrians before he¡¯d come into their care, but even Alarion had known about Ruin. His magic had turned the land around Ashad-Mundi into a desert and turned the city itself into the ruins they called ¡®The Old City¡¯. Ruin was a symbol of Vitrian military power, the tool they brought out when they wanted to destroy, not to subjugate. ¡°They are already gone.¡± Sierra said, as though reading his thoughts. She wore a pained expression. Pleading. ¡°And you will be too if you leave.¡± ¡°You lied to them.¡± Her chin tilted up as a flash of anger ran across her features. ¡°I did not lie. They did not ask me. I had no idea that this would happen until mere hours ago. Father wanted to take you from the continent after your induction. To give me deniability. But circumstances changed. He can protect me, and through him I can protect you.¡± ¡°What about them!?¡± Alarion shouted. Though the worst of the explosions had stopped, the sounds of combat filled the night air. The screams of dying men, the crack of thunder. The roar of flame and the clash of steel. ¡°Elena! ZEKE!¡± Sierra looked away, drew a breath, then met his eyes once again. When she spoke, the words sounded forced. They were the words of another spoken through her lips. ¡°We are all that matters.¡± Alarion turned to leave, and Sierra¡¯s instrument shrieked. Violet flame gouged a deep furrow in the rock in front of Alarion. He took a few steps, and the string cried out again. The flames were closer this time, close enough to drive him back a step with their heat. ¡°What happens if I go with you?¡± Alarion asked. He hadn¡¯t turned to look at her. He couldn¡¯t. ¡°Induction?¡± ¡°No. We will keep you hidden. Safe. You will want for nothing. My father can make you strong. Even better, like you said.¡± Slavery, then. They couched it in better terms, but he understood. He¡¯d be trading the House of Hunger for the House of Sorrow. They¡¯d pretend he died. They¡¯d make a weapon out of him. He wouldn¡¯t even have the pretense of a way out, there would be no end to his service. She knew it too. He could hear it in her voice. She might care for him, but Sierra had no more say with her father than Elena did with her husband. The massacre ahead of him was proof of that. He could dip his head and obey. He could accept the offer and find himself under another thumb, serving another master. But in that moment, Alarion felt he could see the future as clear as day. Someday they¡¯d send him. Someday he¡¯d be the one doing the massacre. He¡¯d rather die fighting. Alarion drew back his arm, then looked back over his shoulder at Sierra. ¡°I can¡¯t. Sorry.¡± ¡°Do not make me do this.¡± Alarion threw his weapon toward the keep, then flickered toward it. A boom of sound and energy assaulted him the moment his teleportation was complete. It struck him unawares and sent him hurtling back toward the outcrop. He hit the ground with a thud and rolled to recover. Then he felt pressure on his shoulders as invisible hands wrenched his arms back and shoved him face first into the stone. ¡°You need to stop. Before I accidentally hurt you,¡± Sierra said. Alarion¡¯s response came not with words, but a visceral scream of outrage and exertion. Her spectral soldiers were strong, and they had leverage. But he was stronger. Strong enough to slip a knee up to his hips, to brace against the moss and stone. He forced himself into a crouch before Sierra played a short string of notes and four more bodies piled on top of him. ¡°Stay. Down.¡± The girl squatted down in front of him, and he could see the fear. The uncertainty. ¡°Just a few more minutes. Then it will be over. There is no reason for this. No reason to fight.¡± ¡°W-why?¡± Alarion asked. It was difficult to breathe with so many spectral bodies pushing down on him. ¡°What did they do?¡± ¡°I do not even know.¡± It was hard to tell if Sierra was laughing or sobbing as she made that admission. ¡°They might have signed their warrant when they failed to report the city we found. Or they might have done it the moment they took you in. It could be as simple as house politics. The House of Hunger might want to be rid of the, or the Imperator might have a grudge. The lockdown makes a good excuse to wipe out a troublesome branch family. And if no one survives, there is no one to point the finger and no need to lie.¡± If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. The hypocrisy was too much. The Vitrians would murder the household, from the Governor down to the lowest porter. They¡¯d do it in secret, a vile betrayal of their own people. But lying was where they drew the line? ¡°The Imperator wants you dead among the rest, but father is the one who holds Ruin¡¯s leash. That is why you are safe, so long as you are with me. Now stay down.¡± Alarion looked up at her and drew in a ragged breath. ¡°I won¡¯t take your orders.¡± Bssht One moment he was pinned beneath a pile of specters, the next he lay a few feet away, staring up at the night sky. His hand, wrapped around his greatsword''s hilt, remained pinned beneath the pile, but he freed it with a sharp tug. Just in time to parry Sierra¡¯s descending fist. ¡°Stop!¡± She shouted, her anxiety giving way to anger. She scrambled to get atop him, to pin him down until her minions could assist, but he was stronger. He was stronger. Sierra seemed as surprised as he was. The two hadn¡¯t sparred against one another since before he¡¯d entered the challenge dungeon, and she hadn¡¯t been privy to his status in at least as long. The advantage was slight, but he was stronger. He rolled to the side, forced a knee between their two bodies, and pushed. Her grip held for a second, long enough for one of her specters to join the fray, but he broke it all the same. With a grunt of effort, he shoved her back, pushed away her specter and finally got his feet beneath him. The specters didn¡¯t stand a chance against an armed and aware Alarion. Though they were invisible, the strands of their mana were clear as day in Alarion¡¯s [Introverted Mana Sense]. He carved through two of them like they were butter, each fragile form dissipating under a single swing from his greatsword. The fight was his. He had the advantage. Then he felt it. A sudden surge of power. And of understanding. He could feel the flow of combat like never before. He dipped back away from an attack, then darted in to punish his attacker. He swayed around outside the grasp of another, then cut it neatly in twain. His body knew when to attack and when to defend and it moved effortlessly from one to the other. Then a pulse of force sent him sprawling. He¡¯d lost track of Sierra, and she¡¯d punished him for it. ¡°I am warning you.¡± Sierra said with false bravado. She stood safe behind her orchestra now, a small army of shades between the two of them, her magic at her fingertips. Her face was stern but there were cracks in that harsh facade as she said, ¡°I am begging you.¡± Despite her pleading, it was Sierra¡¯s magic that broke their stalemate, a sonic boom that Alarion narrowly avoided. Even she knew that there was no peaceful solution. Magic blew away whole chunks of the outcrop as Alarion attacked her spectral orchestra. With his mace left behind in his room, Alarion was barred from his magic and forced to rely on more direct methods. He cut and stabbed, punched, kicked and even bit the mob as it assaulted him. They did their share of damage, but they were fast losing the exchange as Alarion dipped back into his flow state once more. Only Sierra¡¯s magic kept him honest. Pillars of violet flame, detonations of ear rending noise and directional waves of force kept her minions in the fight and Alarion at bay. Every time he gained an advantage she knocked him off balance, and every spell she cast seemed to summon a new body to ward him off. It just wasn¡¯t enough. He could kill faster than she could cast, and slowly but surely, he waded through the horde of specters until none remained. It was only then that she unsheathed a dagger. She struck him with a leaping knee from a full run with enough force to stagger him back even through a hastily thrown block. Her knife arced down from above, intercepted by the hilt of Alarion¡¯s sword. They struggled against one another for a split second before she dropped the knife, punched him twice in the midsection, and drew another. He was stronger, but she was still much faster. She peppered him with shallow blows, always aiming for his limbs, for his joints and shoulders. She passed up one serious, perhaps lethal opportunity, but made it clear that she¡¯d done so as she left a shallow gouge in his chest. The battle seemed to be in her favor. Until he struck her. It was a minor slip on her part. She¡¯d over-committed to an attack that Alarion had prepared for. He slid back in the face of her onslaught, and when the moment was right, he countered with one. Directly into her kidney. ¡°Agh!¡± Sierra cried as she collapsed to one knee, her hands clinging to her side. It had been a solid punch, but nothing special. He hadn¡¯t used [Lucky Strike] or hit her with his blade, but it revealed the truth all the same. He was stronger, she was faster, but he dwarfed her in endurance. For the first time, Sierra realized she could lose this fight. When she came up, there was no more handicap. No more holding back. She hummed as she fought, assaulting him with weaker versions of her previous spells as she pressured him with her knife. Her fighting style was orthodox and frustrating, focused on the application of consistent pressure. She didn¡¯t let him breathe or retaliate. There was no push and pull. Just push and push and push. The damage was adding up. His defenses couldn¡¯t be everywhere at once. Not like her knife. He had to play to his strengths. Sierra went low, and he went high. Her knife caught him in the abdomen as his elbow caught her in the temple. She staggered to the side and came up swinging, another knife cutting a deep line through the cartilage of his nose, just below his eyes. He hit her again, and she fell. He was on top of her, the flat of his greatsword pinned against her throat. ¡°K-kotone!¡± She gasped. ¡°Yes Miss! Yes Mi-¡± Alarion struck the familiar out of the air with the back of his hand, then screamed as Sierra twisted the knife in his gut. He lashed out with his fist and cracked the stone beside her head as she struggled beneath him. Ice-blue eyes stared up at him. Terrified. Angry. Desperate. Grieving. She pulled the dagger free, then stabbed him again. He retaliated. This time, he didn¡¯t miss. There was silence. No more spells. No more steel. Even the battle for the manor seemed to have subsided. Waves lapped at the shore and the moon had dipped, the perfect sphere almost level with the water. It was serene. The peace at odds with the horrible things that had occurred that night. Alarion stared blankly at the notification at the center of his field of view. He understood the words, but they made no sense.
You have slain [Human ¨C UCL 62] ¨C Bonus Experience earned for slaying an opponent above your UCL.
Chapter Ninety-Three Alarion wasn¡¯t sure how long he knelt on the island with Sierra¡¯s body. Hours, perhaps? The dark of night had yet to abate, so it couldn¡¯t have been days. Despite how long it felt. He wondered if he¡¯d died. Maybe her blade had killed him after all? Perhaps this was all there was after death. An empty twilight. And pain. His wounds were excruciating. Sierra had pushed his HP well into the negatives and the backlash had been the worst he¡¯d ever felt. Part of him wished he was dead. Part of him worried it would all be for nothing. That his wounds would claim him. He¡¯d die next to her on a lonely rock in the middle of the sea. Should he have just gone with her? Would it have been better to kill himself? Should he still do it? ¡°There you are!¡± The voice rang out from high above, from someone standing on the edge of the curtain wall. Alarion looked up in time to see the man hurtling down from that perch, his boots shattering stone as he landed next to Alarion. The man had leapt four stories and seemed totally unphased, as though he¡¯d only hopped from one step to the next. It was Ruin. Of that Alarion was certain. The man gave off an air of dominance in everything from his posture to his size. He was massive, easily seven feet tall, his shoulders twice the width of Alarion¡¯s body. He wore exquisite armor of an unfamiliar make. It looked like ceramic, like fine porcelain of white and gold, but the scorch mark on the left side of his breastplate told a story of its durability. The body suit he wore beneath was powder blue fabric that moved seamlessly with each shift of his weight, while a crimson loincloth hung from his belt for simple aesthetics. His mask was a golden, faceless thing. Flat topped and severe, the two front halves met at a sharp angle down the midline of his face. Gold gave way to ruby where they met, a single glowing line that gave the impression of a solitary, judgemental eye. Despite the all concealing nature of the mask, it did nothing to deaden the man¡¯s voice as he spoke. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking for you. You¡¯re the boy, yes? Two thirty-eight?¡± Alarion looked up at the man and swallowed hard. Death stared inexorably down at him and Alarion knew he wanted to live. Pity he would never get the chance. His greatsword flew true, striking the center of the giant¡¯s helmet at full size without so much as moving his head. Then Alarion shifted. At least, he tried to. He¡¯d moved. Alarion felt the pull of the weapon, the flicker of spatial distortion. He¡¯d teleported to his dagger, but somehow, he was back where he started. And Ruin was holding his weapon, turning it over in his hand. ¡°That is a powerful trick for someone of your rank,¡± Ruin chuckled. ¡°Reality and void magic with a strong sympathetic link¡­ I¡¯m not even sure this would have a range limitation. Where did you get it?¡± Alarion didn¡¯t answer. Instead, he tried to stand with one of Sierra¡¯s knives held tightly in his grip. ¡°Stop. You¡¯re barely alive as it is.¡± Ruin gestured with a blue gloved hand and Alarion felt his body go rigid. He struggled against the sudden intrusion of foreign magic, but felt his control lost in the grip of the man¡¯s spell. He forced Alarion back to the ground, held him there, then tossed the weapon at his feet. ¡°You should name it. Names strengthen sympathetic ties.¡± Alarion glared up at the man, then gasped as Ruin took even the small defiance of a dirty look from him. He wasn¡¯t pushing down on Alarion with mana the way Lal Viren had done. No, he was controlling Alarion¡¯s muscles with such finesse that he could alter his expression on a whim. ¡°I¡¯m confused, though. I was told to collect you and the girl, but I find you wounded and her nowhere to be-¡± Ruin stopped mid-sentence as he finally looked beyond the boy in front of him. Alarion had little resources and even little energy, but he¡¯d moved her body away from all the blood and covered it with a blanket from her pack. ¡°Is that¡­ you killed the old man¡¯s daughter?¡± Alarion waited for the death blow. Instead, he heard laughter. Ruin was laughing like a man possessed, as though he¡¯d heard the punchline to the universe itself. He doubled over with a hand over his belly and another on his knee, cackling with mirth as Alarion watched impotently. Eventually, the man¡¯s breathing grew ragged, and he reached for his helm. He touched something behind his ear and the faceplate opened a few inches, just enough for him to take it off and let it fall to the ground. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The man beneath was nothing like Alarion had expected. He had short, curly brown hair, wide eyebrows and an aquiline nose. He wore the ghost of a goatee with a small scar just below his lower lip and looked for all the world like a farmer¡¯s son. Albeit one writ especially large. ¡°I cannot believe you¡­ that you¡­¡° Ruin gasped as he finally struggled toward some form of composure. His words caused a short remission as he laughed again, but eventually he tapered off enough to speak. ¡°¡­ Mothers, the old man will be shattered. Are you out of your mind?¡± ¡°Just do it.¡± Alarion answered. ¡°Do what exactly?¡± he punctuated the question with a few more chuckles and held Alarion¡¯s lips closed with his magic to prevent him from answering the rhetorical question. ¡°I was told that you were to be left alive if you were with the girl. You are with the girl, so my mission is complete.¡± The large man dug into a small compartment on his hip guard and produced a flask. He tossed it to Alarion and released control, then frowned when the boy started to rise once more. ¡°Mmm, you are a feisty one two-thirty-eight. Drink.¡± It wasn¡¯t a request. When Alarion did not comply, Ruin forced him to drink the potion. The potion was like nothing Alarion had ever experienced, its potency a world apart from those he¡¯d taken previously. Vitality ran hot down his throat, it flooded out from his stomach to his limbs, his organs. New status notifications joined the unread pile at the corner of his view, indicating the extent of the healing. ¡°You objected to being forcibly recruited, I take it?¡± The man asked as he moved over to Sierra¡¯s body. He knelt and gently pulled the blanket back from her face. His nose wrinkled and some of the humor was gone from his expression as he covered Sierra once again. ¡°A good decision. I should know. If I let you go, are you going to stop trying to attack me?¡± Alarion frowned but nodded. ¡°Good. Anything with precision is exhausting for me. I¡¯m more of an area of effect sort of guy. But if I used my skills more broadly, you¡¯d stroke out. Or get turned into a fine paste.¡± Alarion stood as the magic faded, then bent to retrieve his greatsword. He gripped the hilt tightly as it shrunk down to its miniature size. Then he said, ¡°Echo.¡± ¡°Echo, hmm? Can¡¯t say I would have picked that, but then no one would ever accuse me of being creative. I didn¡¯t even come up with my title.¡± A sword shimmered into being in Ruin¡¯s hand. It was a foreign style, with a long straight back and a single curved edge that ran all the way down past the rope bound grip. ¡°They call this Flourishing Nation. I call it third after I broke the first two. Fortunately, sympathetic ties don¡¯t require a good name.¡± ¡°Are they all dead?¡± Alarion asked, looking past Ruin. With the casual way the man spoke it had been easy to forget what he¡¯d done. ¡°The cost of ambition.¡± Ruin replied absently. ¡°If it is any consolation, they died quickly. Only the Governor put up much of a fight.¡± The thought of Dar dead brought the hint of a smile unbidden to Alarion¡¯s lips. Then the reality of the loss struck him. He hated Dar, but he didn¡¯t want him dead. And Elena¡­ ZEKE¡­ Sierra. Tears stung his eyes, and he blinked them away. ¡°What now?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Now you pack your bags and wait for the Judicator to take you for service.¡± Alarion looked at the tall man incredulously. ¡°Is there something on my face?¡± Ruin asked, genuinely brushing at his cheek. ¡°They will kill me! They just tried!¡± ¡°No, they won¡¯t. Not openly.¡± ¡°What makes you-¡± ¡°Because I am Ruin.¡± he answered with sudden intensity. ¡°I am an army unto myself. I am a Godslayer of the Sixth Rank. Who would dare risk my anger?¡± ¡°Why protect me?¡± asked Alarion. Ruin¡¯s posture softened as his eyes flicked toward Sierra¡¯s body. ¡°You were close, aye?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Then I am sorry for what happened before. For laughing.¡± Ruin dipped his head in contrition before he continued, ¡°But the fact is, her death is a great boon to me. Keeping you alive is a thumb in Syrus¡¯ eye, and I can not pass up such an opportunity. Were she alive, I would be duty bound to return you to him, but now¡­do you understand what it means to have a patron?¡± Alarion shook his head. ¡°Patronage is an old Vitrian custom, predating the empire. The Houses are built on patronage, with most branches being both patron and client to others within the same House. In our case, I would be your patron, and you, my client. You receive protection from abuse both physical and legal, and the right to make requests of my person, wealth, and connections. Within reason. In exchange, you are obligated to assist me when asked. You¡¯d also be required to defend me when asked, but I think it is a little early for that.¡± ¡°All because I killed your master¡¯s daughter?¡± Alarion asked. The words felt disgusting in his mouth. ¡°And also because you are the only person I¡¯ve ever met with an aptitude higher than mine. I may be politically inept, but even I can count high enough to see your value,¡± Ruin answered without sugar coating his motivation. ¡°And he is not my master.¡± Alarion considered the offer, then asked. ¡°Am I bound to you forever?¡± ¡°Hardly. People respect the system, but it¡¯s informal. If you take advantage of me, others will look down on you. And of course, kill you if you haven¡¯t become strong enough to protect yourself. But I will have no direct hold over you.¡± It seemed too good to be true, and Alarion said as much. ¡°What is the catch?¡± ¡°That you are a client to the man who just slaughtered your adopted family?¡± The words made Alarion flinch, but he could respect the honesty. It was a transactional arrangement, but one that weighed steeply in his favor. Ruin could have made demands, he could have leveraged his position or threatened Alarion. But to look at Ruin made the reality clear. He was as direct as his would be client. Alarion looked back to Sierra¡¯s body. If he rejected the office, they¡¯d kill him. Then her death would be for nothing. ¡°What do I need to do?¡± Ruin smiled and extended his arm in the traditional Vitrian style. Alarion met him, the back of his wrist pressed against one as thick as his thigh. Magic flared, a short swirl of elaborate diagrams in white and gold. When he withdrew his hand, Alarion saw nothing. But when he peered toward it with his mana sense, he saw a Vitrian sigil marked into his flesh. ¡°Anyone who is likely to be a danger to you will recognize it, and I will make a proclamation on my return home that should reach most of the empire. I will not protect you against fiends or ruffians or beatings for insubordination, only those with power who would take your life. Do you understand?¡± ¡°Mm.¡± Alarion answered. ¡°I¡¯ll take the girl back to her father. Go collect your things.¡± Ruin stepped past him and stooped to collect Sierra¡¯s body as he added. ¡°And check the third floor.¡± Chapter Ninety-Four Ruin had lived up to his name. The Manor house had never felt like home, but it was still distressing to see it in such a state. Fire had consumed a quarter of the building, and structural damage littered the remaining areas. Pieces of the curtain wall had punched holes in the building from the outside and explosions from within had knocked out entire walls in their rush to escape. The attack had shattered every window, littering the courtyard with glass. And bodies. Alarion had never paid much attention to the staff. They were always there in the background, fulfilling their duties without complaint. Almost invisible. He saw them now. The soldier that had argued with Sierra, and the man who had laughed at the argument. The ones who¡¯d been pacing the halls. There was the cook who tried to get away and the maids that had tried to hide. The sight made Alarion sick to his stomach. It made him wonder about the sort of person who had just become his patron, but the more he looked, the more he realized that Ruin hadn¡¯t been responsible for most of the killing. The violence was too sloppy. These were battles between peers or butchers attacking civilians. The ¡®one-man army¡¯ had let others do most of the dirty work of combat after he¡¯d broken down the defenses. Did that make it better? Or worse? Was he even in a position to judge, given what he¡¯d done? Sierra had implied that her father had Ruin on a leash, but Alarion couldn¡¯t imagine what it took to bring such a power to heel. The attackers had lost at least a few of their own in the battle. There were pools of blood with no bodies, and broken blades where no combat seemed to have occurred. It appealed to a certain tribal part of his mind, of us vs. them, but he knew that was wrong. Any man who¡¯d died in the attack was as much a tool as the ones they were killing. They were all Vitrians. Countrymen. People. Killed over something as petty as politics. The route he took through the house was circuitous. The stairwell that would have previously taken him straight to his room had collapsed in the fire. He had to locate the servant stairs, and even those only took him to the second floor. He navigated around collapsed hallways and human remains until he arrived at his room to find it ransacked. They¡¯d searched for him here. Perhaps some of them had conflicting orders on what was to be done with him. Fortunately, nothing was missing, and he repacked his bag in minutes. Alarion looked at the bed. He thought of waking in it only hours before. How peaceful that had been. Then he thought of Sierra and the first, and only, time he¡¯d lied to her. His heart ached, and he turned away. He only had one thing left to do. He had to find a way to the third floor. The stairs were no help, and climbing the exterior of the building was an equal non-starter. Ruin¡¯s potion had healed the worst of his injuries, but it would take days to mend the internal injuries he¡¯d suffered as a result of the backlash from [Pig-Headed Resilience]. Not that he was an especially good climber to begin with. After nearly an hour of searching, he located a bedroom whose ceiling had partially collapsed. It was unstable and prone to give entirely at any moment, but it held just long enough for Alarion to use it as a ramp to ascend to the third floor. The devastation here was the worst of all. Entire sections of the building had collapsed, blocking the hallways and threatening the building¡¯s integrity. In some instances, he found workarounds, such as connecting doors between rooms that circumvented the blockades. Others he cleared by hand and in one case, he smashed straight through a wall with his mace. Through it all, one thought kept niggling at the back of his mind. Dar¡¯s office is on the third floor. With no other destination in mind, Alarion headed toward the office. Fifteen minutes later, he finally found what Ruin had hinted at. ¡°Y-young master. I am p-pleased to¡­ s-s-s-see you well.¡± ¡°ZEKE!¡± Alarion shouted as he smashed through a half-destroyed door to find his mentor on the other side. Or what remained of him. Something had blasted a crescent hole through the Steelborn¡¯s torso and the wall behind him, taking off one arm and everything south of the impact. Another attack had melted his already gruesome expression to near slag on the left side, destroying his eye lens and revealing broken mechanical sensors beneath. ZEKE didn¡¯t shift at Alarion¡¯s approach, not even to turn his head. ¡°You are alive!¡± Alarion said as he blinked back tears. ¡°I am still o-operable,¡± ZEKE agreed. ¡°Though my generator is critically damaged. I will be offline in a ma-matter of hours.¡± ¡°No¡­ we can-¡± ¡°It is alright-right-right.¡± ZEKE reassured him. ¡°I can be rehoused in a suitable Zephir Technologies Chassis, provided-ed-ed I am not offline for more than approximately sev-seventy-eight years.¡± If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Alarion laughed. ¡°I think I can manage that.¡± ¡°Do you still have the b-bracelet?¡± ¡°The what?¡± ¡°The one you found in the h-hidden c-city. The one that housed ¡®Alex¡¯.¡± Understanding flooded Alarion¡¯s face, and he quickly nodded before setting his pack down to fish through it. ¡°I do, but it is broken.¡± ¡°Broken things can be re-re-repaired.¡± ZEKE said patiently. ¡°The g-governor did not permit me to examine it, but¡­ y-yes. Yes. I should be able to i-interface with that.¡± Alarion held the item out to ZEKE as he asked, ¡°Do I just press it against your body?¡± ¡°No. Whatever t-t-technology your friend used was more advanced than what was u-used in my creation. You will have to ex-ex-extract my mental processing u-unit and insert it into the device. From there I should be able to-to-to make the connections.¡± ¡°How do I do that?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°You¡¯ll need to crack open my sk-skull. Carefully. And extract the crys-crys-crystalline object inside. It should be impossible to miss, though it is quite small. Sadly, my creators did not design me for refurbishment, so I have no access ports. Violence is our only option.¡± ¡°Will it hurt?¡± ¡°I imagine it w-will be excruciating if done im-im-improperly,¡± ZEKE answered truthfully. ¡°Place your weapon over my skull at the roughly one third mark. Stab down and then pry open. Please use your full power, as my endurance attribute is considerably higher than your strength.¡± The calm way that ZEKE described the procedure did nothing to assuage Alarion¡¯s nerves as he followed instructions. ¡°Lucky Strike,¡± he whispered. Then he stabbed. You have defeated [Steelborn ¨C UCL 714] ¨C Bonus Experience earned for defeating an opponent above your UCL. Significantly reduced experience earned because of opponent¡¯s survival. True to his word, the stone was easy to find. It was an irregular piece of quartz contained in a small mount deep in ZEKE¡¯s skull. It was odd to know that everything he knew of ZEKE could exist in such a small object, a crystal so small he nearly dropped it while lining it up with the bracelet¡¯s fractured panel. The moment he did, the stone sprung to life. Small tendrils of lilac energy arced off the stone, carving new patterns into the bracelet. Then the quartz shifted, spreading out to cover the channels it had dug into the device, until it was little more than a colored film atop the metal. ¡°ZEKE?¡± Alarion asked. There was no answer. Had he done something wrong? ¡°Ezekial? ZEKE?¡± ¡°I am here, young master.¡± Alarion gave a heavy sigh of relief. ¡°Are you okay?¡± ¡°I am¡­ adjusting. This environment is unusual.¡± ZEKE¡¯s voice sounded distant, distracted. ¡°There are¡­ tastes. Smells. It is overwhelming. I may need some time to adjust.¡± ¡°Alright.¡± Alarion would have preferred to bury ZEKE¡¯s body, but the machine dissuaded him from that the moment he started trying to drag it along with him. It was a shell, one he¡¯d abandoned. Alarion had bigger issues to deal with. ¡°Have you found Mistress Elena? Or mistress Sierra?¡± ZEKE asked. ¡°Sierra is¡­ she is gone.¡± Alarion¡¯s tone spoke for itself, and ZEKE knew enough not to pry. ¡°I have not found Elena.¡± ¡°The last I saw them; they were fighting by the Governor¡¯s office.¡± The office wasn¡¯t far from where he found ZEKE, but it still took the better part of half an hour of clearing and pathfinding before Alarion found them. They¡¯d died together. Elena was on the ground, her back to a wall. Something, some of Ruin¡¯s magic no doubt, had punched a hole clean through the Governor and into her. Dar had died on his feet, standing between the enemy and his wife. A scattering of magical impacts surrounded Dar in an almost perfect circle, showing where his magical defenses had weathered the brunt of more than one failed assault. He¡¯d died protecting her. ¡°Why were they here?¡± Alarion asked. ¡°Mistress Elena asked to meet. She was hoping to find some alternative to handing you over for induction. The Governor wasn¡¯t having it, of course. The argument went in circles until the attack. It is moot now, I suppose. I assume you intend to run?¡± Alarion knelt, closing Elena¡¯s eyes. He moved to leave, stopped, and turned back to provide Dar with the same courtesy. The journey back through the house provided ample time for Alarion to explain the night¡¯s events to ZEKE. The machine listened quietly as Alarion explained the battle with Sierra and seemed as perplexed as Alarion was by Ruin¡¯s behavior. By the time they reached the ground floor, ZEKE had turned the conversation back in a direction where he was most comfortable. ¡°Have you picked a class?¡± ¡°Sort of,¡± Alarion answered.
Unraveller [Exceptional](Rank I) Description: Able to see the ties that bind, the Unraveller manipulates the strings of magic to work their bidding in physical reality and divine the outcome of events. This class focuses primarily on skills and attributes related to arcane magic, with a special focus on sympathetic and fate-based magic. Requirements: Behold an act of True Prophecy. Basic spell-casting proficiency. Growths - STR ¨C +5 ¨C 40% | AGI ¨C +5 ¨C 40% | VIT - +5 ¨C 40% | INT ¨C +5 ¨C 60% | WIL ¨C +5 ¨C 60% | PER ¨C +5 = 60% | LUK ¨C +6 ¨C 50% Note: Due to the flaw [Single Minded] this class was automatically selected.
Ebb and Flow [Rare] Description: You have long understood a balance in the nature of combat, a push and pull an Ebb and Flow. By forming a sympathetic connection with your opponent, this understanding becomes more than a mental heuristic, benefiting those who ¡®go with the flow¡¯ and punishing those who do not. Requirements: Suffer from at least twenty-five conditions of Serious severity or higher. Type: Active Effects: While in use, channel a minor amount of MP and stamina. The user creates a slight sympathetic connection with all targets who engage in direct combat with user. For the duration of this active skill the user and all targets are subject to the condition [Ebb and Flow]. While under this condition the effectiveness of all offensive actions are increased up to a Moderate amount for thirty seconds while the effectiveness of all defensive actions are decreased by a slight amount for the same period. Then the effectiveness of all defensive actions are increased up to a Moderate amount for thirty seconds while the effectiveness of all offensive actions are decreased by a slight amount for the same period. The condition will continue to alternate between offense and defense until it is deactivated. This condition can be resisted by those with defenses against involuntary sympathetic links. Growths: LUK +8 Note: Due to the flaw [Single Minded] this skill was automatically selected.
The choices, involuntarily selected during the heat of battle with Sierra suited him just fine. More than fine, in the latter case. [Ebb and Flow] was a creation all his own, a formalization of how he¡¯d fought since all those months ago with the dragon. It had already carried him through a life-or-death situation, and he was sad to admit that it would not be the last. ¡°Young master?¡± ¡°Hmm?¡± Alarion said, snapping back to reality. ¡°I asked if you were alright.¡± Alarion squinted against the rising sun as they sat together on the shores of the Isle, watching a Vitrian ship approach. ¡°No.¡± he answered softly. ¡°But I think eventually I will be.¡±