《Advent of Dragonfire [A LitRPG Adventure]》 Chapter 1 - The Beginning In a corner of the world far removed from national conflicts and the burdens of swelled egos with equally swelled power, the slow dripping of the flagging rain competes in staccato against the buzz of marsh-loving insects. The rhythm of the rain beating against the sheet of corrugated metal above me drowns out everything, even my thoughts. I frown down at my work boots that I had spent the better part of an hour this morning polishing, but now were splashed with clay and mud. I slap my neck at the feeling of something with too many legs landing on me. Looking down the road, I see Brenda and Kaila still attached to the cart sitting resting in the rushes just off the road. In the cart they pull, a large canvas covers four open crates full of the week¡¯s pickings from my family¡¯s orchard. Six-foot tall razor grass blocks out everything other than the muddy wagon-road that runs off into the horizon in either direction. Sticking a hand out past my cover from the rain, I test the sprinkling water and, finding it hardly worth consideration, stand from my crouch. The mud of the road pulls at my boots as I trudge to where I had set Brenda and Kaila to harness. I pull out the metal rod I had stabbed into the ground and tied their leads to. The rain still sprinkles, but the blue summer dress I wear, embroidered with muted yellow flowers around the hem, is still clean enough to be presentable. ¡°I told you we didn¡¯t need an umbrella,¡± I say as I pat one of the ponies'' flanks. Two sets of eyes turn to stare blankly back at me. The ponies stamp their impatience as I climb back to the bench seat and take up the reins once more. ¡°Let¡¯s try to get this done before mom has a conniption.¡± The trip to the nondescript stretch of road to where the quartermaster has positioned his own carriage just off the edge of the road shouldn¡¯t have taken long. On most other days I would have driven the ponies through the rain in order to spend as little time as I could dealing with the muggy air and the insects it attracts. On any other day, the son of Lord Timmian, Helkin Timmian, would not be on an excursion through his father¡¯s lands. However, given that today the young lord was about, I refuse to show myself in front of the man looking anything close to a drowned rat. The thought of rats makes me check to make certain my orange mop of infernally curly hair adequately covered my ears. I hate my ears. ¡°Try and make me wear a poncho,¡± I mutter to myself as the quartermaster¡¯s wagon comes into view over a hill. Two other pony-drawn carts have parked themselves on the opposite side of the road to the Lord¡¯s covered wagon. I see Randoll and Tev still at work unloading their own carts as the quartermaster, Damious Gon, watches the men from beneath the canvas that covers his driver¡¯s bench. The two farmers finish their loading as I pull my own cart off the road in front of the quartermaster¡¯s wagon. The twin chargers of Lord Timmian look down upon Brenda and Kaila with dull, black eyes, dew still glistening on their impossibly white coats. Not to be intimidated, Brenda whinnies back at the lord¡¯s stallions as Kaila snaps her teeth at the air. ¡°Sir,¡± I say as way of greeting to the quartermaster still seated on the wagon¡¯s bench. Damious Gon casts his eyes sideways at me, seeming to only notice the long and noisy approach to his wagon when I deign to say anything to him. The man smiles kindly while he climbs down from his wagon-bench with slow, ponderous steps. His knee pops when he settles his weight onto impressively svelte, firefang leather boots. Seeing the mud of the road swallow up a good inch and a half of the man¡¯s beautiful black boots makes me wince. Damious Gon, an elven man in his later years, bows in the elegant manner only elves and celenials seem capable of and offers his hand up to me to help me down from the driver¡¯s bench. Damious Gon¡¯s bright copper-colored hair, typical of elves, is pulled into a knot behind his head, allowing his striking angular features to show their prominence. ¡°Ms. Devardem,¡± he says. ¡°Thank you?¡± I half ask, unable to stop it from becoming a question as I accept the man¡¯s outstretched hand. It is the first time he has ever used my last name. The casual speech Mr. Gon uses when he called me ¡°Charlene¡± was absent. I am still getting used to this whole, being respected by other people thing. When I let my own boots plop into the mud, I make certain not to ruin any of Mr. Gon¡¯s other clothes with a splash of muddy water. ¡°You are quite welcome young miss,¡± he says as he stands back and lead me around my own cart to where the cover over the cargo has been tied down. ¡°Believe it or not,¡± Mr. Gon continues as I begin to untie the knots that kept the cover tethered, ¡°this past week was the first time that I enjoyed one of your family¡¯s pears.¡± ¡°What?¡± I look up at the man, my knotwork momentarily forgotten. ¡°You¡¯ve never tried any of them?¡± ¡°No, Ms. Devardem. What I have come to procure belongs to Lord Timmian and his household. I am a strict adherent to my own role as his quartermaster and have not partaken until just recently. Lord Timmian loves your family¡¯s produce and often keeps it all to himself.¡± ¡°Really.¡± I finish my last knot and start to fan the wagon cover to bounce all the water over the side and onto the road. ¡°I never knew that.¡± ¡°It is true,¡± he assures. ¡°It was only in this past week that Lord Timmian offered one to me.¡± The man kisses his fingers as he pantomimes eating a pear. ¡°Pure bliss. Often, it has been that I have shunned pears, finding them either too stiff or too soft to truly enjoy. The ripeness of your family¡¯s pears, exquisite, perfectly textured, and the flavor, light and sweet. I can see why Lord Timmian has been buying them from your family¡¯s orchard for so long.¡± Whipping the cover fully aside to drape over the side of the cart, I reveal four large crates of pears: two of the blue Jamerix variety that are my favorite, one of the pink Softpears, and one of green Sweetkiss. I set my boot into the step of the sidebar of the cart and prepare to swing myself up when Mr. Gon stops me with a hand. ¡°Ms. Devardem,¡± he says. ¡°I will have my man do this unloading for you.¡± He gestures to Ruthas, sitting on his diver¡¯s bench fiddling with rolling a cigarette between his hard, calloused fingers. Ruthas looks up at Damious¡¯ harsh gesture and raises an eyebrow at the motion. I have known Ruthas since I first started delivering the weekly produce for my family when I turned thirteen, two years ago. Ruthas looks through his bushy brows at me, and I shrug in reply as I step back off the side of the cart. With a sigh, Ruthas stuffs his snuff back into his jacket pocket and climbs down from his driver¡¯s bench to begin his new, menial task. ¡°Thank you kindly, sir.¡± I know better than to refuse any kind of consideration the Lord¡¯s quartermaster shows me. Spotting a dirt clod sticking to my still dry summer dress I try to brush it aside with my hand, only to end up smearing it more than anything against my leg. ¡°It is of no problem at all,¡± Mr. Gon says as, at the rear of the cart, Ruthas leverages himself up with a grunt of effort. ¡°Lord Timmian wished to convey--¡± ¡°I had heard that Lord Helkin would be with you today,¡± I say, looking over the covered wagon in front of me that was entirely absent of any handsome lordlings. ¡°No longer I am afraid,¡± Mr. Gon says, picking up the changed tempo of conversation like the expert he is. ¡°Lord Helkin was accompanying me this morning. In fact, you missed him by less than half an hour. The young lord has taken such an interest in the lives of the little people recently, it is such an admirable trait to observe in a scion of the great house of Timmian. It is strange, this man is practically ennobled himself, but he has never spoken to me before with anything approaching this kind of formality. Less than a week ago and no one would have ever thought to consider me anything other than one of the ¡°little people.¡± Yet, here I am, this man of good breeding and upbringing in front of me, attempting to converse like I was anywhere near the same level as him. I am pretty certain that he is lying about not having ever eaten one of my family¡¯s pears before also. The placid reflection of kindness that seems to say ¡°Yes, you are almost a few rungs on the ladder below me,¡± that Damious wears fills me with greedy happiness. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. ¡°Lord Timmian wished for me to express his congratulations on your brother hitting the Fifth ranking,¡± Mr. Gon continues. ¡°Lord Timmian has heard about that then,¡± I say. I immediately recognize the foolishness of my own words. If Lord Timmian had not heard of my brother¡¯s recent climbs into the highest echelons of power, there would have been no chance that the well-respected man in front of me would have treated me as anything more than the painfully common stock I was. ¡°Of course he has.¡± The man leans down toward me, making me want to lean in to hear his whispered words. ¡°Between you and I, I always saw greatness in that boy. I told Lord Timmian and Lady Maranda when they were deciding on approving his permit for roaming rights that the boy had something about him that should be cultivated. I am glad that I was taken seriously at the time, and we managed to set Corinth on his way. Less than a decade later and the boy has become a man of renown and prestige. Lord Timmian is beside himself with having the honor of a fifth ranker come from among the lands he governs. I doubt any future petitions for roam will ever be denied your family in the future.¡± ¡°That is quite kind of his Lordship,¡± I say. ¡°Lord Timmian went on to say that he would love to host your family in the manor whenever your brother came back to visit his home for a while. I¡¯m certain that he must have acquired some exotic kinds of tastes in his travels.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I admit. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen Corinth since he left.¡± ¡°But he has sent packages back to your family has he not? A set of essentia for your parents and older brother, yes? I recall Lord Timmian¡¯s ritualist saying something about conducting ceremonies for them.¡± Though his expression had not changed, something in the man¡¯s tone, or perhaps the serpent shine behind his rimmed spectacles, makes me want to move away from him. ¡°He has,¡± I say. ¡°Does your brother Halford plan on becoming an adventurer as well?¡± Damious asks. ¡°If so, I am sure that Lord Timmian would love to meet him before he departs. I wouldn¡¯t bet against him hitting the fifth rank alongside Corinth. The boy has an incredible passion and drive doesn¡¯t he.¡± ¡°I suppose he does. I think that he plans on adventuring, though he doesn¡¯t talk to me about those kinds of things.¡± ¡°No trouble. No trouble at all. Tell me, young Ms. Devardem, have you given any consideration toward adventuring yourself? I sense that you still have not integrated any essentia as of yet, but I find myself wondering.¡± ¡°No, I am still without anything like that. That Mr. Jebas, you mentioned him, when he came around the house to do my parents¡¯ rituals, he tested me and said I was old enough, or my body is, or whatever it is you are supposed to say. Corinth didn¡¯t send me any essentia, not many fifteen-year-old girls can safely handle them, but I¡¯m sure he will soon. I¡¯ve thought about adventuring, but every time I think about the monsters you have to fight, I don¡¯t know, I just get a bit scared and--¡± ¡°It would appear that Ruthas has finished,¡± Damious says, cutting me off. I sense another shift in the man¡¯s mood at my mention of being scared of monsters. Damious Gon produces a pouch of coins from his belt and hands it to me. I open the drawstring of the pouch and immediately cinch it closed once again, afraid that my eyes told me the truth about the wealth inside. ¡°This is too much Mr. Gon. Far, far too much.¡± ¡°With the usual payment, Lord Timmian has bid me to add a celebratory twenty bronze coins in celebration of your brother¡¯s recent achievements.¡± ¡°If you¡¯re sure,¡± I say, holding the pouch tight to my chest. ¡°Quite certain,¡± Mr. Gon says smoothly.
A drizzle rears its bubbly head as I make it to the last quarter mile before my family¡¯s orchard. When I pull Brenda and Kaila to a halt in front of my home, I slip getting off the cart, and end up with a knee in the wet gravel of the family drive. I try to rub the dirt away from my knee and dress before I realize that I am still in the rain. I might have groaned and kicked the cart. I turn the ponies loose, knowing that they would wander their way into the rain shade the barn offered, before marching past the shiny, five-cooker grill that sat outside the front door. My father has yet to use the grill for anything other than bragging, but there is a plan to host half the county at a barbeque sometime in the next week. The door to the house shines with glistening new, blue paint, like the rest of the home, and swings wide on silent, freshly oiled hinges as I put my weight to it. Muttering to myself about the horrible, world-ending fact that I had put so much work into the morning to not see a hint of Helkin Timmian, I work at kicking off my boots onto the porch before I start to track mud into the house. ¡°No chance that it will rain anytime soon,¡± a high feminine voice says from the hall behind me. I groan again before turning to see my mother standing there in a tomato splattered apron over her overalls. It was still difficult to accept the woman standing in front of me as my own mother. Over the last week since Daela Devardem had absorbed the essentia that her wealthy, adventuring son had sent, the physical changes had been startling. Her complexion has cleared to a blemish free tan, the wrinkles that had begun to eat at the edges of her eyes have vanished, the wild bush of curly orange hair has smoothed to a flattering bounce and the color has deepened to something that could be mistaken for red. Though I stab to death the little piece of my mind that notices it every time, I think my mother¡¯s bust getting larger as well, perky even. I shudder internally and try to kill that noticing part of my brain all over again. Sometimes I wish I was less observant; far, far less. ¡°So, I was wrong,¡± I sigh. ¡°Mmhmm,¡± my mother intones. She cast her hand forward, and I feel power wash over me as all the water soaking through my clothes and hair is pushed away from me, falling into a puddle just outside of the still open door. ¡°More than twenty years before I found a way to finally stop you kids from tracking mud and water into the house.¡± ¡°You just wanted to show off that fancy new magic of yours,¡± I say. I try matting down my orange curls, which have become an even more confused mess--no success. ¡°Not untrue,¡± mom says, smirking. ¡°Speaking of magic, a package arrived for you from Corinth today.¡± I forget the chicken¡¯s nest of orange yarn on top of my head and rush to my mother, almost barreling into the woman as I squeeze to get past her and into the kitchen where I know such a package would be. She stops me with an outstretched hand. ¡°I have it here for you,¡± she says. Mom holds out her hand and with her fingers seems to pluck a palm-sized pyramid of gold out of the air. She turns it over in her fingers and watches on at her daughter¡¯s fascination, giggling to herself. ¡°Which one is it?¡± I ask. I reach out toward the pyramid, the essentia, but my mother holds it up and out of my reach. ¡°That is the interesting thing,¡± she says as I reach to snatch the golden pyramid away from her. ¡°Apparently this is a Gold Essentia. I¡¯ve never heard of such a thing. I thought it might have been one of those common essentia that don¡¯t see a lot of use, but no, Corinth said in his letter that it is actually quite rare. No idea what you would want with a gold essentia, digging up minerals maybe.¡± With a jump, and perhaps a tad of unladylike ribbing of my mother, I manage to grab ahold of the golden pyramid. The Gold Essentia buzzes in my hand as I hold it. I have no idea what someone might do with a Gold Essentia. Perhaps develop abilities to make things look golden, I like the color well enough. Maybe it will turn my hair golden like some of the more exotic elves. That possibility was worth anything if I could get it. ¡°What else?¡± I ask, a manic smile no doubt spreading on my lips. ¡°Did he send an Air Essentia? Maybe a Power Essentia, I¡¯ve heard that there was some nice abilities you can get from that. What will my conflux be? Avatar? Green Speaker?¡± ¡°Nothing else,¡± Mom says with a shrug. ¡°He sent along the required components for integrating an essentia but said that he has his eye on a specific set for you. He is keeping that a secret from me though, so I don¡¯t have any more info to give you.¡± My excitement drains away. I still feel the tingle of the Gold Essentia in my hands and that mollifies the let down somewhat. Every other member of the family has their four essentia. They have all attained the first rank. I looked up at my mother and let my eyes roam over the changes that attaining the first rank has gifted her, has gifted all the members of her family. My mom notices every time I stared at her new silky red hair with open envy, preening. I would give almost anything to get my hands on the remaining three essentia to reach the first rank myself and hopefully attain that beautiful hair. There certainly were no other changes--ones that I pointedly attempted to ignore--that I was secretly pining for as well. ¡°Aw, Sweetpea,¡± mom says, pulling me into a hug. ¡°There¡¯s no need for you to worry about getting a full rack of essentia just yet. Remember that even having one, even having one ability, is far more than most people can say. Won¡¯t be too long before Corinth finds those other ones he¡¯s after and sends them this way. There¡¯s no reason for you to rush it. What would you need those powers for anyway? You¡¯ve been picking pears just fine since you could walk.¡± I feel something wrong about those last words. A part of me is certain that I should get all the powers I can get my hands on. I have seen how much respect the people about the small town we live on the outskirts of have begun to pay me once news about my brother had spread. I see the way that they look at Halford now as he sets off on his own to face challenges that his new abilities finally allow him to. ¡°There has to be some kind of safe position on an adventuring team,¡± I mutter into mother¡¯s apron. Chapter 2 - Swamp and Snakes Dirt soaking into the back of my overcoat, I struggle against the mass of purple scales and teeth pressing down on me. I manage to catch the teeth of the boiling python on my quarterstaff as it leaps at me. I lay kicking and writhing in the mud, the only thing separating me from sharp, clamping teeth a piece of wood the width of my thumb. I hear the others around me, Halford¡¯s team, struggling with the real monster, the alpha boiling python that he has taken out a contract to excise. The snake pressing me into the mud of the swamp weighs over two-hundred pounds and its deep violet scales make it near invisible in the gloom of the early morning. I try to breathe, but the inhalation causes my strength to slip for the barest moment. The snake crashing down upon me juts forward before I stop it once more. The weight of the monster pushes me down into the mud, and foul-smelling water pours into the pit my body digs, washing over my face and stinging my eyes. I feel the monster thrash through the bog water that clouds my vision; the sting of its serrated teeth raking over my fingers makes me lose my breath. Water washes into my mouth, flooding my throat. Panic takes over me as I look up at green, slitted eyes made murky and more sinister through choking water and bubbles of life-saving air. The water pooling over me becomes cloudy with the violent coughs I choke out. My strength leaves me entirely. The boiling python crashes down on me, sinking its teeth into my collarbone. ¡°You were supposed to watch the rear!¡± I hear my brother shouting, the first sensation that lets me know I¡¯m not dead. The next sensation is a vomiting stream of bog water and stomach acid pumping out of me and into the blood-stained mud around me. Tears mix with the water on my face and specs of imaginary light dance in my vision as another convulsion overcomes me. A hand pats my back, and a stab of healing energy pours into me, painfully wringing my lungs like a dish rag, expelling the last of the water. I take my first, coughing breath. ¡°There, there,¡± Bali says as she rubs my back. The woman, the oldest of Halfin¡¯s team at twenty-two, wears a strained smile on her face as she kneels in the mud next to me. Bali¡¯s skin is the smooth complexion of sandstone, and curly chestnut hair frames her strong, aquiline features. Bali is an earthspeaker, one of the descendent races of Exeter¨Clike humans¨Cwhich were native to the far-off mountain range of Y¡¯ll¡¯atakan. The earthspeakers have a rocky complexion to their skin that leads to some backwater peoples thinking they are animated stone, like a golem. Bali¡¯s smiling face, like warm sandstone, belies the stress I read in the set of her shoulders. The patchy leather armor Bali wears is torn in several places; red spots from recent wounds stain the green, cloth robes she sports over the armor. ¡°Thank¡­you¡­¡± I manage to spit out between the dry heaving my stomach is intent to suffer. I wipe away the tears, spittle, and muddy water on my face with the cleanest part of my sleeve I can find, leaving a long streak of mud behind. I look down at myself, the traveler¡¯s armor--nothing more than a few strategically placed pads of leather over a colorful red and white blouse and pants--has ripped over my shoulder and is so thoroughly consumed by the mud I can¡¯t tell the colors anymore. ¡°Can you stand?¡± Bali asks. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s try.¡± Bali offers me her hand. With the assistance I just manage to make it to my feet in time to see my brother Halford deck his friend Kapin in the mouth, sending him splashing into the muddy water of the bog. Halford, older than me by three years at nineteen, sneers at Kapin, who is coming up from the watery puddle he has been knocked into, while sharp breaths shake his muscular shoulders with each inhale. Halford is a big man at nearly six and a half feet tall. Of all the Devardem children, he most takes after our father with his broad shoulders, prominent chin, and mane of shaggy blonde hair that refuses to ever be conquered. He wears no armor, never has, and the sturdy mix of colorful cloth he does wear is the cleanest out of the entire adventuring party. He stares Kapin down as he looms over him, but Kapin is no pushover and returns the glare with youthful defiance. Though not quite as big as Halford, Kapin still stands well over six foot when his boots aren¡¯t sinking into mud, and the reams of muscle around his arms and shoulders make it seem he might be able to wrestle a bear. The mop of brown hair on his head blends into the mud that covers him as he sits in the water. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Kapin says through gritted teeth. ¡°Do you think sorry cuts it!¡± Halford yells down at him. ¡°My sister almost died because you couldn¡¯t do your job correctly!¡± Halford points a long finger to where I struggle to keep my feet, leaning into Bali. ¡°Which is why you shouldn¡¯t bring her,¡± Kapin says as he climbs back to his feet, barely suppressed anger coating his words. ¡°She almost died to a rank zero monster. I have been telling you that she is more of a liability than anything.¡± He looks over to me and lets his eyes roam over my dirty and exhausted body. ¡°Sorry to say it Charlie, but it¡¯s true.¡± I can¡¯t find any words to say back. ¡°What did you say!¡± Halford takes a dangerous step forward. ¡°That¡¯s enough of that.¡± Jellian, an elven man whose alabaster features and platinum blonde hair clashed horribly with the filth coating him and the sturdy ring-mail he wears, steps between the two and raises his hands. Unlike most of the elven men whom I have met in my life, Jellian chooses to wear a beard, which, of course, is immaculate--the platinum blonde of his hair bleeding to a metallic silver on his chin. The man¡¯s red eyes, housed in a face as sharp as a sword, never seem to cease in their darting about, but when they do, and when they concentrate on me, I find it hard to breathe. ¡°Your battle fevers are still hot. Both of you. Any kind of productive conversation will need to wait until well after we have returned to the hostel and washed ourselves of this filth.¡± Halford thumbs his nose over Jellian¡¯s head but turns and snatches the extravagant longsword he left standing in the mud. As he flips the sword up out of the mud, a simple hand gesture from Halford causes the blade to disappear in a wash of golden embers that vanish into the acrid air. Halford makes certain to kick the carcass of the alpha boiling python, a bisected purple snake whose sheer size puts to shame the one I had been struggling with in the mud. Remembering the snake, I look around, seeing several of the rank zero monsters laying dead in the mud about us--cut to ribbons or violently burned. I run my fingers across my collarbone where the snake had dug its teeth into my skin, finding skin where there should have been a bloody wound. I look to Bali, who gives my shoulders a squeeze. ¡°How are you, Charlie?¡± Halford asks as he trudges over to me. ¡°Not good,¡± I reply, trying to smile but failing to do a convincing job. ¡°You up to doing a little bit of work?¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m here for.¡± I sigh, the thought of the truth in that rings a depressing chord through my spirit. A year ago, when our eldest brother Corinth sent sets of essentia to our family to raise at least our parents and Halford to the first magical rank, Halford had gone ahead and taken those three essentia and sold them in the nearest city, Vale. With the money he procured from that he had bought himself his own set of essentia that he chose to pick out rather than have our brother make the decision. Halford chose the Power, Swift, and Blade Essentia to integrate into his soul, which led to his manifesting the Avatar Conflux as a result. Unlike the essentia, the palm-sized pyramids of condensed and attributed magic, that our brother Corinth had sent, none of the essentia that Halford ended up choosing were particularly rare or expensive: comparatively expensive at least, one would still easily pay for a house and a lease on a small spot of land anywhere in Lord Timmian¡¯s domain. With the leftover coin he had purchased essentia for his best friend, Kapin: Fire, Forge and Power, which had left him with the Magma Conflux. With the last of the coin that still remained, the pair had purchased the most basic components of an adventurer¡¯s kit and set their sights on forming an adventuring party of their own, something they had dreamed of doing for years since Corinth first set off on his own journey through the ranks of the magical professionals. Rank one, the most basic tier that separates normal people from those endowed with awesome magical abilities, could be attained by anyone who undertook the ritual to integrate three of any essentia into their souls. As a result, a fourth essentia will manifest a confluence of the first three that represents the most powerful and truthful aspects of the soul. As the name might imply, rank one magicians gained one magical power attributed to each of the essentia they have taken in. For instance, the power Halford has attained from his Power Essentia is an extreme passive increase of the man¡¯s strength, which allows him to swing around his massive sword as if it weighed no more than a feather. The abilities that manifested are different for each person. Unlike Halford, the power that manifested from Kapin¡¯s Power Essentia allows him to increase his durability to something that approaches the hardness of stone for brief periods of time. There are other benefits of attaining even the first rank of magical potency, such as a refinement of the body toward a more idealized form. The magical folk are a very fit and good-looking bunch. Rank one also increases a magician¡¯s constitution, protecting them from most diseases, and even increasing their longevity. From what I have heard, the magicians of the higher ranks like my brother Corinth are basically perfect, beautiful beings that can live for hundreds or even thousands of years. After the letter that had delivered my own Gold Essentia, Corinth never wrote to the family again. With the man having roamed continents away over the span of his career, getting any news about what had happened to him is all but impossible. For an entire year I stewed, waiting to hear any news of my eldest brother, and though I secretly hated myself for it, waiting for the day that I would have been delivered a full suite of essentia so that I could join the vaunted magical community. That letter has never come, and I am still stuck at zero rank, essentially no different from an average person. I kneel in front of the beheaded corpse of the alpha boiling python and run my fingers over the smooth black scales. I look down the length of the creature, at least twenty feet of coiled muscle on the land and who knows how much more resting beneath the water of the bog. The potential of magic vibrates through my fingers, and I trigger the magic of my only ability. The corpse of the snake dissolves into a cloud of pink light that rises into the air, converging to create four distinct motes of fluffy pink energy which spin for a moment. The pink clouds smell exactly like the Sweetpears I picked off the trees back home, and solidify, shooting at my head. I raise my hands, trying to catch the objects that the pink smoke transformed into even as they hurtle at me like projectiles. The easiest to catch is a heavy pile of folded leather, the black scales of the alpha boiling python, clean of any mud and wrapped into twenty-pound bundles with heavy twine. A paper wrapped package of python meat crashes into the parcel of snake leather I hold in my arms, and surprising myself, I manage to catch it. Out of the corner of my eyes, a wicked and elongated fang spins over itself as it flies through the air at my head. I yelp and wince as the snake fang soars at me, closing my eyes against the inevitable impact. Something hard and pointy bounces off my skull. ¡°Tits and honey,¡± I swear, rubbing the spot on my forehead where I had been hit. I open my eyes to see Halford standing there, the deadly serpent fang clasped between his fingers, its flight having been arrested just before hitting me. Glancing down for whatever had hit me in the head, I spy a shimmering light peeking out of the mud at my feet. Unloading the leather and snake meat package I held on Halford, I bend down and pull the glowing object out of the mud. ¡°It¡¯s an essentia,¡± I marvel as I hold up the mud-covered pyramid to catch the orange light of the rising sun. I manage to scrape off some of the mud that covers the condensed magic in my hand and turn it over in my fingers, lost in a trance at the green light that the essentia gives off. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. ¡°It sure is,¡± Kapin says as he moves to pluck the essentia out of my fingers. I bring it close to my chest and held it tight. ¡°Don¡¯t you have other things that you need to take care of first?¡± Halford says as he bends down and picks another tied bundle of black snake leather up from the mud. In the divot through the mud that marks where the body of the snake had once been, bundles of snake leather, snake meat, and even a few bulging coin pouches are set out at even intervals. The one power that my Gold Essentia has gifted to me when I integrated it into my soul is the ability to break down dead monsters into usable parts. As I understand it, monsters are innately magical creatures, formed out of the ambient magic that permeates the world. That allows my power to disassemble them after they die and the ego that animated them fades. It is not a wholly unique power, but it was one that adventuring parties covet for its ability to extract lingering magic out of the corpses of dead monsters, sometimes converting it into usable magic items. Where the coin purses that always seemed to accompany any use of the power come from, I didn¡¯t know, perhaps it is a quirk of the Gold Essentia. Over the course of the past four months since Halford convinced me to tag along with his young group of green adventurers, I have transformed the bodies of dozens of monsters into magical and mundane components. As I stare at the shining essentia that I hold, I realize that it was the first time one has ever come from my power. Perhaps that has something to do with the fact that the alpha boiling python had been a rank one monster. ¡°That will fetch a fair bit of coin,¡± Halford says, looking at the essentia I hold. ¡°Yeah¡­¡± ¡°We could use that right about now with this contest that¡¯s coming up. After this job it¡¯s clear that we all could use some better armor. Jellian¡¯s dagger couldn¡¯t even scratch the big snake. Looks like it¡¯s about time to upgrade his and Bali¡¯s weapons to something magical.¡± Halford looks to the puddle of mud and water where I had been pressed on by the boiling python. The quarterstaff that I had used more as a walking stick than any real weapon jutted out of the water at odd angles. ¡°I¡¯m not diving in there,¡± Kapin says from the edge of the water where the party¡¯s small island of mud meets the larger bog. Where the tail of the alpha python had disappeared into the water several bundles of black leather float at the surface. ¡°What about everything down there that doesn¡¯t float?¡± Bali asks, stepping up next to Kapin. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want to eat any of the meat down there if there is any. Don¡¯t suppose you would want to eat boggy meat either.¡± ¡°I was thinking more about the potential for there to be a purse of coin down at the bottom.¡± Kapin grunts his reply. ¡°The longer we wait the more likely it is to sink into the mud and be lost forever,¡± Bali says. ¡°You go and get it then.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t swim.¡± ¡°Bullshit, you swam yesterday when we had to skip between those two islands,¡± Kapin says. ¡°No. No I didn¡¯t.¡± Bali looks around and catches sight of Jellian scrounging around in the mud, searching for something. ¡°I think that Jellian might need my medical attention,¡± she says. ¡°Good luck with your treasure hunting.¡± She jogs off, her boots spraying spurts of mud as she makes her way over to Jellian. Kapin looks over to where me and Halford stand looking on. ¡°I still have to break down the rest of these monsters,¡± I say, turning to search for a snake corpse. ¡°I can¡¯t swim either,¡± Halford says as he turns and starts carrying the bundles of snake meat and leather toward a copse of long-rooted bog trees where the party¡¯s packs have been discarded before the battle. ¡°You don¡¯t lie to me, Halford Devardem. I¡¯ve known you since before you could even toddle in a straight line!¡± Kapin shouts at his friend. ¡°Everyone has to have their shortcomings, even me,¡± Halford flashes his friend a smile comprised of perfectly white and almost luminescent teeth. ¡°Perhaps mine is that I can¡¯t swim, at least today anyway.¡± Kapin turns away from Halford and spits into the mud. He grumbles something under his breath and stares at the acrid water that laps at the muddy shore. With a groan he trudges into the water. ¡°Better be a lot of coin.¡± By the time the party makes it in sight of the road each and every one of us are dragging our feet through peaty detritus. We stop for a moment before leaving the cover of the trees, dropping our bulging packs in the driest place we can find, and one at a time, following Bali over behind a large bush where the woman invokes her water essentia to drown us in enough lukewarm water to get most of the filth off. I can tell among the party who had been too shy to strip down for their own shower from the earthspeaker woman; I certainly hadn¡¯t been, I much more enjoy the creeping chill that comes along with a drowning torrent of water to the itchiness of bog mud rubbing into my skin beneath the heavier patches of hard leather. The rays of sunlight that began working on drying out the party when we finally climb up a slope to the road feels like the warmth of heaven. The only one who doesn¡¯t seem to enjoy the sun¡¯s drying rays was Bali, who keeps her head wrapped in a linen bonnet. ¡°Have you counted it yet?¡± I ask, sidling up to my brother as the party marches down the road back toward Westgrove. ¡°Not yet,¡± Halford says. He readjusts the double pack he wears on his back that holds more than half of the party¡¯s supplies and loot, eliciting a clinking sound from the topmost one. ¡°It has to be a lot though. I looked through a few of the pouches before packing them up, thinking that it might be a good idea to sort the copper and bronze from the iron. You won¡¯t believe it until you see for yourself, but we found a few silvers in some of the coin pouches you disenchanted the alpha boiling python into.¡± ¡°Silver!¡± The word almost knocks me off my feet. ¡°That¡¯s insane.¡± ¡°Do you remember how much this contract was for?¡± Halford asks. ¡°No.¡± I answer my brother¡¯s smug smile by pushing him and opening a side pouch on one of the packs he is hauling. I pull free a folded piece of paper and open it to reveal the job contract Halford has managed get ahold of. ¡°Cow-killer monsters have infested a swampy area that borders several ranches owned and operated by the Novisk family North of Westgrove. Reward of fifteen silver has been offered for proof of culling the monsters. Rank One.¡± ¡°Fifteen silver,¡± Halford repeats. ¡°Never had money like that before. Well, maybe between me selling off those essentia and getting the correct ones. Add to that the at least five silver that I found in those pouches, and we are looking at maybe finally getting kitted out more than a bunch of hicks from the backwoods.¡± ¡°Halford, we are hicks from the backwoods.¡± Halford frowns and adjusts the pack on his back once more. Together the packs weigh more than two of me put together, but with the strength granted by Halford¡¯s Power Essentia it is a trivial burden. ¡°I won¡¯t be for much longer.¡± I lapse into silence as I walk next to my brother. The huge man has a determination in his eyes as he stares ahead that I can¡¯t help but admire. I can barely remember our eldest brother anymore, he left home when I was still so little, but I always imagine that he and Halford have the same eyes. The road South toward Westgrove winds through the soft rise and fall of the hills that make up most of the land in the far southwest of the Kingdom of Gale. I breath in air that smells of dirt and grass, letting the tension that had been building in my shoulders melt away. A man in a wagon pulled by a shaggy-haired pony passes our group going the other way. He idles off the road for a while, talking with Bali, and trades them a few loaves of bread and a jam made from oranges for a handful of copper pennies. ¡°Speaking of essentia,¡± I say, licking the last bits of orange jam off my fingers. ¡°Speaking of essentia?¡± Halford repeats. ¡°Earlier, we were talking about them.¡± ¡°Earlier, as in three hours ago I think I mentioned them,¡± Halford says as he wraps some bread in a checkered napkin to stow away. ¡°Right. Since we were talking about them, I thought that I might want to try out that one that we found,¡± I say as nonchalantly as I can manage. Halford stops dead in his tracks and looks back at me. ¡°Try out? The green-glowing one that you disenchanted from the alpha snake, the one that Jellian identified as being the Snake Essentia; that one?¡± ¡°Yeah, that one. I was thinking that I might want to go ahead and integrate that one. It looked way different from the Gold Essentia that Corinth sent me. That one didn¡¯t glow at all. I do like green a lot.¡± ¡°Charlene, you don¡¯t want a Snake Essentia. Integrating essentia is the kind of choice that you can never take back. It is a really big deal which essentia you end up bonding with your soul, your very soul Charlene. Besides, who knows what kind of power you might awaken with a Snake Essentia. I know the powers that people awaken are specific to them and individualized, but I can¡¯t imagine a snake power being anything flattering. I once saw a man who had taken in the Rat Essentia and it had given him a prehensile tail that was six feet long. Animal based essentia do that sometimes, change your body. You don¡¯t want to end up with a forked tongue or something.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I say. ¡°I think that might be interesting. Think how fancy I would look if I got a few snake scales here and there and if those mixed with my gold essentia somehow and were golden.¡± ¡°You want snake scales?¡± ¡°Just a few, like maybe around the eyes and hands. I bet Halli Mason would just spit if I came around shiny like a horse in new shoes.¡± Halford shakes his head and fails to keep himself from laughing. ¡°You haven¡¯t really given me a reason for it. The best way to use essentia is to align them with what you want to do in life. Mostly, the powers that come are made for fighting or defending yourself, but you only need to look at Dad to see how useful they could be if chosen carefully. How many more rows of trees did he manage to plant this last summer? Sixteen?¡± ¡°I think that¡¯s right,¡± I admit. ¡°You see, that is how valuable these powers are. Just by having the bare-bone abilities attained at rank one he will out compete all of the other farmers in Lord Tammian¡¯s territory by a wide margin. Corinth finally remembered that he had a family and sent enough coin to tide the family over for a few years, but the essentia he sent were worth all of that and more. He specifically selected the essentia he sent dad to give him the Green Conflux. Say what you will about him, but Corinth at least cared enough to do that.¡± ¡°Never said anything against him,¡± I say. ¡°That¡¯s all you.¡± ¡°Well¡­either way. Wait for him to send the other two.¡± ¡°Weren¡¯t you the one that convinced mom to let you go off to be an adventurer because we haven''t heard from him in over a year now? She only agreed because she thought you might be able to get more information about him if you joined some big guild.¡± ¡°No one let me do anything,¡± Halford says. ¡°I was always going to be an adventurer. Unlike Corinth, I¡¯ll make sure to help our family out with whatever coin I can make.¡± ¡°Also,¡± I go on, ¡°you sold the ones he sent you. If you think that it¡¯s so important for me to wait for whatever Corinth has in mind for me then how come you went off and sold them?¡± Halford snorts. ¡°That¡¯s because Corinth wants me to be a farmer. Of course, he still thought of me as some kid who wanted to take over the orchard from dad when he grew up. He couldn¡¯t have sent me the right ones, because he didn¡¯t know me.¡± ¡°Not to mention that you wanted to get your friend all powered up too,¡± I say under my breath. ¡°Yeah, I did want to do that. Me and Kapin know what we want. Wasn¡¯t going to leave him behind when I went off to make something important of myself.¡± ¡°Yet it¡¯s a bad idea for me to do the same thing now all of a sudden?¡± ¡°The difference between Kapin, me, and you, is that me and Kapin know what we want to make of our lives. We were always going to forge our own way, with our own strength. We¡¯ve known what essentia we wanted since we were twelve. Spent enough time in the Westgrove library to pick them out. What is it that you want to do with yourself, Charlene? Can you answer that?¡± I glance away down the road. A sign that announces a fork in the road that will bring us to Westgrove in the next few hours hangs loose, swaying in the breeze, all but a single nail having come loose. I wind a lock of my springy orange hair around my finger. ¡°No,¡± I finally say. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It¡¯s not the kind of thing I think about a lot.¡± ¡°You¡¯re seventeen now, Charlene. It¡¯s long past time that you figured out what you are going to do with yourself. If you don¡¯t want to do anything more than sit around the family house as dad starts to make himself wealthy off the luxury of pear trees, then that is fine. You¡¯ll likely be in real pretty dresses soon, I know mom wants to get herself a shiny new house, maybe built on the hill overlooking the orchards. If that is what you want to do though, you should definitely wait for Corinth to send the rest of whatever he has cooked up for you. He started with a Gold Essentia, must be something special.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± I say, scuffing my boot in the dirt of the road. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡± ¡°Good.¡± ¡°Just don¡¯t go selling that essentia until I have some time to think it over. Even if you do think a Snake Essentia is weird.¡± ¡°I think all the animal essentia are weird, except maybe eagle.¡± ¡°Alright. Well, even if you think it¡¯s weird, can you promise me that you won¡¯t get rid of it for a few days at least.¡± I tried to put an arm around my brother, but barely managed to touch his far shoulder. He laughs again and returned the hug. ¡°Sure thing.¡± Chapter 3 - Westgrove Westgrove is the epitome of the provincial township. Located on the sloping banks of the river Fane, its cobblestones streets often change into bridges that connect the town to each side of the river which gently streams through it from north to south. No wall surrounds the exterior of the town and most of the trade in and out comes not through the wide river dock Westgrove sported on its southern side, but through a continuous drip of farmer¡¯s wagons and vehicles bearing construction equipment from the nearby limestone quarriers. Heading into the town, Halford leads us through the bustle of the noonday farmer¡¯s market and, begrudgingly, allows time for a stop so that Bali might peruse various magical instruments which she does not yet have the money to purchase. As we continue east through the town, the stalls in the open-air market change to tidy storefronts, the wealthiest of which can afford glass to display their wares behind. Westgrove exists as the only town within a hundred miles where one might be able to find clothing made from the flesh of magical beasts or tools infused with condensed magic that make them exceptionally good at carrying out their given task. Once, when I had first arrived in Westgrove and became enamored with the idea of magical tools, I had taken a simple looking gardening trowel and used it to pry up a cemented cobblestone out on the street as easily as scooping up a slice of applejack pie. The idea of magical armor does not so much interest me as the idea of magical clothing in its own right. I was dismayed to discover that even though Westgrove was the largest gathering of people I have ever experienced, it is not wealthy enough that the tailors of the town can afford such extravagant materials to create them. The only reason that there existed magical armor to be had is due to the existence of a small arm of the Adventuring Administration of Gale. Ostensibly, administering the various components of the large-scale infrastructure that is required to oversee the adventuring profession: discovering monsters, facilitating and regulating the trade of magical goods, and keeping track of essentia bearing citizens of Gale, is something that falls under the complete authority of the King. With the addition of international adventuring guilds vying for the attention of prospective adventurers and seeking to leverage influence into power, the Adventuring Administration is a much more nuanced and complicated environment. In the reach of Westgrove and the surrounding lands that it¡¯s Adventuring Administration had claims jurisdiction and responsibility for, there are only a handful of third rank individuals and only a single fourth rank. This fourth ranker is the object of attention for every young adventuring team, our team being no different. ¡°What should we get?¡± Bali asks as she skips out of a small boutique which specializes in the creation of magical wands. ¡°We have enough now to be picky.¡± ¡°That won¡¯t stop me from hunting for a deal,¡± Halford says, nodding down the street and expecting the group to follow after him. ¡°Best to stock up on the important items. We haven¡¯t heard the outline of this competition yet, but I think it would be safe to expect that the only missions we might be given along with it would be for the disposal of rank one monsters and greater.¡± ¡°Not too many of those,¡± Kapin says. ¡°Might be first come first served.¡± ¡°So¡­horses?¡± I venture. ¡°Might be worth it,¡± Halford agrees. As he continues walking his eyes flick back and forth in concentration. ¡°We have enough for a full complement of horses. Best if we merely rented them for the duration. Even with that we should be able to purchase adequate supplies, though adequate is only a guess when considering a fight with an unknown monster.¡± ¡°Rank one monsters rarely have any abilities other than being big and strong,¡± Bali says. ¡°That boiling python also had poison,¡± Kapin says. ¡°Good thing you all took my advice and avoided being bitten then,¡± Bali says. She looks at me and winces. ¡°Well, almost all of you.¡± I open my mouth to respond, but Halford holds up a hand to cut off my reply. ¡°Considering that it was our first rank one monster, and also considering that it had a nest of lesser pythons along with it when we attacked, I would consider our mission a roaring success. It¡¯s good that we discovered this before the contest Arabella Willian is running begins in earnest.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the fourth ranker¡¯s name?¡± Kapin asks. ¡°I thought that was still a secret or something. No one seems to know anything about them beyond the notice being posted in the job hall. ¡®The Willian Guild has taken an interest in the young adventurers of this town and is seeking to recruit members from the area. Rank one adventurers are encouraged to take place in a contest of skill, discernment, and strength that will be held in the area. Top competitors will be awarded handsomely for their participation, and there may even be the opportunity to join our prestigious order.¡¯ I¡¯m guessing that this woman¡¯s name being Arabella Willian is important somehow.¡± ¡°You would guess right,¡± Halford says. ¡°Important how?¡± I ask. ¡°The Willian Guild has branches in all the major territories of the continent. The person who I got the name from didn¡¯t have much for me beyond the fact that the offer of great rewards is very real, and that all due respect should be given to their representative.¡± ¡°I¡¯d respect her anyway,¡± Kapin says. ¡°Reaching fourth rank¡­now that is really something.¡± ¡°It is,¡± Halford says. ¡°We would do well to keep that in mind. Don¡¯t want to get punted through a wall if we can afford it.¡± ¡°She wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± I say. ¡°Would she?¡± Halford is about to answer when Bali speaks up. ¡°Where did Jellian go?¡± We stop in the middle of the street to look around, spying the man nowhere. ¡°Sneaky bastard,¡± Kapin swears. Bali turns a baleful look on the man. ¡°What. It¡¯s not because he is an elf! He is literally sneaky!¡± Halford sighs and shakes his head. ¡°Hopefully he is at the adventuring hall. If not, we can find him after we get paid for this contract.¡± Off the main road, past the municipal building where the Westgrove judge and mayor, both the same man, busies himself with the bureaucratic duties of administering the town¡¯s affairs, a three-story building of gray bright and peeling green paint stands as the hub for adventurers in Westgrove. Juxtaposed against the stately office of the mayor and head judiciary, a practical wooden complex which devours a good portion of the local tax dollar to maintain its impeccable facade, the building claimed by the Adventuring Administration of Gale, looks more akin to the busy storehouses found on Westgrove¡¯s wharf district on the southern end of the town. The flow of grizzled and exhausted looking men and women shuffling in and out of the place only lends to its odd characterization, and when some group in time long forgotten began to call it the Warehouse, the name stuck. Halford unslings the packs from his back as he nears the door before holding it open for a group of three men with as much age as dark bags under their eyes. I watch in quiet amusement with Bali as my brother and Kapin enact a strange dance to get the overfull packs through the front door rather than taking the time to walk around the back where much wider loading doors always stand open. The front room of the Warehouse often confuses first-timers when they came in, looking more like a dockside bar with a perpetual sprinkling of beer and sweat in the air. Entering, dozens of eyes turned to the door, their hesitant excitement turning to disappointment as they see just who was coming in. Halford grunts as he hefts the bags back over his shoulder once again, putting on an act, and leads the group over to a half-empty table on the eastern wall of the Warehouse. ¡°Full house tonight,¡± Bali says as she tosses her things down and sits in the chair with a stretch and a groan. ¡°Tonight?¡± Kapin asks. ¡°Whatever,¡± Bali says. ¡°There really are a lot of people,¡± I agree. Looking around the bar lounge of the Warehouse I spot several people that I recognize and many more that I don¡¯t. I have spent enough time in Westgrove that I have gotten a pretty good handle on things, but the sheer mass of adventurers tossing their reward money back to the adventuring administration for a few pints of beer is more than I have ever seen in the place before. I have no real concept of how many adventurers there are in the region, and I doubt anyone has ever stopped to count, but looking around the bar then, I count more than a hundred at least. Most are about mine or Halfords age, late teens or early twenties, and have paired off into bunches that allow for an easy tally of how many adventuring parties are in attendance. ¡°I told you that this competition was a big deal,¡± Halford says. He sets the bags against a wall, slapping Kapin¡¯s hand away as he reaches to open one. ¡°I guess you were right,¡± Kapin says as he massages the back of his red hand. ¡°Isn¡¯t that Tamis Grove?¡± He points to a woman sitting three tables away talking to a pair of men that look more like bodyguards than companions. ¡°Oh yeah,¡± Bali says when she sees the woman. Bali turns to me and says, ¡°This was before your brother went back to your apple farm and grabbed you to drag through swamps and dank caves.¡± ¡°Pear orchard,¡± Halford corrects. ¡°That¡¯s what I said,¡± Bali says. ¡°Anyway, one of the first contracts we were given was a cooperative between three parties; we were hunting a big cat that was on fire. We found it first, of course, and Kapin had the thing in this bear hug trying to crush the life out of it when this woman, Tamis over there, appears out of a flash of light and stabs it in the neck with a dagger. The admins said that since technically she got the kill, her group would receive the kill reward for the contract.¡± ¡°And one of her hangers-on disenchanted the fire cat,¡± Kapin complains. ¡°His ability made a dagger that can catch on fire with it. She still has the damned thing.¡± ¡°That just means we have to pay her back when this competition starts,¡± Halford says. He finishes his digging through one of the packs and retrieves a parcel of bound python leather. ¡°This should qualify as proof of completion.¡± ¡°Or that snake fang,¡± Bali says. ¡°Did that snake even have fangs like that?¡± I ask. ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± Halford says. ¡°It¡¯s your power, so you would know how it works better than anyone else.¡± He stands, Bali and Kapin rising along with him. I almost join them before I remember and relax back into my seat. Given that I am not of the first rank with only one essentia to my name, I do not meet the minimum requirements for acceptance into the adventurer¡¯s association, and non-members are restricted to sitting around in the front lounge while all of the important and real operational business happens in the back. I blow out a long breath and start looking around for Cindra who was usually on duty tending to the front of house customers during the day. ¡°We won¡¯t be long,¡± Halford says. ¡°We will be back in a few minutes, split up the loot, and try to see if we can¡¯t get everything we want in the market before sundown. The job notice just said that the competition starts sometime in the morning, so I want to get up as early as we can manage for tomorrow.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know about you, but I am going to sleep as much as possible,¡± I say as Kapin and Bali start their walk to the far door that leads into the back of the Warehouse. ¡°I think that I will need to soak in a bath for a while to fully get rid of all the muck.¡± ¡°I plan for us to get plenty of sleep tonight,¡± Halford says, grinning. ¡°Thanks to you and that ability of yours we can afford two of the nicer rooms at the Charging Bull. I think we can afford to spend at least a silver to celebrate our victory today.¡± My eyes boggle. ¡°A whole silver? I thought you wanted to spend the money on kit. You¡¯re always talking about how important it is to get outfitted. Maybe now you can actually afford to wear some armor instead of fighting monsters in just a shirt.¡± ¡°Bali and Kapin have first priority for armor,¡± Halford says with a shrug. ¡°There is no shortage of things that would be useful to us, but what is the point of becoming an adventurer if we don¡¯t take the time to enjoy it?¡± He set his huge hand on my shoulder. ¡°We killed a dangerous monster today, and you helped. Who knows what that thing would have gotten up to if it was allowed to keep roaming about and eating livestock. The money is nice, don¡¯t get me wrong about that, I love the money, but I think us clearing our first rank one contract deserves a little bit of self-congratulations. Do you have anything you would like to eat tonight?¡± ¡°Anything sweet and syrupy,¡± I answer. ¡°You got it.¡± He turns to stride over to where his friends wait for him at the back of the bar. ¡°Look after the stuff,¡± he calls back over his shoulder. ¡°Sure.¡±
¡°Still in back,¡± Jellian says as he takes a seat at the table across from me. I look up from my finished plate of seared river eel and bread. I have never taken the time to get to know Jellian all that well, I find the elven man a bit stand-offish. Jellian drops a bundle covered in black canvas onto the ground near his seat and motions for Cindra to bring a mug of beer over to the table. ¡°I¡¯m sure they will be out soon,¡± I reply as I hand my empty plate to Cindra. The brunette woman gives me the same smile that she employs for every adventurer that comes into the Warehouse, even those who seem made of rudeness. ¡°Sure,¡± Jellian says. He motions with his fingers toward someone I hadn¡¯t seen, standing behind me. A tall man walks to our lonely table, accompanied by the clink of metal greaves across the hardwood of the Warehouses'' floor and the smell of an exotic flower that I can¡¯t place. All elves smell like flowers to me and I am not alone in noticing. It has something to do with their innate magic, part of what sets them apart from the other descendant races of Exeter. Of everything, the natural poise, the unageing beauty, the guaranteed talent of a master in some area of skill, I envy that scent the most of elven gifts. I know there are things which humans have as an advantage from the great ancestor: increased ability to recover from grievous injuries, the ability to bond weapons, and great endurance. That smell, I would trade it all away for that. ¡°This is my nephew, Kendon Kori,¡± Jellian says. ¡°Ken, this is Charlene Devardem.¡± ¡°Nephew?¡± I look askance at Jellian. I had thought the man couldn¡¯t have been even into his thirties, but then again, I always have difficulty judging age with elves. ¡°I have several older siblings,¡± Jellian explains, smirking at my obvious confusion. ¡°My family affairs can be a bit¡­complicated.¡± ¡°It is a pleasure to meet you,¡± Kendon says, offering me a slight bow before he pulls a chair away and takes a seat next to his uncle. When I look for it, I can spot the family resemblance. Though Kendon¡¯s hair is a metallic copper whereas Jellian¡¯s own is a platinum blonde that only hints at the metal sheen most elven hair possesses; even though Kendon is a large and muscular man--for an elf at least--and Jellian is slight, both men share stark angular cheekbones and red, piercing eyes. I inspect the man¡¯s dress. Typical of an adventurer, he wears armor that sports several scrapes, dents, and hints at sharp objects raking across metal. Unlike many adventurers, Kendon wears a full outfit of heavy armor; strong layers of linen and leather bound over the arms and legs, hidden beneath a steel breastplate and gauntlets that extended up to his elbows. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°The pleasure is mine, I¡¯m sure.¡± I return the slight bow. ¡°I was hoping that Halford would have finished turning in the contract by now so that I could apologize for leaving like that. When I noticed that Kendon was in the town I needed to go and greet him before I could conduct any business. He will be competing in this competition against us tomorrow apparently. He fills the guardian role for his team.¡± ¡°I would say that I am more of a Shieldbreaker,¡± Kendon says. ¡°You can be both,¡± Jellian allows with a shrug. The terminology that adventurers like to bandy about often passes me by. The roles which different people fill in an adventuring party however, is something that I have been able to pick up over the few months of following my brother around. Guardians are typically what people who wear heavy armor and focus on maintaining the attention of monsters are called. There exists certain powers that allow some people to be able to withstand a staggering amount of damage without going down. Shieldbreakers on the other hand are almost the exact opposite; their powers allow them to focus on overcoming an enemy¡¯s defenses and to even help their team pour on the damage. ¡°Are you first rank as well?¡± I ask. ¡°I¡¯d have to be. This competition is open only to first rankers,¡± Kendon says. ¡°I know my uncle specializes in scouting. Where do you fall in with your team, if you don¡¯t mind my asking? I¡¯ve been told that your older brother is the leader of the team, and I¡¯ve heard curious things about the man.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not actually on the team,¡± I mutter into the mug of fruit juice in front of me. ¡°I haven''t completed my set of essentia.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Kendon says with a raised eyebrow. ¡°She is more like a support follower,¡± Jellian says, stepping in. ¡°Though she isn¡¯t a full member of the party or the adventurer¡¯s association, the single power she does have proves quite valuable. It is a disenchanting ability.¡± Kendon¡¯s eyebrows rise even further at that. ¡°That is quite rare to have,¡± he says. ¡°Especially if it is the only ability you have. My team has been looking for someone with an ability like that for a while.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not all that impressive,¡± I say. ¡°All I can really do is clean up after Halford¡¯s team. I am like a janitor.¡± ¡°A useful janitor,¡± Jellian says. ¡°It¡¯s nice of you to say so.¡± ¡°With an ability like that in your team¡¯s complement, your team will be well prepared for this upcoming competition I¡¯d guess,¡± Kendon says. ¡°It looks like I was right to assume the competition would be fierce.¡± ¡°Your preparations for whatever we are about to undertake must be considerable as well,¡± Jellian says. ¡°They are,¡± Kendon says, smirking as he rises from his chair. ¡°Not that I am going to divulge any of them to you on the eve of the contest.¡± ¡°You shame me. Implying that I may be trying to leverage an advantage over my own family,¡± Jellian says, feigning injury. ¡°I would shame my mother more if I directly went against her advice and underestimated your competitiveness,¡± Kendon says. ¡°It has been a genuine pleasure to make your acquaintance Charlene, perhaps we shall meet again out in the field.¡± ¡°If it comes to that,¡± I say, ¡°I hope that you will go easy on me.¡± ¡°You, of course,¡± Kendon bows. ¡°Your brother and his party, never.¡± I feel a genuine smile pull at my lips as I incline my head toward the muscular, elven man. ¡°It was a pleasure making an acquaintance of one of Jellian¡¯s relatives,¡± I say. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking before you go, which of you two is older?¡± Both men share a mischievous glance, but keep their lips sealed on the subject.
¡°Come on glowbug, time to get up.¡± The insistent shaking on my shoulder drags me kicking and screaming out of the sweet bliss of sleep. ¡°You¡¯re not my mother,¡± I murmur as I roll away from Bali. Out the window of the room in the hostel where the group has been staying for the last five weeks, a curtain of bluing night announces its lack of sunlight. ¡°What time is it.¡± I let my eyes close and start to drift back out. ¡°Don¡¯t make me dump water on you,¡± Bali says. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t.¡± I, with the stubbornness of a mule, curl my legs tight to my chest underneath the woolen blanket. A drip of water splashes against my cheek, and my eyes shoot open. Bali stands over me, hand outstretched over my face. ¡°Fine!¡± I shout, kicking the blanket off. Bali grins wickedly as she returns to her own bed in the small living space we have been sharing. No, that isn¡¯t right. I blink and rub the crumbs of sleep from my eyes as I look around at the room illuminated by a lantern resting on the table between us. The room I woke up in was much larger than I remembered, a chest of drawers and two trunks sits against the north wall and an ajar door leads to a small bathing area at the back of the room. ¡°What?¡± I ask as I plant naked feet on cool floorboards. ¡°Wait. That¡¯s right. We rented new rooms.¡± ¡°You must really have been tired,¡± Bali says as she uses a comb to loosen the tangles in her hair that have formed overnight. ¡°I still am,¡± I say, yawning and stretching the tingling from my arms. ¡°I thought we were getting up at sunrise.¡± ¡°No,¡± Bali corrects. ¡°Your brother wants to leave at sunrise. That means that as soon as the sun is up, he will be knocking on our door, expecting us to be kitted up in five minutes and on our way.¡± ¡°I guess that¡¯s fair.¡± I bend to grab a large jug of water set beneath the table next to my bed. I pour myself a drink as I watch Bali retrieve a sealed container from her bag. Bali opens it and dips her hand inside, coating her fingers in the beige oil that she keeps with her at all times before she runs her hands through the frizz of her hair to conquer it, at least a little bit. ¡°I think I had too much wine last night,¡± I say. I finish gulping down my water and start digging through the trunks for my clothes. ¡°Where I¡¯m from, you wouldn¡¯t be allowed to drink wine at all,¡± Bali remarks. ¡°Unless you were married of course.¡± Bali applies a great deal of the oil to the frizz of her hair, weighing down the auburn curls and giving herself the appearance of someone who has just come out of the bath. The one time I had asked Bali to try the hair oil I just ended up just looking like a damp twelve-year-old. ¡°Then it¡¯s a good thing we are here then.¡± I find the new change of clothes I had purchased the day before with my pittance of the group¡¯s pay from the last job. They are nice, a practical and thick cotton blouse dyed sky-blue and a new set of leather trousers that don¡¯t smell of marsh water and snake blood. ¡°Did we keep any food?¡± ¡°We have field rations,¡± Bali says. I return her a flat look. ¡°There might also be some fruit in my trunk. Don¡¯t think I bought any jerky last night. I was hoping that there would be enough time this morning to buy fresh food.¡± ¡°From the way Halford was carrying on,¡± I say as I flip the lid on the trunk that holds Bali¡¯s belongings, ¡°we shouldn¡¯t expect too much time before whatever happens, happens.¡± A ceramic bowl rests atop neatly stacked pieces of hard leather inside the trunk. I pluck a plum from the bowl and savor the sour-sweet taste of the fruit as I take ravenous bites. Bali appears at my shoulder, her long, slender arm reaching past me to grab a sweetpear, which she tosses onto her bed. I move aside as the woman starts to unpack her gear from the trunk, tossing the pieces of hard leather and straps onto the floor as she digs for some underclothes. I relax back into a half-snooze on my bed while I watch Bali put on a matching set of tough blue clothes before she begins strapping on vambraces, leather leg-guards, and a set of shoulder guards. She takes the hickory-brown leather vest she bought the evening before back to her bed and begins applying oil to its surface. Of all the pieces of armor that Bali had bought on their shopping spree the day before, only the vest holds any kind of enchantment on it. I vaguely recall that it was nearly as impenetrable as steel and would slowly repair itself over time. It doesn¡¯t look all that impressive, the pieces that did were all well out of our price range, but there was a sturdy utility to it that I admire, especially once it had been oiled up a little. ¡°Will you help me get this on?¡± Bali asks as she slips the armor piece around her chest. ¡°Mmmnnnh,¡± I reply through closed eyelids. ¡°If you¡¯re like that then I¡¯ll leave you to get that breastplate on all by yourself.¡± With an exhausted sigh, I lever myself up from the bed. Bali raises her arm to allow me access to the multiple straps on her side. I cinch them tight and try to shake the vest when I am done, finding it snug on the sandstone woman. ¡°Your turn,¡± Bali says. Looking out the window, the dark expanse of the sky has changed to a navy blue and near the horizon threatens to announce the rising sun. I sigh once more as I kick open my trunk with my foot and pull out the steel breastplate I had bought with the team the day before. It is not enchanted like some of the things that the actual adventures bought, but a solid steel will stop most things from getting at my soft and vital bits. It would have stopped the boiling python. The brass embellishments that rivet the piece of armor with straight, smooth lines was the deciding factor in my decision to spend the majority of my savings on it. Bali helps me fit it in place. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Bali asks once she had made certain the piece of armor is securely in place. Bali bends into the trunk, pushing aside my pack and boots, and lifts out a small crossbow, the bolt quiver hanging limply off of it. ¡°I thought that it might be a good idea to get one,¡± I say, snatching the weapon away from Bali. ¡°Do you know how to use a crossbow?¡± ¡°What¡¯s to know. Point it at the thing you want to shoot and pull the trigger,¡± I say. I untangle the quiver of the crossbow from the weapon itself and start affixing it to my left thigh. ¡°I think that there is a bit more to it than that,¡± Bali says. ¡°Jacob showed me how to load it,¡± I say, I fiddle with the leg straps, unable to find a tightness that was both not too uncomfortable while also feeling like the whole thing won¡¯t start sliding down my leg if I run. ¡°Jacob?¡± ¡°The man who runs the fletcher¡¯s shop,¡± I reply. ¡°He introduced himself to you and Jellian yesterday.¡± ¡°I¡¯m awful with names,¡± Bali says. She tilts her head as the sound of movement in the next room begin to rapidly pound through the floor. ¡°Looks like the boys are up.¡± ¡°I guess we get to wait on them today,¡± I say. I hang the crossbow from a hook on my belt and hold up her arms. ¡°Do I look like an adventurer today?¡± ¡°Actually,¡± Bali says, ¡°if I didn¡¯t know any better, I would say that you do.¡± ¡°That was almost a compliment.¡± ¡°Come on,¡± the tall earthspeaker woman says as she slings an arm over my shoulders, ¡°Let¡¯s see if there is anything downstairs to eat before Halford and Kapin can get to it.¡± ¡°They do have a bit of a problem sharing food,¡± I say. ¡°A bit of a problem!¡± Bali explodes into laughter as she opens the door to the room and ushers me toward the stairs. ¡°A bit of a problem.¡±
Dawn at the Warehouse is odd. The team is still wiping sleep from our eyes as we trudge through the town toward the adventurer administration building. Inside, all of my suspicions that my brother might be blowing this competition out of proportion fade away as we find twelve other teams of first rankers sitting around in the front room of the Warehouse. A chorus of yawns passes through the assembled every few minutes, followed by muttering conversations, and the sound of sipping sparktea. ¡°I hate this,¡± Kapin says, thumping half of his bread loaf against the wooden table, it sounds more as if he were beating the table with an iron bar than food. ¡°Then maybe you should have woken up early enough to get breakfast,¡± Bali says. ¡°You snake,¡± Kapin mutters as he snaps an end off his bread. ¡°Here you, big baby.¡± Halford says, tossing Kapin a handful of cheddar. ¡°Why can¡¯t you ever take care of your own meals?¡± ¡°Why should I have to?¡± ¡°I think it¡¯s starting,¡± I say. The others at the table go quiet and turn to me. Around the room there is a general quieting as one-by-one the other tables of young adventurers taste the changing mood in the air--there are eighteen groups in all by now. I sense something before anyone at my table has caught on, but when a powerful spiritual force presses into the room from the hallway I am deaf to it. I watch as each of the adventurers nearest the hall tense, like water has been poured over their back, followed by the adventurers further away, like a wave of tension racing to me and over me, unfelt. ¡°This is a fourth ranker,¡± Bali says. I watch mist puff out with each of Bali¡¯s breaths and a shiver shake her. Eyes huge, she watches the door. ¡°Yes,¡± Halford says, a manic smile spreading over his face. ¡°This must be it.¡± I notice my own breath freezing in the air in front of me, but my body does not feel the least bit of a chill. I blow air into my hand, feeling the sticky-warm condensation wetting my palm. The door opens. A pale, delicate hand pulls wide the door to reveal a woman¡¯s silhouette in shadow beyond. As she steps into the room, I realize that I might be experiencing a part of what the first rankers around me do for the first time. A vision of perfected beauty glides into the common room. Hair as blue and clear as the sky floats about her in long waves of an almost luminescent light, blowing in a summer breeze only she knows. Eyes, violet and dangerous, peek out from an alabaster face that has never known the touch of the world, while rose lips smirk at the frozen audience of young men and women before her. She wears a dress that flows like mercury, a shifting play of interwoven scales of metal that cannot decide their place. Her slender fingers move with the dexterity of a goddess, rolling a ball of translucent, purple light about her hand. This is Arabella Willian, and she is ageless. I want what she has. As if the wave that had run through the assembled teams of adventurers flows backward with the tide, the tension and shivering leave them. The breath from my own mouth fails to puff into mist, and I note the same was true of those around me. ¡°Good morning,¡± Arabella says, and though the woman does not raise her voice, no one fails to hear her. She approaches a stage raised two steps off of the ground floor--usually reserved for local musicians. ¡°I had not really intended to begin until around noon, but seeing as how you young people could not help but come this early, I thought that we might as well get down to business. ¡°I am Arabella Willian, and I have the great pleasure to announce the Willian Guild¡¯s interest in the first rankers of this territory. You may be far from the major cities, and the monsters and villains this far out may be limited, but we no longer feel that the people of these rural lands should be. The Willian Guild plans to extend to the adventurers here a piece of the advantages that it can offer, in the hopes that when you find yourselves out in the greater world one day you might remember us.¡± Arabella paused and began to applaud. The teams arrayed before her stayed silent and still, while she beamed down the smile of an angel at them. ¡°That, unfortunately for those of you here today, will not be happening for some years to come. I am here ahead of that kind of major operation to see if bringing our resources this far away will be worth it for the guild. I have reason to believe that it will be. ¡°Undoubtedly, all of you are gathered here today because of the job notice that was posted a few weeks ago. Everything in the notice was true of course, but I am here to elucidate the details.¡± The ball of purple light which Arabella plays with leaps away from her hand. I watch, opened mouthed, as the ball expands in the air, forming an image that floats in the air just to Arabella¡¯s right. Arabella gestures with two fingers and the image resolves into the violet outline of a mountain that slowly rotates. ¡°I was assured that you locals would recognize this mountain, if only because you were warned as children to stay away,¡± Arabella says. ¡°The Green Mountain,¡± a woman a few tables ahead of me says, not realizing that in the deadly quiet of the room she can be heard by everyone. As eyes turn on the woman, she groans and buries her head in her arms. ¡°That is right,¡± Arabella says, taking the attention back. ¡°The grounds that this competition will be held on is the slopes of the Green Mountain. The magical matrix in this territory has detected the spawning of an azure rabbit somewhere on the slopes of the mountain. While they may sound and look cute, azure rabbits are nothing to let your guard down around. They begin as rank one monsters, and in the higher reaches of the rank ones at that. The only issue is that as time passes and as azure rabbits eat all the life around them, they absorb magic from the firmament and convert that into permanent boosts to some attribute of theirs. An azure rabbit of strength might become strong enough to blow apart mountains with its hopping, one of speed might get to the point where it can outrace lightning, and, gods forbid, if it begins accruing strength of spirit, it can become almost unstoppable. For those of you who know the term, it is a growth monster, and one that eats other monsters at that. ¡°For those of you whom did not grow up with the warning folktales of the natives, the land around the Green Mountain is prone to constant mudslides during the rainy season, and when its dry you need to scale sharp and sheer cliffs to make it to the lip where trees begin to grow. Given the dangers of reaching the mountain proper, the monsters that spawn there have gone largely unculled by the adventurer''s guild here. I have confirmed, using the arcane matrix, that the azure rabbit is not the only rank one monster on that mountain, but it is the only one with the potential to grow out of hand before anyone can deal with it. ¡°The rules of this competition are simple.¡± Arabella snapped her hand closed, and the rotating image of the mountain vanished. ¡°The first team to kill the azure rabbit will receive ten ounces of gold and six runes of attunement; I have brought an assortment with me so you will have your pick. If you really manage to impress me, I have been authorized with inducting individuals into the Willian Guild, and if you do not know how big of a deal that is, we must regularly turn down the sons of barons, counts, and even dukes when they do not meet our high standards.¡± Arabella motions toward the back of the room. Every head swivels to follow her gesture. Twenty or more women, ranging from young to old, but all wearing the same blue habits, stand with rapt attention. ¡°These women will be the overseers of this competition to make certain that everything is carried out in a fair manner. We do not wish to see young adventurers turning their powers on each other out there, that will weigh heavily on my opinions. ¡°Now,¡± Arabella claps her hands, bringing the attention back to her. ¡°Allow me to officially announce the commencement of the competition. Does anyone have any questions?¡± The room erupts into motion. Chapter 4 - Up The Green Mountain Jellian groans while the metal lever he strains against refused to budge. I stare up at the sheer rocky slope rising a hundred feet or more to the wooded cap of the Green Mountain. I sit on a boulder watching Jellian struggle with the rusted door of the cage elevator attached to the side of the mountain. I kick a flat circle of flint off the lip of the rock only to discover a dead scorpion beneath it. I hiss in air, climbing off the boulder and stand with Bali and the mysterious old woman that had been sent as our escort. We likely share near identical frowns, staring at Kapin and Halford, who in turn watch Jellian struggle with unconcealed humor in their eyes. The journey to the mountain had taken up the entire morning, some of the more well provisioned adventuring parties passing us on the road and waving from the backs of their horses. As soon as the destination for the competition had been announced a knot had started to form in my gut, the tension there climaxing when the winch elevator came into sight. As children, I often followed Kapin and my brother out to the old elevator cleverly hidden on the east side of the mountain past a few gullies that most would choose to walk around rather than slop through mud to reach. When Halford had brought me on the first night he had explained that their eldest brother Corinth had installed the elevator. Apparently, before he had even gained his first essentia, Corinth had scaled the mountain and fought the rank one monsters at the top with nothing but a few sharp knives stolen from the kitchen back home. When Corinth came down the mountain again, three weeks later, he weathered the greatest test of his life, our mother¡¯s--very physical--fury. Most of the anger washed away when Corinth revealed the treasures he had found at the top of the mountain, the three essentia that he would use to break out of the family¡¯s cycle of farming. Since then, many of the local adventurers out of Westgrove had attempted the feat, but most never made it back. The mountain was a hotspot for magical activity--the hotspot in the area--and from what I had heard, essentia and other magical crystallizations flowed like water at the top. Despite having come out to the sight of the elevator many times in the past, none of the three of us had ever taken it all the way to the top, though not for lack of daring each other to do so. Once, when he was fifteen, Halford cranked the elevator to halfway up the mountain, but the chain carrying the elevator kinking and sticking one time was enough to break his nerve. Jellian yells in frustration and starts kicking the rusty latch that held the door to the cage elevator closed. ¡°This is dumb,¡± I say. ¡°Halford, just open the stupid thing.¡± ¡°He said that he had it,¡± Halford replies with a shrug. Jellian throws a furious gaze back at Halford, using kicks against the cage to punctuate his words. ¡°I. Do. Not. Require. Assistance. With. A. Door!¡± The rusted weld that holds the door lock to the rest of the iron bars of the cage door breaks, leaving a battered row of iron bars to swing outward on its hinge while the fastening remains solidly locked. ¡°There.¡± ¡°Great, it¡¯s broken,¡± I say, cheering with the most sarcastically slow applause I can manage. ¡°It should still work,¡± Halford says as he steps up to the cage. He tries latching the door closed with little success. ¡°Looks like we¡¯ll just need to hold it closed when we¡¯re using it.¡± ¡°So, the only thing that separates us from a lethal fall onto these jagged rocks is Kapin¡¯s ability to hold onto a door?¡± Bali asks. ¡°Why does it have to be me?¡± ¡°Not exactly,¡± Halford continues, ignoring his friend. ¡°The elevator seats three. We¡¯ll go up first and you three can follow after. It¡¯s only a hundred feet or so to the top, it shouldn¡¯t be a problem.¡± ¡°Who is going to crank the winch for us?¡± I ask, looking at Bali and the unnamed, silent woman in the ice-blue habit. The old woman, gray hair framing her round face smiles back at me. ¡°Bali,¡± Halford answers as he steps into the cage. The earthspeaker woman groans. ¡°Come on everyone, we should have a lead on the other groups since we know about this elevator. We don¡¯t want to squander that.¡± ¡°Right,¡± Kapin agrees, stepping into the iron cage alongside Halford. Jellian looses a long, tense breath in satisfaction and attaches his waterskin once more to the outside of the pack he carries . He looks at Bali with an air of smugness and stepped into the elevator behind Kapin, closing the door as he enters. Halford displays not an ounce of strain as he cranks the winch inside of the cage to start the elevator¡¯s ascension. He gives a grinning salute to the three women as the cage climbs higher up the side of the mountain. The sound of grinding iron of the well-worn chain that suspends the elevator creaks out its tune as the men ascend the side of the mountain, a constant clanking of loose metal dangling out of the side of the cage elevator. It takes only a few minutes for the slow-rising cage to reach the lip of a rocky outcropping at the top of the cliff, where Kapin and Jellian work to hook the cage securely to the metal construction at the top. The men step out of the cage, passing from our sight, and an unseen crank at the top slowly relaxes the tension in the chain, sending the cage back to the ground. When the elevator arrives once again at the bottom of the cliff it pounds hard into the ground, sending small pebbles and dirt scattering into the air. The iron door swings open on rusted hinges, a sound as welcoming as a basement door creaking open in the haunted Galvis mansion. Bali sighs again and leans heavily on a reinforced quarterstaff she had purchased as a weapon in town the day before. ¡°This isn¡¯t in my job description,¡± she says. ¡°Are you afraid of heights?¡± I ask as she walks to the entrance of the cage. She puts a bit of her weight onto the wooden boards that make up the elevator¡¯s floor, earning a groan from the wood. ¡°I¡¯m an earthspeaker,¡± Bali says flatly. ¡°Is that a no?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a no.¡± Bali pulls herself straight and sets her shoulders, leaning her head to either side to crack her neck. ¡°My job is to make sure people don¡¯t die. That is pretty much it. If we fight something made of fire, then I throw some water at it. It doesn¡¯t go much beyond that.¡± She looks up at the long climb up the cliffside and grimaces. ¡°Why didn¡¯t Halford just come down again with the elevator so that he could work the crank for us.¡± ¡°Probably because he is an asshole,¡± I say, shrugging. I put my hand around the winch crank inside the elevator, but fail to budge it the least bit. ¡°Probably,¡± Bali agrees, stepping into the elevator alongside me. Bali turns back to look at the old woman shadowing our group. ¡°Are you coming¡­you?¡± ¡°We should at least get your name,¡± I say to the old woman. A simple smile is her only response as the old woman strides forward and squeezes her way into the cage alongside us. ¡°Alright then.¡± I hook the door of the cage with my foot and pull it closed, holding it in place with my hand. Bali slaps her gloved hands together and rubs them against one another. ¡°Let¡¯s get to it.¡± My grasp of how the magical ranks work is extremely limited. I understand that someone doesn¡¯t make it to the first rank without a full set of essentia, and that making it to the first rank does something to the body; making it stronger and more idealized--most even gain a few inches in height. I know that bodily enhancement continues past the first rank, each subsequent rank building upon the first, and that there was an extreme jump in physicality at the third rank. Despite knowing all of that, I am still surprised when Bali throws her weight against the winch and manages to get it moving, the elevator jerking upward as the crank turns. ¡°That¡¯s amazing,¡± I say, not realizing I intoned my thoughts out loud. Bali grunts and nods at me as she brings a full revolution of the crank around for the first time. The cage around us sags as it leaves the ground, groaning as our combined weight settles into the floor. Teeth exposed in concentration, Bali brings the crank around in another revolution to hoist us into the air. Sweat beads on Bali¡¯s brow by the time we make it halfway up the cliffside. The terror of something going wrong--the chain snapping or the bottom of the elevator falling out--fades away from me as I watch the group¡¯s healer shoulder the burden of pulling us to the top. The hint of veins beneath the skin stand out on Bali¡¯s arms, her shoulders swell in effort, and the strain of it all shows in Bali¡¯s sneer at the world. I feel a desire well up deep inside of me that I can¡¯t remember feeling ever before. Not for the woman in front of me, though I could certainly admire the specimen of female power that had thus far pulled our cage the majority of the way up the cliffside. I feel a deep hunger in my gut for what Bali has, the power that is innate to her, the power to do something that I would have found impossible if the task had been put to me. I want that power, and watching Bali sweat and strain as she manages to haul on a crank against what had to be at least five-hundred pounds of force was the first time that I would later recall feeling that longing. As the cage nears the top of the cliffside, we hear shouting coming from over the ledge. I hear my brother¡¯s voice yell something unintelligible and see Kapin¡¯s leg swing out over the edge of the cliff, the man barely stopping himself from tumbling all the way over. Monsters are attacking the men. I spy the strange beasts as the cage clears the lip of the cliff, and more than fear, I felt confusion at what I see. ¡°The hook!¡± Bali yells at me, snapping me out of my stupor. ¡°Sorry.¡± I grab the thick chain that arches across the roof of the cage elevator and throw it over a hook that dangles from a metal arm just above us. The second I have the cage secured, Bali locks the crank and releases it. The cage drops a few inches, groaning as it settles once more, but it holds together. Bali kicks the door of the elevator open as she runs outside to help the team, while I fall back into confusion. I see two fights were occurring simultaneously. Kapin, back against the ledge, holds his shield in shaking arms that bulge with fatigue. A creature that looks like a wolf with a sheep¡¯s woolly coat attacks him. Not with its pronounced fangs or claws, but with its ears, which stretch for eight feet in length and end in a tangle of bone-like spikes. The dog monster manipulates its ears as easily as a hand, slamming them harder than a sledge into the shield Kapin holds in front of him. I see several shallow cuts standing out on the man, and one puncture wound in his leg that looks far, far too deep. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. The cliff lets out into a bit of a clearing, twenty feet of loose gravel with the occasional weed poking up, that ends with a sharp upward rise and a thicket of impenetrable trees. Halford is nearer the tree line, his huge sword held vertically like a shield as he defends against a monster of his own. It is not a large creature, not any bigger than a cat, but except for its rat-like head and tail, the creature was covered completely in spikes of red hair. It fires the spikes at Halford in an unending barrage. I spot Jellian slumped against a tree just a few feet into the thicket, spines sprouting all across him. Even Halford sports a score across his arms and torso. I am knocked from my wonderment again as the old woman in the blue habit tip-toes past me to stand out on the cliff. The woman is unconcerned, watching the fighting with a passive smile and her hands clasped behind her back. She watches as Bali runs up to the sheep-wolf and kicks it in the side with her steel boots, earning a whine of pain as the monster slinks away from her. ¡°What happened?¡± Bali demands of Kapin as she bends down to place her hands over the hole in his leg. Blue light seeps out from between her fingers as she dumps power into him, healing the crippling wound in the few seconds it takes for Kapin to catch his breath and put himself between her and the monster. ¡°They just came out of the forest all of a sudden while we were waiting,¡± he says. ¡°Well, we knew there were monsters up here,¡± Bali says, keeping an eye on the monster turning its attention back to them. ¡°These ones seem pretty aggressive.¡± ¡°We knew that too,¡± Kapin answers. I see a boulder resting on the ground a few feet past the entrance to the cage with three packs resting on the ground next to it. I dash out of the elevator and take cover behind the stone. With Bali and Kapin covering each other, I know that they can most likely face and defeat any monster of equal rank. I watch as my brother lunges forward, abandoning the defense of his sword to attempt a swing at the spiny rat, taking a few spines to his shoulder for his recklessness. Halford brings the sword crashing down, spraying up pebbles and large black rocks, but the small monster is too nimble for him to catch wounded, alone. I unclip the small crossbow from my hip and unlatch the short quiver on my thigh, snatching up a bolt from inside. I do as the salesman had said, using a smaller crank on the side of the weapon to set the line into the latch before fitting the bolt. As I come up from behind my cover, I vaguely think about how this would be my first time firing a crossbow, I take aim at the rat monster. My first shot wasn¡¯t so bad. It stabs into the loose gravel a few inches behind the monster, sticking. The rat monster whips around, and I get my first good look at its beady, red eyes. Before I realize what it is doing, one of the crimson spines sails toward me, the monster¡¯s aim much better than my own. The spike cuts a grazing line along the side of my neck, and in a panic, I dive back behind the boulder. I drop the crossbow, bringing my hands to my neck as it begins to bleed. I see clearly in my mind¡¯s eye the look of the pigs my father keeps in the barn and hear the familiar sound of those same animals as some are slaughtered for food in the hard winters. Blood seeps through my fingers, and I hold my breath, afraid that anything I do will kill me. Pain blossoms in my lungs, and after only a few seconds, my pounding heart demands I breathe. I expect to pass out, but the dizziness never comes. When I pull my hand away to inspect it, the blood that wets palms is far less than I expect to be there. My relief is tempered with a rising anger for the rat monster that hurt me with its weird, spiny hair. The roar and heat of flame brings me back to the fight at hand. I see, just a dozen feet away, Bali standing triumphantly on one of the wolf monster¡¯s ears while Kapin traps the other under his arm. The man has tossed aside his shield and from his mouth froths a gout of flame that obscures the wolf monster in its shining, orange brilliance. I crank the hand crank on my crossbow as I watched the club-like ears of the monster struggle for a few seconds before falling to the ground with the rest of it. The sheep wool that covers the monster continues to smolder and burn even after Kapin¡¯s breath of fire cuts off and he spit into the dirt at his feet. The click of my crossbow setting pulses through my fingers, and I slip another bolt on the weapon. Taking a deep breath to ready myself, I stand up from behind the boulder, pointing the crossbow at where the monster had been. Halford squats there over two bloody halves of the rat monster, wrenching his sword out of the loose dirt around him. He looks up and sees me. His eyes flick down to the crossbow in my hands, and a frown tugs at the edges of his mouth. His eyes pass over me to land on Bali and Kapin standing over their slain monster. ¡°Bali,¡± Halford shouts. ¡°Jellian is wounded. Help him!¡± Bali springs into motion toward Halford before she has even turned away from the still burning wolf-sheep. She comes up short, pausing at the sight of Halford and the multiple thumb-wide spines sticking out of him, before her sight continues on toward where Halford is pointing. It takes her a few seconds to spot Jellian leaning against the base of a tree, his brown leather¡¯s blending him into the trunk. She darts off in the elf¡¯s direction. Kapin lets his heavy shield fall, thudding to the ground, and collapses to his knees, huffing. He waves off Halford before he can take a step in his friends direction and takes a few moments to breath after his exertion. Halford stops, looking back to me. ¡°You¡¯re hurt,¡± he says, his eyes landing on the cut in my neck. ¡°It¡¯s not that bad,¡± I say. ¡°Your neck is bleeding! I¡¯ll go get Bali.¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I say. ¡°Really, it¡¯s just a shallow cut. Look at you, you look like a seamstress has been adjusting you instead of your clothes.¡± Halford grimaces, looking down at the spines sticking out of his chest, and grabs ahold of one. He stops before he manages to move the spike more than an inch, a pained wince overtaking him. ¡°I¡¯ll be alright once I¡¯ve had Bali look at me.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± I say slowly. I gesture around to the two dead monsters. ¡°Should I¡­¡± ¡°Yes. Do that,¡± Halford says. The set in the man¡¯s shoulders drains out of him as the battle temper leaves him. He turns to go to Bali, pausing when his foot brushes against the crossbow bolt that sticks out of the gravel. He studies it, then back at me, ¡°Uh¡­Good job,¡± he says, showing me the false smile I had thought he reserved for only strangers. ¡°I¡¯m going to go see Bali.¡± ¡°Please do,¡± I say in a quiet voice. Without another word, Halford turns and half-limps over toward Bali and Jellian. The elven man is still unconscious as Bali kneels over him, blue light shining from her hands and falling into the man. I sit down on the boulder and absently reattach the crossbow to my waist. Kapin collapses onto his back, catching my attention. ¡°This is going to be an interesting few days,¡± he says, and despite his obvious exhaustion, the smile he shows me is genuine. ¡°I¡¯m coming to think that too,¡± I reply. I apply my singular power to the corpses of the dead monsters once Bali checks the cut on my neck to make certain that it is inconsequential. As the monsters decompose into pink smoke, I receive the expected bundles of meat and coin flying at my head. For the first time since I first acquired my power more than a year ago, the rat monster also yields three spools of its course and hard hair. No essentia come from their disenchantment, but the party does manage to find eleven silver coins among the various pouches I create. Jellian comes around after an hour or so, fully healed from Bali¡¯s ministrations, but still a little shaky. Kapin removes the meal kits from his overfull bag and passes out the evening meal, cold bread and beans, as Halford refuses to let us start a fire to heat anything. I can¡¯t help but stare at the pile of hair spikes slung against a tree. My brother looks no worse for his experience with the spike launching monster, other than a few holes in the white and blue loose clothing he wears. The quiet woman that shadows our group declines any offered food with a simple shake of her head, and no one in the group cares to push her on the matter. ¡°Well, I think going forward we might want to avoid splitting up,¡± Kapin says, tearing off a piece of hard bread with his mouth. ¡°Agreed,¡± Jellian says. ¡°I just thought that thing was a weird looking rabbit. I guess when they spoke about how dangerous this mountain is they were not exaggerating.¡± ¡°No,¡± Halford says solemnly. ¡°This is the closest we have come to losing anyone.¡± He looks at Jellian. ¡°It makes me think that it was the right choice for us not to go after many rank one monsters until now.¡± ¡°So, you think those were rank one monsters,¡± Bali says. ¡°Likely,¡± Halford says. ¡°Can you imagine a farmer putting down one of those things when they found it in a field?¡± ¡°Maybe the little one,¡± Kapin says. ¡°If they got the drop on it. Your dad can swing an ax when he has a mind to. I¡¯ve seen him do it.¡± The way that the ranking system works for monsters is a shallow reflection of the one that is used with the magical practitioners of essentia. It is, however, something of much more common knowledge, and one I know. A rank zero monster is an aberration, something that occurs when ambient magic condenses and gains a consciousness to act upon its own will. Rank zero, being the lowest rank that a monster can be, are little more than animals, and those outside of the protections of the great walled cities or errant culling patrols are expected to deal with them on their own. When they group up or work in coordination adventurers are often called for to deal with them, and lacking that, villages usually round up a burning posse to take care of them. Rank one monsters are a completely different matter. Like rank one adventurers they have a strength that was outside of what would be expected from a flesh and blood mortal and are seldom something that a person without any magical abilities can handle. Rank one monsters are referred to as Knight Class monsters, as a decently well-armed and experienced warrior likely has a strong chance of defeating one. Subsequently, rank two monsters are sometimes referred to as Squad Class monsters, creatures who often possess magical abilities of their own, and who are preternaturally deadly. Despite the classification, it is rare that a group of twenty or more mundane warriors are employed to handle such beasts, though it does sometimes happen. The classifications continue from there: battalion, army, and finally national level monsters whom would be impossible to destroy without the assistance of very powerful, magically altered people. I have never heard of something beyond rank five as far as monsters go. Adventurers are commonly expected to be able to handle monsters of their own rank and as a well-coordinated group, be able to defeat monsters of a rank above their own. Halford¡¯s reticence in pitting his party against rank one and two monsters is abnormal, but seeing as how rank two monsters only rarely appear anywhere in the vicinity of Westgrove, there has been plenty of zero rank monsters to occupy our time with. ¡°We also made quite the payday,¡± Kapin says. I realize that I have been drifting off, staring at the pile of bloody spikes again. ¡°So, you think I¡¯m worth having along now?¡± I ask. ¡°As long as you keep yourself safe, then yes.¡± Kapin tosses the bottom half of his bread loaf back into his bag. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to downplay what you add, Charlene. It¡¯s just that you can¡¯t protect yourself, and if we start getting into fights like this more often, then that might get someone killed when they are trying to save you.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why I bought this,¡± I say, tapping the crossbow on my waist. ¡°Might work for now,¡± Kapin says with a shrug. ¡°It¡¯s not something that needs more discussion,¡± Halford says, cutting off my retort. ¡°Let¡¯s turn our attention to what is ahead. We didn¡¯t get more than a few steps into the forest before we were attacked by monsters. Yet, now, they have left us alone for an hour or more. Either these two were the only ones around, or they will leap upon us again the moment we try to enter the forest.¡± ¡°Probably,¡± Bali says. ¡°Jellian, do you think that you can scout for us?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Jellian nods. ¡°While I am incredibly embarrassed by getting surprised like that, I will not be making that mistake a second time.¡± ¡°Everyone gets surprised,¡± Bali soothes. ¡°The scout isn¡¯t supposed to.¡± Jellian fingers a hole in his pantleg and sighs. ¡°I will do better.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Halford stands, slapping the crumbs from his hands. ¡°If I have it right, most of the other parties will be trying to ascend the mountain from the other side. They won¡¯t even make it up here until tomorrow morning at the earliest, unless they have some other means of scaling the mountain. That means that we should use the advantage afforded to us by arriving early.¡± ¡°How many more fights are you willing to take today?¡± Kapin asks as he too rises. ¡°More than a few,¡± Halford says with a wicked smile. Chapter 5 - Ambush True to his word, my brother pushes his party to clear the woods immediately surrounding the pebbly outcrop we first emerged onto. Jellian, more careful now, stalks through the woods, disappearing for nearly twenty minutes before returning to where we wait. Despite the rumors of the mountain crawling with monsters, he relates that he only spotted a single one, something akin to a spiked bear sleeping in some bushes a mile or so into the woods. Sneaking through the woods, I find myself relegated to the far rear of the group where the old, silent woman walks along behind. We follow Jellian in a haltering shuffle, quietly waiting for him to give the clear from ahead of us and moving one at a time to the tree or shrub he crouches behind. He moves up through the forest again, finding the next spot to navigate to, and we repeat the process. When we find the bear monster, I am somewhat let down. From the description Jellian gave, I had expected a beast the size of a small hut, its snores shaking the air of the silent forest and warning off anyone oblivious enough to stumble by. Instead, the monster with yellow, patchy fur is hardly any larger than myself, and more than the spikes that stick from its shoulder blades and spine, the smell of rancid fish and spicy peppers repulses me even a hundred feet or more away. Halford removes his boots and approaches the sleeping beast with his shining sword held lightly over his shoulder. The blade plummets down on the monster¡¯s head like a star. The bear monster jerks a single time, a weak gurgling sound emanates from its bleeding snout, and then it moves no longer. I don¡¯t collect any of the monster¡¯s spines with my power, but in the pile of items left behind by my disenchantment rests a single pair of black leather gloves. Jellian claims that they are enchanted in some way, but without an expert in the art of enchantment, none of us can tell what it is they are supposed to do. ¡°Just how big is this mountain?¡± Bali asks that night as we huddle together around a covered fire, the night air sapping heat from us with each errant gust of wind. ¡°Big,¡± Halford replies with a shrug. ¡°That isn¡¯t very descriptive,¡± Bali says. ¡°People don¡¯t come up here.¡± Kapin rubs his naked palms against each other. He looks up to the tree canopy we crouch beneath, seeing the twinkle of stars peak through the leaves. ¡°It feels like it will start raining soon.¡± ¡°Don''t say that,¡± I moan. My jaw hurts from trying to chew the hard jerky we purchased in town before leaving. I set two pieces in the tin cup that is part of my dinner kit and let the meat soak for a while as I also try to see the clouds through the trees. Unfortunately, it feels like Kapin is right. ¡°That is good for us,¡± Halford says. ¡°Ice cold rain is good for us?¡± Bali balks as Jellian nods his head along to my brother¡¯s words. ¡°We already established that the other groups won¡¯t likely make it to the top of the mountain before tomorrow morning. If they have to spend a muggy night out on the slopes, then that should demoralize them at least a little bit. Better if they didn¡¯t think ahead to purchase tents,¡± Halford explains. ¡°Which we did,¡± Kapin agrees, patting his pack that holds the tents. ¡°Do you think that a little rain will be enough to make other groups turn back?¡± ¡°Only if they are weak,¡± Halford says. ¡°If they are, then it would be unlikely that they would have succeeded in the first place,¡± Jellian says. ¡°If they didn¡¯t have the foresight to prepare for a night in the wilderness, then they deserve the rain.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t wish the rain on anyone,¡± I say. I take one of my soaked pieces of jerky and chew on it. It¡¯s not as flavorful as it was, but at least I can eat it without chipping a molar. ¡°When are we going to set up for the night?¡± ¡°Soon,¡± Halford assures. ¡°I don¡¯t want us exposed during the night.¡± The group nods their agreement. The only one of us that can see worth a damn in the dark is Jellian, and the man volunteers to take watch for the whole night. Halford shoots down that idea, he and Kapin will take shifts with him to make sure that nothing comes upon us in the night. Bali and I remain quiet while the boys hash out a watch schedule, setting up our tent against the flattest part of a nearby tree. I almost scream like a reaper when the silent woman appears out of the dark forest as we are closing the tent, setting up a blanket outside near the smoldering embers of our fire. I linger at the tent mouth for minutes, watching the woman as she stares up at the tree canopy from the blanket she lies on, unblinking. Across the smoke of the dead fire, Kapin and Halford argue about the best place to set up their own tent while Jellian watches them, paring a pear with a dagger. Rain comes a few hours into my sleepless night. It starts as a trickle of pops against the oilskin roof of our tent that makes me almost jump out of my skin. The popping of the rain against the tent picks up toward a torrent as the temperature even inside the tent starts to fall. In the pitch black of night, I try to slow my breathing, almost screaming again as I feel the strong arms of Bali wrap around me from behind. She pulls me to her chest like I weigh no more than a child¡¯s doll, and as I try to slow my beating heart and racing breath, I realize that she is still asleep. I contemplate trying to untangle myself from her, but as the rain freezes the air, the warmth of the woman is a salve to my wide-eyed terror of the night. It¡¯s nice. I only realize that I¡¯d fallen asleep when something hard slams into the back of my head, releasing me from sleep into a world of disoriented pain. I hear the dying echo of a far off sound as the morning world comes into blurry existence around me, the glow of morning light illuminating the cowskin walls of our tent. Bali sits up, a hand massaging her forehead as she gives me an apologetic look. ¡°Two-and-a-half hells, what made you¡­¡± I stop as the sound comes again. It rings in my ears like a ghost, a scream that bounces through the trees planted in mists as it glides up the side of the mountain. The woman¡¯s scream dies in a waning echo, and I can feel the bloody pain in it with my whole body. When I untie the door of the tent and peel back the flap, I see Halford standing in front of his own tent illuminated by a sunbeam, his chest heaving in unsteady breaths as his head whips about. Understanding seeps into my brother¡¯s eyes as the oil of sleep leaves him. Jellian slinks out of the tent behind my brother, silent like the mist that surrounds our campsite. Even only ten feet away on the opposite side of the dead firepit, it is hard to make out my brother¡¯s features. ¡°Where¡¯s Kapin?¡± I ask, crawling all the way out of my own tent and dusting off my knees. ¡°He was on watch,¡± Halford says back to me without looking. He closes his eyes, listening to the swishing of conifer leaves around our campsite, tilting his head this way and that. Bali joins me outside the tent, her hand still rubbing the spot on her head where she slammed it into the back of mine. That, or I was the one who hit her, impossible to know. ¡°Should we call for him?¡± Bali hisses to my brother. ¡°You both heard that scream,¡± he states, assured that we did. ¡°This mountain isn¡¯t the place to start yelling.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t plan to leave him to the elements,¡± Jellian says in a low voice. ¡°Of course not. Gather your things, we will look for him, and make our way toward that scream.¡± ¡°You want to go toward the death scream!¡± My voice is harsh as I whisper across the camp to my brother. ¡°That¡¯s where Kapin would have gone.¡± Halford turns to look at me for the first time, a smirk on his face. I look down at myself and realize that I am wearing only my backup blouse that I had brought along with me and some underwear. A blush burning my cheeks, I roll back into the tent as I hear Bali and my brother share a chuckling laugh. She is wearing even less than me, just the underwear, but she doesn¡¯t seem bothered by letting the boys have a look. The tent is a mess of fur blankets, wrapped-dried food, and discarded clothes. I find the leather trousers that I had worn the day before and give them a sniff. They smell like dry dirt and sweat, not good by any stretch of the word, but not too bad either. I¡¯m on my back, legs kicking in the air as I try to hike the trousers up, when something heavy collides with the side of the tent and brings the whole thing crashing down upon me. My kicking turns into flailing. Claws begin to rip into the cowskin hide of the tent as yelling erupts outside of my smashed tent. Something sharp rakes across my naked stomach, drawling three lines of stinging blood that freeze me in terror. The sound of cracking bone splits the air just over my head and the weight on top of me vanishes with a pained yelp. ¡°Charlene!¡± I hear Bali yell. I feel the woman start pulling on the leather of the tent, trying to find the opening. ¡°I¡¯m alive,¡± I try to say, but the words come out as a hiss. The world is a tight press of cowskin that glows a muddy orange in the morning light. My hand comes up and I feel an echo of the day before, finding a bath of my own blood soaking my palm, far worse than the small scratch the day before had been. I kick my naked foot, finding the entrance of the tent, but the strain of the movement burns so bad I feel all my strength flow away. Tears press at the corners of my eyes as I lay in the collapsed tent. A hand grabs my bare foot. Bali follows my leg up to find me, tossing the collapsed tent off of me as she checks me over. She sees the wounds on my stomach and grimaces, pressing her hand to the inch-deep gashes. ¡°This will hurt,¡± she promises even before the blue light starts to leave her hands. I nod, and when the healing magic flows into my wounds, I can¡¯t keep the tears from slipping down the sides of my face. The healing is like an ache, I imagine it feels as it might if I stomached the wound to heal on its own over the course of weeks. The worst cramp I¡¯ve ever felt squeezes my abdomen and I curl around my pain as the muscles in my core start spasming. I try to look around, getting up is out of the question. Bali kneels next to me, her eyes scanning the area around us. She still wears only her underwear from the night before, but a nasty cut across her triceps drips dangerous color of dark red. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°You¡¯re hurt,¡± I choke out. ¡°There is a group of them,¡± Bali says to me. The mist is still thick around us. My world shrinks to only things within eight feet of me, blurring away into white beyond. I try to listen for movement, but the pounding of my own heart in my ears blocks everything out. ¡°Where¡¯s Halford?¡± I ask. ¡°He kicked that beast into the woods and ran after it,¡± Bali says. ¡°He left us alone?¡± The pain has relented enough that I start scrambling through the mess of the tent for my pack, trying to find the only weapon I had brought on this trip. ¡°We have Jellian,¡± Bali says. I look about as my hands dig, not spying the elf anywhere. Bali casts her hand out in front of her. ¡°This might be a bad idea.¡± ¡°What are you¡­¡± My words are stolen away as a gust of wind erupts from Bali¡¯s palm. I rarely see the woman use the power granted to her by her Wind Essentia, at rank one the gust of air she can summon isn¡¯t useful for much. A continuous stream of invisible air races away from her hand now, cutting a tunnel through the fog for a good forty feet. Bali maintains the torrent as she whips her hand in an arc, blowing the fog away from our campsite. My hand touches the hard steel of my crossbow and I turn away from Bali¡¯s banishing of the fog to pull it loose from the furs, my attached quiver of bolts comes out with it. By the time that she is done, Bali needs to support her hand with her other arm and sweat beads her forehead. She finishes her circle, the magic vanishing from her as she collapses to her hands and knees, panting. I throw one of the fur blankets over her before cranking the winch on my crossbow. Magic exhaustion has never been a problem for me. The single ability that I possess requires very little magic, but each time that I use it I become aware of a vague reservoir of power somewhere inside of me being drained ever so slowly. Kapin is the only one in the party that regularly exhausts all of his magical reserves, so I know what is happening to Bali as soon as it begins. I fit a bolt as Bali¡¯s arms begin to quake with the effort of holding herself up. Her eyes dart around in a confused panic as she looks out on the space of the woods she had cleared for us with her wind magic. ¡°I have your back,¡± I tell her as I bring my crossbow up. She nods, but I¡¯m not certain if she can even hear me right now. It will take several minutes for her to recover, and in that time, we won¡¯t have anyone that can heal injuries. A flash of movement among the trees draws my eyes. I see Jellian duck beneath the swing of a muscled and clawed hand, rolling and spinning himself behind a tree as another claw attempts to stab into his back. The monster that chases him clings to one of the trees by its seven-toed back feet as its four forearms swing flailing after Jellian with a single finger that ends in an eight-inch long, hooked claw. The monster bounces through the trees behind Jellian as he flees from it, the powerful toes of its feet digging into the trunks of the trees like a baker kneading dough, one leg enough to hold up its gangly, monkey body. The monster¡¯s head is upside down I realize, three black eyes trained on our scout while a mouth of serrated teeth chatters. The monster opens its mouth to scream, but I hear no sound come from its cracked lips. Jellian seems to, covering his ears and falling to his knees as the monster bears down on him. Without waiting to think about it, I level the crossbow at the monster. The pair is only twenty feet away. I fire the bolt at the hideous thing as it leaps for Jellian. When the bolt sinks into its moss-colored torso I expect it to flip backward over itself in the air, but the bolt seems to bother it only a fraction as it falls toward Jellian. I do seem to have helped a bit, the finger-claws of the monster slash the air over Jellian¡¯s head as it splashes into the dead leaves and mud of the forest floor next to him, skidding a distance away. Jellian recovers himself, his eyes lock with my own across the distance, and he nods to me. Like a cat, Jellian springs back to his feet and jumps a good four feet backward to the intersection of two trees. ¡°Idiot thing,¡± he yells at the monster as it gets back to its feet. ¡°Come at me you mockery of life. See if your mindless barbarism is a match for the wit of one of the chosen.¡± The monster screeches silently at Jellian, and I feel that it might understand his words to some extent. It uses a predator''s speed to regain its feet, and sprints at the man. Jellian covers his ears again as the monster roars, and falls to a knee, alone and defenseless in the middle of the forest. The monster senses the end of the struggle. It¡¯s speed accelerates, and it makes its deadly mistake. As the monster leaps through the gap between the two trees where Jellian had lured it, strands of invisible wire pass through the creature, mincing it as thoroughly as any blade could. Chunks of wet meat and black blood splash to the forest floor in front of Jellian. Though his ears bleed, he smiles and rises back to his feet. The strands of cutting wire created by his Trap Essentia glisten with gore where they stand suspended between the trees. I start cranking my crossbow again as Jellian jogs over to me and Bali. ¡°Where¡¯s my brother?¡± I ask him as I fit another bolt. ¡°I can¡¯t hear you,¡± Jellian says in response, pointing to the blood drying on the outsides of his ears. He looks at where Bali shivers underneath the fur I had thrown over her. ¡°I¡¯m guessing that I won¡¯t be hearing for a while.¡± When I look back up from setting the crossbow bolt again, I¡¯m startled to see the old woman in the blue habit standing in the middle of our destroyed camp with her hands clasped in front of her. She studies me with a quizzical eye, but I can¡¯t spare her a moment of attention just now. ¡°Stay with Bali,¡± I say to him. ¡°What?¡± I point at him and then at Bali. ¡°Stay!¡± I stand, sparing myself a second to cinch the ties on the front of my pants as I look around the campground. There is a splash of blood covering the ground in front of the boy¡¯s tent. The severed arm of a monster identical to the one Jellian had just killed lays steaming in the cold morning air just to the south of the campsite. The old woman catches me surveying the ground, and with a shift of her head that I almost miss, she nods in a direction away from the campground. I sprint that way. ¡°Charlene!¡± I hear Jellian call after me. The dead leaves of the forest floor slope downward as I run from our camp. I slip once, the bolt on my crossbow fumbling out somewhere into the mass of leaves beneath my bare feet. I leave it, grabbing another from the quiver and fitting it as I run through the trees. Hidden points stab into my soft feet as I run through the woods, but I ignore them for the moment. I hear Halford and his battle long before I catch sight of it. Scrambling up an incline in the direction of my brother¡¯s yelling, I come over the rise to find him facing off against two of the monsters while three more lay dead at his feet. A nimbus of golden light surrounds my brother--the power he attained through his Avatar Conflux--and I watch as the shallow cut across his forehead slowly stitches itself together. ¡°Halford!¡± I call to him, but he makes no sign that he hears me. The two monsters hang from trees above my brother, screaming silently, though it doesn¡¯t seem to affect my brother the same way that it had Jellian. My brother¡¯s chest is bare, white scars standing out across his chest and back, while new wounds have painted his fair skin a dark red. His huge sword rests on the ground behind him while his huge hands hold the hilt, waiting. ¡°Come at me!¡± he yells at the monsters. They feint diving at him, but don¡¯t leave the safety of their trees. Their serrated mouths chitter in rage at the lone swordsman beneath them who has cut down three of them by himself so far. I know the beasts must truly be mindless, the wisps of golden light that peel off of Halford knit together the cuts they have left on him. The longer they wait to attack, the more he recovers. Halford, however, does not know the meaning of the word patience. With an alacrity that should be impossible for a man as large as my brother, he dashes forward, his huge sword spraying leaves into the air behind him as he charges one of the trees the monsters cling to the trunks of. With a single, impossible slash, he cleaves the trunk of the tree in half. The monster whoops in surprise, the first audible sound I¡¯ve heard any of them make, as it jumps from the falling tree to splash into the dead leaves. I have to duck out of the way of the collapsing tree, and my panicked yell alerts the monsters to my presence. The one still in the tree swivels two of its three eyes in my direction. I try to keep my crossbow pointed at the beast as it leaps between the trees in my direction. Behind it, the other monster comes up in front of my brother, putting its body between him and me. Terror grips my heart as the four-armed monster leaps between the trees in my direction. I feel like time slows as the battle fever comes over me, and I breathe out a long breath, following the monster¡¯s bouncing approach with the tip of the bolt in my crossbow as I empty my lungs of air. I feel as if in that moment the resolution of the world sharpens into a deadly anticipation. I notice the eyes of the monsters aren¡¯t black, but a deep purple as the monster jumps from its final tree toward me. I see more than sixty feet away my brother watching the monster approaching me, slinging his greatsword over his shoulder as he points directly at me. ¡°Duck!¡± he screams, fear leeching into his own voice. I fall to a knee, knowing what he is doing, but not needing the intervention. The monster is less than six feet away from me then, its path set as it falls through the air at me. It would be impossible to miss. My finger pulls back on the release of my weapon, the bolt is loosed and lodges itself neatly into the space between the monster¡¯s three eyes. I see in the suspended moment the pseudo-life of the creature vanish from it as it falls toward me. Even dead, the weight of the monster might crush me when it makes impact. Faster than the eye can track, a flash of light in the shape of a six-foot ribbon springs into existence, its trail leading all the way back to where my brother had been standing an instant ago. The ribbon of light cuts straight through the corpse of the monster as it falls toward me, bisecting it. The two halves of the beast land to either side of me, and I am painted in a viscous blood as thick as molasses. I gag, needing to use my hands to scrape the monster¡¯s blood away from my face so that I can breathe, so that I can see. Halford stands over me, his face a rictus of brotherly disapproval. I don¡¯t know what it is that he is angry at, that I put myself in the path of a monster, or that I made him use such a powerful ability--the dash of light that was granted him by his Swift Essentia, something he can only use a single time in a day. Back where he had been fighting, the body of the other monster is already collapsed to the ground, steaming. As I rise back to my feet, I realize that I taste bile in my mouth, and start spitting to try to get all of the monster blood out of my mouth. My brother plucks the crossbow out of my hands while I sputter, as if I am a child, and shakes it at me. ¡°Why did you get this?¡± he demands. ¡°What?¡± My hand gropes to where the waterskin I normally carry would be before I realize that all my supplies are back at the campground. ¡°You think that you need something like this to protect yourself! What are you trying to say about me, huh!¡± The man¡¯s breathing is heavy, his blood-stained chest rising and falling in fast rhythm. ¡°Give me that back,¡± I demand of him as I clean my face with the sleeve of my red blouse. Halford grunts and shakes his head. He drops my crossbow to the ground as he turns and starts stalking down the rise away from the dead monsters. ¡°We need to go see if the others are alright,¡± he says over his shoulder. ¡°You don¡¯t want me to break down these monsters,¡± I shoot back at him. I bend and scoop my weapon up from the ground. ¡°That¡¯s the only reason you want me around, right? So that I can break down monsters you kill.¡± ¡°We can do that later,¡± Halford says back to me, not rising to my provocation. ¡°After we make sure everyone is alright. After we find Kapin.¡± Bali was on her feet when we arrived back at camp, digging through the collapsed tent for her clothing so that she could strap on her armor. Jellian stalked around the perimeter of the campground, whispering secret inscriptions to himself while he set traps around the campsite. ¡°These will last about an hour,¡± he says to Halford as he stalks into the camp. ¡°That will have to do,¡± Halford replies. ¡°When can we move?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll need a few minutes,¡± Bali says as she starts strapping her armor pieces over her clothes. ¡°My mana is drained anyway. It might be best for me to stay here.¡± Halford tsks. ¡°It¡¯s a risk either way. How long until you are recovered enough?¡± ¡°A few hours. The forest floor is too thick for me to hear the stone rhythm, so the recovery will be slow.¡± He looks back at me, his eyes studying. ¡°Stay here with Bali,¡± he tells me. ¡°You don¡¯t want me to help you find him?¡± I ask. ¡°No,¡± he growls. ¡°You will slow us down and we need to move faster than you can manage.¡± The words stab me. I always knew that I wasn¡¯t really part of the team, but until now Halford had always let me pretend. ¡°Alright,¡± I say. ¡°Traps are ready,¡± Jellian says, tossing a stick aside as he looks to my brother. ¡°Top speed,¡± Halford says back to him with a nod. ¡°He probably ran off toward that scream earlier. This way.¡± Jellian darts into the trees and Halford races along behind him, powerful legs eating up the ground. Chapter 6 - The Azure Rabbit I help Bali strap on the rest of her armor, all the while keeping an eye on the silent woman who continues to stand in the center of our campground. She watches me with strange, quiet eyes, but her face is as placid as a pond, and I cannot read anything from her. Bali helps me out of my bloody clothing and blasts me with warm water before letting me change and helping with my steel breastplate. Apparently, the water trick costs Bali no mana, something about earthspeakers having affinities for certain elements. It is a half hour later when Halford returns with the other two boys. Kapin wears his new riveted steel plates; several indentations mar the armor. He carries in his arms an unconscious woman, an elven girl whose pale alabaster skin displays raised purple veins. ¡°Bali, can you help her.¡± he asks when he reaches the middle of the camp, laying the girl gingerly on the ground in front of the party¡¯s healer. Bali bites her lip as she sets a hand on the elven girl¡¯s forehead. ¡°She¡¯s so cold,¡± she whispers. The woman is on the verge of tears. ¡°I will do what I can.¡± She spends the next hour ignoring everything else around her other than the girl in front of her. She trickles a light drip of water into the girl¡¯s mouth and prays for her to survive. Halford looks seriously at the sight but leaves after a few minutes to start digging through his own tent. After I notice, Jellian does as well, and we watch my brother go into his tent and retrieve something from his pack. He holds a metallic filigree up to the morning light, it is shaped in a globe, the intricate lines of the metalwork shaped like swords. ¡°Is it time?¡± Jellian asks, seeing my brother holding the orb. ¡°I could feel it after the fight. Pushing myself against that many of them at the same time, which must have been enough to put me over the edge,¡± Halford answers. ¡°You can become rank two!¡± I cringe from my own explanation, embarrassed. I realize what it is that Halford is holding, it¡¯s a soul cage. For weeks the only thing that Kapin and Halford have been discussing is what soul cages they are going to commission. They have eagerly related to me about how the material and form of the soul cage a person uses to house their souls in the physical world will have a significant effect on them; after all, a soulcage is where a soul lives. They had also told me that people usually used expensive material for their construction. The one Halford holds up looks to be made of silver. ¡°I¡¯m going to try,¡± he says back with a smirk. Halford walks away a bit and sits on the ground with his legs crossed. Between my brother¡¯s meditation and Bali ministrations for the wounded elven girl, the campground grows silent. Jellian busies himself with checking and rechecking the perimeter, and Kapin starts eating breakfast. Mostly, we watch my brother as he attempts to ascend to the second magical rank. After a dozen or so minutes, Halford holding the soul cage in his lap, sweat starts to run down his back. After twenty, a light begins to blink on and off inside the soul cage. The light pulses a mixture of silver and red light with the beating of my brother¡¯s heart. Soon the light becomes a steady shine of bright light, slowly revolving, its twin colors always shifting. Halford brings the cage to his chest, and ever so slowly, pushes the soul cage into his chest. The metal ball of silver halts against his skin. Halford continues his meditation, struggling against his own soul to pull it all the way into our world. The soul cage slips into his body, flowing into him like a breath of air. The light like blood on a sword shines from his skin so brilliantly that it is impossible to see. I blink back tears, trying to find the world hidden behind the blinding white that I see. The blindness is temporary, and when I can see again, I find my brother transformed, standing in the middle of the camp. He has gotten taller again, in fact, he is the tallest man I¡¯ve ever seen at a few inches over seven feet. His muscles have grown more compact, and his mop of hair falls straight over his shoulders and down his chest like a river of glossed gold. His face irks me, I can still recognize my brother in it, but his nose and chin have become distinct and perfect while his eyes have taken on the crystal blue of the river in the twilight. ¡°It worked,¡± Kapin breathes. ¡°It worked!¡± ¡°It did.¡± Even Halfords voice has become more manly. He is now at the peak of humans, rank three will push him over that edge into his permanent magician¡¯s body, and like all third rankers, it will take on a magical quality that will make him something greater than human. ¡°Can you feel your new abilities?¡± Jellian asks. The greatest meaning behind the ranking system that essentia magicians use is how many abilities each of their essentia grant. I¡¯m told that the previous abilities of the essentia users also grow more powerful with rank. ¡°I can,¡± Halford says. He casts out his hand, and his familiar greatsword falls into his right hand. He puts out his left, and a dark sword appears there. It is not as long as his golden greatsword, it appears to merely be a longsword, but its blade is the color of night, and a red smoke mists off of it. I try to stop the idea coming to me and fail; he looks like the god Gan Mori--Exeter''s son and principal of war. ¡°Do you know what your soul presence is?¡± Jellian asks. ¡°I do,¡± Halford says, planting his two swords in the ground before him. ¡°I do!¡± he exclaims. His face grows serious once more and his attention disappears somewhere inside himself. ¡°What is a soul presence?¡± I ask Kapin. I have heard them throw the term around a few times, I didn¡¯t really understand. ¡°That¡¯s right, you can¡¯t feel soul presences at rank zero,¡± Kapin says back to me. ¡°The more powerful an essentia magician becomes, the better they can perceive the power and souls of others. All you can really do at rank one is feel them. At rank two, one of the abilities you gain will absolutely be a soul presence ability, it lets you use your soul to affect the world directly. There is a lot more to soul presence, but they don¡¯t exactly teach that kind of thing in our backward part of the world.¡± ¡°And I think that I have an idea on what it does,¡± Halford says, responding to our conversation. He stares at a tree ten feet away from him, then after a look of confusion, moves closer. When he is six feet away from the tree, there is a crack as the bark explodes, like an axe has just been swung into it. The cut in the tree is deep, not as deep as what Halford could do with his hands, but it looks seriously lethal. Halford smiles in delight, dozens of cuts land on the trunk of the tree in a blink, the invisible cutting force chipping through the entirety of the tree trunk in the span of a few seconds. The tree falls away from us. ¡°The range seems somewhat low.¡± ¡°That¡¯s incredible,¡± I say. My brother turns and beams a smile at my words. He is like an old hound, easy to forget that just a little while ago he had been trying to pick a fight with me. We find Bali back at the top of the campground, her knees pulled up and her face hidden in her arms. The elven girl lays on the ground in front of her, the raised, black veins beneath her skin having spread all over her, purpling her white skin with bruising. I sit with her beneath the tree, rubbing small circles on her back while she stays silent and still. Though I try not to, I can¡¯t help but look at the dead girl laying in the damp leaves. No one could mistake her for being asleep. That is what I¡¯ve always heard. The only dead person that I¡¯ve ever been close to was my grandfather Roan. My mother kept me from seeing him at his funeral, but through the tears and strained voices of the adults around me, I remember hearing about how he looked like he was merely sleeping when the dirt was thrown over him. This elven girl, there is nothing peaceful about her. Her left eye stays open, staring up at the tree canopy overhead, bloodshot eye unseeing, a bare speck of mud clinging to the iris. I can see the wound I missed when she had been brought into the camp, an angry, twin gash of black and purple puckering around her collarbone. The sight of it makes me touch my own collarbone where the boiling python bit into me. I hug Bali, but she doesn¡¯t stir, the phantom pain of the snake attack still firing electricity into me. I find out that the elves lose their flowery scent in death, the sweet fragrance I get from her now is wrong and burns my eyes. The boys move off, speaking in hushed tones, planning no doubt. We have our breakfast while Kapin explains where he found the girl. When alerted by the scream, he ran off into the forest in the direction of the noise, only finding the elven girl, spasming from the poisonous bite she had taken. He over indulges, he can¡¯t help it, but the mood is no longer right for his braggadocio. ¡°Then I found it,¡± he says, taking a serious tone. ¡°On the way back to the camp, with the girl, the azure rabbit attacked me.¡± Kapin¡¯s story captures my attention, my soggy jerky momentarily forgotten. The man waits for Jellian to come join us from where he was performing rites over the dead elven girl. He has lain a sheet over her, I don¡¯t know where he has gotten it from. ¡°You did see it then,¡± Halford prompts. ¡°I did.¡± Kapin nods. He points to the new dents and pocks in his armor. ¡°I assume that I did anyway. A blue rabbit the size of a dog attacked me. When it hit me, well, I¡¯m just glad that I have a defensive power. It felt like you hitting me Halford, maybe like you hitting me now.¡± ¡°That likely means that this is a strength-type azure rabbit,¡± Bali mumbles over her bread. ¡°That woman said it was a possibility.¡± ¡°Probably,¡± Kapin agrees. He rubs his hand over the steel breastplate he wears, thicker and more expensive than my own, a concave dent in the metal stretches over his heart. ¡°That thing can kick, that¡¯s for sure.¡± Kapin nods to the covered body of the elven girl. ¡°Do we think it did that to her as well.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± I say. ¡°She has a bite on her neck, two marks, like a rabbit might have. This is a monster rabbit, so I don¡¯t really know. Don¡¯t remember that Willian woman mentioning them being poisonous or anything.¡± ¡°Venomous,¡± Jellian corrects. ¡°Whatever.¡± ¡°There is a lot that we don¡¯t know about the monsters on this mountain,¡± Halford says. ¡°The only one that I¡¯ve even heard about before was that dire porcupine. These claw monsters.¡± He shrugs over-muscled shoulders. ¡°Let¡¯s treat this rank two monster like it is venomous until we know otherwise. Let us also assume that it has more abilities that we don¡¯t know about. We¡¯ve never fought a rank two monster, we might have heard about what they can do, but I don¡¯t think any of us really know.¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°I fought it,¡± Kapin says. ¡°And how did that go for you?¡± I ask. ¡°It kicked me through a tree,¡± he says with an empty grin. ¡°So, poorly.¡± ¡°I cannot follow you,¡± Jellian says to Halford. ¡°I have not finished the rites for my kin. I cannot leave her alone here.¡± Emotion flashes across Halford¡¯s face. He opens his mouth to respond, closing it with a click instead, and nodding. He turns to Bali. ¡°Are you with me?¡± ¡°Always,¡± she says. She has recovered some of her pallor with the food, but she still looks in a bad way. ¡°Then we had better hurry,¡± Halford says, standing and dusting off the damp leaves that cling to him. ¡°Now,¡± I say as I stand as well. ¡°You don¡¯t want to take care of the bodies of those other monsters first?¡± ¡°No.¡± He looks down at me, and for the first time that I can remember, I am intimidated by him. ¡°The first priority is winning this competition. If we know where the target is, then I am not going to be na?ve enough to believe that no one else will find out as well. We will win, and then we will return and take care of the other monsters.¡± ¡°Can we even win?¡± Bali asks. ¡°You said it yourself, this is a rank two monster.¡± ¡°Bali, right now I feel like I could beat anything.¡± Halford¡¯s smile is infectious. ¡°You are still just a man, Halford,¡± she says. ¡°Not for much longer.¡± A man and woman stand shoulder to shoulder on a rocky island in the middle of the monster infested forest. The woman holds a staff, its ruby head glowing with heat and power, while her left arm hangs limp, a bruising twist at her shoulder making the limb and the buckler shield strapped to her wrist useless. She breathes heavy, onyx hair clinging to her sweaty face, drool running from her huffing lips. The man beside her sports a myriad of superficial cuts across his tan skin, but he sneers at the monster in front of him with defiance and mania. The second man, on the ground behind them, continues his bawling scream, clutching at his right knee that bends in the wrong direction. The rabbit, the monster before them, is blue in the way some shepherd hounds are, more of a swampy gray. Malignant, beady eyes stare out from a face split by sharp, protruding teeth that still drip with the viscera of its most recent kill. The adventures'' weapon¡¯s shake from the tightness of their fists about them. When the monster moves, it springs from one spot like a missile, racing faster than any arrow, trying to go straight through whatever is its target. Behind the monster, lying headless amid the wreckage of a boulder that had been the size of a small house, their fourth party member lies. The monster begins to move, slowly gathering its legs fully beneath itself as its eyes narrow on the screaming man behind the two. The woman tries to raise her shield, but the pain in her arm makes her stumble, almost fall. The man with swords screams a wordless roar at the beast, torn between shielding his injured friend with his own body or to allow the monster to pass him by. If he intercepts the creature, he is certain that he will end up like his cousin back on the rocks. He stands his ground between the monster and his friend anyway. The monster screams a hiss at the two, its forked tongue darting out past three rows of drill-like teeth. They see it make the same move it has made several times already; it crouches and lowers its head like a battering ram toward them. A blur, silent and huge, appears from out of the air next to the monster. A booted foot strikes out from the resolving image of a massive man, catching the azure rabbit in the ribs, and sending it soaring back through the air like a cannon shot. Another boulder in the clearing explodes as the monster makes contact with it. The sound is like the collapsing of a mineshaft, rattling and echoing through the forest. ¡°I¡¯ll be taking this one,¡± Halford says to the two adventurers that stare up at him, dumbstruck. ¡°You can thank me later.¡± I am far behind my brother making it to the clearing. Kapin sticks next to Bali and me, though we both know that he could run much faster if he wanted to. The dust kicking up from the destroyed boulder is still drifting through the air, making it stale, when I stop to catch my breath. Though my brother offers the injured pair a sincere smile, he never removes his eyes from where he has punted the azure rabbit. ¡°Bali,¡± he commands. ¡°I¡¯m on it.¡± Bali rushes past me to the injured adventurers, immediately beginning to apply her healing. ¡°Cover everyone,¡± Halford tells Kapin. ¡°So, you¡¯re going to take it on yourself?¡± he asks, hefting his shield. ¡°That¡¯s the plan.¡± Halford holds his hands in the air, two blades of light and ink appear out of the air and fall into them. ¡°It doesn¡¯t seem so tough.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Kapin says, his eyes lingering on the body of the adventurer in the rocks. ¡°Don¡¯t get too cocky.¡± ¡°Never.¡± The monster comes back out of the rubble it was launched into like a cannonball. I barely see it before it collides with the flat end of Halford¡¯s swinging sword. His swing propels the monster through a tree and into the bare face of a cliff that climbs further up the mountain for another fifty feet. Halford laughs so hard at the beast that he almost doubles over. I find it hard to do anything. My feet stay planted to the stone as I watch my brother manhandle the deadly creature like it were a kitten. My crossbow lies forgotten in my fingers. When the creature comes shooting toward Halford again, three antlers, like the decrepit limbs of a tree, jut out of its head. I don¡¯t see the move my brother makes, it is too fast for my eyes. Halford¡¯s sword flashes, the monster collides with him. Halford and the monster tumble, bouncing together in a jumble off the stone and dirt, before colliding with the trunk of a tree. The tree groans, shedding small, sickly fruit from its branches as vibration shakes through it. We are all frozen, watching on as Halford disentangles himself from the azure rabbit. Black ichor runs from the monster¡¯s mouth, its beady eyes staring in different directions as Halford hefts its corpse, impaled through the chest on his sword. ¡°Halford!¡± Bali shouts, and then I see it too. The monster¡¯s antlers stab into my brother¡¯s chest, six points of impact that dig all the way through him, protruding out his back. Bali stands to run to him, forgetting her current patient, but he stops her with a motion of his hand. A sickening sucking sound cuts the still air as we all watch Halford grip the monster¡¯s head, and then with a roar of pain and triumph, rip the azure rabbit¡¯s antlers out of his chest. My brother stumbles to a knee as he tosses the corpse aside, and I find my feet. I am running to him even as golden light begins to peel off his skin. He is standing by the time I make it over to him, and I watch as the gory mess in his chest knits itself back together. Even with magic, I can¡¯t believe what I see. Halford winces when I touch the spot on his chest that is hardly more than a scratch any longer, and he laughs when he takes in the sight of my confusion. ¡°I told you,¡± he says. ¡°It wasn¡¯t that tough.¡± I can¡¯t take my eyes off him as we return to the campground, no one can. After healing the injured adventurers and seeing them off, Bali checked Halford all over for any wound that he might be trying to hide. He walks at the head of our group of four, bare-chested and carrying a blue fur pack over his shoulder that I received from disenchanting the corpse of the monster. I can¡¯t blame him for showing off his new, grand physique; I probably would be doing the same if I were in his shoes. That woman is with us again, we found her standing on the edge of the clearing, waiting, watching. There is an amusement in her eyes. I don¡¯t like it. We collect Jellian who has bound the dead girl in furs and made her body safe for travel. Halford puts me to work breaking down the bodies of the monsters that ambushed us that morning. The total haul is beyond anything I could have imagined: an assortment of copper, iron, and bronze coins, sixty-eight silver coins, three gold pieces, seven daggers that seem to be made of the claw monsters¡¯ fingers and which cut through bark like butter, meat from the rabbit that will rapidly accelerate Kapin¡¯s advancement to rank two, some kind of magical stone that contains the azure rabbit¡¯s eyeball inside, and, best of all, an attunement stone of strength. Even Jellian, the most knowledgeable on magical matters in the group, only has cursory knowledge of how an attunement stone works. He explains that they can augment a singular magical ability of an individual, the most common types of attunement stones being elemental in nature. He has never seen one used before and has never met anyone who has used one. When we reach the cage elevator, Halford stands at the top of the cliff, operating it for everyone he sends on ahead without effort. I don¡¯t think my brother has stopped grinning for the last hour or more. The chain of the elevator rattles as he lets it out hand over hand, giving Bali and Kapin a smooth ride to the ground of the cliff. Jellian waits for them at the bottom. Halford laughs to himself again after setting them down at the bottom of the cliff and moves his foot out over the ledge as if he were planning to step off. I don¡¯t try to stop him, it is hard for me to imagine anything hurting him anymore. That is the moment that I begin to really understand. When word about our brother Corinth reaching the fifth rank made it back to our little mud pit part of the world, people began to treat the two of us differently. I couldn¡¯t understand it, not then. In my mind, there was no real difference between being a well-respected carpenter or magician, just different occupations. After seeing Halford¡¯s long journey to the place he has arrived at now, I finally understand what it is that everyone respects so much; power. A rank one magician is impressive, incredibly so, they have powers that set them apart from normal humanity, but seeing Halford in action just today, I can see that the gulf between rank one and two is indescribable. I imagine that it must be that way for all the ranks. If I ever meet Corinth again, will I find a god or a man looking back at me from behind his red eyes? ¡°I think I¡¯ve made my mind up,¡± I say. Halford turns to me as he hauls on the chain, bringing the elevator back up for me and the silent woman. ¡°About what?¡± ¡°I think that I know what I want to do. I¡¯m going to use that Snake Essentia, and I am going to become a powerful essentia magician, like you.¡± The chain hitches for a moment as he pulls on it. The smile disappears from Halford¡¯s face, and he turns away from me, focusing on the elevator. Behind me, the silent woman lets out the first sound I have ever heard her make, she barks a harsh laugh to herself and removes a scrap of paper from the folds of her habit, taking a moment to write something there. ¡°I don¡¯t have it anymore,¡± Halford says back to me. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I needed the money,¡± Halford says, his hauling on the chain slows. ¡°I could feel how close I was to rank two and knew that I would need a soul cage on this trip. They are expensive, especially--¡± ¡°You sold it!¡± My voice echoes into the trees behind us, bouncing back to me like the whine of a child. ¡°You promised that you wouldn¡¯t do that!¡± ¡°We can still get it,¡± Halford says to me, irritation in his voice. ¡°There is no chance that Mr. Gleece has managed to sell it yet, there isn¡¯t enough money in West Grove that essentia just get snatched up at the first opportunity. With the money that we have now, it will be easy to buy it back. Better, with the money we have now, we can finally move out of this backwoods province and go somewhere with real challenges and real money to be made. I¡¯ll buy you all new essentia, better ones, ones that you won¡¯t regret using.¡± ¡°You sold it!¡± I repeat. ¡°I can get you better ones.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t believe you!¡± ¡°What is so important about that one, eh?¡± Halford hooks the chain on the line and turns back to me. ¡°Why do you want a Snake Essentia so badly? I just don¡¯t understand it.¡± ¡°Because you promised that you wouldn¡¯t sell it.¡± I stab my nail into his chest, and see that I was wrong, something can hurt him. ¡°Because I was the one who made it. Money, meat, whatever else, I don¡¯t care about that stuff, but this was the first thing that my stupid power gave me that I actually wanted. You promised me that you wouldn¡¯t get rid of it, and you lied to me, Halford. I trusted you with that.¡± I watch as his eyes dart back and forth over me. He stumbles for something to say but comes up short. Turning back to the chain with a grimace, he gives a single, hard haul on the elevator and brings it all the way to the top, locking it in place. ¡°We¡¯ll get it when we get back,¡± he mumbles to me. He frowns back at me when I don¡¯t say anything, opening the door to the cage elevator. ¡°Are you going, or do I need to carry you down.¡± Scowling back at him, I march into the elevator alongside the silent woman. I can¡¯t stop tapping my foot on the wooden flooring as the elevator begins a bumpless descent back to the ground. I¡¯m not just angry with Halford, though I certainly am that, but I am also angry at myself for throwing a fit over this. I hate that it hurts me so much because I know in my head that he is probably right about needing to sell it, he is usually right about most things. If he hadn¡¯t bought a soul cage before coming up the mountain, then who knows what might have happened. The silent woman slips a piece of paper into my hand as we ride the elevator down. When I look to her, she stares out at the rolling hillside as placid and innocent as stone. There aren¡¯t many words written on the paper, but they are enough to boggle my mind. I tuck the paper securely away before we reach the ground, it wouldn¡¯t do for anyone else to see. Chapter 7 - Contract I¡¯ve been in Westgrove for six months--really it is more accurate to say that I have been in and out of the town for six months--but I¡¯ve never seen the warehouse as busy as it is tonight. Word that the competition finished spread fast enough through the participants on the mountain that almost everyone had made it back to town before sundown. The building was a mess of celebration, even those that had lost the competition managed to come out ahead with how many rank one monsters there had been on the mountain to cull. Halford, Kapin, and Jellian are already well into their cups, the adventuring community in attendance celebrating not only the successful hunt for the azure rabbit, but also the ranking up of two different entrants. Hitting the second rank is something uncommon to such a low magic environment like Westgrove, and each time it happened the drunks that stew in the barroom of the Warehouse use it as a reason for celebratory drinking. Every few minutes another man or woman, usually wobbling as they make their way over to the long table, toss a silver coin onto the table and buy a new round of ale or whisky for either my brother or the foreign dwarven woman who hit the second rank during the competition as well. Halford sits a head above everyone in the room now, his infectious laugh and smile keeping the mood light as he spins a glowing stick of crystal around his fingers. It is one of the six attunement stones he received from Arabella Willian when we got back to town. A dozen men surround my brother and two women in their late twenties sit close to him, but he doesn¡¯t seem to notice any of them. He and Kapin yell jokes back and forth over the din of fiddle music when they aren¡¯t trying to start some new game of cards that they abandon in less than ten minutes to return to drinking. I look down at my own cup of watered wine. It isn¡¯t so bad, and after my third cup, I might even mistake it for being good. I sit away from my brother, I¡¯m still mad at him, but I don¡¯t want to ruin his celebration. I know how hard he has worked to get to where he is now: waking up with Kapin in the early morning to train, making trips to Vale when he can to get mentorship from more seasoned adventurers or to read up as much as he can on magical lore, compiling three journals¡¯ worth of information on local monsters to keep his party safe, and putting others ahead of himself when it comes to outfitting the party with gear. He really is a good man, and a part of me knows it¡¯s not fair for me to be angry with him the one time that he makes the selfish choice. Knowing that doesn¡¯t stop me from being pissed. Huge arms wrap around me in a bear hug and lift me from my melancholy and my bench. ¡°Charlene!¡± Kapin roars in my ear, alcohol making his breath toxic. ¡°Halford just told me! You¡¯re coming with us to Vale, huh!¡± ¡°Put me down, you oaf!¡± I yell over my shoulder at him, unable to keep a smile from my face or a laugh out of my voice. Kapin laughs, spinning me like a doll and setting me back on my feet, facing him. ¡°You don¡¯t know how long I¡¯ve waited to hear that you are finally giving up on waiting for Corinth. Take your destiny into your own hands.¡± He ruffles my hair with an oversized, callused hand. ¡°I thought you and Halford wanted me to wait on Corinth,¡± I say, blowing hair out of my face. ¡°That¡¯s all Halford,¡± Kapin says, jutting a thumb over to where my brother spills ale down his gullet to the cheering of those around him. ¡°I told him to get you something good when he was first buying essentia, said that it being the three of us out and slaying monsters was the best way to do it. Didn¡¯t follow my advice of course, he never does.¡± ¡°You are the one always telling me that I¡¯m useless,¡± I accuse. I try to stick my finger into Kapin¡¯s chest, but somehow miss the massive target. Thinking on it again, it might have been five cups of wine. I pick my cup back up from the table and start sipping on it. ¡°You are,¡± Kapin agrees. ¡°In a fight at least. You only had the idea to find yourself a weapon a few days ago.¡± ¡°Crossbows are expensive,¡± I say. ¡°Yeah, true. You¡¯re great Charlie, always knew that, and you know that I love you like my own sister--¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have a sister.¡± ¡°Well, if I did then I would love you like one,¡± he says. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. What matters is that you¡¯re finally going to do it. We¡¯ll get you some good essentia in Vale, you¡¯ll see. Don¡¯t have as much money now as we did the first time around, but that won¡¯t be a problem. You won¡¯t have to settle for a Snake Essentia, they got the good stuff in the real cities.¡± I frown at Kapin¡¯s mention of the Snake Essentia. ¡°You too, huh.¡± ¡°Me too, what?¡± ¡°You going to harp on me about wanting that essentia? What¡¯s the big problem with getting a Snake Essentia? Jelilan¡¯s conflux is the Spider Essentia, and I don¡¯t see the two of you calling him out for that.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not polite to talk about,¡± Kapin says. He takes a long sip out of the mug he is holding. ¡°I just don¡¯t want something weird to happen to you. Snakes don¡¯t have arms. What if you get a power that makes your arms disappear, huh? What then?¡± ¡°That¡¯s not¡­a thing¡­¡± ¡°You know all the essentia powers all of a sudden?¡± he asks. ¡°Don¡¯t be dumb,¡± I say, finishing the last of my wine. Putting the tankard back on the table, upside down, I steal another cup from a woman snoring face down on the wood near us. I taste some foul mixture of whiskey and pear juice splash over my tongue as I toss it back. I scowl at the drink but keep sipping. ¡°If I want to do it then that is what I want, yeah?¡± ¡°Do what you want, Charlie. Tits and honey, you know I¡¯m never going to tell you different. Just, you know, stop wanting stupid things.¡± He laughs at my expression. I take another sip from the cup and try to shoulder past the man. Of course, he is as unmovable as stone, and I spin on my foot from the impact, continuing past him in a half-stumble. ¡°Where you going?¡± Kapin asks behind me. ¡°I¡¯m going to go see how Bali is doing,¡± I yell back to him. It isn¡¯t strictly a lie, but as I run my fingers through my pocket and feel the note that I have tucked away inside, I know it won¡¯t be the only thing that I do tonight. ¡°Give her my love,¡± Kapin says, turning away before I can reply and going back to his celebration with his friends. I spare my brother a last look as I leave the Warehouse, and to my surprise, he meets my eyes. The man offers me a nod as I leave, but in the bleariness of my tipsiness, I can¡¯t puzzle out why. I stumble out of the rundown hostel we had been staying in for several weeks after remembering that we don¡¯t have rooms there anymore. I leave my empty mug of pear whisky swill on the doorstep as I meander my way to the good side of town toward the inn where all my stuff is. I find Bali lying on her bed when I creep into the room. She lies on the woolen covers, facing the wall, the candle on the nightstand behind her casting a vicious shadow onto the wall in front of her. I can tell that she isn¡¯t asleep as I come in, but she ignores me coming in, and I choose not to disturb her. The water splashing down my throat is bliss, and I drink two full cups before setting the pitcher back beneath the table. I sit on my own bed, fiddling with the scrap of paper the silent woman handed me earlier in the day, watching Bali as she lays staring at the wall. After a while I need to light a new candle to keep the light going. My pack is light in the trunk at the foot of my bed, the heaviest thing inside the steel breastplate. I heft the pack onto my back as I look to the door. Instead of leaving, I cross the room and rest my hand on Bali¡¯s shoulder; she stiffens at my touch. ¡°Thank you for saving my life,¡± I tell her as I walk to the door. She doesn¡¯t say anything back to me, and I pretend that I don¡¯t notice her sniffling as I ease the door closed. The note brings me to a street comprised of houses that should be too large to exist inside of the bounds of Westgrove. A carriage driven by a team of four horses passes me by beneath the ember glow of a streetlamp. The coachman spares me a moment¡¯s disdain as he passes but makes no remark. It takes me more than ten minutes to puzzle out the addresses of the manor homes on the street, and another ten beyond that to find the right house. The manor I stand in front of is made of purple wood turned black by the moonless night. The light of two candles pulse softly out of the front windows on either side of the front door, throwing shadows into the street like fishing wire, reeling me in with the dark beauty of the manor. I pause at the door, trying and failing to read the note again by the wan light the manor gives off. Before I can knock, I hear a faint click from the door, and see the knob turn. A man opens the doorway. He isn¡¯t human, though were it not for his skin like molten iron I would be unable to tell. The raven curls of hair that spill over his shoulders looks like it should burn at the touch of his skin, but the only thing burning within him are the smolders of red that are his eyes. ¡°You are?¡± he asks, voice smooth like strawberry jam. ¡°Charlene Devardem,¡± I say, surprising myself with the evenness of my voice. I hold up the note. ¡°I was given this.¡± The man of fire studies the paper in my hand but makes no move to take it from me. ¡°I see.¡± He opens the door fully and beckons me inside. ¡°Ms. Willian is expecting you, Ms. Devardem. Please, follow me inside.¡± I bow to the man, not sure if it is proper to do so or not, and step inside the manor. The man closes the door behind me. Looking around the manor, I find it remarkably barren of furniture. Walls of oak paneling close us into an undecorated entryway, and as the man leads me further into the building, I find naked pedestals standing in the hallways where vases are missed. Hooks and nails hang at eye level, the hint of dark wood beneath them giving away the fact that there used to be paintings hung throughout the halls; no more. ¡°I am bid to ask if you know why you have been invited,¡± the man says as he leads me through the labyrinth of hallways. We have taken three right turns through the manor house before he has dared to speak with me. ¡°I have a guess,¡± I say to him. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, would you mind giving me the honor of your name?¡± ¡°Not much honor left in the name I am afraid,¡± he says, trying and failing to sound lighthearted. ¡°My name is Yorick Mason, I am Ms. Willian¡¯s butler. I will ask that you forgive any rudeness I might unintentionally extend to you, I am still new to my position.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll forgive you preemptively,¡± I say. The chill of the night air and the strangeness of the manor I wind through does wonders to sober me up. ¡°I hope that it is not too late to call upon Ms. Willian. The note said to come tonight, but still¡­¡± ¡°Ms. Willian prefers to conduct her business at first opportunity,¡± Mr. Mason says. ¡°As I said earlier, she is expecting you.¡± The man stops in front of a nondescript door and studies me a moment. ¡°Have you spoken with a high ranker before?¡± ¡°Only my brother. He is rank two.¡± The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Mr. Mason nods at me. ¡°You need to be above third rank to be considered a high ranker,¡± he informs. ¡°Be polite, you will be forgiven for most breaches of proper manner, but impoliteness is never tolerated. Ms. Willian is not nobility, be cordial.¡± ¡°I understand,¡± I reply with all due seriousness. ¡°Superb. Remember, you are a guest.¡± Mr. Mason inclines his head to me, and opens the door, stepping away. I keep my spine straight as I walk inside. The room is a contrast to the rest of the manor. A brilliant starscape of blue wall paper lines the room, the silver of the night sky twinkling with the light of six orbs of soft gray light that revolve near the ceiling. The walls are covered in murals of beautiful people with long silver hair, generations worth of near perfect beings staring stoically into the room as if through a window. Two sofas made of burgundy river-skink leather sit opposite each other, a long table of dappled limestone resting between them. On the table rests a porcelain tray of cookies and biscuits along with a kettle of steaming tea. To the right of the tea tray, resting beneath the perfect hand of Arabella Willian, a purple velvet cloth covers an object the height of the tea kettle; there is something ominous that emanates from that hidden object. Arabella Willian, as serene a beauty as I first experienced in the Warehouse just a few days before, sits on the sofa opposite the door I entered from, her full lips quirked in a smirk that makes me believe she can read the story of my soul at a glance. Tonight, she wears a tight dress of lavender silk that emphasizes the danger in her eyes. She drums flawless red-painted nails on the velvet beneath her hand, earning a metallic echo from whatever lay beneath. Behind her, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of another door which leads out of the room, three silent women in blue habits watch on. ¡°Please,¡± she says to me, ¡°have a seat.¡± I jump, hearing the door behind me click shut. I offer Arabella Willian the best bow that I can muster. ¡°I am Charlene Devardem,¡± I say. ¡°Oh, I know.¡± She motions to the sofa opposite her. ¡°Please, child, have a seat. You look a little unsteady on your feet.¡± ¡°Yes. I mean, no ma¡¯am. I am steady on my feet.¡± I set my pack down next to the sofa as I come around it and take the seat she motioned toward. I reach into my pocket once more and pull out the piece of scrap paper. Arabella Willian smiles at me. ¡°You gave this to me.¡± ¡°Yes, Pricinna delivered that to you as per my instruction,¡± she says. I shake my head. ¡°No, you gave it to me.¡± Arabella¡¯s smile widens at my words. With a gesture, the three women behind Arabella begin to transform, becoming as transparent as glass as their structures rearrange. It takes me a moment to realize that they are made of ice, a shifting crystalline structure of ice that changes to match the form of the woman in front of me, before growing opaque once more and becoming true mirrors of Arabella Willian. ¡°How did you know?¡± she asks. ¡°It took me a while,¡± I say, ¡°but the one you sent with us, her eyes were the same as yours.¡± Arabella laughs an unexpectedly deep and rich flavor. ¡°You are perceptive, child. I thought that was the case. Not many without an understanding of soul perception can see through my ice clones. Although, that is but one of the reasons I extended the offer. Humor me, tell me another reason.¡± Unfolding the piece of paper again, I scan the words. ¡®Arabella Willian finds you interesting. She extends to you an offer to attempt entrance to the Willian guild, should you be so inclined. Come alone, tonight, so that she may make the offer in person.¡¯ The rest of the note details the address of the manor. ¡°I assume that it has something to do with my brother,¡± I say, tossing the piece of paper onto the table between us. ¡°Ah, quite the impressive young man. When I was delivering to him the spoils of the competition, he made it known to me that he intends to take his team away from here. That will be a wise move, he is already reaching the edges of what this place can offer to him. I expect his career to go quite well, if he can survive it that is.¡± She taps her lips in contemplation. ¡°Incorrect though, your brother did not factor into my decision.¡± ¡°I meant my other brother, Corinth Devardem,¡± I explain. ¡°Another brother.¡± Arabella¡¯s eyebrow quirks. ¡°I have no knowledge of this man. What about him makes you believe that he might sway my evaluation of you.¡± I look at her, puzzled. I was certain that the only reason she might be interested in me would have been because of my relation to Corinth. ¡°He is a rank five magician,¡± I say. ¡°Rank five. Impressive. Especially if he is human, like you, like me. Not very many of our kind can make it that high; politics.¡± She scrutinizes me once more, and I watch as her eyes flick back and forth, her mind racing faster than I can hope to match. ¡°Ah, now I recall the name. Your brother is the Red Mage of Evengale. He came from this part of Gale. Yes, now that sets a few things nicely into place.¡± ¡°If not for my brother, then why would you extend such a generous invitation to me? Surely there were better adventurers in the competition that deserve such an honor more. Halford, he won the competition after all.¡± ¡°But that is not what I am after. You, Ms. Devardem, are what I am after. You are a zero rank magician with a single and rare essentia to your being, perceptive, and most importantly of all, you lust for power.¡± Arabella¡¯s smirk blossoms into a dangerous smile. ¡°I can offer you that power.¡± She taps the velvet cloth again, causing another metallic ping. ¡°Agree to my terms and I can offer you a grander start into the magic world than even most nobles can claim to get. The resources of the Willian guild are vast, and I have been allotted considerable dispensation to make certain that my mission is successful.¡± I stare at the woman across the table from me for a while, considering. My father always warned me about deals that seemed too evergreen. There is always something hidden behind the pleasant smiles of the powerful he would say. My mother, on the other hand, would tell me that I should snatch any opportunity that came my way, I¡¯d burn my hands sometimes, but a little burn is nothing when there is something truly good on the table. ¡°What terms are these?¡± I ask. ¡°You said you want me, what do you want me for?¡± ¡°A prudent question.¡± Arabella leans back in her seat, spreading her arms across the back of the sofa. She gestures to one of her ice clones with a finger, and the clone comes around the table to pour the two of us a cup of tea from the kettle. ¡°There is¡­a tournament set to begin three years from now. The Willian guild will participate in this event, as will guilds from nations and continents the world over. This tournament is aimed at showcasing the best and brightest of the third rankers that each guild can put up. Prizes, honors, fabulous wealth is all in store for those that prove themselves in this tournament, and the prestige of the guilds are at stake. I am but one of a handful of individuals that have been dispatched to discover dirt-covered gems, such as yourself, who just need a little bit of polishing. ¡°It is the hope of the guild head that we might be able to inject some new blood into our guild, and that maybe one of those unpolished gems might be able to challenge the already impressive roster of third rankers in the guild. I have chosen you for this. It is a considerable honor.¡± I sip at the tea poured for me, finding it perfect in temperature and as sweet as an apple. ¡°I am sure that it is,¡± I say. ¡°Still, you haven¡¯t told me about the terms that I would be agreeing to.¡± ¡°Quite right,¡± Arabella says, taking a sip from her own teacup. ¡°See, you are perceptive. The terms are extremely attractive, if I do say so myself. I will supply you with essentia, truly, you will boggle at the collection that I have brought along with me. I will supply you with a team of first rankers that will be in the same position as you, and I will make certain that you each receive the best training that I can deliver. After all, you will need to make it to the third rank in as many years. Additionally, because you are still a zero ranker,¡± she taps the covered object again, ¡°you are in an incredibly enviable position. Beneath this cloth I have something that can only be bestowed upon an individual before they fully achieve the first rank. I offer this to you as well.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± I ask. She smirks, as if she has been waiting for that exact question this whole time. Arabella pinches the velvet, pulling the cloth away to reveal a jar. A sickly yellow-green liquid fills the jar to the brim, and floating inside the jar, is a black orb that I slowly come to realize is an eyeball. The eye slowly spins inside the jar until a red iris comes to stare directly into my own eyes before turning away. ¡°An eye.¡± I abandon my tea on the table. ¡°You want to give me an eye?¡± ¡°Precisely,¡± Arabella agrees. ¡°I knew the man who possessed this eye before. The higher an essentia magician¡¯s rank climbs, the more physical their soul becomes, and when they pass the third threshold, their body fully integrates their magical gifts. Sometimes, when they die, parts of their bodies can be harvested and invested into the non-magical to pass along those gifts. The process doesn¡¯t work on those rank one or higher.¡± ¡°You want to put that eye in me?¡± I ask. I try to look away from the eyeball in the jar, but I can¡¯t pull my eyes away. ¡°I do. This eye possesses a powerful analytical tool. With it, and with the potential that I sense inside of you, I believe that you have the capability of being the gem that I was sent to this backwater to uncover. You will be a ruby, I think.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know, Ms. Willian.¡± Arabella puts the cover back over the jar and I finally find myself able to look back at her. ¡°Having someone put someone else¡¯s eye in me seems a little¡­wrong.¡± ¡°Wrong?¡± Arabella barks a laugh. ¡°No, Ms. Devardem. The man whose eye this was bequeathed it to the guild before his passing so that it might be used. You would be honoring him by accepting it.¡± ¡°Still--¡± ¡°What was it that you said to your brother?¡± she asks. ¡°That you wanted to become a powerful magician, I remember it well because you did not say that you wanted to become a great adventurer. Why do you think that is?¡± ¡°I will be an adventurer,¡± I say. ¡°Of course I will.¡± ¡°But that isn¡¯t what you want, is it. You want to be powerful. Why?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I say. ¡°But you do want it¡­¡± My mouth works but no words come out. I look around the room, trying not to meet the woman¡¯s violet eyes, but that leaves my own gaze to fall back on the covered jar. ¡°I do want it,¡± I say. I reach a tentative hand toward the jar and pull away. ¡°I don¡¯t know why I want it. I don¡¯t have some grand dream that I need that kind of power for. I see them, the adventurers, I have watched them for so long now, I want what they have.¡± ¡°Do you honestly think that your brother would allow you that? Do you think that Halford would allow you to blossom into something strong and beautiful inside of his shadow?¡± ¡°He would help me,¡± I say. ¡°Halford loves me, and he would help me become strong like him.¡± ¡°But he would never let you become stronger than him,¡± Arabella says. ¡°No.¡± I realize the truth of the word as I say it. I know that my brother loves me, but it would break him if I ever started to catch up to him. Not that I really believe that I could, it is hard to imagine anyone surpassing him, especially myself. I look across the table at the woman before me. She is of the fourth rank, miles ahead of my brother, and I feel something inside me stir that I haven¡¯t felt in longer than I can remember. If someone out there would be capable of helping me grow strong, who else could be better than this woman? Arabella¡¯s eyes grow predatory. I don¡¯t know how, but she can read my thoughts. Her hand reaches back behind the sofa, and one of her ice clones delivers into it a rolled parchment. ¡°Read this if you need, it is the contract that I will have you sign. It is standard, though I do not necessarily expect or want to you take my word for it. In gist, it states that in exchange for my considerable resources and time investment, you will offer the Willian guild exclusive first rights to deliver to you an offer for entrance into the guild upon reaching the third rank and undertaking an entrance examination. You will be held to a high standard, and I will be able to break the contract at any time, for any reason, if I believe that you are holding back any effort.¡± I read through the contract. What she says is true, but the contract also offers a monthly dispensation of two ounces of gold. It also states that all of that money will be forfeited and need to be repaid if I do not make it to the third rank in exactly three years from this night. Arabella¡¯s flowing signature marks the bottom of the page, next to a blank spot for my own name. ¡°Do you really believe that I can make it to the third rank in three years?¡± I ask her, setting the contract on the table between us. ¡°I do. If you do precisely as I instruct. Finding out that you are the sister of the Red Mage of Evergale is a boon to my confidence. It is said that the man came from nothing, and that he reached the third rank in only two years. Is it not also true that your brother Halford has been a magician for less than a year? He is rank two now.¡± ¡°That is true,¡± I confirm. ¡°You have good blood in you then. A drive, or perhaps a thirst. Yes, I do believe that you can reach the third rank, Charlene. I think that you know that you can as well.¡± I don¡¯t feel the confidence that she does. Something like reaching the third rank is something so foreign to me that I can¡¯t put it properly into perspective in my mind. I want to though. I want that grit that I saw in Bali. I want the power that my brother showed us, tearing apart a rank two monster as if it were nothing. More than that, I want the flawless beauty that I see in the woman sitting across the table from me. If I can get all of that, I will gladly spend the next three years of my life working for it. ¡°I need a pen,¡± I tell Arabella. The woman snaps, and one of the clones brings me an inkwell and pen. At this moment I am glad that my mother forced me to sit through her reading and writing lessons. Not even half of the people out in this quiet stretch of the world are literate. I take up the pen and dip it in the ink. ¡°I¡¯ll remind you,¡± Arabella says as I touch the pen to the parchment. ¡°By signing, you are also agreeing to take my little gift here.¡± She motions to the covered jar. ¡°I understand,¡± I say. Trying to match the flourish of her signature, I sign my name, dating the paper. I replace the pen in the inkwell with a shaking hand, staring down at the contract that now bears my name. Arabella leans forward, blowing a puff of bone-chilling mist over the paper. The ink dries in an instant as frost rims the edges of the contract. One of the clones rolls up the paper and tucks it away. ¡°Now,¡± Arabella says, ¡°let us begin.¡± ¡°How do we start?¡± I ask. ¡°Don¡¯t worry.¡± Arabella lifts a hand and purple light begins to surround her fingers. ¡°You will not need to do anything for this part.¡± Chapter 8 - Waking up to a New Friend The pressure in my head is not the thing that brings me back to consciousness, but it helps me find the light again. My stomach is roiling, cramping and burning the back of my throat. My eyes shoot awake as I bend over the side of the bed I am laying in, snatching up a discarded bucket and emptying my already empty stomach into it. Vomit singes my tongue as I return the alcohol I had borrowed the night before, and my hand falls over my left eye as I collapse back into the bed. I moan, feeling a pulsing ache in my left eye with each contraction of my heart. In a fog, the night¡¯s events begin to trickle back to me, I am just on the edge of remembering when a chittering noise near my face freezes my mind and blood. Opening my eyes, I find a spider, hairy and near, the size of a cat, standing on my chest and chattering at me with crooked mandibles. I scream, trying to slap the monster away, but my hand passes through its body like it isn¡¯t even there. ¡°Kraaa¡­.splenetae¡­corian¡­.¡± The strange words that echo from its gnashing mouth spike into my head like a drill. I grab the pillow under my head and swing at the monster, but again the pillow passes through the spider like it is a ghost. The spider jumps backwards, landing on the air and continues to click its mandibles at me. ¡°Ha¡¯ll mana¡­Yullisataa¡­Hello.¡± I only stop swinging at the creature when it greets me in its creaking, alien voice. Eight red eyes peer out from its face at me as it floats in the air above me. I still hold my pillow raised to smack it if it dares to come back within my reach. ¡°Human. Native language: Castinian.¡± It nods its head at me. ¡°I am Galea, transitory fey spirit of analytical integration.¡± The monster spider looks as if it expects something from me in return, but I can do nothing except stare at the monster with my mouth agape. The spider examines its legs. ¡°Form is inadequate for correspondence. Adjusting.¡± I feel a hot poker burn through my left eye and sear back into my brain. I fall back into the bed with a moan, and I am sure that I pass out from the pain of it. The first conscious thought I have is about the golden light of morning pouring into the room from the arching window above the bed I lay in. A crystal decanter of water rests on the nightstand near my bed, a ceramic glass ready to be poured into. The room is bare other than a plain wooden chair resting against the wall opposite my bed, my clothes and pack sitting on it. I feel myself, finding that I am dressed in silk robes the color of honey. A creature floats into my vision, staring down at me from above, and I cringe before seeing that it is not the spider I had almost forgotten about. A golden serpent with red, slitted eyes and scales that sparkle the color of the rainbow, looks down at me from a foot above my head. I realize what it is immediately, the dangerous claws of its legs, the bone-ridged lining of its wings, the wicked crook of its fanged mouth; a dragon the length of my forearm watches me as it flies circles over my head. ¡°This new form should be non-repulsive to you,¡± it says as it stretches its wings. ¡°What are you?¡± I ask. I find my voice raspy and painful. I pour myself a drink of water and swallow deep from my ceramic cup before repeating my question. ¡°I am Galea,¡± the golden dragon repeats. ¡°I am a transitory fey spirit given the purpose of integrating analytical data. I live in your head.¡± ¡°In my head.¡± I touch my head, and find a bandage wrapped around my skull over my hair. Patting the bandage, I feel where it converges over my left eye. A second of looking around reveals a metallic cap the size of my eye laying loose on the floor, the back of the metal plate hosts a smear of dried blood. ¡°The eye,¡± I say, remembering. ¡°The eye,¡± the dragon who calls itself Galea agrees. ¡°When my previous host perished, I feared I might be decomposed and returned to the chaos. How happy I am that another host has found a use for me.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t call me a host,¡± I tell the dragon. I start looking around the room. ¡°Where is a mirror?¡± At my question, a mess of information sprouts into the room around me. I hit my head on the bedpost as I startle backwards. Words, written in unnaturally straight script, float in the air on black, transparent paper over the objects I can see. Across the room from me I see a cluster of the signs: Wooden chair; common, Traveling clothes; common, The Manor of Gacious Moor(unique). I see more of the floating signs as my eyes roam over the room: Crystal decanter(uncommon)--filled with water, Ceramic cup(common)--half-empty, Mahogany nightstand(rare), Tin bucket(common), Vomit of Charlene Devardem(common). ¡°What is going on,¡± I whisper, putting my back to the wall and rubbing my temples, trying to arrest the headache I feel building. ¡°There is no mirror within the vicinity of your perception,¡± Galea relates to me, floating in the air in front of my face. ¡°Might I suggest changing locations if you wish to discover one.¡± ¡°Are you doing this?¡± I ask the dragon, motioning to the floating, transparent signs about the room. ¡°No mistress,¡± Galea says. ¡°This ability is yours, I am merely performing the action of interpreting your perceptions into the most helpful form that I can.¡± ¡°This is me?¡± I look at the floating signs, and with the barest mental effort, find that I can make them disappear at my whim. ¡°This is my power?¡± Galea stretches out her claws and another page of transparent, black paper pops into the world in front of her. Eye of Volaash(Very Rare): Allows the bearer to analyze objects and beings within their range of perception. I read the sign that Galea holds up in front of me again and again. ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± I tell Galea. The dragon looks at me quizzically, flipping over the transparent paper in its claws and reading the sign itself, before turning the sign back to face me. ¡°That should be impossible,¡± she states. ¡°My interpretive abilities allow for perfect comprehension.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t understand how or why you are here.¡± ¡°I told you, Mistress, I am a fey spirit who inhabits the eye which was surgically supplanted into your ocular cavity. Integration of the eye has allowed me to spread myself into your ocular lobe and prefrontal cortex, granting me the power to act as an intermediary between the eye¡¯s incredible analytical powers and your much more simple, human comprehension.¡± I sit silently, staring at the strange creature that looks at me with innocent, pink eyes. It takes a while to fully remember what had happened the night before, my meeting with Arabella Willian, and the signing of the contract. In fact, it takes so long that I begin to fear that my brain has been damaged by whatever the woman did to put the eye into my head. My fingers probe my left eyelid, and I find the skin there bruised and far too squishy. ¡°I need to find Arabella,¡± I tell Galea. ¡°One moment,¡± the dragon says. She turns and scans the room before turning back to me. ¡°Arabella Willian is not within the field of your perception,¡± she informs. ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°Of course, mistress.¡± ¡°And stop calling me that,¡± I tell the dragon as I slip out of the bed, almost stepping in the tin bucket that holds my vomit. ¡°My name is Charlene.¡± ¡°As you say, Mistress Charlene.¡± I growl at the dragon, stamping over to the chair that holds my clothes and travel pack. A flurry of the transparent signs erupt into my vision as I open the pack. Sighing, I close the bag again. I look down at myself for the first time since I woke up. The silk robe I have been dressed in is comfortable but lacks anything substantial beneath. I sniff my folded clothes, finding that they are still dirty from the competition, and toss them into the pack. ¡°Arabella Willian has entered the range of your perception,¡± Galea says from where she hovers at my shoulder. Despite her speaking directly into my ear, I can still hear the soft padding of footsteps outside the bedroom. A knock comes from the door. I open the door to find Arabella Willian standing in the hallway. Just before I try to ask her anything, one of the signs appears in front of her face reading, ¡°Ice Clone of Arabella Willian.¡± ¡°I apologize, Mistress Charlene, it seems that I was initially mistaken, though, to be fair to me, it was your perceptions that were fooled,¡± Galea says to me. ¡°Ms. Willian,¡± I say, inclining my head. ¡°I have some questions that I need--¡± You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. The woman in the lavender dress holds up a hand to stop me. Violet light swirls around her fingers, forming floating letters in the air in front of her. ¡°My clones cannot speak,¡± it reads. ¡°Follow. My work with you is not yet complete for the day.¡± Seeing that I have read the words, the ice clone turns and walks away. The ache in my brain has continued to beat against my skull, and I duck back into the room to grab my cup of water before following the sashaying woman down the hallway. I have to walk at an awkward pace to keep up with Arabella''s long legs that eat up the ground with each stride as we navigate the bizarrely undecorated manor. Coming around a corner, I spot an elven girl--onyx metallic hair falling in waves over her dress of shifting metal, deep orange eyes peering out from an ivory, angular face, black painted lips chewing on a cinnamon stick. She studies a book, sitting against a wall. A sign appears in my vision above her head, ¡°Coriander Mel''Draven, Daughter of Viscount Goram Mel¡¯Draven of Tristrum.¡± I stop dead in my stride, reading the title attached to the woman''s name. ¡°How do you know that?¡± I ask Galea. ¡°Did you say something?¡± The elven girl spits in my direction. I read disdain plain on her face. When I notice that she is holding the book upside down in her hands, I feel a blush warm my face. ¡°No, ma''am, lady, sorry.¡± I bow and try to turn away. ¡°Stop, girl.¡± The woman, gods I wish I wasn''t so horrible at reading the age of elves, curls her metallic hair behind her ear and stands. ¡°How do you know me?¡± ¡°I don''t, my lady. We have not met.¡± I incline my head to her again. ¡°I must be going.¡± It is the first noble person I have met. Not all elves are nobility, I know that, even though I always feel the need to remind myself of it, but all of the nobility in Gale are elves. Seeing this woman before me, the steel in her expression and the hawkish discernment in her eyes, I know for a fact that she is better than me. ¡°You will not excuse yourself until I am satisfied,¡± she says. The noble woman begins a march in my direction, her sharp heels clicking against the marble floor. I feel sweat begin to trickle down my back, sticking the robe to my skin. As I wither beneath the glare of the noble woman, Arabella Willian''s clone steps between us. Light flashes from the clone''s hand, coalescing into floating words. ¡°That is quite enough, Coriander, Ms. Devardem has business with my creator, and we cannot afford a delay.¡± The woman, Coriander, the Viscount¡¯s daughter, crosses her arms over her chest and purses her lips as she reads the words. ¡°Be gone then, construct,¡± she says, turning back to her spot on the wall and walking away. ¡°I am done with you.¡± I release a held breath as the copy of Arabella leads me around another bend in the manor¡¯s hallways. Galea drifts into my vision. ¡°No, I don¡¯t think that she did like you, Mistress Charlene.¡± ¡°What?¡± I breath the word like a fish gasping for air. I take a moment to slow my breath and pounding heart before jogging to keep up with Arabella again. ¡°How did you know I was thinking that?¡± Though, I don¡¯t suppose that it would be awfully difficult to guess my thoughts at the moment. ¡°I told you,¡± Galea hums as she floats backward, bobbing in the air in front of me. ¡°I currently reside within your brain. The main aspect of my consciousness is tied into the language center of your frontal lobe.¡± I narrow my eyes at the gold dragon. ¡°You are trying to confuse me with words I don¡¯t know aren¡¯t you.¡± ¡°Not at all,¡± she says, panic evident. ¡°I live to explain. That is all I ever wish to do.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± I say, putting up a hand to forestall anything else from the strange spirit. ¡°You are saying that you can hear my thoughts.¡± ¡°Mistress Charlene is as intelligent as I supposed.¡± Galea claps her scaled claws together in a silent applause for me. ¡°As such, you need not bother conversing with me aloud.¡± I try to think at the dragon spirit. ¡°Good to know.¡± Galea makes no indication that she had heard me. ¡°You are hearing me now?¡± ¡°Oh, yes, Mistress Charlene. I apologize, I did not know that you were wishing for a response.¡± I roll my eyes at the creature and come to a stop behind the ice clone. The tall woman smiles down at me, streaks of violet hair billowing in an ephemeral breeze. I spend a second wondering how ice is able to flow like it is moving on a magical wind but break from my thoughts when the ice clones places a hand on the door and opens it for me. A bright light that stings my eyes, easily tripling the pain that I feel from the headache that continues to pound against my skull, stabs at me from inside. I walk into the room of blinding, white light, the shapes slowly resolving from blurry silhouette in front of me to reveal the true Arabella Willian standing in the center of the room, her hands plucking at an orb, the source of the light, like it was a harp. ¡°My Charlene,¡± she says, a cheery pep in her cadence. Her hands move over the globe, and the light in the room recedes to a tolerable only semi-blinding level. ¡°It is good to see that you are up and about.¡± I blink the black spots from my eyes, though my left one feels like someone stuck their finger in it. Shaking my head only helps to make my head hurt all the worse. ¡°I am here,¡± I say weakly. ¡°Not fully recovered I see,¡± Arabella rounds the glowing orb in the center of the room and walks to loom over me. The woman bends down, bringing her face far too close to my own for comfort, and stares directly into my eyes. ¡°Is your vision alright?¡± ¡°My vision¡­yes. I can see fine.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Arabella pulls away and clasps her hands together. ¡°Yorick assured me that the transplantation was a success, but the man is an insatiable flirt. Too afraid to disappoint me, I think. Does that mean that you have made contact with Galea?¡± ¡°I have,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m still unclear on exactly what she is.¡± ¡°A fey spirit,¡± Arabella says with a shrug. Returning once more to the orb and playing her hands over it. The light that it emits begins to dim and shift across the spectrum of light, twinkling back and forth between a soft green and yellow. ¡°I have heard of fairies before,¡± I say, walking to join her at the glowing orb. ¡°That doesn¡¯t really sort it out though.¡± Looking around the room, I find that the walls are painted in something reflective that glows intensely with whatever color the orb is. Several cupboards, made out of steel or some other tough metal, stand at the edges of the room, eight in all. I realize that we stand in a foyer, the larger room beyond the smaller one we stand in dark and impossible to see. ¡°I suppose that it wouldn¡¯t.¡± Arabella finishes her manipulations of the orb, leaving it to emanate a soft pink color. ¡°Needing to condense the explanation, given that you lack formal training in the magical arts, let us say that Galea is a magical construct, like my ice constructs. Some abilities become so complex as a magician increases their power and rank that the magician¡¯s skill becomes a limit in how well they are able to employ them. Often, in such cases, a magical construct is created to take over the burden of manipulating those abilities to some degree. The designation of fey indicates that the mechanation is ephemeral. Such constructs are usually bound to the minds of the individuals they are bonded to.¡± I look at the dragon floating around Arabella¡¯s shoulders, thinking, ¡°You could have said that much.¡± ¡°I thought that I did,¡± Galea replies. Arabella catches the shift in my eyes. ¡°Is Galea here now?¡± she asks. ¡°Yes. You could have warned me that I would be waking up with a giant spider squatting on my chest. For that matter, you could have warned me that you were going to knock me out with magic, or whatever it was that you did.¡± ¡°That is fairly close,¡± Arabella says. She strokes her chin. ¡°So, Galea was in the form of a spider. I suppose that makes sense, given Volaash.¡± ¡°She¡¯s a dragon now,¡± I say. ¡°A dragon.¡± A sparkle gleams in Arabella¡¯s eyes, an actual sparkle of light. ¡°Now that is interesting. No time to concern ourselves with it now. We have more work that needs to be done. You only have three years to earn the third rank, and every moment you lose is a moment that can never be reclaimed.¡± I take a step away from the woman. ¡°What do you need from me now?¡± ¡°Nothing insidious, my dear,¡± she keens. ¡°Nothing sinister. I have brought you here so that you can make one of the most important choices that you have left to you.¡± With a gesture, the cupboards around the room click and their doors glide open on well-oiled hinges. The pink light of the room is muted by the multitudes of colors like dazzling lights that beam out from inside the cupboards. Dozens, no, hundreds of essentia of all colors and textures beam out from inside of the cupboards at me. ¡°It is time to choose what kind of magician you are going to be in the future.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t¡­¡± I start to say, but I cannot find the words. ¡°What do I do?¡± The extravagance that I see before me could buy a town, maybe even a small city. I want to tuck my hands away, but the silk robe I wear has no pockets. Looking at the shining lights, like a rainbow of stars brought to the earth, I find it hard to breathe. My mind screams at me that one small, wrong step, and I could destroy a fortune. ¡°With Galea¡¯s aide you should be able to identify the essentia.¡± Arabella looks about at the shining magical pyramids and beams. ¡°I have been around for¡­a long time, let us say. Essentia are marvelous things, naturally occurring points of power that are the first stepping stones for mortals to reach heights denied to us by our base natures. Unfortunately, three is all any one person can integrate into their souls. At a certain point the idea of selling them for simple, mundane money grew too painful. Now I collect them. I offer my collection to you. You have an essentia already, Gold. That is a rare one, not very sought after by adventurers due to its tendency to not produce abilities that are useful in combat.¡± Arabella taps the globe in the middle of the room. ¡°This is an index of conflux combinations. There are not many that involve the Gold Essentia, so I do not know how useful it will be to you. However, if you already have a particular conflux that you are wishing to manifest, you can likely use this to navigate your way toward that.¡± I look at the woman offering me the world. It is hard to remember that this gift comes with strings attached, I have already signed away three years of my life to this woman, and if I gain membership into her prestigious guild, likely more years. Letting go of a deliberate breath, I steel myself. ¡°What should I choose?¡± I ask. ¡°Whatever it is that you might want,¡± she says. ¡°What you see before you represents hundreds of thousands of different combinations.¡± ¡°What essentia do you have?¡± Arabella¡¯s smile turns feral. ¡°I will forgive your asking, but in the wider world we know that it is a dangerous thing to ask someone what their essentia are. Essentia magicians live for a very long time, it is common for a practitioner¡¯s carelessness with their abilities in their youth to come back and bite them from behind later, maybe even centuries later. That kind of carelessness can be fatal. I have found it best to project competence and mystery, while keeping your true capabilities hidden.¡± ¡°You aren¡¯t going to tell me then,¡± I say. ¡°No, Charlene. No, I am not.¡± Arabella walks past me toward the door back into the hallway. ¡°While it would tickle me to watch you mull over this very important decision for however long it might take you to do so, I have other business I must be about. I will leave a clone with you, she will notify me once you have come to your ultimate conclusion.¡± ¡°But I don¡¯t know what I should be trying for,¡± I complain. ¡°Then choose at random. Choose them based on their color. Choose them based on their rarity. I am of the belief that the abilities an individual manifests are based more upon their personalities and affinities than on which essentia they pick. Do whatever feels the most right to you, and you will find an answer that satisfies you.¡± Without a further word, the brilliant woman exits the room and leaves me behind with her body double. Looking back at the sparkling rows upon rows of essentia that likely each cost more than my parent¡¯s home, I can feel my heart speeding up, and I have to forcefully keep myself from hyperventilating. I settle my hands onto the pink orb that glows in the middle of the room, pulling my attention away from the essentia. Chapter 9 - Essentia ¡°Do you know how this works?¡± I ask Galea in my head. The golden dragon lands on the orb and taps a claw against the glass, though I don¡¯t think that she really touches it. ¡°It is a simple device,¡± she informs me. ¡°Is that a yes?¡± ¡°Run your finger across the surface,¡± she says. When I do so, the cloudy light inside the orb splits open. Similar to the transparent, black signs that I have been seeing since waking up, rows of words appear inside the glass. Experimenting a bit, I discovery that I can flip through the rows like the pages of a book. There are hundreds of pages of the lists available, and I spend more than ten minutes with the orb before I find a way to filter the lists for anything practical to me. Conflux Combinations: Page 1 of 1 ¡°There aren¡¯t many combinations that include gold,¡± I say. ¡°Ms. Willian did say that it was an uncommon essentia,¡± Galea reminds me. "Then what was my brother thinking when he sent it to me?¡± I go back and look through the full lists for several minutes. Most of the confluxes I have never heard of before; the fact that there is a Queen Conflux at all is bizarre. I wonder if all queens make certain to get it. ¡°Do you know what these different confluxes do?¡± ¡°I only know what you know, or what you can perceive Mistress Charlene.¡± ¡°So no.¡± I sigh, turning away from the index to carefully approach one of the open cupboards. As I approach, I get my first good look at the essentia shining out from inside, standing on eight different elevated shelves inside the cupboard, they stand unmarked, twenty to a row. Before I can ask, signs appear in the air above the essentia, relating them to me. A multitude of extravagance shines at me: Water Essentia, Serpent Essentia, Lightning Essentia, Void Essentia, Lion Essentia, Acid Essentia, Frost Essentia, Luck Essentia, Genius Essentia, Puppet Essentia. Scanning through all of the words popping into the air in front of me brings back to mind the headache that I had almost forgotten in my excitement. Willing it to be so, I dismiss the signs as I read them, slowly working my way though the deluge of information in front of me. I stop my scanning when I find one essentia that stands out to me. Gingerly, I pluck a pyramid from the shelf that shines in the perfect light of the morning sun. The essentia glows a warmth that spreads though my fingers as I cradle it in my hand, and as I hold it, I being to feel the pain in my head recede. Magic Essentia(Rare): The condensed magical essence of Magic. ¡°My brother, Corinth, this is one of the essentia he has.¡± Holding up the Magic Essentia, I can feel a resonance inside of it. ¡°How is the Magic Essentia only rare quality. Aren¡¯t all of the essentia magic?¡± Not wanting to get carried away with myself, I set it back down and pick up one labeled ¡°Frost Essentia.¡± The pyramid of wintery white nips at my fingers with the promise of frost. I find each of the small magical pyramids carries a similar effect, the most interesting one being the spicy taste of cinnamon that comes to me when I heft the Acid Essentia. ¡°Does anything strike your fancy, Mistress Charlene?¡± Galea asks from my shoulder. I replace the Blasphemy Essentia that I am holding in the cupboard and turn to start looking through some of the other cupboards. I pause, picking up the Magic Essentia again and sighing in relief as my headache recedes the barest amount. ¡°They are all interesting,¡± I say. ¡°It will take an eternity to look through all of them.¡± ¡°Perhaps it would be best to select a searching methodology,¡± Galea suggests. ¡°Can you do that?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± I stare at the congregation of essentia on the cupboards around me. ¡°What is the rarest kind of essentia?¡± ¡°The highest classification of rarity in essentia is legendary,¡± she tells me. ¡°Show me those.¡± Hundreds of signs spring to life in front of me. In an instant the number of signs are cut back to display only a few between the shelves of several cupboards. I walk to the nearest, picking up a pyramid of soft green and white, the colors slowly flowing one another. Aurora Essentia(Legendary): The condensed magical essence of luminescence suspended in time. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± I say, spinning the essentia between my fingers. It brings to me the taste of mint and a feeling of childlike wonderment. ¡°How rare is legendary?¡± ¡°The index might know,¡± Galea suggests. Carrying the Aurora Essentia and Magic Essentia in my left hand, I return to the index and try to peruse it for an answer. I find an entry within the index. ¡°Common essentia make up ninety percent of all essentia. Rare essentia are one in ten. Very rare essentia are one in a thousand. Legendary essentia are one in a million.¡± I¡¯m not very good with numbers, I¡¯ve never had a reason to be, but even I¡¯ve been taught just how big of a number a million is. I look back down at the green and white pyramid of condensed magic in my hand before my sight drifts back to the shelves, at least six other signs shining at me for attention. ¡°Just who is this woman,¡± I whisper to myself. ¡°Very well connected,¡± Galea answers unbidden. With more care than I have ever given anything in my entire life, I walk back to the cupboard and replace the Aurora Essentia. I don¡¯t know if it is even possible to break an essentia, but given how impossibly rare the item must be, it can probably be used to buy a castle and have enough for a town to spare, I¡¯m not going to take any chances. Dread tries to needle me, seeing how there are more signs from the other cupboard still to look at. Taking a long, slow breath I make a circuit of the room, taking my time to examine each of the legendary essentia left on the shelves. The Emotion Essentia makes me almost throw it away as soon as I pick it up, a swirl of emotion invades me that knocks me to my knees with ecstasy, rage, and sorrow all at once. It takes several calming breathes to recover from. ¡°Are you alright, Mistress?¡± Galea asks me as I leverage myself back to my feet. ¡°Let¡¯s just get this over with.¡± I feel impatience creeping up on me and take a moment to try and drive it away. Rushing things won¡¯t help me. The next legendary essentia I find I don¡¯t dare even pick up. The Black Essentia, the only one that I¡¯ve found that is named for a color, is almost impossible to see in the cupboard, and I realize that the shadow of the cupboard¡¯s wall moves strangely as I walk around the cupboard, always keeping the Black Essentia in the shade. A floating sign labels another as the ¡°Phoenix Essentia.¡± It looks like a sunburst and is warm to the touch. As I hold it, I feel it pulse like a heartbeat between my fingers. When I find the next legendary essentia, I know it is the one that I need as soon as I lift it. It is heavy in my fingers, and as I hold the pyramid of golden fire the same sensation I felt come over me watching Arabella Willian first strut out upon the stage in front of the assembled young adventurers penetrates my soul. There is a deep greed that pervades me, the same desire, the same deep longing that I felt seeing Bali reel us up the side of the cliff. The essentia in my hand whispers to me about power, but more than that, it speaks kind acknowledgement to my soul that it understands that hunger I feel when I see those extraordinary people. It is the Dragon Essentia, and I must have it for my own. ¡°This is the one,¡± I tell Galea, looking down at the golden fire of promise in my hand. ¡°This is the one that I am taking.¡± ¡°The Dragon Essentia,¡± Galea says with a nod. ¡°That is a powerful one. At least I assume so. How could it not be.¡± ¡°There are more legendary essentia left?¡± I ask Galea. I clench my hand tight around the Dragon Essentia, afraid that it might disappear if I let it go for even a moment. ¡°Two more.¡± ¡°It would be smart to take one of those as my other essentia I suppose.¡± Looking down at my hands I realize that I have been holding the Magic Essentia for a long while now. Loosening my grip on it a bit, I compare it to the Dragon Essentia in my other hand. Magic shines with the pure radiant light of the morning sun, where the dragon¡¯s fire is wrathful and hungry. ¡°My brother uses the Magic Essentia,¡± I tell Galea again. ¡°He managed to reach the fifth rank in less than ten years. If it is good enough for him then it should be good enough for me.¡± The pulse of tender light that radiates out of the Magic Essentia continues to drive the pain out of my head. I breathe in the feeling, it is good, it is right. ¡°I have my selections,¡± I tell the ice clones standing at the door. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. The construct nods to me. It moves to the center of the room and lifts the index from the pedestal that it sits upon, playing its fingers over the surface of the orb and raising the light. It gestures with its chin, indicating me to walk after it as it walks into the larger chamber beyond the foyer containing the sparkling essentia. I dutifully follow after the clone, Magic Essentia clasped in my left hand and Dragon Essentia in my right. The soft, pink light illuminates a room of gray stone, perfectly square, ceiling reaching for twenty feet overhead. A puzzle of rune work is painted onto the stone floor with luminesce purple, a complex array of magical architecture that a country bumpkin like myself can¡¯t begin to even guess at. I don¡¯t need to guess however, I have seen the same rune circle drawn twice before, when each of my family members had their essentia integrated into their souls and when I did the same. A chair of plain wood sits in the center of the formation, the room bare of any ornamentation other than it and a covered mirror at the back of the room. The ice clone tuts at me when I look to the mirror, and I put thoughts of it aside. I am left to sit in the chair at the center of the array. The warm light of the two essentia that I hold contrast the orb of pink light the clone tosses into the air to hover ten feet above us. The clone moves about the magical array, checking the lines, and fixing minor imperfections that it finds. ¡°This is where I have second thoughts,¡± I say to myself. ¡°Do you?¡± Galea responds. ¡°No.¡± I stare at the essentia in my hands. I feel anticipation building inside of me, a palpable relief of stress that I didn¡¯t realize I had been carrying until now. I¡¯ve been waiting for a year for this moment, and a few days ago I still wondered if the moment would ever come. ¡°I don¡¯t even have a smidge of doubt.¡± ¡°That is great to hear,¡± Arabella Willian says, entering the stone room from the foyer and studying the arcane symbology on the ground in much the same way that her ice clone had. ¡°What have you selected?¡± I hold up the essentia for her to see. ¡°Dragon and Magic.¡± Arabella arches her eyebrows at me before tapping her chin in thought. ¡°I like it,¡± she says at last. ¡°It sounds ambitious to me. Ambition is good. Ambition is what we need.¡± The woman steps lightly through the scrawling of runes on the floor, careful not to nudge them with her aquiline metallic boots. ¡°I suppose that I should be beginning your education in the affairs of a magician at some point. What better time to start than right now. Tell me, Charlene, what do you know of the magical ranks?¡± ¡°I know that they start at zero and go up in number,¡± I respond. ¡°The is correct,¡± Arabella says. ¡°A bit simplistic, though that is to be expected. Most adventurers do not bother to learn all that much about the etymology of their own profession. The ranks are a funny thing. Until the international band of adventurers known as the Adventurer¡¯s Association bothered to stretch the many borders and cultures of the world, each place had their own system of classification. ¡°The ranking system was determined by simple rote of each culture at least having basic numbering in common. The thresholds between the ranks are explicit and important. The first rank, which we now call rank one, was commonly referred to as The Calling by many different peoples the world around. By attaching three essentia to your soul, the material world is connected to the spiritual inside of you, and your soul begins its slow transition into the world of the physical. Rank two, The Seeding, is when that transition is completed. In some corners of the world, there is no distinction made between the first and second ranks. Noble families who have the wealth to do so, prepare their young from the time of early adolescence to become magicians, and when the essentia are first related to them, many can skip the first rank completely, going straight to manifesting their soul in the real world.¡± ¡°You can skip ranks!¡± I say, shocked. ¡°Yes. The resources employed to do so are vast, but it is possible. The fastest way to make it through the ranks, at least the lower ones, is to use the powers bestowed onto you by the essentia that you integrate, the faster and more completely that you make them a part of your true being, the faster you will climb. All first rankers will hit the second rank eventually, even if they do nothing at all, which is why many other cultures consider them a part of the same rank. Theoretically, it is possible to pass through any rank with deep and powerful meditation on the nature of the soul, but the savants capable of doing that are few and far between. Easier to simply explore the world and slay monsters with gouts of fire or what have you.¡± ¡°Its easier to kill monsters than to meditate?¡± I ask. ¡°Believe it or not, it is,¡± she tells me. ¡°The third rank is called The Body. It is called that because that is the point at which your body and soul become one. When a magician crosses the threshold into the third rank, they receive their Regalia, individual markers of their station.¡± Arabella gestures to her streams of silky, violet hair that billow around her as if she were underwater. ¡°That is also the point at which a magician''s body reaches its perfected form. Some experience further changes to the body as they continue to advance past the third rank, but usually those changes are invisible; increased strength, speed, attention, these are all to be expected, but it is unusual for magicians to puff up like muscle marshmallows as their strength continues to grow. ¡°The fourth rank is referred to as The Mind, the rank at which I am currently. It is attained by integrating the mind, soul, and body into a singular entity. Magicians develop enhanced perception, memory, faster thought, deeper insight, and analytical powers that surpass the mortal realm. The potency of soul presence reaches a major benchmark at this rank as well, becoming a truly devastating weapon.¡± ¡°My brother, Halford, the soul presence he attained at the second rank allowed him to cut down trees with a thought,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t see how that could be even more terrifying.¡± ¡°Oh, my dear Charlene, over the course of the next few years I am going to demonstrate to you that you have been suffering from an extreme lack of imagination your whole life. That is not an indictment upon you. Merely an observation about the environment you were raised in.¡± ¡°It feels like a judgment,¡± I say. ¡°You¡¯re basically calling me ignorant.¡± ¡°We are all born ignorant,¡± Arabella dismisses. ¡°Now, are you ready for the integration ritual? You are about to emerge a new woman.¡± ¡°Wait, you didn¡¯t tell me about the fifth rank,¡± I say. ¡°Ah, the fifth rank.¡± I watch enthusiasm leave her. ¡°It is called the threshold of Mortality. If I knew what was needed to attain it, I would already have done so. One thing you are likely to learn on your journey through magic is that the higher you go, the less your betters are willing to tell you about how to become stronger. Like the powerful the world over, they tend not to like others encroaching on their power.¡± Arabella claps and takes a burgundy pouch from her waist. First taking a pinch between her fingers, she tosses sparkling green dust onto the ground around her. The purple paint on the ground springs to life, projecting an illusionary copy of the script into the air at knee height. ¡°It is time to begin,¡± she says. ¡°I told you how I felt about wasting time earlier.¡± ¡°I understand,¡± I say, curling my legs up onto the chair with me and holding the two essentia to my chest. ¡°I am ready.¡± I squeeze my eyes tight and try to focus on my breathing. When this was done to my mother and brother, the ritual finished in a flash, but when my father underwent it, he was left dazed and moaning in pain for hours. ¡°I will not lie and tell you that you have the option of turning back at this point. You have crossed that threshold already.¡± I hear a humming in the room, and peek my eye open. Standing on the edges of the magical array are six clones of Arabella, humming together in harmony. ¡°Remember, you need to breathe.¡± ¡°Just let me know before you--¡± The snapping of Arabella¡¯s fingers cuts off my words, and my world turns into a void of sunlight. Something collapses inside of my chest, a pain I hadn¡¯t expected, and the blinding light around me dims. Painful yellow melts away like syrup from my vision, specks of black poking through the opaque sheet of color, expanding until the yellow light becomes nothing more than faint spots millions of miles away, floating along the line of a horizon that I cannot see. One of the beads of light grows, no, I realize that it is accelerating out of the infinite distance towards me. It¡¯s light grows and blues as it makes an approach, and when I can reach out to touch it, I find a crystalline sphere of ever changing shapes revolving thousands of times a second in front of me. I float, naked in a void of black amid the light of distant stars as the blue crystal approaches, growing in size as it nears so that it dwarfs me like a mountain does a fly when it comes to a rest no more than an arm''s length away from me. There is no air in the space I inhabit, no time to count the changing shape of the crystal by. A light peels out of my chest, a shifting orb of pure, strong gold and that halos in front of me. Two more lights join it, a burning, golden fire and a pebble that contains the might of a sun. They form a triangle before me, their radiances mixing and melding into a solitary radiance of gold and red. As the lights shrink together, the mountain of crystal before me shakes, resonating with the approach of the light. I shudder, a feeling of change running over and through my skin. The lights touch and cracks appear, riveting the crystal as it continues to revolve. The crystal whines as it shatters, its disparate ever-changing parts folding over each other again and again as it comes to form a single shape that sets and stays still. The crystal shrinks as the triangle of light expands to encapsulate it. A hum reverberates through the empty air around me, and the blue of the crystal shifts, becoming that singular light of gold and fire at the center of the three spheres. Movement ceases for the barest moment. The four interconnected shapes turn to face me, and I feel as if I gaze into a mirror. Then, without further fanfare, the shapes race away into the stars at a speed incalculable. I fall back into myself and feel the chair I sit in vibrate with energy. The light from a brilliant flash of white still fades in the room around me, and Arabella crouches in front of me. She is saying something at me, but a ringing buzz in my ears prevents me from making out the words. I try to concentrate on the woman, but my blood races and my eyes have difficulty focusing. ¡°Breathe, Charlene,¡± Arabella tells me in a calming voice. ¡°Breathe.¡± I take in a shuddering breath and feel alien lungs in my chest expand with the first breath they have ever been forced to take. The light that continues to shine from my skin fades as my breathing smooths out. I am left half-slumped in the chair, sweat sticking to my skin, and the pounding of my heart slowly fading into the realm of stability. ¡°Can you hear me?¡± Arabella asks. ¡°I can,¡± I answer in a voice foreign to me. ¡°What.¡± The words sound strange to my ears. The girlish crack is gone from my voice, it has grown deeper, the serious voice of a woman. I stare at my hands, finding perfect and smooth skin stretching over delicate fingers that do not know the calluses that have been there for as long as I can remember; no hint remains of my previously chipped and rounded nails. In front of me, Arabella motions to one of her clones, and together a pair begin to wheel over the covered mirror. My back straightens in the chair as it approaches, an unknown terror rooting me clearly in the moment. Before I can say a word in protest, Arabella rips the silk away from the mirror and I see myself. I don¡¯t recognize the girl in the mirror. No, not a girl, a woman stares back at me from the other side of the glass. I am rising to my feet before I notice, clumsily taking a step forward on new legs to touch the glass in front of me. Some distant part of my mind recognizes that I have grown, I must be almost six feet now, but my eyes cannot leave the face of the woman in the mirror. Her skin is perfect, a deep tan the color of caramel that lacks pores or the freckles that I had once inherited from my mother. Full and flush lips frame a mouth agape, filled with perfectly straight and intact teeth. A cascading wave of hair the orange-pink of sunset light coils around her shoulders and spill over her chest. Two alien eyes stare back at me; the left a black orb, the only color in which is the blood red of an angry iris. The right is normal except for the slitted pupil the color of the shallow ocean. I run fingers over the woman in the mirror¡¯s face; the regrettable nose has become small and feminine, the points of her ears subtle now, perfectly frame her face. Tears begin to spill from her eyes even as the most beautiful smile I have ever witnessed blesses her red lips. ¡°I¡¯m---I¡¯m pretty,¡± I finally manage. Arabella appears in the mirror behind the woman I stare at. She runs her hands past me to pull back the hair, showing off a delicate neck that I had missed. ¡°No, Charlene. You are gorgeous.¡± Chapter 10 - The New Me ¡°What is your name?¡± Yorick Mason asks. I have learned that Mr. Mason belongs to a people called the Hartfolk. These people, all men apparently, carry with them aspects of the earth, and are all born with an essentia already bound to their souls. Mr. Mason was born with the Lava Essentia, granting his skin the appearance of molten metal, though his touch is no hotter than any other person¡¯s. Mr. Mason shines a light from his pointer finger in front of my eyes, making me track it with my own without moving my head. ¡°Charlene Devardem,¡± I say. He moves his finger, paying attention to how my own eyes move to follow it. I find it interesting that despite the bright light being so near to my face, it doesn¡¯t hurt my eyes at all. ¡°It would appear that the implementation was a success. The examination is a bit surface level, but there does not seem to be any brain trauma from the surgery.¡± Mr. Mason steps away and allows the light on his finger to fade back to a smoldering orange. ¡°Could that have happened?¡± I ask. My voice is still strange in my own ears, deep and full, reverberating from the sound chamber of a chest that is a lot larger than it had been a few hours ago. ¡°Potentially,¡± Mr. Mason admits. ¡°Whenever surgery is done on the head it is a concern. If any injury had happened, your body¡¯s transformation at the first rank likely would have healed anything serious. If not, rank three shall without a doubt.¡± I don¡¯t ask what rank the man in front of me is, fixing the tie of his suit after he slips his jacket on. If I close my left eye, my implanted eye¨Cthough even my right has changed¨CI can see a curtain of energy surrounding the man like a shifting second skin of yellow, lagging behind his movement¡¯s like a ghost. I first noticed it when Arabella turned me away from the mirror in the ritual chamber, something that took her a good bit of effort to do. I could see it then, wintery white light splashing off her skin and soaking the air around her; her soul presence, I could see it. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Mr. Mason asks. ¡°Looking at your soul,¡± I say, staring at him with my right eye. ¡°At least I think that I am.¡± ¡°You can see souls at first rank?¡± he asks. Mr. Mason turns and retakes the seat across from my own. We sit in what he has called ¡°my room,¡± the same room that I had awoken in after having this strange magical eye implanted in my head. ¡°Normally, that is something that is developed at second rank.¡± I shrug, making a small movement with my hand in the air. ¡°I have an ability that allows for it,¡± I tell him. At my gesture, a bar of black light erupts into the air in front of me. It stretches downward until it is as large as a storefront sign as it continues to hover in the air. Galea appears alongside the sign, her reptile eyes running over the words that rise to the surface. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 1)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 6 Strength: 3 Magic: 8 Defense: 4 Magic Defense: 8 Speed: 7 Recovery: 12 Perception: 6 Presence: 0 Essentia Gold Essentia Magic Essentia Dragon Essentia Emperor Conflux He cannot see the floating sign that hovers between us. ¡°Since reaching the first rank, Galea, the spirit in the eye you put in my head, has been able to do more things. She has shown me a¡­it is like a floating, transparent sign that tells me about myself. It says that I am a recovery specialist.¡± ¡°Specializing at rank one,¡± Mr. Mason says, more to himself than to me. ¡°It would seem that Ms. Willian chose an interesting student.¡± Among essentia magicians, there are a few who receive a power that specifically increases one of their physical attributes, making them a specialist. My brother is like that, gaining a huge increase to his strength from his Power Essentia. ¡°It would seem that the eye is quite an item, if it can dictate someone being a specialist,¡± Mr. Mason says. ¡°No,¡± I correct him. The word comes out harsher than I intend. Mr. Mason looks back at me from under raised eyebrows as I feel my face flush. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m still getting used to this new voice. No, the power doesn¡¯t come from the eye, but from one of my essentia. Another sign pops into the air, overlapping the first. Dragon Essentia: Dragon¡¯s Eyes(Rank 1): You posses the sight of dragons. This ability grants the ability to perceive magical auras and soul presences. The eyes of dragons empower a dragon¡¯s ability to recover its magical and vital energies. Grants a small boost to the Recovery attribute and causes the Recovery attribute to be 50% more effective. It was still odd to me that the ability read as ¡°Dragon¡¯s Eyes¡± when it looked as if only my original right eye had taken on that reptilian nature. Making another gesture, an entire list of my essentia and powers are displayed. I am still getting used to everything that Galea has told me about her new capabilities, and apparently there is still much more left to discover. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 1)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Gold Essentia(Rank 1): Disenchantment By touching a dead monster, you are able to break down their residual essence into component parts and solidify their magical residue into physical objects. Gold: this ability also produces an amount of coin commensurate with the power of the monster. Magic Essentia: Dragonfire Bolt(Rank 1): Fire a bolt of dragonfire at a target, dealing fire damage and potentially setting it aflame. Dragonfire is a native ability of all dragons and its aspects take on the properties of the user¡¯s native mana affixes. Dragon Essentia: Dragon¡¯s Eyes(Rank 1): You posses the sight of dragons. This ability grants the ability to perceive magical auras and soul presences. The eyes of dragons empower a dragon¡¯s ability to recover its magical and vital energies. Grants a small boost to the Recovery attribute and causes the Recovery attribute to be 50% more effective. Emperor Conflux: Emperor''s Prerogative(Rank 1): A true emperor is unbound by the limitations of the world, and as such, the emperor is not bound by any mana affix affinities, capable of pursuing any magical paths they might choose. Provides a small boost to the understanding and attunement of different mana affixes. I read the page a few more times. I still haven¡¯t tried out any of the abilities that I gained with first rank, the physical changes have been more than enough to occupy my mind. I try to concentrate on the descriptions, but while I trust they are accurate¨Ceverything Galea has shown me so far has been¨CI don¡¯t understand them. ¡°Have you heard of the Emperor¡¯s Conflux before Mr. Mason?¡± I ask as he starts putting away the equipment he had brought along with him. He pauses. ¡°No, though my Castinian is not the greatest. There are thousands of confluxes, millions maybe, and everywhere calls them something different.¡± ¡°I had never really thought of that,¡± I said. ¡°What language is your first one?¡± ¡°My people have our own language,¡± he tells me. ¡°It is called Heebo. I doubt you will ever hear of anyone else using it. We are quite far from anywhere where someone might.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never thought about traveling before,¡± I tell him. ¡°We are less than twenty miles from where I was born and grew up. Ms. Willian seems like a woman who has been all over. Though she didn¡¯t say it out right, I knew I would be leaving once I signed that contract and where we could be going could be anywhere. I¡¯m¡­excited. It doesn¡¯t feel like I¡¯m excited enough though. I don¡¯t even know what might be out there that I should be excited to find, but I hope that I do find out.¡± ¡°It is an interesting place,¡± Mr. Mason says. He stands and makes his way to the door. ¡°You know where we will be going?¡± I ask, hopping to my feet. He turns as he opens the door. ¡°I¡¯ve been there before, long ago.¡± ¡°What¡¯s it like?¡± I ask. He chews on the words for a moment before speaking them. ¡°Harsh and beautiful. If you can take the time to actually enjoy it, its one of the best places you will ever find. Just remember that it isn¡¯t your friend and you will be alright.¡± Before I can ask what he means by that, Mr. Mason exits the room and closes the door behind himself. I stay a while longer in the room. A small pouch of coin sits against the wall next to the pack I brought the day before. Arabella gave it to me; she told me to buy whatever I needed to travel with. None of my clothes fit anymore. The blue silk blouse and skirt I have on were lent by Arabella. I count the coin again as I make my way to the door, miscellaneous silver and bronze coins stamped with foreign words I can''t read. The bag is heavy, the first advance of the stipend I am supposed to get, worth two ounces of gold. I feel strange when I step out into the sunlit street in front of the manor house. My sandals clap against the loose cobblestones of the manor''s drive. For an instant, it feels as if nothing in the world has changed, and I know it hasn''t; I am the one who changed. Then the world washes in. The air tastes of dirt, dry and oppressive. I feel my tongue sticking to my teeth as the air feels like it sucks all the moisture out if me. My eyes dart around, looking from the splitting rainbows cast off of the expensive glass of the nearby homes or their polished adornments. The grass buzzes, vibrating in and out at me as if it were breathing, and I realize a second later that my eyes are being drawn to individual insects jumping and scurrying amidst the blades of grass. Black signs begin popping into the air all over the world: Afigian Grass, Grasshopper, Granite, Aluminum Silicate, Bronze, Iron-rich gravel, Cedar, Spruce, Tulips, Lavender, Limestone, Tabby Cat, Bluejay, Aspen Pine, Reflective silica glass, Dober Grass, Rosebush, Shears, Hadi Beetle, Minor Swoopbill, Bluebonnet, Lillac¡­ ¡°Stop,¡± I tell Galea. Keeping my eyes closed, I stumble to a bench set on the side of the street. Heat radiates on my face and I feel sweat beading my brow. The sun shines warmly but the chill in the air across the back of my neck makes me shiver. Slowly, carefully, I open an eye. The world hasn''t changed, but it might as well have. Everything is alien, yet awfully familiar. My new eyes see an array of colors that were invisible before. Just in the Afigian grass that comprises most of the front lawns in this urban neighborhood, I count thirty-six different kinds of green. I am enraptured by the bending rainbows of color shining off of every metallic surface. I stare at the field of color, wishing for the first time in my life that I knew how to paint, its the only thing that could do the world justice. I don''t know how long I spend on the bench in front of Arabella Willian''s house just looking at the world with new eyes. I finally get ahold of myself when I realize that I have been staring at the sun for some minutes, inspecting the shifting corona of color that peels off of it. Looking at the sun no longer hurts my eyes. It''s beautiful. I put off doing what I know I have to do by first going to find new clothing. The seamstresses in Westgrove are fantastic, but none work with material as exotic as the silk lent to me by Arabella. With the coin that I have been given I am able to spend more than I should on the adventuring clothing that I need to replace, sticking to pieces dyed vibrant reds and purples. I also purchase a new pack, twice as large as my old one, and barely feel the weight of it as I pack it with various necessities like tin cups, waterskins, mess kits, and two new pairs of fine boots. I am at a loss for what else to burn the rest of my coin on. I''ve never been a real adventurer before, but I know that they spend most of their coin on enchanted items to help with the trade. I''ve never had to think about that kind of thing before, and unfortunately, I know where I need to go next. The inn is easy enough to find. My feet remember the steps of cobblestone leading back to it better than my head does. I realize that I¡¯m mumbling as I step up to the door, the practice conversation running through my head spilling out. A woman leaving the inn, offering me a strange look, brings me back to myself. Like most of the buildings in Westgrove, The Bumble Inn has taken a serious beating from the wind and rain over the years, and its cedar door is speckled with water stains and chipping from hail. A black sign appears in my vision as I push it open, ringing the bell above the door, that tells me the inn was built sixteen to seventeen years ago. Halford sits just inside the inn¡¯s dining nook, brass plate clicking as he cuts apart the eggs on his plate with a knife. He looks up at me as the bell above my head rings out its last chime. There is an immediate recognition in his eyes, but his face gives nothing away. There is a light of silver and crimson that seeps off his skin, the same color as his soul that he showed us in the forest before he trapped it in his soul cage. The aura bleeds to pure crimson, exploding off his skin for a fraction of a second, before it calms and returns to a loose mist emanating about him. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°So that¡¯s where you were,¡± he says. Halford pushes the plate of eggs and steak away and sits back in his chair. ¡°Bali was worried sick about you.¡± ¡°I know,¡± I say. My voice doesn¡¯t sound sincere to my own ears, harsh, clipped. Halford raises an eyebrow at me as I approach his table and take a seat. ¡°I know,¡± I say again, better. His eyes linger on my own as he cocks his head to the side, inspecting me. ¡°The first rank did a lot for you,¡± he says. ¡°You look just like mom.¡± ¡°What!¡± As I ask the question, I hear it. That harsh and deep sound that carries with it an absolute confidence and the most stubborn self-righteousness imaginable. My voice does sound just like hers. ¡°I do not,¡± I say. He squints at me. ¡°Maybe not,¡± he says with a shrug. ¡°Your freckles¡¯r gone now. You definitely don¡¯t have her eyes anymore. But you two are almost the same height now, you both have a build like a work foreman, I can see it. I like your hair better, sunrise colors, like hers used to be. Looks like you went and grew up last night.¡± ¡°Something like that,¡± I say. ¡°This is Arabella Willian¡¯s doing,¡± he says, not a question. ¡°I wish you just waited a few more weeks. This could have happened in Vale, with everyone there.¡± ¡°I took an opportunity,¡± I say, crossing my arms and leaning back in my own seat. ¡°I would think out of anyone that you would understand something like that.¡± ¡°Is this about the Snake Essentia?¡± he asks. ¡°I bought it back yesterday. You could have still had it if you really wanted it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s not about that,¡± I say. Some part of me knows that isn¡¯t wholly true. ¡°I told you that I wanted to become an essentia magician, like you. The opportunity of a lifetime fell into my lap. It would have been foolish to refuse.¡± ¡°So, what did you trade away for this opportunity?¡± he asks. ¡°Nothing all that important,¡± I say. ¡°Arabella Willian sees something special in me, in exchange for essentia, resources, and the best training in the world, all she asked of me was that her guild has first askers¡¯ right on me joining an adventuring guild and that if I make the cut, I compete in a tournament for them.¡± ¡°What tournament is this?¡± ¡°Something called the Trial of Body and Soul.¡± Though Ms. Willian had never told me it directly, I remembered it from the contract I signed. Thinking back on that, I realize that I remember the entire document perfectly. Perhaps that is a quirk of reaching rank one. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of it,¡± Halford says. ¡°Neither have I,¡± I admit. ¡°I assume by training, you mean that you agreed to be taken away from here and put under some kind of guild regimen.¡± ¡°Something like that,¡± I say. ¡°Something like that, or exactly that?¡± ¡°You had it right,¡± I say. I try to keep my face serious, there is nothing light in Halford¡¯s appearance. In fact, I feel like I can see agitation in the silver-red light that covers his skin. ¡°How long?¡± ¡°Three years,¡± I say. Halford chews on the words like cud. He looses a long breath through his nose and stares at the ceiling for a while. I leave him to it. It is easy enough to distract myself by looking about the room. My new eyes pick out details that I could never have hoped to spot before. When I want to, I can concentrate on an object, and a sign will appear above it, giving me a few more details that seem impossible to know. I look back at Halford who is visibly trying to keep himself calm. Halford Devardem(Rank Two) Avatar Conflux I recognize immediately what an incredible advantage there could be in being able to know what another magical practitioner¡¯s conflux is at a glance. Thanks to Halford¡¯s bragging, I know that basically every person with the Avatar Conflux is a powerhouse in close distance fighting. Being able to tell if someone is an attribute specialist at a glance and what attribute it is will be extremely helpful I¡¯m sure. ¡°What essentia?¡± he finally asks. ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± ¡°I hope that you at least got a good set. If you were willing to sign away years of your life to this woman, then I won¡¯t be able to sleep easy if I find out that you were taken advantage of. You¡¯re an adult Charlene, you get to decide what you do with your own life, but if I find out that woman took advantage of you, I will march in there myself and make her understand that I won¡¯t stand for it.¡± ¡°Halford, she¡¯s a fourth ranker,¡± I say. ¡°You think that would stop me.¡± The smirk he shows me lets me know that he¡¯s serious, but also helps to take some of the tension out of the air. I can¡¯t help but bark a laugh. ¡°Don¡¯t think you would believe what they were if I told you. Not that I¡¯m thinking I should. Apparently, in proper society, it¡¯s awfully rude to ask someone what their essentia are.¡± Halford looks around the inn. ¡°Does this look like the kind of place for proper society to you? Plus, I¡¯m your brother.¡± ¡°You are,¡± I agree. ¡°Ms. Willian isn¡¯t cheap. She let me pick whatever I wanted from her shelves of essentia. The woman must have grown up in a palace. You wouldn¡¯t believe how many she had. Certainly enough to buy a few palaces if she didn¡¯t already have one.¡± ¡°You¡¯re starting down a long road,¡± Halford interrupts. ¡°Cut to it.¡± ¡°Fine. Out of all the choices that I had, I chose Magic and Dragon.¡± ¡°Magic and Dragon,¡± he repeats. Halford lets out a long whistle. ¡°Corinth has magic as one of his. Its pretty useful from what I¡¯ve heard. I¡¯ve heard about Dragon, rare, frighteningly so. I can¡¯t imagine that it would give you weak abilities. What¡¯s the conflux?¡± ¡°Emperor,¡± I say. ¡°As it turns out, Gold, Magic, and Dragon make Emperor. Something to write down in the books.¡± His eyebrows rise at me telling him the conflux. ¡°An Emperor Conflux, now that is quite something.¡± I watch as his mind spins over the information. He scoots his seat back and stands. ¡°Alright, come on.¡± ¡°Where are we going?¡± I ask, standing myself. ¡°Just a little bit out of the city. I need to see what abilities you got with my own eyes. I¡¯m not going to let my baby sister set out on whatever adventure she dropped herself into without at least somewhat of a handle on what it is she can do now.¡± I follow Halford out of the inn and then out of Westgrove. The town doesn¡¯t so much end as become a rolling hillside of farming and ranch houses. Halford starts to jog as we leave the city, and to my own surprise, I find that I can keep up with him as he picks up the pace. He continues to run faster until I start falling behind, and by the time that I need to stop to catch my breath, several miles of tall grass and hillside have flown by. I look back along the way we came, but Westgrove is far out of sight by now. Panting, hands on my knees, I watch my brother turn and wipe the sweat from his brow as he moseys on back to me. He pulls me up straight and escorts me off the road to a patch of forgotten grass not too far away. As we walk, the tall blades of grass are shorn away by the force of his soul presence ahead of us, and unlike before, I can see the soul aura shifting to form blades of color that cut through the grass. Halford clears an open area for us to stand in. ¡°This should do,¡± he says. The smell of the cut grass is pungent in the air, and I can feel the prickle of sweat across my skin. Despite that, I don¡¯t feel tired anymore, a few seconds to catch my breath was all I seem to have needed. ¡°What is that you want me to do?¡± I ask. ¡°Seeing if you could put up a decent run for a few miles was one thing," he says. ¡°I know you¡¯re not one to put off a little hard work, but seeing it first hand was reassuring.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°Now,¡± he continues, ¡°show me your essentia abilities. We don¡¯t have a monster for your gold ability, but I already know that one now don¡¯t I.¡± ¡°You think we needed to leave town for me to show you my abilities?¡± ¡°Only if they are good ones.¡± His broad smile sets me at ease as he relaxes his hands behind his head. ¡°Now, go on.¡± I arch my back, getting a good crack, and think over the abilities that I have gotten. ¡°Can¡¯t show you the dragon one,¡± I say. ¡°Well, that¡¯s not really true.¡± I point to my eye. ¡°Eye of the Dragon. Gives me the ability to see magical auras.¡± Halford stares into my right eye. ¡°You managed to get your hands on a Dragon Essentia, and it gave you a passive ability.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°That¡¯s terrible.¡± ¡°Says you,¡± I say. ¡°It made me a Recovery specialist, same way you¡¯re a strength specialist.¡± He chuckles and puts his hands up in surrender. ¡°Didn¡¯t think I was touching a nerve.¡± ¡°Just a light insult is all, huh.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± He laughs again as I shoot a glare his way. ¡°I hope the other two aren¡¯t passive abilities too. I¡¯ll feel bad dragging you all the way out here.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. It is the first time that I¡¯ve ever done so, but the magic inside of me feels instinctual in the same way that the ability I received from the Gold Essentia was. It feels as if I touch to some deep core inside of me as I draw upon the power granted by my Magic Essentia. When I let the ability go I feel something deep inside myself moving, like huge cogs shaking off the rust of disuse and clunking into place. The first signifier is the heat licking my fingertips not a fraction of a second before fire springs to life over my hand. The fire sticks to my skin like water even as it licks the air with long tongues of orange; there is no red or yellow in the flames. Magic Essentia: Dragonfire Bolt(Rank 1): Fire a bolt of dragonfire at a target, dealing fire damage and potentially setting it aflame. Dragonfire is a native ability of all dragons and its aspects take on the properties of the user¡¯s native mana affixes. ¡°And what is that?¡± Halford asks, leaning close to my burning hand, completely unafraid of the flames. A small part of me feared that the flames would burn me too, but only a small part. As far as I have seen, nobody¡¯s powers hurt themselves. The flames feel warm on my skin, like I am holding a pot of boiling water, hot but not dangerous. ¡°This is dragonfire apparently,¡± I tell him. I wave my hand back and forth, listening to the fire cut the air as I move. ¡°So you are a candle now,¡± Halford says with a grin. To shut him up, I point at a patch of grass and will the fire to leap forward at it. The fire behaves, shooting away as fast as an arrow toward the patch of grass. I feel the vacancy of mana leave me the second the fire slips from my grasp. The fire hits the grass and splashes like water, the flames spreading out to burn the dry grass around where it hit. ¡°Charlie!¡± Halford yells as he jumps forward and starts stomping out the patch of burning grass before it can spread too far. It only takes him a few seconds to conquer the fire before it starts getting out of hand, but I notice that the fire is more stubborn than it ought to be. When Halford glares at me I can¡¯t help but look away. I have to admit, that was a really stupid thing to do. The ability even states that it will set things on fire so I don¡¯t know what drove me to fire it at the grass. I feel a slump in my shoulders that doesn¡¯t come from the embarrassment, though that is certainly a part of it. The mana lost from the bolt is more than I have ever experienced before. Galea appears in front of me. ¡°I can track that if you like,¡± she says. ¡°Track what?¡± I mentally ask her. Instead of answering, Galea waves her clawed hand and I see more strange magic interpose itself over my usual vision. Three long, differently colored, lines appear in the top left of my vision, and wherever I turn my eyes, I find that they are always there, though they don¡¯t seem to obscure my ability to see at all. The top line is red and labeled at its start, ¡°Healing Points 60/60¡±. The second line is the longest of the three and is a brilliant cerulean blue, ¡°Mana Points 70/80¡±. The final, not very long, line is a deep emerald color, ¡°Stamina 23/50¡±. As I watched the bars, bewildered, I see the green line of stamina grow just a bit longer: ¡°Stamina 24/50.¡± ¡°What is this?¡± I ask Galea. The tiny serpent swims up in my visions and plucks one of the bars with a claw, causing it to vibrate. ¡°These are representations of your vital energy. It¡¯s pretty interesting isn¡¯t it, Mistress. I quantified the energies and will track them for you.¡± ¡°Charlene,¡± my brother calls to me, and I realize that I have been standing in the middle of the clearing in the grass staring into nothing. ¡°Sorry,¡± I tell him, deciding to the put the strange colored lines out of my mind for the moment. ¡°I was talking to the invisible friend that lives in my head.¡± ¡°Is that one of your skills?¡± he asks, all seriousness on his face. ¡°No,¡± I tell him. Halford shrugs and looks back at the scorched spot of grass. ¡°Fire is a pretty temperamental damage type,¡± he tells me. ¡°It makes a certain kind of sense.¡± ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell you when you show me the rest of your abilities,¡± he says. Halford steps back and motions for me to continue the demonstration. ¡°I don¡¯t have any more abilities,¡± I say. ¡°Not any that I can actively use.¡± ¡°Explain that to me.¡± I take a few minutes to explain to Halford what all of my abilities are, which is pretty easy, as I can simply read them off of the descriptions. Halford listens to my explanation without interruption, nodding as I make it to the end of the explanation. ¡°Having two passive abilities at rank one is odd, but not unheard of,¡± he tells me. ¡°Mostly, it will mean that what you do is going to be highly specialized. From the sounds of your abilities, you will likely be specialized in dealing magical damage from a distance. It is hard to peg a specialization from the first rank, but sometimes you can just tell. That conflux skill is interesting. I don¡¯t know too much about magical affixes, they aren¡¯t usually important until much later on, but the thought of you being unrestricted in the ones you can develop is impressive. I don''t think that even I can appreciate how impressive exactly.¡± Halford turns to look back at me and starts laughing. The man laughs so hard that he needs to brace his hands on his knees to stop from falling over. ¡°What¡¯s so funny?¡± ¡°It makes such complete sense,¡± he says between his laughs. ¡°A mage whose only ability is to deal damage with fire. You are just like Corinth.¡± He pulls himself together, wiping a tear from his eye. A few chuckles still shake him periodically. ¡°It must be some kind of defect of our family.¡± ¡°You¡¯re saying that I am defective.¡± I glare at him. I conjure another gout of dragonfire in my hand and wave is threateningly in his direction as I watch the line marking my mana drop from 70 to 60. Halford is not the least bit concerned with my threat. ¡°Only defective in the same way that I am. I traded in expensive essentia so that I could hand pick ones that would make me an essentia swordsman. I am only ever going to be as powerful as I am skilled with a sword. You had your choice of essentia yourself from the sounds of it, and you ended up with a magical bolt ability, just about the most basic and common of abilities you can get. Then, your conflux decided to grant you an affix effecting ability which will be extremely difficult to master and will either be useless or incredibly powerful. That is just as reliant on skill as the blade. Not to mention Corinth.¡± ¡°You¡¯re saying that this ability is worthless unless I am highly skilled with it?¡± I ask. I wave my hand and the fire vanishes, almost as if it sinks back into my skin, and I watch the blue line of mana extend again to 70. ¡°Fire is a tricky thing to use in combat,¡± Halford says, taking a lecturing tone. ¡°It is great against some enemies, but completely useless against others. It is also one of the most common magical affixes, and you will meet a lot of mages that use fire as their main source of damage. That said, I don¡¯t know how different dragonfire is from normal fire, so I might be digging for catfish in the wrong hole, but I think that emperor conflux is made so that you can change the affix of that fire into something else. If you master that, likely you can become a mage that never has to worry about a monster resisting their flames. If you fail to do so, you will become just another common fire mage. It looks like your powers are going to be completely reliant on your skill and the time you dedicate.¡± I take a second to chew on his words. Halford, for all that he looks like just another meat head, has been thinking about adventuring and essentia for his whole life, and I would trust his advice on things like this over anyone else¡¯s. ¡°You said that Corinth had this high-skill thing too.¡± ¡°Corinth is a magic specialist that only has one element. Like you, his Magic Essentia grants him skills with fire. Fire is all that he can do though. He has killed dragons¡­as a fire magician. How hard do you think it is to kill a dragon with fire?¡± ¡°Hard?¡± I guess. ¡°Incredibly hard.¡± Halford looks back at me, and I think I spot pride in his eyes. ¡°It sounds like you are on a good path.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± Halford twirls his hand, conjuring an obscenely long blade and spinning it as if it weighed nothing. ¡°Come on then,¡± he says. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to improve much with your one weapon if you simply point it at the grass. Give your big brother a few shots.¡± I smile back at him as I call dragonfire to spread over my fingers once again. ¡°I¡¯ll give you all that I can.¡± Chapter 11 - My First Encounter The restaurant is called the Emerald Tiger. I stand outside of the glass-paneled door, looking up at a sign that sports the image of a huge cat with even larger fangs. The two incisors, as long as my arm, have a trout impaled on them as the green cat roars at a fleeing fisherman. I am puzzling out how the cat is possibly going to eat the fish when a man leaving the restaurant nearly bumps into me. He apologizes as he steps past into the street, disappearing into the noonday traffic. I pat down my dress. I don¡¯t need to worry about the dress Arabella Willian gave to me being classy enough for this restaurant that I had never heard of before today, I am sure that anything the woman owns likely costs more than I have seen in my entire life. I reflect on the thought a moment, it probably isn¡¯t true any longer after I plundered her essentia vault. I breathe out a controlled breath, pick some grime out from beneath my fingernails, and step inside. White cloth is the theme of the place. From the tablecloth to the napkins to the uniforms of the serving staff, a white so bright that it blinds when near the windows shines out of the dimly lit interior. There are only ten or so tables in the entirety of the dining area, and with only three occupied, it isn¡¯t difficult to find my party. The weaving breeze of Arabella¡¯s effervescent hair gives her away before anything else. Seeing her sitting at a table with four others, I mutter an apology to a woman asking me a question I don¡¯t pay attention to and walk past her toward the table. Arabella greets me warmly as I join them, standing and throwing her arms around my shoulders before turning to the rest of table. ¡°At long last, our sixth arrives,¡± she says. ¡°Everyone, this is Charlene Devardem. She will be joining us on our voyage into adventure and toil.¡± Looking at the table, I recognize two of the faces that look up at me from plates filled with an assortment of cheeses and breads. One is the elven woman I met in the hallway of Arabella¡¯s home the day before, Coriander Mel¡¯Draven, the daughter of a Viscount. She glances at me with uninterested, orange eyes, lingering on my face for a moment before she looks back to her plate to rip apart a piece of bread with claw-like nails. The other face I recognize comes as bit of a shock. ¡°Ms. Devardem,¡± Kendon, Jellian¡¯s nephew says as he stands and offers me a slight bow. ¡°I was unaware that you would be joining us today. I am pleased to see you again.¡± ¡°I was unaware you two knew each other,¡± Arabella says, taking her seat again. She motions demurely toward an empty seat at the table, which Kendon rushes to pull out for me to sit in. ¡°His uncle is in my brother¡¯s party,¡± I say, taking the offered seat. I can¡¯t help but notice the satisfied grin Kendon wears as he returns to his own chair. It is an alien thing to look at him now with through new eyes. Kendon Esfelle(Rank One) Devastation Conflux It is not just his seeing his rank and conflux, but my new eyes notice other differences as well. His eyes aren¡¯t the same as Jellian¡¯s, I realize, Kendon¡¯s are a deep red, like an apple, whereas Jellian¡¯s are crimson. I spot the calluses on Kendon¡¯s open palms as he lifts a flute of white wine, and perceive his left shoulder tenses just a little too much with the motion. Perhaps he injured it in the trial. Despite the plainness of his clothing, I can see easily that they are expensive in make. I can¡¯t spend time on wondering how exactly I know this, but move on. ¡°We should acquaint her with the rest of our little group,¡± Arabella says motioning to the elven man sitting on her right. He is another elven man, so close in stature and features that I don¡¯t need my new powers of observation to tell that he is Kendon¡¯s brother. ¡°This is Kendon¡¯s brother,¡± Arabella says anyway, ¡°Macille Esfelle. When putting together this group I found that the brothers functioned too well together to split up.¡± Macille Esfelle(Rank One) Guardian Conflux The elven man with the platinum blonde hair opens his mouth to speak, smacks chapped lips together, takes a sip of water, and tries again. ¡°It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Devardem,¡± he says with a nod. ¡°I believe you have already met Coriander Mel¡¯Draven,¡± Arabella says, motioning to the woman. ¡°I have,¡± I say, inclining my head to the noblewoman. ¡°A pleasure.¡± Coriander looks up from her bread, her eyes falling on my left eye and lingering. Her stare is so intense I have to look down at my hands. ¡°You are much changed from how you were yesterday,¡± Coriander says. ¡°Much changed.¡± Coriander Mel¡¯Draven(Rank One), Daughter of Viscount Goram Mel¡¯Draven of Tristrum Nova Conflux ¡°Yes,¡± Kendon says, earning a glare from Coriander for his interruption. ¡°It would seem that you attained your set of essentia. I am glad to hear of your fortune.¡± ¡°Are you insinuating that one of the people chosen for this group of potential prodigies was a woman whom had not even attained a full set of essentia?¡± the last member of the table asks. It isn¡¯t until I turn my attention his way that I sense the spite in his words. ¡°How fantastic for us.¡± Jor¡¯Mari(Rank One), Son of Duke Cla¡¯Mari of the Mari Dutchy Demon Conflux He is a Celenial, the first one that I have ever met in person. The pure whiteness of his eyes, and the snowy color of his hair bear the telltale Celenial color, but it is the sharpness of his teeth that draw my attention when I turn to him. Past the ethereal features of the Celenials, the sharp features of an elven man tell that at least one of his parents are elven. All of a sudden, it makes perfect sense to me how he might have a noble father. Jor¡¯Mari sits reclined in his seat in perfectly-tailored, rose-colored dress robes embroidered with green flowers and thorns, hanging onto the back of his chair as he slouches low, waiting for someone to correct his posture. ¡°I apologize if I displease you, my lord,¡± I say, to the man, still looking at my hands. ¡°There, you do it again!¡± I look up at the accusatory words, seeing Coriander Mel¡¯Draven pointing at me, smirking to herself. ¡°You know his lineage. How?¡± ¡°I had thought we were avoiding that topic,¡± Kendon says, attempting to come to my rescue. ¡°Avoiding what?¡± Jor¡¯Mari leans forward in his chair, the front two legs clapping loudly to the floor as he rocks forward. ¡°You have something to say, Esfelle?¡± ¡°Nothing to say,¡± Kendon replies, meeting the man¡¯s hungry eyes. ¡°I believe that was what I was expressing. Was it not?¡± ¡°Peace,¡± Macille, Kendon¡¯s brother says, putting his hand into the space between the two men. ¡°Civility in front of these fine, ladies if you can manage it, gentlemen.¡± Jor¡¯Mari snorts and leans his chair back again. ¡°Do not challenge me, low-blood. You would not survive the contest.¡± ¡°I will leave you that delusion,¡± Kendon says, leaning back in his own seat. ¡°I have missed this masculine preening,¡± Arabella says. At her gesture, a serving girl scurries over and delivers her a flute of wine so deep in its red that it could be purple. Without asking for any of our input, she orders food for the table and waves the girl away. ¡°Now that the five of you have assembled, rest assured that this is the extent of the junior magicians that I have taken under my wing.¡± She looks about the table, allowing a slight frown to pull at her lips. ¡°Not as eclectic an assemblage as I initially envisioned. Now for--¡± ¡°That eye is an artifact,¡± Coriander says, snapping her fingers and cutting off Arabella, pointing a claw-like nail at me. ¡°That explains it, nicely.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t--¡± I try. ¡°How did a human get their hands on an artifact?¡± Coriander asks. ¡°I will invite you to recall,¡± Arabella says, her words calm and metered. As she speaks, I watch as the smoke of her aura lashes out and surrounds Coriander Mel¡¯Draven with a shroud of wintery silver. The pale woman¡¯s teeth begin to chatter as mist vomits forth from her mouth. ¡°That I have specifically stated to you how peevish I find interruptions.¡± Coriander is shivering by the time Arabella¡¯s words finish. A blush of red stands out on Coriander¡¯s face and fingers as the cold saps the life out of her. ¡°For¡­Forgive me¡­Ms. Willian. I¡­for¡­forget myself.¡± With a cheshire smile, Arabella reclines in her chair and I watch as her soul aura retreats from Coriander, leaving her shaking in her chair. ¡°Regretful. I trust it shall not happen again. You nearly caused me to need and repeat myself. That is not something allowable.¡± Before Coriander can reply, she looks to me and continues. ¡°Yes, I have given Ms. Devardem an artifact before she rose to the first rank. I thought that it might put her on a similar footing with the rest of you.¡± Jor¡¯Mari barks a laugh. ¡°You have a favorite then.¡± He turns his head my way, the only way I know he is looking at me with his pure-white eyes. ¡°What makes you so special to warrant such treatment? Other than you two both being human, that is.¡± ¡°You speak as if you are not being treated specially,¡± Kendon says, again intercepting the man¡¯s words for me. ¡°Let us not begin this round again,¡± Arabella says. I think that I am the only one at the table who sees her aura flow out and press into all of us. Just the kiss of the cold power rolling off of Arabella quiets the table. ¡°I forget sometimes how difficult it is to wrangle the young. Let me be clear, until I say so, I expect silence from you.¡± She once again releases the flood of her aura over us. I nod at Ms. Willian as the aura retreats to a bare trickle of power boiling off her pale skin. Macille nods as well with me, but Kendon looks to have taken the rebuke a little too harshly, bowing his head sincerely. ¡°You got it,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. While Arabella gives him a withering glare, the strange man reaches onto the table with a perfectly pedicured foot to seize his own wine flute between red-painted toes. With an incredible dexterity that is both mesmerizing and disturbing, he brings the glass to his lips and pours back his drink, not spilling a drop. I look at the elven faces arrayed around the table, realizing then that I am out of place within this group. Two of them are nobility, and no one could mistake them as something lesser. The two brothers at the other end of the table look the spitting image of any young girl¡¯s imagining of shining knights. Their arms and chest bulge beneath their finely tailored shirts, as if the hardened metal of armor is the only thing that might be able to contain them. ¡°Allow me to disabuse you of any illusions you might be holding about your own personal powers as we begin the task that I have arrayed before each of you.¡± Arabella begins. ¡°You are not powerful. You are not unique, though I am certain words will not be enough to convince some of you of that; I will show you, eventually. I am certain that when I tell you that you are young, all each of you want to do is deny it and tell me that you are adults. You are, adults that is, but only just so. ¡°You are all still the first rank. Compared to what you little monsters might grow into--to borrow a regional metaphor--you are all still tadpoles; only some of you know that you swim in a pond with catfish.¡± Arabella focuses her eyes on me, silently asking if she got the metaphor right. I nod my head, a little confused. ¡°It is fair to say that compared to yourselves twenty years from now, if you survive that long, the vast majority of your power is still potential. That is what I saw in each of you, what tempted me to pluck you out of whatever mundane destinies were already spinning out for you, and place you on a more predictable course. ¡°In two days¡¯ time, we shall be leaving the town. We shall depart on my ship for far shores and not stop until we have arrived at our destination. The passage will take just shy of two months, and when we arrive, the lot of you shall be placed in a gauntlet of life-threatening peril. ¡°You shall not be alone; members from the Willian Guild all around the planet are doing just as I am with you. Standing amidst hundreds of individuals with as much promise as each of you, I wonder if some of you will be able to keep up your delusions of grandeur. I am forbidden from speaking on specifics of the challenges you will face once we arrive, that would be considered advantaging the lot of you unfairly. However, that does not mean that I will allow our passage to be time for you to each rest and relax. I have been working on a prescription for training for the each of you. Fail to complete your tasks for even a single day, I will throw you off of the ship myself.¡± The shine in Arabella¡¯s eye as she looks around the table in front of her lets me know how serious the threat is. ¡°Now, any questions?¡± This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it ¡°Where are we heading?¡± Coriander asks. ¡°I cannot say,¡± Arabella answers. ¡°How long will we be there?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks. ¡°You have somewhere to be?¡± Kendon asks him. ¡°How long you stay will depend on your performance,¡± Arabella answers. ¡°If the guild finds you lacking early on, there will be little requirement for them to invest substantial resources into your future training. Likely, you will be put to work somewhere doing something inconsequential, working off the debt you owe.¡± ¡°Debt!?¡± Macille exclaims. ¡°Did you not read the contract?¡± I ask. Eyes snake my way, and my instinct tells me to sink away from the looks, but another part of me screams that if I cannot handle a little attention from important people such as these, I will have little hope succeeding in whatever Arabella is going to make me do. ¡°I assume you had a similar contract to mine. It stated quite clearly that failing to meet standards will result in debt accrual equal to the monthly stipend outlined. Two ounces of gold a month.¡± The brother¡¯s faces fall open in shock, while the two noble children seem undisturbed by the information. ¡°I told you we should have had Stefen read that contract,¡± Macille tells his brother. ¡°I read it,¡± Kendon says, shrugging. ¡°You knew about this?¡± ¡°That only happens if you fail,¡± Kendon says. ¡°Do you really think that we are going to fail?¡± ¡°Probably not,¡± Macille hesitantly agrees. ¡°You still should have said something.¡± ¡°Maybe you should have read it yourself.¡± ¡°If you require a loan to cover the cost of your impending failure, then I would be more than willing to help a spunky go-getter such as yourself,¡± Jor¡¯Mari tells Kendon. Before the other man can begin his own snipe back at Jor¡¯Mari, Arabella interrupts him. ¡°While you are all not a team, I had been hoping that we might effect a civil air together.¡± She blows a long breath and flicks the crystal of her wine flute a few times with a long nail. ¡°Perhaps some sort of team building exercise is in order. Get you all to a place where you might at least exist within the same room at once.¡± ¡°I have no issues with anyone here,¡± I say. ¡°Neither do I,¡± Macille adds. ¡°Great,¡± Arabella says. ¡°Still, that will not exempt the two of you.¡± The sound of ancient stone doors settling closed echo throughout the rounded chamber made of gray stone and shadow. Torches of hay and bound bamboo shoots stand about the massive room of circular stone, giving a slight shimmer of light to the floor. The ceiling overhead ascends into total darkness. ¡°Are you ready?¡± Macille says to my right. I look at the elven man. Away from the pressure of the unexpected, high-class luncheon, just the two of us in this singular room of stone, I let my eyes linger on him as he turns and messes with the cuff of his steel gauntlet. Him and his brother Kendon, they are the two most muscular elves I have ever seen, though considering that I spent most of my life picking pears on an orchard or running through the backwoods with hooligans, that isn¡¯t saying much. He wears shining steel armor that covers his body from head to toe, ringlets of mail peek through the joints in the armor. He looks back my way, gifting me with a dashing smile as he scoops up the massive shield he¡¯d left to lean against his leg. ¡°As ready as I¡¯ll ever be,¡± I say. I tug at the stitching of my old, worn gloves, feeling the crossbow on my hip bang against my thigh as I shift. My mind skips, staring down at my hands. I threw out these gloves. They didn¡¯t fit anymore. ¡°How did we get here?¡± I ask Macille. He shushes me with a gesture, pulling the sword from the scabbard on his hip. ¡°Something watches us,¡± he says. ¡°Here, take this.¡± He cuts the air with his sword in my direction, and I feel a wash of magic splash against my skin. I don¡¯t know if the magic is invisible to him, but my Dragon¡¯s Eye sees it as a flowing out of soft, green light that sticks to my clothing and his. A sign springs into view over Macille, an identical one apparating over my still-flexing fingers. Guardian¡¯s Bulwark The defense of armor worn by individuals under this spell¡¯s effect is greatly increased. I don¡¯t have time to linger on the magical effect that clings to me. Something shifts in the shadows above, but it goes unseen by Macille. My right eye catches the movement, barely, and ice shoots through my veins as I realize how huge the creature in the shadows is. My imagination doesn¡¯t have time to conjure its nightmare in my mind¡¯s eye. The creature releases whatever hold it has on the ceiling and falls like a meteor to the stone floor beneath it. Something out of a fisherman¡¯s nightmare stands in the center of the torchlight. The monster has the body of a lobster; its spiked, orange carapace shakes as it recovers from its fall, the grinding plates that protect its body sound like steel as they scratch against each other, harsh enough to make me wonder if my ears will start to bleed. Instead of a lobster¡¯s head, the monster looks at its next meal, me and Macille, with beady black eyes housed in the skull of a beetle. The great horn of its nose rises five feet into the air in front of its face, and its terrible three-part mandibles snap as it drools a puddle of ichor onto the floor. The monster would be comical if it didn¡¯t stand as tall as a horse. Desert Spearman ¡°Stay behind me,¡± Macille says, stepping between me and the monster. As the monster takes a tentative step forward on its spike-like feet, I feel the weight of its mass reverberate through the stone beneath my feet. Somehow, I keep my knees from shaking, and remember that I am not some helpless girl in distress. ¡°I can burn it,¡± I tell him as orange dragonfire spreads over my right hand. Macille shakes his sword and shield, flexing beneath his armor. ¡°Now that is a nice spell.¡± ¡°Be careful. That monster is rank two,¡± I say. Macille¡¯s face becomes serious as he squares up with the monster that has only yet taken a single step. ¡°I will be,¡± he says. The Desert Spearman explodes forward, six grisly legs pumping in tandem to drive it like a battering ram toward Macille. It only takes a few seconds for the monster to close the distance, but in that time I see Macille activate another one of his abilities. A glowing set of ethereal armor appears around Macille¡¯s body, wreathing him in a transparent skeleton of dream armor as he braces for the charge. I think that he is going to stop the charging monster like a bull driving into a tree all the way up until I hear the impact. The sound of the Desert Spearman colliding with Macille¡¯s shield rings like a gong throughout the entirety of the stone room so loud that white momentarily clouds my vision. By the time I recover my senses, Macille is colliding with the stone doors of the room, sending spider tendrils of cracks through the stone as he crumples to the floor. Some sense that I have never felt before is the only thing that saves me from having my head slapped off my shoulders as the Desert Spearman lashes out in my direction with one of its armored claws. I fall backward on my ass as I do all I can to avoid the lethal strike from the creature. It swings again at me with its other arm, smashing a pit into the floor as I roll away from it. I spring to my feet, my body still not used to its new lightness, and hurl the orange fire that is still clinging to my hand at the monster¡¯s face. The scream of the monster--so close to me--as the orange fire splashes over its face makes me unconsciously bring my hands up to cover my ears. Through squinting eyes, I see the disaster the reflex has caused. With a swipe of its monstrous claws it wipes the small bits of fire still clinging to its face away, revealing a ruined eye dripping down the black-scorched chitin around its face. The other of its eyes bleed hatred at me. On the other side of the monster, I watch as Macille picks himself up off of the ground. In my wild scramble away from the armored monster, I somehow ended up on the complete opposite side of it. Macille begins to gather some kind of energy along the blade of his sword, concentrating with all his might on building up the green light that flows over the blade. I track the slight twitch of the monster. ¡°Macille,¡± I shout, trying to warn him, but I¡¯m too slow. A trident of orange chitin explodes off the tail of the creature toward Macille as he concentrates on his blade. Harder than even the monster¡¯s ramming head, the three-pronged spear of the creature¡¯s shell lifts Macille from the ground, pinning him to the stone wall like an insect. One prong of the spear scores through Macille¡¯s right arm, no doubt shattering it to pieces, while the center spear skewers him through the chest. Macille screams, loud and wet, as his feet kick air two feet above the ground. It is no less horrifying or quiet for the nail that has gone through his lung. That¡¯s when my legs give up on me. My knees collide with the solidness of the cold stone as I watch the beautiful elven man scream through his frothing spit as his shield arm beats on the spear that has run him through. I feel something cold, other than the floor under my legs, and realize it is hard to see through the tears spilling down my face. The snapping of claws pull back to looking at the huge monster in front of me. I scream, throwing another fistful of fire at the beast, missing wildly in my panic. I try to fall away from the monster, but I am stopped suddenly. It has its pincers crushed tight, my morning-light hair caught in the spikes of its claw. I try kicking the monster as it drags me toward its face, but I might as well be kicking a building. It¡¯s terrible mouth opens as it drags me by my hair to it, stretching like a spiny hand with three fingers around my head. When it flexes closed, I feel the crunching of my skull. Like the world splitting pressure of the Desert Spearman¡¯s jaws, I feel a distinct popping sensation as the impenetrable darkness splits into light. Blinding. Blurry white everywhere. No. My eyes are full of tears. I cannot see. Something between a moan and a sobbing gasp leaves me as I rock forward, realizing that I am sitting in a chair. My forehead collides with a serving dish that was sitting atop the table back in the caf¨¦. I cannot breathe through my nose for all the mucus my crying is bringing up in my. Burning acid splashes against the back of my throat, and I manage to hold down the contents of my empty stomach somehow. Someone is shaking my shoulder. I slap the tears and drool off my face with the palms of my hands, and find Kendon kneeling at the side of my chair, gently rubbing my shoulder. Slowly, his face comes to me and I see that there is a bit of red at the corner of his lips, the mark of hastily wiped away blood. Sweat stands out on his skin, staining his nice clothes around the color, and his already pale skin is so pallid I can make out individual veins on his face around his temples. The man looks like someone just told him that his mother died. Recollection returns. Arabella, after casting some kind of spell on Kendon, Jor¡¯Mari, and Coriander, turning to Macille and I, unleashing a wash of purple energy over us as she had the others. ¡°Tha¡­Thank you,¡± I tell Kendon. I straighten myself in my seat, and try to give the man a reassuring smile, but judging from his reaction, I fail. The entire encounter with the Desert Spearman was fake, a result of whatever magical spell Arabella had cast over me. I still feel the phantom monster. Hands shaking, I touch the side of my head where the mandibles crushed into me. My hand comes away clean, the skin unbroken. Kendon gives me a smile, his actually sincere, and squeezes my shoulder before he stands and returns to his own chair. With his back turned away, despite my incredible embarrassment, I check to make sure that I didn¡¯t wet myself out of terror. Luckily, I haven¡¯t. I am still in the caf¨¦, the others still sitting around the same table that we had before. Slowly, the range of attention expands out from myself to encapsulate everyone else sitting at the table. Jor¡¯Mari no longer leans back in his seat, instead he leans against the table with his elbows propped up on it, holding his head in his hands as he tries to calm his racing breathing. Sweat makes his dress robes stick to him awkwardly, and as he pants wide eyed into the tablecloth, his clothes look far too large on him. Macille is slumped back in his own chair with his right hand scratching at his chest beneath his shirt. His eyes are wide as he pants, quiet as a mouse. I don¡¯t think he sees any of us. Seeing his brother¡¯s state, Kendon levers himself up from his own seat and approaches his brother. Coriander Mel¡¯Draven looks the worst for wear. Whatever cosmetics the elven woman had before have smeared and leave huge black streaks from her eyes. She stares down at her balled hands in her lap, unblinking, breaths so shallow it is hard to tell if she is even alive. Arabella sits serene in her seat, buttering a slice of the house bread with a knife, not looking at a single one of us. Far behind her, the serving staff of the restaurant watch our table, horror on their faces. I realize that we are the only patrons left in the restaurant. I try to speak, but my voice cracks as soon as I try. I grab a drink off the table. The sweet, stinging sensation of white wine mixed with something far stronger splashes against my cracked throat. I down the entire glass before setting it gingerly back on the table. Coriander reacts to that movement for some reason. There is nothing in her eyes as she looks at me other than shock and confusion. She seizes her own glass of wine and drinks it in two swigs. ¡°What was that?¡± I ask Arabella. The woman looks up from her bread, setting it aside along with the knife, and kneads her fingers together. ¡°That was an illusion,¡± she says. ¡°An illusion.¡± I find my fingers touching the side of my head again. I still remember it all so clearly, that last split instant of time is imprinted on the back of my eyeballs, total darkness and pain. I keep waiting to feel the wetness of my own blood on my fingers, but there is nothing. It takes an exertion of will to pull my fingers away from my head. ¡°But I could feel it.¡± ¡°It was a very good illusion,¡± Arabella demurs. ¡°How could you do that to me!¡± Coriander shatters her drained glass against the wall, glaring at Arabella with ugly hatred. ¡°This is not what I agreed to.¡± ¡°It is.¡± Arabella refuses to raise her voice above the level of polite conversation. ¡°I inflicted upon you an illusion. A very convincing illusion, but ultimately, it was not real, and you were in no danger while inside of it. I pitted you against a single rank two monster. Surely, with three powerful rank one magicians, you should have been able to handily defeat such a creature.¡± She looks pointedly at Coriander, staring at her. ¡°Were you successful?¡± The anger in Coriander¡¯s eyes shift from hate to shame. She looks back at her hands, though now they are shaking in her lap. Arabella turns her attention to the rest of the young magicians she has brought together, holding our gazes, daring us to say anything against her, until we each turn away. ¡°You are still babes. That is my first lesson to you. I will place you into these scenarios again, over and over and over and over. I will continue to inflict you with these harmless horrors until you can conquer them on your own. If you cannot do that much, then I will disallow you from participating in what the Willian Guild has prepared once we reach our destination. If you cannot do that much, you would not survive.¡± Without looking back to them, Arabella snaps to the serving staff that is still waiting at the back of the restaurant. A woman jumps like a snake bit her, and the staff hurry forward, delivering our lunch meals to the table before scurrying away. I stare down at my plate decorated with a steamed lobster and assorted vegetables. I feel the sting of bile in the back of my throat and choke down another full glass of wine far too quickly. ¡°Well,¡± Arabella says as she snaps the tail off of her lobster, ¡°eat up.¡± Chapter 12 - Departure My knees clack like stones into the hardwood floor of the indoor gymnasium as I barely make it off of the center square to the tin pail set in the corner. As my stomach seizes, I vomit for the third time in the last two days, barely enough strength left in my arms to hold the pail. After nearly a minute, my entire torso crunching in muscle spasms, I continue to hold the pail, looking down at the misery inside. Still not confident enough to put the pail down, fearing that the second I do I will spew all over Arabella¡¯s nice floors and incur some secret penalty from the woman, I spit the bile out of my mouth. After our lunch the day before, she has been liberal in giving out some creative punishments for any minor infraction she finds. After another minute, I feel the weakness in my arms start to wane and my body comes back under my control, though my head is still lighter than air. I set the pail aside just off the center exercise square, a not entirely comfortable set of four thick square rugs stacked on top of each other in the middle of the gymnasium. Each of the rugs is twenty feet on a side. I fall to my back, my heart still pounding in my ears, and try to calm my breathing. Staring up at the ceiling, I feel the vibrations of the others through the floor of the gymnasium and watch, upside down, as Kendon, Macille, and Jor¡¯Mari continue their circuit of the room. They¡¯ve been at it for more than an hour, but none of the boys show any sign of their strength flagging. Jor¡¯Mari is a beast of a man, like I first guessed, slowing every so often to allow Kendon to catch up to him, only to explode forward on tireless legs, smirking as he leaves the other two behind for a few laps. Coriander sits on the mat opposite me, nursing a glass of water as she watches the boys¡¯ competition with bitterness in her eyes. I can¡¯t begrudge her too much for it. I had thought that making it to the first rank might have put my strength and stamina on a similar level to men, but that decidedly does not seem to be the case. It¡¯s a small disappointment, but it still lingers. ¡°Ms. Devardem.¡± My eyes drift sideways, finding Mr. Mason standing over me with a glass of water held out to me. Despite my stomach, I heave myself up to sit and drink the water. ¡°Thank you,¡± I tell him. ¡°It is what I am here for. Have you completed your assigned exercises for the day?¡± I follow the man¡¯s gaze to a blackboard at the end of the gymnasium that looks ancient enough to have been pulled straight out of a church schoolroom. Each of our names is written on the board, below is a list of exercises we have been assigned by Arabella Willian directly. The words, ¡°Failure to complete assigned activities shall result in penalties,¡± glow in threatening red at the bottom of the board. I am the only person that has bothered to return to the board each time I have completed my assigned task to mark a new one off. I raise my eyebrows at the man; it takes less energy than answering the question. He can see as plainly as I can that each of the tasks has been checked off. Well, aside from the running. Once I can feel my feet again, I¡¯ll go check that one off. ¡°I felt it polite to ask,¡± Mr. Mason explains to my raised eyebrows. ¡°I¡¯ll know better in the future. When you have cleaned yourself, Ms. Willian is expecting you and Mr. Esfelle in her study, I assume you know the way.¡± I look at the two elven men trying, and failing, to catch Jor¡¯Mari in their circuits around the room. All of the boys completed their tasks more than half an hour ago. They must run on pure stubbornness and competitiveness. ¡°Which one?¡± ¡°The younger,¡± Mr. Mason says. ¡°Is that Macille?¡± ¡°Yes, it is.¡± I look up at Mr. Mason again, trying to scrutinize his ember eyes. A rank two perception is still not enough to read the man. ¡°You must be dead set on not mentioning anyone¡¯s first name.¡± ¡°I have not been given the leave,¡± he says. He sets another pail down on the mat, this one full of crystal water. ¡°I trust you have found the baths by now.¡± ¡°I have,¡± I say. I spent more than an hour in the gold-plated tub yesterday after that terrible lunch. I push aside the memory of what put me into that water, shivering, and choking down sobs that kept trying to come up out of me. ¡°Then I shall draw each of you a bath.¡± Delivering a perfect bow, the man turns on a heel and walks out of the gymnasium. I look back across the mat to find Coriander studying me. The woman¡¯s harsh orange eyes send a shiver down my spine, and I lever myself to my feet just to get away from them. I mark off my running task on the board, 5 miles, a hundred circuits around the room, before grabbing Macille¡¯s arm as he comes jogging past me on his circuit. The man is so heavy that he almost pulls me off his feet when I grab ahold of him. ¡°Arabella is waiting for us,¡± I tell him. ¡°Oh,¡± he says. The man doesn¡¯t even have the good manners to look winded from his run. ¡°Right now?¡± I shrug at him. When I step away to walk toward the door to the gymnasium, the smell of sweet apples chases me, the man doesn¡¯t even smell when he is soaked in sweat. If anything, he smells even better. ¡°I¡¯m going to bathe first.¡± I realize that I can still smell the man even when I¡¯m all the way to the door, him trailing a good distance behind me. I wonder if my sense of smell has been heightened by my new, magical perception; then wonder how that would even make sense given that the increased perception is granted me by my eye. Maybe I should take Halford¡¯s example and start reading up on magic in church libraries. The idea of studying sours my stomach. My tiredness must be catching up with me. I don¡¯t even realize that Macille is still following along behind me until I am standing over a steaming tub of water and hear the slap of a sweat-soaked shirt hitting the tiles behind me. I turn to see him there, bare-chested, working the string of his trousers as he stands over his steaming tub. ¡°What are you doing!¡± I shriek at him. He looks up at me, confused for a second, and then, as if a huge wheel comes unstuck in his head, realization dawns in his eyes. ¡°Ah. Right.¡± He leaves his trousers unlaced as he walks to the wall and grabs a privacy screen to set between us. ¡°Better?¡± he asks from behind the screen. ¡°Do you have to be in here now?¡± I ask, watching his shadowy silhouette continue to move on the backdrop of the white-lace screen. ¡°You can wait outside for me to finish if you like,¡± he says. I hear him slip into the tub with a sigh. ¡°I was in here first.¡± I sit on the edge of the tub, dabbing a finger into the warm water. ¡°I did more work,¡± he responds. ¡°Besides, I¡¯m already in. If your human sensibilities are causing you issue, I would ask that you do not make that my problem.¡± ¡°I thought you were supposed to be the courteous brother.¡± ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± he says. ¡°So, your manners are fair-weather then.¡± I hear him groan on the other side of the screen. ¡°I suppose so.¡± There is a splash as he sinks beneath the surface of the water. I don¡¯t know how long the man can avoid me by holding his breath, but I guess that it is longer than I am willing to wait, given that the warm bath is just behind me. I sigh. A gilded stool sits next to the gilded tub, upon which is a tidy bundle of my clothing. My will crumbles in seconds, and I strip myself before sliding down into the welcoming water. The bath is hot and perfect. Arabella¡¯s office is the same as when I was first escorted into it; two leather sofas facing each other across a heavy slab of limestone turned into a table. Arabella sits alone, her ice clones vanished, and before her, on the table, rests a square silver dish more than a foot on any side. I sense disappointment from the woman as we enter. Macille remembering his proper elven manners bows before entering. Without a word, she motions to the sofa in front of her, where I sit, Macille joining me by sitting on the arm of the sofa. Arabella lets us stew in silence for a long moment, and I watch as first, her soul presence glides away from her to wrap around Macille; the man doesn¡¯t seem to notice. The cloud of wintery light swims to me next, and when it surrounds me and presses against my skin, I don¡¯t feel the cold bite that it had in the restaurant. After a moment, the soul presence retreats to Arabella. ¡°First thing is first,¡± Arabella says, lifting a rolled paper scroll from the sofa next to her and holding it out to me. ¡°I have petitioned Lord Timmian on your behalf and managed to secure a permit for roaming rights.¡± As she hands the paper to me, I unroll it to read the flowing elven letters written on the page. I haven¡¯t the first idea of how to decipher the language, all of the kingdom¡¯s official documents are written in it, and they don¡¯t teach the high language to people like me. At the bottom of the page is a signature. I don¡¯t doubt Arabella that it is Lord Timmian¡¯s. ¡°You had not yet received such a permit?¡± Macille asks as he reads the paper over my shoulder. ¡°You should be grateful to Ms. Willian. I doubt you would want to begin your adventuring life unable to return home due to breaking the law.¡± I roll the paper back up and tuck it away where the man cannot see it. ¡°I never planned to,¡± I say. ¡°Yes,¡± Arabella says flatly. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want to break any laws, would we.¡± I see further disappointment in her eyes, and the look lingers a little too long on Macille before her face brightens. ¡°Tell me, how are you two getting along.¡± ¡°Fine, I suppose,¡± I say. ¡°We haven¡¯t spent all that much time together.¡± ¡°I find Ms. Devardem enchanting if I am being honest,¡± Macille says. I turn and look at the man, confused. ¡°Her folksy mannerisms are a fresh relief from what I had to deal with in my previous team.¡± ¡°You are not a team,¡± Arabella says, holding up a finger. ¡°I feel it important to make that clear now, at the outset. If in the future you choose to cooperate, that is your choice, but you are under no official requirement to do so. The rules of this upcoming competition are very clear on that point.¡± ¡°Now that you mention competition,¡± I say, looking at Macille, ¡°you were in the last one, weren¡¯t you? How did your team do?¡± Macille¡¯s expression shifts from cheery to placid. ¡°Not so well as your own, I am afraid. One of our members disappeared in the middle of the contest. She did not survive.¡± There is something odd in his voice, a hitch. He clears his throat and puts on his cheery face once again. ¡°I heard secondhand that it was your brother who slew the competition beast. Waiting to cross the threshold into the second rank after the competition had already begun, a shrewd and clever strategy. I do not begrudge him for it. Were I able, I likely would have done the same.¡± ¡°Luckily, you are not near to the second rank,¡± Arabella says, leaning forward. A flash of shame washes over Macille¡¯s features and I feel a bit bad for him. When I look back at Arabella, she is stroking her hands as she looks down at the silver dish before her. ¡°Neither of you are,¡± she purrs. ¡°That is fine. You shall both advance toward the second rank, though you will not reach it by the time that the next contest begins. That is a good thing. I would not permit you to surpass that threshold even if you were close to it.¡± ¡°That is a rule of this contest as well,¡± I guess. Arabella smiles at me. ¡°Clever. Yes, just like the one I held in this little town. Only rank one magicians are allowed to take part. There is reason for that. Perhaps you will be clever enough to figure that out. Now, you were both able to complete the exercises that I assigned you today, were you not?¡± ¡°We were,¡± Macille answers for me. ¡°Fantastic. After a week or so of doing these given tasks, I will individualize the regimens for each of you. After all, most of you will not be fighting the same way. There is no need for you to train the same way. Trust me, you will miss how easy this first week was by the end.¡± I feel a hot pressure building in my legs that tells me how sore I will be tomorrow. I had never thought of myself as out of shape. While I didn¡¯t follow my brother¡¯s workouts, I did manage to keep up with his team while they went out on their assignments. The fact that Arabella wishes for us to do even more intense training makes me worry about whatever this mysterious contest she has planned for us. ¡°Does the Willian guild do anything other than hold contests?¡± I ask. Arabella favors me with a smile. ¡°Let us review your performance.¡± With a wave of her hand, color seeps into the silver tray in the center of the table, until it is as full of life as a window. I see myself through the window in the table, Macille is there next to me, standing inside of a large stone room barely lit by four braziers. I watch, clenching my fingers to keep them from trembling, as the Desert Spearman falls from the ceiling and begins to slaughter us. The window in the table gives off sound as well as showing us the events over again. I hear the mandibles of the monster crunch down on my skull and watch my own body fall headless to the ground. My mind is far away from my own body, the only things I can feel are the heat of my blood and the cold sweat of terror. The scene continues. Macille squirms, panicked, pinned to the wall by the barbed spear the monster shot through him. His fingers scratch and rake over the piece of chitin that holds him up against the wall, screaming as the monster turns and precariously walks over to him. It doesn¡¯t finish him like it did to me. The Desert Spearman reaches a clawed appendage up and snaps Macille¡¯s leg off like it was a twig, bringing it back to its mouth to nibble on. Before I can see how long the torture goes on for, Arabella waves her hand again and the silver of the tray returns, perfectly opaque. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Horrible creatures,¡± Arabella says of the Desert Spearman. ¡°They are quite common in Gilead, where I grew up. Every year the desert creeps closer into the habitable lands and along with it come the monsters that call the sands their homes. They are called Desert Spearman.¡± The way she looks at me when she announces the monster¡¯s name lets me know that it is only for Macille¡¯s edification. ¡°While they prefer the sand, they will bury themselves in dirt or mud as well. They strike from beneath the ground with the spears on their tails. Not much can survive being harpooned, but they do not mind so much if their prey is still squirming when they catch it.¡± Her voice turns harsh. She stares at Macille for a long while, and I notice that he is sweating, his usually pale skin stark white. I feel heat on the back of my neck, and I can¡¯t seem to stop swallowing despite how dry my mouth is. She looks at me as well before continuing. ¡°That is how predators tend to operate in the wild. When animals catch their prey, they seldom care to make certain that it is dead before they begin to eat it. Monsters are the same way. You may think me cruel for trapping the both of you in an illusion, facing a rank two monster. You may think that I am callous, but I am the opposite. I have seen teammates die at the hands of monsters, friends die. At night, sometimes I still hear them scream as they are torn apart while I am powerless to stop it. There is a fear that can come over you when you see what one of the real monsters will do to your friend, and that fear will get you killed. ¡°I am going to continue to place you in these scenarios. I need you to inure yourself to fear, to recognize its touch, but not allow it to seize your heart. I am also going to make you fight monsters above your rank in an environment where I am in complete control. It isn¡¯t the same as the real thing, but it is going to benefit you. Almost all of you failed this initial assessment of your abilities and were killed by the monsters I threw at you. We need to do better.¡± Arabella passes her hand over the silver dish once again and the window showing our fight with the Desert Spearman returns. ¡°Now, tell me, what did you do wrong?¡± She makes us watch our struggle against the monster over and over again until I no longer need to clench my fingers into a fist to stand it. Viewed from outside, it is impossible for me to rationalize my actions in the illusion. I only had a few hours of practice my magic before I was thrown against the monster, and everything I do against it looks amateurish and pitiful. I can hardly do anything more than agree with all of the points Arabella makes about how I messed up. Arabella is more even-handed with Macille, noting that he made a few good choices early on, but that dropping his guard against the monster, even for a bare moment, proved lethal to him. After more than an hour of looking at the illusionary battle over and over again, I feel like I can finally watch it without feeling fear paralyzing my lungs. It was good, I think, to have to face that reality again. ¡°Any questions?¡± Arabella asks as she dismisses the image. We have spent so long studying the images that I am surprised at the abrupt ending. ¡°Only one,¡± I say. ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°You said that almost all of us failed. Does that mean that someone succeeded?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes. Jor¡¯Mari managed to kill the monster I pitted against him. He took a mortal wound in the exchange. Still, he made a good showing of himself.¡± Macille looks like he wants to say something about the man, but merely clicks his tongue in acknowledgment of the compliment. ¡°Now, are you two ready to face another opponent?¡± Arabella asks, clapping her hands together. ¡°Now?¡± Macille gasps. ¡°Yes,¡± I say at the same time. ¡°Good,¡± Arabella says, nodding to me. ¡°These don¡¯t take very long, so we can get a few done today.¡± Without another word, I watch magic explode away from her fingers to wash over the two of us. The late afternoon in Westgrove is like the slow dying of the wind; the noise fades as the activity of people and places dwindles away with the approach of night. I stand on the road just inside of a line where cobblestone tapers into dirt, the place that marks the edge of the town. Halford has his team assembled before me. Kapin scuffs his boot in the dirt, the heavy pack on his back bulging with all his worldly supplies. Jellian crouches not far behind him, digging through his own pack to make certain that he has everything for the upcoming journey. ¡°You¡¯re leaving for Vale then,¡± I say to Halford. My brother looks down at me with conflict clear on his face. ¡°We need to at some point,¡± he answers. He sighs, glancing back at his best friend who won¡¯t look up to meet our eyes. ¡°I think it is best not to delay too long about it. We don¡¯t know many people there, best to get started with that leg of our adventure as soon as possible.¡± ¡°You¡¯re certain you don¡¯t wish to join us?¡± Bali asks me. I can see tears in her eyes, but the big woman refuses to let any fall. ¡°With the power you have now, you would be an even more valuable member. All the team has is me for harming enemies with magic and I was never really good at that.¡± ¡°You will be,¡± Halford says. ¡°I have to go another way,¡± I tell Bali. ¡°I signed a contract.¡± Bali rolls her eyes and blows a lock of hair out of her face. ¡°People break contracts all the time. You¡¯re probably not even a real adventurer until you do.¡± ¡°That feels like the opposite of what an adventurer should think,¡± I say. Without another word, Bali steps forward and wraps me in a vice-like hug. Just a few days before, I would have been tapping her back to get out of it, but today I return the gesture with all my strength. I feel her shudder in my arms. She pulls away, smiling at me without any sadness. ¡°I¡¯m going to miss you, glowbug,¡± she says, gripping my shoulder. ¡°Didn¡¯t you hear, I am a dragon now.¡± I feel tears starting to mist my own eyes. Sniffing I turn and wipe them away. ¡°Little dragon, then,¡± Bali says. ¡°You¡¯re really going then, Charlie,¡± I hear Kapin say. When I turn back to the group he is standing there, looking at me, conflicted. ¡°I thought it would take a bit longer before your brother¡¯s horseshit finally drove you away.¡± Halford gives his friend a punch on the arm that sounds a lot more serious than Kapin plays it off to be. Kapin rubs his shoulder and smiles back at me. ¡°I¡¯ve been dealing with his horseshit for years now,¡± I say. ¡°You overestimated me.¡± ¡°Nah.¡± Kapin steps forward and wraps me in a hug that is too gentle for the big man. I return the hug, cutting off more tears as I bury my face into Kapin¡¯s chest. My own feelings catch me a bit off guard, but I realize as we are parting that this man really is like a brother to me. I have known him for as long as I can remember. ¡°You¡¯re the strongest woman I know,¡± he tells me. ¡°Thanks, Kap,¡± I say. I take a long, steading breath before I am ready to let him go and step away. When I look up at him, I see tears on his face, and that almost makes me break down then and there. ¡°Sorry,¡± he says, sniffing and rubbing at his face. ¡°I¡¯ve never been good with goodbyes.¡± Bali pats Kapin on the back, smiling. ¡°Let¡¯s give these two some space,¡± she says. Putting her hand on the small of Kapin¡¯s back, leading him away. ¡°We will see you again,¡± Bali tells me over her shoulder as she walks. ¡°I know it.¡± Kapin waves back to me over his own shoulder, but he doesn¡¯t say another word. I look at Halford. My brother stands with arms crossed, an unreadable expression on his face. He lets out a long breath before flashing me a smile that I¡¯m sure would make other girls swoon. ¡°You¡¯re prepared for what you have ahead?¡± he asks. ¡°I don¡¯t honestly know,¡± I say. ¡°Ms. Willian has made it clear that she expects a lot from me. She expects me to compete with nobles and experienced adventurers when I haven¡¯t even had my powers for a few days. I don¡¯t know how I am going to keep up with people that have real talent.¡± ¡°By outworking them,¡± Halford tells me. ¡°I went to Vale a lot in the past. I spoke with adventurers of the third rank often, and that is what they told me to do, every single one of them. Talent doesn¡¯t matter for shit if you don¡¯t work at improving. Show them all that no one will work as hard as you do, and even if you don¡¯t catch up to them quickly, you should at least earn some respect.¡± ¡°You just can¡¯t stop giving advice,¡± I say. ¡°That is what big brothers are for.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± I step forward quickly, wrapping Halford up and seeming to catch him off guard. After a second, he gingerly puts his own arms around me. We break off the hug quickly; I know Halford feels awkward about it. ¡°Can you deliver this to Dad when you pass home on the way to Vale.¡± I produce a sealed envelope and hold it out to him. Halford takes the envelope, tucking it inside of his battle robe. ¡°Just for Dad?¡± ¡°It outlines everything I am doing,¡± I say. ¡°I think he will take it better than Mom will.¡± ¡°Maybe, though, I think Dad was wanting you to take over the orchard since a decade¡¯s worth of bullying failed to get me or Corinth to do it,¡± he says. ¡°Mom and Dad are essentia magicians now. They will probably be able to work the orchard for another hundred years.¡± ¡°A hundred years¡­¡± Halford strokes the stubble on his chin. I notice he hasn¡¯t bothered shaving for a few days now. ¡°How many more siblings do you think we will get now? I¡¯m pretty sure you were going to be the last, but now¡­¡± ¡°Halford, do not talk to me about Mom and Dad making more siblings,¡± I say. ¡°When I came to pick you up last time, I got the feeling that they were trying for another. It must be nice to have strong rank one bodies when you are in your fifties.¡± I gag and watch Halford smile, eliciting the reaction he wanted. ¡°Seriously, Charlie, look out for yourself. Don¡¯t assume that people have your best interests in mind, especially the nobles. The younger they are, the crueler they can be.¡± I look back at my brother, confused why he would say that, but just to nod. ¡°I will be.¡± Halford surprises me by stepping forward and clasping me in a second hug that lasts for only a moment. ¡°Three years,¡± he says to me as he steps away once again. ¡°Three years,¡± I repeat. Halford kicks off the ground, using his incredible strength to soar backward through the air for twenty feet before landing on the dirt road with a grace that doesn¡¯t kick up even a loose pebble. I shake my head at the man. Jellian finally stands from where he is digging through his pack. The man looks at me, nodding his beautiful face my way, and I return the gesture. ¡°Let¡¯s get going then,¡± Halford says to them. Bali and Kapin send me a wave as they start their walk down the road, but Halford never turns back. We both know that we will see each other again, but something tells me that it won¡¯t be for a long while. The group of four disappears past the horizon as I watch their long plod into the orange light of the setting sun. I feel an unsteadiness in my chest. I calm it with a few long breaths before I turn to make my way back toward Arabella Willian¡¯s manor. The sun is long set as I wind through the sleeping town, only the occasional patrolling guardsman and streetlamp to keep me company. Despite the clouds covering the glow of the stars overhead, I don¡¯t have the least bit of trouble seeing in the gloom of dusk. I have my new eyes to thank for that. I find the mansion, sitting sprawled upon a well kempt lawn, but with more activity going on than the rest of Westgrove. Mr. Mason, holding a lantern and learning down to inspect the area where the front lawn meets the street, turns as I approach, the heels of my new shoes clicking against the cobblestones. ¡°You have returned,¡± he says, holding up the lantern to cast its light over me. ¡°What is all this?¡± I ask, motioning to the activity in the yard. Other than Mr. Mason, at least six ice clones of Arabella Willian move about the yard, the fingers on each of their right hands alright with magic, lavender in color. When the clones point their fingers down toward the line of well kempt grass that separates the estate from the street and the ones to either side, a mystical runework appears, glowing from up from the ground beneath the grass. The symbols that light up form an intricate pattern that is impossible for me to discern the meaning of. ¡°Preparations,¡± Arabella Willian says. She walks out of the darkness, my enhanced vision completely unable to perceive her until she chooses to announce herself. Mr. Mason bows to the woman and steps back to allow her to greet me as I stop before the manor¡¯s drive. ¡°Did you see your brother and your friends off?¡± ¡°Preparations for what?¡± I ask, ignoring her question. ¡°You shall see in not too long,¡± Arabella says. ¡°How was your farewell?¡± she asks again. ¡°It was¡­good, I think.¡± Honestly, I still didn¡¯t know how I felt about how I left things with them. If what Arabella promised me was correct, I wouldn¡¯t see any of them for at least three years, maybe even longer. Still, I think I should be sadder. Maybe I feel alright because I am too excited about learning from Arabella. I will miss my parents though. Dad¡¯s birthday isn¡¯t that far away. ¡°Good,¡± Arabella says. She motions for me to join her, and I follow the woman back to the front stoop of the manor. ¡°We will wait here for the others to arrive.¡± ¡°What are you doing?¡± I ask, looking at the clones of Arabella that continue to walk around the perimeter of the manor, casting runes into the ground around the house. ¡°That is a surprise,¡± Arabella answers. ¡°You stand on the threshold of a new life now. By tomorrow there will be no turning back. Do you regret that?¡± ¡°No,¡± I answer instantly. Halford had been right; I needed to figure out what to do with my life. Standing next to Arabella, watching the ice clones cast their magic, I know that I am taking a step in the right direction. At least I have a plan. A plan set out for my by someone else, yes, but it is a direction in my life. High rank magicians have practically no limits in the kingdom, so if I can accomplish what Arabella wishes of me, neither will I. After I achieve rank three, then I can worry about what I want to do. We wait on the front porch for a while longer. After half an hour, the ice clones are continuing their work, and I see Kendon and Macille walking down the street in our direction, bulging bags on their backs and wearing their full sets of armor. It is probably just the easiest way to transport it. I wave to them before they walk up and exchange pleasantries with Arabella. They have said their own goodbyes as well it would seem. Jor¡¯Mari joins us eventually, not saying a word to anyone in our small cluster and preferring to stick to the back of the front stoop, leaning against one of the stone columns holding up the front facade. The ice clones finish their work. The entire edge of the manor¡¯s perimeter is aglow now with lavender colored runework. The clones step back and melt into puddles of lifeless water in the grass. ¡°We may as well commence,¡± Arabella says, stepping off the front porch to go stand in the middle of the walkway leading up to the house. ¡°Are we not waiting on Lady Mel¡¯Draven?¡± I ask. ¡°She has already seen this.¡± It is Jor¡¯Mari who answers behind me. ¡°Seen what?¡± I ask him. He smiles slyly my way with his sharpened teeth but doesn¡¯t answer. Arabella has already turned away, spreading her arms out wide. I watch as the wintery veil of Arabella¡¯s soul presence rolls off her in a wave, and I brace myself as the flood of color approaches and washes over me, through me. It does not bring the sensation of freezing along with it. In fact, I can¡¯t feel it at all. I watch as the air around me changes to that solid color of winter blue. Arabella casts her soul presence out until from where I stand it looks as if it might cover the whole world. The woman standing in the middle of the yard bends her knees in a crouch, and as she stands again, I can see her outstretched arms struggle as if against an impossible weight. At the same time, the earth beneath our feet and the manor shakes. My feet push against the ground that rockets into the air as Arabella stands all the way up once more. I feel five times heavier and need to grab the pillar closest to me to keep my legs from buckling. Kendon has more trouble in his heavy armor, both his knees giving out as the ground below us soars into the sky, collapsing to both of his knees and bracing himself with a hand on the ground. ¡°Wha¡­¡± I hear him wheeze. Macille says something to his brother, but I don¡¯t hear it as I watch the clouds overhead rush toward us as if we were falling in reverse. Some primal fear leaps up from the depths of me, grabbing my belly and strangling my throat, and I tense at the impossible sensation of an incoming collision. I wince when the top of the building pierces through the first cloud. Not a second later the white smoke is passing over me, sapping the heat out of my bones as the entire manor house races through them. In the next instant, we are out of the clouds. Moonlight sparkles down upon us as we stand on the landing, bright enough now to see by almost as if it were day. The rocketing ground beneath our feet slows to a stop in almost an instant, and if I weren¡¯t already gripping the column next to me right, I think my feet might leave the ground. A moment of serene stillness falls over us. I stare, awe overtaking me, out at a landscape of snowy-white clouds that expand out from the edge of the manor¡¯s lawn into the horizon. The light that bounces off the top of the clouds reminds me of winter morning. Arabella turns back toward us, chest heaving from her efforts and sweat standing out on her skin. As always, her impossible, effervescent hair waves in the air, but now it does so in the breeze that exists up here above the clouds, cold and beautiful. ¡°I may¡­have neglected to inform¡­you,¡± Arabella says. She takes a moment and her breathing evens out, as if she only needed the barest concentration to stop her own racing heart. ¡°This is the flying ship: The Manor of Gacious Moor. It will fly us to our destination.¡± I watch as my breath puffs in the air in front of my face. There is so much to say, but I can¡¯t think of any of it. I see the two elven brothers with me on the porch are equally speechless. I can¡¯t tear my eyes off of Arabella. What power this woman has to perform such a miracle of magic. I wonder if I can have the same. Chapter 13 - Reflection Above the Clouds Fire licks heat into my skin from the clay pot set out on the veranda. Even in the winter, it was never so cold back home as it is here above the clouds tonight. I sit beneath a night sky clearer than any I have ever seen before, the only disruption to the nightscape of stars overhead is my foggy breath puffing in the air as it drifts heavenward. Even in one of the fur coats I found in the manor, a kind of brown fur that reminds me of a yak, the cold is enough to make me shiver. Two blankets scavenged from one of the spare bedrooms drape my shoulders, leaving me to look like a puddle of soft lilies and violets as I sit near the fire. It looks as if we are skating on a snowfield. The clouds beneath the manor house turned sky ship blur with the speed. I feed another log to the fire in the pot and bundle myself tighter as I watch the cloudscape below race by. I¡¯m not surprised when I hear footsteps from the entryway behind me. The clicking of heels on the clay tiles that make up the back porch of the manor house gives away my visitor before she reaches me. A gust of wind delivers the smell of lilacs and honey to me, and I turn to see Arabella Willian walking into the glow of the fire. The wind seems to ignore the woman; no, she defies it. Her dress of silver scales refuses to admit that the wind exists, while he hair floats in the breeze here, high above the clouds. She is a beautiful woman. I can¡¯t help but think it whenever I see her, and I doubt that I am the only one. ¡°I hope that I am not intruding on you,¡± she says while looking down at me. ¡°You aren¡¯t,¡± I say. A scan of the quiet back of the house confirms we are alone. ¡°I was wondering when you might come.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± Arabella takes one of the wooden chairs on the veranda and pulls it up next to the fire. ¡°Did we have some kind of appointment?¡± ¡°No.¡± I say. I feel a bit stupid for presuming too much, but I go on anyway. ¡°So, how awfully have I done so far?¡± Arabella purses her lips as her gaze roams over me. She sighs and pushes herself back in her chair. ¡°I will admit to a bit of disappointment.¡± ¡°I could tell,¡± I say. I had sensed it ever since she trapped Macille and me in her illusionary battle again. Maybe she hadn¡¯t expected me to be able to end that monster on the first attempt, but even after more than a dozen attempts, I still haven¡¯t managed to land a decent hit on the thing. Macille is a different story entirely. At first, I had felt better about my own inadequacy due to Macille also being unable to conquer the desert spearman. The man is strong, stronger than me by a long shot, but a rank two monster is just something that can¡¯t be brute-forced. Perhaps Halford could have, but for us other mortals, it isn¡¯t so easy. That was until Macille began landing hits on the monster, and I began to realize that I was what was holding him back. He would always try to position himself between me and the monster, and out of the two of us, when the monster inevitably won, he would be the first down. I can still feel it, the phantom pain in my fingers and toes. Just thinking about the attempts at the monster sends shivers down my spine. In the last fight, the spearman snipped my left hand off as easily as someone trimming the bushes. The heat of the pain, the way it blocked out every other sensation in my mind is easy to recall. What¡¯s worse is that I don¡¯t even know if that is what it really feels like to lose a hand or not. What happens if the sensation of the real thing is so different that I am completely distracted by the difference if it ever happened in a real fight, making the terrible and lethal training Arabella gives to me worthless. Not that I plan to go around losing hands all over the place. ¡°You five are the first that I have ever had to teach,¡± Arabella says after a long moment of silence. ¡°It is a poor teacher that blames their tools¡­pupils rather. If you had a sword to fight with like the majority of combatants¨Cseriously, the over-representation of swords is something that confuses me to no end¨CI could teach you that. From what I have seen of your abilities¨C¡± ¡°My one ability,¡± I say. ¡°Many of the first rank only have one ability they use in combat,¡± she says. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°Some,¡± she says with a shrug. ¡°From what you have told me and from what I have seen of your abilities you will easily fall into the category of what we call a mage, using magic to directly attack your enemies. You have a magical attack, that is what you shall be focusing on. There is much more that you can do with magic, but at the first rank, concentrating on your abilities will be the best for you. ¡°Manipulating objects with your mana is something that every magician worth her salt learns as they gain power. Usually, when people pick up the skill to do so, they opt to just manipulate swords. The amount of swordsman that will try to scare you or impress you by making a half dozen swords float about them at third rank will astound you.¡± ¡°You seem to have something against swords,¡± I say. ¡°Not especially,¡± Arabella says with another shrug. ¡°I stray from my point. I would not call me pitting you against rank two monsters as training. It is more of conditioning. I want you to know what you are in for if you come across one.¡± I blow out a long breath of steam and stare into the fire. ¡°Something impossible to beat.¡± ¡°You will beat it,¡± she says. I am not so sure. I don¡¯t give her a reply, I can¡¯t think of anything to say. The clouds continue to race below us as the manor flies over the land. Reaching, I snag another log and toss it on the fire. ¡°You will figure it out on your own,¡± she says, no trace of doubt in her voice. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be so sure,¡± I say. With a wave of my hand a glob of orange fire springs away from me and splashes over the coals in the fire. ¡°I have fought that oversized lobster thirteen times now, how many time will I have to hit it with fire to put it down?¡± Arabella considers for a long time, watching after the fire that becomes more orange by the second until it is uniformly the color of morning. ¡°Do that again, but this time do it more than once.¡± ¡°More than once?¡± ¡°Use more mana,¡± she says. I can still see the line in the top of my vision representing my mana, 70/80. The first thought I have is to ask her how to do that, but for some reason I decide to just make the attempt instead. The ability is as natural as breathing, fire leaps to my fingers and I stare at the licking flames over my nails and try to¡­make it more. For a long moment nothing happens. Then, slowly, almost as if it is a trick of the mind, the fire begins to glow just a little brighter. I know it is real as I watch the number in my vision steadily tick lower: 59, 58, 57. Arabella watches the fire the same as I do, the surprise on my face absent from hers. After two or three minutes I have put the same amount of mana into the fire as two uses of the ability. ¡°Now throw it into the fire,¡± Arabella says. I do as she instructs. The orange fire in my hand is hotter, brighter, but it doesn¡¯t appear any bigger than it did before. When it splashes into the clay pot, the explosion makes me jump to my feet and away. When the dragonfire collides with the coals, the pot cracks and shatters across the veranda. Before I can try and stomp the coals out, Arabella waves her hand and a wash of cold air flows over the fire, snuffing it out. ¡°Magic is a representation of will. If your will is strong enough then there is nothing that can stop you. You are a fresh magician, you have never reinforced your soul by conquering the will of another, destroying a monster. The first thing that I want you to know is that you are a beginner; you know neither your limitations nor your abilities. Trust me when I tell you, you will conquer the rank two. You better.¡± Without another word, Arabella stands from her chair and walks away back to the manor. I watch her go, feeling the temperature drop by the second back toward freezing. The wind chills and is the only sound left to me once she is gone. With a thought and a bit of effort, fire springs back into my hand, and I bring my hands together, watching the fire spread to sit flickering between my palms. As I pour more mana into the ability over the next few minutes I feel the temperature around me start to rise again. After ten minutes, I feel like I cannot pour any more mana into the fire. I watch the blue line representing my mana slowly begin to creep back up as I sit in the cold wind, warmed by own fire. ¡°Galea,¡± I say. The spirit appears in front of me, first a spinning ball of gold that expands into a serpent. ¡°Yes Mistress,¡± she says. I study the spirit. The reptilian eyes that look back at me should be devoid of emotion, but I read a strange sincerity in them. ¡°Why did you choose this form?¡± ¡°This form was what was most compatible,¡± she says. ¡°You chose to be a dragon before I obtained the Dragon Essentia,¡± I say. ¡°How did you know that I would?¡± ¡°I did not,¡± Galea says. The spirit apparently doesn¡¯t feel the need to elaborate further. I don¡¯t bother to make a gesture as I open the black rectangle that has my information on it. I point to a line below my own name, and Galea looks to where I point, the only other being in the world that can see what I do; at least I assume so. ¡°What does this mean, level 1?¡± I ask. ¡°That number refers to how many layers of soul reinforcement you have undertaken,¡± Galea explains. ¡°I figured as much,¡± I say. As soon as Arabella mentioned soul reinforcement to me I had thought of this number. One must be low, probably the lowest it could be. Looking over the rest of the message I ask, ¡°You like numbers, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°My function is to be a spirit facilitating the use of the ability in the eye you now possess,¡± she says, motioning to the black and red eye in my left eye-socket. ¡°Quantifying the information that you perceive with the eye is one of the primary methods in which this is done.¡± I think about having Galea clarifying some of the other numbers that I read in the message but decide not to. The rest of it is fairly straightforward, other than one thing. ¡°Is my Recovery attribute especially high for a level 1 human?¡± I ask. I don¡¯t have anything to compare it against. Without really thinking about it, I look to the blue bar in the top of my vision and see that it has almost completely refilled itself. ¡°Mistress is a specialist in the Recovery attribute,¡± Galea says. ¡°Of course, her¡¯s is exceptional.¡± I nod at the little gold dragon before focusing on the message some more. My physical attributes are much lower than my Magic attribute and my Recovery, not exactly surprising. I guess everyone guessing that my abilities lend toward me being primarily a magic user makes a certain amount of sense, and I briefly wonder if others are aware of the exact numbers of their attributes. Doubtful, I am only aware of them due to Galea, and apparently the eye she lives inside of is something called an artifact, at least Coriander called it that. I am ignorant of most things dealing with magicians, but something called an artifact must be rare. ¡°If I may say so,¡± Galea says, bringing my attention back to her. ¡°Mistress is rather brave.¡± I quirk my eyebrow at her. ¡°How so?¡± ¡°You fought that monster thirteen times,¡± Galea says. ¡°You had not had your magical abilities for even a full day before you fought that beast. That is brave.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t even real,¡± I dismiss. ¡°I didn¡¯t even have a choice to refuse.¡± ¡°Maybe not the first time, but you continued to fight it even after it had killed you already. I do not think that I would be so brave,¡± she says. I don¡¯t have anything to say to that, so I nod again and focus on the fire between my hands. I am not so dense as to not realize that this fire is all that I have. Honestly, even if it is against rank two monster, I appreciate Arabella allowing me to face monsters without me being in any real danger. I scoff at myself, shaking my head. How ridiculous I must seem to that woman, sitting out here alone in the cold feeling sorry for how I have not immediately learned to defeat a rank two monster after having my abilities for less than a week. I followed Halford around for the better part of a year, and I know that if he had not reached rank two himself, he would not have dared to take on a rank two monster alone. I don¡¯t know what I was expecting to be able to do. I try one last time to squeeze as much mana into the fire as I can, but it feels as if there is some barrier inside the fire that prevents me from adding any more. I stand to leave, floral blankets draped around me, but before I turn to go, I launch the fire out past the edge of the flying manor house toward the clouds illuminated by moonlight. The small ball of fire sails away from me with an incredible speed, not falling like it should until it reaches a three hundred feet or more away where it disappears into the snowscape of clouds. With the fire gone, the cold starts to sap at me once more. I hurry back to my room, ready to give it my all tomorrow. Chapter 14 - Levelling Up A few days later I sit in the gymnasium, my heart pounding in my ears as I try with all my might to focus on the building fire between my two palms. I am the second to mark off all of my mandatory exercises for the day. My list is the only one unchanged over the last week. The boys¡¯ lists grew more than twice over, the three of them are currently busy with their running, the majority of their daily exercises; twenty miles each. Coriander¡¯s list is the only one that shrank, she is out of the gymnasium each morning after little over half an hour, off to private magic lessons with Arabella. Since we last spoke out on the veranda overlooking the clouds, Arabella hasn¡¯t sought fit to try and give me any further instructions or trap me in an illusion facing off against a monster. I was frustrated the first day, but now I think that her ignoring me is a test, a test to see if I will continue doing what it was she instructed me to do in the first place. The fire in my hands grows harder to hold onto. I have been at this attempt for more than fifteen minutes. As soon as I completed my daily exercise, I found a spot on the mat to work at draining all of my mana away with practice. It has only begun to dawn on me, my abilities have made me a Recovery specialist. As far as I can tell, all that means is that my vital energies recover more quickly than they would otherwise. After fifteen minutes of concentrating on this single iteration of the spell, my focus slips for a moment, and I check the green line in my vision representing my stamina, almost halfway full once more. That slip is enough to let me know that I have failed again, and with a grunt of effort, I push the ball of fire into the large tub of water in front of me, where it sizzles and evaporates a layer of the water. In the metal tub bubbles stick to the corrugated sides; ever so slowly, the water cools again. I take a ladle sitting next to me and gulp down a mouthful of the water before pouring some over my head. The sound of my racing heart and the stamp of three sets of feet as they make a circuit of the gymnasium are the only sounds. The boys practically sprint around the room, and no matter how long they run, they don¡¯t look the least bit out of breath. I check my mana, 43/80. I adjust my shoulders and begin the spell again, conjuring fire between my fingers. There is a difference to how it was only a few days ago. The difference is small, I can feel the mana pour into the fire and strengthen it just a bit faster than when I first tried. It takes maybe a minute and a half now to reach twenty mana, twice as powerful as my basic version of the spell. At eight minutes, I reach twenty-five mana in the spell and feel a barrier stop me dead in my tracks, refusing my attempts to infuse any more mana. I have managed to push past the barrier only twice so far, reaching thirty mana, but I can already tell that this will not be such a case. Still, I try. After fifteen minutes have passed, I give up on this version of the spell and allow it to splash into the water. I check my mana, 37/80. I have been at this for over two hours now. As best as I can tell, with my current recovery, it takes me around an hour to recover the entirety of my mana. I can focus on unleashing these spells for nearly four hours before I need to worry about running out. This must be what it means to be a Recovery specialist. Feet pound the flooring as someone approaches me from behind, slowing to a stop. Kendon looks down at me, a dashing smile on his lips as he bends and scoops up the ladle for himself. He drinks a healthy cupful from the water tub in front of me before dumping a considerable amount over his own head. He hands me the ladle instead of dropping it to the mat and uses a towel to pat down his metallic copper hair and wiping the sweat from his neck. I am jealous as I look up at him, it might be a quirk of elves, but they never seem to be left panting no matter how hard they work. ¡°Does that help?¡± he asks me, casting his eyes toward the tub of water. ¡°I think so,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m still a bit new to all of these magical powers. Well, I have had one for a while now, but training at it never occurred to me before.¡± ¡°You have a disenchanting power,¡± Kendon says, not a question. ¡°I imagine that you are going to be very useful in this upcoming competition.¡± "You know what it is we are going to be doing?¡± I ask. ¡°I have to admit that it¡¯s been on my mind.¡± ¡°No,¡± Kendon says. ¡°I can guess. Ms. Willian wants to make us fight rank two monsters in a safe environment. Well, as safe as an illusion where it really feels like you die can be. I imagine that must mean there will be rank two monsters wherever we are going. Depending on just how many monsters, a disenchanting ability may be invaluable.¡± ¡°Well, my brother did keep me around for it,¡± I say. I can see at once that he doesn¡¯t appreciate the self-deprecation of my joke. ¡°I am certain that he brought you along because he found you a good fit for his team. You will be a good fit in our team I am certain. That fire of yours looks like it could be nasty.¡± ¡°If you give me a few minutes to get ready, maybe,¡± I say. ¡°How long would you say that I might have in a real fight to empower a spell?¡± ¡°That depends on your guardian,¡± Kendon says. ¡°If it were you or Macille then. I have a feeling that asking for over a minute of uninterrupted concentration might be a little much.¡± The frown he returns to me lets me know I¡¯m right. ¡°Which is why I am practicing to get that time down.¡± I slap the side of the metal tub with my hand. He smirks at that. Macille calls out to his brother as he passes us on his running laps. ¡°Don¡¯t overdo it,¡± Kendon tells me as he slings his towel over a rack near the padded center of the gymnasium. ¡°Mana strain is no joke, and the headache is not worth having.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me,¡± I say. I still remember the pain Bali was in when she ran out of mana in the middle of the woods. I have only dropped my mana below 10 a single time so far, and the immediate migraine that came on and lasted until my mana was full once more is enough of a reminder. With another nod, Kendon sets himself back to his running, and I return to empowering my Dragonfire Bolt and launching it into the tub of water. Two hours pass before I begin to approach the 10 mana threshold of my mana and decide to stop with my magic practice for the time being. I lean back, resting my palms on the mat and attempting to get my breathing under control once more. The magic practice takes just about as much out of my body as the running and weight exercises. Looking around the room, I notice that I have been left alone in the gymnasium. The chalk board on the far wall shows that everyone has completed their mandatory exercises for the day. The boys will have gone off, studying under some sword master that I still haven¡¯t met yet. Apparently, she lives on the opposite side of the manor from my room and keeps to herself most of the time. The boys have had only good things to say about her. Of course, some of their complements are a little¡­physical in nature. Coriander will still be studying with Arabella. The morning light sprinkles through the high windows of the gymnasium, casting a harsh, warm light across the entirety of the room. The light is always harsh up above the clouds, venturing outside will blind you as the clouds reflect the light back up to you. There is something a bit off-putting about being left alone in the room, but I push the feeling aside. I check my stamina, 50/50. With a sigh, I lever myself up to my feet and walk over to the chalk board, stretching the stiffness out of my neck and shoulders. I don¡¯t know how it took me so long to discover it, but unlike before I integrated essentia into my soul, once my stamina reaches its maximum once more, I feel as fresh as a daisy. Except for needing to sleep, as long as I have stamina, I can keep working. It is some time in the mid-afternoon when the unexpected stops me dead in the middle of my running. It is the fifth time today that I have started my daily run, and just as I am passing the halfway point on this session, Galea appears in front of my, dragging a sign into my view, stopping me. THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! My lungs heaving, I read the sign again before the meaning of it begins to dawn on me. Just as I realize what it is saying, Galea opens her claws wide, and a splash of pink sparks sizzle out into the air. ¡°Congratulations, Mistress Charlene!¡± Galea exclaims. ¡°You have reached the threshold for the second level.¡± ¡°That¡¯s¡­a good¡­thing,¡± I pant out before remembering that I can communicate to the spirit with my thoughts. ¡°What does that mean exactly?¡± Galea looks over the sign, reading it herself before looking back to me a bit confused. I glower at the shiny lizard. ¡°You know what I am asking,¡± I say. ¡°Can Mistress Charlene not read the message clearly?¡± she asks, trying to play innocent. ¡°Explain it plainly,¡± I command. Galea doesn¡¯t even look the least bit offended at the order. ¡°It means that Mistress Charlene should wash herself off, have a good snack, and be right to bed at once. Reinforcing the soul happens when creatures enter the rest and rebuilding time of their metabolisms. As Mistress Charlene knows no meditation techniques to quicken her recovery, I recommend sleeping as soon as possible.¡± ¡°So, I go to sleep and wake up stronger than before.¡± ¡°Mistress Charlene is adept at summarization,¡± Galea says, clapping her claws for me. I blow the lizard away and jog out of the gymnasium toward the baths. I still have a good bit of stamina left, so I choose to hurry about it. The bath water is cold by the time that I enter the chamber, but dunking my hand into the water and activating my dragonfire takes care of that. It also drains my mana at a shocking rate. Perhaps another method to train the spell in the future. The dining room within the manor adjoins the kitchen, and I find it as deserted as I expect when I arrive. Instead of bothering to prepare a proper meal, I carry two pears and a slice of buttered bread back toward my room, crunching on an apple as I go. I toss the apple core into a bin in my room as I march to the bed in my fluffy, blue robe. I am worried about getting to sleep with it still being the midafternoon, but I feel my consciousness fade away from me the second that my head hits the pillow. I don¡¯t dream, or at least I don¡¯t believe that I did. I became aware of an angry tapping sound while I float in darkness. Annoyed, and realizing that I am just lying in bed and not in fact floating in dark waters, I crack an eye open. A huge bird, a three feet tall at least and the white color of a seabird with the matching bright yellow beak, taps against the windowpane with its blunted beak. I throw a pillow at the window. The dull thump is enough to spook the bird into flapping off. I am just about to start my morning routine of complaining at the world for an hour or so, while refusing to get out of bed, when the memory of what I was attempting to do yesterday crashes down on me. I bolt up in bed. ¡°Galea,¡± I say. ¡°It is about time Mistress Charlene awoke,¡± Galea says as she swims toward me from somewhere out of my vision. She is carrying one of the transparent black signs between her claws. ¡°I have been needing to show this to Mistress Charlene for a few hours now.¡± Galea lands on the air in front of me and turns the sign so that I can read it. SOUL REINFORCEMENT SUCCESSFUL!!! LEVEL 1 ¡ú 2 Charlene Devardem Human(Level 1 ¡ú 2)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Attributes Vitality: 6 ¡ú 7 Strength: 3 ¡ú 6 Magic: 8 ¡ú 12 Defense: 4 ¡ú 5 Magic Defense: 8 ¡ú 9 Speed: 7 ¡ú 11 Recovery: 12 ¡ú 16 Perception: 6 ¡ú 7 Healing Points: 60 ¡ú 70 Mana: 80 ¡ú 120 Stamina: 50 ¡ú 68 Unutilized Soul Residuals Found +10 Free Points!!! Had the first thing I expected to see today been a tiny dragon holding a message onto the void of a rectangle, displaying my information with a bunch of moving numbers? Yes, at least a little bit. There may have been an easier way to check if what I saw was real than jumping out of bed and leveraging it up with one hand, but it is the best way to think to do it at the moment. ¡°Mistress Charlene¡¯s smile tells me that she is satisfied with her soul reinforcement,¡± Galea says. ¡°Can a mudjaw crush a cantaloupe,¡± I say. Of course I am excited about the soul reinforcement. I just went to bed and woke up twice as strong as I was before, at least that is what I am guessing from my new strength attribute. I wonder if it is literally twice as strong as before or something else. Glancing to the top of my vision I can see the three lines representing my vital energies. It appears that what I initially thought about healing points and mana is true, healing points are ten times vitality attribute and mana is ten times my magic attribute. I have no idea what is behind the mathematics involved with stamina, however. Thinking of mathematics sours my mood somewhat, of all the subjects taught in the small building behind the church, mathematics had always been low on the list of interest for me. ¡°What did that last bit mean, Galea?¡± I ask the dragon. ¡°What are Free Points?¡± Galea¡¯s face lights up like I have never seen before. ¡°The artificers behind the creation of Volaash¡¯s Eye were geniuses, and I am not saying that simply because they created my own engram and consciousness. Whenever a soul undergoes reinforcement, some of the energy intended for the reinforcement remains unused. This unused energy is of no use to an essentia magician and will remain out of their grasps until they undergo a rank evolution where they receive all of it at once. Some peoples, like humans, often have high amounts of this energy when they gain a rank evolution, which is also why rank changes in humans are more radical than most of the descendant races of Exeter. Others, like elves and savai, often experience no accumulation in this wasted energy. ¡°What I have discovered while Mistress Charlene was asleep is that the designers of Volaash¡¯s Eye saw fit to allow it to recapture this energy and integrate it into the reinforcement once more.¡± ¡°So, you¡¯re saying that I can use this unspent energy?¡± I ask. ¡°No, but I can, Mistress Charlene, at your discretion.¡± I frown at the dragon, knowing that she is trying to have fun at my expense. ¡°How should I distribute the energy for you? You have 10 free points.¡± I ignore the smugness in Galea¡¯s smile. I honestly cannot fathom that creature or its sense of humor. The idea of spending everything on strength and becoming a freakishly strong brute crosses my mind. I doubt I would be even a tenth as strong as Halford is, but the idea is attractive. My own smile fades as I concentrate on the problem at hand. My strength increased by three, and yet everyone has been telling me that I am going to be a mage, or as Halford put it, a mage that can only deal damage with fire. Why then would my strength increase so much? Another message appears in front of me. Attributes Vitality: 6 ¡ú 7: +1 Human Strength: 3 ¡ú 6: +1 Human +2 Effort Value Magic: 8 ¡ú 12: +1 Human +3 Effort Value Defense: 4 ¡ú 5: +1 Human Magic Defense: 8 ¡ú 9: +1 Human Speed: 7 ¡ú 11: +1 Human +3 Effort Value Recovery: 12 ¡ú 16: +2 Human +2 Effort Value Perception: 6 ¡ú 7: +1 Human Healing Points: 60 ¡ú 70(10 x Vitality) Mana: 80 ¡ú 120(10 x Magic) Stamina: 50 ¡ú 68(2 x (Vitality + Speed + Recovery)) Galea swims around to read the message along with me and is about to speak but I preempt her. ¡°Ten points of effort value for each level,¡± I say. I see Galea deflate a bit at my noticing, and given that, it likely means that it is true. Looking at the Stamina, I don¡¯t think that I would have ever figured that out. I had always heard that humans apparently healed faster than most others, Recovery being the only attribute that went up by two based on me being human all but confirms it. ¡°What should I spend these free points on then?¡± ¡°Well,¡± Galea says, glad to be engaged again, ¡°if Mistress Charlene wishes to be better at magic, then putting points into magic would be a good idea. On the other hand, if Mistress Charlene wishes to be stronger, then she might spend them there.¡± I brush off the dragon and concentrate on the problem. It appears that depending on what I do to make it to the next level, certain attributes will grow stronger, likely meaning the two points of effort values in strength came from my working in the gymnasium, the speed probably came from all the running. Everyone whom I trust about matters of adventurers and magic has been telling me that I am going to be some kind of magical caster, so I decide to trust them and know I will definitely be spending points on magic. I have an ability that makes points in recovery more valuable than all my other stats, so I will need to spend some there as well. Finally, I decide to spend a point each on speed and magical defense because I hate odd numbers. ¡°I will allocate your choices then,¡± Galea says before I even verbalize what I have decided. She swims through the air in front of me and points her clawed hands at me. I feel the light pour out of my skin as much as see it, a flash of gold that erupts out of me. In a second the sensation of the light is gone, and I am blinking to regain my vision from the temporary blindness. A message appears in front of me. Attributes Vitality: 6 ¡ú 7: +1 Human Strength: 3 ¡ú 6: +1 Human +2 Effort Value Magic: 8 ¡ú 16: +1 Human +3 Effort Value + 4 Free Points Defense: 4 ¡ú 5: +1 Human Magic Defense: 8 ¡ú 10: +1 Human +1 Free Point Speed: 7 ¡ú 12: +1 Human +3 Effort Value +1 Free Point Recovery: 12 ¡ú 20: +2 Human +2 Effort Value +4 Free Points Perception: 6 ¡ú 7: +1 Human Healing Points: 60 ¡ú 70 Mana: 80 ¡ú 160 Stamina: 50 ¡ú 78 Just looking at the numbers is nothing short of incredible. It is hard to imagine that I just woke up today so much stronger than I was yesterday. Today I have twice as much mana as I did yesterday. My healing points haven¡¯t increased all that much, and since I haven¡¯t used them yet, I can only assume they exist to do the obvious, heal me. Another thing that hasn¡¯t happened since I became a full blown essentia magician hits me as I begin to relax. I am absolutely famished. The dining room in the manor is typically vacant. I almost never find anyone else in there when I go for my meals, meals I have to prepare myself. The three elves and one celenial who are my contemporaries as students almost never seem to visit the room. I learned from Jellian a long time ago that elves typically only eat once a day. Arabella either doesn¡¯t eat at all herself or takes her meals privately, and I¡¯ve never caught Mr. Mason eating either. This is why I am surprised to not find myself alone in the dining room after I shoulder open the door, carrying my plate of toasted bread, butter, and some of the peach jam I found in the kitchen. At the long table that runs the length of the dining room sits a woman that I have never seen before. She is from a people whom I¡¯ve never met or heard of before. She would look identical to a human if it weren¡¯t for the six horns sprouting out from her head, the fact that she has four arms instead of two, and the matter of her being easily twice as big as I am. A blue eye flicks in my direction as I enter the room, and I freeze in my step momentarily as I make my way to sit at the table. I know that this must be the famed combat instructor that I have heard about; the massive ax leaning against the wall behind her all but confirms that. She ignores me as I sit, turning back to her plate of fruits and greens, peeling an apple with a fingernail that cuts the flesh as easily as a knife might. A few minutes of silence only interrupted by my nibbling of my toast and the crunching of the other woman passes before I realize that I forgot to get a drink with my meal. Quietly, as quietly as I can manage, I lift my chair and scoot it back, shuffling forward to retrieve an empty glass from the table and fill it with the decanter of water sitting near the woman. She allows me to make it halfway through filling my glass before speaking, ¡°I have never seen you here before.¡± She speaks like I imagine the elves in the big cities to speak, her vowels practically floating on air and the hard sounds running together fluidly with the rest. ¡°My name is Charlene Devardem,¡± I say, needing to postpone my proper bow until I have set the glass down. ¡°I have not been here long.¡± ¡°Charlene¡­¡± the woman chews on my name. ¡°You are that human girl that Arabella scooped up who reminds her so much of herself.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know about that.¡± The woman holds up a hand, shaking her head. ¡°Pardon my own manners. My name is Kithkik Hallanos, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am quite interested in this new project of hers. Not invested, mind you, but interested.¡± ¡°Am I correct in guessing that you are the combat instructor the others have been taking lessons from?¡± I ask. ¡°Combat instructor,¡± Kithkik scoffs. ¡°If you mean, have I beat those elf boys bloody a time or two after they would not stop pestering me, then yes. If they learned anything from the beatings, that is up to them. I am not much of a teacher.¡± It occurs to me to try and see what my new eye says about the woman but like with Arabella when I first tried to use it on her, it gives me no information. Not that I need it to. My dragon¡¯s eye picks up no energy coming off of the woman, not even the whiff of a single color, but it tells me that this woman is as powerful as Arabella if not slightly more so. Another rank four. ¡°I have not seen you in the training yard,¡± Kithkik says. ¡°Do you wield the strength of arms?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have any talent for swinging weapons,¡± I say. ¡°What does talent have to do with anything,¡± Kithkik says, shrugging her massive shoulders. ¡°If you wish to be proficient with a blade, that is what you work at. If not,¡± she gestures at me, ¡°then work yourself in other areas. Arabella mentioned she saw herself in you a bit, and when she says that, she often means she finds the girl in question pretty, naive, and that they destroy things with magic.¡± I don¡¯t know how to respond to that. ¡°I believe all essentia magicians use magic to destroy things.¡± It is only after I say it that I realize how blatantly false the statement is. Kithkik shrugs. ¡°Essentia magicians do,¡± she agrees. ¡°The way you say that makes it sound as if you aren¡¯t one,¡± I say. ¡°I am not,¡± she agrees again. ¡°But¡­¡± No. There is no hint of an aura peeling off of her, yet every fiber of my being screams at me about how dangerous this giant of a woman is. ¡°How are you so powerful then?¡± I ask without thinking. ¡°She said you were perceptive,¡± Kithkik says, smirking. The woman goes on to enlighten me about a great many things which I did not know that I did not know. She tells me that her people are called the Crowned, descendants of a goddess named Ilmadrial, and that they do not use mana or essentia in any way. Firstly, that there are a people out there who are not descended from Exeter himself is a revelation. In my near two decades of life, I have never heard anything about the existence of another progenitor god. Then again, until I found a bed for myself on this flying house, I had never been further than thirty miles from the orchard I was born on, nor even known that houses could fly. The fact that neither her people, the Crowned, or any other of the descendent races of Ilmadrial utilize mana is also something I have never thought could be real. As far as I understand, every living thing in the world has mana as a core component of their being. Monsters are completely composed of mana, or at least I have been told so. That Kithkik could be as powerful as a rank four essentia magician without using any mana or magic at all is so bewildering to me that I cannot even picture it. I am beginning to come to understand that most of what I thought I knew about the world might, in fact, be untrue. Kithkik shows no hesitancy in answering the immediate questions that come to my mind after hearing her explain just that little bit, nor does she seem to find the questions rude. She takes great enjoyment in the clear shock on my face. She tells me about the land she comes from, some archipelago so unimaginably large that it is compared to oceans in terms of size, which floats dozens of miles in the air on the other side of the world. She names every continent between here and her home island of Lisfint, twenty-seven continents, most of which I have never heard of. She speaks about her early childhood, wrestling animals that sound like some cross between bats and lions, and raising giant pink birds that the Crowned ride upon. She describes her home the same way that I might my own ten years from now, and the smile on her lips grows as so does her telling. Partway through telling me about winning her city¡¯s wrestling competition as a young girl, she freezes in place. ¡°What is it?¡± I ask. ¡°The manor has stopped.¡± Kithkik looks to the door and starts to lever herself up from her chair. ¡°One of the copies is coming.¡± A moment later one of Arabella Willian¡¯s ice clones opens the door to the room. The clone comes to a sudden stop, her eyes landing on me where I stand at the table opposite Kithkik. ¡°Come Charlene, you need to hurry,¡± it tells me, illustrating its words with floating lights. I don¡¯t argue, setting into motion to follow the turning clone as it walks out of the dining room, grabbing two pieces of toast from my plate as I leave. ¡°It was a pleasure to meet you,¡± I call back to Kithkik. ¡°Good luck,¡± she says back. The clone leads me through the twisting and undecorated halls of the manor. After a minute or more of following it in silence I speak up. ¡°What is this about?¡± I ask it. ¡°We must make way to the sky berth at once,¡± it says, not elaborating as to why. Like the training yard, I have never visited the sky berth on the bottom levels of the manor, as I have never needed to. A few flights of stairs lead us to a windy hallway that opens out onto a stone platform made out of salt-and-pepper colored marble. The circular platform of stone leads to a pocket of air, the clouds passing beneath while the earth the manor is built upon hangs above. Arabella, Kendon, Macille, Jor¡¯Mari, and Coriander turn as the ice clone steps forward on its clicking heels. Behind the five that turn and look to me sit what I can only describe as a massive tub made of tin. ¡°Good,¡± Arabella says as the clone bows and I walk past it onto the platform. ¡°Now that you have arrived, we can begin.¡± Chapter 15 - Dogs on the Road ¡°What are we beginning?¡± I ask, coming to a stop in front of the group. All eyes shift back toward Arabella. ¡°An opportunity has presented itself,¡± she explains. ¡°Currently, there is a force of monsters heading for a small village. I believe that this village is defenseless against such an attack. The adventurers they do have are unprepared for such a sudden attack. It happens, in places where monsters seldom appear, people tend to become complacent. I want the five of you to intercept this group of monsters. If all works out, the village will not even know that you were involved.¡± I feel tension settle over me, and looking around at the others, I recognize it is not just me. Excitement dances beneath the muscles of my hands. I have needed to face monsters many times before while being unable to do anything against them. This time shall be different. ¡°Why do you not take care of the issue yourself,¡± Coriander asks. ¡°If these creatures are something you believe that we can handle, why do you not simply wipe them away from up here?¡± ¡°Does anyone else feel that way?¡± Arabella asks the rest of the group. No one voices an agreement with Coriander. ¡°See. These four understand that you do not simply waste an opportunity. Have I not tasked each of you with reaching the third rank in just a few years? How do you expect to do that if you allow opportunities such as this to pass you by? I will not compel you to join in the slaughter of vicious monstrosities, but pitting your will against that of these artificial beings in a life or death struggle is assuredly the fastest method of reinforcing your own will, of reinforcing your own soul.¡± ¡°It sounds to me that you simply do not want to bother yourself,¡± Coriander says. ¡°Correct.¡± Arabella looks to Kendon. ¡°I am placing you as lead for this. Kendon will have operational authority, follow his directives if you wish to succeed.¡± ¡°Do you have more information about what you are sending us against?¡± Kendon asks, stepping forward to take the lead. ¡°I do, but I will not divulge it to you. Assessment of these kinds of situations are paramount in controlling the battlefield. I cannot teach you to come to an operational understanding of the initial combat environment with books or illusions. When you arrive, gain an understanding, and formulate a plan.¡± Arabella steps back, and I see that there is a small door in the flat, waist-high tub that takes up at least half of the platform. She swings it open on well-oiled hinges. ¡°Now, everyone step inside.¡± Kendon nods to Arabella, digesting what she told him as he is the first to enter the metal tub, his brother Macille on his heels. I move to follow Macille, but Coriander just about leaps to get in front of me, stepping over the threshold of the tub. Kendon stands inside the corrugated metal, his arm held out as if he were holding the door for the ladies to enter, which, of course, he is not. I step in behind Coriander and catch Arabella grabbing Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s arm and whispering something in his ear. A wide smile splits the celenial¡¯s mouth before he steps up onto the lip of the tub and over. ¡°Good luck,¡± Arabella says as she closes the door of the tub once more. Even with all five of us standing inside of it, the tub isn¡¯t the least bit cramped. Once the door is closed, Arabella holds up a finger that bleeds purple energy and runs the wispy trail along the top of the tub, causing a flash of blue scrawling to appear on the inside of the tub all over. The glow of blue continues to brighten enough to blind, the gray of metal disappearing beneath the halo of light that covers my vision. I try to blink away the light, but even closing my eyes is not enough to dispel it. ¡°Don¡¯t die. This would be far too soon.¡± I hear Arabella say before the blue light changes to white in an instant. A chill bores into my pores, forcing a violent shiver out of me before the world disappears from beneath my feet. A fraction of a second later, I land on the soft give of grass that crunches beneath my boots. I blink a few more times, realizing that I am no longer on the marble platform, but standing in the middle of a grass field that comes up to my waist. The others are around me as well, all blinking rapidly to clear their vision from the blinding light. We stand on a hill, an unnatural one created from the land being dug out all around us, filled with pools of green water that smells of eggs and death. Kendon scuffs his boots on the pebbly road that divides the hill in two, running away from us in two directions further than the eye can see. Behind him, Macille is vomiting into the grass and Coriander is stumbling, still trying to get her bearings. Lightheadedness hits me as I take my first step. I stop for a moment, focusing on the distant horizon, and allow my body to adjust to whatever just happened to us before I dare to try moving again. ¡°Everyone,¡± Kendon says in a commanding voice, ¡°eyes up.¡± He loosens the warhammer strapped to his back and points the head toward the far horizon, down the path of the road. ¡°The village is there,¡± he says. I squint into the distance where he points but cannot see any sign of civilization that way. He points his hammer back in the other direction, down the road. ¡°Which likely means that the threat will come from that direction. There would not be much of a reason to put us on this hill otherwise.¡± Jor¡¯Mari peers over the sheer side of the hill toward the green pools below. ¡°What do these people farm, farts?¡± he asks before spitting into the pool. His spit sizzles as it splashes into it. At his question, I notice that the grassland that sprawls to either side of the road is pocked with ponds the same color as the liquid below us for as far as the eye can see. ¡°This is not the time to play around,¡± Kendon says to Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°We must be serious now and get into a combat mindset.¡± Jor¡¯Mari waves him off. ¡°That is for you. Ms. Willian gave me a different assignment from the rest of you. You do not command me.¡± Bickering ensues. I turn my attention away from the two of them and run my fingers through the grass that licks at my side. It has been more than a week since the last time that I felt the earth beneath my feet. I didn¡¯t know that I would miss it so much. I look back at the others, noticing that they are all in their combat gear, while I am simply dressed in my morning clothes. I wonder why Arabella thought nothing about it before she sent us off. Were the others warned this would happen and I simply wasn¡¯t? Macille finishes his retching and wipes his mouth with the back of his gauntleted hand before standing. ¡°Here,¡± he says, still looking pale. A wave of magic pulses out from his hand to land on all of us. Guardian¡¯s Bulwark The defense of armor worn by individuals under this spell¡¯s effect is greatly increased. ¡°Thank you,¡± Kendon says, ¡°but we might have waited until these monsters were closer. I do not want your beneficial magic to run out in the middle of combat.¡± ¡°You mean those monsters?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks, pointing back along the road toward the east. I squint as hard as I can, but I still cannot make out anything against the horizon. ¡°Ah,¡± Kendon says, looking to where Jor¡¯Mari motions. ¡°We should prepare then.¡± I start to realize that I am the only one who cannot see what everyone else is looking at as seriousness falls over the rest of the group. ¡°That is unreal,¡± Coriander says. ¡°How can there be so many?¡± A few minutes of the entire group staring toward the horizon later I am finally able to make out the first of the monsters. They begin as the blurry smoke of dirt being kicked into the air as something passes along the road at an incredible pace, finally changing to the blurry outlines of creatures speeding our way out of the distance. There are dozens of them racing toward us, and as I first begin to pick out what it is I am looking at, floating messages appear in the far distance above their heads. Despite the expanse between us, my eyes are able to read the messages as easily as if they were right in front of me. Trap Hound Blade Hound ¡°There must be over thirty,¡± Macille says. I notice that he is standing at my shoulder. ¡°Thirty-two that I can see,¡± I tell him. Four pairs of eyes shift in my direction. ¡°Twenty-seven are rank zero monsters. Five are rank one monsters, something called a Blade Hound.¡± Kendon whistles. ¡°Macille told me that you had an ability to identify monsters, but I didn¡¯t expect it to work at such a range.¡± I shrug at the group leader, ¡°I¡¯ve never tried it from so far away.¡± The smile that Kendon flashes my way makes heat rise to my cheeks and I have to turn away from him and look back toward the distance before he can notice. I don¡¯t see any more of the monsters coming out of the distance, and the fact that there are over thirty monsters together is more than I have ever heard of before, but I can¡¯t shake the feeling that there is more going on. Jor¡¯Mari all but confirms as much as he steps away from the road. ¡°That is my cue to exit. I have my own job to be about,¡± he says, dropping over the edge of the wall of mud and dirt that makes up the sides of the hill toward the ground forty feet below. I take a step to follow him, if only just to make sure that he didn¡¯t shatter his legs hitting the ground, but Kendon stops me. ¡°Don¡¯t follow that fool,¡± he tells me. ¡°Nothing good can come of getting more involved with him than is strictly necessary.¡± I catch Macille shooting Kendon a disapproving glare, but Kendon has already turned back toward looking up the road where the pack of monster hounds and dirt fast approach. ¡°They will reach us in less than three minutes,¡± Kendon says. ¡°Have you managed to adequately assess the situation then?¡± Coriander asks, her sarcasm on full display. ¡°I have,¡± Kendon answers without caring. ¡°Even if they are mostly rank zero monsters, that many hitting us all at once would overwhelm any defense that Macille or I would be able to put up to slow them. Coriander, when they get close enough, hit them with a flash to disorient them. Simple monsters will likely stop their charge if they are attacked that way. Macille and I will block the road.¡± He motions toward Coriander and me. ¡°The two of you will begin to launch magical attacks while staying away from the monsters. Be careful of any that make it around the two of us. We will meet them at the bottom of the hill, so any that slip around us should be easy to spot. Be wary of them. Even a rank zero monster can kill a rank one magician if they get lucky.¡± Overhead, clouds pass in front of the sun, leaving us in shadow as the monsters come rushing on. I can tell the moment that the monsters pick us out, standing in plain view on the top of the hill as we prepare for the moment when our two groups will clash. A bark cracks over the world like thunder. The monsters charging down the road answer the booming sound with a chorus of howls that build in pitch as they pour forward toward us, rising higher and higher until they become a melody of nails scraping at the inside of my eardrums. Then another voice answers, one that drowns out all other joins the howling. It rumbles low enough to shake the earth and is powerful enough that the grass seems to bow in the wake of its booming. The hounds run on, silent now, faster than before as they look to meet the two men bearing shields on the hill with the mass of their charge. Macille loosens his shoulders as he sets his feet in the middle of the road, unsheathing the sword on his hip and bringing the side of the blade in line with the huge shield he bears. Warmth and terror begin to roll over me as the monsters approach. The heat on the back of my neck seems to draw my stomach up with it, and I struggle for a moment to keep the bile from rising to the back of my throat. The dull thumping of my heart begins to beat in my ears as I feel my feet begin to tap, ready to run or fight, but never to freeze. What are we doing? I think to myself. Even Halford, a man whom I have never seen a monster even come close to taking down until he fought the Azure Rabbit by himself had never dared to put his group against so many monsters at once. I look at the backs of the two elven brothers in front of me and know that neither is as strong as my brother was at rank one. How can they possibly hope to come out of the other side of this fight? I feel the rumbling of the ground beneath my boots. The monsters are only a hundred meters away now and show no sign of slowing. Movement out of the right side of my vision catches my attention. Coriander takes a few steps backward, and I am about to call her out for trying to flee before the fight begins, but I notice the light swelling between her hands. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°Don¡¯t look, idiot!¡± The command from the elven noble is harsh enough that I can¡¯t help but look away from her. I realize how stupid I have been, wasting this time as the monsters have come rushing toward us doing nothing, when I could have been pouring mana into a Dragonfire Bolt. They¡¯re too close, seconds away now. There is no time to charge one, but I begin to anyway. The heat on my skin comes from inside of me. I feel sweat dripping down the simple shirt I wear, pooling on my back and standing out on my forehead. I can see the monsters more clearly than ever. The rank zero hounds appear like coyotes, rabid and dripping trails of drool as they run, two horns emerging out of either side of their jaws, almost closing to a point in front of their snouts. The rank one hounds are worse, they each have at least five of the horns sticking out of their heads to ring together in front of their mouths, and their bodies are more muscled than even a wolf. Heat burns along my skin as my own heart thumps in my ears. In a few seconds I might be dead. Why is it then that I can¡¯t keep a stupid grin off of my face? ¡°Ready,¡± I hear Coriander yell behind me. In unison, both Macille and Kendon crouch behind their shields, fully ready to take the impact of over thirty beasts charging into them. A second before the collision, the world turns black and white. Though whatever Coriander does is behind me, my eyes ache as she unleashes her spell. All of the color drains out of the world, the grass, earth, and road becoming a black deeper than anything I have seen before and the sky turning a crystal white. In almost the same second the world changes, I see a set of ethereal armor wreath Macille. The monsters who are little more than white outlines on the blackened world fall into chaos as the first of their numbers collide with Macille and Kendon. The crunching of metal on bone and flesh is the loudest sound that I have ever heard, but the two men hold as the second line of monsters stops in their tracks, confused, only to be slammed into from behind by the rest of their charging pack. Kendon is the first one to move as the world of black and white begins to fade, swinging his huge sledge into the head of the rank zero hound that collided with him. Some liquid streaks off of the head of the hammer, clear and vicious, and burns the fur and skin of the hound even before the metal head of the hammer lands against it. Whatever effect the liquid has on the power of Kendon¡¯s strike seems irrelevant as the hound¡¯s head whips sideways, its vertebrae cracking down its back. As color begins to return to the world, the rank zero hound falls to the ground, dead in an instant. Macille lets loose with his own strike against the monster that collided with his own shield. The sword he bears bleeds a green light, and as he drives it forward toward the rank one hound, he splits the creature in half. Some of the monsters are already recovering. A Blade Hound tries to snap off Kendon¡¯s head, but he brings his shield up in time to slap its jaw away with a crunch. Another, a Trap Hound, tries to circle around Kendon and bite into his side. I throw my dragonfire at it. The blob of fire sails at the Trap Hound faster than an arrow, and when it collides with the monster¡¯s scraggy brown fur, the monster bursts into flame. I watch, completely unable to understand what has happened until the howling monster has already collapsed to the road, spasming. The only thing I have ever used my dragonfire against before has been the Desert Spearman, and it hardly did anything against that monster. When the dragonfire hits the Trap Hound, the fire did not spread over its fur in a wave of burning. The fur simply seemed to all burst into flame at once. I don¡¯t have time to linger on the sight as more of the monsters seem to be recovering from the blinding affliction. Though it isn¡¯t the first time I have ever killed a monster, it is the first time that I have done so with my own power. Kendon beats back the Trap Hound with his hammer every time it jumps forward to try and bite at him, the horns around its head opening like a hand and snapping closed alongside its teeth. The clear liquid that sprays from Kendon¡¯s hammer burns and corrodes the hair and skin of the monster, leaving an acrid smell in the air that overpowers the dirt that has been kicked up. Macille cuts at the same Blade Hound, but his sword has lost its green glow, and doesn¡¯t bite into the monster with the same strength anymore. I realize that I am standing here doing nothing, and I begin to pour mana into my hands to create another dragonfire bolt. A line of black and white energy streaks forth from beside me, hitting the wounded Blade Hound in the shoulder and continuing on to piece through two Trap Hounds before colliding into the pebbles of the road, kicking up a spray of rocks. Smoke rises from the clean holes born through the three monsters hit by the beam of energy. The two Trap Hounds fall to the road dead as the wounded rank one monster in front of Kendon buckles, its front-left leg giving out. Kendon gives the monster no chance to collect itself, jumping forward as he raises his hammer over his head. Black lightning crackles around the head of the hammer a second before he brings it down squarely on the head of the monster with a thundercrack. The blow nails the Blade Hound¡¯s head into the road, dead, but the sound seems to bring the rest of the hounds out of their blinded stupor. The hounds growl as they look at the two elven men holding a line on the hill ahead of them. Arabella chose a genius place to put us for this battle. The road is narrow enough as it runs over the artificial hill that even the lithe hounds have a hard time getting around the two men that hold them at bay. I glance to my right at Coriander and see her holding two fingers together as black and white light pools at their tip. As one of the Blade Hounds lurches forward to engage with Macille, I hurl another Dragonfire Bolt. The Blade Hound attempts to dodge the bolt as it comes for it, but at this close of a range, it has no chance. When the dragonfire collides with the Blade Hound, the monster does not simply burst into flame as the Trap Hound had, but the fire seems to stick to the creature¡¯s fur where it collided and begins to burn. The Blade Hound leaps away before Macille can end it with a strike from his sword which is glowing with green power once more, and rolls on the road, smothering the spreading dragonfire with dirt. Three more Trap Hounds spring forward at Macille as another two go for Kendon. I do not even bother to try and channel more mana into my dragonfire than it would naturally have as I fire another Dragonfire Bolt, hitting one of the rank zero monsters and causing it to ignite instantly. Macille brings his sword down on one of the Trap Hounds, the glowing green blade cutting through it like it was made of butter as the glow of the sword instantly fades. When the other Trap Hound attempts to bite down on Macille¡¯s sword arm, in a flash, ethereal armor coats the man, trapping the monster¡¯s teeth as Macille brings his shield up and caves the hound¡¯s head in. To my right, Coriander jumps to the side to adjust her angle, and as she practically kneels on the ground, she lets loose another beam of white and black light that pierces straight through the two Trap Hounds in front of Kendon and into another three behind. All five fall dead to the ground in the same instant. I hurl more dragonfire into the mass of monsters that are clustering at the bottom of the hill, unsure if I manage to hit anything. At once, three Blade Hounds rush forward together, and it is all that Kendon and Macille can do to prevent them from getting past. A Trap hound bounds around Macille as he is busy with two Blade Hounds, racing toward me. I hurl fire at the monster, but it manages to duck the attack. Before I can summon more fire, it is on me, its terrible teeth closing around my calf as the two horns on either side of its neck pincer into the meat of my leg. I scream, falling backward on my ass and start hitting the monster in the head with my fist, but it feels like its bones might as well be made of metal. The Trap Hound starts shaking its head back and forth, ripping its teeth into my leg with each shake of its head. The pain is sharp, I am screaming as I punch the monster, and just out of my vision I see another pair of Trap Hounds make it past Kendon to attack Coriander. The difference is that she is wearing leather armor that covers her arms and legs, and I am in a shirt a pants that are quickly becoming soaked in my own blood. Macille turns away from the monsters in front of him to try and reach me, but as he turns the Blade Hound on his left jumps forward, biting down on his shoulder. I don¡¯t believe its teeth pierce the man¡¯s heavy armor, but the monster¡¯s weight drags him to the ground. An anger that I have never felt before begins to well up inside me, sapping the terror out of my screams and changing them to something feral. I grab the Trap Hound¡¯s head between my hands and pour fire over it without a care as to whether or not I might set myself alight along with it. The second the orange flames flash over the monster¡¯s fur I feel its teeth dig deeper into my leg as it struggles to survive the burning, but I scream into its fearful eyes and hold its head between my palms until I feel bone beneath my fingers. I don¡¯t know how long the monster has been dead for by the time I let go of its head, but it can¡¯t have been more than a few seconds. I pry its jaws off of my leg. Blood seeps from the wound, and I know before I even try that it would be impossible to stand. I am angrier in this moment than I could have ever fathomed before. I feel something that I never have for these monsters before, real, deep hatred. Macille is in front of me on the incline of the road, fighting from his back as one Blade Hound tries to rip the shield out of hand while another tries to bite at his neck. His sword lies in the dirt behind him. I don¡¯t spare time to check on Coriander and Kendon. A mote of dragonfire appears in my hand in an instant, and I hurl it at the monster trying to bite down on Macille¡¯s neck. The orange fire splashes into the top of the monster¡¯s head, and it jumps back, scraping at its head as the fire slowly starts to spread over its fur. In a fraction of a second, I check my mana, 125/160. My hatred makes me reckless, something probably helped along by the blood loss. The dragonfire only takes a fraction of a second to condense in my hands, and using both now, I hurl bolt after bolt without a care for trying to make them more powerful than they naturally are. I put three of the dragonfire bolt¡¯s into the Blade Hound that is already sizzling before I am confident that it has no chance to put the fire out. I hit the other still struggling for Macille¡¯s shield in the eye with another bolt. It dies instantly. I don¡¯t stop. The mass of rank zero monsters at the bottom of the hill continues to advance on Macille as he lays on his back, and I throw eight more dragonfire bolts into their mass, missing almost half, but setting enough alight with orange flames that the monsters separate in a cloud of chaos to avoid the fire spreading between them. A splitting pain in my head stops me before I can conjure another bolt, mana 6/160. Most of my mana spent in under three seconds. I try to plant my palm on the road beneath me, but somehow manage to miss the ground, and fall onto my back to stare up at the blue sky that swims in my vision. There is a tingling in my fingertips. I blink and watch as the clouds overhead lurch forward strangely, the pounding in my head only growing more intense. I can still hear the others fighting, but I can¡¯t seem to lift my head. I feel tears pool in my eyes. I don¡¯t allow them to fall. The sky above me lurches forward once more, and then there is Macille there, kneeling over me, green light pouring out from between his fingers. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you do that against the Desert Spearman?¡± he asks me. That is when I feel a tear roll down my cheek. The pain in my leg is more than I can take, and I grab his shoulder and gasp as Macille places his hand on my wound. The sound of battle has disappeared along with the pounding of my head. How long has it been? I wonder. I check my vital energies: Healing Points 23/70, Mana 16/160. It can¡¯t have been that long. ¡°Do you think you can sit up?¡± Macille asks me. I attempt to prop myself up on an elbow, but I still feel so weak. Macille helps me up, and I can see that the flesh around where the monster sunk its teeth into my leg has mostly healed. The ground beneath me is a painting of red dirt. ¡°Thank you,¡± I barely manage to whisper. ¡°I should be the one thanking you,¡± he replies. Macille pulls a skin of water from his belt and hands it to me. I choke the water down until I am left sputtering. ¡°You burned up those two monsters that were trying to rip my throat out.¡± ¡°The least I could do,¡± I answer. I try to stand, but my leg still feels numb, and I can¡¯t manage to put any weight on it. ¡°Stay here for a while longer,¡± Macille tells me. ¡°I am going to check on Coriander again. Get your strength back.¡± I look to my right to see Kendon sitting in the road, looking down on the carnage of the dead monsters that leave a smeared trail of blood all the way to the bottom of the hill. Coriander lies on the road similar to me, except she has blood covering the left side of her neck and the armor over her shoulder has been ripped open. I can tell from the torn fabric that she took a nasty bite to the shoulder. Sweat stands out on her alabaster skin as she stares up at the sky. She notices my looking and meets my eyes for a second before she goes back to staring up. Looking down at my own wound again, I see that almost the entire pant leg has been burned away. Despite knowing how ridiculous I look, I can¡¯t bring myself to feel embarrassed about essentially wearing only half a pair of pants. The idea of what might have happened if the monster dug into my stomach instead of my leg flashes through my thoughts for a second, but I throw that away with a shake of my head. No use dwelling on it. ¡°Are you available now?¡± I hear a voice ask as Galea appears in my vision, holding a bundle of the messages between her claws. ¡°I was waiting until you weren¡¯t busy any longer.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± I tell the small dragon mentally. Galea smiles at me as she turns the messages so that I can read them. You have defeated Trap Hound x27 You have defeated Blade Hound x5 THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! My eyes widen as I read the messages. I have been training for more than a week every day in the gymnasium, but apparently one battle in which I nearly died was enough to make up for three times that effort. Of course, I immediately want to go through with the soul reinforcement, but deciding to go to sleep in the middle of the road might be a poor decision. A few more minutes pass as Macille moves back and forth between Coriander and myself, applying healing magic that I did not even know he had. It seems like that might have been something that would have come in handy against the Desert Spearman. Then again, in our fights against the monster, there hadn¡¯t exactly been an opportunity for him to use it. ¡°Do you think that you can disenchant these monsters now?¡± Kendon asks me after I am strong enough to regain my feet. I nod to him, and start moving between the monster corpses, touching them with my oldest magical ability and transforming them into mostly leather and meat. A few times I need to dodge the odd fang or claw that comes hurtling at my head when I use the ability, but with my improved attributes, doing so is trivial. Macille and Kendon both agree that I should take all of the coin that manifests from the ability for myself. Apparently, doing so is standard in adventuring parties, something that Halford had never before bothered to let me know. It doesn¡¯t take us very long to find Jor¡¯Mari once we go looking for him. The man sits in a clearing in the grass almost a mile away from the hill where we had our pitched battle. Jor¡¯Mari is covered in viscera and blood when we find him, but he looks up at us, his smiling, pointed teeth the color of blood. Behind him, dead with a hole eaten through its torso, the hulking form of a wolf bigger than any monster that I have ever seen lays in the grass. ¡°Did you all finish your fight?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks as we step through the grass toward him. Kendon says nothing for a long moment as he looks at the corpse of the monstrous wolf. ¡°What rank? ¡°Second,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, looking back at the wolf. ¡°Probably. I don¡¯t have a fancy artifact that tells me that kind of thing.¡± Jor¡¯Mari turns his attention my direction and I flinch under the man¡¯s gaze. ¡°You can disenchant the body, right? Hurry up and do it. I need to get to bed back in the manor.¡± Chapter 16 - Finding the Way Forward A tapping sound wakes me. My pillow once more goes sailing into the window to spook the bird that is pecking my window, the same one that was pecking on it the day before. I groan, opting to fall out of my bed and onto the floor rather than get out of it like a normal person. The clink of metal hitting the floorboards snaps me fully awake. My hand launches out, fingers wrapping around a gold piece before it can roll too far away from my bed. Two other identical ones lay on the ground next to me, and I scoop them up as I stand. Silver coins certainly feel nice against the fingers, but nothing quite beats gold. I flip one of the pieces into the air with my thumb, appreciating the ring of the metal as it pops up before catching it again in my hand. I have no idea what to make of the coins, one side of each is completely smooth whereas the other shows the head of a serpent. I¡¯ve never had the chance to inspect the gold coins that the crown mints in Gale, but I doubt they look anything like the ones my ability creates. ¡°Galea,¡± I say. The dragon spirit manifests in front of me immediately. ¡°Was the soul reinforcement successful?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Galea says, showing me a message that confirms as much. After the fight with the monster hounds the day before, I spent all of the rest of the day yesterday thinking about what had happened and how I should react to it. The good: my fire had been far more effective than I had anticipated against the hounds. From what I had experienced with the Desert Spearman, I had been expecting to have to spend five or more dragonfire bolts on each monster to put it down, but the rank zero monsters had gone up like candles the second the bolts hit them. The dragonfire was pretty effective against the rank one monsters as well. I have been watching Halford dismantle rank one monsters for so long, I had never really thought that I could do the same myself until yesterday. Certainly the ¡°training¡± against the illusory monster Arabella pitted us against did very little to boost my confidence. The bad: just one rank zero monster was enough to take me down and almost kill me. If Macille hadn¡¯t been there to heal my torn up leg I think I probably would have bled out after a little bit. I might not know too much about adventurers, but they are typically expected not to die against rank zero monsters, which are basically just up-jumped animals. It only occurred to me after everything was said and done that I should have, I don¡¯t know, tried to not let the thing bite me. I have been doing all of this running to presumably increase my speed attribute, but in the fight, all I did was stand still and let the first thing that attacked me succeed. My final thoughts had been about how insane it was that my level increased three times from just one combat. Sure, we had managed to slaughter more than thirty monsters all at once, something Halford¡¯s team had never done, but I had been training my ass off for more than a week and only managed a single level out of it. Arabella had said that the best way to reinforce the soul was to pit yourself against the will of another. I can¡¯t really dispute that. I study the effort values that I obtained for those three levels: +10 Magic, +8 Defense, +7 Recovery, +5 Vitality. I have to admit that it makes a good bit of sense. I used up all my magic to attack, was bitten and almost died, and then had to recover from all of that. ¡°We are going to go with this,¡± I tell Galea, distributing my free points. I take a moment to study the black rectangle that displays my current attributes and quickly assign the thirty free between Magic, Speed, Vitality, and Recovery. After a few seconds and an explosion of light from my skin, the deed is done. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 2 ¡ú 5)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 7 ¡ú 20 Strength: 6 ¡ú 9 Magic: 16 ¡ú 39 Defense: 5 ¡ú 16 Magic Defense: 10 ¡ú 13 Speed: 12 ¡ú 25 Recovery: 20 ¡ú 38 Perception: 7 ¡ú 10 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 200 Mana: 390 Stamina: 166 Compared to the first time that I ever looked at my attributes, I am far stronger now, at least on paper¡­or whatever these messages that only I can see are made of. Strictly according to the numbers that are displayed, my strength attribute is three times higher than it was when I first started. Deciding to get around to testing as to whether that is accurate or not, I toss the gold coins into a drawer and change into something I don¡¯t mind getting a little sweaty. I slip out of my room and decide to first head to the kitchen to grab an apple or something before hitting the gymnasium. ¡°Does my strength being a nine now mean that I am actually three times stronger than I was two days ago?¡± I ask Galea as I navigate through the hallways. ¡°I can confirm that nine is in fact three times greater than three,¡± Galea says, floating along beside me. ¡°Very useful,¡± I say, blowing some hair out of my face. I use my fingers to try and comb my wild mane a bit as I keep walking. It isn¡¯t the smoothest texture but compared to the springy ginger curls I had before, I adore the new weighty locks that slide around my fingers like water. I doubt the me from a month ago would ever believe the reflection that I see in the mirror now. ¡°I am here to serve, Mistress Charlene,¡± Galea says, giving me a bow as she floats backwards through the air at my shoulder. Turning into the kitchen, I almost collide with Kendon coming out the other way. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say as I jump back. I trip over the rug and I almost sprawl onto my ass but am saved from my embarrassment by Kendon as he takes a simple step forward and catches me with a well-muscled arm behind my back. He stands me back up as if it were nothing and smiles at me, taking a bite from the apple in his hand. ¡°I should be the one to apologize, I think,¡± he says between chews. ¡°My mind was a hundred miles away.¡± ¡°Mine as well,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t usually catch you in the kitchen.¡± I scoot around the man standing in the doorway, doing my utmost to keep as much space between us as possible. ¡°I was starting to think that you don¡¯t eat.¡± ¡°I eat,¡± he says, taking another bite. ¡°I know I said it already, but good job yesterday. That was your first time really fighting a monster, right?¡± I don¡¯t remember him saying that yesterday, but I was probably just too distracted to notice. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. Looking around on the kitchen counters, I spy the fruit bowl and find that there are no longer any apples remaining in it. I look back to Kendon as he takes another bite from his apple. ¡°I was saving that,¡± I say. He looks at the apple in his hand and offers it to me. I shake my head. He shrugs and takes another bite. ¡°It would probably have been better to save it in your room.¡± I sigh, taking a strange fruit that is purple and slightly resembles a heart. The flesh is sour as I bite into it. Not that I mind sour, some pears are pretty sour, and they are my favorite. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± I say. ¡°Are you going to the gymnasium?¡± ¡°No.¡± Kendon blows out a long breath. ¡°Ms. Willian is giving me the day off to focus. She says she wants me to attempt the Rake Wyrm alone today.¡± ¡°Rake Wyrm?¡± ¡°The rank two monster that Coriander and I have been fighting in her illusion,¡± Kendon explains. He pauses. ¡°Macille mentioned to me the big bug that you two fought together. It sounded a lot sturdier than ours. I wonder why Ms. Willian chose for us to face different monsters.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I answer. ¡°I assume there must be a reason to it. My fire isn¡¯t very effective against it, perhaps that is why.¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± he agrees. ¡°You impressed me yesterday. To have only just become an essentia magician in truth and to be capable of killing two rank one monsters. That is something most humans cannot claim.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. ¡°Although, Macille was holding them in place for me. I don¡¯t think I could have done so on my own.¡± ¡°Most essentia magicians work to not be alone. Everyone¡¯s abilities are so specific that they will inevitably leave gaps that can be exploited by others. That is the whole reason to have a team after all.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I agree. I take another bite of the strange fruit and savor the flavor for a moment longer. ¡°I think that I am going to go ahead and get my training for the day out of the way.¡± I begin to walk toward the door. Kendon steps out of my way, just barely enough to allow me to pass by him while brushing his clothes. ¡°That is a good mindset,¡± he says. ¡°I hope to see you later,¡± I say, waving to him over my shoulder. ¡°Good luck on your fight.¡± ¡°Good luck with your training!¡± Entering the gymnasium, I find myself completely alone. The ever clear sky outside the high windows allows the room a natural illumination, and I can already spy a single difference in the room on the chalkboard at the back. Beneath my name, below the outlined daily routine that has not changed since the first day that I arrived here, there is a single line, ¡°Come see me when you have finished -Arabella.¡± ¡°Interesting,¡± I say, walking over to the small area where weights of iron and steel stand, stacked and ready for use. I curl the steel bar a few times before trying to decide on the weight I want to add. It is lighter in my hands than ever before, but I still struggle to truly heft the awkward bar of metal. For the next hour and a half, I test my strength, and I am left sweaty and smirking by the time that I have finished. No, despite the numbers saying so, I am not literally three times stronger than I was a few days ago, not even twice as strong really. I didn¡¯t think I would be, but I had hoped. Still, I am not even breathing hard by the time that I finish the weight exercises, and the heavy weights that a few days ago I could barely lift with both hands are simple to throw around now. A vision comes to me of myself a year from now after I have put all of the free points from my soul reinforcement into strength, pulling a tree from the ground by its roots and hurling it over the shed behind our house. I can¡¯t help but smile at the thought, and though I know it would be a waste to even attempt to go that direction, I still like the fantasy. The running is where my gains really show themselves. My strength is far greater than I had ever thought I would be able to achieve, but I finish the five miles set out in my daily exercise in under forty minutes. By the time that I am done, I am still able to keep my breathing even, and my stamina isn¡¯t even below half of its maximum. Chalk scrapes noisily on the blackboard as I cross out the day¡¯s exercises. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I stop for a moment before leaving the room. I call dragonfire to my hand and watch as the orange fire rolls over my fingers like water. I check my mana, 330/350. There is twice as much mana inside of the flickering fire now than there was when I first gained this new power. I focus, standing there in the center of the gymnasium, pouring more and more mana into the fire as I watch its intensity and size expand in the center of my palm. The fire fries the air as it grows, the smell of burning is intoxicating. I begin to feel the pressure of the spell reaching its maximum after half a minute and check my mana once again, 300/350. The fire feels heavy in my hand, not in any real sense of weight, but in its potency. I lack a tub of water to throw the fire into, so I walk to a window and winch it open with my free hand. I look out at the sea of clouds flying by below us and the open blue sky above the flying manor house. With a slow exhale, I put a foot up on the windowsill, and throw the fire out into the infinite air before me. As it has every time, the ball of orange fire flies as fast as an arrow into the distance, but unlike before, it continues for a long way. When the dragonfire reaches two-hundred feet, far past the lip of the manor¡¯s floating foundation, I feel the spell reach its maximum distance and watch as it explodes in a dazzling display of orange chaos. The explosion is nothing huge, just a momentary flash of fire as it expands and dissipates, but the feeling of watching my power erupt in a ball of destruction and feeling the faint lick of heat from so far away as it disappears, it fills me with an excitement deep in the pit of my stomach that I am coming to crave. I shiver, letting the tingling butterflies in my chest race out to my skin. With a smile splitting my lips, I close the door once more and bounce back a few steps. I am unable to wipe the smile from my face until I reach the bath and warm the tub of water waiting for me to almost boiling. Some instinct inside me tells me that the water won¡¯t burn me, and I slip into the tub with a guttural sigh. I think about yesterday again. I picture the horror and the pain of the hound ripping into my leg and pulling me to the ground. I feel again the moment of terror as I become certain that I am about to die and relive the terror turning to a violent rage that my life would be ended by such a sad and stupid creature. I see the creatures burning and smile again beneath the warm water, not because of the fire. I smile because more than thirty monsters had tried to kill me yesterday, but they simply were not strong enough to do so. ¡°Enter.¡± I hear Arabella call past the door to her office. I swing the door open, finding the woman seated as I have come to expect in her office. The only difference is the fact that there is now a stack of books along with a wooden box on the table in front of her. I don''t wait for her to ask me to sit, and she doesn''t seem to mind my presumptions. ¡°You wished to see me,¡± I say. The cushions of the couch feel like heaven after my long soak in the tub. ¡°I did,¡± Arabella confirms. ¡°I wished to congratulate you on achieving the levels you have earned so far. I also found your display in the battle the day before to surpass my initial expectations.¡± ¡°You call them levels instead of soul reinforcement,¡± I say, latching onto the detail. ¡°Oh, yes.¡± Arabella waves her hand as if it doesn''t mean a thing. ¡°I was taught by a man from Faeth, the same land that first created that eye for Volaash. The Faethians have a more analytical approach to magic that the rest of the world has not yet caught up to. I found their numbering system useful.¡± ¡°I can see how it would be,¡± I say. ¡°Not having to rely on intuition and having real numbers to use to find an understanding of all this magic business is nice.¡± Arabella leans forward in her seat. Today she wears a silk dress, cerulean, that seems to have no purpose other than being flattering and obviously expensive. ¡°I am interested to see what your experience with the Faethian analytical system will be further down the road. Having access to that information from the start will be good for you. I hope.¡± ¡°Once again, thank you for the artifact.¡± I motion to my left eye. ¡°I''m interested, you haven''t given me any extra work for the past week, but today I have your attention. Do I simply need to burn some monsters when I want to speak with you again in the future?¡± ¡°That would work,¡± Arabella says with a nod. ¡°What I asked you to join me here for does pertain to the training that I wish for you to conduct. You seem to have caught onto it somewhat already. You told me before when you first discovered your abilities that you were an attribute specialist, a Recovery specialist. Most specialists make their specialty the cornerstone of the way in which they wield their powers, so, tell me Charlene, how do you plan to do this?¡± ¡°I still am not sure if I fully understand what it is that the Recovery attribute governs. Am I correct in assuming it has to do with the rate at which mana recovers?¡± I ask. Galea manifests in the room, though only I can see her. She is about to say something when I stop her, wanting to hear from Arabella. ¡°Not just mana, but all the vital energies. It, along with Vitality, governs the effectiveness of healing energy. Your body produces natural healing energy along with mana. According to the Faethian system, Recovery governs the rate at which these energies recover.¡± It is as I have already guessed. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like something that will be very useful in a fight, not like being a magic specialist or a defense specialists would.¡± ¡°Correct,¡± Arabella agrees. ¡°Most would consider Recovery to not be a combat attribute, at least not until it has reached the first threshold.¡± ¡°Threshold?¡± I ask. ¡°I mentioned something I might not to have,¡± Arabella says, wincing. ¡°Forget about it. It is not something you need to concern yourself with.¡± Her words, of course, make me want to immediately ask more questions about whatever threshold she is speaking about, but I decide to drop it for now. ¡°Well, given that the Recovery attribute is not a combat attribute, it seems silly to build my own training around it.¡± ¡°I did not say that it is not a combat attribute; I said that most would not consider it to be. Most also do not understand what being an attribute specialist means. You will find magical items in your future: armor, weapons, magical jewelry, and these items will empower you, making your attributes stronger. Some, legendary items, will even grant you multiplicative effects to your attributes, such items are strikingly rare and dangerous to possess. People think that attribute specialists work like this, but that is incorrect. A specialist makes every point of their specialized attribute count for more. It is something to be neglected only by idiots or fools who listen to idiot mentors. I will not advise you unwisely.¡± I chew on her words for a moment, and when it becomes apparent that she has nothing further to say, I nod and really think on it. Of all the things that I am ignorant of in this new life that I have chosen for myself, magical items might rank the highest of anything. I have never before heard of a magic item selling for anything less than ten gold pieces, and such expensive things did not make it all the way out to the rural town I grew up in. I have no idea what it is that they can do, but the idea that I can increase my power simply by putting on a pretty necklace entices me. Perhaps something that is gold or silver. ¡°You are saying that you believe Recovery is a combat attribute,¡± I say, still thinking through everything. ¡°If it governs how fast my energies recover, then I can only see it being useful in a prolonged fight where both me and my opponent drain our energies to nothing. Then, it would give me a kind of upper hand.¡± ¡°Not a bad initial thought,¡± Arabella says with a smile. ¡°Though, incomplete. What if I were to change how you look at a fight? Imagine that you are fighting your next monster right now, as the two of us speak here, even if you will not lay eyes on the monster for another week or more. What if I were to say that you are fighting all of your future monsters right this second, that what you decide to do from now until that time when you meet the monster on the field of battle matters as much, if not more, than what you will decide to do then.¡± ¡°You want me to consider myself as always fighting,¡± I say. ¡°If you did so, would you not consider your increased capacity to recover your energies as a good thing, as a powerful thing.¡± ¡°If I take that approach, then yes,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I like that outlook. Like I¡¯m always in a fight. When would I be able to relax?¡± Arabella waves off the question. ¡°What I am giving you is a philosophy to make yourself stronger. Only apply it in so far as you wish to become stronger. I have given you your deadline for rank three already, simply meet it. If you would like to aim for something beyond that, however, consider that most balanced mages require almost half of a day to recover all of their mana, when you can do so in a fraction of that time. That is a much bigger deal than the simple mathematics of the matter might make it out to be.¡± ¡°So, you¡¯re saying that I should use my Recovery attribute as a reason to train more, because I can recover my stamina and mana faster than others, so I can expend it again faster as well,¡± I summarize. ¡°Precisely.¡± ¡°Is that not what I have been doing already for the past week?¡± I ask. ¡°This is something I feel that I have already figured out for myself.¡± ¡°Which, as you might guess, is the reason I did not see fit as to change your training schedule. If you wish to amend it, simply do so. That is what I have told each of my new pupils after having our little one on one meeting.¡± I sigh, wishing that any of the others might have let me know that I can change the schedule. ¡°Well, I suppose I will do that then.¡± ¡°Not just that however,¡± Arabella says. She picks up a heavy book from the stack on the table next to her. ¡°It has come to my attention that your education is lacking. Not extremely lacking, but lacking none the less.¡± She hands the book to me, and I read the cover, ¡°Mathematics and Economics: A Dive into the Driving Forces of a Society.¡± I frown at the book, and glance at the spines of the other three heavy tomes on the table between us. They all look equally dusty and dry, although two do directly mention magic, and so they might at least be a little interesting. ¡°I am not a fan of mathematics,¡± I tell Arabella. ¡°That is a shame then because it is an incredibly important subject to grasp, if you wish to truly master magic. I will have you do so, even if you find it boring.¡± Arabella lifts the wooden box and opens it toward me. Inside, a simple wooden ring rests on a bed of velvet. ¡°I am also gifting this to you. I had planned to do so during the ceremony just before the competition is to begin, but after seeing you haul around all of those monster parts yesterday, I determined that you might need it now. I lift the ring from the box, and a message appears above my hand. Wooden Ring of Storage(Rare): The wielder of a Ring of Storage is able to place and retrieve items from a space outside of reality. Items stored inside of the ring will not degrade or experience time. Cannot store living materials. Space Remaining: 60/60. Just after having my first lesson on magic items, Arabella has handed me one. ¡°You can put items inside of this ring?¡± I ask Arabella. ¡°I see that the eye was able to identify it then,¡± Arabella says. ¡°Good. Storage items are common once you get to the middle ranks, but they are uncommon enough for first rankers. The trick to keeping your storage items safe is to not let anyone know that you have one, or, if they know that you do, to not know which item of yours it is. I give this to you now, but I need you to keep it a secret from everyone. If anyone in the manor asks why you are wearing a ring made of wood, make up some folksy excuse with plenty of slang and I am certain the elves in the house will buy it." I smile at that. I turn the ring over in my fingers, it really is just a smooth band of wood without adornment. As I concentrate harder on the ring, I can see the faint shifting of magic from around it, but the shift is hard to detect, like a heat mirage. I watch as Galea floats closer to the ring, growling. ¡°I do not like this item, Mistress Charlene. I do not like it one bit." I shake my head at the dragon spirit. ¡°How do I use it?¡± I ask Arabella. ¡°Put it on. These items are fairly intuitive. Once you are wearing it, merely wish to store something inside of the ring as you make skin contact with it, and the magic inside the ring should do the rest. Storage items are safe from intrusion, even if stolen, as long as you are still alive and well. I would not worry about that too much, as if anyone were going to use your storage item, you would be dead." I try to do as Arabella says, slipping the ring on and placing my hand on the mathematics book next to me. It takes a few seconds of focus, my brain attempting to find the right points to touch the magic in the ring, but then it works. The book disappears from under my hand, and I can vaguely sense that it is now inside of the ring. I know that I can call it back into reality once again with a thought. ¡°Imprecise,¡± Galea mutters to herself. ¡°This is an incredible gift,¡± I say to Arabella. ¡°I have already made an investment in your success,¡± Arabella says. ¡°I merely ask that you prove me right.¡± Arabella stands, folding her hands in front of her. ¡°Now, I must be off to conduct other business." ¡°Of course,¡± I say, rising as well. I pick up the other books left on the table, and feel my face grow hot as I remember the new magic item that Arabella just gave to me. After another second of focus all four books have been safely placed inside of the ring. ¡°Read all of those this week,¡± Arabella tells me. ¡°Come back and see me again once you have done so and have also gained at least one more level. I would also suggest that you speak with Kithkik about teaching you how to dodge attacks. That was one thing that I believe you need to improve at with all haste. With your ability to recover, I imagine that you should be able to handle what she will throw at you." ¡°If that is what you wish me to do,¡± I say, bowing slightly to the woman as she turns and walks toward the doors on the other side of the small room. ¡°Other than that, continue to do what it is you are doing. I have a feeling that you will discover the best ways for you to grow stronger on your own.¡± With that, the two ice clones at the back of the room open the doors for Arabella. She leaves me alone in the room, pondering her advice. I would be a fool not to listen to her. Chapter 17 - A Plan for the Second Encounter I find myself out at the training yard a few days later. The training yard encompasses the east side of the rocky platform the manor itself is built upon and is almost as large as the gymnasium inside. A long rectangle of sand makes up the training yard, fifteen feet long on the short end and over a hundred on the long. Macille and Kendon spar in the sand, each one almost a mirror of the other, their sword and hammer flashing and snapping against the tough shields they carry. Jor¡¯Mari spars with Kithkik not too far from the boys, neither uses any of their abilities, though I don¡¯t even know if Kithkik has abilities to speak of. The giant woman wields two swords connected by a chain in her arms: while the upper row of arms holds the swords, her lower set focus on manipulating the chain. Jor¡¯Mari holds no weapons; he attacks with his fists and feet. Anyone can tell at a glance that Kithkik could end the spar anytime she wants to, but for whatever reason, the giant woman refuses to land a decisive blow in the bout. My attention is only momentarily captured by the back and forth. Coriander Mel¡¯Draven stands at the far end of the field, her fingers pressed together as she focuses her mana. A ball of energy, both white and black at the same time, condenses in the air in front of the elven mage. The energy she gathers is hard to look at, it makes the world seem too flat and fills me with a sense of vertigo. I watch Coriander continue to gather the energy in front of her for more than a few minutes before, with a smooth exhale, she releases the spell. Faster than I can follow, the ball of death in front of her expands into a bar of contrasting black and white that stretches toward the horizon far beyond what my eyes can track. Coriander falls, her breath becoming ragged as she holds herself up in the sand on her hands and knees. Standing from the iron chair I sit in on the edge of the sand, I walk toward the woman and offer her a clean towel I grab from another one of the chairs. ¡°That was impressive, my lady.¡± Coriander turns her eyes on me, almost feral, as she knocks my offered towel away and stands from the ground. ¡°Move,¡± she hisses at me, barely giving me time to turn aside before barreling through where I was just standing. I watch her go, her breathing becoming more controlled as she stalks to the manor¡¯s entrance and goes inside, slamming the door behind her. I look at the towel in my hand, wondering if it might somehow tell me what just happened. ¡°She doesn¡¯t like you,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. I jump at the sound of the man¡¯s voice, realizing that he is standing just near me on the sand. Behind him, Kithkik is walking to a water barrel. ¡°She complains about you when you aren¡¯t around.¡± ¡°Why would she complain about me?¡± I ask, tossing the towel away. ¡°I have never really even spoken to her.¡± ¡°Maybe you failed to bow low enough to her once,¡± Jor¡¯Mari quips. He laughs when he sees the puzzlement on my face. ¡°Lady Mel¡¯Draven has to swallow that there exists a human out there so much more powerful than her that she cannot compare,¡± he says, speaking of Arabella. ¡°Now here you are, a poor, almost illiterate, human girl who has been placed into the same circumstances as herself and are expected to succeed. I am certain that our dear rose, the Lady Mel¡¯Draven, has a hard time understanding how such a girl as yourself is not on her knees scrubbing the floors for most of the day.¡± Jor¡¯Mari flashes me a sadistic grin with his sharp and incredibly white teeth. ¡°I myself would not mind seeing you on your knees more often as well.¡± I try hard to keep the disgust off my face, but I have no clue how successful I am. ¡°How flattering my lord,¡± I say, trying to step past him. ¡°I need to speak with Kithkik.¡± Jor¡¯Mari blows out a laugh and steps aside to allow me by. ¡°Of course.¡± I turn back to him after entering the sand pit. ¡°Also, I read quite well.¡± ¡°But you do not read elven,¡± he says. ¡°In the mind of those like Lady Mel¡¯Draven, that is all that matters. Now, go on, I wish to see you walk away.¡± My teeth click as I bite back the comment forming on my lips. Nothing good will come of speaking harshly with a nobleman, even if they deserve it. They have a power that I never will, the power to ruin someone¡¯s life no matter how much magic that person possess. Feeling his eyes on my back, I walk over to Kithkik. The giant woman observes me as I walk up to her, shaking her head. ¡°If you allow a man to speak with you like that, then he will learn that it is fine for him to do so,¡± Kithkik tells me as I stare up at her. ¡°That is my matter,¡± I say. The big woman shrugs and takes another drink from the ladle she is holding. ¡°What have you come to ask of me?¡± ¡°Ms. Willian suggested that I have you teach me how to fight,¡± I say. ¡°I am here to follow through on her advice.¡± ¡°Teach you to fight. You are a magic-user, are you not? I cannot teach you how to fight in such a way.¡± ¡°I do use magic as my weapon,¡± I affirm. ¡°However, the other day when I needed to face monsters head on, I did not know what to do once they charged at me and came close. Can you teach me how to not allow monsters to simply attack me?¡± ¡°You wish to learn how to dodge?¡± Kithkik asks. She grabs two long sticks resting against a bench on the side of the sand pit. ¡°I can teach you that.¡± It doesn¡¯t take me long to discover that Kithkik is a brutal teacher. When she strikes me with the sticks it is not a simple tap to correct me, but a brutal swing that leaves behind bruises. Never does she tell me what I should do or what I am doing wrong. For almost an hour, she walks at me, spinning the two sticks in her hands and lashing out with one every so often. I dodge sometimes, but those times are rare. When Kithkik catches me blocking her blows with my forearms I see anger crease her face and her next swing comes hard enough to bruise bone. I fall onto the sand enough times to scrape my knees. A quicker than normal strike catches me on the side of the head, leaving a gushing wound behind that is more distracting than dangerous. For the duration of the ¡°training¡± I watch my healing points slowly deplete, each digit that I regain with my recovery is dashed away in an instant. When I have nothing left and my stamina is spent, I fall to my knees on the ground, huffing. ¡°You are fragile,¡± Kithkik says as she towers over me. She tosses the sticks that now bear red stains on their ends to the side and returns to her water barrel. The crunch of metal boots on sand approaches me from the left and I look up to see Macille standing near me. He kneels in the sand at my side, hand already glowing as he prepares to apply healing magic. I knock the man¡¯s hand away before he can touch me. Despite the confusion on his face, he waits until my breathing steadies enough that I can speak. ¡°I¡¯m¡­training my¡­recovery,¡± I manage between large gulps of air. ¡°There are better ways to do that,¡± Macille says. He offers me his handkerchief, and when I look at him without understanding, he dabs the white cloth at the still bleeding cut on the side of my forehead. Belatedly, I realize that I am not thinking as clearly as I should. Perhaps stamina has something to do with thinking as well. ¡°Are there faster methods?¡± ¡°You do not need to worry about speed,¡± Macille says. Despite his obvious disapproval, the man doesn¡¯t try to heal me. ¡°You are strong as you are, especially for someone who only just completed their set of essentia.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t feel strong,¡± I tell him. With a grunt, I push myself to my feet and waver for a moment before finding my footing. ¡°I have known people who were strong.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± Macille says. ¡°Though, comparing yourself to others is the fastest way to become disappointed in your own progress. Compare yourself to yourself, your past and present. Speed is not the objective of an essentia magician, progress is.¡± I can¡¯t help but smile at the man. He walks with me to the water barrel, likely to make certain he can catch me if I collapse from exhaustion. I pour water over my head, a lot of it, and feel the sand and blood wash away to leave me clean if wet. The unobscured sun overhead begins to work at drying me off, and I bask in its heat for a while as I stand out in the training yard. Macille returns to his brother and their sparring after some kind parting words, and Kithkik sits in the grass on the edge of the sand pit to read a book in a tongue I don¡¯t know. I watch the two brothers continue their spar. Even in the full armor they wear, there is a fluidness in their movements that I don¡¯t think any amount of experience will ever let me bridge. There is an expertise in their combat that speaks to the many years of work the two have put into their martial prowess. Though I know Macille is superior to me in almost every way that matters, I also know that he is wrong about speed. I need to improve as quickly as possible. This competition that I am to be thrown into is less than a month and a half away now, and I still don¡¯t know how I am going to compete with monsters like the elves I share a flying house with. Ten days later, Arabella Willian calls me into her office once again. I have completed the task which she set for me. I have read all of the books, and I have gained another level. I have to admit that I did find the books incredibly interesting after I managed to get past the initial repulsion of the first great tome being filled with mathematics. Of all of the instructional books on mathematics in the universe, Arabella had chosen one that had been written by an economist, a profession that I had never heard of existing before reading that book. Apparently, economists dealt with the flow of currency, and most governments in the world use gold as a major part of their currencies, which meant that economists dealt with the movement of gold. I like gold. I like gold a whole lot in fact. I found the economist¡¯s flamboyant metaphors about gold to be intriguing, and something I could actually wrap my head around, unlike Mother Mayble¡¯s religious similes back home. Unfortunately for me, the book on mathematics had been the easiest to understand. The next one had been all about geography, a subject that, I have discovered, confuses me to no end. As it turns out, the Kingdom of Gale is just one kingdom in something called the Contiguous Empire of Ramancalla. Every kingdom in this empire is under the total authority of elven rulers, and they all pay homage to the Emperor Ramancalla III. Before getting into this flying house, I can¡¯t recall ever hearing the name of another kingdom, though I obviously knew that they must exist. What was even more surprising to find out was that Gale was tiny when compared to some of the other kingdoms, countries, and principalities in the world; if the book was to be believed that is. From what I read in the book, there exist eighty-nine continents in the world, and on those continents, there are more than seven hundred different countries. There are also more that exist deep in the oceans, though the book didn¡¯t go into detail about those. The most incredulous bit of information the book told me was that elves did not rule all of these different places, which does not make much sense to me. Sure, there might be far flung places that lacked any form of real civilization, I could understand the lack of the true ruling class there, but the book did not make it seem that way. It continues to boggle my mind how any government could function outside of the hands of the longest lived and wisest of the races. It just doesn¡¯t make any sense to me. In truth, it makes me doubt all of the information in the book. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The last two books Arabella gave me are completely indecipherable. They deal with a written form of magic: runes and formations. In addition to naturally forming magical objects like essentia, monsters, beings of living magic, and magicians, magic can come from writing a few squiggles down on paper. Alright, it is a bit more complicated than that, especially given that I can¡¯t really remember anything of what I read about it, but it still seems wrong that magic should work that way. Still, I read the books. Could I tell anyone anything about what I had read? No. When I enter Arabella¡¯s office, I find that Macille is already there, speaking with her on the sofa across from her usual seat. ¡°Charlene,¡± Arabella says when she sees me. ¡°Come, sit. Tell me about your progress.¡± Macille turns and looks at me as I enter, a small grin creasing the edge of his mouth. I incline my head to Arabella before flopping down onto the sofa next to Macille. ¡°I have earned a level and read all the books, like you asked.¡± ¡°Which one was your favorite?¡± she asks. ¡°Strangely, the mathematics one,¡± I answer honestly. I see disappointment in the woman¡¯s eyes but continue. ¡°I think if I end up failing to meet your standards that I might look to become an economist.¡± ¡°It is good to have redundant plans,¡± Arabella says, leaning back. ¡°Let us not plan for failure, however. I believe that you are currently on track to meet my expectations. I noticed that you changed your training regimen. Explain to me why.¡± I nod, expecting the question. ¡°I decided to leave weightlifting out of my training,¡± I say. ¡°I came to the decision because I wished for all of my effort to go toward improving my magic, speed, and recovery.¡± It had been a difficult decision to make despite how obvious it had been. I still remember the way Bali hauled us up the side of the mountain using only the incredible strength in her arms. I want that even now. There had been something subtly beautiful about the woman in that moment, and, gods, I want someone to look at me how I must have looked at her then. In the end, I know that it is a poor direction for me to go in if I want to focus on the potency of my magic. ¡°You have kept up your running,¡± Arabella said, a statement rather than a question. ¡°I run even more now,¡± I say. ¡°Even if I don¡¯t plan to become strong enough to hurl boulders around, I still want to be able to dodge them when someone throws one at me.¡± ¡°I would not worry about that,¡± Arabella tells me. ¡°Luckily for you, you are human. Soul reinforcement raises all of our attributes simultaneously. The same is not true for all of the races of Exeter.¡± Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Macille looking between the two of us with confusion. The man doesn¡¯t voice his confusion. I am coming to understand that he doesn¡¯t like looking as if he doesn¡¯t know what is going on. Maybe he only feels that way in front of women. ¡°I didn¡¯t know that,¡± I say. ¡°Clearly. You even followed my advice to seek out Kithkik,¡± Arabella says. Macille laughs at that. My daily beating by the giant woman have begun to become a spectacle for whoever cares to come out to the training yard to watch. I don¡¯t believe Macille or Kendon have missed a single one. ¡°I¡¯m improving. Slowly. But I am improving,¡± I say, though I don¡¯t know how true it is. Every time the woman slaps me around with the increasingly blood-stained sticks in the yard, I feel like the gap in strength between me and the woman only grows. Whenever I begin to think that I am getting better at dodging her, she starts swinging just a bit faster, destroying my confidence. Kendon and Macille always compliment me afterward, and that might be the only reason that I have stuck with the exercise for so long, despite how futile it feels. ¡°I believe you,¡± Arabella says. ¡°Do not expect Kithkik to be liberal with her praise. The fact that she has continued to indulge you this long should be proof enough for you that she finds the activity worth doing.¡± ¡°Trust me,¡± Macille says, looking my way. ¡°When the woman spars with my brother or I, she beats us just as hard. Lucky for me, I have healing magic.¡± ¡°Speaking of healing magic,¡± I say. ¡°How come you never used that when we fought the Desert Spearman?¡± Macille sighs. ¡°Because that monster would never have given me enough time to do so.¡± ¡°Quite right,¡± Arabella agrees. She looks between Macille and I. ¡°You two have become stronger than you were when I first tested you with the creature, Charlene especially so. Are you prepared to fight it again?¡± Macille shakes his head. ¡°I know that we are the only two that haven''t beaten the rank two monster by now,¡± he says. I look at him, that is news to me. ¡°I don¡¯t know how I can. I just do not have the same offensive potential the others do.¡± ¡°That is all I have,¡± I tell him. I look at Arabella. ¡°Which is why the two of us are paired together I might imagine.¡± ¡°In a way,¡± Arabella says. ¡°I do not mean to sound cruel, but I paired you two together because you both have the greatest weaknesses among the five pupils I have taken. The fact that your weaknesses are complimentary is a happy accident. The other three have each been able to defeat a rank two monster on their lonesome as of now. ¡°Kendon, like you Macille, is a very well-balanced martial fighter. The difference between you and him is that his destructive capabilities are enough to eventually overcome the disparity of the gap between a rank two monster and a rank one adventurer. Your abilities are a bit too unfocused on a singular aspect to allow you to do the same. On the other hand, Coriander Mel¡¯Draven is an extremely focused mage with incredible destructive output. What separates her from you, Charlene, is that her abilities synergize in a way to increase her destructive output to match even a rank two mage, whereas your abilities tend toward a focus on utility aspects. In a group setting, there is no doubt that you will be the more valuable inclusion, especially with your disenchantment ability, but that is not what I am testing now, and you will likely find yourself outside of such a setting in the near future.¡± I nod, trying to understand what exactly she means. I can¡¯t dispute anything. Disenchantment and Dragon¡¯s Eyes both seem like abilities that have no use in a fight, and I haven¡¯t even started to understand how I can use Emperor¡¯s Prerogative. The only one that I can even claim to have used in the last week is Dragon¡¯s Eyes, and that simply for the boost to recovery. Gold Essentia(Rank 1): Disenchantment By touching a dead monster, you are able to break down their residual essence into component parts and solidify their magical residue into physical objects. Gold: this ability also produces an amount of coin commensurate with the power of the monster Dragon Essentia: Dragon¡¯s Eyes(Rank 1): You possess the sight of dragons. This ability grants the ability to perceive magical auras and soul presences. The eyes of dragons empower a dragon¡¯s ability to recover its magical and vital energies. Grants a small boost to the Recovery attribute and causes the Recovery attribute to be 50% more effective. Emperor Conflux: Emperor''s Prerogative(Rank 1): A true emperor is unbound by the limitations of the world, and as such, the emperor is not bound by any mana affix affinities, capable of pursuing any magical paths they might choose. Provides a small boost to the understanding and attunement of different mana affixes. ¡°You neglected mentioning Jor¡¯Mari,¡± Macille says. ¡°For a purpose,¡± Arabella says. ¡°Do not compare yourself to him. I know that you have been an essentia magician for a few years now, Macille. Comparing yourself against a genius such as him will only leave you feeling inadequate.¡± Despite her words, I can feel a challenge in Arabella¡¯s tone, one that Macille bites onto immediately. ¡°Why?¡± he asks. Arabella effects a look of indecision, feigning a reluctance to go on, but I detect a smirk. ¡°It is a poor mentor who reveals the abilities of their pupils to others,¡± she says. ¡°What I will say however is that Jor¡¯Mari shows clear signs of becoming an alpha essentia magician.¡± ¡°At rank one,¡± Macille says under his breath, ¡°that is impossible.¡± ¡°What¡¯s an alpha magician?¡± I ask. Macille looks at me. He tries to speak, cannot find the words, and tries again. ¡°An alpha essentia magician possesses an ability that makes them nigh immortal,¡± he says. ¡°Abilities like that are what you would expect a fifth rank to have. They are like monsters that cannot be stopped.¡± I think back to my first meeting with Jor¡¯Mari. I still remember what Volaash¡¯s eye had revealed to me about him; he has the Demon Conflux. He also killed that rank two monster by himself when we fought all of those hounds, outside of the safety of Arabella¡¯s illusion. Then, it occurs to me, that Halford has an ability that basically heals all of his wounds and makes him unstoppable for a short period of time. I wonder if he is an alpha magician as well. Arabella leans forward. ¡°In this upcoming competition, do not challenge him. There will be plenty of opportunities to scoop up. Stay out of his way.¡± ¡°I will,¡± I say, fully meaning it. Ever since first laying eyes on Jor¡¯Mari, I felt that there was something dangerous about him. I have no intention of provoking him in any way. Macille holds his silence. ¡°Good,¡± Arabella says, clapping her hands and looking between the two of us. ¡°Then we should commence with what I called the two of you here for in the first place. I intend to pit you both against the Desert Spearman once more, and this time I expect that you will manage to kill it.¡± ¡°Well, you got my confidence low enough,¡± I say. ¡°I am serious,¡± Arabella says, all levity gone from her face. ¡°The desert spearman is by no means an easy or simple rank two monster to defeat. Likely neither of you will be able to do it alone until you are each rank two yourselves. You will need to make up for your lack with teamwork or some other means of overcoming your personal shortcomings. Before I allow either of you to participate in this upcoming competition, I must feel assured that you can defeat such a creature. If not by yourselves, then at least in a group setting. Otherwise, I would be sending you to your deaths, and that is something that I will not do.¡± ¡°So, if we cannot kill this monster, you will not allow us to even enter the competition,¡± Macille says. ¡°Precisely. This is the first point that you must absolutely overcome to progress. There will be many, many more, but this is the first. Make it over this barrier. You have as many attempts as you would like between now and when we arrive at our destination, but it must be done.¡± I let out a long breath and look at Macille. He nods back to me. ¡°Alright then,¡± I say. ¡°Very well,¡± Arabella holds up her hand and purplish light begins to seep out of her fingers. I doubt Macille can see the changing light of Arabella¡¯s aura as she readies the ability, another use of Dragon¡¯s Eyes. If only I could find a way for that to be useful in a fight. ¡°Give us a moment,¡± I say before she can activate whatever ability she is preparing. The light on Arabella¡¯s hand pauses but does not vanish. I look back to Macille. ¡°We should at least have some kind of strategy.¡± He looks at me. ¡°I agree, do you have anything specific in mind?¡± ¡°Nothing fancy,¡± I say. ¡°First, I think it is pretty obvious that we shouldn¡¯t put ourselves behind the monster.¡± ¡°It¡¯s barbed spear,¡± Macille agrees. ¡°It is more dangerous than its claws.¡± He rubs his chin for a moment. ¡°My Guardian¡¯s Blade ability can hurt it, but I don¡¯t believe that it is strong enough to deal the creature a lethal blow. Most of my abilities are focused on defense.¡± ¡°My dragonfire might be able to do that. It has gotten stronger, and if you can give me time to over channel the ability then it can become much stronger,¡± I tell him. ¡°Can you burn a bug?¡± ¡°My brother apparently killed a dragon with fire magic,¡± I say. ¡°Next to that, I think burning an oversized bug should be possible.¡± ¡°Can you burn a bug, I mean,¡± he says. ¡°In our last fights, your fire did not seem to be incredibly effective.¡± I chew my lip. He¡¯s right. ¡°It has gotten stronger since then,¡± I say. ¡°Like I said, if you give me time to over channel the ability, then I might be able to deal some real damage to it.¡± ¡°How much time?¡± he asks. ¡°Thirty seconds,¡± I say, and I see a wince on Macille¡¯s face. ¡°If you give me thirty seconds, then I can channel a Dragonfire Bolt that will deal real damage.¡± I don¡¯t even know if it¡¯s true, but I can clearly see that Macille needs me to be confident. ¡°Thirty seconds,¡± he whispers to himself. He takes a deep breath and slams his fist into his thigh, making me jump. When he looks back at me again, he tries to offer me a bit of confidence of his own. ¡°I will give you the time,¡± he says. He looks back to Arabella. ¡°It isn¡¯t the most complex plan of action, but it is what we have.¡± ¡°Who knows,¡± Arabella says, the light on her hand beginning to shine brighter. ¡°It may just be enough.¡± Chapter 18 - The Second Encounter A click echoes through the barren room of stone, a pebble bouncing forward toward the ring of torchlight in the center of the room. I look down at my boot, barely illuminated by the flickering lights in the center of the room. A shudder runs through me. I clench my right wrist with my left hand. The pain dancing through my fingers is acute, it is always so much more powerful here. ¡°We are in the illusion,¡± I tell Macille. The man stands next to me, shadowed. I focus back on my hand while the man turns in my direction, a lack of consciousness in his dull eyes for a moment. Panic attacks me, my chest heaves and I feel sweat breaking out on my back and neck. My right hand continues to spasm; the last time I was here the monster snipped it off. I clench my teeth, biting down on the pain, and begin to channel a Dragonfire Bolt into my right hand. It helps a little bit, the magic flowing through my hand overpowers the cramping muscles. ¡°I¡­I know,¡± Macille tells me. I see the light of thought begin to fill his eyes. ¡°I know,¡± he repeats. ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°Get ready then,¡± I say to him through clenched teeth. I finally get my hand back under control but the pain just won¡¯t go away. I look at Macille, sweat glistens on the side of his elven neck, catching and pooling the light, but he seems calm. It has been almost fifteen seconds; my ability is half channeled. ¡°Right,¡± Macille says. He pulls his sword from its sheath, and I watch as he reinforces the armor he is wearing with one of his abilities. Slowly, the sword he holds begins to emanate a green light. Macille shudders, and then he looks back at me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says, swallowing, ¡°I forgot to reinforce your armor.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I say. I punch my clenched right hand into the breastplate I wear hard enough to tear the skin of my knuckles. A momentary explosion of orange light answers the hit, but I don¡¯t lose any of the ability¡¯s building potency. I breath out a sigh, the new pain of my scraped knuckles replacing the old, crippling pain of the missing hand. I don¡¯t know why Macille isn¡¯t effected by the continuous deaths in the illusion like I am. It¡¯s a good thing he isn¡¯t. My breathing continues to come on rapid and shallow. I stare up at the darkness where I know the Desert Spearman waits, ready to fall into the center of the room at any moment. ¡°How much longer?¡± Macille asks. He stares up with me into the darkness, though ever since the battle with the hounds, I understand his vision is much better than mine. ¡°Ten¡­seconds,¡± I answer through breaths. ¡°Are you okay?¡± I hear him ask. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­worry about¡­me. I¡¯ll be¡­fine,¡± I lie. My heart is already pounding in my ears. I can hear the monster rumbling across the stone at me, feel its claws closing around my soft flesh. A long scream tries to bubble up in my throat, the same scream I had given when it started to eat my stomach once before bothering to kill me first. I choke on the scream, holding my breath, trying to force my breathing to calm down. It doesn¡¯t help. I just end up panting more the next time I try to breath. ¡°Maybe Ms. Willian will--¡± ¡°It¡¯s coming,¡± I say, seeing a shift in the shadow. As it has each time we entered the illusion, a huge blob of darkness releases from the ceiling overhead and plummets to the stone below. It throws its many legs wide as it crashes into the stone, bracing itself for the impact. Unlike the first encounter, Macille and I are already in motion before it rights itself. Desert Spearman Before the monster can even stand, a streak of orange fire is sailing in its direction. The bolt of dragonfire, the largest one I have ever thrown at something, explodes as it collides with the monster¡¯s hard exoskeleton, just above the joint of the monster¡¯s right claw, whatever it has there in place of a shoulder. My dragonfire explodes, loud enough to drown out the monster¡¯s cry of pain at being assaulted. Orange flame clings to it for the barest of moments before it is snuffed out, seemingly by nothing, leaving a triangular wound in the monster¡¯s side that bleeds purple blood. I smile, despite the superficial damage of the wound, and begin channeling another Dragonfire Bolt. The Desert Spearman resettles itself, the motion causing cracking lines to spread away from the wound my dragonfire left in its side. Macille reaches the monster in the next moment, his glowing green sword arcing at the monster as he finishes his own charge. On previous encounters with the spearman, we realized that allowing it to charge was the worst thing we could do. Macille engages it now in the center of the room, surrounded by the torchlight. Macille cuts into the monster in the same place that my first attack injured it, his glowing green sword spraying gore away from the wound. The monster moves in the last instant, swinging its other claw toward Macille, making the man pull out of his strike and weakening the blow. It roars into Macille¡¯s face. He winces, the momentary distraction making him almost miss the injured claw coming down at him. Macille catches the blow on his shield, ethereal armor flashing over him in the moment of impact. His knee slams into the ground, but he holds strong enough to keep from being crushed. My next Dragonfire Bolt flies from my hand, not fully charged, but I did manage to over channel it some. The opening was just too much for me to ignore. Its claws held apart, its uninjured one rearing back to swipe down at Macille once more, my dragonfire splashes into its face, over its eyes. This time, the roar of the monster is enough to ring my bones even with me at the edge of the room. It screams and stumbles away from Macille, leaving the man panting on a knee as he looks on at the monster scrambling away from him and scratching at its face with its claws. Macille doesn¡¯t waste the opening either, turning his focus to his sword, pouring green power into the blade while the monster is distracted. The dragonfire fails to catch light on the monster¡¯s exoskeleton, but the burning is an afterthought. When it gathers itself, it stares at me across the gulf of space, the eye I managed to strike reduced to dripping waste and the eye socket scorched and open. I begin channeling another Dragonfire Bolt. The Spearman¡¯s attention shifts to my glowing hand. It roars again, not in pain but in anger, and its multitudinous legs begin to power it toward me like a boulder, unstoppable. Or so I thought. Having been forgotten by both me and the monster, Macille dashes sideways, reaching out for the monster as it charges past him, uncaring. Macille¡¯s glowing sword flashes in the torchlight. Three steps later the beast twists and falls, its front leg on its right-side skidding away from it in a smear of purple. Blinded by hate or whatever such a thing might have for emotions, it limps up and charges me once more, Macille running along behind it. I run a circuit of the perimeter of the room, pushing my enhanced speed for all it is worth, trying to keep myself on the monster¡¯s left side. Without its front right leg, it can¡¯t turn fast enough to catch me. I hear the collision behind me and turn to see the Desert Spearman with the horn at the front of its face embedded into the stone of the wall. I throw another fistful of dragonfire at the monster, missing its eye this time, but splashing fire over its face once again. The impact of the fire does little. Its remaining eye, one massive orb of black darkness, turns my way as it backs itself away from the wall. I see its tail twitch. I try to shout, but Macille notices it just as I do. The spear of chitin is fired away from its tail, and as Macille continues to charge the monster, he raises his shield and catches the spear at an angle. The missile bounces off of Macille¡¯s shield, tearing the shield off Macille¡¯s arm, and ricocheting up somewhere in the darkness. Macille¡¯s arm twists horribly as the shield is wrenched away from him, but the man refuses to stop his charge. Screaming, he brings down his glowing blade on the spearman¡¯s claw-joint once more, and this time the blade bites all the way through the limb as it continues to turn to face him. The Desert Spearman stays silent, carapace shuddering from the loss of its arm, and swings its uninjured claw down at Macille, trying to snap him in half. Macille rolls back, stumbling and falling on his injured arm. He cries out, and I see red soaking through the sleeve of his shirt beneath the armor. Before I know what I am doing, I am running forward, throwing uncharged bolts into the monster¡¯s face to distract it, but I am on the wrong side of it now. The eye on my side of its head has cooled, the gore oblivious to the flashing dragonfire that slides off of its armored carapace, leaving only the slightest of scorch marks. It slams its claw down at Macille, the man only barely managing to roll out of the way as the massive claw crushes the stone where he had just been. Macille rolls onto his back, up to his feet, but his sword lays on the ground a distance away. I make it to the monster. It is uninjured on my side of it, except for the ruined eye. My fire can only really damage it when I have a full charge, and there isn¡¯t time for me to attempt that again. With only two seconds of charge on the dragonfire in my hand, I prepare to hurl the fire into the already injured eye socket. Pain lances through me as I ready to throw. Spit bubbles at the sides of my mouth. I look down and see one of the spearman¡¯s legs soaked in blood, my blood. My brain refuses what it sees, it doesn¡¯t make sense, and then, as if the beating of my own heart forces the pain to be recognized, I realize that the spearman¡¯s leg is going through my own. As I cry out, my free leg giving out, spiking more pain through me as my impaled leg is pinned in its position, I fear that the monster will turn and slap my head off my shoulders with its remaining claw. The pain of the monster¡¯s leg sliding out of my own is almost enough to make me lose consciousness. My vision becomes black and then white. I only know that I stay conscious, since when the flickering torchlight starts to bring the world into contrast once more, the flashing of orange fire over my right hand has built to an inferno. Macille cries out, swinging his glowing blade up at the monster¡¯s face, missing. The Desert Spearman limps toward him, the elf¡¯s two working legs just barely enough to keep him from being smashed into paste. Macille¡¯s breathing is ragged, his left arm hanging limply at his side as he dances with his sword more brilliantly than I have ever seen him before. He swings his sword at the monster when its green glow has returned, scoring a line across the spearman¡¯s face, superficial. The spearman catches Macille¡¯s sword in its claw as he tries to pull it away. With the sound of wrenching metal, the spearman snaps Macille¡¯s sword in two before swinging a backhand at Macille. The strike catches the side of Macille¡¯s face, just barely, but the grazing blow is enough to tear long lines into the flesh of Macille¡¯s face. He screams a gurgle as he backpedals faster than the monster can keep up its limping advance, his torn arm coming up to cover the cuts across his face. I see Macille¡¯s eyes stay on the monster that advances on him, blood seeping through the fingers he uses to cover half his face. Something pushes me to move, something too profound and deep inside my soul for me to put a name on it, but I know the feeling that wells up in my chest, hotter than the pain, more aching than the splintering bone in my thigh. I hate this fucking monster. White overtakes my vision as I push myself to stand, and when I stand, clarity returning to the world, more color lives there than it did before. I see the ghost of magic slipping off of the monster, a sandy beige that seems almost too heavy for the air, its soul presence like a shroud of transparent color around it. It lashes out at Macille, red and yellow streaking through the shroud of beige in a complex display that I cannot fathom. Macille catches the claw on the remaining half of his sword, yellow ethereal armor springing to life around him as he parries the blow, but there is more to it. I see Macille¡¯s soul presence as well, a soft light of yellow and blue that flickers as he moves, always shifting, nothing permanent or set. The impossibility of seeing the soul presence of a first rank magician is the furthest thing from my mind. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. I don¡¯t realize that I am limping forward toward the monster until I notice it growing larger in my vision. My eyes are glued to a point in the beige of its soul presence that looks like a black wound on the air, directly over its ruined eye. It doesn¡¯t notice me as I limp slowly in its direction, and as Macille fights for his life head-on with the monster, I doubt he notices me either. I see the spot like a blaring weakness on the monster in front of me. It would be obvious to someone thinking about it for a moment, but to my eye, the wound in the soul presence screams for me to use it to kill the monster. I oblige without even thinking about it. Roaring, I plunge my hand into the dead socket of the monster¡¯s eye, my fully charged Dragonfire Bolt disappearing inside of the spearman¡¯s carapace. Then, it notices me, but it is already too late for it. The spearman jerks away from me, the jagged chitin of its eye socket biting and cutting into my wrist as it tries to rear away. Before it can take my hand off with its shaking, I release my magic. The detonation of fire inside of the monster¡¯s skull is enough to blow my hand out of its eye socket with a sickening squelching sound. I fall, my wrist a bit cut up from the spearman¡¯s thrashing, but my hand unburnt and covered in purplish blood. By the time the spearman has reared all the way onto its back legs, I can see that life has already left it. The detonation next to whatever the monster would call a brain has blown off half its head. I have a half-second to realize that I have actually killed the thing, before a full ton of dead monster comes crashing down on top of me. The leg of the sofa beneath me scrapes against the tile in a whine that brings me back to my body, my real body. I am in Arabella¡¯s office again. She sits across from me, sipping on coffee as my body shakes from the illusion. My mind tells my body that it needs to be breathing hard, we are fighting a monster, and the shift as my lungs go from breathing normally to furious bellows puts a lump in my throat. I choke for a second, feeling my right leg seize in a spasm, and wrap my hands tight around my leg, trying to squeeze the pain and muscle back into their normal state. How many seconds has it been? Before I can even consider the thought, I hear a growl at my side. I turn, fingers still digging into my leg, and see Macille sitting next to me on the sofa, his right arm gripping his left forearm like he intends to tear it off. The man brings his breathing back under his control far quicker than I do, but the sweat that soaks through his expensive dress shirt and that pools into the hollows of his eyes tells me how disturbed he still is. With an effort only the pure, chemical hate my brain pumps through my veins can bring, I wrench my fingers away from my leg. My brain expects an explosion of pain, but none comes. The tingle of my blood starting to flow through the leg again distracts me; it tells me that the fight really is over. I collapse backward, my weight liquid, panting and focusing on bringing my breathing back under control. I roll my eyes to the side, seeing Macille more composed, but just as exhausted. Despite all of it, looking to the bars in the top of my vision, all of my vital energies are still full. ¡°Three seconds,¡± the words, as much as the piercing ring of Arabella¡¯s spoon on the porcelain of her coffee cup, ground me in the moment. ¡°You opted not to draw out the fight.¡± ¡°What would that have helped?¡± Macille asks, doing his best to keep his voice even. Arabella shifts her eyes my way. ¡°It may have been a stratagem.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. It takes me a moment to strangle my heart back to racing normally. ¡°I don¡¯t think that I am strong enough for a strategy like that. Macille is stronger than me, that limited what we could try to do.¡± Macille¡¯s eyebrows rise at my words, but I notice that he doesn¡¯t deny it. ¡°Yet, you are the one that landed the decisive blow,¡± Arabella says. ¡°You killed the monster.¡± ¡°I did,¡± I say. ¡°I won¡¯t say that I was lucky, but I think Macille did the real damage to it. All I did was make the creature angry, I didn¡¯t stop it from attacking us.¡± I look at Macille. ¡°That sword of yours is incredible. You cleaved its leg off with one swing, and you could even get through its armor.¡± I see confusion in the man¡¯s eyes. ¡°You were the one who killed it, Charlene. The praise goes to you.¡± ¡°I stuck my hand in its eye while it wasn¡¯t even looking at me. Can I really count on circumstance to let me do that again, in a real fight? No, your glowing sword and my fully over channeled fire did about the same damage to it. You are the strong one.¡± ¡°So, you at least learned something,¡± Arabella says. She looks at me. ¡°What was your biggest mistake?¡± ¡°I got too close to the monster,¡± I say. I can¡¯t hold the woman¡¯s piercing stare. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I was trying to help Macille,¡± I say. ¡°Because you did not trust him to handle his part of the fight,¡± Arabella says. ¡°No,¡± I deny. ¡°No. He was injured. I needed to get the monster to stop attacking him for a moment. Give him a chance to get up.¡± ¡°No, you did not trust him,¡± Arabella says. I open my mouth to deny it again, but in a flash the blue of Arabella¡¯s soul presence conquers the room. The ice of death presses into my skin as Arabella brings her fist down on the arm of her chair, shattering it. ¡°No! If you were in charge of your faculties, you would not have tried to approach the monster to offer covering fire! You acted out of instinct, the wrong instincts, and threw away the advantage of range to rush at a monster hunting your friend whom you did not trust to defend himself. You do not have the skills to stand toe-to-toe with a rank two monster, as demonstrated when it carelessly maimed you just because you were too close to it. You complicated the fight, put one of your teammates in danger, you, and forced Macille into a position where his own awareness and judgment could be compromised.¡± When she finishes, Arabella turns and smiles at Macille, the presence of her magic vanishing from the room in an instant. The remembrance of cold leaves a chill deep in my skin. I click my teeth closed, unable to say anything back to Arabella about her tirade. She is right, I acted without thinking, running toward the monster just to be killed. If Macille had noticed me on the ground while he was engaged with the monster, the entire fight might have ended in disaster. It hurts me to admit, but that had been truly stupid. Never again. ¡°And you learned¡­¡± Arabella says to Macille, prompting him. ¡°My mindset is not strong enough,¡± he says. ¡°When we first arrived, Charlene needed to break me out of the panic that came over me. I forgot to include her in my magic. If I had made her armor stronger, maybe the monster wouldn¡¯t have crushed her like that.¡± He looks at me. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I say. ¡°Is it?¡± Arabella asks. She looks between us. ¡°Would you consider yourselves successful?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say instantly. ¡°No,¡± Macille says a moment later. Arabella ignores Macille for a moment. ¡°You would consider yourself successful?¡± ¡°We killed the monster, didn¡¯t we? That was the objective, the mission, that you gave to us. ¡°And yet, you died.¡± ¡°But we did kill the monster,¡± I say. ¡°If I had given you the same mission in the real world, would you consider it a success then if you killed the monster and one of your teammates was killed in the attempt?¡± Before I can answer, she holds up a hand. ¡°Do you care so little for yourself that you would throw your life away on something as petty as a rank two monster? Is that what I am to expect as a return for my investment in you?¡± ¡°Put us back in,¡± Macille says, interrupting her. Arabella looks back at him. ¡°We managed to kill the spearman, but one of our teammates died. That is a failure for us. We still need to complete your test for you to let us move forward, right? Let us try again.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, a moment later. ¡°Let us try again.¡± Arabella looks between us for a long second before a sly smile crosses her lips. ¡°If that is what you wish,¡± she says, bringing up a hand that begins to glow a brilliant lavender. I stumble into my room a few hours later, the phantom of illusionary pain still echoing in my thoughts. Despite that, I can¡¯t keep the stupid smile off of my face. I collapse into bed, grinning and kicking my boots off. ¡°We did it,¡± I breath. Finally, I never have to see that stupid monster again. It took us four more attempts to kill the Desert Spearman with no casualties, but we did it in the end. ¡°Congratulations,¡± Galea says, appearing in the air over my bed. ¡°Mistress Charlene has completed her first real challenge from Ms. Willian. The happiness you feel now must be truly overwhelming.¡± ¡°I feel like the hounds were a challenge,¡± I say, staring up at the hovering spirit. She lazily flies a circle over my head, staring down at me in turn. ¡°This was big though. I still have a way to go, but today was important. Now, I need to focus on getting stronger for the real contest.¡± ¡°That is a good mindset,¡± Galea says. ¡°As further good news, I have finally come to an understanding as how to fix Mistress Charlene¡¯s ring.¡± ¡°Fix my ring?¡± I sit up in bed, forcing to spirit to move and hover at my eye level. I look down at the wooden ring around my finger. ¡°There is nothing wrong with my ring.¡± ¡°It is inefficient,¡± Galea says. ¡°I don¡¯t even know what that means.¡± ¡°The construct governing its magic is of poor quality. If Mistress Charlene might allow, I can improve its operation considerably.¡± I look down at the ring. Wooden Ring of Storage(Rare): The wielder of a Ring of Storage is able to place and retrieve items from a space outside of reality. Items stored inside of the ring will not degrade or experience time. Cannot store living materials. Space Remaining: 57/60. ¡°You can make this even better?¡± I ask. ¡°Of course I can. I am a brilliant construct,¡± Galea says, puffing out her chest. I shrug at the spirit. ¡°Go for it then.¡± Galea dives into the ring like it were a pool almost too fast for me to track. I feel magic flow through the ring, heating my skin where it touches my finger, and the entire wooden band begins to glow red. Smoke rises as the ring sizzles. In the next instant, it is all over, the glow from the wooden band disappearing, leaving its surface charred and ash gray. Galea hovers into my vision from over my shoulder. ¡°A success, I think.¡± Ashen Ring of Integrated Storage(Very Rare): The remnant of a Ring of Storage that has been tempered by a fey spirit, this item allows for the storage and retrieval of items placed into a liminal space outside of reality. Items stored inside of the ring will not degrade or experience time. Cannot store living materials. Space Remaining: 87/90. ¡°You increased what it can store by half,¡± I say, shocked. ¡°I have done more than that,¡± Galea says. With a wave of the spirit¡¯s claw, a black, transparent black rectangle springs to life, suspended into the air in front of me. The floating message displays empty boxes, and the numbers in the top right(87/90) lets me know that the empty boxes represent the inventory of the ring. The first three boxes are filled with pictures representing what items I have still stored in the ring, and in the top left corner are a set of figures denoting the amount of money I have stored, none so far. The most incredible thing about it, my mana didn¡¯t drop a bit at having opened the message. I reach my hand forward, pulling a pear I have stored in the ring right out of the sign. My mana doesn¡¯t drop a bit. ¡°You took away the mana that the ring uses to store and retrieve things,¡± I say, looking at Galea, wide-eyed. ¡°I told you that the ring was inefficient,¡± Galea preens. I laugh, taking a bite from the pear, and let my head fall back onto my pillow. Staring up at the ceiling, I sigh, the sweetness of the fruit in my mouth only helping the sense of satisfaction the day has begun. ¡°It might ruin the understated look that Arabella wanted, but I can¡¯t really bring myself to care just now.¡± I look over at Galea. ¡°Thank you for that. Truly.¡± ¡°You are quite welcome,¡± Galea says, looking at her claws. "What are these called anyway?" I ask Galea, gesturing at the floating rectangle in front of me. "I have been calling them messages in my head but...well, this one isn''t really a message is it?" Galea shrugs, "Call them whatever you like, Mistress Charlene. I think that some call them signs, signposts, windows, or boards." "I see, windows because you can still see through them," I say, putting the "window" between Galea and myself, looking at her through the black, transparent sign. "I don''t believe that is the reason, Mistress Charlene," Galea says. "I''ll call them that then," I say, ignoring the dragon. I don''t really care why people call them whatever they do, just need a name. ¡°Today has been¡­the best one in a long time.¡± ¡°Even better than the day you met me and received your essentia?¡± Galea asks. ¡°That feels so long ago. It has only been a few weeks. Maybe not better than that. Still, it¡¯s been good.¡± ¡°So, what will you do now Mistress Charlene?¡± the dragon asks. I sit up in bed again, taking another bite of my pear before breathing a long exhale. ¡°First, I am going to take a long and well-deserved bath. Then, I am going to get back to work. There are only a few weeks left until this competition begins. This competition is supposed to be for geniuses. I¡¯ll have to work my ass off to compete with them.¡± ¡°Will going straight into exercise not ruin the effects of your bath?¡± Galea asks. ¡°Then I guess I¡¯ll have to take two.¡± Chapter 19 - Commencement The clouds are gone from beneath us. The flying mansion twists in the air thousands of feet above the surface, the lazy spinning revolution showing two mountain ridges on either side of us rising to break through the clouds above. The chill of the wind bites into my uncovered face, the cold up here greater than anything I have ever known. Inside the heavy coat I wear, I rub my gloved hands together to stay warm. The misery I feel toward the cold is reflected on the faces of the elves that stand out on the rocky drive in front of the house with me. Neither Macille or Kendon wear their armor, a rarity for the two; the frost will chill it to their skin in a few minutes if they don it. Arabella Willian stands at the edge of the drive wearing a summer dress, unbothered by the cold, looking far down into the distance toward the ground. I have pieced together that her abilities deal with the cold in some way, or perhaps at the higher ranks this level of cold is something anyone can shrug off. I haven¡¯t built up the courage yet to stand on the edge and look down, but I know that we have arrived at our destination. In the distance, a sailing ship that looks to be made of ivory descends from the clouds and continues down toward the ground past us. A human man arrives in the air, floating up from beneath the flying mansion, landing on the soft grass near the edge of the platform. No, the grass does not bend when he lands on it. His feet stand on the tips of the grass without pressing down upon it. He wears a heavy coat of fur and leather, and a woolen cap covers his brown hair as he puffs mist into the air, turning toward Arabella. Kellis Voy (Rank Three) Zephyr Conflux ¡°Kellis!¡± Arabella says, bringing the man in for a quick hug before standing back and smiling at him. ¡°It has been so long since I last saw you. Rank three, quite the achievement. Will you be participating?¡± ¡°Just for logistics,¡± Kellis says. He turns his brown eyes toward the five of us standing up the drive in line. ¡°You know that¡¯s not what I meant, you silly boy.¡± Arabella laughs behind her hand. ¡°I know what you meant.¡± The man¡¯s eyes stop on me for a moment, and I feel some kind of power wash over me that even my Dragon¡¯s Eye cannot perceive. ¡°Your landing station hasn¡¯t been established yet.¡± ¡°I notified Gore three days ago that I would be arriving soon,¡± Arabella says. ¡°He said that he didn¡¯t know how large of a space you would need until you arrived. He asks that you wait for a moment longer as he has one of his students dig out a hole for your flying house.¡± Arabella rolls her eyes. ¡°He knows the dimensions of this manor.¡± ¡°I apologize,¡± Kellis says. She waves her hand at the man, dismissing him, and with a bow he backs away, falling off the platform toward the ground below without concern. I see annoyance flash over Arabella¡¯s face for a mere second before she turns back toward us with a new mask of pleasant amusement. ¡°It seems that we will all have to suffer in this uncomfortable chill a while longer. Blame the event organizer.¡± Despite her words, her breath does not fog in the air the same way all of ours do. I look down the line of the group. Kellen and Macille wear identical leather armor, black, trimmed with golden string and pearl buckles, over their heavy woolen clothing. The wool underclothing is finer and more expensive than anything I have ever worn before, deep scarlet in color. In front of them, their steel armor is bound into a bundle along with their weapons and pack supplies. Jor¡¯Mari lounges in a patio chair just past them, wearing the same loose-fitting robes he was dressed in the first time that I met him, rose-colored silk embroidered with green flowers and thorns. The man is obviously suffering, his full lips tinged blue at their edges and the red of cold infecting the skin of his neck and hands. Despite it, he keeps his jaw clenched tight to stop his teeth from chattering. Coriander Mel¡¯Draven stands at the end of the line, the hare coat she wears over tight traveling clothes putting mine to shame. Like Macille and Kendon''s clothes, though her clothing is only for travel, I would expect to see it going for a dozen gold or so in some big city store. All the buttons of her form-fitting, azure blouse are made of silver, the family crest of the Mel¡¯Dravens, a diving hawk, is embroidered in amethyst string on her chest. Her pants are of the same impossibly expensive material, and her boots, adorned with real gold, likely cost as much as all the possessions I own put together. Of all of us, she seems to be the least bothered by the spiteful cold. Next to her, my simple leather gloves, boots, and woolen clothes are uncomfortably common. Coriander catches me looking her way, and her sneer forces me to turn away. ¡°I suppose that we shall prepare you here,¡± Arabella says, stopping in front of us. ¡°You are finally going to tell us what it is we will be doing?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks from his seat. ¡°No,¡± Arabella answers. She stares down at him for a moment, humming to herself. ¡°Get up.¡± ¡°Excuse me?¡± he says. ¡°Get up,¡± she commands. I see the shroud of Arabella¡¯s soul presence spring away from her skin, but she holds it back from washing over anyone. With a sigh, Jor¡¯Mari stands. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I have been waiting several weeks for this moment. I have envisioned it, the five of you standing here, before me, about to head off on the most exciting and dangerous part of your young lives, so far. In my vision of this moment, no one was lounging in a chair. It looks stupid.¡± I see Jor¡¯Mari clench his fists despite the wry smile he wears. ¡°If it--¡± ¡°Coriander,¡± Arabella says, turning away from him before he can speak. ¡°My first gift is for you, but it is a conditional gift.¡± ¡°What kind of condition?¡± Coriander asks, both women ignoring Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s fuming. ¡°In this upcoming competition, each participant is allowed a single magical item to enter with.¡± She turns and looks at Macille and Kendon. ¡°Armor and weapons are not allowed to be brought into the competition.¡± When the two brothers are about to announce their protest, Arabella holds up her hand to forestall them. ¡°Those are the rules. If such rules were not in place, then especially wealthy sponsors would be able to purchase their participant''s way to victory. The guild is not trying to measure the wealth of the participants, merely their capability and determination.¡± ¡°Does this limitation include my artifact?¡± Coriander asks, seemingly unbothered. ¡°It does not,¡± Arabella says. ¡°Items bonded onto the soul so completely are exempt. Each of you should take notice of this, as many of the competitors in this competition will have recourse to such powerful items. Not all, but likely most.¡± Coriander looks down at her embroidered gloves, frowning. ¡°All of my clothing is enchanted to some degree.¡± ¡°All of it?¡± ¡°No, not literally all of it.¡± Coriander looks back to Arabella. ¡°Most of it. What other stipulations are there about what we can bring into this competition.¡± ¡°Only the clothes on your backs. No supplies other than the single magic item you are allowed. Before you ask, each of your pieces of clothing will count as separate magic items. Choose wisely what you wish to bring.¡± Coriander tsks. ¡°You said you had a gift for me?¡± Arabella raises her hand, and a circlet of woven gold appears in the air just above her fingers before falling, hooked on the nail of her middle finger. I see the glimmer of heat haze rising off of the circlet. Squinting, the ripple in the air losses its transparency, turning almost white. A message window appears above the circlet. Crown of Glorious Light(Very Rare): This crown, when donned, empowers the bearer with the light of the dead sun Solinus, greatly empowering light-based magics. Enhancements: +10% Efficacy of Light Magic, +20 Magic When Arabella begins to describe the aspects of the crown to Coriander, it occurs to me that no one else can see exactly what the magic item does, apart from Arabella that is. I have a feeling that she can do what I am doing at a glance and likely sees even more information about the item. With that in mind, I turn my eye on Coriander¡¯s clothing once again, a little shocked to see a soft green light emanating from her clothing as I look at it, almost as if she already has a soul presence. Cloak of Equilibrium(Uncommon): A cloak crafted with excellence and care by the artisan, Caleb Ghast. This cloak is endowed with magic to help the wearer feel comfort in even the harshest of climates and will allow the wearer to hold their breath for up to ten minutes without strain. Enhancement: Ignore the effects of extreme hot and cold environments Long-Journeyed Boots(Rare): Boots crafted by the extremely skilled artisan, Caleb Ghast, over a century ago. These boots were originally commissioned for Goram Mel¡¯Draven when he first set out on his journey to slay the abolith, Rathfaga, the creator hoping that they might help bring their lord back home safely. Enhancement: +10 Recovery, +10 Speed, +50 Stamina Mage¡¯s Resilient Attire(Rare): A set of clothing commissioned by Goram Mel¡¯Draven for his daughter Coriander Mel¡¯Draven from the artisan crafter Caleb Ghast. The crafter has poured the father¡¯s desire to protect his daughter into this work. Enhancement: +15 Defense, +15 Magic Defense I blink, but the color remains, shrouding Coriander as she taps her chin in indecision. The second that I relax my stare, the green color around her begins to fade back into the air, turning transparent, before even that all but vanishes. Coriander¡¯s eyes flick in my direction, and I try to find something on the far mountain to capture my attention. ¡°Galea,¡± I whisper in my mind. The small dragon emerges into the world, looking at me, puzzled. ¡°What might I do for you, Mistress Charlene?¡± ¡°Have I always been able to detect magical items just by looking for them?¡± I ask. ¡°Prior to your integration of the Eye of Volaash, I do not believe so.¡± I almost growl at the spirit. Galea laughs to herself as she flutters in the air. ¡°Did you not think that this would be useful information for me to have, knowing that I could do this?¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t you already know?¡± she asks. ¡°When I assisted Mistress Charlene in choosing her essentia, did I not manage to give you descriptions of those magical items as well as their rarity prior to you picking them up?¡± I huff, thankfully no one is paying attention to me at the moment. ¡°Fine. Since you can detect these things better than I can, let me know if you spot any magical items. It might be a useful thing for me to know.¡± ¡°As you wish, so shall I do.¡± Galea delivers an awkward bow, considering that she is floating in the air. I wave my hand to dismiss the fey spirit, perhaps copying Arabella¡¯s gesture from before just a tad. When I look back toward Coriander, where everyone is looking, I find that only a few seconds have passed and that the woman is still tapping her chin, considering. The elf woman doesn¡¯t look the least bit put off by being the center of everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°What would you suggest?¡± Coriander asks Arabella after she has thoroughly taken her time thinking. ¡°To be asked for advice,¡± Arabella says, putting her hand to her chest, ¡°how flattering. In my opinion, the circlet will be the most superior item for you. What you have already is quite good, especially for a rank one, but the circlet will be the greatest boon.¡± Coriander blows air through her nose and nods to Arabella, accepting the offered circlet. ¡°Then this is what I shall bring.¡± ¡°Be sure that you are thorough in leaving all other enchanted equipment behind when you set out. People will be watching, and you do not want to be discovered cheating so early in the competition.¡± ¡°I would not debase myself to cheat,¡± Coriander says, raising her chin. ¡°I will excel on my own merits, as is befitting one of my breeding.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Arabella says, shifting her eyes to Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°Your turn.¡± ¡°You have something shiny for me?¡± he asks, still clearly a bit peeved from being reprimanded earlier. ¡°Not shiny.¡± Arabella rolls her fingers, and a jar appears in her hand, hundreds of tiny, blue beads inside. It occurs to me¨Cnot for the first time¨Cthat she must have some kind of storage item. I strain my vision again, but I see nothing standing out on her person other than the jar she holds in her hand. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. Somber Pills(Rare): Somber Pills, once imbibed, help the imbiber to enter a state of reflective meditation, calming the mind and assisting in the recovery of healing points, stamina, and mana. These pills are often used as training tools to assist young magicians in discovering a meditation technique. ¡°Oh, great,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, groaning. ¡°More pills. Have I ever told you how glad I am to have you as a mentor?¡± ¡°Not even once,¡± Arabella says. ¡°If you do not want the gift then you can always enter without anything.¡± She begins to pull her hand back, but, fast as lightning, Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s hand lashes out and steals away the jar. ¡°Even after I asked for something else, specifically,¡± he grumbles. ¡°I told you that I would consider it. I did.¡± Jor¡¯Mari shakes his head as Arabella turns her attention to the brothers. She is about to open her mouth to continue the giving ceremony, when Kendon holds up his hand to forestall her. ¡°My brother and I already have our chosen items,¡± he says, motioning to the items laid out on the ground in front of him. Looking down at the bundles of steel, leather straps, and provisions once again, two windows appear in my vision. Shield of Esfelle(Rare): This shield, passed down for three generations among the family of Esfelle, is crafted from Dwarven Pearlsteel and is nigh unbreakable to all but the most powerful of foes. The nature of Pearlsteel allows for the shield to be wielded with unnatural grace, its slight weight barely an impediment. Hammer of Esfelle(Very Rare): This hammer, discovered in dwarven ruins by Henriette Esfelle, bears on it the remnants of a long-purged curse. The lingering effects of the curse cause blows from the weapon to inflict even greater wounds while siphoning healing points from their victim to heal the wounds of the wielder. Enhancement: +10% Physical Damage ¡°I thought that you might,¡± Arabella says. ¡°Still, I prepared alternatives for you if you would like to see them.¡± ¡°That¡¯s alright,¡± Macille says. ¡°Better not to be tempted.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s not very fun,¡± Arabella says. She sighs, finally turning to me. ¡°For my last pupil, I have something interesting for you.¡± Arabella rolls her hand, producing a simple, leather pouch that looks like it might clip onto a belt. I notice the distinct lack of a message window appearing above the bag. ¡°This is a storage bag,¡± Arabella says. Out of the side of my vision, I see Kendon¡¯s eyes widen. ¡°The ability to carry many things without being weighed down by them will prove invaluable in the upcoming competition.¡± I gently take the bag from Arabella as she offers it. I don¡¯t know what possesses me, but I pop the clip off the top and dip my hand inside. When I pull it out again, I am holding a book that I have taken out of my ring¡¯s inventory. I look at Arabella, hoping that my surprise at the sudden magic before me is believable. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say.¡± Arabella giggles and shakes her head. ¡°You are very welcome.¡± ¡°I thought that you said we could not bring anything into the competition,¡± Coriander says from the other end of the line. ¡°I hope that Ms. Devardem was not planning on smuggling anything inside.¡± ¡°The book was for demonstration purposes only,¡± Arabella says with a calming gesture toward the elf. She looks back at me, her face not as serious as her words. ¡°If one of the proctors caught you with items from the outside then there would be quite a lot of trouble.¡± No one misses the emphasis in her words. ¡°I will make sure not to be caught with anything then,¡± I say, working at buttoning the bag to my hip. Arabella nods, stepping away from us a few feet to take in the look of all of us. ¡°Yes, I think that you are prepared.¡± She points two fingers and Kendon and Macille. ¡°Strip.¡± ¡°Pardon?¡± Kendon says. ¡°Did I not just inform you that outside items such as armor were not allowed. Remove your armor.¡± She then points at Coriander. ¡°You, you shall need to change your wardrobe completely. Do not attempt to conceal any magical equipment, I will know.¡± ¡°The indignity,¡± Coriander mutters, turning and walking back into the manor to find a change of clothes. Kendon sighs as he picks up all of this metal armor and provisions alongside his brother, the two also returning into the manor to change their outfits. I am left standing with Jor¡¯Mari as Arabella returns to her position at the edge of the level ground to peer over. I look at the man, finding him sitting in his chair once again. He wiggles his eyebrows at me and licks his lips. I take a big step away from him as a shudder runs through me, once again looking for something on the far horizon to occupy me. The shaking of the mass of earth I stand on nearly knocks me over. I see Arabella there, at the edge, where the driveway meets the sky, holding her hands high as her aura of winter blue spreads out around her. As fast as lightning, it races past me into the manor, seeping into every corner of the flying island we inhabit. The beams in the manor behind me groan as I see a massive weight settle onto Arabella¡¯s shoulders. She breathes through her teeth, and a sensation of weightlessness begins to well up in my stomach. The island is descending. ¡°We aren¡¯t waiting for the others to come back out?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks, once again in his chair. ¡°No need,¡± Arabella calls back to him, not a hint of strain in her voice. The slopes of the mountains to the east and west rise high as the island falls in a controlled spiral. Some of Arabella¡¯s ice clones exit the manor behind me and walk to the edges of the island, purple power sparking in their hands. Six minutes pass as the manor sinks toward the earth, and by the time that it is done, the ranges of mountains on either side make me feel as if I am now in a cage. The unbroken ridgelines of the mountains rise to the clouds like the walls of a prison, a vast forest running off into the horizon just in front of me. Other vehicles, sailing ships made of metal, pearlescent platforms upon which cottages sit, mansions similar, and some even larger, than the one we arrived on, sit in an open area that stretches toward the trees to the north. The trees of the forest stretch higher than any I have seen in my life, three-hundred feet at least, with gaps that entire caravans could drive through. In the shadows of the high canopy, only the shaking of branches gives away that anything might be lurking within, studying the strange gathering of flying machines and magical conveyance that scatter hundreds of individuals out upon the open prairie in front of the giant forest. Directly behind the manor that continues to descend, falling into a hole perfectly cut into the earth for it to rest, rises a man-made wall of stone a thousand feet high. Built into the wall of gray, unadorned, granite, rises an entire city of stone buildings that climb the side of the wall like ivy. The buildings mesh into the substance of the huge wall that bridges the two mountain ranges as if they had been grown upon its flat surface rather than built. Grander than any structure I have ever seen, even the wall¨Cthe construction of which is impossible to fathom¨Cthere rests a single castle of quartz that sparkles in the sunlight. The castle is made of seventy or more towers thrusting toward the sky like spears, the reflection on the tips of their spires so bright that it is impossible to stare at for long. The keep of the castle is of a darker stone, orange, but one that catches the light even better than the strange quartz of the rest. Set into the front of the keep are a set of doors I know I will never forget. Twin slabs of gold sit open, soaring a hundred feet or more up the side of the keep, a web of storytelling so intricate engraved on their surface that I cannot begin to understand it. The top two-thirds of the doors stand bare, the loose scaffolding that rises on either side of the huge doors giving away that the story may be added to at any moment. I hear the clicking of heels behind me in the same instant I feel the manor settle into its final position. I turn and see Arabella striding toward Jor¡¯Mari and I, an infectious smile on her lips as she stares at the castle in the distance. ¡°Home at last,¡± she says. ¡°Where exactly is home?¡± I ask. I look back toward the castle and notice only now that we have come to a stop at ground level that a second wall of marble stands in front of the castle, only a story or two high, but also running off toward the mountains in the east and west. ¡°This is the city of Grim,¡± Arabella tells me. ¡°The home of the Willian Guild.¡± ¡°It¡¯s massive,¡± I hear Jor¡¯Mari whisper from next to me. I manage to tear my eyes away from the spectacle of the vertical city climbing up the side of the impossible wall of stone before us to see the man with awe stricken across his face. I had thought the same when first seeing it. The falling sun on the other side of the wall casts a miles long shadow across not only us but even the forest to the north. Hearing the wonder in this man¡¯s voice¨Ca noble¡¯s voice¨Cmakes the structure seem all the more ludicrous. Settled now, the ground sturdy beneath my feet, I take time to count the hundreds of buildings that speckle the wall and notice the bridges and elevators of chain and stone that connect it all along with sloping streets. When I pick out the movement between the structures as people, I have to turn away, afraid that I might become too dizzy staring up at the climbing city of Grim. ¡°I thought you said you were from the desert,¡± I say to Arabella, turning to look at the towering trees that frame the north of the open side of the prairie Arabella has landed her manor in. As I look about, admiring the metallic ships especially much, I see people moving about us at a meandering speed, walking between the ships and the flying houses. Tents are still being erected throughout the prairie, tarps as large as some of the buildings in Westgrove, held up on wooden pillars as thick around as my brother Halford. I realize that we have landed on a parade ground of sorts. ¡°I am from the desert,¡± Arabella says. She does not turn her eyes from the city in the distance, leaving us looking opposite directions. ¡°Grim is where I live now, when I am not living in the manor at least. I will show you my estate if you manage to survive the contest.¡± Arabella points toward a cluster of buildings far up the side of the wall, near the top. ¡°I hope that I can at least survive,¡± I say. ¡°I am confident that you will,¡± she says. I pull up the window that displays my information. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 7)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 22 Strength: 11 Magic: 53 Defense: 18 Magic Defense: 15 Speed: 39 Recovery: 58 Perception: 12 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 220 Mana: 530 Stamina: 238 Over the past few weeks, I have managed to gain two additional levels from my daily training. There have been no further encounters with real monsters, though I have had a go at the Desert Spearman on my own once or twice. I am nowhere near strong enough to kill such a monster on my own yet. For the two levels that I have gained, all of my training has been intended to boost my Magic, Speed, and Recovery, and I have done the same with the free points that I managed to accumulate. Honestly, after having dedicated myself to it for the last six weeks, I have found a joy in running that I never expected to before. I still hate it sometimes, but other times it helps me block everything out and focus on the present. I am faster now than I ever dreamed before. Almost fast enough to keep up with the boys, almost. ¡°You landed the house while we were inside?¡± I hear Kendon complain as he comes hopping outside, taking a second to lace his boot every few steps. He is dressed in traveling clothes, wool for the chill that still pervades everything even though we are on the ground again and hard leather for his boots and gloves. When his brother emerges behind him a moment later, I see that they are once again matching in their attire, though Macille still carries his shield and Kendon his hammer. Kendon looks like he is about to launch another complaint when he freezes in place, seeing the city of Grim climbing up the side of the thousand-foot wall to the South. ¡°So, this is Grim,¡± Coriander says as she too emerges from the manor a few minutes later. My eye is unable to notice anything magical on her aside from the sparkling circlet that rests beautifully in her onyx hair. ¡°Now that you have gathered,¡± Arabella says, calling out to all of us. ¡°Let us get this underway.¡± Without another word, the woman turns and begins to march out past the line of grass that divides the end of the manor¡¯s front lawn from the wildness of the prairie. We follow. We are mostly ignored as we travel, almost all of the arrivals on the massive parade grounds moving in the same direction that we are, but I do not ignore everyone else. I see people all around us, rank ones the most common, but rank twos and threes interspersed between them, as well as some who my eye tells me no information about. The clang of activity and the smell of cooking food lashes out from inside of the tents still being put up. We pass one tent that smells of pies of different fruit flavors. I catch a glimpse of a long table where a hundred pastries sit, still warm and enticing inside. I am a little surprised to see so many humans passing by us as we walk. There are other peoples: elves, dwarves, lizardkin, eldari, and celenials, but there is a clear plurality of humankind among the rank ones that flood toward wherever our destination is. Even more surprising is that there are some titles of station above some of the human¡¯s heads: Knight, Lord, and even the son of an Earl. With an effort, I banish the reality of humans having noble privilege to the back of my mind for the moment, though it isn¡¯t easy. I will maybe need to ask one about it sometime later. No, if they truly are noble, then they would have little reason to speak with me. There are others more like me among the churning crowd, those without any grand station that might account for their presence here in this gathering of elite magicians, and this crowd is obviously elite. One woman, dressed in loose-hanging silks of orange and teal rushes past us on long legs the color of honey, a halo of gold floating along behind her head and giving off a pink light to my dragon¡¯s eye. Halo of Everlasting Glory(Artifact): This Halo, created by an ancient king whose name has been lost to antiquity gathers the light of the sun to empower and protect its bearer from harm. May the Halo¡¯s bearer reach towards the height of glory only captured by the elite few. Enhancement: +50 Magic, +25 Magic Defense Power: Call of the Chosen Radiant I am so boggled by the attribute bonuses that I see on the information window in front of me that I lose sight of the woman in the crowd before I can get her name. Luckily, the information window stays with me as we wind our way between the parked vehicles and still-rising tents. My mind races. That single item gives that woman a bonus to her magic attribute greater than my total points in the stat. Still staring at the window, it is hard to think of doing anything other than that, I notice that the Eye of Volaash is now able to discern if an item is an artifact or not, something I don¡¯t remember it doing when I first used it to identify the eye itself. I glance at the four companions around me that also follow along behind Arabella, remembering that each of them is in possession of an artifact as well, and as far as I am aware, I have never seen their artifacts. If theirs are as powerful as that woman¡¯s halo, how much do these people really outclass me? If that woman¡¯s artifact is so evidently powerful, how much power is in the Eye of Volaash that I still haven¡¯t realized how to utilize properly? Then again, just through recapturing the energy that I may have lost during soul reinforcement, the Eye of Volaash has allowed me to allocate sixty attribute points that I would have not been able to use until I reached rank two. From the small amount of information that I have learned about artifacts, they appear to be magical items bonded to the soul of an individual before they have fully integrated their essentia. I have never heard of a person having more than a single artifact, but I don¡¯t know of any reason they should be unable to. Artifacts grow in power alongside the power of the magician that wields them, becoming lifelong magical items that make up an important aspect of any given magician¡¯s power. My ruminations are cut off as the crowd in front of us narrows between two erect wooden barriers. On the other side of the barriers are seven risers that climb thirty feet into the air on any given side. A man sitting in one of the risers spots Arabella and leads us to a section away from the general mill of the people entering the obvious performance ground. The heat of the crowd slowly fades away as we sit in the risers, and I notice that Coriander is now having to deal with the unpleasantness of the pervading cold. The crowds continue to flood into the area, filling up the risers before having to content themselves with standing in the huge field that leads toward a stage sitting a dozen feet above the level ground. Men and women move back and forth along the stage, their movements fast, almost panicked, though they don¡¯t seem to be doing anything in particular. After an hour of the crowd filing in has passed, a boom that cracks the air bounds off the stage to silence the crowd. A woman, dwarven I think, though it is hard for me to tell at this distance¨Cwe are more than two-hundred feet from the stage¨Cwalks toward the middle of the wooden stage. The woman coughs into her hand. Others leave the wings, walking onto the stage and standing toward the front of it, though I cannot hear their words as they begin to speak alongside the dwarven woman in the middle of the stage. ¡°My name is Gaeth Moore,¡± the dwarven woman rasps as clearly if she were just in front of me. I realize as I watch each of the speakers¡¯ mouths move, that they are speaking different languages, though only the words of Gaeth Moore, speaking Castinian, are directed my way. ¡°It brings me great pain and frustration to announce that the Passage of Rising Tide must be delayed until tomorrow!¡± Chapter 20 - A Fateful Meeting A groan spreads out through the crowd, a cluster of swears muttered under the breath, and the general slouching of shoulders in disappointment. I find it interesting to watch the shift of the crowd, entirely different sections reacting to the news at their own intervals, the different speakers in the different languages somewhat staggered in relaying the news. The loudest groan I hear comes from Coriander as she sets her face in her hands. I peek toward Arabella and find her preening as the crowd¡¯s mood sours, staring up and watching the passing clouds with a grin. ¡°I, on behalf of the Willian Guild, apologize profusely for the delay,¡± the woman calling herself Gaeth Moore says. I turn back to look toward the stage. ¡°This delay, unavoidable, must still be a heavy blow for those of you who have been preparing for this day for so long, years in some cases. I will now lay out for you what you are to expect for tonight and tomorrow.¡± The woman continues to speak, but I find it difficult to listen to after a while. She announces what the different tents that are being set up around the parade ground will be hosting tonight, delineates where to go for different cuisines at the evening¡¯s meal¨Capparently there are people from very far away in attendance¨Cand where lodgings can be found among the tents if they are required. Looking from my seat on the risers, I can see more than twenty of the huge tents still being erected in the stretch of grassy plains around us. ¡°The Passage of Rising Tide will begin as the sun rises in the morning,¡± Gaeth says, bringing my attention back to her. ¡°At that time, the participants will need to be in attendance here at the stage to be given their initiation into the contest by the administrator. Make certain to have your affairs in order before then, you will not be returning for some time.¡± With her piece said, Gaeth takes a step back on the stage, waiting for the rest of the speakers to be finished with their own pronouncements before they all turn and leave together. The grumbling of the crowd continues, but the mention of delicious and free food has blunted the aggravation somewhat. I pop my neck as I stand, the chill in the air seeping in through my heavy clothes and tightening my joints. ¡°I could eat,¡± Kendon says, standing and tapping his brother on his shoulder. ¡°Sure,¡± Macille agrees. He leans on the steel railing that lines the edge of the risers and looks out on the expanse of magical vehicles and two-toned tents, red and gold. ¡°I have never even heard of half of those places she mentioned. The food could be something interesting to try.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not sure that eating something exotic the night before a big competition begins is the wisest move,¡± Kendon replies. ¡°No sense of adventure,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, standing and making his way toward the stairs. ¡°Is it not in the knight¡¯s mandate to expand one¡¯s horizons when possible. There are people here from continents away, and you would rather find a taste of home than intermingle.¡± ¡°I generally would,¡± Kendon says, his eyes tracking something in the crowd below. ¡°Though, there may be some things exotic that are worth trying.¡± I roll my eyes, readying to stand and make my own way off the risers, but Coriander just about pushes me down to get up first. ¡°I am returning to the manor,¡± she says before I can even think to get angry at her blatant rudeness. ¡°I wasted so much time today already.¡± Without another word she marches down the steel stairway of the risers, slipping into the crowd. ¡°She has a poor attitude,¡± Jor¡¯Mari quips to himself. He looks at the two elf brothers. ¡°Staying to known fields?¡± ¡°I might explore some,¡± Macille says. ¡°No harm in it.¡± He looks at me, but before he can ask, I shake my head. ¡°I¡¯ll explore on my own,¡± I tell him. ¡°That might not be safe,¡± he says. ¡°We do not know these people.¡± He gestures to the crowd clearing out of the space in front of the stage. ¡°Thank you for the consideration,¡± I say. I give him a smile and am glad when he returns it. ¡°However, I will still be going alone. I¡¯ve been cooped up in that house for so long, time to stretch my legs and enjoy my own company for a little while.¡± Macille¡¯s smile falters at my words, but Kendon hooks an arm around his neck before the mood can take him. ¡°I guess the men are on their own today,¡± he says into Macille¡¯s ear. ¡°Same as it ever was.¡± ¡°Do enjoy yourselves,¡± Arabella says, moving toward the stairway. Her soul presence spreads away from her as she walks, and I watch as it subtly guides people away from her, giving her plenty of room to be comfortable. ¡°Do not squander this temporary reprieve. Tomorrow, I imagine that it will be far more exciting, dangerous too.¡± Me and the boys spend a while standing on the risers, watching the crowd as it continues to pass below us. I watch Kendon and Jor¡¯Mari throw verbal barbs back and forth at one another, though the bite seems to have been taken out of the words. Over the past few weeks, the two have found their mutual distaste turn into something more like a real rivalry. I can appreciate that. I¡¯m still not sure what I can do to make Coriander stop hating me as much as she evidently does. I wait for the three of them to head off toward some tent they believed would have a lot of spiced meat inside. I cannot wait for everyone to leave the field, people stand and speak with one another here and there, but once I feel like no one will be paying special attention to me, I head down, away from the direction most others went. For the whole while we were on the risers, I could not stop looking at the forest that loomed in front of me like buildings. After ten minutes, when I have reached the furthest tent set up nearest the forest, I see that I am not alone in my thinking. About twenty others loiter on the far side of the tent facing the trees, looking up at the trees that shoots three-hundred feet or more toward the sky. A quick scan confirms that they are all first ranks like me, fourteen humans, two dwarven men that look to be brothers, an elven woman, and a Hartfolk man who bleeds a green light off the cracks in his skin where Mr. Mason would red. A few more continue toward the tent where we have gathered, but I ignore them for the most part. Ahead of us¨Cthe edge of the tree line is only fifty feet or so now¨Ca human man stands with arms crossed over his broad chest. Two wings of dark feathers sprout from the man¡¯s back. He eats the leg of roast bird while leaning on the pommel of a huge hammer as he stares back at the forming group. Kendrik Mance Earthshaker Conflux(Rank Three) A man, nineteen or so, breaks away from the milling crowd of rank ones hanging back toward the edge of the parade area, walking straight toward the rank three man. The clothing he wears is fine, blue leather, but looks well-worn and used. He carries on his hip what I might have mistaken for a wand if it weren¡¯t for the fact that the cylinder of wood was nearly three and a half feet long. A tension falls over this makeshift group as he walks, but the rank three merely looks the man over as he approaches. When the rank one in blue passes by the rank three, the winged man with the hammer making no move to stop him, he turns and looks back at the rest of us milling about near the tent, signing a salute before he runs off into the forest. Galea appears next to me as the group of young rank ones around me all seem to break into a run at once, racing into the forest behind the rank three guardian. ¡°Far be it for me to ask,¡± Galea says as I start to walk. ¡°Why would you wish to head into the forest Mistress Charlene?¡± ¡°Something that Gaeth Moore said,¡± I reply to the dragon in my head. ¡°She said that we needed to prepare ourselves since we wouldn¡¯t be returning for some time.¡± I nod toward the looming forest, though I doubt the dragon needs me to do so. ¡°I am willing to bet that the place we won¡¯t be returning from is there.¡± Even I know that it is only a guess. For all I know, as soon as whatever initiation that happens tomorrow is over, we might all pack onto the flying vehicles that brought us to this place and head somewhere else. Maybe we will all be led into the city of Grim for whatever competition is planned, or there could even be a huge cave nearby that will be used. Perhaps there is some other wild thing planned that I can¡¯t even begin to guess. There probably is, but I can¡¯t plan for what I can¡¯t know. Besides, what would be the point of bringing hundreds of talented rank ones(and me) to this huge forest with mountains and giant stone walls cutting us off on all sides if they weren¡¯t going to use the forest? ¡°Ah,¡± Galea says, floating along next to me. ¡°So, you wish to go into the forest to get a head start on the competition.¡± ¡°Something like that,¡± I reply. I make it up to the huge man Volaash¡¯s Eye tells me is named Kendrik and nod to the man. He swallows the piece of meat that he is eating and meets my eye. The other rank ones that seemed to have come to the same conclusion as I did have long since entered the forest. ¡°Anything I should know?¡± I ask Kendrik. ¡°About what in particular,¡± he says. ¡°Can you tell me anything about what is in the forest?¡± ¡°Monster,¡± he says. He smiles at me and takes another bite. ¡°Loads of ¡®em.¡± I look at the wall of trees that cuts a perfect line across the prairie, stretching toward the mountain ranges in the East and West. It looks as if it is already nighttime inside of the forest despite it still not even being noon out where I stand. ¡°Anything else?¡± ¡°Be back in the morning for the initiation,¡± he says. ¡°Don¡¯t make me have to go pull you out in the night. I might get so annoyed that you end up missing the initiation. Wouldn¡¯t want that now, would we?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°I will make certain to return.¡± He shrugs and turns back to studying the rows of tents stretching out in front of him. ¡°Don¡¯t die before we even really begin. It would reflect poorly on your sponsor.¡± I nod to the man and roll the stiffness out of my shoulders. After a deep inhale, I set off at a sprint toward the tree line, knowing that I only have a few hours to explore anything before I need to return. However cold I thought it was outside of the forest fails to compare to how cold it is inside. The chill of nighttime invades me as soon as I have made it into the shade cast by the impossibly tall trees, and a hundred feet past the tree line, snow begins to speckle the ground here and there. I focus on my dragonfire, building a Dragonfire Bolt in my right hand to warm myself. It only takes me about twenty-five seconds to over channel the ability now. I stop my running after a few minutes, looking up into the canopy overhead, squinting. I had thought that there would be monsters everywhere in the forest. I had thought that I even spotted some of them, shadowed, when we first arrived, but I have been in the forest now for more than ten minutes and nothing has come jumping out of the woods. Everyone else that ran into the woods is gone now as well. I can¡¯t even find a footprint left in the crunched snow to mark that anyone else is in here other than myself. The silence of the forest presses down on me, broken intermittently by the sound of creaking branches far overhead. I begin to wonder what exactly it is that I am doing here when movement, just the barest thing, catches my eye. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. It is impossible to see clearly, a shadow shifting more than a hundred feet up the side of one of the trees nearest me. I focus on the wavering branch, trying to make out any detail about the dark figure laying atop of it. A window appears above the shadow. Alpha Climbing Python ¡°How can you tell what it is?¡± I ask, keeping my eye on the shadow. Galea appears next to me, also staring up at the spot high in the tree above. ¡°You are the one whose eye it is that I live inside of.¡± ¡°Then, how can I tell what it is?¡± I ask. ¡°You perceive it; the Eye of Volaash understands it. The process is simple, yet infinitely complex. Thus, Mistress Charlene requires such a sophisticated spirit like myself in order to operate it properly. How lucky Mistress Charlene is that I am around.¡± ¡°Well, that was a great non-answer,¡± I tell her. ¡°Thank you.¡± I don¡¯t even bother to sigh as I take a few steps to the side to get a better sight of the monster up in the tree. My eye said that it is a monster anyway. I am willing to trust it. I swing my arm in an arc, hurling the Dragonfire Bolt in my hand up at the tree like a missile. There is a shift of motion as the ball of fire soars up at the tree branch where I aimed, but the monster only has a second to react. It fails to do so. I¡¯ve heard before that snakes don¡¯t do so well in the cold, that they get slow and lazy when they don¡¯t have the sun to warm them up. The python barely manages to shift on the branch before my fire explodes around it, rocking the branch, cracking the air and silence in the forest. The python hisses as it falls out of the tree, only taking a second or two to crack on the ground about ten feet away from me, spraying a splash of blood through the thin snow that lines the forest floor. I feel the fall in my bones and stare down at the corpse of the monster with a strange mix of anxiety and triumph. Galea flies in front of me, carrying a message window for me to look at. You have defeated Alpha Climbing Python I read the message a few times more, feeling a bit let down by how easy it had been. This was supposed to be a rank one monster after all. The disappointment only lasts a split second. I have just killed a rank one monster, and it took me only a few seconds, maybe a minute if you include the time to over channel my ability. I toss another uncharged bolt into the corpse just to make sure that it is dead before walking over and prodding it with the toe of my boot. The snake is more than ten feet long, black scales on top with a mix of green and beige on its belly. I lean down to look the monster in the eye, noting that it looks an awful lot like the Alpha Boiling Python that Halford killed a few months ago. Remembering that day, how I had almost let one of the lesser monsters drown and strangle me, a shudder runs down my spine. ¡°I¡¯ve come pretty far,¡± I say to myself. ¡°You certainly have Mistress Charlene. Though, I believe that the fall did most of the work,¡± Galea adds. ¡°Thanks.¡± She isn¡¯t wrong. I can see the spot where my big Dragonfire Bolt hit the snake, a scorch mark about halfway down its side. It doesn¡¯t appear that I even managed to hit the monster head-on, just close enough that the explosion blew it out of the tree. ¡°Seems like a bad idea to climb so high up the tree when falling will kill you,¡± I say, looking down at the monster. I rake my fingernails lightly along its dark scales, activating my Disenchantment ability. The monster disappears into pink, sparkling smoke, but instead of condensing together as it usually does, the smoke disappears into the air. A message window appears just in front of me. 16.2lbs. of Alpha Climbing Python meat has been added to inventory 40lbs. of Alpha Climbing Python scales has been added to inventory. Alpha Climbing Python fang has been added to inventory. 3 silver has been added to inventory. 16 copper has been added to inventory. It only takes me a split second to open the window that displays the inventory granted to me by my magic ring. I find some more of the empty boxes have been filled, little pictures of the items inside of the boxes represent the new contents. I reach my hand into the box labeled as the python¡¯s fang, feeling my fingers touch the smooth texture of bone. I pull it out, turning the five-inch-long fang over in my hand. Alpha Climbing Python Fang(Uncommon) The fang of an Alpha Climbing Python. This creature, while not overly dangerous, was an alpha of its kind, and therefore was just beginning to influence itself with ambient mana. This fang carries trace remnants of Acid, Poison, and Strength mana. I could see the mana on the fang as well, the faintest of shimmering green and black that bled off it into the air. I twirl the fang a few times between my fingers, interested as to what it might be worth if I tried to sell it off. Something hammering into my back knocks my body into the snow and the air from my lungs. I cough, propping myself up on an elbow and roll over to look up at the trees overhead. Rock Tellemur Another monster sits fifty feet up in a nearby tree, peering down at me. It looks like an oversized monkey with four arms and two tails, its fur too dark to tell the color of in the low light. I see the shifting of a shadow as the monster hurls something at me. I spring backwards, rolling to my feet and jumping back out of the way as a rock the size of my head crashes down into the snow where I just was. A few weeks ago, the stone would have split my head open; I would have been unable to get out of the way. My speed isn¡¯t what it used to be, however. Galea is gone. I¡¯ve noticed that she often disappears once fighting starts. I can still see where the Rock Tellemur is despite it hiding in the shade of the trees overhead and start to over channel a Dragonfire Bolt as I run for cover behind the trunk of another huge tree. The trees here are so big that there is no less than twenty feet between them and so wide around that it takes me a good ten seconds to get behind it for cover. As I run I hear another rock crash into the snow behind me, but I don¡¯t pay it any mind. I feel my breathing picking up as the danger of the situation starts to settle on me. There is fear in the back of my head that tries to come to the fore. I don¡¯t allow it. Sure, this monkey is bigger than me, but compared to the Desert Spearman, it is a wimp. I hear the Rock Tellemur screech in frustration on the other side of the tree as I gather myself on the far side. It¡¯s been twenty seconds; my fire is nearly at its peak. I hear another rock thunk into the trunk of the tree I shelter against, sending a vibration through it. ¡°Not so smart then,¡± I say to myself. Focusing on calming my breathing, I try to listen for the monster. Everything I have been told about monsters leads me to believe that it will keep trying to kill me until it succeeds or dies. I allow myself to briefly wonder why monsters are so bloodthirsty before forcing my focus back to the fight. I scan the trees in front of me and to the side, seeing no message windows appearing that would call out the creature in hiding. Without the message window to warn me that there is a monster there, I am practically blind in this forest. The perpetual gloom of the forest has only deepened the longer that I have lingered here. In another hour or so it might as well be as dark as a moonless night. I feel the bark beneath my hand crunch as I press my free hand to its surface. Looking at the tree, I get an idea. It takes five minutes, but eventually I see the telltale sign of a message window pointing the monster out in the branches of the tree. The Rock Tellemur has circled the long way around, coming in my direction from the front rather than from the sides as I expected. The huge branches of the trees rustle as the monkey-like monster jumps between the leaves, quiet as a mouse, barely giving away anything of its passage. The tellemur takes its time as it winds its way to where it suspects I will be, but when it finally reaches the tree nearest to mine, it finds the snow beneath the tree vacant of easy prey. My Dragonfire Bolt collides with the back of the monster, the explosion that comes just after the collision blowing one of its arms off as the tellemur tumbles from the tree it was perching on. I smile, hidden away in a branch of my own, a considerable distance up the side of the tree that I had been hiding against. My guess had been spot on, the monster seemed to like hanging around at the fifty-foot mark up the sides of the trees. I just needed to climb a bit higher than that. I dig the nails of my free hand into the back of the tree branch I perch on, already building up the charge on another Dragonfire Bolt as I look down at the monster in the snow. My boots shake from the strain of holding this crouch behind a few leafy sprigs on the branch for ten minutes, not daring to move an inch. My whole body groans at me with the ache of it, but it seems that the gambit paid off. Down below, I see the Rock Tellemur shift in the snow, trying to pick itself up. Its limbs move strangely, uncoordinated; it probably hurt its head in the fall. I give my dragonfire ten seconds of charge before I throw it down onto the back of the monster again, setting the tellemur on fire, listening to it scream for a moment from my own perch seventy feet up in my tree. You have defeated Rock Tellemur THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! ¡°Something to look forward to in the morning,¡± I say. I find climbing down the tree to be far harder than climbing up it in the first place. It doesn¡¯t help that I am constantly aware of just how dead I will be if I slip and fall out of the tree from so high up. At least, I assume that the fall will kill me. Maybe it won¡¯t anymore. The tellemur is still smoldering by the time that I make it over to the body. I nudge the corpse with my boot, not wanting to touch it with my hand. 2 silver has been added to inventory 22 copper has been added to inventory ¡°Just money?¡± I open my inventory to check, but yes, my disenchantment did only produce money this time. It feels a bit of a letdown after killing the monster had just pushed me over the threshold for soul reinforcement, but I don¡¯t let myself dwell on it for long. Making my way back to where I initially killed the python, I scan the trees for a long moment to try and make certain that no other monsters have crept up on me while I was dealing with the tellemur, none have. I rub some warmth back into my hands and jump a few times to get my legs warmed up before I take off at a sprint in the direction that I originally intended. The wind chills my face as I run, but I don¡¯t let it bother me too much, summoning more dragonfire to keep myself warm. After running for twenty minutes or so, I finally see something different from the endless trees as light cuts through the dark of the forest. I come to a stop at the edge of a new tree line, though this one is far different from the parade grounds that I left before. The snow-covered landscape rises out in front of me, an open expanse of snow stretching out for half a mile in a continual rise before changing back into a forest. Looking to the east and west, I don¡¯t find that the clearing goes on forever, but it may as well. Throughout the clearing around me I spot patches of red in the snow, the fallen bodies of soldiers clad in metal armor and mages laying mostly buried beneath the white. Flags from armies I don¡¯t recognize stand planted in the snow, rising ten or more feet into the air, flickering in the cold wind that wanders through the dead battlefield. I take a step forward, my foot crunching into the snow. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t go out there,¡± a voice calls to me from my left. I freeze, spinning to find a man standing at the edge of the forest not twenty feet away from me, leaning against one of the massive trees. It is the same man that I saw first enter the forest a few hours ago. He wears a blue leather jacket over warm woolen clothing. I notice that the strange wooden rod he had on his hip before is out in his hand, the tip of it glowing a soft blue that leaves smoke behind in the air as he waves it lazily in front of himself. He points up the sloping snow toward a point on the battlefield that I hadn¡¯t noticed before. What appears to be a set of armor paces back and forth as slow as molasses, dragging behind it a sword as long as the ones that I had seen Halford create with his ability. Armor of Forgotten Dead ¡°Thanks for the warning,¡± I say to the man, taking a step back toward the trees. As far as I can tell, the patrolling suit of armor hasn¡¯t noticed the two of us here at the edge of the forest. ¡°Merely paying a kindness forward,¡± he says. ¡°I was honestly surprised that so many others caught on to them lying about the competition being delayed.¡± The man gazes at me with the coldest blue eyes I have ever seen, the fray of his blonde hair kicking in the air behind him from the winter wind. ¡°Why would they have tents and food waiting for everyone when they didn¡¯t plan on all of us having to wait another day to start the competition,¡± I say, coming to understand the thought of it only as I say it. I hope that he can¡¯t hear the uncertainness in my voice. ¡°Today and tonight are also part of the competition.¡± ¡°The Passage of Rising Tide involves hundreds of participants. If the events are going to be as open as I predict, then there must be a certain kind of social element to the proceedings,¡± he says. ¡°Making alliances,¡± I say, nodding. ¡°It makes sense.¡± ¡°With that understanding,¡± the man puts his weapon back into the loop of his belt and takes a few steps in my direction, ¡°I believe that I might introduce myself. Hello, my name is Dovik Willian, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.¡± Dovik Willian(Rank One), Son of Grandmaster Harrilis Willian Immortal Conflux Chapter 21 - Day One ¡°My name is Charlene Devardem,¡± I reply to Dovik, taking a step forward and shaking the man¡¯s outstretched hand. He doesn¡¯t try to control the handshake or show off how strong and masculine he is by pressing down on my own hand, a good sign. ¡°I know that name,¡± he says once he has let me hand go. ¡°You are one of Arabella¡¯s students, aren¡¯t you.¡± ¡°I am,¡± I confirm. ¡°How do you know something like that?¡± ¡°Arabella is my niece,¡± he says. Then, seeing the look I give him, holds up his hand to clarify. ¡°My dad is really old.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± I say. ¡°Did she tell you about me or something?¡± ¡°No. Arabella keeps information to herself from what I can tell. I¡¯ve only met the woman a few times before. The rest of the family, you can be certain that they were interested. Many of them are not so guarded with what they find out.¡± ¡°Great,¡± I sigh. I¡¯m still not certain how this will affect me, but I can¡¯t think of any positive ways. ¡°That makes you part of the Willian clan. The same Willian clan that is hosting and recruiting for this competition that I am going to be entering. The same Willian clan that I assume is the controller of that massive wall city we landed the flying house near.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that we control Grim,¡± Dovik says, scratching his nose. ¡°We guarantee its protection, but none of my family hold any official positions of title, nobility, or land.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°How did we get on this?¡± Dovik mutters to himself. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± he says more brightly. ¡°Political things.¡± ¡°You seem to be informed about political things,¡± I say. ¡°Add to that, that you claim to be Arabella¡¯s uncle, which must mean that your father is pretty high up in the clan.¡± The Eye of Volaash tells me directly that the man in front of me is the son of Grandmaster Harrilis Willian. I¡¯m not certain what kind of position Grandmaster is. It could even be the head of the guild itself for all I know. It seems like this man might be a good person to know. ¡°I try to stay informed,¡± he says. ¡°Then you might already know that I am just some up jumped country girl out on her own in the world for the first time. I doubt that I have too much to offer someone like you. Seeing Grim today was the first time that I have even seen a city.¡± ¡°You have an interesting look,¡± he says. I shake my head, surprised. ¡°Excuse me?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry about it,¡± he goes on, waving his hand. ¡°You¡¯ve never seen a city, and I have never seen the country. Well, as long as you don¡¯t count this as the country.¡± He waves around to the snowy slope that leads away from the trees. ¡°You must know all about this competition,¡± I say. I keep my eye on the patrolling animated armor and the huge sword that it drags along behind it. ¡°It¡¯s not some kind of great secret.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Talking about it is just generally discouraged. Most of the people that go through the passage don¡¯t speak about it much. It¡¯s traumatic for them or something.¡± ¡°Traumatic!¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry too much about it.¡± He points back toward the forest, the way to Grim. ¡°We start there,¡± he moves his hand and points back up the slope, ¡°and we have to get all the way across in a certain amount of time.¡± ¡°You are fond of telling me not to worry about things,¡± I say, looking after where he is pointing. ¡°Arabella made it seem like the competition was a secret.¡± ¡°Whoever is the administrator this time around will explain everything tomorrow morning at the initiation. I don¡¯t see much harm in letting the word out a little early.¡± I hum to myself, looking up the slope, past the snowy battlefield, out toward where the trees begin again. ¡°How far is it?¡± I ask. ¡°Exactly.¡± ¡°That, I don¡¯t know. Before we get too far into the summer. It¡¯s still the middle of winter now, so we have plenty of time until then. I¡¯m certain that an attribute specialist like you will be able to handle it.¡± ¡°It¡¯s Spring,¡± I correct. It isn¡¯t until a few hours later that I pick up on what else he said, that he noticed I was an attribute specialist somehow. My eye tells me that he is one, the first one that I have ever spoken with, outside of Halford. Thinking about my brother while looking at Dovik fills me with a strange sense. I¡¯ve known my brother is strong for a long time, the strongest rank one that I could imagine. I¡¯ve seen him take down rank two magicians before in sparring and real combat without them being able to land a hit on him, even with the overwhelming advantage that possessing a soul presence allows. When I think about Halford and compare him to this man in front of me, I get the sinking suspicion that Dovik might be a monster in the same way that Halford is. ¡°No. It¡¯s Winter here,¡± Dovik says. ¡°You are a long ways away from home, farm girl. Not everywhere in the world experiences the same seasons at the same time.¡± I blush. It¡¯s the first time that I have ever heard of that. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°Oh indeed.¡± The smile he gives me is equal parts condescending and genuinely amused. ¡°Have you decided on what you are bringing into the competition yet?¡± ¡°Maybe I have,¡± I answer, unable to stop from fidgeting with the ring around my finger. ¡°I can guess what you will be bringing,¡± I say, nodding to the strange wooden pole that he has in a loop on his belt. ¡°This thing,¡± he pulls the pole out and waves it in the air, the tip glowing cerulean and leaving smoke behind in the air. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t go anywhere without Pokey.¡± ¡°Pokey?¡± Ashen Poker of the Umbral Dragon(Very Rare): A poker heated in the fires of an umbral dragon and one which still smolders with remnants of the flame long gone. The taint of the umbral dragon¡¯s corrosive magic still remains, causing attacks with this weapon to bypass the magical defenses of others, sometimes completely. Enhancement: +20 Vitality, +20 Strength, +20 Magic ¡°I use it to poke things,¡± he tells me with all seriousness. ¡°So,¡± I say, nodding up the slope toward the animated armor, ¡°give me a demonstration.¡± ¡°You must be out of your mind if you expect me to charge at that thing, farm girl,¡± he says, chuckling as he slides Pokey back into the loop on his belt. ¡°It¡¯s a bad matchup for me.¡± ¡°Even with the Immortal Conflux?¡± He raises an eyebrow at that and belts a genuine laugh. I flinch, looking back up the slope to where the rank two monster continues its slow patrol. It doesn¡¯t seem to pay us any attention. ¡°You are full of surprises aren¡¯t you. Yeah, maybe that is my conflux, and if it were, I would try to live up to it by not picking stupid fights.¡± He points to another part of the battlefield that I hadn¡¯t noticed before. Another of the Armor of Forgotten Dead walks there, a hundred feet or so away from the first one that I had spotted, holding a jagged ax over its metal shoulder. Once I start looking for them, I notice them all over the battlefield, many crouched in the snow, but others standing or walking slowly in circles among the field of dead soldiers. I see maybe six or seven of them around amid the hundreds of long dead bodies in the snow. ¡°I think that these are here for groups to try fighting together,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Someone might give me a talking to if I went ahead and started breaking them before I was told that I could.¡± ¡°The son of the Willian clan isn¡¯t allowed to go around fighting monsters where he pleases?¡± ¡°No, especially not. All of my battles are meticulously planned by my mother and given to me in a way to guarantee my success.¡± I must have looked particularly incredulous because he laughs again and shakes his head. ¡°You are too fun. My battles are my own, which is why I feel comfortable turning this one down.¡± Dovik starts walking back toward the forest backwards. ¡°It is about time that I returned. I don¡¯t want to be missed. Look for me when this competition really begins, farm girl. You won¡¯t regret it.¡± The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°I¡¯ll think about it,¡± I say, watching him pace away. ¡°No need to think about it,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m a pretty likable guy.¡± With that, he rounds the trunk of a tree and completely disappears from sight. I stand at the edge of the battlefield for a few minutes longer. Once, I see a woman walk a few steps out of the forest a long ways off before she too stops and inspects the patrolling armors. We wave to each other before mutually deciding to return to Grim on our own. Not stopping to fight monsters on the way back, the trip takes far less time, and night has already fallen by the time that I make it back to the parade grounds. I waste only a few minutes considering what I need to do for the night before finding the sweetest smelling tent and stealing a blueberry pie from inside. I return to the manor as soon as possible, scooping bites out of the pie with a spoon as I walk. Considering what I learned about the upcoming trial today, there is a lot that I need to plan on smuggling into the competition in my ring, and I also have a level up that I need to take care of for tomorrow. The thought of seeing my attributes increase again propels me toward the manor. Thankfully, with soul reinforcement on the line, I might be able to sleep some tonight. Without it, I don¡¯t know how I would manage to get to sleep. I¡¯m just too damn excited for tomorrow. My second day on the parade ground, I find myself too distracted to pay attention to the world around me. We are once again sitting on the risers in front of the big stage. The difference this time is that Arabella is no longer with us. In fact, the cursory glance that I took around the risers and the groups assembled out in front of the stage confirms that only rank ones are in attendance. The strangeness of that all but confirms the suspicions that Dovik had told me about the day before. The whole delay of the competition¡¯s start had been for show. With only those that are going to take part in the competition now in attendance, waiting as the stage stands empty in front of us, I know that today the real thing will start. The boys chatter about something that I can¡¯t give my full attention to. I sit, my anticipation and excitement at the upcoming competition slowly turning to boredom as we have been waiting for something to happen for more than twenty minutes. I stare at the window displaying my attributes in front of me, still attempting to decide where exactly I should place my free points. After a long moment of making tiny adjustments here and there, I eventually settle on splitting the ten points between magic and speed. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 7 ¡ú 8)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 22 ¡ú 23 Strength: 11 ¡ú 12 Magic: 53 ¡ú 64 Defense: 18 ¡ú 20 Magic Defense: 15 ¡ú 16 Speed: 39 ¡ú 49 Recovery: 58 ¡ú 60 Perception: 12 ¡ú 13 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 230 Mana: 640 Stamina: 264 After coming to a decision, I wave at Galea, and she hops to make the adjustments permanent. To be fair to myself, I had thought that the temporary flash of light that comes over me when I finalize spending my free points wouldn¡¯t be that noticeable sitting in the sunshine. As it turns out, I was quite wrong about that. ¡°What did you just do?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks me as the light fades from my skin. The three elves further down the metal bench we sit on also stiffen and look at me. ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything, my lord,¡± I tell him. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me. I saw it as plainly as the rest did. You just glowed.¡± The celenial man looks to the rest that are sitting in our small corner of the risers and gets a nod from Coriander as confirmation. Outside of our small group, it doesn¡¯t seem as if anyone else saw the flash of light. ¡°She doesn¡¯t need to explain her abilities to you,¡± Kendon whispers at Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°I didn¡¯t say that she does,¡± the man whispers back at Kendon. ¡°I was just curious. I didn¡¯t think she had any light-based abilities.¡± ¡°Neither did I,¡± Coriander says, not bothering to whisper. ¡°It isn¡¯t a big deal.¡± I look at Kendon. ¡°You were saying something about meeting more people from Gale?¡± He nods slowly at me, letting me change the subject. ¡°No, we met some other people from Ramancalla at the Rohindi tent last night. Apparently, the Willian guild sent someone to each of the Ramancalla kingdoms to recruit. I thought that it might be a good idea to ally with them if the upcoming competition allows, since we all speak Castinian. It will make things easier.¡± ¡°I do not trust anyone from north of Everseen,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°A bunch of backstabbing thieves.¡± ¡°I agree,¡± Coriander says. Macille rolls his eyes. ¡°Are you really going to judge an entire kingdom based on something a single man did three-hundred years ago?¡± ¡°I suppose you would think Camacal was solely responsible,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, thrusting a finger at Macille. Jor¡¯Mari winces and rubs his temples. ¡°You know, my lineage traces back to Camacal¡¯s and Korilis¡¯ war. Korilis was my great-grandfather for Exeter¡¯s sake.¡± ¡°Ultimate responsibility falls onto the head of the ruler,¡± Kendon says. ¡°There is no use holding soldiers responsible, let alone an entire nation after so much time has passed.¡± Jor¡¯Mari shakes his head and sighs. ¡°Silk on my dick, this hangover is a bastard. I¡¯ll find that dwarf, I swear it.¡± I, completely unable to follow their conversation of political history¨Cwe were not allowed to learn of any real history in our church school,¨Cjust about fall over in my seat when I hear Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°Silk on my dick!¡± I say, causing the man to wince. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard that one before.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t translate all that well from the High Tongue,¡± Kendon tells me. ¡°What¡¯s it from?¡± ¡°Some fable about a hunter and the woman he accidentally ended up hunting,¡± Macille says. ¡°Philistines,¡± Jor¡¯Mari curses. ¡°You know nothing of the classics.¡± ¡°You are the one who translated it poorly,¡± Coriander adds. ¡°I didn¡¯t want our human companion to feel left out of the conversation,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, gesturing at me and winking. ¡°Thanks,¡± I say. I turn at the sight of movement coming from the stage. A hush begins to fall over the crowd as everyone else catches sight of the same thing I do. One moment, the stage stood empty before all of us, and now there floats a man a few inches off of the stage. The man, he is a human man, wears a toga of dark cerulean silk with a golden laurel set upon his head of flowing, chocolate hair. The long beard he wears has begun to gray with the passage of time, something I did not know happened to essentia magicians. He looks older than any essentia magician I have ever seen. Were he a normal man, I would place him somewhere in his forties. Gray eyes peer out from his deeply tan face, the smile that he wears showing off a set of teeth so white I would think he has never eaten before. What sets the man out the most though, is that straight through his chest, where his heart should be, two swords¨Cone gold and the other silver¨Care impaled up to the hilt, the blades sprouting out his back. The floating man raises his hands. I flinch as a wave of blood red light passes over the crowd in a single instant, touching everyone, though I am one of the very few who react to seeing his soul presence. I feel pressure in my head, not painful, but still uncomfortable. As the entire crowd sits enraptured by the slightest gesture of the floating man, we all watch as a golden staff crowned by twin serpents descends from somewhere overhead to fall perfectly into his hands. ¡°He¡¯s dressed as Parfillio,¡± Coriander mutters to herself, though I am certain that all of us around her hear it with our improved perceptions. It takes a second for the name to register in my mind, and when it does, I need to stop myself from gasping. Parfillio is one of the sons of Exeter, long dead. Among the children of Exeter, he is the most reviled villain in the history of the pantheon, responsible for causing the crusade of humanity that nearly eradicated the world a thousand years ago. For a man to don the uniform of Parfillio here in front of hundreds who might still bear a deep grudge from those crusades, well, bold is not strong enough a word to describe it. Not that I believe even all of us assembled here might be enough to stand against him. Volaash¡¯s Eye returns to me no information about the man, but my instinct tells me that he is strong, leagues stronger than Arabella. This man floating on the stage in front of us is at the peak of rank four. ¡°Greetings young magicians,¡± the man says, his voice booming over his audience. ¡°Allow me to introduce myself to the lot of you gathered here today. My name is Gaius Gore, first lieutenant of the Willian Guild, and the administrator of this year¡¯s Passage of Rising Tide. It is my immense honor to have the privilege of overseeing this rare opportunity for young men and women such as yourselves. Believe me, I take such a responsibility with all the gravitas that it is due. Behold!¡± Gaius Gore casts his hand out, pointing to some place far behind the mass of assembled magicians. My head whips around, the same as just about everyone else¡¯s in the crowd to see something completely impossible. A wave of red light rises into the sky from the direction of the city, climbing until it is nearly as tall as the wall of stone the city of Grim rests upon. The sheet of opaque red stretches from horizon to horizon, east to west, and I do not doubt that it reaches all the way from one mountain range to another. I feel a crack run through the earth beneath the risers I sit on. The wall of color lurches toward us, though it is so far off that I can hardly believe I was what I did until I see it move again. It is advancing our way. ¡°At this time,¡± Gaius Gore says, ¡°you may consider the Passage of Rising Tide to have officially begun.¡± A stir runs through the crowd, people start to move, panic is striking them. My own sense of urgency flares, but I do not know what I should do with all the energy now running through me. ¡°Hold!¡± Gaius booms, the sound of his voice so loud that it forces all in attendance to stop. ¡°I have not yet explained the rules of the competition. They are rather simple; you will have plenty of time to flee afterward.¡± He clears his throat against his fist before spitting a lob of bloody phlegm down onto the stage. ¡°While the circumstances of the Passage are not always the same, the goal remains a constant.¡± Gaius points toward the far north, past the forest of monstrously sized trees that rise up behind the stage. ¡°There is a strait located on the far end of this valley some six-hundred and thirty-nine miles away from this very spot. This strait is only available for passage in the winter and spring, while the ice of the mountain peaks has still to melt. That is your time limit for this competition. ¡°Cross the Forest of Dying Lights, make it to the strait and cross over the bridge of land before the waters have risen far enough to make the passage impossible. I warn you young magicians now, this will be no easy task. Monsters call the Forest of Dying Lights home. The Willian guild culled all of the ones that we thought were especially powerful before winter fully arrived. Be warned however, as Summer begins to approach us once more, more and more rank two monsters will begin to appear in the forest. These monsters are not the only threats that you will find inside of the forest, but do not worry, there will be boons and treasure to be found that might help you along the way.¡± Gaius Gore smiles at the sea of stunned faces looking on at him. ¡°Do hurry in your flight to the North,¡± he says. ¡°Time is not on your side.¡± I see the man¡¯s face flick back toward the far edge of the crowd where I sit, though he does not look toward the slowly approaching screen of red light. He looks toward the tents. ¡°Ah,¡± he says, slowly rising into the air toward the clouds. ¡°It would seem that your escorts into the forest have arrived.¡± As Gaius ascends off of the stage, his rising is greeted by a chorus of roars coming from the forest of tents behind the crowd. I feel the earth begin to rumble once again through the risers as the roars approach at incredible speed, the sound of crashing and splintering wood proceeding them. Chapter 22 - Chaos The force of everyone in the risers jumping to their feet at the same time shakes the steel frame so much I need to grab the ledge to keep myself from falling down the stairs. I lean over the edge of the risers, half falling over the railing I cling to, and look out at the stampede coming toward us. Bears, ten feet tall at the shoulder and roaring with hate in their eyes, bully their way through the tents, ripping apart red and yellow fabrics, cleaving clawed paws through eight-inch-thick wooden beams like they were paper. There are hundreds of them, monsters all. Screams and yelling comes from the crowd below. Some panic, running away from the charging mass of monsters descending on the mostly unarmed group of rank one magicians. Kendon hits the rail next to me, leaning over to see the impending slaughter as I do. The man¡¯s sword is in his hand, but stuck up here with the rest of us, he can do little to help those below. Some instinct tells me to start over channeling a Dragonfire Bolt; I oblige. There are some within the crowd trying to organize a response. Their voices carry only a short distance as they push and shove others into some kind of order, but it is like trying to build a sandcastle with mud. The bear-shaped monsters come on. A man runs out from among the crowd that is still trying to get the people with magical weapons to the front of the group. He carries a weapon I¡¯ve never seen before, a dagger attached to a rope, and spins the blade around him in lightning-fast circles as he runs forward. He stops, a strange motion of the rope causing the dagger to streak forward. The dagger sinks into the chest of the nearest monster before it explodes in a cloud that buzzes with the constant air of electricity. When the vapor of the cloud clears, the monster stands there still with the dagger buried to the hilt in his chest. Yellow glowing eyes stare back at the man as drool drips dumbly from the monster¡¯s snout. It takes a step, not toward the man who still holds the rope, but instead sets its dish-sized paw down on the rope still connected to the weapon impaling it. The man tries to pull the weapon out, but the bear catches him too off guard. He struggles for a moment, but the monster¡¯s strength and weight is far too much for him to contend with. ¡°Damn beast,¡± he swears as he pulls at the rope. Another man rushes out of the wall of the crowd, disrupting the mages that are busy activating their abilities to deal with the monsters; he doesn¡¯t make it far. A spike of bone, as large around as my fist, soars out of the churn of charging monsters and impales the man still struggling with his rope weapon through the chest. The rope slackens in his hands. He stares down at the bone running him through. I hear the meaty thunk as three more of the bone spears come sailing out of the mass of monsters, striking the man dead before he hits the ground. The last thing I hear before the mass of monsters hit us is the cry of the running man, racing to make it to his friend¡¯s corpse even as the monsters reach it and start tearing it open. The last thing I see before the monsters collide with the magicians still attempting to form an orderly line to meet the charge is the huge bear-like monster in the charging crowd that had fired the spikes of bone. Alpha Dire Bear Pandemonium. Each of the monsters weigh over a ton. When the bears hit the wall of magicians, they smash through them like charging cavalry. The sound of splintering bone, the gurgling of the dying, screaming men and women, roaring monsters: all of it mixes and drowns out even the stomping of the bears racing toward us. Dust hits us in the wake of the monster¡¯s charge, a thick cloud of choking dirt that tears at my eyes and blocks out everything. Something heavy collides with the steel risers I stand on, making the entire frame of the structure groan. Three more rapid collisions follow, shaking the risers so hard I flip over the edge. A hand grabs my arm as I start to fall toward the ground. I look up to see Macille holding me tight. I hear the carnage below me, but through the dust I cannot see it. ¡°Climb up,¡± he tells me. I grab his arm and start hoisting myself up, thanking my improved strength. More of the monsters collide into the rafters beneath me, and with a final aching groan a steel beam in the structure collapses. I see fear in Macille¡¯s eyes the moment before the entire structure starts to collapse in a cascade of twisting metal. Macille grabs onto my arm with his other hand as well, and then we are in freefall. My back slaps hard into the ground, pushing the air from my lungs. Macille lands next to me with a snap. I can¡¯t look at him, lurching out of the dust above me comes the descending shadow of the rafters. It screams as it falls toward me, and I realize that the screams I hear are those still on the rafters. I shut my eyes, waiting for the inevitable crash, and when it comes, people and steel screaming together, the crush of it knocks the consciousness out of me. I open my eyes; I don¡¯t know how much later. Something wet falls against my face. I see; a cage of steel surrounds me, illuminated by rays of sunlight peeking through the gaps. Macille is over me, holding himself up on his hands and knees, stopping the weight from the piled steel stabbing into his back from falling on me. A tear of blood drips off his chin. A line of red leads up to a gash along his forehead. A spike of iron among the steel rests just in front of his face, blood from the gash on Macille¡¯s face still glistening on it. I feel something trigger in me, deep in me. That emotion of rage, the indignity of being attacked, starts pouring into my veins, making me grit my teeth. The universe has sinned against me, I know it down in my blood. It attacked me and Macille, it hurt him, and Macille is my friend. MY FRIEND! MINE! ¡°What can I do?¡± I ask Macille. I lean myself back onto my elbows. I look at Macille in the cramped space. Looking, I can see that the rods of steel stabbing at his back were stopped by the shield still there. ¡°This is kind of heavy,¡± he grunts at me. He spits out bloody drool. I always thought myself flexible, but in the cramped space I am humbled. It takes me three minutes of grunting and shifting to find a position to put my shoulder into the metal that won''t make Macille fall over. I groan as I heave against the weight. I feel my thighs bulge, all the strength that I have accrued over the last few weeks driving my desperation to escape the cage of steel. Beyond the barrier of metal, I can still hear the roars and screams of people outside. With a final grunt of effort, I am able to help Macille heft the metal off us, and sunlight momentarily blinds me as a hole opens. ¡°Go!¡± Macille grunts while he holds it open. I squirm out from beneath the steel. It takes me a second, but I find a rod that I use to hold everything in place before helping to pull Macille from the steel. We stand in the spot where the risers collapsed, looking around at the destruction. The grass of the prairie still waves gently in the noon sunlight, but patches of it have been torn to ribbons, clods of dirt thrown up, and the spray of monster blood and others decorates the waving stalks. People still stand, small groups of three or four attempt to face off with one of the monsters at a time, most of their effort put toward avoiding being surrounded than actually killing any monsters. Corpses of each side litter the ground, and worse than that, those that will soon die and which cry out for help. I feel something fall out of my hand as all feeling drains away from me. I look down, seeing a pipe on the ground near my foot, bent oddly, the bend glowing a vibrant orange and white. I look at my hand, remembering that I have still been over channeling my Dragonfire Bolt this whole time. White fire licks up from my fingertips, ghostly in its flickering. The rage comes back to me, the moment of unfeeling banished. ¡°Macille.¡± I call his name. When he looks back to me, I don¡¯t see the vacancy that I had seen before in the fight with the Desert Spearman. Macille is sharp, good. ¡°We need to go.¡± I look toward one of the monsters being engaged by a group of three dwarven women with heavy hammers. Dire Bear I release my Dragonfire Bolt at the monster, and my mana is cut in half. The fire leaps forward faster than I¡¯ve ever seen it do before, a rod of white-hot fire appearing in the air for a split second before disappearing. I stare at the hole of charred flesh burned through the bear and a second one eleven feet behind the first. Instead of Galea appearing with message windows informing me I have killed a monster, both of the bears stop in their current fights and turn my way, the second one stumbling for only a moment before it catches itself. I see the first bear puffing up its lungs to roar at me, when a hammer sparkling with moonlight crashes down on the monster''s head, splitting it down the middle like a melon. Six arrows peg into the second monster, the wounds they leave oozing a vile yellow fluid. It slumps over dead before taking three more steps. You have defeated Dire Bear You have defeated Dire Bear The woman with the hammer yells something to me in a language I don¡¯t understand. Seeing my confusion, she points far behind me toward the South. I turn, seeing the wall of crimson rise up toward the sky, more impossibly massive than I could have imagined when it was still several miles away. It is less than a mile away now, rising toward the sun. It will blot out the light overhead soon. I can already see its red shadow advancing on us. The dwarven women are gone when I turn back. I find Macille digging through the steel piles when I look for him. ¡°We need to go,¡± I tell him again. ¡°Kendon,¡± Macille says, looking back at me, ¡°he could be under here. Kendon!¡± ¡°He was on top of the risers,¡± I say. I look back to the wall of advancing red and see it as it moves. The red does not advance toward us at an even pace, every few seconds the entire thing lurches forward, the barest second between one position and the next. ¡°We were only caught under it because we fell off!¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean he can¡¯t be here.¡± Macille struggles to try and lift a load of iron. He finds someone beneath, but it¡¯s not his brother, and the person isn¡¯t breathing any more. Macille jolts up, dropping the steel again, before falling back onto the ground. I watch him for a second as he breathes on the ground, eyes wide as he stares up at the sky. ¡°That red wall is coming,¡± I tell him, pointing South. The wall jumps forward; the shadow of red falls over Macille¡¯s face as he turns his eyes toward the wall. ¡°I¡¯m unarmed,¡± he says. ¡°I know somewhere there are weapons,¡± I tell him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet. ¡°These monsters don¡¯t look very fast. I bet everyone that could ran into the forest to get away from them and regroup.¡± I start channeling another Dragonfire Bolt. The monsters still fighting throughout the prairie are bigger than any I have seen before, and they are clearly strong enough to destroy steel structures. Their charge hadn¡¯t been all that fast, more unexpected and unstoppable than anything else. That said, among the monsters which mostly seem to be the huge Dire Bears, there are others that stand out. I stare at an especially big bear that stands mostly docile in the prairie, chewing up the corpse of somebody. A Dire Bear begins to approach the bigger bear. The big one turns glowing red eyes on the Dire Bear. A second later, the Dire Bear bursts into flames, falling over dead in just a second or two. Dire Bear of Burning Gluttony This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. ¡°Where are we going?¡± Macille asks me. ¡°Into the forest. There is a spot a few miles in that has a lot of weapons and armor. I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m just figuring out what it¡¯s for now,¡± I tell him. Macille removes the shield from his back and straps it onto his left arm. He looks around at the battlefield one last time, but neither he nor I find Kendon, Jor¡¯Mari, or Coriander among the living or the dead. Macille nods at me. ¡°Let¡¯s go then. Don¡¯t stop to fight. We keep running.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I breathe. I turn and try to spot a path through the battlefield of monsters, magicians, and the dead. ¡°Follow,¡± I tell him, taking off at a sheer sprint, expecting him to keep up easily enough. A clear path is a daydream. We run as fast as we can, attracting the attention of bears not engaged in combat with magicians. One lurches our way. I duck the swing of its paw, rolling, and continue to sprint as soon as I make it to my feet. Macille bashes its skull with the edge of his shield as he runs by. I see the bear shake off the braining after only a second and continue running behind us. I choke the relief that starts to rise in me after seeing the Dire Bear unable to keep up with our sprint; a slip in concentration now might be the last mistake I ever make. Air pumps in and out of my lungs as I push my legs for all they¡¯re worth. I barely catch the hint of something sailing at me from the right. I dodge to the side, rolling again, and see spears of bone sail over my head, thudding into the ground a great distance away. Macille grabs the back of my shirt as he runs past me, hoisting me to my feet with little effort, and pushing me to continue. The sprint to the tree line takes less than thirty seconds. We¡¯re in. I don¡¯t break stride as we make it into the forest, the grass beneath our feet disappearing as we run, replaced with detritus. I can¡¯t feel the cold anymore, warmed by my pumping blood and the dragonfire I continue to hold in my hand. The shadow of the forest descends upon us as we race away from the light. The battlefield spills into the forest in chaotic spurts of fighting but doesn¡¯t extend much further than a hundred feet or so before the corpses of people and bears thin out to something sporadically seen. I put my back to one of the towering trees of the forest, gulping air and scanning the area around us for a moment to see if we can take a short break. It is only after I stop for a moment in relative safety that the aching in my back starts to lay into me. That fall from the risers earlier had been nearly thirty feet. I have no idea how I am still in shape enough to sprint as far as I had. Perhaps I have been underestimating this magician¡¯s body of mine. I look at my vital energies: Healing Points 193/230, Mana 306/600, Stamina 143/256. I watch as my healing points continue to flutter at the number it is while mana and stamina continue to recover points. It occurs to me that I must be actively using the healing points, no wonder I recovered from the fall so quickly. ¡°Are you okay?¡± Macille asks me. ¡°I just need a second.¡± I look at the gash on his head, the blood coagulated, but it still looks grisly. ¡°You should heal yourself while we have the time.¡± ¡°Not a bad idea.¡± Macille raises his hand, light beginning to pool in his palm. He bites his lip, letting his hand drop back to his side and letting the light fade. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± He looks back toward the parade ground we had just fled from. ¡°People need help back there.¡± ¡°What can we do for them?¡± I ask. ¡°You can¡¯t fight those monsters without a weapon. I might be able to take down one or two with the mana I have left, but there are hundreds still back there.¡± I point to a group of elves sprinting into the trees a dozen or so yards away from us. ¡°They are doing the same thing we are.¡± ¡°It¡¯s cowardly,¡± Macille says. He groans, looking up at the dark canopy overhead. ¡°Adventurers are supposed to fight monster and save people. People are being killed by monsters right now and we are running away.¡± ¡°This entire thing was designed to make us run away,¡± I say. ¡°Did you forget the wall? In ten minutes or so it will start smashing through the parade ground or worse.¡± ¡°You think that they want us to run away from monsters? That doesn¡¯t sound like part of a contest to find the strong,¡± he says. ¡°I don¡¯t know what they want,¡± I admit. ¡°All I know is that I don¡¯t want to find out what happens when we stay behind and let a giant wall of glowing red magic touch us. I doubt it will be anything good.¡± He spits into the ground. ¡°I hate it.¡± I stand, putting a finger in his chest. ¡°Hate it all you like. You agreed to this contest the same as I. I didn¡¯t think it would be this sadistic either, but it is, now we have to live with it.¡± The words come out harsher than I intend them, but I can¡¯t keep the anger out of my voice. Another group of five sprints past us on our left and I hear the galloping stomps of a monster chasing them. Hissing a breath through my teeth, I try to calm my voice. ¡°Look. Everyone around us that can is running as fast as they can toward the battlefield I found yesterday. Looks like word about it has gotten around.¡± ¡°Battlefield?¡± ¡°Yes, Macille. Yesterday, after the first speech, I explored the forest and found a battlefield littered with the corpses of soldiers, their armor and weapons still there. Obviously, it is the place where all of the magicians that left their weapons and armor behind before are supposed to equip themselves. That is where we are going. That is where the others will be going.¡± Macille looks back the way we came. ¡°People here still need help. They need my help.¡± ¡°The people at the battlefield will need your help more,¡± I tell him. ¡°Your brother will need your help there.¡± That gets his attention. ¡°What?¡± ¡°There are rank two monsters walking around there. Ones with weapons, and ones that I suspect are far more dangerous than the bears behind us. That asshole dressed like a god wants to crush us between those scary ass monsters and the bears. If we don¡¯t break through the ones on the battlefield, the bears will catch up and kill us. That is what this is.¡± He looks at me for a long second. I watch a drop of blood collect on his chin, falling to stain an already bloody spot on his tunic. ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s what this is?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I lie. I know anything else will see him going back and dying in the fight with the bears. ¡°Why didn¡¯t he wait for me?¡± he asks. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I tell him, gripping his arm. ¡°We will find him.¡± ¡°This is wrong,¡± he says, starting to trudge northward, away from the carnage behind us. ¡°It is,¡± I agree. We are both running after a handful of seconds. I keep my eyes on the canopy as we run through the forest, but I don¡¯t catch any sign of monsters lurking in the trees. Yesterday, when I made this same trip, nothing attacked me as long as I kept on moving. I hope nothing stops us this time either. The break in the trees that demarks the snowy battlefield eventually comes into sight. The backs of several people face me, standing on the edge of the tree line, a dozen or more just in front of me. Macille and I slow to a trot, stepping up next to everyone else and looking out at the battlefield that softly rises away from us. There are new bodies out in the snow, fresh blood sprayed onto the white. I see an armored monster holding two blood-slick daggers in its limp arms as it stumbles around in the snow. Three dead magicians lay near its feet. ¡°That one is really fast,¡± I hear a voice say behind me. I turn, seeing Dovik Willian standing at the edge of the forest, a few other magicians around him as he nods out toward the armored soldier with the daggers. ¡°Hello, Mrs. Devardem. I knew that we would meet again.¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± Macille asks, taking a step forward in front of me. ¡°Someone I met yesterday here,¡± I tell Macille, putting a hand on his arm. ¡°You trust him?¡± he asks me. ¡°He is a competitor. Everyone here is.¡± Dovik raises his empty hands. ¡°I didn¡¯t hear anything about us needing to knock each other out of the competition to pass,¡± he says. ¡°In fact, there seemed to be a real lack of laying out any rules for this contest. I don¡¯t doubt other will turn on each other, but I have no such intentions.¡± Dovik waves a hand toward the people milling about behind him, five in total. ¡°I am more interested in putting a group together to deal with all this crazy bullshit. I¡¯m not delusional enough to think that I could survive all this alone.¡± Out of everything he says, it¡¯s only the last bit that I think might be a lie. ¡°Will you be okay alone here for a moment?¡± Macille asks me. ¡°I want to go see if I can find the others.¡± ¡°Go,¡± I tell him, holding up my flaming hand. The orange is deeper than I have ever gotten it before, brighter too, but nothing near that white fire I threw at the Dire Bears earlier. ¡°Thanks,¡± he says, jogging away to look for his brother. ¡°Others?¡± Dovik asks me. ¡°I thought you were informed about your niece¡¯s pupils,¡± I say back to him. ¡°Ah.¡± Dovik nods. ¡°There is another one that I was hoping to meet. I hope your friend is successful in finding them. The more the merrier.¡± ¡°You saw the monster fight,¡± I say, nodding to the armored monster with the daggers up the slope. Armor of Forgotten Dead ¡°I did,¡± Dovik says, allowing me to change the subject. He frowns and follows my gaze up the slope. ¡°They thought three would be enough to get through it. They were wrong. Rank two monster with high speeds are especially nasty. I¡¯ve never had to consider one that had weapons before. That¡¯s rare.¡± ¡°Not here it would seem,¡± I say, pointing out at least two of the other armored monsters. ¡°Not here,¡± he agrees. ¡°Do you have a plan to deal with it?¡± I ask. ¡°No.¡± He tries to smile at me, but it doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°We were going to continue down along the tree line until we found another monster that we think we will be able to beat. Something that looks slow, preferably.¡± He glares at the monster up the slope. ¡°Though, something tells me that it won¡¯t be that easy.¡± I glare as well, and I am shocked when Galea swims into my vision. The dragon grins silently at me, pointing in the direction I am looking. The light of three magical auras rise into the still, frigid air. The magic items that the dead magicians were carrying. ¡°Can we retrieve their bodies?¡± I ask Dovik. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°That one,¡± I say, pointing to one of the fallen magicians. ¡°He has a magical sword. If we need to fight with these monsters, that will be useful.¡± Dovik gives me a strange look. ¡°That¡¯s a little cold, don¡¯t you think.¡± ¡°It¡¯s practical,¡± I say. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Dovik waves off the thought. ¡°Just stepping out onto the snow was enough to get the attention of that monster when those three made a break for it. I don¡¯t have an ability that would allow us to retrieve their bodies, and I don¡¯t know anyone else who does.¡± ¡°What then,¡± I say. ¡°I suggest that we wait for your friend and then look for easier prey. We are well ahead of the wall I think, and I doubt those bears will catch up to us for a while. A few minutes ago, we saw a group of twelve or so manage to charge through, killing one of the Armors quickly before making it to the other side of the rise. If we have enough people, it is possible.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± I say. ¡°What do you have to lose in trusting me a little bit?¡± Dovik asks. ¡°Other than my life?¡± ¡°Other than that.¡± ¡°Not much really,¡± I say. I continue to stare out at the monster until I hear Macille pacing back toward us. I turn to look at him. ¡°Couldn¡¯t find anyone,¡± he tells me. ¡°Maybe they already made it across,¡± I say. ¡°Kendon wouldn¡¯t do that,¡± he says. ¡°There is no way he would just leave us back there like that. Something is going on.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know Macille,¡± I say. ¡°It¡¯s strange, but maybe he thought we died when the risers collapsed.¡± ¡°He would have still dug us out,¡± Macille says. ¡°You can keep looking for him,¡± Dovik cuts in. ¡°You look like a strong man. I would appreciate your help. We were just about to continue down the tree line, looking for an easier place to cross. This battlefield seems to go on forever in both directions. Come with us and I¡¯ll even let you pick which way we check first.¡± Macille takes a long moment to stare at Dovik before grunting and nodding. ¡°West,¡± he says. ¡°West it is then,¡± Dovik agrees readily. The man turns to the others behind him that had been speaking. ¡°Looks like we have two more with us, and that we¡¯re going West from here.¡± The man gets a few nods and the others shifting behind Dovik begin to ready themselves to move. He turns back to me and Macille. ¡°Welcome to the team.¡± Chapter 23 - First Blood ¡°That¡¯s the one,¡± Dovik says, pointing up the slope. ¡°That one!¡± I stare at the monster he points toward. It is another of the Armor of Forgotten Dead, though this one carries a spiked mace in either of its hands, and the armor that it wears is covered in six-inch spikes of steel. It does nothing more than stand where it is, halfway up the slope, its chest rising and falling as if it were breathing. I¡¯m not certain whether it needs to breath. ¡°What makes that one a better target than the ax one?¡± ¡°This one has a low speed,¡± Dovik says. He turns, smiling at his group. ¡°Let¡¯s figure out how we are going to kill it.¡± ¡°Overwhelming force,¡± a human woman toward the back of the group answers. She has straight black hair that falls far past her shoulders, tied tight into an intricate braid. Her green eyes are striking, but even more striking is the tattooed eye in the center of her forehead, a black outline set with an emerald as the iris. The woolen clothing she wears underneath her fur coat is similar to Dovik¡¯s. I see an aura of yellow bleeding off her arms from something beneath the coat, but the Eye of Volaash is unable to identify it. Rohinda Willian(Rank One) Juggernaut Conflux ¡°How nice that would be,¡± Dovik says. He turns, looking down at my hand that continues to smolder with orange light. ¡°How long can you keep that up?¡± I bring my hand up, looking at it. ¡°I¡¯ve never hit a limit before.¡± ¡°Interesting.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± another man in Dovik¡¯s group says. He is human, at least I think that he is. It is hard to tell since he has ram horns sprouting from the short black hair on his head, and a pair of bat-like wings folded behind his shoulders. The haft of a mace, similar to the once the Armor carries, peeks out from beneath his own fur coat. ¡°That might be interesting and all, but perhaps we should figure out what these two are good at before we make a plan,¡± he says, gesturing toward Macille and myself. Samielle Kraesh(Rank One) Nightmare Conflux ¡°Not a bad point,¡± Dovik says. He steps back until the group is a semicircle in front of him, making several of us anxious as his heel comes to rest just in front of the cut-off to the snowy slope leading away from the forest. ¡°I am Dovik Willian, I won¡¯t mention my conflux or specific powers individually, but I typically fill the role of Striker.¡± Strikers are front-line combatants that focus on dealing damage. They work well in groups when paired with a strong Guardian that can keep the attention of monsters off of them long enough to hit with their heavy attacks. ¡°Is eight enough people to fight that thing?¡± Samielle asks, motioning back toward the monster that Dovik picked out for us. ¡°It should be fine,¡± Dovik dismisses. ¡°We don¡¯t want to get any more assistance?¡± I ask. Not more than ten feet away, a pair of women look on at us. On the opposite side of our small group, a man with a bundle of arrows and no bow is busy staring at the different armors that we can see. ¡°Looking for more would be a good and bad thing,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Yes, more help is useful, but that red wall is probably still coming toward us, even now. If it continues to move at the same pace that it did, I would bet that we have less than an hour before it arrives. I would also guess that it will herd the Dire Bears in front of it, meaning that if we do not break through this battlefield in the next hour, we will be sandwiched and die.¡± ¡°Is that all,¡± Macille says. ¡°I am still looking for my brother.¡± ¡°If he is as strong enough to survive this far, he will likely be strong enough to make it to the other side,¡± another woman from Dovik¡¯s group says. She is a lizardkin, skin made of soft, red scales, and eyes slitted, yellow. Unlike the rest of us, she wears barely any clothing at all, leather straps bound tightly to her body to hold a steel chakram the size of a wagon wheel on her hip that gives off an aura of blue and yellow. Chakram of Death and Warding(Rare): This chakram, created long ago by a smith whose name is lost to time, was made for and given to the warrior Elfitesh. Made of feathersteel¨Cthe techniques of forging held tightly by the lizardkin smiths of Gravaan¨Cthis weapon is light and sturdy enough to be utilized as a shield in addition to being a weapon. Blows from metallic weapons landing against this chakram are slightly repelled by magical force. Enhancement: +10 Defense, +10 Speed, +15 Strength When the lizard woman catches me looking at her weapon, she winks at me. That alone might not be so strange, but she does so by closing a second set of eyelids that move side to side. Jess Keller(Rank One) Blade Dancer Conflux ¡°My brother is strong,¡± Macille agrees. ¡°Look, Macille, my friend.¡± Dovik turns to Macille and sets a hand on his shoulder. ¡°Once we have gotten past this initial stage of crisis, I will do all I can to help you reunite with your brother. If I don¡¯t miss my guess, that shield on your back marks you as being a Guardian. Every Guardian I have ever met shares in common that they wish to help others, so let me state it to you in this way.¡± Dovik points out into the woods. ¡°When the light of that moving wall and the roars of the bears gets closer, things here are going to get very messy. I am willing to bet that the vast majority of people in this competition have never faced a rank two monster. Most don¡¯t until they are rank two themselves. When the walls start closing in, rank two monsters on both sides, not to mention potentially hundreds of rank one monsters included, people will start to panic. ¡°The strong will form groups to push through the Armors, but they will be hasty. Mistakes will be made, and many people will die. Help me now Macille, we aren¡¯t going to just kill this one Armor, but all the ones that we can see East and West of here for a good distance. I want to make a spot where people can climb the slope and not get crushed between the two sides of dangerous beasts. We do this now, we do it quickly, and we will save many lives. After that is done, and after we have all managed to get to some kind of stable position, I will help you find your brother.¡± Macille looks at the other man for a long moment. He chews on his lip, leaving the rest of us to wait in silence, before with an audible groan, he smiles at Dovik. ¡°You are one convincing bastard,¡± Macille says. ¡°It is a gift.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± Macille says. ¡°I expect you to hold to your word.¡± ¡°Can a man do anything else?¡± Dovik asks. He slaps Macille¡¯s shoulder, leaving the elven man grinning despite himself, and addresses the group again. Before he can speak, Rohina buts in, ¡°You said nothing about us killing multiple Armors.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Dovik says with a shrug, ¡°we gotta.¡± He makes a show of holding up his hand. ¡°Like I said before, I am a Striker, usually. It might be best for each of us to know what roles the others are going to be filling so that we can coordinate. I don¡¯t know if you saw, but that big Armor with the maces looks pretty strong.¡± ¡°Didn¡¯t you pick it because it was weak?¡± I ask. ¡°What? No, I picked it because it wasn¡¯t fast. Its strength attribute is crazy high,¡± Dovik says earning a groan from someone in the group. The groaner is a man, elven, that wears white cloth robes beneath his heavy fur coat. The metallic gleam of the man¡¯s flaxen hair tells me that he must have at least some noble blood running through his veins, as if my Eye of Volaash couldn¡¯t tell me that. The man, slight of build, looks at us with one violet eye that peers out from his angular face, the other eye being covered with a red velvet eyepatch. A small gemstone, uncut and purple, orbits his head as he looks over the group. Strangely, my eye tells me nothing about the gemstone, and my Dragon¡¯s Eye picks up no glow of aura from it. Adrius Bol(Rank One), Son of Count Ledomer Bol, Carrius Kingdom Saint Conflux ¡°I will follow to get this conversation on the move as quickly as possible. If what you posit is correct, Dovik Willian, then time is not on our side. My name is Adrius Bol, I function as a Healer, but I also have some capacity to be a Guardian.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Yes, we might want to get a bit of a move on this.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± Jess says, snorting, smoke actually coming out of her reptilian nostrils. ¡°My name is Jess Keller, and I am a Guardian.¡± She looks at Macille. ¡°I guess that means that I am your competition.¡± ¡°I guess so,¡± Macille says, hoisting his shield. ¡°My name is Macille Esfelle, I am a Guardian as well.¡± He nods toward Adrius. ¡°I also have some capacity to heal, though it is limited to touch.¡± ¡°Still useful,¡± Dovik encourages. ¡°Marksman,¡± a human man with a bow in the back of the group says. The man wears a dark hood that obscures his face but is otherwise dressed in winter clothing and furs like the rest of us. I can tell, even with barely any skin showing, that the man is a mountain of muscle. The bow on his back gives away his profession. ¡°Name?¡± I ask. ¡°You don¡¯t need that,¡± he says, a grin on his face. Eric Moyle(Rank One) Sniper Conflux ¡°Do you need arrows to use your bow?¡± I ask the man. The grin on his face turns to a frown. ¡°Don¡¯t worry my friend,¡± Dovik says before Eric can reply. ¡°I am certain that we will be able to scrounge some up for you somewhere. Once we have cleared out a few Armors, we will spend some time scavenging the bodies of these soldiers for armor and weapons.¡± Despite his words, I notice that most of the people here who require them, brought weapons along with them as their one magic item for this competition. Even the bow that Eric wears is magical, the aura it gives off is clear and hard to see. Bow of Night(Rare): This bow, standard issue for the Night Rangers of Halferfelle, is made of iron wood to possess and incredible draw weight. Arrows fired from this bow carry with them the magic of darkness, reducing the target¡¯s vision for each arrow they are struck with. ¡°My name is Rohinda Willian, and I am also a Striker,¡± Rohinda says. ¡°I use my fists, so I do not require a weapon.¡± She looks hard at the mace-wielding armor up the slope. ¡°Not sure I want to punch that thing though.¡± ¡°It is pretty spiky,¡± I agree. ¡°I am Samielle Kraesh. I can be a Shieldbreaker and Striker,¡± Samielle says. ¡°That makes three of us.¡± ¡°I think we have a pretty excellent composition to attempt taking on these rank two monsters,¡± Dovik says. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°My name is Charlene Devardem,¡± I say, the last of the group to introduce themselves. I hold up my hand that is still aglow with orange fire. ¡°You might be able to tell, but I am a mage. I guess that means we have plenty of damage to lay into these monsters with.¡± ¡°If we take them one at a time,¡± Macille agrees. ¡°Though, I am still unarmed.¡± ¡°Grab a sword as we make a run at the monster,¡± Dovik suggests. ¡°Rohinda, you can do that too if you aren¡¯t comfortable hitting the armors with your fists.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll get over it.¡± Rohinda shrugs. ¡°If you give me the time, I can place all of the weapons and armor of the soldiers into my storage item,¡± I tell the group, patting the satchel on my belt. ¡°We won¡¯t have to spend time stripping the dead soldiers that way. It should make things faster. I can also disenchant the monsters that we manage to kill. My ability has made a few magical items that way before. Hopefully it can do so again.¡± ¡°You have a disenchantment ability?¡± Jess asks. ¡°I do.¡± She nods enthusiastically in my direction. ¡°I have experience with forging, one of my abilities can even produce a functioning forge. Loot all of the metal armor and weapons you can find. After we survive this, I can assist in adjusting armor for everyone, and if we find some magical components, I can even possibly create some pieces.¡± ¡°As insanely useful as that will be,¡± Dovik cuts in, ¡°now is the time for action.¡± He turns, looking up the slope. ¡°If no one has any complaints about it, I will try to fill the role as tactical lead.¡± No one objects, and Dovik spends a long time looking up the slope, scratching his chin. Eventually, he gestures for me to join him at the foot of the slope while everyone else checks over what little equipment that they have with them. ¡°Earlier you were able to spot a magic sword out on the field,¡± he whispers to me. I feel cold ice race down my spine at his words. ¡°Is there anything magical out on the field that might be able to assist us?¡± My instinct is to brush him off, tell him that I don¡¯t have such an ability to detect magical items. I disregard my instinct for once. I understand that trying to conceal such an ability when he is already aware of it will increase the danger for us all. The secret isn¡¯t worth someone dying over. I give a mental command for Galea to appear in the air next to us. She scans the battlefield, message windows for all of the items across the entirety of the field springing up over the bodies of the dead soldiers. I tell her to filter the windows for magical items, and all of the windows disappear once again. ¡°No,¡± I tell him. At his frown, I point toward the body of a soldier between us and the mace-wielding armor standing in the snow. ¡°That soldier has sixteen arrows in a quiver on his back. They might be useful for Eric,¡± I say. Dovik smiles at me and shakes his head. ¡°You are going to need to tell me about that eye power of yours sometime. I am getting envious with all of the mystery going on.¡± ¡°No time for mystery,¡± I say. ¡°You still won¡¯t explain it to me though,¡± he says. I keep silent. He laughs, turning back toward the group. ¡°Alright, gather around.¡± When they do, joining Dovik and I at the base of the snowy slope, he begins. ¡°The plan is simple. Macille and Jess will take point, getting the monster¡¯s attention before any of the rest of us engage. Macille there is a decent looking sword just there, grab it as you head up the slope. ¡°After the Guardians have engaged the monster, and only after they have engaged, our three strikers will charge up the slope. Mysterious Marksman, we spotted some arrows that you can use, grab them from that soldier, following along behind the strikers. I don¡¯t know if you will be able to get a good shot off with how many of us there will be in front of this thing, so it might be best to be on the lookout for any more of the Armors coming to join the one we will attack. ¡°Charlene and Adrius, I am going to ask that you do not engage this Armor. We will save your mana for the next one. Actually, Charlene why don¡¯t you go ahead and start looting all of the armor and weapons you can from the dead soldiers while we are fighting the Armor with the maces. Don¡¯t take your eyes off of it while you go. We don¡¯t know everything that it can do.¡± ¡°Outside of it being super strong and slow,¡± Samielle adds. ¡°It isn¡¯t slow,¡± Dovik corrects. ¡°It just doesn¡¯t have a high speed.¡± ¡°Big difference,¡± Rohinda says, nodding. ¡°Right.¡± Dovik looks around the group, making certain that everyone is watching him. He gestures; Macille and Jess join him at the front. He points out to the bodies. ¡°That¡¯s the sword, sticking out of the snow there. It is probably your best shot.¡± ¡°Got it,¡± Macille says. ¡°Go.¡± Dovik taps their backs and the two take off at a sprint. The reaction from the Armor of Forgotten Dead further up the slope is immediate. Snow crunches beneath the feet of Macille and Jess as they start their sprint up the slope, fifty feet from the monster. Jess outpaces Macille by the third step, the lizardkin woman clearly far faster than the elf. She spins her chakram off of her hip, literally bucks her hip to send it sailing in an arc into the air before catching it on her wrist as she runs. She lets the weapon spin around her arm like a hoop rather than grip it with her fingers. Half the distance behind, Macille grabs the hilt of a blade as he runs past, magic pooling into the metal of the sword as he pumps his legs to climb the rise. Six of us wait at the bottom of the hill, and my senses tell me that there are far more than our group watching the fight that is about to begin. The Armor turns, fully facing the two racing up the slope towards it, and I see strength flow into the monster¡¯s arms for the first time as it grips its maces tight. A ghostly blue radiates from where its eyes would be inside its helmet of rusted steel. It waits for Jess to reach it, not taking a step down the slope. Jess makes it to the armor in the next instant. A mace swings her way, air rippling around the spiked head of the weapon as it cuts through the air with a whistle. She doesn¡¯t stop in her charge. With a grace I can¡¯t hope to match, she jumps, spinning her body horizontally in the air to flip over the Armor¡¯s swing. The chakram spins, the circular blade slicing over the metal of the Armor, sending a scattering of sparks into the snow. Jess lands on her feet, the chakram still in her hand, and somersaults backward in the snow to avoid a strike of the Armor¡¯s mace coming down on her head. She dodges death by the barest of margins. Macille is at the monster now. He has managed to put the green glow into his sword faster than I have ever seen before, and roars as he brings the sword down toward the monster in an overhead strike. Without turning, the Armor lifts an arm and catches Macille¡¯s sword on the haft of its metal mace, stopping it dead. Macille¡¯s sword bites halfway through the haft of the Armor¡¯s weapon. The Armor lashes out at Macille with a kick, and the man catches the blow on his shield, sliding back ten feet in the snow from the force of the blow. ¡°Now!¡± Dovik yells to the others still standing at the bottom of the rise. I am snapped out of the stupor of spectation that I have fallen into, remembering that I am a participant in this fight. Dovik and Rohinda start their sprint up the slope, Dovik carrying Pokey in his hand as he runs. Samielle doesn¡¯t join them, instead unfurling the wings on his back and jumping into the air. As he rises, he pulls a mace of his own from the belt inside his heavy fur coat. As he holds it high, no spikes adorn the mace, but a dangerous red fire springs to life over the head of the weapon. The flying man far outpaces the other strikers. He streaks toward the Armor, screaming as he goes, and giving away any attempt at stealth that he might have had. The Armor looks up with its glowing eyes toward the man screaming down at it and brings its mace up to meet Samielle¡¯s. Just before the two can collide and trade blows, Jess is at the monster¡¯s side once again, her chakram hooking over the head of the monster¡¯s weapon and pulling its arm down. The sound of Samielle¡¯s mace colliding with the head of the monster is a metallic ping so loud that it makes my teeth ache. Samielle crashes into the snow behind the monster as Jess steps back again, kicking her own weapon as she goes to untangle it from the monster¡¯s. The Armor is slow to recover. It remains standing, and when Macille charges into it again, I don¡¯t think that it will be able to stop his blade. It does. The mace in its left-hand whips up, knocking the sword from Macille¡¯s hand before the monster spins toward him, its other mace tunneling through the air toward Macille. Ethereal armor sprouts over Macille as he catches the mace on his shield. Macille is lifted from his feet, flipping backwards through the air, tumbling through the snow when he falls. The Armor looks banefully down on my friend, hate in the glow of its eyes, the right side of the helmet¡¯s face mask dented in. ¡°Our turn,¡± Adrius says, the healer already running up the slope. With everyone momentarily away from the monster, Dovik and Rohinda still haven¡¯t managed to climb the slope, I lob my fire at the Armor, ignoring Dovik¡¯s earlier order not to attack it. The fire hits the Armor clear in the chest, forcing it to stumble backwards a step. Dovik takes advantage of its imbalance, activating some ability that makes his body disappear in a flash of blue light, reappearing just in front of the monster. He brings his weapon up, stabbing into the metal of the Armor¡¯s neck. To anyone else, the strike would have looked ineffective, but my Dragon¡¯s Eye catches a dense line of blue magic that spears into the Armor as Dovik strikes. The Armor falls backwards, crashing into the snow. It uses the force of its fall to roll back to its feet, one of its maces already whipping out to catch Samielle who is coming up behind it. The blow connects with the surprised man, but before it can cave his chest in, a leather band around his right bicep explodes with the light of black mana, and his body turns to shadowy mist. The mist swirls away, landing further up the slope and condensing into the form of Samielle once again. The horned man collapses to a knee in the snow, spit falling from his mouth as he groans. Band of Shadow and Bone(Artifact): This band, woven from the flesh of a bone devil that had obtained true life, carries with it the pain and power of the monster it was made from. Once per day, this band may potentially save its wearer from a lethal blow, turning their body to shadowy mist to potentially avoid death. Enhancement: +20 Strength, +20 Defense, +20 Magic Defense Power: Shadowy Escape I catch sight of Eric Moyle in my vision, racing up the hill to reach the arrows that Dovik had pointed out to him, and once again have to remember that I am a part of this fight. Further up the slope, the strikers form a loose triangle around the monster that continues to stand and glare at them, waiting for the guardians to move in to take its attention. I set my own feet to running. A glance to my side tells me that Adrius is taking a much more sedate pace, looking about to make certain that none of the other Armors on the rise are taking note of us. They don¡¯t appear to be. I make it to the body of the first soldier, just a few paces past the edge of the forest. My knees crash down into the snow next to him, and curiosity propels me to turn the body over onto its back. I find the face of the dead soldier completely whole, a human man with a bushy mustache and eyes closed in serenity. If I had not seen the bodies lying here the day before, I would not have believed that the man had been dead for a day at least. His skin is pale with death, but I cannot find a wound on his body anywhere. I hear metal ringing against metal further up the slope and turn my mind to my task. It only takes a touch for me to make the armor of steel rings and padded leather disappear from the body, followed close behind by the gauntlets, steel boots, cuisse, and greaves. With a thought, I open the window that represents my inventory, seeing each of the pieces taking up an individual box inside of the inventory. ¡°Silk on my dick!¡± I swear. I had been hoping that the armor would all go into a single box. Adrius is looking at me strangely when I stand to run to the next body. I take a quick look around at the battlefield, the other Armors I can see still seem content to mill about on the snowy battlefield alone. East, maybe a hundred and eighty feet away, an Armor with a sword on one arm and an ax in its other kneels in the snow. To the West, less than a hundred feet away, an Armor with a massive two-handed scythe stands like a statue in the snow. I land in the snow next to another of the soldiers, not bothering to turn the body over before stealing its armor. The disappearing armor reveals a woman, the same look, as if she were sleeping in the snow, on her face. A shiver runs through me. A scream from up the slope pulls my attention away. Jess stumbles back from the monster¡¯s bloody mace, bone peeking through the scales of her shin as she collapses into the snow. Macille is there in the next moment, his shield high, catching a strike from the monster¡¯s mace that might have killed Jess, ethereal armor springing to life around him as he stops the blow. A few feet away from me, Adrius swears in the High Tongue, and purple light begins to condense in his hands as he walks up the slope. I start moving between the bodies, keeping my eyes solely on the fight further up the slope. Rohinda throws her body at the monster¡¯s arm as it tries to bring its second mace down on Macille, using her whole body to hold just its arm in place. The spikes of the monster¡¯s armor cut trickling lines in Rohinda¡¯s skin, but she grits her teeth, ignoring the damage. It tries to bring its free mace down on Rohinda, intending to cave her skull in, but Macille interposes himself. He stands close to the Armor so that there is no way it can hit the woman. Dovik and Samielle crash into the grappled monster, Samielle¡¯s mace ringing loudly every time he bashes the Armor, Dovik¡¯s poker delivering blue spears of mana into the monster every time he thrusts his weapon forward. ¡°Break off!¡± I hear someone yell, taking a second to realize that it is Eric. He stands in the snow further down the rise, the bow in his hands fully drawn and so much power concentrated on the tip of the arrow he has knocked that I imagine everyone can see it. The man¡¯s huge arms quake with the weight coiled through the bow he has drawn, but he holds it taught, waiting. Dovik and Samielle jump away from the Armor as if on instinct. Eric fires his arrow with Macille and Rohinda still near the monster. My chest tightens as the arrow races forth. It hits the Armor just beneath its right armpit, the force of it lifting the monster from the ground. Rohinda takes the moment to put a kick into the monster¡¯s side and I see her boot leave a dent in the monster¡¯s side. It releases its grasp on the mace she is holding, spraying snow into the air as it slides up the slope. A purple light falls over Jess, and, sickeningly, I see her splintered shin bone slide back into her leg. She screams and falls sideways as her leg snaps and is made to be straight, the gash in her leg healing enough to only leave a long scab running down the front of her leg. Ahead of me, Adrius pants as he continues his walk up the slope. Silence falls over us for a moment. Rohinda laughs, flipping the mace head over haft in her hand before catching it. Green light begins to boil into Macille¡¯s sword even as he offers a hand to help get Jess back on her feet. The Armor begins to climb back to its feet, its movement is less fluid now. No one approaches it as it climbs back to its feet, an air of danger all around it. It glares out at Rohinda who flips its weapon again in the air, chuckling to herself. As I see the glow of its eyes shift from blue to a far more menacing purple, I start running, pushing Adrius to climb up the slope faster. In time less than it takes to blink, the monster is in front of Rohinda, its hand clasped about the haft of the mace she had flipped into the air. Before anyone can act, its other mace comes crashing down, smashing Rohinda¡¯s head into bloody bits that spray across the snow. The woman¡¯s body teeters for the barest of instants before it collapses to its knees and falls sideways. ¡°Bastard!¡± The rage in Samielle¡¯s voice is plain. He swings his mace into the Armor¡¯s side; the Armor lets him connect. Its feet skid a few inches in the snow, but it turns and brings its helmet down on Samielle¡¯s head in a vicious headbutt. The man¡¯s horns are the only thing that allow him to survive the hit, the left ram¡¯s horn on his head cracks in half and tumbles into the snow as he collapses unconscious into it. Macille and Jess leap forward to engage the Armor but are pushed back by the sudden force of mana that it unleashes in an explosion around itself. White, transparent mana explodes away from the Armor of Forgotten Dead as it rears its helmet back and roars a voice deep enough to wake the dead. Horror grips my heart as I make it to Eric, pushing the man¡¯s back to get him also running up the slope. I already know before I look to the sides. The two other Armors of Forgotten Dead on either side of our battle are standing, their heads turned in our direction now. They each takes a step our way. Chapter 24 - The Slope ¡°Kill this fucking thing!¡± Dovik yells as he charges the mace-wielding armor. A ring on Dovik¡¯s free hand flashes with silver light and an identical copy of Pokey appears in it. The man starts wailing into the Armor, the strikes far faster, each one denting the metal of the Armor and drumming out an incredible beat as he pushes himself to move fast and faster. Ring of Twin Stars(Artifact): A ring whose history is longer than the written word on this world, its origins beyond this world itself. When called upon, the Ring of Twin Stars duplicates whatever weapon the bearer holds in their opposite hand, provided they have the power to wield it. Power: Twin Stars, Momentum of the Beat As Dovik pounds on the monster, flashes of blue light echo from his twin weapons with each strike. Small dents are left behind minor, but the mana being poured into the Armor considerable. A corona of blue power builds around Dovik with each strike. Dovik is faster than I thought, faster than the monster certainly, and his skill with his weapons is unparalleled. Still, he is not match for the Armor¡¯s strength. It steps forward as he lunges, causing one of the stabs of his weapon to miss, and traps the other with its arm. With its free hand, the Armor swings its mace down at Dovik¡¯s head, aiming to cave it in the same way it had to Rohinda. The man erupts into blue light, appearing again behind the Armor. Dovik steps forward, thrusting both of his weapons into the Armor¡¯s back. An explosion of force blows the snow from the ground. The Armor topples forward, skidding twenty feet down the slope on its face, spraying snow all over the place. Even as I run, I watch the display of magical talent with naked envy. Dovik pants, near the apex of the rise, and gestures with his twin weapons. ¡°Hold nothing back or you will die!¡± he commands. He points a weapon toward each of the Armors on the sides of us that slowly walk our way. ¡°Macille, Jess, pick up those. Adrius, get Samielle up. Charlene, start laying into them with whatever you have. We can¡¯t be conservative with our mana in this fight. Archer, hit what you can.¡± We have made it to the unconscious Samielle and the corpse of Rohinda by then. Adrius drops to his knees next to the horned man while Eric and I continue to run up the slope. I begin channeling a Dragonfire Bolt. To my sides, I hear Jess and Macille take off through the snow. Passing by Dovik, the man shares a glance with me that is both mortal and serious. I aim for the top of the rise along with Eric. Dovik nods my way, disappearing once again in a flash of blue light, and I hear the thunder of his weapons assaulting the Armor again further down the slope. I stumble onto the level ground at the top of the slope. Twenty feet in front of me the forest of three-hundred-foot-tall trees starts anew, darkness prevailing beyond the nearest trunks. I turn. Eric is next to me, the string on his bow already pulled and an arrow knocked. Power begins to gather once again on the tip of his arrow as he decides his target, and it occurs to me that he is over channeling some ability the same way that I do. ¡°I¡¯m on the one with the scythe,¡± he says. I nod, though I don¡¯t think he sees me. Jess makes it over to the Armor that drags the massive scythe along behind it, the tip of the weapon leaving a long trail through the snow. Macille still struggles to reach the other Armor, the one with the sword and shield like his own, but the Armor makes no hurry of its slow approach. The bravery of those two takes me aback for a moment. They are so ready to run at a monster much stronger than themselves at a moment¡¯s notice. ¡°Got it,¡± I say to Eric, making certain that he knows I heard him this time. Back the way we came, Adrius continues to kneel in the snow, glowing hands placed on Samielle¡¯s temples, power flowing into the unconscious man. Near the bottom of the slope, Dovik battles alone against the mace-wielding Armor. Each strike of his weapons on the monster is like the beating of a drum, each swing of its maces turned aside with a perfectly timed parry or dodged with subtle movement. A single strike on the man will be lethal, but I don¡¯t imagine it happening. My eyes turn back on the Armor with the sword and shield in time to see Macille¡¯s glowing blade bang harmlessly off of its tower shield. It seems unhindered by the shin-high snow that it fights in, while I can see Macille being slowed. I have watched Macille and Kendon spar every day for weeks now, and I can tell from how the monster swings its weapon that it is no true swordsman. That probably won¡¯t matter. Every time that Macille blocks one of its blows, his feet skid in the snow. I hurl a fully charged Dragonfire Bolt down at the Armor. It sees the attack coming somehow, and its shield turns to catch the explosion of fire fully. Macille uses the momentary distraction to stab at the Armor with his sword, but the weapon seems ineffective without his empowering, green, magic. The ground ripples next to me, an explosion splitting the air as Eric releases his attack at his own chosen enemy. I throw another Dragonfire Bolt at the Armor I focus on, forcing it to keep its attention on me, defending against my magical fire. The magic isn¡¯t as effective without me charging it, but I keep its focus. I throw another three bolts in rapid succession. It obliges me by continuing to catch them on its shield. I check my mana, 480/600. A blade of shining green stabs through the chest of the Armor from behind. It jolts, staggering as the blade slides back out of it once more. Without looking behind it, the Armor swings its sword around at Macille who is behind it now. The man opts not to catch the blow on his own shield, ducking the strike instead. Macille¡¯s foot slips in the snow; he is off balance for the barest of moments. The ice beneath his boots gives out and he tumbles onto his back. The Armor must sense the weakness of its enemy. It spins faster than it has moved before, aiming the edge of its shield down at Macille¡¯s neck. I scream, throwing another Dragonfire Bolt at the exposed back of the Armor, though my attack won¡¯t make it in time. Another scream answers my own. A streak of rage and muscle descends from the heavens, a flaming mace leaving a streak of fire in the air behind the man making himself a meteor. Samielle¡¯s mace slaps into the top of the Armor¡¯s helmeted head before it can decapitate Macille with its shield. The entirety of the monster crashes into the snow, cratering the slope and sprawling the Armor out on its chest. I ready another Dragonfire Bolt as it is sprawled onto its back, ready to pour all of my mana into it before it can recover. A weight hits me in the side, knocking me into the snow. Briefly, I register that it is Eric on top of me, tackling me. A second later, a wicked scythe spins over us. It would have split me in half. The scythe is stopped in midair less than ten feet away from us as the Armor that threw it is suddenly there, holding the haft again, and spinning it to bring it down on our prone forms. ¡°I¡¯m coming,¡± I hear Jess yell from further down the slope, but she is too far away now. Vaguely, I hear one of the Armors down the slope yell in rage the same way the mace-wielding one had done earlier. The scythe reaps the air, its arc aimed so that it will take Eric¡¯s neck and my own in a single swing. I hurl my Dragonfire Bolt up at the monster and manage to launch my fire straight into the mask of its helmet, into those blue glowing embers of eyes. Eric kicks at the scythe from the ground, planting his foot against the haft of the scythe even as the monster stumbles back, its free hand scratching at the mask of its helmet. The blade of the scythe bites into Eric¡¯s side, though it stops short of cutting the man in half. I pull myself out from underneath Eric and continue to throw Dragonfire Bolts at the monster in a rush to keep it off balance, not caring about conserving my own mana. It holds up its hand, stumbling backwards, blocking my fire from crashing into its face, but at this close range I can slip most of them past its defense. By the time that Eric has made it to his feet, both its gauntlet and helmet glow a bright orange and I can see the metal warping. I check my mana, 260/600. I realize that I am roaring at the monster as I throw fire into it. Near me, Eric fishes a gold coin out of his pocket. The second that he flips it into the air, I see a flash of orange mana glow on the coin, but I pay no mind to the message window that accompanies the magic coin. Eric catches it again, checks what side it landed on, and swears. Jess bursts onto the top of the slope, her chakram spinning as she runs at the Armor. I don¡¯t know whether the Armor can see with its helmet glowing, but it fails to stop her as she spins her weapon around to strike at it. She aims her blade for its head, but the Armor catches the weapon on its glowing hand. The blade of Jess¡¯s chakram reaves through the glowing gauntlet like butter. The top half of the Armor¡¯s hand falls into the snow where it sizzles and pops. A moment of stillness washes over the three of us and the Armor standing on at the top of the slope. The mask of its helmet still glowing, warped from the sheer heat it has absorbed, stares down at the missing section of gauntlet that had been there just a moment before. The glowing blue of the Armor¡¯s eyes shift to that dangerous shade of purple, deep like wine but burning with an inner white fire. Black mana flashes over its scythe. The Armor swings its scythe one-handed at Jess faster than my eye can track, but the lizardkin woman is already in motion. She lets her body drop, her feet still planted in the snow, as the blade of the scythe misses her torso by a hair¡¯s breadth. The mana wreathing the scythe spikes off like electricity, slapping Jess fully into the snow and leaving black char smeared across her chest. Without any pretense of skill, the Armor reverses its swing and tries to bisect the woman prone on the ground in front of it. Jess swings her chakram from her back at the scythe. The two blades meet just before the Armor can cut her in two, a perfect parry. Space seems to warp around Jess in a fraction of a second following the clash of the blades. She manages to slide through the Armor¡¯s legs and roll to her feet in a fraction of a second, faster than I have ever seen anyone move outside of Halford¡¯s near instant charge ability. Jess swings her chakram at the Armor¡¯s back, but it ducks her attack without looking, lashing out behind itself with a kick that catches Jess in the chest. She tumbles back all the way past the tree line. The Armor turns to follow her, but Eric and I¨Csomehow having the same idea¨Crelease our attacks into its back. The Armor manages to dodge the dragonfire I throw at it, but the arrow fired by Eric catches the Armor square in the back, driving it to its knees, the arrow drilling into the metal of its back. It turns on us again, the smooth make of its mask a dripping ruin of molten steel. The scythe of the Armor ignites in a wave of black mana as it crouches, ready to lunge our way, looking to kill at least me or Eric. I hurl more dragonfire into its face the second I see its legs begin to uncoil. The Armor stumbles in its lunge, and, in that second, the metal ring of Jess¡¯ chakram slips over its neck. The lizardkin plants her feet in the Armor¡¯s back, her weight not enough to knock it over, but suitable enough to get it off balance. Jess groans as she pushes her muscular body for all its worth, standing on the Armor¡¯s back as she pulls with her arms. The superheated metal of the Armor¡¯s neck bends, the wrenching of the metal like a death throes of the monster. Then, with a snap, the helmeted head of the Armor cracks off, leaving a gash of violent, jagged steel behind on the torso of the monster, and sending Jess to sprawl out in the snow. The orange steel sizzles in the snow where it lands, the purple glow of its eyes fading to a dull shade of blue before eventually going out altogether. Eric falls to his knees in the snow, panting with his exertions and holding his side where blood is beginning to pool on his tunic, while Jess begins to laugh at the sky from where she lay. I start channeling another Dragonfire Bolt, running to the edge of the slope to look down on the battle still unfolding. The mace-wielding Armor lays dismembered in the snow. Four men fight the Armor with the sword and shield. Macille and a huge man I have never seen before each hold one of the Armor¡¯s arms in a lock while Samielle and Dovik lay into the monster, beating it with their weapons, denting its already faltering armor. The monster roars, the light of its purple eyes intense, but Macille holds its shield arm for all he is worth. It¡¯s shaking and screeching doesn¡¯t manage to even budge the huge man on its sword arm. A few seconds later, it is done. The constant assault of Samielle¡¯s mace and Dovik¡¯s twin fire pokers too much for the monster to take. I see the light fade from the Armor¡¯s eyes, its head lolling forward. The men continue to beat on the dead monster until they eventually smash its chest open. The two men holding its lifeless arms release the monster, and it slumps forward onto the slope, rolling a few inches, sliding just a bit further. Dovik is next to me in the next second. The man¡¯s chest heaves from his exertions, and a faint aura of blue continues to shroud him as he looks over the battlefield. He sees the scythe wielding Armor dead, missing its head, a few paces behind me. ¡°How are you?¡± he asks. ¡°Is everyone okay?¡± ¡°Just some minor wounds,¡± I say, pointing at Jess and then Eric. ¡°It hit her with some magic and cut him in the side. Might want to have Adrius take a look at it.¡± ¡°I will.¡± Dovik whistles, catching the attention of Adrius further down the slope and motions for him to climb up. For a moment, the fighting has come to an end. ¡°See about Jess and the Archer,¡± he tells Adrius once he has made it to the top. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°Who¡¯s that?¡± I ask Dovik, motioning to the huge man climbing the slope alongside Macille. ¡°No idea. He just showed up while we were fighting.¡± Dovik looks around. ¡°Sam!¡± he calls, getting the man¡¯s attention. ¡°Fly as high as you need to. I want to know how far away that red wall is and how much time we have before it gets here. Hopefully, people will have seen that we made a break in the monsters on the slope here and join us. This will be a good spot to hit the bears from as they try to climb up the slope.¡± The fire raging around the head of Samielle¡¯s mace vanishes as he slides it back into the loop on his belt. He raises his hand to Dovik in a salute, crouching, before he jumps into the air with a heavy flap of the stygian wings on his back. In the air, the man soars as gracefully as a bird. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡± I ask Dovik. With a thought, I dismiss the fire surrounding my hand and look down at the battlefield. ¡°Continue to collect armor and weapons,¡± he tells me. ¡°Disenchant those monsters if you can. Their weapons are impressive, so don¡¯t touch those if you can avoid it. I¡¯m sure that we will want to give them to those that can use them.¡± I look down the slope. There are dozens of soldiers still lying in the snow, their armor and weapons waiting to be grabbed. I see the headless corpse of Rohinda as well, her blood on the snow the only spot of red among the white and black. There is still a faint glow of some magical item that she had beneath her coat. ¡°Rohinda¡¯s magical item,¡± I say. ¡°Do you want me to collect that as well?¡± I see Dovik¡¯s jaw tighten, but he doesn¡¯t look at me with the anger so clear on his face. ¡°Yes. Hang on to it for me if you would.¡± ¡°Dovik, about her¨C¡± ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± he says, cutting me off. He grunts and rubs his eyes. ¡°Thank you, but don¡¯t. I need to be focused right now. There is another battle ahead.¡± ¡°I understand.¡± The sound of flapping wings proceeds Samielle¡¯s landing in the snow at the top of the rise. ¡°Three miles away I¡¯d say,¡± he tells Dovik. ¡°We have half an hour maybe. Not sure how far ahead the bears are of it.¡± ¡°Tell me everything you saw,¡± Dovik says. I leave them to it, stamping slightly down the slope to reach the body of the first soldier still lying in the snow. I open the window that displays my inventory as I take the armor and weapon from him, surprised and pleased to see that no new boxes in the inventory window are taken up by the new armor. Instead, the boxes indicate that they are each holding a helmet, chest armor, greaves, and gauntlets. For some reason, the inventory window distinguishes the armor pieces by size, male or female, and condition, but if two pieces are identical in these descriptors then they simply go into the same box. ¡°Is now a good time?¡± Galea asks, swimming into my view from above. ¡°As good as any,¡± I reply to her in my head. It is only a few steps to the next soldier lying in the snow. ¡°I have good news!¡± she exclaims, showing me a message box. You have defeated Armor of Forgotten Deadx3 THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! I read the message a few more times to make certain that I am seeing it right. I had been wondering how big rank two monsters would be for my advancement. Each one being worth a level by itself seems like a bit much, but I¡¯m not going to complain. ¡°Thanks Galea, but I don¡¯t feel too much like celebrating right now.¡± I reach Rohinda¡¯s body, it¡¯s still warm. I barely spoke two words to the woman, but I feel a tightness in my chest as I pull back the fur cloak she is wearing to get at the wristbands she is wearing that emanate magical power. I don¡¯t inspect them with the Eye of Volaash before pocketing them in my inventory. Some part of me feels that it would be a violation. I rejoin Dovik at the top of the rise less than ten minutes later, finding the man speaking with three strangers that I haven¡¯t been introduced to before. Rather than bother him during his conversation, I walk past to find Macille sitting in the snow, staring up at the sky. ¡°Hey,¡± I say. ¡°Hey,¡± he replies. He takes a long breath and puts on a smile for me. ¡°Find anything interesting?¡± ¡°You need armor right,¡± I say, failing to play along with his joviality. ¡°I found some pieces that looked like your old armor.¡± I wave my hand, pulling some greaves out of the inventory window that only I can see. Macille looks at me strangely as I toss the pair of greaves to him but doesn¡¯t say anything. ¡°These are good,¡± he says, looking inside to see that they are lined with what I think is rabbit fur. ¡°Should be warm.¡± ¡°I want you to wear something that will protect you,¡± I say. ¡°Too much steel here and I¡¯ll end up freezing to death,¡± he says. ¡°I hear that¡¯s not so bad. Probably better than getting cut in half or eaten by a bear.¡± He grimaces. ¡°Are those my only choices?¡± My head begins to turn to look down the slope, but I stop myself, shaking it. ¡°I¡¯m not incredibly optimistic,¡± I say. I pull out a full set of plate armor that I think will fit him and toss it into the snow at his side. ¡°We¡¯ll make it through this,¡± he says, seriousness in his voice. Macille pats my leg before he starts picking up the pieces I tossed into the snow and inspecting them. ¡°Don¡¯t get me wrong,¡± I say. ¡°I will make it through this for sure. I¡¯m worried about you.¡± He snorts at that but can¡¯t keep his smile from turning genuine. ¡°Cocky.¡± ¡°Confident,¡± I say. ¡°I also want you to take this.¡± Reaching my hand into another box in my inventory, I grab ahold of something painfully cold, even through my decent gloves. Longsword of the Forgotten Dead(Rare): The sword, crafted from ancient iron and tempered in the manaflows of winter, requires a superior strength to wield properly. This sword is resistant to magical and mundane attacks of its rank and is sharp enough to cut through metal. Requirements: 70 Strength As soon as the sword is fully out of the inventory, its weight settles into my wrist, and the blade stabs into the ground. I let go of the grip before the sudden spin can snap my wrist. It wavers from where it sticks out of the ground, vibrating the air with a metallic whine. ¡°This is the sword that monster was using?¡± Macille asks. He stands, inspecting the weapon as the handle continues to rock back and forth in the air. ¡°Longsword of the Forgotten Dead,¡± I tell him. ¡°It requires a certain amount of strength to use.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t all swords?¡± Macille asks, gripping the handle. With a grunt, the man pulls the sword from the snow and hoists it into the air. I take a quick step away, afraid that he might lose control of the blade. My fear proves unfounded. Macille holds the sword up in front of himself, inspecting the edge. ¡°Okay, I get it. This thing is heavy.¡± ¡°Too heavy?¡± ¡°No¡± He lets go of the sword with his left hand and swings it through the air a few times with his right. The blade rings in the air as he swings it. He flips the sword a full revolution through the air, catching the hilt behind himself with his hand again before planting it in the snow. ¡°It¡¯s a good blade.¡± ¡°Magic too,¡± I say. ¡°A magic sword of my own.¡± Macille pulls off one of his gloves and runs his naked fingers along the metal of the hilt. ¡°It¡¯s heavy and cuts really well,¡± I say with a shrug. ¡°Magically well, I guess.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll admit, I was always a bit jealous of Kendon¡¯s hammer. I really wanted that.¡± ¡°Why didn¡¯t you get it then?¡± I ask. ¡°I lost the race.¡± Macille kneels and runs his finger along the edge of the blade, nicking the flesh of his index finger and flinching away. ¡°You raced for it?¡± ¡°A footrace,¡± Macille says. ¡°My father didn¡¯t simply give us the weapons of our house. He put them both at the top of a mountain and told us to climb it. Kendon got there first and took the hammer. He always was the faster one. I won the contest for the artifacts though.¡± He looks up at me for a long moment, some wheels turning in his head that I cannot see. ¡°My artifact allows me to fully heal myself, once a day. It takes a few seconds to use, but it is very powerful.¡± ¡°Are you certain that you should be telling me that? Arabella told me to keep my artifact a secret. Not that I¡¯m sure how well I can keep this eye a secret,¡± I say, pointing at the Eye of Volaash, the very subtle Eye of Volaash that is completely black except for a red iris. ¡°I know what yours is,¡± Macille says, shrugging. ¡°I think it is about time that you knew what mine was.¡± He looks down the slope, and I pointedly avoid following his gaze. ¡°We¡¯ve shared real fighting today, real killing. We risked our lives together. I think that is worth a little trust.¡± ¡°So what about Kendon¡¯s, not as good as yours I¡¯m guessing since you apparently picked first.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not for me to say,¡± Macille answers. ¡°Maybe you should ask him.¡± ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem like the type that would tell me,¡± I sigh. ¡°Probably not,¡± Macille agrees. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t worry about it. He rarely uses his anyway.¡± I nod at him and spend a few moments looking through my inventory again before something occurs to me. ¡°If that is what your artifact does, why did you never use it against the Desert Spearman?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t trust you as much then,¡± Macille says staring at the distant trees. ¡°So, you¡¯d rather die over and over again than share a secret with me?¡± I shake my head at the man and toss a steel helmet into the snow next to the rest of the armor that I gave him. ¡°I don¡¯t think I would have done the same.¡± ¡°It wasn¡¯t really dying,¡± he says. ¡°Close enough.¡± I turn to walk back over to Dovik after seeing that he has dismissed the strangers, only speaking to Samielle now. Macille catches me up short, pointing to the sword that still stands in the snow. ¡°Dovik isn¡¯t going to be angry that you gave that to me, is he?¡± he asks. ¡°I don¡¯t know the man,¡± I say. ¡°Even if he is, I see it as mine to give to whomever I want.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t kill that monster though,¡± Macille says slowly. ¡°My eye would disagree with you,¡± I say, walking backward away from him. It¡¯s a short walk over to Dovik. ¡°Do you have a scabbard for it at least!¡± he calls to me. ¡°Afraid not!¡± I call back. I stop just a short distance away from Dovik and Samielle. ¡°No,¡± Dovik says to Samielle. ¡°I don¡¯t think we should risk killing more of them. Go ahead and try to find as many survivors as you can. Bring them here. Don¡¯t risk getting too close to those bears, I¡¯m sure that some of the nastier ones can still hit you even if you are in the air.¡± ¡°You got it, boss.¡± Samielle jumps back, taking to the air and winging away. He dives into the trees at the bottom of the slope, disappearing into the gloom. Dovik turns to me, his face flat and serious. ¡°How many sets of armor were you able to retrieve?¡± he asks. ¡°Excluding the one for myself and Macille, thirty-nine.¡± ¡°That¡¯s great,¡± he says, though his expression stays constant. ¡°Go ahead and set out what you will. I heard you speaking to Macille. If you have any more of the weapons that those monsters were using, and if they are magical as well, I think that it would be a good idea to hand them out before the bears reach us.¡± ¡°Probably,¡± I say. I look around at the flat land at the top of the rise. There are nearly twenty people here now; they started trickling in as soon as our battle against the Armors was over. Only a few of them even bothered to help in the fight. I eye that giant of a man as a good candidate for the scythe that I looted from one of the Armors, if he can meet the requirement that is. Though, given the impressive, and admittedly sexy, bulge of his arms and chest, I doubt that will be a problem for him. Most of the men and women sitting on their fur cloaks in the snow at the top of the slope wear looks of stunned terror. More than one shakes from something other than the cold, and tearstains can be seen, cut through the cosmetics of men and women. These people certainly are rich, my eye confirms it with the myriad of titles I see among them. Unfortunately, it looks as if most of them were unprepared for so much death, so much personal destruction. I wouldn¡¯t say that I thank Arabella for making me be horribly disemboweled by the Desert Spearman over and over, but I can appreciate the numbness that it has left me with. ¡°It won¡¯t be long now,¡± Dovik says, looking down the slope. ¡°This is for you,¡± I tell him, dropping a special pair of armor at his feet. The armor that my ability created or looted¨CI¡¯m not sure which¨Cfrom the monsters isn¡¯t magical, though it is impressively heavy and solid. Dovik picks up the chest piece, inspecting the black metal in the light of the noon sun. None of the rust and degradation that marred it remains. ¡°This looks expensive,¡± he says. ¡°Our leader should look the best of us,¡± I say. ¡°I guess that is me,¡± he says, though he looks conflicted about it. ¡°Someone needs to be the leader,¡± I say, looking back at the people sitting in the snow, sharing hushed conversations with one another. ¡°I doubt that many of them will follow someone without noble blood,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Let alone a human.¡± ¡°I think you underestimate them,¡± I say. ¡°I think that they will follow anyone who seems confident enough right now. If you let them all know your last name, then they will even suspect that you have some insider knowledge about the Passage of Rising Tide.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t though,¡± Dovik says. ¡°You just need them to think that you do,¡± I say. I pull a final piece from my inventory, a black war helm with twin horns protruding from the top. ¡°This piece is magical, almost unbreakable and it doesn¡¯t obscure vision at all.¡± I hand the helmet to him, and let my fingers linger on his own for a moment. In the distance, I can almost imagine that I hear the roar of oncoming monsters. Chapter 25 - Ending the Charge I stare up at the break in the canopy overhead. I imagine that I am in a canyon instead of this forest, three-hundred-foot walls of tree trunks rising into the air to the north and south of me, a small gap of two-hundred or so feet breaking the perpetual green overhead. The spot Dovik found for us to make this temporary camp is along one of the narrower parts of the slope that stretches east and west as far as the eye can see, winding and bending this way and that like the path of a river through a canyon of trees. The light filters down, the gloom on the slope is far less than in the trees. No true sunlight reaches us. I rub my eyes. I try to hold my tongue, be civil, but it¡¯s getting harder and harder to do so. ¡°I do not know another way to say it,¡± I tell the elven man in front of me. They way he stacks his hair on top of his head in braids and loops makes him look like an overstuffed bird. ¡°I don¡¯t have any more armor. It has all been given out already.¡± ¡°Then should you not be scrounging through the snow to find more? Do you expect us all to go naked?¡± he says at me. I stave off a sigh. The top of the slope is busy now. It has been more than an hour, far longer than Dovik had predicted for the monsters and the red wall to reach us, and people continue to stumble upon our little encampment. The snow on the slope leading down towards the trees below lays pushed aside, melted in some places, the path up to the top made easier by the myriad of people that have come. Forty-six people sit or stand at the top of the rise; Galea has kept an expert tally. The shock seems to have worn off for most by now, a little time spent not running for their lives or fighting a horde of monsters has done them wonders. Of course, as soon as people began to calm down, they began to whine. ¡°If you want to go and find some armor for your own self, then I suggest that you do so,¡± I say back to the little nobleman. Back home, saying such a thing to one with golden blood might have ended up with me and my tongue divorced. A beat passes as the man stares up at me, but no god comes out of the clouds to strike me down for my arrogance. ¡°Are you not the quartermaster?¡± he asks, his pride thoroughly affronted. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Yet, you saw yourself fit to select and divvy out the supplies left here and in the surrounding area to whomever you liked. Do you have any good reason as to why you thought excluding myself and my comrades from necessary supplies?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like you,¡± I say. ¡°Reason enough?¡± ¡°You dare!¡± ¡°I dare!¡± I yell back at him before he can get much further. I feel my blood boiling in my veins and step away from the man. There is rage still climbing up onto his face as I leave him behind in the snow, walking to where Dovik stands, his black armor donned, face mostly hidden behind the mask of his helmet. My armor clinks as I trudge through the snow toward him. I kept the best pieces that I could find for myself. Perhaps not as excellent as the ones that I gave to Dovik, but not nearly as heavy either. The armor that my inventory classified as being for women was, for the most part, too small to fit me, and I needed to mix and match pieces before I could find something suitable. That mere fact led me to believe that the corpses of the soldiers strewn around the slope had not been magicians. There seemed to be a tendency for magicians to grow a bit with each rank increase, a change especially prominent in women. This further raises the question if the bodies had been real at all. It seems like an extreme waste of life for so many bodies to be out here just so we could steal their armor and weapons. I also held out on selecting pieces until I was able to assemble a set that all had fur lining the inner parts of the armor. Was it a bit corrupt to keep the most desirable and warm pieces for myself? Probably. No one bothered calling me out on it. The breastplate I wear covers most of my vital bits and is far heavier than the one that I had purchased in Westgrove all those weeks before. It gleams with the light of unblemished steel. My gauntlets and greaves match, the metallic boots being especially well insulated with rabbit fur and warm. There was plenty of chain mail and helmets to go along with the rest of the armor, but I held off on those pieces. Even with my increased strength, I still want to be light on my feet, especially in the shin-high snow, and a helmet would only obscure my vision when I needed to be attacking from far away. Dovik turns and speaks to me before I can even stop near him. ¡°People are becoming restless.¡± I looked around at those milling about on the slope, a bit confused. ¡°I don¡¯t see that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sensing it. They are wondering when the red wall will arrive. It is making everyone nervous.¡± ¡°They seem more carefree than anything to me,¡± I say, shrugging. ¡°You¡¯re the boss though.¡± ¡°Did you need something?¡± he asks. ¡°Just to get away from that man,¡± I say, pointing with my thumb over my shoulder. ¡°I don¡¯t know what he expects, me to trudge off into the snow and get killed by a monster just so that he can have a little bit more protection?¡± ¡°That is likely exactly what he expects,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Do you know where he is from?¡± ¡°Somewhere called the Graes Plains, a barony there. He is the son of the Baron,¡± I tell him. ¡°That would explain it. The Graes Plains are so far removed from any other land features that it is said the grass fields roll on for hundreds of miles in all directions. All the people there know is farming, trading, and horsemanship. They also get relatively few monsters, even near the cities; a cabal of high-ranking adventurers keep the plains clean from the skies. Not hard to do when all there is are grass fields and farms. Even the unwanted third son of a nobleman would feel entitled enough to try and order his peers around if he came from such a lackluster and peaceful stretch of the world,¡± Dovik says. ¡°You know quite a bit about it,¡± I say, looking back at the man twenty feet behind me whose face is still beet red. A woman, another elven noble, clings to his arm and whispers words into his ear while glancing sideways in my direction. ¡°Are those plains close by or something?¡± ¡°No,¡± Dovik says. ¡°I just have a knack for geography.¡± ¡°Impressive,¡± I say, meaning it. ¡°Not really.¡± ¡°How did you know he was the third son of a noble?¡± I ask. I scan the man with my eye again, but it doesn¡¯t reveal such detailed information. Dovik tilts his head at me for a moment before he snorts and looks back down the slope. ¡°Did you really not know?¡± ¡°Oh, is there something else that I am ignorant of?¡± I ask, feeling a bit of temper leak into my voice. I ball my fist, feeling the cool metal of the gauntlet stiffen around my fingers. I must really be tired; this man is not someone I need to be getting angry with. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to insult you,¡± he says. ¡°You really are a farm girl, huh. It is refreshing in a way.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad that my rural drawl can put you at ease, my lord.¡± I say, chewing on the words for all that they are worth. Dovik laughs. ¡°It is strange that you didn¡¯t know is all. You must not have spoken with those two nobles that Arabella picked up along with you all that much. Despite how these people behave, have you wondered why they haven¡¯t gone ahead and tried to pressure you with their family name yet?¡± ¡°Pride,¡± I guess. ¡°Maybe a bit of that.¡± Dovik taps his chin. ¡°No, for most I would say it is because they know that their powerful fathers, mothers, uncles, or aunts wouldn¡¯t back them up. These are the spare children the aristocracy makes just in case their first and second born sons and daughters end up not making it to adulthood. These people will never inherit a position with real power in the title. It isn¡¯t uncommon for such unwanted children to be sent to study either magic or the gods, to give service and acquire a different sort of power since they will never have any by birthright. That is why they are here.¡± He pauses for a long moment. ¡°That must also be why the guild feels its fine to spend their lives so cheaply.¡± ¡°Our lives,¡± I say. He looks at me with a sad smile. ¡°They haven¡¯t spent us yet.¡± I grab the man¡¯s armored hand and set a pair of magical bracers into his palm. The glow of Rohinda¡¯s magic still lingers on them, an echo. I still haven¡¯t looked to see what it is that they do, but I don¡¯t want to hold onto them any longer. ¡°Thanks,¡± he says, voice devoid of any emotion. ¡°Who was she to you?¡± I ask. ¡°My cousin,¡± he says. Before I can ask more, he tucks the bracers away into the folds of his coat and walks past me. As he walks by, he points up to the sky where I spot Samielle flapping in place, waving his flaming mace. Dovik¡¯s movement at the top of the slope captures everyone¡¯s attention. Silence falls over the group, mummering voices dying out as all attention turns to the man in the black armor and blue coat. Dovik unsheathes his weapon and points up to where Samielle continues to hover in the air. ¡°Today has been hard for everyone,¡± Dovik begins, his voice bouncing off of the snow and reaching everyone around. ¡°I doubt any one of us expected the sheer brutality that we were met with this morning. We thought ourselves safe from death and destruction, imagining that we would all go on a little field trip to reach the end of the Passage. We were horribly wrong. ¡°My group risked our lives to clear a space on this rise so that the survivors of the carnage at the parade grounds could find a place to meet up and rest for a bit. We didn¡¯t all make it. I have sent people to scout into the forest further north of here, finding that the woods go on for forever it seems. There is no better place to fight the Dire Bears that continue to chase us than right here. This is where we will wipe them out, all that come to our small stretch of the slope that is.¡± A general air of disagreeable muttering follows Dovik¡¯s words. A man stands from among the paying attention to Dovik¡¯s proclamation. He is human, pale skin and bald head contrasting with the ginger beard he wears, sewn with big iron beads. He is short for a magician but exudes an air of competence about him that makes me instinctively want to respect him. Casson Mayster, Son of Duke Ferdinand Mayster of Lieds Boiling Conflux ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be a better idea to venture further into the forest and try to find more people before we attempted to fight the bears?¡± Casson asks. ¡°There were over five hundred of us at the parade ground, and here we have less than fifty. If we can make our force stronger before the fight, then that would be the best approach.¡± ¡°Would that we were able to,¡± Dovik answers him. ¡°This slope by itself likely covers almost forty miles of open space. People will have gathered at spots along it, like we have here, but those spaces could be miles apart. The likelihood of us finding another group of any substantial size in time before the red wall reaches us is low.¡± Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators! ¡°If we keep moving, then the red wall won¡¯t reach us,¡± Casson says. ¡°What then of when we need to stop to rest or to sleep?¡± Dovik asks. ¡°I doubt that a group as large as ours will be able to stay on the move for too long. If we suspect that this competition began with nearly five hundred participants, we can expect that perhaps twenty percent of those did not make it out of the parade grounds. We can cut that number in half again to account for those in small group or by themselves who wouldn¡¯t want to join us anyways. That would leave us with a potential hundred and fifty people that we could find, a maximum of three other groups as large as this one currently is. Our chances of finding such a group in time along an expanse of thousands of square miles is so unlikely that it isn¡¯t worth losing the advantage that this high slope gives to us.¡± After he explains his reasoning, the murmuring dies away somewhat. Though, I can still hear discordant voices speaking amongst the group as Dovik continues. ¡°For the most part, the bear monsters cannot do anything from a significant range.¡± Dovik points down the slope. ¡°We will line the top of the slope with our Mages and Marksmen. The Guardians will be stationed along the slope to hold the monsters off from getting to the top. Everyone will do their best to keep the monsters away from the Mages and Marksmen. The operation will be simple, kill them before they kill us. Anything that we can do slow down the monsters¡¯ climb will be worth it. ¡°I expect that the fact that we have already cleared out a passable space up the slope will force the monsters to congregate toward us, meaning that our section will be denser with enemies than others. While you may look at this as a bad thing, I like to see the bright side of it. I really want to kill these fucking monsters.¡± ¡°Why are we even listening to you!¡± A woman shouts out of the crowd. Dovik stops his turn toward the slope, looking back at the assembled magicians spread out at the top of the slope. The wind has begun to pick up again, dusting snow across the ground and caking the metal armor most of us wear with rime. ¡°My name is Dovik Willian!¡± he proclaims. A shudder passes through the crowd at his words. ¡°No one elected me your leader, and I don¡¯t presume to appoint myself as such. If you have a better plan, then I am ready to hear it. This space is open to everyone. I won¡¯t attempt to monopolize it.¡± The woman that spoke up before says nothing, shrinking away from the attention that settles upon her. ¡°If there are no further suggestions,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Then I would advise that we all get a move on. The red wall approaches, the monsters driven before it.¡± As Dovik speaks, a shadow of red creeps along the ground at an astounding pace, racing over the white, making it looks as if the ground is littered with piled and frozen blood. When the shadow crosses over Dovik¡¯s helm, casting his face into stark shadow, no one dares to mutter any longer. ¡°If you are a Mage or Marksman, line yourselves up at the edge of the slope,¡± Dovik commands. ¡°If you have abilities to apply magical aid or benefits to others, meet me with the ranged combatants. Everyone else, prepare for battle. Monsters approach.¡± He doesn¡¯t need to tell them a second time. I¡¯m already standing at the edge of the slope, so I watch as others break away from the crowd of people to join me. Of the eleven that end up standing together, four carry bows, the magical items they brought into the competition. I was able to find more than a hundred arrows among the soldiers earlier and have long distributed them. The other six, Casson Mayster among them, seem to be Mages. It is going to be up to us to deal most of the damage in the upcoming fight. A chill settles into me, the red wall, still too high and far out of view for me to see directly, casts its red light across the world, making everything crimson and black. We stand around, waiting on Dovik, who is still with the main group, speaking to a few individuals and motioning them in our direction. I pool dragonfire into my hand to keep myself warm. A few of those around me see the magic in my hand but don¡¯t comment. ¡°Not too much time,¡± Dovik says as he wanders over. Stragglers follow the man, Macille included. ¡°Eleven, it will have to do.¡± ¡°How many bears are you expecting to come toward us?¡± I ask him. ¡°You seem pretty good with numbers.¡± ¡°Hard to know,¡± Dovik says. ¡°If they are just mindless monsters, no more than twenty I would imagine. If they have some kind of instinct or organization, impossible to tell.¡± ¡°That raises my spirits,¡± Eric says from my left. ¡°Glad to hear it,¡± Dovik says, ignoring the sarcasm. ¡°Given that this is going to rely so heavily on you guys, I brought over these folks to lay down some beneficial magic before the fight begins.¡± He motions to Macille and the three others standing near him. ¡°I guess that¡¯s my cue,¡± Macille says, stepping up and casting out his hand. Magic washes away from Macille¡¯s palm, falling over us and sticking. Guardian¡¯s Bulwark The defense of armor worn by individuals under this spell¡¯s effect is greatly increased. Those standing next to Macille also step forward, magic flying away from them as well. Sage¡¯s Insight The mana regeneration of affected individuals is slightly increased for the next ten minutes. Awareness The vision of individuals this magic has been laid upon is acutely enhanced for the next half an hour. +10 Perception. Blessing of the Creator The Magic attribute of those blessed by the Creator is temporarily increased. Duration of this magical effect increases based on the affected individual¡¯s base Magic attribute. +15 Magic. The layering lights of the various magics fading onto my skin make my pale skin stand out like a painter¡¯s canvas to my Dragon¡¯s Eye. The woman that cast the magic boosting spell steps forward further, kneeling and drawing shapes in the snow with her finger. She is pale, alabaster skin purer than the snow she drawls on, and I might mistake her for a full elf if it weren¡¯t for the telltale clipping of her ears that gives her away as a half-breed. I¡¯ve never met a half-elf in my life before. Their existence is illegal in Gale. Her dress is modest, simple linens dyed orange and yellow. Despite that, the cold doesn¡¯t seem to affect her much. Miranada Borj, Daughter of Archduke Jason Borj Alchemist Conflux Miranada completes the design that she scribbles into the snow. She blows a long breath toward the snow, the pink sparkle of magic washing out with the air from her lungs, soaking into the lines she has drawn. An instant later, a box has appeared, laying in the snow where the drawing had just been. I can hardly believe what I see resting inside the box that resembles the pear crates we had back home. Bottles, each containing a deep blue liquid that sparkles with glittering power. There must be more than twenty. Lesser Mana Potion(Uncommon): Created by the novice alchemist Miranada Borj, this mana potion is capable of restoring five hundred mana to the imbiber. ¡°You have an ability that can create mana potions?¡± I ask, not realizing that I said it aloud until eyes turn on me. Miranada squints up at me. ¡°I summoned them with a spell¡­¡± she says, condescension dripping from her voice. I grimace at the woman¡¯s words, my anger far too close to the surface, hard to control. ¡°I am sorry,¡± Miranada says before I can say anything. She shudders. ¡°Today has been hard. I prepared these weeks ago before we set out to come here. I am hoping that they can come in handy.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± I tell her, my anger vanishing as fast as it had come. ¡°I thought we weren¡¯t supposed to bring in things from the outside,¡± one of the mages next to me asks. ¡°And I thought that I wouldn¡¯t have to see my brother have his head ripped off by a monster and eaten!¡± Miranada snaps back at him. ¡°I guess that bastard Gaius will have to stomach it.¡± The mage who made the complaint holds his hands up in surrender. We give Miranada a moment to calm back down, no one wanting to excite her more. The half-elf girl stands, brushing off her skirt, and looking between all of us. ¡°These were supposed to be for me and Caleb. If you can use them to kill those monsters that took his life, I¡¯ll consider it worth it. I don¡¯t have many more potions than this, so make good use of them.¡± With her piece said, Miranada turns and walks back to the larger group. Already, men and women in the heavier sets of armor, most of which carry shields, are heading down the slope. ¡°You don¡¯t have to use them if you are worried about getting kicked out of the competition,¡± Dovik tells us. ¡°I, however, will be.¡± He bends and takes one of the bottles for himself. He offers another one of the bottles to me. ¡°That last fight wasn¡¯t too long ago,¡± he says. I take the mana potion from him, dropping it into the pouch on my hip before subtly making it vanish with my storage ring. ¡°My mana is topped off.¡± Dovik smiles and nods at me. ¡°Of course it is.¡± It doesn¡¯t take much longer before the growling and snuffling from the trees below draw our attention. The top of the thousand-foot wall peeks out from above the canopy. Vertigo overtakes me as I stare up at it. The wall comes to a rest less than two-hundred feet away from us, just inside of the trees at the bottom of the slope. Their approach is slow¨Cthey don¡¯t charge this time¨Cbut the oncoming of the Dire Bears is inevitable. Hulking forms of fur and fury amble out of the trees at the bottom of the slope, stopping as they approach the place where the land rises away from them. Beady red eyes stare up at the group of magicians waiting near the top of the rise. Scanning my eyes along the tree line at the bottom of the slope, I count sixty-two of the monsters with the aid of Volaash¡¯s Eye. After seeing one, the eye keeps its location known to me, the message window above its head not disappearing until it breaks eyeline with me. Worse than the Dire Bears are the rank two monsters that are mingled in with their number. Alpha Dire Bear Dire Bear Abomination Terror¡¯s Voice Dire Bear of Cutting Winds Stone Bear I feel sweat dripping down my back, making my clothes stick to the fur inside of my armor. The breathing of the people around me becomes tense, deliberate, and the bears at the bottom of the slope continue to stare up at us, none willing to move a muscle. Distantly, I hear the sound of fighting to the East, the roar of a savage Dire Bear being disemboweled by one of the Armors. ¡°No time like the present,¡± Casson says from my side. The short man casts his hand forward, red dust flying away from him and snaking through the air down the slope. The Dire Bear that it approaches sniffs the air, curious at the reddish particles. The dust settles over the monster, clinging to its fur, and as it does, the Dire Bear begins to roar in pain. I watch, unable to really understand what I am seeing, as the fur and skin of the Dire Bear starts to bubble and pop, smoking and flying away like wisps into the air. After a few seconds, nothing is left of the Dire Bear other than smoking clumps of muscle and bone. A roar comes from deeper within the forest at the bottom of the slope. Some command passes through the Dire Bears, and they echo the roar, starting their charge up the slope. I throw my fire into the head of the closest monster, the fully charged Dragonfire Bolt blowing half of its face off. Before the Dire Bear can recover, a bolt of lightning screeches down from the sky, finishing the job. ¡°Give them everything you got!¡± Dovik roars before he starts pacing down the slope, the strikers of our makeshift group following him down. Murder ensues. As if in a cruel reversal of the charge the Dire Bears laid into the unsuspecting magicians just this morning, the lumbering monsters cannot find a clear purchase on the slope that they try to climb up, and the magicians waiting for them in the snow tear them apart. I throw dragonfire into the mass of snarling fangs trying to reach us, those beside me also letting loose with their own awesome magical powers. The Dire Bears continue to scramble up the slope, the red snow slickening with their blood and carcasses as they burn, freeze, boil, collapse, disintegrate, or are merely riven with arrows and stabs from magical and mundane weapons. The rage that the Dire Bears scream at us as they charge and die only fuels me to push myself faster. My entire mana pool is used up in the first minute of the battle, my dragonfire apparently one of the fastest abilities in the group of mages to cast. Burning and exploded monsters litter the snow by the time that I have pulled free the first of the mana potions to chug down, and I watch with glee as the line displaying my mana in the top of my vision fills itself faster than ever before. We continue hurling spells and arrows down at the monsters, more coming to our small patch of slope by the minute. The rank two monsters begin to climb the slope after the first few minutes have passed, more than eighty Dire Bears dead on the slope by the time they begin. The Guardians stop their ascent, these monsters, even the rank two ones, are far less dangerous than the Armors had been. Not to say that they don¡¯t get their licks in. At this point, we have four full-fledged healers in our makeshift group, and they work overtime to heal the wounds inflicted by the monsters. The barbs of bone that the Alpha Dire Bear fire into the mass of magicians leave especially nasty wounds behind, the bones splintering as soon as they enter a person¡¯s body, being difficult to remove. By the eighth minute, I am the only one of the mages still left hurling magic down at the monsters below us. We have run out of mana potions, and the rest of those around me sit in the red snow, faces slick with sweat and the exhaustion of spending their mana so freely. Only Eric stands with me still at the top of the slope, delivering death to the monsters below. Fifteen minutes after the Casson boiled the first of the Dire Bears alive, no monsters linger on this side of the veil between life and death. The last of the monsters, the Terror¡¯s Voice, falls as Macille¡¯s glowing sword separates its thick skull from its body. Not many were able to approach the monster, but Macille had been able to for some reason. As the last of the monsters falls into the snow, I am left to listen to the sound of panting breaths and moans from those still being healed. Those of us that still can, stand, waiting for some other shoe to drop, but none ever does. A whooping cheer echoes out in the air, drawing all eyes up to see Samielle floating above the battlefield, his mace and clothing slick with the blood of the monsters, only dark stains in the red light cast by the wall. The cheer passes through the magicians like an infection, and I find myself carried away by it as well. We did it! We actually did it, and no one died! You have defeated Dire Bearx93 You have Defeated Alpha Dire Bearx2 You have Defeated Dire Bear Abomination You have Defeated Terror¡¯s Voice You have Defeated Dire Bear of Cutting Winds You have Defeated Stone Bear You have Defeated Raging Menacex2 You have Defeated Corilon¡¯s Chosen You have Defeated Rust Bear You have Defeated Eater of Mages THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! Chapter 26 - Levels, Levels, Levels The cheer dies as a cliff of red light shudders into existence on the edge of the slope. Bodies of dead Dire Bears are shuffled forward, forming piles of dismemberment at the base of the red wall that stands just a few feet behind the tree line. So close now, I can see that the wall is not entirely opaque. The boughs of trees stand frozen inside the wall, locked in place by the immovable color that stands there. ¡°Run!¡± someone on the slope yells. All at once, a flood of people sprint up the slope toward where I stand, panic in their faces an obelisk of red magic stands sentinel at their backs, vibrating the air around it with a deep whine. They do not stop at the top of the slope, continuing to sprint past and run into the forest the slope led up to. Someone grabs my arm, Macille, and drags me along with him into the trees. The vibrancy leaves the group as they make it to the trees. Some turn rapidly in place, trying to spot any oncoming threats out of the wood, while others collapse, the exhaustion from the battle overcoming them. Macille sets his back to a tree, the clothes beneath the armor I gave him thoroughly soaked with sweat that refuses to evaporate in the cold air. I still feel the tingling in my fingers, that phantom heat that runs over my skin when I summon my dragonfire. The feeling begs me to keep going, throw more fire, burn whatever I can, but my lack of mana keeps me sane. ¡°It stopped,¡± Dovik says, the man¡¯s words cutting through the panic and muttering. He stands at the tree line, looking at the red wall that towers away from us so high that it looks infinite this close to us. ¡°It hasn¡¯t moved again.¡± I walk over to the man, joined by a few of the other magicians, and stare at the wall as well. It continues to hum the air, the magic of its constitution vibrating the air, but as I stand and listen to it, it sounds like it is winding down. Silence lapses over us. We stand for a long while, staring at the red wall that finally winds down to silence at the edge of the tree line on the bottom end of the slope. Samielle grabs my arm as I raise a hand to throw some dragonfire at the wall. ¡°Don¡¯,¡± he says. ¡°Best not to test it.¡± I let the fire go, giving in. ¡°Did it really stop?¡± ¡°Look,¡± Dovik says. He points along the line the slope cuts through the forest, and I see at once what he is referring to. The wall has settled perfectly along the uneven line of the slope, no longer a perfectly straight wall but one perfectly parallel to the slope¡¯s irregularity. ¡°This is where they were herding us to.¡± Dovik starts walking down the slope, and after a second or two, nothing happening, a few of us follow. Taken to his role as leader, he begins handing out orders. ¡°Farm girl,¡± he says, turning to me and trying to pick up the cheer the ending of the battle had given all of us just before, ¡°why don¡¯t you start working at Disenchanting the monsters.¡± ¡°At least I can be useful,¡± I mutter, walking past him. Dovik catches my arm as I walk past, whispering in my ear. ¡°Can you store Rohinda¡¯s body for me?¡± The request catches me too off guard to answer him for a moment. ¡°You want me to hold onto her?¡± ¡°Until I find a good place for her funeral,¡± he says. ¡°Please.¡± I nod to the man. Gods, I don¡¯t want to, but I can¡¯t refuse the sincerity I hear in his voice. I tap the hide of a Dire Bear as I pass it. The body explodes into pink smoke that swirls into the air and disappears. ¡°More work to do.¡± The fire crackles, a loose spark floating away from the burning wood, sizzling into the meat hanging over it on a skewer. We have five fires going, I lit them all, over which bear meat cooks. The snow is thin here, one of the women in the group can control snow apparently, and managed to move it all out of the clearing we found a few miles north of where we fought the Dire Bears. There are fifty-three of us now. Everyone is tired. I sit by the fire, rotating the spit on which my hunk of Dire Bear meat rests every few minutes as I watch the camp, sheltering beneath the bear pelt that drapes my shoulders like a blanket. There had been a few white bears among the group; I kept one of those pelts for myself. Again, I was surprised to find no one object to me deciding to keep the particular spoils for myself. With over a hundred of the monsters killed on the slope, my Disenchantment ability plucked a pelt from each and enough meat to last the entire group a week or more. Most of the group sleeps now, wrapped tightly in the pelts I gave out as night approached, puffing fog into the night air from inside their warm bundles. Macille sits next to me, working with a needle to try and sew something resembling a tent together from two of the pelts I gave him. He is awful at it, but someone has to do it. ¡°Almost done,¡± I tell him, turning the spit. I look up at the sky, a small window that breaks through the ever-present canopy of giant trees. The stars are different here, foreign. I can¡¯t even begin to think of how to navigate by them. Luckily, navigation is someone else¡¯s job. I¡¯m the group¡¯s backpack. ¡°I feel like I told you I wasn¡¯t hungry,¡± Macille says, working with the needle. He swears under his breath, dropping the bundle of furs and sucking on his thumb. ¡°You need to eat,¡± I tell him. ¡°And you need to sleep,¡± he says back to me. I must look terrible. I felt the exhaustion start creeping up on me as soon as the battle ended. My mana had been taken down to almost nothing in the end, and the exhaustion that comes with doing that has been pulling at me for a while. Ignoring Macille¡¯s comment, I pull the spit from the fire and lay the meat on a flat stone to rest. Foreign birds call to each other from the tops of the trees on all sides of us. Strange, I never knew birds to be so loud at night. I stare out at the shadows at the edges of the circular clearing we set camp in. There are a few given the job to watch over the group while we sleep, mostly those that joined after we fought the Dire Bears. I am a bit afraid to go to sleep. Eleven, that is how many times I will have my soul reinforced while I sleep. That is more at a single time than I have ever had done in total. The changes are bound to be radical, and I have no idea who the person waking up in the morning will be. ¡°I¡¯ll sleep when I¡¯m done eating,¡± I tell Macille. I use a knife looted from one of the soldiers earlier in the day to cut a piece off my bear meat. Despite the lack of seasoning and the uneven cooking, the meat melts in my mouth, maybe the best meal that I¡¯ve ever had. ¡°You are missing something special here.¡± Macille sighs, motioning to me to hand him the knife. He hesitates for a moment before rolling his eyes and cutting into the slab of meat on my rock. He chews on it for a while before swallowing. ¡°It¡¯s tough,¡± he says. ¡°It was a giant monster,¡± I say back. ¡°Of course, it¡¯s tough.¡± ¡°So maybe cook it longer.¡± Macille picks his pelts back up, fusing them with the needle and thread. ¡°I¡¯m not a chef,¡± I say, cutting off another piece. I¡¯m not even sure why I am so set on eating; I¡¯m not even that hungry. ¡°Didn¡¯t claim you were,¡± he tells me. ¡°You should get some sleep.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what women want to hear, Macille. They like it when you tell them they look tired. Makes us feel real pretty.¡± I realize that I am being a bit short with the man. He saved my life more than once today. My temper has been on a short fuse all day, not that I can really blame myself. These people who I thought were going to test me decided to drop a half ton of steel on me today and attack me with hundreds of monsters. I think anyone would be rightfully angry. Macille ignores my outburst, continuing his sewing. A pain bites into my thumb and I hiss. Looking down, I can see a line of blood crawling down my palm from where I had cut myself with the knife. I groan, pushing the knife and the cooked meat aside. ¡°Fine.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± Macille agrees. ¡°I¡¯m not going to sleep because I¡¯m tired,¡± I lie to him. ¡°This is about soul reinforcement.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Macille says. ¡°We did a lot today so I imagine that you should wake up much stronger than you were before. Maybe you will even begin to catch up to me.¡± ¡°You¡¯re saying that you think you can beat me in a fight?¡± I ask him, standing. I walk a few paces away and start kicking at the detritus, trying to kick up the dead leaves to reach the soil. It takes me a few seconds to realize that I can just burn the dead leaves away with my dragonfire. The sudden use of bright, magical fire in the middle of the camp turns heads in my direction, but I ignore them. A few seconds later, I have a nice, scorched, circle of well-baked soil to start dropping bear pelts onto. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. I find Macille looking at me incredulously after I have finished laying out my personal pallet. ¡°What?¡± I ask him. He snorts and shakes his head, going back to his knitting. Two pelts from Dire Bears are plenty to make a bed with, and I lay down, using the big white pelt as a blanket. I produce another pelt to bundle up as a pillow. I watch Macille, my world sideways, as the man continues to work with bone needle and gut thread to get his tent working. There is a tiredness in his eyes, not for want of sleep but because of the confusion and death today. He hasn¡¯t mentioned trying to look for Kendon since before the fight with the Armors. I fall asleep wondering what the rest of the people I arrived here with are doing right now. We will find them eventually. I have no doubt about that. The smell of bacon cooking nearby makes my eyes shoot open. This, as it turns out, was a bad idea, as the gunk that built up on my left eye overnight keeps the lid sticking closed. I rub my eye, working my fingers to pull the eyelid open, only to be greeted by sunlight attempting to blind me. I notice, for the first time, that two of the trees surrounding the clearing we found last night are a different breed from all the rest I have seen in the forest. Their leaves shine like mirrors, casting off beams of sunlight in all directions in a cascade that might be beautiful if it wasn¡¯t the first thing I saw in the morning. There is activity going on in the camp, a lot of it from the sounds of things. My stomach grumbles, and I see four men sitting at the campfire just a few feet away from me. A giant flat stone rests on rocks over the fire, the sizzling sound of cooking meat coming from it. One looks my way, and with a wave of his hand, two pieces of crisp, still cooking bacon, float off of the stone and towards me. My hand shoots out from beneath the cover of my white bear pelt, snagging the bacon out of the air. I pull the pelt back over my head, eating inside of my warm cocoon of pelts and let myself fall back asleep. I don¡¯t wake up again until mid-morning. ¡°Mistress Charlene,¡± I hear Galea whisper in my ear, bringing me back to consciousness. I didn¡¯t know the spirit could wake me up. ¡°No,¡± I tell the dragon. ¡°But¡­I have to show you,¡± Galea pleads at me. ¡°I have to show you!¡± ¡°I¡¯m sleeping,¡± I tell her. Ignoring me completely, I see a message window appear in the darkness past my closed eyes. I growl at the spirit, trying to ignore the floating text in the middle of my vision and continue sleeping, but the fight is futile. Sighing, abandoning the comfort of unconsciousness, I turn my waking mind to reading it. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 8 ¡ú 19)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 23 ¡ú 34 Strength: 12 ¡ú 23 Magic: 64 ¡ú 140 Defense: 20 ¡ú 31 Magic Defense: 16 ¡ú 27 Speed: 49 ¡ú 60 Recovery: 60 ¡ú 127 Perception: 13 ¡ú 24 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 340 Mana: 1400 Stamina: 442 Free Points: 110 I almost shoot up in my pallet at seeing the numbers, but then I remember that I am spiting the world and Galea. Remaining beneath my furs and trying to ignore the light conversation going on at the campfire, I read the attribute changes a few more times. ¡°My Magic and Recovery more than doubled,¡± I tell Galea. ¡°Your level doubled too,¡± she says, pointing it out like I hadn¡¯t noticed. ¡°Oh wow, thanks for letting me know.¡± ¡°It is not problem, Mistress Charlene.¡± I try to ignore the dragon spirit. I can¡¯t see her with my eyes closed, but I can still feel that she is right next to my head, no doubt with a smug look on her face. I need to decide what to do with my over one hundred free points. For an instant, the idea of dumping them all into Strength passes through my head. I see myself hurling a boulder at one of the Armors, a hulking woman with mountainous muscles. I shake my head to rid myself of the fantasy. If I end up fantasizing like that every single time I have a lot of free points to spend, I don¡¯t know how long I can stay on the straight and narrow path of a mage. Doing a bit of quick math, something I am getting better and better at, I notice that the only effort values I gained were in Magic and Recovery. My attributes are beginning to look a bit lopsided. I reevaluate that thought, more quick math. If all my attributes were evenly distributed, with the numbers that I have now, then I would have a 55 in every stat with some change left over. Sure, some of my attributes are a bit lower than that, Strength, Magic Defense, and Perception are all less than half of that, but is that such a bad thing? I don¡¯t find Strength and Perception being a bit low to be all that much of a big deal. I am trying to be a Mage, not a Striker or Scout. Magic Defense being low might be a problem in the future, but I¡¯ve also never encounter a monster that tried to hit me with any magic before. They will eventually, that is for certain, but I don¡¯t think monsters being overly magical is something that occurs before rank three. In the end, I decide that I might as well keep doing what I have been doing. Magic seems to be the most important stat for me by a large margin, but I also don¡¯t want to neglect Recovery at all. It is the attribute that I have a specialization for after all. I like speed, being fast is pretty great. I deliberately conjure a fantasy of me outracing a horse in my mind and find that I like the idea just as much as being some muscle monster that can crush rocks with her bare hands. Alright, not as much, but if I keep thinking about it then I might eventually, and the idea of leaving a horse behind to eat my dirt does put a smile on my face. The idea of doing that to Halford is even more satisfying. I miss him, even now. I give Galea my command and the unseen spirit claps her claws excitedly next to my ear. My hiding under my furs has the added benefit of obscuring the flash of light that rolls over my skin from the attribute distribution from anyone in the camp. I check my attributes after it is done but find another window popping up alongside it. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 8 ¡ú 19)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 23 ¡ú 34 Strength: 12 ¡ú 23 Magic: 60 ¡ú 180\ Defense: 20 ¡ú 31 Magic Defense: 15 ¡ú 27 Speed: 49 ¡ú 100 Recovery: 56 ¡ú 147 Perception: 13 ¡ú 24 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 340 Mana: 1800 Stamina: 562 THRESHOLD REACHED! 200 RECOVERY!! Recovery(1st Threshold): The effects of spent Healing Points is significantly increased, allowing you to recover from more grievous injuries than naturally possible. Even some previously mortal wounds may be unable to truly end your life. Recovery(Specialist): As a specialist in Recovery, the duration of poisons, curses, and harmful magical effects upon you are significantly reduced. ¡°Galea,¡± I call in my head. ¡°I am still here Mistress,¡± the spirit chirps in my ear. ¡°What is this threshold thing?¡± I ask. She hems and haws in my ear. ¡°Just a few minutes ago, I didn¡¯t know. Now that you have reached it, I can confidently say that it is a qualitative increase in what your attribute it able to accomplish, created when you met a certain quantitative accumulation of empowerment in the specific attribute.¡± ¡°How descriptive,¡± I sigh. I hold off on asking her why the threshold has been reached despite me not in fact having 200 Recovery, my Dragon¡¯s Eye is the answer to that mystery I am certain. The ability allows my points in the Recovery attribute to count for one and a half times what they normally would, which would put me over the 200 threshold. ¡°Does this mean that I could have hit the threshold for Magic if I had put all my points in that?¡± ¡°Yes, I suppose so.¡± I can practically see the grin on the dragon¡¯s face. ¡°And you didn¡¯t tell me about that because you didn¡¯t know about that,¡± I say. ¡°Yes, precisely. I know about it now. I can fold it into any future recommendations that I might give for how to allocate free points.¡± I sigh aloud. ¡°That¡¯s all right. I think I can remember it.¡± ¡°So, you are awake,¡± I hear a voice above me say before I feel something nudging my side. I pull the furs off myself, shading my virgin eyes from the merciless sunrays coming down from overhead, and see Macille looking down at me with a smirk. The man is wearing his armor, though he hasn¡¯t done a good enough job cleaning it from the day before. I can still see a few spots where blood is dried to the metal. I don¡¯t know if it is his or someone else¡¯s. I notice something else about him that makes my weird eyes widen. Macille Esfelle(Rank One)(Level 36) Guardian Conflux I can see his level! Taking a quick glance around, I can see everyone¡¯s levels. ¡°I have something on my face?¡± Macille asks, wiping his chin with the back of his gauntleted hand. ¡°No,¡± I say, sitting up. ¡°Just¡­nothing.¡± He looks at me, puzzlement clear, before shrugging. ¡°It¡¯s almost noon,¡± he says. ¡°So?¡± ¡°I never knew you to sleep in so late,¡± he says. Macille motions around to the rest of the camp, and, in fact, I am one of only two people still in bed. ¡°You haven¡¯t known me all that long,¡± I tell him. ¡°You sound a bit cranky. Might want to get some food.¡± I gape up at him, earning a laugh. ¡°Come on,¡± he says, nudging me with his boot again, ¡°we are going to go hunting and scouting. I thought you might be useful to bring along.¡± ¡°Because I can store things for you, and you don¡¯t have to carry them that way?¡± I ask. ¡°No,¡± he says, serious. ¡°Because you can disenchant things and store things. Those are both pretty useful.¡± I roll my eyes at the man, pocketing the furs I¡¯m lying in and the big white one I¡¯m using as a blanket with a thought. I groan as I get to my feet, taking a moment to pop the stiffness out of my back and shoulders. ¡°So, how do you feel today?¡± he asks me. ¡°Different,¡± I tell him. It¡¯s true, there is something different today. Looking about the camp, I notice that I¡¯m not the only one in unusually high spirits. Looking at the people speaking and moving about the camp, forming small parties to venture into the forest with, you wouldn¡¯t suspect that they had all been struggling for their lives just the day before. ¡°It¡¯s a good feeling when you are still starting out,¡± Macille says, ¡°soul reinforcement. It starts to come less and less frequently as you advance but given that our group killed over a hundred monsters yesterday, I¡¯m sure that everyone is a fair bit stronger than the day before.¡± ¡°I¡¯m interested in seeing what I can do now,¡± I tell him. ¡°Give me a few minutes to get my armor on.¡± ¡°No rush,¡± he says. ¡°At least I don¡¯t think so. Jess seemed pretty antsy to get a move on.¡± ¡°We are going with Jess?¡± I ask. ¡°Who else?¡± ¡°Jess and Samielle. They seem like good people, competent too. They want to explore further north. Samielle said he found something interesting that way, and north is the direction that we¡¯re supposed to be going anyway.¡± I nod, pulling pieces of armor from my inventory as I listen to him start telling me about everything Samielle had found that morning. Apparently, the man loved to just fly around the forest looking for new and interesting things. I couldn¡¯t blame him. I was feeling a bit excited at seeing what this magical forest of monsters had to offer too. Chapter 27 - Shallow Lake ¡°Well,¡± I say, shading my eyes with my hand. ¡°That certainly is interesting.¡± Just in front of our group of four, the crystal water of a small lake laps against the pebbly shore. Out in the middle of the oval-shaped lake rests a small island of trees far shorter than the ones that make up the rest of the forest. A six-hundred-foot distance of knee-high water separates us from the small island. I look left, spotting Jess palming a handful of the pure water and sniffing it before licking it up out of her hand. Jess Keller(Rank One)(Level 41) Blade Dancer Conflux Despite my offering the day of the battle, Jess refuses to take any metal armor, saying that it would weigh her down. All of that had happened, all the killing and dying, only yesterday. Gods, it feels like so much longer ago. ¡°So,¡± I ask, ¡°is it poisoned?¡± Jess wipes her hand on her scaly leg and stands. ¡°No,¡± she says. The woman starts wading out into the water, the huge chakram on her hip cutting a line through the water as she splashes forward. ¡°Hold on,¡± Macille shouts, stopping me from taking my own step to follow her. We look back at him. ¡°We aren¡¯t even going to talk about whether we should go to that island or not?¡± ¡°I got you because you said you were interested in investigating,¡± Samielle says, standing on the shore next to Macille. The man has forgone chest armor, even any clothing at all to cover his chest, opting to show off his rather impressive physique, armoring his arms and legs with what I gathered on the slope. The heavy coat the man usually wears is folded neatly and discarded on a flat rock nearby. Samielle Kraesh(Rank One)(Level 29) Nightmare Conflux It is only when I tear my eyes away from ogling the man¡¯s muscles, that I realize the area around the lake is far warmer than the rest of the forest. If I didn¡¯t know any better, I would think it was spring. The fringed edges of the canopy I can see far across on the other shore of the lake aren¡¯t even tinged with snow today. I make my own coat and Dire Bear skin disappear into my inventory. ¡°Investigate, sure.¡± Macille points to the island in the middle of the lake. ¡°I didn¡¯t say that I was comfortable with charging headfirst into whatever kind of danger is waiting for us on that island.¡± ¡°You¡¯re just guessing that it¡¯s monsters over there,¡± I say. With a thought, I make my boots disappear, and step barefoot into the water. The crystal water is warm. ¡°What else would it be?¡± Macille asks, still shying away from the water. ¡°Isn¡¯t this entire passage that we are taking part in about fighting monsters?¡± ¡°I thought it was about making it to the other side of the forest,¡± Jess says from further into the lake. She is twenty feet away from me now, walking backwards, smirking. Despite the distance, it doesn¡¯t seem as if the water has gotten any deeper for her. Back on the shore, Samielle stretches out the wings extending off his back and I can hear several pops as he adjusts himself. The way that he rolls his shoulders, all the muscles beneath flexing as he spreads out his wings, well¡­it stops me in my own tracks. Damn, I wish I had wings like that. He and Macille begin a small argument while I lose myself in thought, soothing water rising and falling with the lake¡¯s tide against my legs. When I least expect it, I am finding myself more and more envious of the abilities other people have. Part of it might be my low level, since awakening to the ability this morning, I have been greeted once again with just how much stronger everyone else is than me. Add to that, there are people like Samielle who were lucky enough to have gained the ability to fly from their essentia. I wonder if that muscular body of his also came from his abilities or if he worked to obtain it on his own. I turn a little to see Jess still pacing away. She waves to me as I look at her before she stops for a moment. With utmost grace, the woman¡¯s tail lashes out and spears into the water. She raises a fish out of the water, speared on the end of her tail, and claps her hands together, gesturing at me to make certain that I saw her movements. Someone is going to love that woman; I am sure of it. Macille, well, what can I not notice about him. He and his brother are the most built elves that I have ever seen, and considering that I grew up in Gale, that is many. Add to that that his abilities are incredibly well-rounded, he is smart, resilient, trustworthy, and dependable. Not to even mention that he would be beautiful even among the already beautiful elves. I look at my reflection in the water beneath me. What do I have that any of them don¡¯t? I guess I¡¯m¡­tall? ¡°What are you thinking about?¡± I hear Macille call me from the shore. ¡°Wondering what my Regalia will be,¡± I tell him, crouching to inspect my face better in the water. When I take the time to look, it still catches me off guard how different I look now. My skin is clear, the pores that were once clogged with black heads have now almost disappeared. I hardly recognize the woman that stares up at me, her eyes are so foreign, but I have to admit that Halford was right; I can see my mother in her face. ¡°Regalia usually has to do with your Conflux,¡± Jess says. I hear her splash through the water over to me. ¡°Mine will probably be blade arms, like my mother and aunt.¡± ¡°Blade arms!¡± I look up at Jess, silently taking the fish she hands to me and putting it into my inventory. Jess motions to her forearms. ¡°My mother¡¯s Regalia are here, like swords always attached to her arms, incredibly sharp. She and my aunt have the same Conflux as me, so I will probably get that as well when I reach the third rank.¡± ¡°Based on Conflux huh,¡± I gaze back into the water. ¡°My brother made it past the third rank, but I¡¯m pretty sure we don¡¯t have the same Conflux. I also have no idea what his Regalia is.¡± ¡°Is this important right now?¡± Macille asks. ¡°It¡¯s fun to talk about sure, but¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯ve only ever seen one other person with the same Conflux as me,¡± Samielle cuts in. ¡°He had these eyes that were completely black and a third one in the middle of his forehead. When he looked at you, it was like he was looking into your soul.¡± Samielle shivers. ¡°I imagine that I will get something like that.¡± Macille sighs and shakes his head. The lot of us turn to him with expectant looks on our faces. Macille rubs the bridge of his nose and snorts a laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I have a pretty basic Conflux, Guardian if anyone is interested. I imagine that I might get metal skin or something. A bit lame.¡± ¡°I think you would look good with metal skin,¡± I tell him. It only strikes me after how strange that sentence is. I look back down at the girl in the water. She is too pretty to really be me. ¡°I want the treasure.¡± ¡°As a Regalia?¡± Jess asks. ¡°No.¡± I point to the island not too far away. ¡°That dickhead Gaius implied that there was treasure to be found in the forest. If the Willian guild went around putting treasure in the forest for us to find, that would be a good place for it I think.¡± ¡°He might have implied it,¡± Macille says, ¡°but I don¡¯t think that man is all that reliable.¡± ¡°Maybe not,¡± I say, shrugging and standing. ¡°Actually, no, he definitely isn¡¯t reliable. Anyone that dresses up like a betrayer god cannot be reliable. Still, I bet there is treasure on that island.¡± ¡°An ability speaking to you?¡± Macille asks. ¡°No, well maybe. If my essentia were going to point me toward anything, I would think that it would be treasure.¡± Thinking about my own essentia, that just makes sense. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡°I already wanted to check it out,¡± Samielle says. ¡°Same,¡± Jess says. Macille sighs, shaking his head again, and wades out into the water. ¡°Alright,¡± he says. ¡°But let¡¯s not end up regretting this.¡± ¡°Why would we possibly regret approaching a mysterious island that could hold any number of powerful monsters?¡± I ask. Macille doesn¡¯t seem amused by the question the same way I am. The lakebed of rocks that shift on the silt bed beneath out feet stays shallow for the entirety of the journey to the island. Lake fish swim in loose schools close to the surface of the water, probing at us every now and then, swimming away at the barest touch. There are holes in the floor of the lake, huge circular openings that descend into darkness far past our vision. We skirt around them. The closer we come to the island in the middle of the lake, the stranger it begins to be. I realize as I approach that there is not really any land on the island. Trees with roots climbing up out of the water form a spiderweb of stability just a few feet above a bed of mud the color of clay. A short wall of smooth river stones surrounds the strange forest, keeping the mud isolated to the trees. We stop just outside of the wall of stones, the red mud on the other side of the barrier bubbling in spots. Samielle lands on one of the large tree roots suspended above the mud. He drops a stone down into the mud, watching it disappear as if it were splashing into water. ¡°Quicksand,¡± he says, looking back at the rest of us. ¡°Gross,¡± Jess replies. The woman jumps clear out of the water, stabbing her fingers into the back of the one of the sad looking trees, and landing on another of the dry roots. ¡°Never mind,¡± I say, looking at the bubbling mud. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go in there anymore.¡± ¡°Afraid of a little quicksand?¡± Macille asks me. The man looks around, trying to find a suitable spot to climb up onto a root himself. ¡°I don¡¯t even know what that is,¡± I say. ¡°I know that I hate mud though.¡± Macille isn¡¯t even listening to me. He steps up onto the wall of rocks surrounding the island of mud and leaps to a root, landing gracefully on it. ¡°There is a lot of water to wash it off yourself later,¡± he says, gesturing out to the lake. ¡°Remember the treasure,¡± Jess adds, trying to reassure me. ¡°I just had to open my stupid mouth,¡± I mutter, going for the same route Macille did. Landing on the root, I feel it give a little beneath my and Macille¡¯s combined weight. He grabs my hand to help me not fall off. I make my way to a different root. ¡°Well,¡± Samielle asks. ¡°Now what?¡± ¡°Dovik wanted to know what the rest of the forest looked like,¡± Macille says. ¡°To make sure that everything is scouted before we make any big moves as a group.¡± ¡°Into the trees then,¡± I say. ¡°Into the trees,¡± Macille agrees. The roots of the trees groan as I walk along the top of them. I continue along barefooted, afraid that trying to rely on metal greaves might make me lose my balance. There is no sound inside of the trees, just the quiet echo and groan of wood stretching. Samielle finds himself grounded and hopping across roots alongside us, the forest too dense for him to fly inside of. Jess, of course, makes the going look trivial, her clawed feet dancing across the roots like they were a roadway. She is the first one to see it when we come across it. Six minutes after entering the island-forest, Jess calls back to us to stop our hopping between the trees. We pause, looking where she points. I don¡¯t think that I am the only one left a bit confused by what we see. ¡°It¡¯s¡­a chest,¡± I say. I skip across a few roots, approaching the mound of sand in the middle of the bubbling mud. The trees have been cleared away from a five-foot mound of dry land in the middle of the swamp, and on top of the sandbar rests a chest of solid iron, 2 feet long and about half as wide. ¡°Hold it!¡± Macille shouts at me, making me stop just as I was about to hop down onto the sandbar. I look back at him, spotting Jess just a few feet away from myself and about to do the same thing. ¡°That is an obvious trap.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I say, scooting back toward the trunk of the tree whose root I am standing on and leaning against it. ¡°Now that you say it, it does seem a little trappy.¡± ¡°You would have to be a pretty big bastard to put a treasure chest in the middle of a mud swamp and turn it into a trap,¡± Jess comments. Realizing that we are all looking at her, she adds, ¡°I¡¯m not saying that it isn¡¯t a trap. Just felt like calling that Gaius guy a bastard is all.¡± ¡°Surely he cannot be the only person in the Willian guild who is working on this trial,¡± Samielle says. ¡°He is a fourth ranker,¡± I say. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make him omnipotent,¡± Samielle says back to me. ¡°There must be dozens of people working to ruin our lives. This ¡®Passage¡¯ is supposed to take place over hundreds of miles. I can¡¯t imagine how many high rankers they must need to monitor all of us for that.¡± I shrug at him. ¡°I¡¯ve seen fourth rankers lift entire buildings and fly them hundreds of miles. Tits and honey, that man made a huge magic wall that stretched hundreds of feet high and probably a hundred miles long. What couldn¡¯t they do? Keeping track of a bunch of kids seems like it should be child¡¯s play next to all of that.¡± Then again, that alchemist woman summoned potions from outside and nobody came descending from the heavens to remove her from the Passage. ¡°I¡¯m not a kid,¡± Samielle says, huffing. ¡°Yeah,¡± Jess agrees. ¡°I think we are getting a little bit sidetracked,¡± Macille says. ¡°Again.¡± He points to the chest in the middle of the sandbar. ¡°What are we going to do about that?¡± ¡°I heard that getting sidetracked means that you have a team which works well together,¡± Jess says. ¡°No,¡± Macille says, cutting off my witty reply to Jess before I can get started. ¡°The chest, what do we do about it?¡± ¡°Well, we came for treasure,¡± I say, bringing dragonfire to my hand. ¡°I say we open it.¡± ¡°Seconded,¡± Samielle says. He pops his neck and stretches the stiffness out of his shoulders. ¡°No time like the present.¡± Macille shakes his head. ¡°Who opens it then?¡± ¡°Sammy can fly,¡± I say. ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m still faster than him though,¡± Jess says. ¡°Higher level too,¡± I add. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Forget about it.¡± ¡°Jess can open it if she really wants to,¡± Samielle says, motioning toward the lizardkin woman. The tone of his voice drips with his own desire to crack open the chest. Jess preens. ¡°I will then.¡± As she readies herself, squatting on the branch she stands on, coiling her legs to spring over to the sandbar, Macille cuts in again. ¡°We still need to buff up.¡± Jess groans up at the sky, which given the closeness of the forest, is just a few branches above her. ¡°Yes,¡± she says. ¡°Let¡¯s make sure to be safe.¡± I can feel myself picking up bad habits from these two. Their anxious energy to get to the action is infectious. Macille lifts a glowing palm, throwing a wave of magic against all of us, applying his Guardian¡¯s Bulwark too each of us. Though, given that Jess doesn¡¯t wear armor, I doubt it will be very beneficial to her. She surprises me by removing a horn from the leather belt she hangs her chakram on and showing it off. The horn is made of ivory and filigreed with platinum. My eye detects white mana enshrouding it, a very dense aura. ¡°I found this on the slope after all the fighting was done,¡± she says. ¡°I knew something this nice was worth its weight in gold. Shai¡¯garrow¡¯s bones, I didn¡¯t know the half of it.¡± She brings the horn to her lips, and with a deep inhale, blows it for all its worth. A wave of white light explodes away from the horn in her hand, washing over all of us, and settling upon our skin. Horn of Impending Victory(Very Rare): A horn made from the carved remains of a Phantom Torcher. Hunted for its extreme rarity and the powerful natural treasures that constitute their beings, this horn has the ability to bolster all allies who hear its call to battle. Power: Sound of Glory Sound of Glory The sound of impending battle and victory invigorates you. For the next ten minutes, all attributes are increased by 10%. I feel the raw power from the spell settling into my skin like an itch to charge into battle. I whoop, bouncing on my toes, rocking the tree root that I stand on. My own cheer is echoed by Samielle, but both are drowned out by the echoing call of the horn that rings off into the trees around us. I find Macille cringing when I look over to him. Before I can ask what¡¯s wrong with him, Jess stands from her crouch and jumps three feet in the air, preparing to spring forward. ¡°Let¡¯s go!¡± she calls as she lands. Just as she is about to leap forward toward the sandbar and the big iron chest resting atop it, something splashes up out of the mud. Like an arrow, a blur streaks toward Jess faster than my eye can see. Faster even than that, Jess¡¯ hand lashes out, the claws on the tip of her fingers spearing straight through the small monster trying to bite into her face. The fish, impaled on three of Jess¡¯ fingers, continues to writhe for a moment before falling still, dead. Mud Piranha(Level 20) ¡°Ah,¡± I say, looking down into the mud that is now boiling with movement and bubbles. ¡°Yes, this was probably a trap.¡± Chapter 28 - Flying Fish Hardly a beat passes between Jess killing the first of the monster and a score of the small fish leaping out of the mud at us. As long as my forearm, the scales of the mud piranha make a strange clanking sound as they wriggle through the air, gnarly teeth wide and aimed at our bodies. All of a sudden, the root that I stand on feels too narrow, my perch too precarious, and the monsters flying through the air at me far too fast. I unleash the dragonfire that I am holding onto at one of them, the fire burning through the air, leaving a trail of smoke as it soars to collide with the monster fish in the middle of its leap. A ball of burning orange light expands away when the two meet, an orb of heat and burning two feet across exploding in the middle of the mud-forest. The charred corpse of a fish falls out of the fireball, two more of the monsters falling along with the first, one side of their green-silver scaled bodies burnt black, cracks of orange embers beneath the scales still smoldering. I smell the burning of my own attack a second later, the very air inside of the explosion having been burned. The two injured piranha fall back into the mud, disappearing as easily as if they were diving into water. I call more dragonfire, ready to look around to anyone else that might need help, when I feel something collide with my chest. I look down. A piranha thrashes, its teeth clamped and partially embedded into the steel breastplate I am wearing. Tits and honey, if I wasn¡¯t wearing any armor, the thing would be chewing through my collarbone. Orange fire snakes around my hand as I grab ahold of the fish, spreading out from my fingers to envelope the monster, blackening its shining scales almost instantly. The fish continues to thrash as my fire torches it, wild now, the fear of its own impending death sending it into a panic. It must weigh twenty pounds or more, and its thrashing makes my foot slip. I fall on my ass, the shock racing up my spine, and finally manage to pull the piranha off my armor as I begin to tip over. I flail, falling backwards over the edge of the root, tossing the body of the monster away from myself as my arms pinwheel, looking for anything to latch onto. My fall stops just before my head splashes into the mud, my naked foot hooking an outcropping on the root. Moist bark begins to splinter under my weight as I dangle upside down. My nails dig into the loose bark of the tree, trying to find any kind of purchase. Gods, I wish I had claws like Jess right now. She finished her leap away from the tree root she was standing on. Now, she stands on the sandbar, near the chest, spinning her wickedly sharp chakram like a dancer might a ribbon. Dozens of the mud piranha jump out of the mud at her, the strange rattling of their bodies through the air like the sound of a tambourine, only heightening the surrealness of Jess¡¯ grace as she weaves through them, slicing monsters apart midair. She makes it look so easy. Macille and Samielle fight back-to-back on a root on the far side of the sandbar from me. Macille uses his shield to catch the monsters midflight, sometimes slapping them into the air to be cut apart before they can fall back into the mud. Samielle laughs, several cuts bleeding down his arms from where he has been clipped by the swarming monsters. A piranha leaps up out of the mud at him. Samielle winds up his mace, and with a great swing, sends it sailing far into the trees, dead before it left the flaming head of his mace. A dagger appears in my hand, looted from the corpses on the slope, and I slam the blade home into the tree root I continue to struggle against. I expect to have more difficulty leveraging myself up, back onto the root, but my strengthened body performs the action fluidly. My hair is tugged as I swing myself up, one of the piranha¡¯s aiming for my head only managing to catch my hair as it sails beneath the tree root. I snarl and pant as I pull myself to my knees astride the root, not daring to try and stand again. I don¡¯t think that I am quite coordinated enough to dance between slippery tree roots in the middle of a fight. The blue line of mana in my vision begs for me to use it. I oblige. Already, a few of the lower branches are aflame with my orange dragonfire, a remnant from my first attack, and as the monsters continue to swarm us from out of the mud, I add even more. I wasn¡¯t quite sure what to expect from my Dragonfire Bolts after all of the levels I gained this morning, but the way that my fire expands on impact and the sheer heat and destructive force, brings a sadistic glee welling up inside of me. I let myself feel it, flinging magic at the leaping monsters, burning them to charred hunks in midair. After all, they are monsters, might as well enjoy it. The battle isn¡¯t a long one, not nearly as long as the ones that I have grown used to. A strange stillness falls over the forest after a few minutes, the four of us poised and ready for more enemies to come flying out of the muck at us. I continue to sit there, legs straddling the tree root, hand raised and alight. Jess¡¯ chest heaves from her exertion, the sandbar around her filled with the dismembered bodies of dozens of piranha. She hisses a long breath, trying to center herself, and stabs her chakram into the sand at her feet, leaning on it. ¡°Did we get them?¡± Samielle asks from across the mud. The man is bleeding from several shallow cuts, rings of teeth marks standing out on his skin, pumping crimson in time with his heart. Macille rests a hand on the man¡¯s shoulder, pushing healing magic into him and causing the wounds to scab over. Samielle is too distracted watching the mud to notice; bubbles continue to pool and pop from something beneath the surface. ¡°I doubt it,¡± I say. I let the fire vanish from my fingers before I plant my hands on the root and try to get back to my feet. My thighs are killing me. Before I can ask Galea how many we managed to kill, she is there, holding a window between her golden claws. You have defeated Mud Piranha(level 19)x20 You have defeated Mud Piranha(level 20)x26 You have defeated Mud Piranha(level 21)x13 THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! ¡°Is this right?¡± I ask Galea. ¡°Only one level.¡± ¡°I just report what happens to you, Mistress Charlene.¡± The dragon spirit collapses the window between her claws, somehow crumpling it up and dispersing it with a breath of her own dragonfire. At this point, I am about over trying to figure out how to predict levels. ¡°Fish!¡± Jess calls out into the forest, banging her chakram against the top of the chest she stands near, sending up a horrible clanking noise. ¡°Yummy lady here! Come and get me!¡± I look at Macille, expecting him to be angry at the flagrant taunting of monster, but find him looking more disappointed if anything. ¡°Hopefully this wasn¡¯t a waste of time,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m sure it wasn¡¯t,¡± I say. I make sure that my feet don¡¯t slip out from under me again as I leap from my root down to the sandbar, landing next to Jess. In the middle of the muddy clearing, I can feel the air distinctly warmer. There are patches of mud that smolder with orange fire still, the mud there baked and hard. I look around at the spots of fire floating on top of the mud, more than a little impressed with myself. ¡°Yeah,¡± Jess says, thunking the chest again with her chakram, ringing the air. ¡°We got this after all.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Samielle says, ¡°what¡¯s in it?¡± Jess plants her chakram in the sand and kicks the top of the chest, flipping the lid open. My eyes bulge at the sheer wealth that glitters inside the chest. There must be hundreds of silver pieces stacked inside the iron chest, haphazard coins piled in a way that catches the light coming down through the canopy. ¡°Junk,¡± Jess says, spitting into the mud. ¡°What!¡± I shriek at her. ¡°That¡¯s silver!¡± I realize that I might be overreacting a second later but refuse to feel any embarrassment over it. How can she call money junk? ¡°How is that helpful to me?¡± Jess demands, turning on me, angrier than I would have expected. ¡°Yikes,¡± I hear Samielle comment up in his tree. ¡°Ladies,¡± Macille says as his boots splash into the sand on the opposite side of the chest. ¡°Let¡¯s keep things civil.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware I was being uncivil,¡± I say. I move past Jess and look down into the chest, picking up one of the coins and turning it over in my fingers. ¡°This is real.¡± ¡°Maybe there is something more useful inside,¡± Macille ventures. ¡°Maybe,¡± I agree. I rap my fingers along the top of the chest, making it disappear into my inventory. ¡°You did not just steal all of that!¡± Jess says, stalking toward me. I retreat from the woman, scared at the sudden anger that has come over her. ¡°No,¡± I tell her, putting Macille between me and her. I¡¯m sure he appreciates it. ¡°It¡¯s just faster to look though this way.¡± ¡°Jess!¡± Macille barks, making her stop. ¡°Get a hold of yourself.¡± It takes a good thirty seconds before I see the tension start to loose out of the woman¡¯s shoulders. She exhales a long breath. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she says, rubbing her neck. ¡°Sorry. It¡¯s just¡­never mind.¡± ¡°Apology accepted,¡± I say, uncertain if it is right to even acknowledge. I glance sideways, opening the window that displays my inventory, seeing a spot in my inventory taken up by a chest. My eyes scan over the numbers at the top of the window indicating the coin in my possession, and my mouth falls open. ¡°What,¡± Macille says, looking at me concerned. I grab the man¡¯s shoulder, my hands shaking. ¡°Twelve-hundred silver pieces,¡± I say to him. ¡°That chest held twelve hundred pieces of silver. Do you have any idea what I could buy with that? That is almost as much money as my family¡¯s orchard is worth!¡± ¡°Well,¡± Samielle says, finally joining us on the sandbar, ¡°you will need to cut that number in four., That¡¯s¡­¡± The man starts looking down at his fingers. ¡°Three hundred silver pieces,¡± Jess says. ¡°Three hundred a piece.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I agree, nodding. ¡°Wait a moment.¡± I take a second to look around the forest, hoping that I might be able to see anyone spying on us if I just look for them. Of course, I know that anyone from the Willian guild watching us would likely be undetectable to a rank one, but looking can¡¯t hurt. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Don¡¯t tell anyone I have this,¡± I say, pulling a blank journal and a piece of charcoal from my inventory. They are just two of the items I smuggles out of Arabella¡¯s flying mansion the night before the Passage began. I scrawl everyone¡¯s names onto the first page, noting the amount of silver that I owe each of them, and showing them all the page. ¡°There. This way we can keep track of what I am carrying for everyone.¡± ¡°It is like you expect to be carrying a lot of things,¡± Macille comments. ¡°I do,¡± I say. I motion to the vacant spot in the sand, shaped like a rectangle, where the chest had just been. ¡°I¡¯m hoping that we can find some more of those. If I could leave this competition with enough money to buy my own flying mansion, well I just think that might be a great way to start my life as a magician.¡± ¡°Forget the money,¡± Jess says. ¡°Was there anything actually useful in the chest?¡± I look back at my inventory. ¡°Two things,¡± I say. I reach into the inventory window and dig both my hands into the newly filled spaces, pulling out the magical items. One is a pair of gloves, red and glittering, appearing to be made of fish scales. The other is a long, thin dagger that catches sunlight on the blade, turning it into a rainbow cascade of colors. Gloves of the Red Myrmidon(Rare): Gloves made from the scales of a Red Myrmidon, crafted by the master crafter Julias Ao¡¯Ra. These gloves contain the natural energies of the Red Myrmidon, allowing the wearer to breath under water for a short period of time. Enhancement: +15 Magic, +15 Magic Defense Tickler¡¯s Promise(Rare): A blade bathed in the deadly oils produced by a vile swamp. The poisonous mana that infects the blade continues to linger, causing wounds delivered by this blade to inflict a lingering and debilitating poison. I hold up the items for the group¡¯s inspection. ¡°Magic gloves and a poison dagger,¡± I say. Samielle scoffs and turns away, flapping his way back up onto a tree root. Jess leans in, inspecting the gloves. ¡°What kind of magic gloves?¡± she asks. ¡°They make you better at magic and increase your defense against magic,¡± I tell her. ¡°I guess it¡¯s obvious who gets those then,¡± Macille says, smiling at me. ¡°I would like the defense against magic,¡± Jess adds. She looks up at me, picking her chakram up out of the sand. ¡°You are the mage though, so those go to you.¡± ¡°Really?¡± I run a thumb over the scales of the gloves. They feel like touching an ice-cold snake, the sensation of the cool metal beneath my fingers soothing. ¡°Unless you don¡¯t want them,¡± Jess says. ¡°No.¡± Without waiting further, I hand the dagger to Macille and slip one of the gloves over my left hand. The sensation of the cool metal sends a shiver down my spine, but I can feel the magic start circulating through my body as soon as I have them both on. I bring up the window showing my attributes to check it. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 19)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 34 Strength: 23 Magic: 171(186) Defense: 31 Magic Defense: 26(41) Speed: 100 Recovery: 138 Perception: 24 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 340 Mana: 1860 Stamina: 544 I flex my fingers inside the gloves. ¡°These are nice.¡± ¡°Does anyone want this dagger?¡± Macille asks, looking between the two of us. ¡°I think I found another chest!¡± Samielle calls from the trees. ¡°Wait for us!¡± Macille yells back at him. A few seconds later, we can all hear swearing coming from somewhere else in the forest and the sound of mud piranhas¡¯ chittering scales as they fly through the air. Macille sighs. ¡°I don¡¯t think I need it,¡± I tell him, ignoring Samielle. ¡°I already have a weapon,¡± Jess says. ¡°Hold onto it for now.¡± She turns, leaping into the trees to run toward the battle. ¡°I would rather not hold onto a poison dagger without a sheath,¡± Macille says, handing the weapon back to me handle first. ¡°Probably a good idea,¡± I admit. I make the blade disappear back into my inventory. When Arabella had first given me the storage ring, I have to admit that I was a little bit disappointed. After how much I have been using it the last few days, I would kick my older self for not seeing how incredibly useful it was right away. ¡°We should probably go help them with the fight.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± Macille says. He approaches the edge of the sandbar and readies himself to jump up onto the roots before turning back and looking at me. ¡°You have something, just there,¡± he says, brushing his chest. I look down, seeing the head of a piranha attached to the front of my breastplate, its needle-like teeth digging into the metal as it stares up at me with dead fishy eyes. ¡°I¡­know,¡± I say. ¡°I left it there on purpose.¡± ¡°Right.¡± Macille smirks at me before he jumps up off the sandbar toward a root, gaining much greater height than I thought a man wearing as much armor as he does should be able to. His strength must be incredibly high. I wonder if he has hit the first threshold for it. As subtly as I can manage, I rip the dead fish head off my armor and chuck it into the mud. Why did no one say anything? The fight against the next swarm of piranha is far less eventful than the first. Understanding that slippery tree roots are in fact slippery, I do my best to focus on not falling on my ass like an idiot and taking a dip in the mud. I can only imagine how horribly things might go for me if I fell in. By the time that we have ended the lives of all the monster spewing up out of the mud to tear at us with their horrible teeth, another circle of mud is left burning with loose ribbons of orange fire. The sandbar in the middle of the open area is twice as big as the previous, and the chest resting in its center is filigreed with gold. The chest itself is probably worth as much as a small house back home. Jess gnaws on the flambeed corpse of one of the mud piranhas as I tentatively try to put my weight on one of the burning patches of mud. A disk of dried and hard mud shifts beneath the weight of my foot, sliding away, and almost capsizing from my weight. There goes my idea of making a walking path across the mud with my fire. Maybe when my magic hits the first threshold, I might be able to pull something off like that. ¡°These aren¡¯t bad,¡± Jess comments, biting the head off the cooked monster in her hands. ¡°Gross,¡± Samielle comments. The man is bleeding again, but despite his wounds, he seems in a good mood. The man peels open the chest, revealing more silver coins inside. Unlike the last time, I can see that he is starting to appreciate the mountain of wealth inside. ¡°Let¡¯s find another one.¡± ¡°I agree,¡± I say, stepping up and making the chest disappear into my inventory. Despite its size and contents, the chest only takes up a single space in my inventory. I will have to see how I can use that later to make storing things easier. We spend a good three hours afterward moving through the trees, looking for obvious chests among the mud-forest, finding plenty. It never once occurs to us to go back to the larger group and try to bring others. We are having far too much fun tearing through hordes of mud piranha and opening heavy metal chests. The monsters never seem to get any stronger, despite the contents of some of the chests being incredibly good. By the end of the third hour, we are tearing through the flying fish with the proficiency of a real adventurer team. The only time that I feel any real danger is when one of the flying fish knocks into me from behind, knocking me off the root I am standing on and into the mud. Luckily, I manage to land halfway onto the sandbar, but in that few seconds of my legs dangling in the mud, six of the nibbling fish monsters manage to latch themselves to my legs. Macille heals the plethora of bite marks after I drag myself out of the mud. After that, I am far more liberal with my application of fire magic to the mud piranhas. Samielle makes out with the most equipment, an ax that gives off an ice aura that he begins to wield in his other hand, using two weapons for the last hour of fighting, a horned helmet that slowly heals his injuries, and boots that let him walk on the mud like it were solid ground. Macille gets a helmet of his own that boosts his defense against magic and a silver breastplate that weighs practically nothing and magically empowers his defense. Jess gets a pink ribbon that rests on her shoulders, increasing her speed and precision. I get another breastplate identical to the one we give Macille, though mine is a bit smaller and obviously made with a woman¡¯s proportions in mind, the first time I have seen armor made that way. The considerable bonus to my Defense attribute is well appreciated. Maybe with the new armor, monsters will stop tearing through me like butter. ¡°Well,¡± Macille says, looking up at the sky through the trees, ¡°that¡¯s about it for me.¡± ¡°What?¡± I ask. He looks at me, a bit concerned. ¡°My magic is just about out. I think it¡¯s time to call it a day.¡± ¡°Same here,¡± Samielle adds. The man¡¯s skin is practically coated in his own dried blood by this point. Every time I ask him why he won¡¯t wear any armor he just shrugs me off. ¡°It has been a good day of fighting,¡± Jess agrees. I check my own vital energies, finding them all nearly full. ¡°I want to keep going,¡± I tell them. ¡°Never took you for a battle fanatic,¡± Jess says, punching me in the shoulder. ¡°Good.¡± ¡°Not good,¡± Macille says, standing. ¡°When the group is at its limit, it is best to not push our luck. You have been throwing fire around all day. I am sure that you are near your limit.¡± ¡°Honestly, no,¡± I tell him. I check my mana once more, 1610/1860. ¡°I am still in top condition.¡± Macille strokes his chin, judging me. ¡°You are human,¡± he murmurs, as if that explains it. It is just then that I realize that I have never shared with Macille the fact that I am a Recovery specialist. Actually, this is the first time that my having a heightened Recovery attribute has ever come up and been of benefit. ¡°Don¡¯t stay too long,¡± Samielle says, leaping toward a tree root. ¡°I bet these fish get far more dangerous when there isn¡¯t any light to see by.¡± ¡°We aren¡¯t leaving her here,¡± Macille calls to him. ¡°She will be fine,¡± Jess says, patting my shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ve seen her fire. Charlene is scary good at frying fish.¡± Macille looks at me, frowning. ¡°It would be a bad idea to stay,¡± he tells me. ¡°I think you know that I won¡¯t try to take any kind of fight that I can¡¯t win,¡± I tell him. ¡°However, I think I can handle these fish on my own.¡± It isn¡¯t a bluff. Over the last few hours of fighting, I have gotten a handle on how these monsters operate. They are incredibly simple creatures, jumping in straight lines out of the mud to try and snap at me up on the tree roots. Additionally, I have started to realize that they aren¡¯t faster than me, like I initially thought. My Speed attribute is over 100 now, when I am truly focused, these simple monsters cannot touch me. ¡°My gut tells me not to leave you here,¡± Macille says. ¡°So why will you anyway?¡± I ask him. He exhales a long breath, walking to the edge of the sandbar. ¡°Because you are a magician. I won¡¯t disrespect you by telling you what your limits are. You know them better than I do.¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± I tell him. ¡°Really. I¡¯ll be fine, and if I come across something that I don¡¯t think I can handle, I¡¯ll run away. I¡¯m sure that I am faster than these monsters now. They won¡¯t be able to catch me.¡± ¡°I will hold you to that,¡± Macille says, leaping up to a tree root. Jess knocks me on the shoulder as she passes, a big smile on her face. ¡°Don¡¯t stay out here too long, farm girl.¡± ¡°Why are you calling me that?¡± I ask her. She shrugs. ¡°Dovik calls you that.¡± ¡°Is that going to be my name now?¡± Jess doesn¡¯t answer, backflipping eight feet up onto one of the roots and joining Macille in looking down at me. The two disappear along with Samielle into the trees, no doubt heading South, back toward the encampment to inform everyone what we found here. I take a few moments to center myself, stretching out my arms and shoulders before I scramble back up onto the tree roots suspended above the dangerous mud. This is the first real time that my being a Recovery Specialist has ever given me a leg up on anyone else. I had never thought to use it to try and outlast other people in my own group at my ability to continue fighting while they grow tired. Halford¡¯s words wing in my head, telling me that in order to catch up to these elite magicians, I will have to work harder than they do. It only occurs to me now what that will look like. ¡°Let¡¯s fry some fish,¡± I say, heading off into the forest, looking for more treasure and combat. Chapter 29 - Emperors Prerogative Light, strange and ebbing, the color of green only found in the dampest parts of a swamp, beckoned me from up ahead. The light, as it turned out, came from a crystal in the center of an island in the mud. Unlike the sandbars, this island was made of hard stone, the lapping of the burbling mud marking the history of a tide on the rock. I creep from my perch over the expanse of sucking mud, walking slowly to avoid both slipping or making noise. The monsters down below are attracted to noise, that much we figured out pretty quickly, but the shifting groans of the trees I walk on aren¡¯t enough to bring the fish flying up at me. I find a wedge, a meeting of two roots that meet and intertwined, to sit and stare at the island for a moment. The island of stone is not more than ten feet across, slate gray, and unnaturally smooth on its surface. The treasure chest that I have come to expect from these spaces in the mud-forest is absent. Instead, a crystal mass, almost three feet tall and jagged in its hexagonal features, grows up out of the stone. A well of sunlight pours down from overhead, the rays almost absorbed into the surface of the crystal, fluoresced out as a green light that beats like a heart in its rhythm. Before I do anything else, I use my eye to tell me a bit more about the obviously magical object. Bane Crystal(Very Rare): A crystal grown from a Fragment of Malice. This particular Bane Crystal has absorbed the toxicity of its environment and developed an affix for magic of an acidic variety. Bane Crystals are often corrosive to their natural environments, changing naturally flowing mana into the type for which they have an affinity. My eyes widen when I read the description. This might be the first thing that I have ever seen that directly mentions magical affix and affinities. I gesture with my finger, bringing up another window. Emperor Conflux: Emperor''s Prerogative(Rank 1): A true emperor is unbound by the limitations of the world, and as such, the emperor is not bound by any mana affix affinities, capable of pursuing any magical paths they might choose. Provides a small boost to the understanding and attunement of different mana affixes. Ever since receiving the ability a few months ago, I have had no idea how to use it. Considering that it is the ability of my Conflux, which has always seemed like a significant failing on my part. When I asked Halford about it, he told me not to worry about mana affixes as they didn¡¯t come up often in the first rank. Arabella had said something similar when I brought it up to her. Trusting these two, I focused entirely on improving my dragonfire, a pretty good decision it would seem, but now an opportunity sat in front of me. The glowing of the crystal almost calls out to me, asking me to jump down onto the stone island and snatch it up. That is exactly what I would do, if it weren¡¯t for the four awfully suspicious tendrils sticking up out of the mud on the opposite side of the island from me. Tendrils the same color as the mud itself rise up out of the mud, at least twenty feet long, and spread out toward the trees around, wrapping tightly around the roots and pulled taut. Even someone with as little experience fighting monster as myself can spot an ambush this obvious. The tendrils all collect to a single spot before disappearing beneath the surface of the mud, no doubt where the monster waiting to ambush anyone on the island is. I call dragonfire to my palm, basking in the orange blaze that I conjure. I wait a few seconds, expecting whatever hiding monster is down there to react to my magic, but the tendrils remain still, sticking up out of the slowly shifting mud. I try to identify the monster with my eye, but apparently just seeing the tendrils isn¡¯t enough to give me a description. I give the monster a few more seconds to defend itself against my inevitable attack, over channeling my ability as much as it will go; at my significantly heightened mana pool, I can pour a hundred mana into a single Dragonfire Bolt. Yet, it continues not to react. ¡°Your funeral,¡± I say, shrugging. I stand on the platform of roots, taking aim. My bolt of dragonfire explodes down onto the mud where the monster lurks, tunneling a few inches into the mud before exploding in an orange conflagration. The mud blackens, catching fire, and I shield my eyes from the intense light of the fireball, a nearly fatal mistake. As my fire splashes down into the mud, the tension is drained out of the tendrils holding onto the trees around the clearing. A shape, shadowed against the color of my exploding fireball, comes hurtling toward me, rocketed forward by the almost elastic properties of the tendrils. In the second that the shape is in flight, I conjure another Dragonfire Bolt and hurl it at the fast-moving monster. My orange fire collides with the creature mid-air, fire spreading over its slick form, before slicking away, leaving the monster unharmed. Venomous Mud Catfish(Level 53) I have just enough time to register what my eye tells me about the monster before it collides face first with the magical breastplate I am wearing. An explosion of force knocks the air from my lungs, compressing the metal of my armor onto my chest before my feet leave the ground. A crack rings through my head as I collide into the trunk of the tree I am standing on, my back splintering the bark and my head whipping back hard enough to knock my vision out of me. Blind, I fall sideways, barely aware of the world as I begin to plummet toward the mud below me. I flail, knives appearing in my hands from my inventory, stabbing wildly as I try to find purchase on the tree. The knife in my left-hand bites home, the blade easily sinking all the way to the hilt in the trunk of the tree. In the next second, my legs buckle out from under me, and I dangle by the weapon I have stabbed into the tree for a good few seconds before the world slowly starts to come back to me. I stare down at the mud beneath me, my orange hair falling over my face, rivulets of blood making the hair clump together and stick to my face. Beneath me, in the mud, several of the mud piranha poke their head out, gnashing their teeth as they wait for me to fall in. The terror of those gnashing teeth forces me to suck down a breath. I push my unwilling body into panic, throwing all the strength I can manage into my legs, and pulling myself away from the edge. I stumble backwards onto the root and pull the knife out of the tree, finding the strange rainbow reflection of the magical knife in my left hand something to ground me in the moment. I spin toward the monster, almost stumbling as my feet don¡¯t want to cooperate with what my brain tells them to do, Healing Points 113/340. I feel blood trickling down my back from the cut across the back of my scalp. Though I can see again, all the colors of the world are washed out, and it is difficult to focus. I shake my head, but that only makes things worse. On the branch in front of me, a huge fish flops toward the edge of the roots. The fish, a catfish apparently, is as big as my torso and fully the same color as the red mud below. Its gulping mouth spasms as it tries to breath the air. From its mouth, four whiskers, what I thought of as tendrils earlier, extend dozens of feet, flailing the same way that it does as it tries to put itself back into the mud. The hatred that I feel toward the monster comes fast, and I welcome it. I try to step forward toward the monster but find that my foot doesn¡¯t move how I want it to. I fall to my knee, seeing one of the monster¡¯s whiskers whip over my head. The whisker wraps around the trunk of the tree we are both on. Like a perverse spring, the whisker drags the monster away, letting go of the trunk as soon as the catfish is airborne, and allowing it to plop into the mud below. I know that I had said that I would run from a fight that I didn¡¯t think I could win, but in the moment, I don¡¯t think that there is any way a catfish monster could make me run away. Bark comes off in my hand as I push myself back to standing. I whip my head around, trying to find any whisper of the monster, but only end up making the pounding headache that is coming over me worse. This position is untenable. Slowly, expecting that some monster fish will come sailing up out of the mud at me at any moment, I stumble my way toward the edge of the root. I am unsure of the jump even before I make it. My feet touch down on the smooth stone of the stone island, but my balance is still wrecked. I fall sideways onto the stone, rolling just in case the monster was waiting for that opportunity to strike me. Sitting up, I find the mud-forest around me as quiet as it was before. Even the mud piranha that I know must be waiting beneath the surface of the mud do not come flying out to take a bite of me. I strain, pushing my eyes and ears for all they are worth, trying to catch sight of the creature before it attacks me again. My eyes come up with nothing, but I do catch the sound of a snapping tree branch from my right. I move before I look, rolling away from where I currently sit, throwing fire in the direction of the sound. Half a second later, the body of the catfish sails through the spot where I just was, my fire splashing uselessly over it once again. It plops into the mud on the other side of the island, hardly a splash coming from its dive. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. My brain comes to the conclusion that my eyes have already come to understand. For whatever reason, this monster is completely immune to my fire. ¡°Silk on my dick,¡± I swear under my breath. I can¡¯t help but smile a bit at the absurdity of the words, I will have to thank Jor¡¯Mari whenever I see him next for introducing me to my new favorite swear. I stand, finding it a bit easier than earlier. I press my hand against the back of my head. It comes away slick with my own blood, but I don¡¯t think the wound is still bleeding, Healing Points 125/340. Thank you Recovery Threshold. With the monster immune to my fire, there goes the sole strategy that I have been relying on until now. The pulsing mana from the crystal that shares the island with me is distracting, the world gradually growing more green the closer I move to it, and move towards it I do. I put the crystal at my back, guaranteeing that there is at least one direction the monster cannot attack me from. Close to the crystal, the light from the sun overhead has practically vanished, draping the world in the green of the crystal and the orange of my own dragonfire that continues to smolder on top of the floating pieces of hard mud it makes. Scanning the mud-forest around me for any sign of the monster, I reach back and touch the Bane Crystal, regretting it immediately when a spark of foreign magic lashes out and strikes my finger. I pull my hand away. The meat of my index finger sizzles as if it were burned, the edges of the wound a necrotic black. ¡°Can¡¯t use that,¡± I tell myself. I hear a snapping sound to my left and duck. A second snapping sound comes from my right a second later. I spin, horrified to see the catfish monster sailing through the air at me from my right, its mouth open, twin fangs barred at me. The bizarreness of seeing a fish with fangs escapes me for the moment. The monster is aimed directly at where it knew I would duck toward. I reach forward, my inventory window popping into my view in the fraction of a second I have before the fanged monster can barrel into me. A shield, the heaviest one that I am still holding onto, appears in my hand, but I don¡¯t have time to brace myself. The fangs of the fish punch straight through the steel shield, one of them stabbing down into my arm, before the mass of the monster collides with the shield and knocks me away. The catfish sails up into the air, taking the shield along with it, before striking a root with a heavy thunk, slapping into the mud far less gracefully than it had before. The cut on my arm is shallow, a puncture hole near my elbow that begins to seep blood. Fear comes over me, replacing the anger I had felt earlier. This monster was called venomous! A message window appears in my vision before I can really start to panic Afflicted with Venomous Catfish Toxin Venomous Catfish Toxin has been resisted! (Recovery Specialist Threshold) ¡°Lucky.¡± I stand, ignoring the injury, and looking toward where the catfish disappeared into the mud once more. This monster isn¡¯t stupid, it adapted to how I moved and made a distraction to try and catch me off guard. We both seem to be bad matchups for each other. I spot one of its whiskers snaking up from the mud toward a tree trunk, attempting to wrap around it. I call on my dragonfire, launching a bolt at the mud where the catfish should be. The unempowered dragonfire splashes over the mud but doesn¡¯t penetrate, spreading out along the surface instead. The whisker snakes back into the mud faster than I expect, and I see the telltale ripple through the mud of the monster swimming away. I throw more dragonfire at it as I track its swimming. The monster circles the stone island and I continue throwing dragonfire at it. As it moves through the mud, I track it with my dragonfire until I am just about out of mana. I realize that I haven¡¯t really been breathing as I pour all of my mana into my fire. When my mana is just about exhausted, I fall to a knee, sucking down air as fast as it will come. The world around me is on fire, the orange light drowning out the green glow of the Bane Crystal, and the heat rising in the air. Listening, I try to find any sign of the catfish that I have lost track of. I hear nothing out in the world, nothing to tell me about the monster that is no doubt stalking me at this very moment. The catfish doesn¡¯t care about the fire that surrounds the stone island, but I wonder if it can see me through the flickering flames. If not, I might be able to catch it off guard. I summon chests around me, filled with meat from all the previous monsters that my team has killed today to weigh them down. I form a barricade out of the chests, focusing as much as I can on my hearing. There is the sound of the trees cracking just ahead of me. I look that way, but don¡¯t turn my head. A second later another crack echoes from my left, and then I see it. Rocks fall out of the sky, popping off of the branches of trees all around the stone island, creating a cascade of sound. I can¡¯t tell where the monster will come from. Instinct screams at me to move, and I spin to the left, finding the monster only a foot away from me as I turn. I am still ducked behind an iron chest, it is impossible for the monster to bite me at the angle it comes from, but it doesn¡¯t even try to. One of its whiskers shoots toward me as it hurtles through the air over my head. As close as it is, even with all the points that I have poured into my speed, it is impossible for me to avoid it. The catfish¡¯s whisker wraps around my left arm, tight and unyielding. The bulk of the monster flying over my head rips me out of my crouch, smashing my ribs into an iron chest beside me, toppling the chest and spilling its contents as I am dragged off my feet toward the still-burning mud. If it can get me into the mud, I have no chance of defending against it and the hundreds of mud piranha beneath the surface. I can almost feel the monster¡¯s smugness at managing to outwit me, which makes my own satisfaction all the sweeter. The body of the catfish passes into the orange fire, completely unharmed by the licking flames, but comes to a dead stop against the hard, baked surface of the mud. For a dozen feet at least, around the island, my fire continues to smolder and cook the mud I have thrown it onto. The monster skips off the mud, and I throw all my weight against the whisker still wrapped around my arm. I haul on the whisker like the happiest fisherman in the world, stopping the monster from making it all the way through the flames to disappear into the mud once again. It stops bouncing forward, my death grip on the whisker it gave me holding it taut like a fishing line. ¡°You didn¡¯t think you could just get away did you!¡± I yell to the shadowed shape somewhere in the shifting orange flames. I feel the panic race up through the whisker I hold onto, the tension around my arm going slack, but I refuse to let it go. This monster is no doubt stronger than me, but even a whole lot of strength won¡¯t do much for a fish out of water. Heaving as hard as I can, I drag the fish monster out of the flames, up onto the stone island, where it flops and lashes out in all directions with its whiskers. The magical dagger falls into my hand again, and I smile down at the monster. All four of its whiskers fire out at me as I lunge toward it, tightening around my body and arms, pulling it toward me even as I step forward to stab it. Twin fangs race up at me, the binding of the monster¡¯s whiskers around my body bringing it close enough to bite. Without a second though, I jam my free hand down the monster¡¯s throat to the elbow, trapping its jaw open with only the barest cutting from its fangs along my arm. ¡°You aren¡¯t the first catfish I¡¯ve caught,¡± I tell the monster as I sink the magical knife into its eye. The monster thrashes as I continue to stab away at it, but I won¡¯t let it go anywhere. After only a few more stabs with my dagger, I can see the snaking of poisonous magic through its body with my Dragon¡¯s Eye. The whiskers around my body slacken before it is dead, before I stop stabbing it. I don¡¯t stop until Galea appears in my vision, holding a sign in her claws, a look of pride on the spirit¡¯s face that I have never seen there before. You have defeated Venomous Mud Catfish(Level 53) THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! The monster disintegrates off of my arm, still stabbed down its throat, disappearing into pink vapor that evaporates directly into my inventory. I let out a long breath, sinking to my knees on the hard stone, and giving myself a moment to breathe and recenter myself. ¡°You did it Mistress Charlene!¡± Galea cheers at me, clapping her claws together. ¡°You killed a rank two monster all on your own!¡± ¡°I did¡­didn¡¯t I,¡± I say through shallow breaths. ¡°That¡¯s a first.¡± I look down at the dagger in my hand, covered in the crimson of the monster¡¯s blood. In the light from the fire all around me, it still gives off its iridescent sheen. ¡°Did you get anything valuable from the disenchantment?¡± Galea asks. ¡°I¡¯ll check that later,¡± I tell her. I huff as I push myself to stand, turning back toward the Bane Crystal in the middle of the island. In the second of its hurting my hand, I felt something deep in my soul whisper to me. It was my Conflux, I¡¯m sure of it, though I have never heard of anyone speaking with their Essentia before. They are inanimate as far as I know. Still, there was a feeling. I walk toward the crystal, drawing off my refilling mana reserves to conjure dragonfire into my hand. Instinct, no doubt granted to me by my Conflux, tells me what to do. Gently, I bring my flaming hand down onto the Bane Crystal. At first, nothing happens¨Cno burning, no lashing out by the crystal. Then, like the spread of a wildfire, green light starts to tinge the edges of the orange fire in my hand. The green eats into the orange until all of the orange has seeped away. I pull my hand away, finding the green fire still flickering on the tips of my fingers. The green is more beautiful than I had realized before, a perfect viridian that catches and traps the light. Magic Essentia: Dragonfire Bolt(Rank 1): Fire a bolt of dragonfire at a target, dealing fire damage and potentially setting it aflame. Dragonfire is a native ability of all dragons, and its aspects take on the properties of the user¡¯s native mana affixes. I can¡¯t help myself but laugh as I see the new window appear in my vision. On a whim, I call dragonfire into my other hand. As I desire it, the normal orange dragonfire with the fire affix begins to pool in my palm. In less than a second, I am holding orange fire in my left hand and green fire in my right. I check my vital energies. ¡°My mana will be refilled in about ten minutes,¡± I tell Galea. She nods back to me. ¡°We still have some time until sunset.¡± Chapter 30 - Discovery and Promise I find Jess waiting for me out on the lake as I leave the mud-forest. I have to admit, the woman is a sight, sitting in the shallow water, holding herself completely still, waiting for fish to come near her to spear. She doesn¡¯t notice me until I splash over to her, my tired feet absorbing the clear water and welcoming the cool. I sit a distance away from her and start washing the dried blood and mud off my body as I watch her focus on her fishing. She doesn¡¯t make much progress with me out here, and I don¡¯t have the heart to tell her that these shallows don¡¯t look like the kind where the fishing will be good with night approaching. I¡¯m betting that the fish will sleep in those huge holes in the lakebed that descend out of sight. It takes me a long minute of laying in the water, raking my hair beneath the surface, to rid myself of the dried blood that has caked and matted my head. When I finally come up for breath, Jess is looking over in my direction, and I feel like a new woman. In more than a few ways, I am coming to understand that I am. ¡°You made it out alive,¡± she says, standing and wading over to me. She offers me a hand and jerks me to my feet with ease. ¡°I did,¡± I say. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to find you waiting here for me.¡± ¡°That elf boy seemed really concerned about you,¡± she says, flicking her eyes in the direction of the encampment a bit south of here. ¡°I told him that I would look out for you, escort you back to the camp when you were done or go in and get your body if you didn¡¯t return.¡± I laugh. ¡°If I died in there, I¡¯m betting that my body would be buried in mud and eaten by fish.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± Jess admits. ¡°I would just sniff out all the silver and treasure to find it though.¡± ¡°Did you recuperate?¡± I ask. ¡°Feel better than earlier,¡± she says. ¡°This water is good for mana recovery, I think. Still feel the itch to get to bed. Think I have a soul reinforcement coming.¡± ¡°We did kill a lot of monsters,¡± I say. Jess motions to me and we both start walking south through the water toward the trees. The sunset comes early in the forest, a good two hours before it would anywhere else that wasn¡¯t surrounded by trees hundreds of feet tall. Even from a distance I can see the general gloom of the forest has already plunged everything else into the cool of night. ¡°Find anything worthwhile after we left you alone?¡± she asks. ¡°A crystal,¡± I admit. ¡°You might use it to hit something with, but it stings your hands when you touch it.¡± ¡°Sounds heavy,¡± Jess scoffs. ¡°I prefer to be light on my feet.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve noticed.¡± We lapse into silence, listening to the sound of splashing as our feet cut through the water. As we approach the pebbly shore, I begin to feel the exhaustion of the day seep into me. This was the first time that I have ever hunted monsters, and it was also the first time I ever hunted them alone. When tagging along with Halford¡¯s party, I never felt that I contributed much to the monster slaying, the real adventuring part, keeping people safe. Everything since I finished my set of essentia has been reactive, trying to keep myself from dying. Today was the first time that I woke up and chose to fight monsters, and Exeter forgive me, it felt great. Not that I was under the impression that these monsters would have ever been a danger to anyone. I doubt that any non-magical citizens would ever stumble upon the mud-forest housing hundreds of monster fish, so finding and exterminating them wasn¡¯t strictly necessary. Despite that, it was hard to feel sympathy for the murderous little things. ¡°Here,¡± I say to Jess, handing her a cooked filet of piranha. Even with my new massive mana pool, which if I was being honest, was probably not as large as any other mage in the competition, I needed to take a few breaks during my monster killing spree to recuperate my mana. During that time, I had spent a good bit cooking up some of the fish that my disenchant ability had delivered to me. After probing Galea enough, she figured out how to allow me to name things in my own inventory, and with all the chests I now had, my inventory was starting to read like a pantry. Jess takes the bit of fish on a stick and snaps off a piece. She chews for a moment before looking back at me with appraisal. ¡°It could use some seasoning.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think to bring any,¡± I say. ¡°Had some other priorities.¡± ¡°If you didn¡¯t think to bring seasoning, you must not have spent much time in the wilderness.¡± ¡°I spent some,¡± I say defensively. Honestly, Kapin and Bali had always been in charge of food. ¡°Are you from the wilderness?¡± ¡°Do you ask because I am a lizardkin?¡± Jess¡¯ voice holds no contempt in it¨Cgenuine curiosity. ¡°I ask because you sounded judgy,¡± I say. She shrugs, sucking the rest of the fish off the stick before tossing it into the rocks along the shore. As we climb of the shore, a thought strikes me, and I manage to make my greaves appear around my naked feet, straight out of my inventory. This storage ring keeps getting better and better. ¡°I spent a lot of time providing for myself out in the wilds,¡± she admits after a few more minutes of silence. ¡°I was trying to get as strong as possible for this competition. Good thing I did, the me from a year ago would never have survived that first day.¡± ¡°That was just yesterday,¡± I mutter. ¡°I know,¡± she replies, a dark tone behind her words. She straightens her back, setting her hand on my shoulder as we continue to walk. ¡°Today was a lot better.¡± ¡°Yes, it was,¡± I agree. I am still uncertain what I had been expecting for this competition to entail, but I don¡¯t think that I ever could have guessed. Despite all the chaos and death of yesterday, everyone seems to have bounced back for the most part. Personally, I am going to take all those memories of the first day and squeeze them into a tiny box in my head, throw away the box, and never think about it again. Today was great. I killed a ton of very dangerous fish, gained three levels, defeated my first rank two monster by myself, and began to discover how my Conflux ability works. I even found a few more chests as I was leaving the mud-forest and picked up a really cool magical item that I want to use soon. We hear the camp long before we stumble upon it. The clearing that the participants mill about in talking, eating, cooking, and constructing tents in is bustling by the time that we arrive. Light from five fires set out in a circle around the clearing keeps everything well-lit, while the people content themselves with normalcy. ¡°Have any more food?¡± Jess asks me as we pass by and nod to a few guards stationed at the perimeter of the encampment. I recognize the faces of the guards and my eye tells me their names, though I don¡¯t think we have ever exchanged words. ¡°I didn¡¯t have much of a chance to cook,¡± I tell her, handing her another cooked filet of fish on a stick. Jess nods toward one of the fires as she takes the food I hand her. ¡°I think Lionel is our designated cook. Might be a good idea to drop off all the monster bits with him. If he has a cooking ability, he will make better use of it than we will.¡± ¡°Probably a good idea,¡± I say. ¡°Everyone might be getting tired of eating bear at this point.¡± ¡°It¡¯s only been a day,¡± Jess says. ¡°How could you get tired of it in only a day?¡± ¡°You haven¡¯t adventured with many elves I take it,¡± I say. She barks a laugh. ¡°Nope. I am going to go try to find Samielle,¡± she says, slapping my arm. ¡°The man promised me a good roll and I intend to follow up on that. Hard to say no to broad shoulders like those.¡± With another laugh, she leaves me standing stunned in the middle of the camp. She spots Samielle at the same time I do, working hard to stitch together a tent made from Dire Bear pelts. I confirm again for myself that I have only known this woman for a day. Still, I can¡¯t help but admire her. I follow her advice and make my way over to a large man turning a hunk of meat on a spigot over one of the fires. My eye lets me pick Lionel out of the crowd, and I am a bit surprised to discover that he is the hulking man that helped us fight the Armors yesterday. He isn¡¯t human, though if I wasn¡¯t trying to tell, I don¡¯t think I could pick that out from a distance. His skin is a dark tan that wouldn¡¯t look out of place on a human, but upon closer inspection, it has the same stone-like sheen that Bali¡¯s does. The man is an earthspeaker, well over seven feet tall, with a broad nose and chin, and a smile that never seems to disappear from his face. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Lionel Coolidge(Rank One)(Level 32) Hungering Dragon Conflux The look on my face must give away my surprise when I read the description of his Conflux. ¡°You see something you like?¡± he asks me, laughing, his accent a perfect match for Bali¡¯s. Lionel holds up one of his arms, flexing his bicep. ¡°I am looking rather good today.¡± ¡°I brought you something,¡± I tell him, ignoring the posturing. I make two iron chests of uncooked fish appear in the grass just in front of the giant. ¡°I heard you are the camp cook.¡± I unlatch and open the chests, revealing my day¡¯s haul, and earning my own look of surprise from the man. ¡°If I can continue receiving as much monster flesh as I can handle, I will gladly share my expertise in its preparation with the rest assembled,¡± he says, voice loud and hands gesturing around. ¡°The Dragon is always hungry!¡± ¡°It is good to meet you, Dragon. My name is Charlene Devardem.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± he says, ¡°the Dragon is not me. Not yet anyway. My name is Lionel Coolidge.¡± I wonder if it will always feel this awkward to have people introduce themselves to me when I already know their names. ¡°You have a Dragon Essentia?¡± I ask. I lean in toward the man, prompting him to bend his enormous bulk down to hear my whisper. ¡°I do too.¡± The look of surprise I see on his face when he pulls away from me is worth even admitting something Arabella told me to keep a secret. The atmosphere around here doesn¡¯t really feel as if anyone will try to use my abilities against me anyway. ¡°You say this so freely,¡± Lionel says, shaking his head. ¡°You do not covet this information as you should, Little Sister.¡± ¡°How old are you?¡± He waves away the question. ¡°You must be of a different Dragon than I am then,¡± he says. ¡°You have a trustworthy face,¡± I tell him. ¡°It didn¡¯t seem like much of a risk to tell you.¡± His mentioning of his own dragon puts an itch in my brain. I have heard before that there are different kinds of dragons. The most famous ones in the stories are always so different from one another. However, my essentia had simply been the Dragon Essentia, not the Red Dragon Essentia or the Blue Dragon Essentia. I wonder what that might mean for me down the line. ¡°I must thank the creator for granting me this face then,¡± Lionel says. He motions to the open chests in front of him. ¡°This is a great gift that you have given the camp. I will make certain that everyone who enjoys the delicious food that I will make of this knows from whom it came.¡± ¡°You helped us in that fight yesterday,¡± I tell him. ¡°Against the Armors. Giving you some fish isn¡¯t nearly enough to thank you for that.¡± I extend my hand, managing to make the huge scythe I looted the day before from the corpse of one of the Armors appear, head falling and burying itself into the dirt between us, the weapon¡¯s weight enough to drive the wickedly sharp point home. The dark metal of the scythe gleams in the firelight, and I can see greed come over Lionel¡¯s face. ¡°I did not help to receive spoils from you,¡± he says, running his huge fingers over the pommel of the scythe. ¡°This came from your own kill, did it not?¡± ¡°It was all a group effort,¡± I say. ¡°Dovik asked me to try delivering the good things I found to people that we can trust and who can use them best. I have decided that you fit the description.¡± Lionel smiles, seizing the weapon. ¡°I will not turn down such an awesome gift. If you ever require anything of me Little Sister, merely ask.¡± ¡°Well,¡± I say, motioning to his spit roast, ¡°I could use some of that bear meat. All I¡¯ve eaten today has been fish.¡± ¡°Consider it done.¡± Using his new scythe, Lionel cuts a slice of the roasting meat away and hands it to me on a big leaf. I leave him to his work, wandering around the camp, taking bites from the roast in my hands. The meat is far better than what I had eaten that morning. Lionel even seems to have seasoned it somewhat. I find Macille, and I am about to strike up a conversation with him when a hush falls over the camp. There is a clapping sound from the center of the cleared circle. We both turn to see Dovik stepping up onto a box in the middle of the camp. All eyes turn toward the group¡¯s impromptu leader, and he doesn¡¯t waste time standing on ceremony. ¡°I know that a lot of you are probably tired after today,¡± he says. ¡°A lot of you helped us greatly by scouting around so that we could get our bearings. I¡¯ll start by saying what we know. ¡°The Red Wall that chased us away from the parade grounds continues to stand at the bottom of the slope. I don¡¯t think that there is much of a chance that it will start moving again, but we can¡¯t count out that possibility. From what the groups that went scouting today have relayed to me, the forest and surrounding area seems to be densely packed with rank one monsters with some rank twos sprinkled in here and there. The monsters inside of the forest also seem to ignore most things on the ground, though one group did report that when they tried moving between the trees about fifty feet up, they were attacked rather frequently by rank one monsters. ¡°It has also been discovered that there are areas inside of the forest set apart from the rest of everything else. Today we have discovered a lake filled with fish monsters, a cave that houses insect-like monsters, and a large patch of sand that was home to monster we still haven¡¯t identified. In each of these areas, there were placed chests that contain coin and magical items. I think that it is pretty safe to say that the people in charge of this competition intend for us to arm ourselves with these items.¡± Dovik continues to describe each of the areas found in detail and what was found there. I lose interest pretty quickly, and I turn to Macille. ¡°Did you tell him about everything we found?¡± ¡°Most of it,¡± Macille says. ¡°I didn¡¯t see any reason in holding back too much. A lot of different groups found these kinds of places and there was a lot of treasure to be had. Speaking of.¡± Macille turns and offers me a staff. The staff looks to be made of twisting wood, hard and dark. At about five feet in length, it feels like it weighs practically nothing in my hands. A powerful aura of red and orange bleeds into the air from the weapon, but the most fantastical thing about it is that the wood seems to naturally transition into a metal cage at the head of the staff, topped with a ruby. Lamplighter¡¯s Charge(Rare): A weapon grown from the fiery dreams of an immolated dryad as its spirit lingered on this side of the veil. The visions of the fire that killed the dryad have housed themselves in this staff, caged inside of the prison that tops it. Fire magic cast with this weapon will find its effectiveness greatly improved. Enhancement: +10% Fire Magic Effectiveness, +20 Magic ¡°Macille,¡± I say, my breath barely a whisper. ¡°This is far too much.¡± Despite my words, I feel my fingers tightening around the staff, afraid that someone might come and try to take it from me at any moment. The weapon begs me for my magic, and without a second thought, I oblige. As my mana pours into the weapon, the cage at the top of it sparks to life with the orange iridescence of my dragonfire. I draw a few eyes away from Dovik¡¯s speech, but I can¡¯t bring myself to care at the moment. ¡°I¡¯m glad you like it,¡± he says. ¡°One of the other groups found it today. Remarkably enough, you are the only fire mage that we have in the group. It seemed like a natural fit for you.¡± I can¡¯t keep the smile from my face as I stare into the fire at the head of the staff. I look up to Macille, finding him grinning at my own joy. I feel heat flush to my face and turn away to look up at Dovik. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say. ¡°Really.¡± ¡°We need you at your best,¡± he says. ¡°I feel the same way about you,¡± I tell him. I plant the staff in the ground and pull a magic item from my inventory that I found today after killing the catfish. A band of black silk falls limply into my open palm, the magic that it gives off so subtle in the dimming light of the ending day that it is hard for me to perceive. Band of the Hero(Rare): A band woven from the dark hair of Kressiden. This item endows its bearer with the tremendous strength of an ancient hero, and despite its simplicity, it has proven a valuable asset in hundreds of battles. Enhancement: +35 Strength To be honest with myself, I was intending to keep the band for myself. Having my strength attribute more than triple over night was something I had been looking forward to waking up to. Considering that I am already stronger now than I ever thought possible before, it had been a fun fantasy. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± Macille asks, delicately taking the band from me, his fingers lingering on my own a bit longer than strictly necessary. ¡°It will make you stronger,¡± I tell him. ¡°Sorry that it doesn¡¯t also come with some kind of special ability.¡± ¡°I will take all the strength I can get,¡± he says, his smile still pulling at me. ¡°Help me put it on?¡± He motions to his arm, and I help him cinch it tight around his bicep. He flexes his hands. ¡°Wow, I can feel it already. I¡¯ve never had an item that helped my strength this much. Thank you.¡± ¡°We need to be at our best, right?¡± ¡°Absolutely.¡± Damn, that smile of his is pretty. A gasp rolling through the crowd pulls our attention back to Dovik. My brain hurries to relay to me the last few sentences the man has said while I only partly paid attention. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he says. ¡°Bigger than our group. They weren¡¯t willing to share much information with those that found them, but they did tell us this much. In the ruins that their group has come across, the administrators of this competition intend to hold some kind of event that will take place tomorrow afternoon. It has been recommended to us to join this event, and I for one am going to take the administrators up on the offer.¡± A general dissent follows Dovik¡¯s words. People shout out their distrust of the runners of the competition. They yell about this being some kind of trap, and I can¡¯t blame them for thinking so. The administrators of this competition have done nothing so far to help earn the trust of any of us. Dovik waits a while for the shouting to quiet somewhat, gesturing for everyone to lower their voices. ¡°I understand how you feel,¡± he says. ¡°Truly, no one here can feel as betrayed by the Willian guild as I do. That said, from the description that the scouts brought back to us, the only conclusion that I can come to is that the administrators intend for us to enter a dungeon. I¡¯m sure you don¡¯t need me to tell you how valuable of a chance that could be.¡± At the mention of a dungeon, the murmuring and grumbling dies out of the crowd. ¡°I¡¯ve only ever heard of dungeons,¡± I whisper to Macille. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything about them really.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll tell you later,¡± Macille whispers to me, his attention completely caught by Dovik. Dovik looks to be standing a bit taller now, the attention of the crowd firmly grasped. He smiles, and I have to admit that it helps put me a bit more at ease. ¡°We will take a vote for what we are going to do. I don¡¯t really think that I should be telling anyone what they need to do or what they can¡¯t do. We are all in a competition after all.¡± He leads the charge in the group deciding if they wish to try entering a dungeon together. The vote is fairly one-sided. Tomorrow, we will all approach these ruins as a group. Chapter 31 - Gaius Gore: Meeting High on the side of the wall-city of Grim, the monolithic building where the head of the Willian Guild sees to their daily activities buzzed with the goings-on of the day. The Passage of Rising Tide was not an event that took place every year, and the monitoring of its progress required a huge sum of the guild¡¯s resources to be employed. In the building, carved from a single block of slate gray stone, high, vaulted, windows allowed a cascade of rainbow light to fall into the chambers of Gaius Gore. The office of the guild administrator always carried with it a domineering prestige; nearly large enough to house a marshaling of all the members in the guild hall, the current administrator had done away with the rows of tables and maps left behind by his predecessor, preferring an austere, barren approach to his own decor. A rug of lavender hide stretched the thirty feet from the office¡¯s entrance all the way to the onyx desk at which Gaius Gore, dressed in his fine black suit trimmed with gold, scribbled away on stationary. Mosaics dominated the northern and eastern wall, the light from the rising sun sprinkling blurred depictions of the guild¡¯s triumphs and failures across the stone floor. Three separate purple lights competed with the prismed sunrays, given off by the three sheets of amethyst that levitated over the only table that remained in the cavernous office. At the table sat two women and a man, all of the third rank, controlling the crystalline artifacts purchased from Faeth to monitor the events of the competition. The three sat around the table controlling the artifacts, projecting scenes of far distant affairs straight onto the crystal to view. Everything, so far, was advancing according to plan. ¡°I ought to leave then,¡± a woman, Dessa Coril, said to Gaius¡¯ disinterest. He grunted a reply, tracking the woman who carried in her hand a deific costume with the perception granted him by his aura. His own costume hung on a manikin just behind his desk, an unfortunate aspect of the Passage but a necessary one. His senses detected another presence storming through the building toward his office before Dessa had even fully left. His recognition of the person marching his way pressed a scowl onto his face. Looking up from the papers and setting them aside, Gaius Gore sighed, pulling open a drawer in his stone desk and retrieving three bound portfolios from inside. By the time he has set his gray eyes on the door, Dessa was there, holding it open for the approaching woman, clicking heels resounding off the stone floors of the guild hall and giving away the approach as much as the unique signature of the woman¡¯s magic might. She rounded the corner, marching straight into Gaius¡¯ office without so much as acknowledging Dessa. Gabriella Willian seldom acknowledged anyone that didn¡¯t either bear her family¡¯s name or a noble title. Dressed in leather armor that was more fit for a ballroom than a battlefield, Gabriella shone, her clothing eating up the rainbow light, subtly glowing. Her raven hair and severe features looked down at the sitting man, trying to drive into him the fact that he was a worm before an eagle. Her Regalia was, of course, a halo of silver and gold that rested in the air behind her head at all times. She was an outlier among the direct descendants of the Guild Master. In his stay away from the office as guild administrator, one of Gaius¡¯ greatest enjoyments had been to no longer attract the attention of Gabriella. How unfortunate that his return to the office also included this negative benefit. ¡°You must have lost your mind!¡± Gabriella screeched at him even as she marched across the lavender rug that connected his desk to the door. The anger in the woman¡¯s stride showed itself through the scorch marks her high-heeled shoes left in his rug. At the door, Dessa cringed as she noticed the burns in the rug as well, offering Gaius a sympathetic look before slipping out of the office. Near the wall, the three overseers continued their monitoring of the Passage without looking over, but to Gaius¡¯ well-honed senses the unease in their muscles and auras was as apparent as chickens screaming that a coyote had gotten into the henhouse. ¡°Good evening, Gabriella,¡± Gaius said, steepling his fingers. ¡°How have you been?¡± ¡°Unwell,¡± she said, putting her hands squarely on her hips. ¡°You would not wish to hear about the day that I am having, that I have been having since you started this idiotic competition of yours. What were you thinking? Eliminating almost half of the competitors in the first day! Starting a bloodbath right in front of our city where anyone that cares to could have watched.¡± ¡°I had already erected the wall before the attack began,¡± Gaius said. ¡°Do. Not. Interrupt me, Gaius!¡± Gabriella stormed forward and slapped a hand onto his stone desk, no doubt planning to crack the facade. A simple flexing of his magic prevented any damage. Gabriella was an impressive essentia magician, especially for a rank three, but at the end of the day, she was only a rank three. ¡°You cannot seriously expect your little magical wall to have prevented aristocratic spies and interested parties from watching. I have had mothers and sisters in my apartments for the last two days crying their eyes out, having watched their children ripped apart by murderous beasts that they were not prepared to face. Never, and I mean never, has the Passage begun with an atrocity like this! You will have serious charges to face coming from this.¡± Gaius waited a while, watching the woman huffing from her tirade. When he was certain that she had finished, he ventured to speak. ¡°You forget the first Passage.¡± ¡°Do not invoke history with me,¡± Gabriella snapped. ¡°If I can invoke it with your father, then I will speak it to you, child.¡± Gaius refused to raise his voice. He didn¡¯t need to. Mentioning her father sucked a good bit of the angry wind out of the woman¡¯s sails. ¡°I have run the Passage for a span of three-hundred and sixteen years before I retired from my duties. A retirement that I was rather enjoying. When your father asked for me to return, what else could I do but listen to his concerns? I happen to agree with him. The current running of the guild has made us weak, and I plan to begin correcting it here.¡± ¡°Weak!¡± That word put the bluster back in Gabriella. ¡°You massacred over a hundred of our applicants! If you wish to reduce the number of applicants that we allowed this year, that would have been one thing, but to kill the children of high nobility on our doorstep is something else entirely.¡± If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°The number of casualties was one hundred sixty six,¡± Gaius explained simply, touching one of the papers on his desk. ¡°I have the numbers right here. Out of that number, eighty three were slain in the initial attack by the Dire Bears. Of those slain, seventy seven were able to be revived, and they are now recuperating in proper medical facilities. You owe your mother for that.¡± Even with a large amount of the injured and slain having successfully been resurrected and healed by the Guild Marshal, Caladenna Willian, losing six promising youths in the initial outset of the competition had been something Gaius had hoped to avoid. In the first minutes of the competition, he had pushed himself to move his wall as fast as he could across the parade ground, pushing the monsters further north, officially eliminating anyone the wall passed from the competition. The healers had done the best they could for those left behind by the wall, but not even a rank four healer could return to life someone that had been completely devoured by a monster. ¡°It should be none dead,¡± Gabriella said. ¡°That may have been the case recently, but it will not be any longer. The Guild Marshal agrees with me on this, aid will only be delivered to those that have left the contest. It will be sparring in the future.¡± Gabriella shook her head. ¡°You really are as mad as you say. Strength, that is what you want for us? Destroying our relations with the nobility of a hundred countries by making them watch as their children are butchered will do nothing to strengthen us.¡± ¡°You worry about diplomatic strength,¡± Gaius sneered, his own anger seeping into his voice. ¡°The nobility, petty landholders fat on power they did not earn. The shine of coin will clear their memories fast enough if it is required, and if that isn¡¯t enough, all we will need to do is wait a few decades to treat with whomever deposes them.¡± ¡°Your short-sighted¨C¡± ¡°No!¡± Gaius bellowed, earning honest surprise from the woman in front of him. ¡°Now you shall not interrupt me! When your father came to me with his concerns for the weakness spreading through this organization, an organization to which I have given the majority of my life, I agreed to return to my duties. Never had I imagined that we allowed it to infect us as severely as it has. I have been in this office for only five months now, and already I have had to deal with this sickness of weakness three times now.¡± Gaius pushed the portfolios forward, holding his silence until Gabriella reluctantly took the top one to look at. ¡°Jodis Milla,¡± Gaius narrated for her, speaking as she read. ¡°He is the third son of a noble family from Reeds. Eight weeks ago, after being spurned by a commoner woman that he fell for, he decided that she did not have a choice in her being with him. He changed the woman¡¯s mother and father into mice and held them hostage, forcing the girl to perform all sorts of perverse acts with him, under the threat of force-feeding her parents to her if she declined. Not to be denied and with his pride thoroughly wounded, he also pushed several other girls from the same small village into the same sadistic arrangement. ¡°Jodis killed the three people who stumbled onto his crimes before someone strong enough to oppose him found out. In the two weeks that he inflicted himself upon this small village, he forced eight girls, ages ranging from fourteen to eighteen, into his bed. Only half of the transformed peoples were recovered. We believe that the others were fed to Jodis¡¯ familiar, a snake. One of the girls ended her own life when she discovered that her parents and older brother could not be found.¡± Gabriella stood, pale, looking down at the writing on the page. ¡°I had no idea.¡± ¡°Of this instance perhaps,¡± Gaius said. ¡°I do not doubt someone so high in the diplomatic arm of the guild has needed to soothe tempers when one of our guild members has committed some serious crime before. Do not mock my intelligence by saying that you are blind to our internal troubles. Jodis Milla was a member of our guild, his atrocity reflects upon us.¡± Before Gabriella could object, Gaius continued. ¡°The second portfolio covers Nixzxa Krass, the daughter of a baron, a member of our guild for over two decades. She was on the cusp of the fourth rank before Illigar uncovered what she had been doing for well over a decade with the power that we helped her accrue. ¡°Nixzxa stumbled into a powerful curse when she reached the third rank, an ability that she kept hidden from us. She thought herself above her peers because of her affiliation with us. She had no qualms about abducting the children of rival noble houses, ripping their tongues from their mouths, and replacing them with those from her cursed ability. She returned them, seemingly intact, but she controlled their words and mouths from afar. ¡°She became a true witch over the years, bringing down at least three other noble houses in her area with her manipulations. In that time, fourteen young children from local noble houses have choked to death, presumably on the cursed tongues Nixzxa put in their heads. The chaos and instability that she sowed has led to famine, killing well over a thousand from starvation and a war between two neighboring dutchies that resulted in more than fifteen thousand dead. I won¡¯t regale you with what she did to those in her own household, but it reads like a nightmare.¡± Gabriella stood, the only sound coming from the manipulations of the monitors keeping an eye on the competition through their crystal artifacts. The young scion of the Willian guild swallowed her pride, the anger from earlier long gone. ¡°Where are they now?¡± ¡°Suffering,¡± Gaius said, his aura unconsciously sucking the color out of the room. ¡°They deserve to suffer,¡± Gabriella agreed. She looked down at the last portfolio in front of her. ¡°Care to hear about Vedrik Thorn? Gaius asked. ¡°I will read it later,¡± Gabriella said. She sighed, leaning on the desk. ¡°These are terrible actions that have taken place, and I agree that monsters like this should be hunted like every other monster. I still do not see the purpose of hurting our relations with the nobility.¡± ¡°We have catered to them for too long,¡± Gaius said. ¡°The guild has lowered its standards for entry and worked to cultivate relations with different noble houses through entrance into our ranks. We invited sickness into our guild, the sickness of pride.¡± He pulled back the portfolios and slapped them on his desk. ¡°When you court these people who have had everything handed to them their whole lives, you cannot hand them unimaginable power without putting them through a crucible. If we do not cull the weak of body, mind, and character from our ranks at the outset, we invite sickness into our ranks. ¡°This Passage will be different from those that came before. I intend to stamp the pride out of the participants. I intend to find the corruption that is trying to weasel its way into our ranks before it can become part of us. Some may be arbitrarily eliminated, that is regrettable, though for most, they will have plenty of future prospects to fall back upon. The numbers of those that pass this test will be far fewer than in recent decades, but they will be stronger, and they will add to our own strength, not subtract from it.¡± ¡°My father agrees with this course of action?¡± Gabriella asked. ¡°He does.¡± Gaius sighed, leaning back in his chair and taking the portfolios from his desk to replace them in the drawer. ¡°These three have come to me in just a few months. That is already bad enough. There will be a lot of cleaning up the house in the future.¡± Gabriella stepped away from the desk. She looked at the older man, a bit of pity on her face. ¡°If this is the course the Guild Master has set, then I will support it through the diplomatic corp. Will you at least tell me how Dovik is doing?¡± The mention of the young man brought a smile to Gaius¡¯ lips. ¡°Your brother fares well,¡± he said. ¡°As you might expect, he has rallied a group under his banner already.¡± ¡°That does sound like him,¡± Gabriella said. ¡°Thank you for sharing that with me.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Gaius said. He rose from his seat, glancing back at the costume hanging on the manikin behind him. He could not be the detached administrator that he had liked being in the past anymore. He had his own role to play in all of this. ¡°If you will excuse me, I have somewhere that I need to be this morning.¡± Chapter 32 - Preparations For A Dungeon A month ago ¡°Mana affixes?¡± Arabella asks, lifting her tea and gently blowing over the surface of her steaming drink. ¡°I am surprised that you would ask about them.¡± We sit in her office, a heavy table between her sofa and my own. The lights in the room are strange today, a shade of pink that I haven¡¯t seen before, casting the small room in contrasting shadows that seem deeper than would be normally possible. ¡°One of my abilities directly references them,¡± I remind her. I don¡¯t touch the cup of tea that she has provided me, letting it smolder on the silver tray between us. I tried several times before to like her taste in tea, but it is just too bitter. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± she says. She takes a small sip and mulls over her thoughts, enjoying her drink and silence for a long moment. ¡°I told you before that I am new to this work of teaching young magicians about how their abilities might work. In the area of affixes however, I am fairly fluent. ¡°There is not an incredible amount to say about them in general. Mana, in its most natural form, holds with it no aspect. It is a raw energy, the third state of energy. Where mana differs from its brothers, kinetic and physical energy, is that it can be influenced by the metaphysical iconographs that it interacts with.¡± I watch as Arabella notes the ignorance clear on my face. ¡°Meaning tht mana takes on the aspects of the parts of the world it interacts with. ¡°Your dragonfire carries the aspect of fire with it, quite common for fire magic. If a fire were naturally existing and some magician or sorcerer added mana to the fire, that mana would become fire affixed, heightening the things that are correlated with fire by sentient beings, namely being hot and burning.¡± ¡°So magic fire is hot,¡± I say, summoning a bit into my hand. ¡°I had figured that part out.¡± Arabella shrugs, setting her cup down on the tray with a clink. ¡°The principle is honestly that simple. Magic fire is hot, magically hot you could say. While the concept is simple, it fails to encapsulate the full capacity of what an affix is capable of. I once knew a magician that specialized in hot water as their main method of attack--¡± ¡°Hot water?¡± I scoff. ¡°That sounds pretty ridiculous.¡± ¡°Isolated and without seeing its practical application, I might agree with you. Naturally, water can only become so hot before it begins to boil. If you were to suddenly pump an incredible amount of heat into water, you would get steam, not hot water. However, this magician was utilizing mana that was affixed towards water and heat, not steam, which would be entirely different. Employing the energy of magic in this way allowed this magician to produce torrents of water that were thousands of degrees in temperature, water that did not turn to steam, because the magic employed was not affixed to steam. Without ever seeing it, hot water might sound ludicrous, but after watching a Baeloth be melted to smoking bones in only a few moments from a stream of hot water, you begin to appreciate it.¡± ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know what a Baeloth is,¡± I say. ¡°A big reptile, very big,¡± Arabella clarifies. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve never seen a Baeloth,¡± I say, ¡°but melting one in seconds with water does sound terrifying.¡± ¡°More impressive than anything,¡± Arabella says. ¡°As a counterpoint, I have developed an affinity for ice affixed mana, which is made of frozen and water mana, frozen being composed of cold and solid mana. Affixes split into very small pieces if you allow them to. My ice can reach temperatures so low that it would be impossible without the recourse of magical energy. This is the power of affixes.¡± ¡°So affixes allow magic to do impossible things,¡± I summarize. ¡°It would all be impossible without magic,¡± Arabella says. ¡°But yes, that is a way to look at it. Natively, each individual has only a few affixes for which they are suited. I am not current on the theory, but it has something to do with how the soul interacts with the dividing line between the realms of the divine and mundane. All people have some kind of leaning as far as affixes go, even those without any magical abilities to speak of. Part of the randomness that magicians may believe they experience when they first discover their essentia abilities comes from this leaning. As we know, there is no real randomness in the universe.¡± That was something that I did in fact not know, but I keep my mouth shut about it. ¡°The ability granted to me by my Emperor Conflux states that I am not limited in magical affixes,¡± I say. ¡°Truly, a remarkable ability,¡± Arabella says, leaning forward. ¡°I know that it may not seem like much now, but if you manage to climb the ranks, not having that limitation will do wonders for you. For magicians, and this is especially true for those that rely solely upon magic for offense and defense like mages often do, there are bad matchups. Some magical affixes will directly trump others, almost as if they were designed to do so. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°For instance, that magician that focused on incredibly hot water, could be defeated by a being of suitably powerful stone affixed mana. Heat and fire mana often has difficulty dealing with stone, though it is usually good at dealing with metal affixes. Just a strange quirk of the world. This will be different for you; I hope. Magicians tend to start dealing with their affixes once they reach the second rank, which I recommend for you to do as well. Trying to control and manipulate them at the first rank is so difficult that your time would be better spent elsewhere. ¡°Others will have to be satisfied with mastering their own native affixes and a handful of ones they do not have a clear affinity for. You, however, if I understand your ability correctly, will be free of that limitation. In the future, you will be able to grant any aspect you can master to your own magic. If you become proficient enough with doing that, there will be no weakness you cannot overcome.¡± Dawn of the Third Day Dawn in the forest is a funny thing. Despite the huge clearing that we have all pitched our camp in, the trees that surround us are so impossibly tall that the sun has long ago lit the sky cerulean by the time that the first sunbeams hit us. I slept only as long as was strictly necessary for me to complete my soul reinforcement, telling Galea to wake me up as soon as it was done. Without even thinking about it, I dumped all of my free points into Magic, and was satisfied when Galea delivered a new message to me afterward. THRESHOLD REACHED! 200 MAGIC!! Magic (1st Threshold): Reaching the first threshold in the Magic attribute has granted the magician¡¯s own magic increased potency. If the magician¡¯s Magic attribute significantly outclasses the Magic Defense attribute of a target, there is a chance for any magical resistance to be completely ignored. Additionally, passing this threshold grants a slight insight into magical affixes, helping the magician along their journey to true potency. The message had been exactly what I had been hoping for, and I couldn¡¯t help but smile to myself as I read through the words over and over. Passing the threshold in Recovery has allowed me a secondary effect because I am a Recovery specialist. I can¡¯t help but wonder what that might be for a Magic specialist. The sound is fairly muted in the camp, the light of the morning still not enough to get everyone up and on their feet. For the last few hours I have sat alone at the edge of the light, the Bane Crystal resting in the ground next to me. Since reaching that threshold earlier, I have felt something different coming off of the crystal, though I can¡¯t rightfully place what it is that is different. I hold before me a mote of dragonfire that shines with a brilliant green light, the counterpoint to the orange fire in my left hand. For hours I have tried to conjure the green fire myself, but I am unable to. The only way I can manage to get a hold of it is by pressing my naturally orange dragonfire to the crystal. The power of the crystal is what changes the affix in my dragonfire, I still can¡¯t figure out how to do it on my own. Holding the two different fires in my hands, I continue trying to pick up on the difference between the two. The best I can manage is that the green and orange fires have a different ¡°taste¡± to them, though that isn¡¯t really the right word for it. Frustration continues to mount on me. Just trying out the green fire on some inanimate objects earlier made it clear how valuable it would be to master. I just can¡¯t figure out how. Having Arabella teach me more about magical affixes would be excellent right about now. I sigh, releasing the dragonfire to dissipate back into my mana pool rather than chuck it into the forest. The camp is moving now, those that are early risers already up and rousing the others. Lionel is one of the first awake, stirring a huge pot that he got from somewhere, tempting people out of sleep with the smell of breakfast. There is tension in the camp as well. After Dovik¡¯s proclamation of where it was we were all going today, I had Macille explain dungeons to me. Macille admitted to never having gone into a dungeon before, but he seemed fairly knowledgeable about them. Dungeons come in two distinct flavors, naturally occurring and artificial. Naturally occuring dungeons, the most prominent kind, form where there is an exceptionally thick presence of mana in the atmosphere. The Green Mountain back home could be thought of as a kind of dungeon. Due to the dense mana in the atmosphere, strong monsters spawn there often, making these places incredibly dangerous for people to go into. On the other hand, because there is an intense amount of mana, the natural treasures that can be found in these areas makes it worth the danger for some. The magical treasures that most adventurers are after being Runes of Attunement. I had realized when Macille brought them up that they were also part of the prize for the competition that Arabella had put on back in Westgrove. The reason that these runes are so prized for magicians is obvious once you know what it is they do. Runes of Attunement are able to add permanent affixes to the abilities of magicians, making them one of the very few ways that a magician can permanently increase their power. The existence of these runes attracts magicians to try their hand at entering these dungeons, leading to the second attraction of dungeons, gear from dead adventurers. Well equipped individuals often perish inside of dungeons, leaving the treasure of their equipment inside behind them. This attracts as many to venturing into the depths of dungeons as much as the naturally occurring treasures. As for artificial dungeons, they tend to operate in much the same way as the naturally occurring ones, except that the magic in the area is made artificially dense by relics or spells. Macille informed me that the largest cities in Gale are technically artificial dungeons. Apparently, elves are able to passively absorb ambient mana, slowly making them more powerful over time, and many elven nobles go out of their way to increase the magical density of their cities. This, I discovered yesterday, is yet another area where elves are superior to us humans. It does kind of sting to learn about. I notice Macille across the camp, speaking with Lionel, and put aside my thoughts. There is a lot that I need to think about still, and putting the Bane Crystal back in my inventory, I note that there is a lot left to learn and master. That can wait though, today I am going to try my hand at a dungeon for the first time. I just hope that there is something awesome to find inside. Chapter 33 - Meeting on the Steps The air is strange amidst our group as we walk through the forest. Anticipation sits heavy, making the air heavy and hot. Most of us are silent as we follow a scouting group toward the location of these ruins that we¡¯ve been told about; a few among us chatter nervously. No one is quite sure what we are going to find, me least of all, but walking between Jess and Macille puts my mind at ease somewhat. Even if a repeat of the parade ground happens, I don¡¯t think that there are many among us that will be caught off guard this time. Traveling in a group this large affords enough safety that I can admire the forest without fearing an attack by some monster. The trees shooting up hundreds of feet are so large around that I imagine fitting an entire house inside of their trunks. Several miles into the forest, as we are now, the detritus that my metal boots kick through is soft and light, dead leaves compounded from the recent winter¡¯s falling. Stamping boots beat out a trail through the fallen debris behind us, and the crunching underfoot is a constant drone of sound that lulls the mind into unthought. It is still cold this morning, probably the coldest morning I remember here, but the anticipation of violence keeps my blood warm, ready. A break between two massive trees reveals that we have arrived. It is just like the lake where I killed the fish yesterday. One moment, the forest is impenetrable, vision falling off as I look north, and the next I can see the sun filtering down in a curtain of white. My eyes don¡¯t even require a second to adjust when I step into the curtain of light, revealing the ruins we have been traveling to for the last hour. Our group of almost ninety competitors immediately begins to spread out as the clearing allows. Grass, knee-high and annoyingly clingy, races out in a large oval, hundreds of feet of it separating us from the single structure in the center of the wide clearing. A wall, old and caked with the black and brown rime of age, forms a circular perimeter around a singular structure that peeks over the eight feet of safety the wall offers. The structure looks so bizarre to me from this distance that I can¡¯t really get a handle on it. Dovik takes his position at the head of the group, offering to split the group so that nobody need approach the ruins if they do not wish to. There is some muttering, but in the end, no one is willing to reduce our strength in front of another group of competitors. We can already see them, at least six mill about in the gap of the wall¡¯s sole entrance. They look just as wary of us as we are of them. Taking charge, Dovik leads us through the lake of tan grass toward the ruins, and the other group doesn¡¯t oppose us when we start crossing into the circular courtyard created by the wall. The first thing that I notice is that the reports had been right, this group is larger than ours, almost a hundred. The anticipation of violence nears a crescendo as our group faces off with them in the center of the barren courtyard. They spread out, no one yet drawing weapons, but hands on hilts all over the place. My own instinct pulls at me to start conjuring dragonfire, to overchannel a bolt so powerful that it would make anyone blanch, but I know that thought is foolish. The last thing we want is to start violence between competitors. This competition has been bloody enough already. We all stand in the shadow of the structure behind us, which now that I am inside the walls, looks exactly as strange as I had thought from the outside. The only way that I can think of to describe it, is that someone had thought stacking rectangles on top of one another was a good idea. The base of the building is huge, half the size of the courtyard, but each eight-foot level that is added onto the bottom-most retreats away from us, smaller, ending at a square block that tops the entire structure with a darkened doorway leading into the depths of the building. A stairway climbs the exterior of the structure, a straight line of lichen-slick stone that leads toward the doorway at the top. The building might look impressive if it weren¡¯t for the black and brown staining of the once white bricks or the faint green of mold that covers the exterior. ¡°Who speaks for you?¡± A woman, dwarven and with muscles that could choke a mule, asks. As she speaks, she steps out from amidst the mill of the other group, black plate armor covering most of her, the only weapon on her the long stabbing claws that her gauntlets transition into. Despite her question, she looks straight at Dovik with her hauntingly pale eyes, the only one wearing the same make of armor as she is. Kith Rhetic(Rank One)(Level 46), Daughter of Duke Rhetic Giant Conflux ¡°I have been asked to lead our band,¡± Dovik says, stepping out to meet the woman halfway across the courtyard. ¡°My name is Dovik Willian, might I know yours?¡± Dovik Willian(Rank One)(Level 50), Son of Grandmaster Harrilis Willian Immortal Conflux ¡°Well met Dovik Willian,¡± the dwarven woman says. ¡°I am known as Kith. I have found family names to be rather irrelevant here, and as such I will decline giving my own.¡± The woman extends a hand to Dovik, which he clasps. ¡°Very well, Kith. Thank you for allowing us passage into these ruins. I have been told that the administrators of this contest have some kind of planned event here today,¡± Dovik says. At his words, I can see hands coil all the tighter around the hilts of weapons. No doubt, some in this other group had the same awful thought about the nature of this unknown event as I have. ¡°It is as you say,¡± Kith responds. ¡°Might I have your agreement to a formal truce between our two parties before this parlay continues.¡± ¡°I cannot offer any binding words for this group,¡± Dovik says, motioning in our direction. ¡°I am merely a mouthpiece for a collection of competitors.¡± Kith huffs. ¡°You are the representative are you not? With that comes the power and responsibility of decision. If you will not agree to formalizing a ceasing of hostilities between us, then I will ask that you take yourselves and leave. We will not treat with those that cannot promise their good intent.¡± Kith seems immune to noticing the atmosphere that her words create. I can see the color of magic in the ranks of the other group, subtle, but I was looking for it. Eyes focus upon the two meeting in the middle of us, everyone ready to jump into motion at a moment¡¯s notice. ¡°Very well,¡± Dovik says. ¡°We do not have a formalized moniker, but I will offer what you have asked. I hereby agree to non-aggression between our two parties. We will not draw upon you first, but rest assured that we will not be dispatched easily if you attempt anything.¡± The woman gives Dovik a long stare before curtly nodding. ¡°Very well.¡± Just as easily as they created tension, her words sap it from the groups. I can feel my own heart beating in my chest, a rapid thumping that has become an acquaintance recently. I look to my left to find Macille standing at my shoulder, white knuckles around the hilt of his sword, muscles tightened to spring forward. He jumps as I put my hand on his shoulder, and looks back at me a bit sheepishly. I smile, pat his shoulder, and turn my attention back to the meeting. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°There is not much to say about this upcoming contest. At least not much information that I need to relate to you,¡± Kith says. She points one of the claws of her black gauntlet down at the ground where the shadow of the blocky building cuts a line through the stone of the courtyard. ¡°When the shadow meets the front steps of the building, an administrator should arrive to inform us of what exactly it is that we shall be doing. That will be some hours from now.¡± ¡°I suppose that we don¡¯t have timepieces to track time with,¡± Dovik says, offering Kith a smile. ¡°Maddening,¡± Kith says, completely immune to the levity that Dovik offers her. ¡°Find a place to prepare yourselves. We have a wait to look forward to.¡± Without offering anything else, the woman turns and starts trudging back toward the bulk of her group. I am about to ask Macille something when he breaks away from the rest of our group, drawing the attention of a hundred pairs of eyes. ¡°Kendon!¡± he shouts, toward the other group, walking off to search for his brother among them. ¡°Kendon!¡± Dovik watches him go, nodding before turning back to the rest of us. ¡°If you have any missing family members, I suggest that you utilize this time to look for them. I assume that you all heard everything she described.¡± He receives a murmuring chorus of affirmatives. ¡°Great. Use this time to prepare however you see fit. If this truly is a dungeon that we are about to delve into, I would suggest using this time as wisely as you can think to. It is only going to get more dangerous from here.¡± With his piece said, the group begins to break apart into smaller factions. Without Macille, I am left pretty much alone as Jess walks off with Samielle to explore the grass fields surrounding us. I don¡¯t mind the solitude, taking the time to find a seat against the wall and pull out my Bane Crystal once again. I spend some time trying to conjure the green dragonfire just by being near the Bane Crystal, but even that little is impossible. Changing my orange fire into the green by touching the crystal is the only way that I can manage to change it, and I spend an hour or more just holding onto the viridian fire, staring into its depth. There is something different about it, my eye can tell me that much, the affix has changed from fire to ¡­acid. I am still unclear on exactly what ¡°acid¡± is. When I asked Macille about it, he said that acid is a destructive substance that melts things, and when I asked Dovik about it, he started talking at length about chemicals and other things I had no idea about. I focus on the Corrosion affix. At the very least, I know what that word means. Even without my eye, I can tell that there is a difference between the two fires. Some sense that I never before needed to flex tugs at my attention. Again, I am left thinking that the difference is in the flavor of the fires. A momentary, idiotic, thought of trying to lick the Bane Crystal flashes through my head. Given how much everyone else is avoiding even touching the thing, I think that is probably a bad idea. ¡°Couldn¡¯t find him,¡± Macille says, dropping down next to me and leaning his head back against the wall with a sigh. ¡°No one has even seen him.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t necessarily mean anything,¡± I say, dismissing the fire. ¡°This forest is huge.¡± ¡°I just can¡¯t stop thinking about the risers,¡± Macille says. ¡°What if he really was still under there, and I just left him? What if I left my brother to die, eaten by monsters, trapped beneath metal?¡± ¡°He wasn¡¯t,¡± I tell him. ¡°How can you know that?¡± ¡°I just know.¡± We sit in the sickly glow of the Bane Crystal for a long moment. I sigh as well, leaning my head back. ¡°Those three are crazy strong,¡± I say. ¡°Before we ever arrived at Grim, each of them had managed to kill a rank two monster by themselves. I still have no idea what it was, but I doubt it was any weaker than the Desert Spearman.¡± ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± Macille admits. ¡°I just can¡¯t think of a reason that he wouldn¡¯t look for me if he was fine. It doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I say. ¡°It doesn¡¯t make sense. We will have to ask him about it when we find him. We are all ultimately going to the same place after all, some kind of land bridge across the water. All I know for sure is that there is no way those three are in a worse off situation than we are. Arabella warned us of opposing Jor¡¯Mari after all, he is some kind of super magician.¡± ¡°Alpha magician,¡± Macille corrects. ¡°Right. He is clearly an asshole, but he didn¡¯t strike me as the kind that would abandon anyone to save himself. I would feel better knowing that he is likely with Coriander and Kendon.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t,¡± Macille says, spitting onto the stone. We fall back into silence for a beat, Macille¡¯s face slowly reddening as I look at him. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Kendon didn¡¯t like him either, warned me to stay away from him. I thought that it was because Jor''Mari is a pig, but it¡¯s more than that isn¡¯t it. What is it?¡± Macille chews on his words, considering. ¡°I don¡¯t like gossip,¡± he says. I feel my curiosity begin to deflate before Macille decides to engage in the practice of gossip anyways. ¡°He is powerful, anyone with eyes could tell you that. What he isn¡¯t, is a full-blooded heir. The halfbreed killed his own, legitimate, brother out of jealousy during a game, and was banished as a result. I don¡¯t know what compelled Ms. Willian to give him another chance, but I wouldn¡¯t trust him with my own brother. The man is demented.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I say, my own voice small. I can¡¯t imagine what you must have to feel to kill your own brother. Halford is annoying, condescending, and always completely assured that he is the arbiter of right and wrong, but I can¡¯t even think about seriously trying to end his life. ¡°Right, oh.¡± Macille digs around in the pouch that he has tied to his belt and removes a porous stone. ¡°I am going to try and take my mind off of it.¡± Unsheathing his dark sword, he begins to apply the stone to the edge, sharpening it. ¡°You do that,¡± I say, but Macille¡¯s attention is already on a far off place. I get up and walk a step away before I start up my own practice with the green fire, despite the fact that I had sat down first. Hours fly past unnoticed, the shadow creeping along the ground toward the base of the structure. I spend the entire time in deep concentration, trying to figure out how to feel the affixes of the green fire. Something inside me tells me that is what I need to do to start mastering it, but try as I might, I can¡¯t get a handle on it. The crack of thunder rips me out of my contemplation sometime around midday. My ears ring for a second from the boom. I jump to my feet, the fires in my hands disappearing as all eyes turn toward the hovering figure just in front of the entrance into the building. A radiant woman, dark skin seen through the gaps of her dress composed of fig leaves, floats on winged silver boots. The metallic sheen of the woman¡¯s elven hair falls in waves over her chest, gold in the light of the sun, but it is her eyes, a pupiless and pure silver, that draw the eye. I do not even need to see the twin sabers attached to her hip to know who she is portraying. The vision of divinity before me has been drilled into me every week for the better part of my life. The elven goddess, Exeter¡¯s firstborn, Glis¡¯Merinda is given flesh and hovers above the heads of all the hopeful competitors. Easily capturing everyone¡¯s attention, the magician portraying the god, raises a supple hand and the entire sky responds to her motion, the color blue darkening to a charcoal gray as the clouds overhead begin to swirl and mix. ¡°You have done well to get this far,¡± the woman says, pulling the clouds overhead into one large mass. I flinch, a drop of water striking my cheek. I look up, shielding my eyes from the deluge of water that begins to sprinkle down upon us, leaving the almost two hundred hopefuls drenched in just a few moments. Metal armor and weapons send up a clinking chorus from the drops of water plinking off of them, but the woman¡¯s voice cuts through all of it, as clear as if she spoke directly in my ear. ¡°My name is Dessa Coril, and I have been granted the honor of commencing this leg of your journey. Prepare yourselves now ye hopeful, for within the hour, your wishes will either begin to bear fruit or lead you into despair.¡± The goddess, Dessa Coril, holds up something in her hand that hadn¡¯t been there just a moment before. I¡¯m not the first to notice what it is, but I gasp when the realization dawns on me. ¡°To whet the kiss of temptation, we shall be offering a challenge to the lot of you, a dungeon that has been crafted and designed by the Willian guild. Teams of five shall enter, searching out the treasures housed within this dungeon, fighting the lethal monsters that have been cultivated. I show you now one of the prizes available, a soul cage.¡± The soul cage that she so casually spins in her fingers looks to be made of a blue metal that I have never seen before. Embedded gems in the surface of the circular orb promise a taste of magic, and with my eye, I can see a magical aura that lazily floats about the thing, stranger and more distinct than any aura that I have seen before. ¡°Capturing such a prize will make succeeding in this Passage far easier I imagine. Having a friendly rank two among your group will empower everyone,¡± Dessa¡¯s voice whispers in my ear. ¡°You have six minutes to create your teams. Begin.¡± Chapter 34 - Enter the Dungeon ¡°Well, this is awful,¡± I say, staring up at the dark clouds overhead. My hair sticks to my face, strands of dark red cover my vision. ¡°You seemed excited about the thought of a dungeon earlier this morning,¡± Macille says, pulling himself to his feet next to me. The man¡¯s heavy armor beats like a drum in the rain. ¡°Not that,¡± I say, looking through my inventory window as I stand as well. ¡°Did she have to make it rain on us? I understand that it is dramatic and that Glis¡¯Merinda is known as a Goddess of Storms, but this is just unpleasant.¡± I speak loudly to make my voice carry over the rainfall. I¡¯m not all that cold, but once my heavy clothing, armor, and Dire Bear skin have been thoroughly soaked through, I¡¯m sure that I will be. I find what I am looking for in my inventory and pull out a package of fish filets wrapped in brown paper with twine out of my inventory. I pull the twine off before shoving the fish back into my inventory, tying my hair up behind my head with the twine to keep it out of my eyes. ¡°Can I have one?¡± Macille asks me. I look askance at the man. ¡°Your hair has never been out of place in your life.¡± ¡°When it¡¯s dry,¡± he glowers. I can¡¯t help but snicker at the put-upon frown he gives me, not that Macille can keep a straight face for any length of time either. I snag him a bit of twine from my inventory to tie his own hair back with. Exeter, does his coppery hair have even more luster when it¡¯s wet? Damn elves and their being beautiful all the time. ¡°Did you see where Jess and Samielle went off to?¡± Macille asks me. He holds his shield over his head in a makeshift parasol, giving me another thing to be jealous about not having. ¡°She snuck off with him to the grass fields a little while ago,¡± I say. I look around the stone courtyard, trying to pick the lizardkin woman out from among the people standing around and talking with one another. I would think that it wouldn¡¯t be all that hard to find a lizardkin among all of us, but I am proven wrong. ¡°They seem like pretty good friends,¡± Macille comments. ¡°I wonder if they knew each other before the competition.¡± I stare at the man, at a loss for words. Has he seriously not noticed her practically drooling over Samielle when the winged man isn¡¯t looking? ¡°I think I am starting to agree with you about the rain,¡± Macille says after letting the thunder from a nearby lightning strike die away. ¡°I know that it might be a bit blasphemous to say, but we could do without the rain.¡± ¡°Is it blasphemous to badmouth someone that is impersonating a goddess?¡± I ask. ¡°A good question.¡± Both of us turn to see Dovik striding over. He wades through the thunderstorm looking as miserable as I feel. ¡°This is just ridiculous,¡± he comments.¡± ¡°Then, let¡¯s get inside already. We just need to find--¡± My words falter as a horrific ringing noise strikes out from the top of the stone building. Just a few months ago I would have been completely unable to see, but my new magical eyes can easily pierce through the haze of the rainstorm to see a group of five shadowy figures climbing up the staircase on the side of the building. ¡°The first team enters,¡± I hear Dessa Coril whisper into my ear and jump away from the voice. The woman portraying Glis¡¯Merinda continues to hover above the building, a subtle blue light shining away from her to make her visible to all in the stone courtyard below. She holds her hands up in exaltation, a manic smile turned towards the falling rain. ¡°For their courage, they will receive my Boon of Bravery! No other parties may enter the dungeon for five minutes after the prior group. Be safe on your travels adventurers and be victorious!¡± ¡°Damn,¡± I hear Dovik mutter. ¡°I wanted to be the first in.¡± It isn¡¯t until I strain to hear him that I notice that maybe I don¡¯t need to be raising my voice to be heard over the rain. Everyone here are magicians after all, and with most of them having higher levels than me, their senses are probably better as well. I feel the heat of blush rushing to my cheeks. ¡°If you want to enter quickly, then we should find Jess and Samielle,¡± Macille says. ¡°Though, I suppose that there isn¡¯t a rush now.¡± ¡°No,¡± Dovik says, turning. ¡°I was only on the lookout for the two of you. I don¡¯t plan on bringing either of them into the group I am forming, too many roles converging on one another. The balance would be thrown off.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t want to bring Jess?¡± I ask. I can understand leaving Samielle behind a bit, both he and Dovik kind of fill the same position, but Jess has been incredibly competent every time that I have seen her do anything. With only five slots for any one group, I suppose that competition must be tight. ¡°I already have a healer with Adrius,¡± Dovik says. I haven¡¯t thought about the man since the we fought on the slope a few days ago. I am still unconvinced about him; he didn¡¯t seem nearly as effective in the battle there as Bali was in Halford¡¯s team. ¡°So, I was looking for a Guardian and a Mage.¡± Dovik points to Macille and me in turn. ¡°That is four,¡± Macille says. ¡°We could still bring Jess with that count.¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± Dovik replies. ¡°Two guardians is certainly a configuration that is workable. I have used it a few times before, but what I was really hoping to find is a Scout.¡± ¡°Have you gone into a dungeon before?¡± I ask. ¡°I have,¡± Dovik says. ¡°More than a few times. That is typically the way young city magicians are trained up. The high populations of cities causes the etheric density of the surrounding wilds to be too dense to typically spawn anything that rank one magicians can deal with. To even enter the culling team typically requires rank two.¡± I look at Macille and he nods to me, confirming the information. The more that I think about cities, the more that I want to explore them. All I need to do is survive this competition, and maybe I will get my chance. If not, then I just need to train myself to the bone to reach rank three, participate in some deadly kind of competition between multiple guilds, and then I should definitely be allowed to visit one. How many competitions does one girl have to compete in to make it to the city? At least two. ¡°Charlene.¡± Macille¡¯s voice snaps me back to reality. I realize that I have just been standing there, staring into the middle distance for a few seconds. ¡°Sorry,¡± I say. ¡°Can you repeat that?¡± ¡°I asked what you think about joining Dovik¡¯s group. I would go with him or Jess. They both seem to be pretty competent and would likely help to form a strong party,¡± Macille says. ¡°I agree,¡± I say. I look around the courtyard once again. Already there are three groups of five standing at the bottom of the steps that lead up into the building. Again, I don¡¯t spot any sign of Jess. ¡°I think we should go with Dovik.¡± ¡°Great!¡± Dovik¡¯s frown disappears for a moment as he claps Macille on the shoulder. ¡°Now, we just need to find us an excellent Scout.¡± ¡°Ah!¡± I jump, and I am not the only one. The crashing sound of metal pulls me out of the stupor that I slipped into, the lulling sound of rain oddly relaxing. I blink and actually spit out some water that has polled in my mouth. ¡°Tits and honey,¡± I swear. I look around at the rest of us that have gathered at the bottom of the stairs leading up into the building. Confusion and glassy eyes are everywhere, and one woman is sitting with her back to the staircase looking completely out of it. I spot Dovik standing partly up the staircase, looking down on the rest of us waiting in line with a disappointed intensity I thought only my mother could manage. ¡°Are you coming?¡± he asks. A hand slaps into the middle of my back, compacting the water-soaked fur skin down onto me, stinging more than a little bit. ¡°We¡¯re coming,¡± Macille drolls, marching past me and starting up the stairs. I shake my head, more than a little fuzzy, but follow along up the staircase. Casting a glance behind me as I take the stairs, I see Adrius and a woman that I still haven¡¯t been properly introduced to yet. She is the Scout that Dovik managed to find, a short elven girl that is some distant relation of Adrius¡¯. Her normally platinum blonde hair is matted to her neck, and she keeps blinking her big ruby eyes as Adrius leads her up the steps by the hand. Before I realize it, I am already at the top of the steps, ducking into the passageway that disappears into the building. Outside, I can hear the muted voice of Dessa Coril extorting something over the sound of the rain, but my focus is all off. The darkened passageway into the building leads on for more than fifty feet. I stagger out of its shadow into a cubic room of carved stone, twenty feet on a side. Four torches placed on sconces in the corners of the room give us light, the only shadows left being the single passageway that leads out of the room and the one we entered from. I stumble to the nearest wall, taking a seat, and trying to clear my head. Even inside the building, the sweet smell of the rain stalks us. ¡°Spells out,¡± Dovik says, looking at Macille. He needs to repeat himself after Macille continues to stand, staring blankly at the torchlight. ¡°Right,¡± Macille says, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment and tossing his magic out onto us, reinforcing our armor. ¡°Good,¡± Dovik says, looking around the room at the four of us. ¡°The first thing--¡± ¡°Hold on,¡± I say, cutting him off. I blink a few more times, trying to focus. ¡°Something is wrong.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the elven girl says, nodding as she slumps down against the wall as well. ¡°I¡¯m feeling off.¡± I activate the Eye of Volaash to tell me about her, wondering why I haven¡¯t done so already. Samissa Bol(Rank One)(Level 32) Rabbit Conflux Adrius looks down at Samissa, concern clear on his face. His hand lights up with radiant white light as he brings it close to her, putting his palm on her forehead. ¡°She is poisoned,¡± he says. ¡°I¡¯m feeling a little poisoned too,¡± I comment, raising a finger. I had thought that with my Recovery specialization, I wasn¡¯t going to have to worry about that going forward. ¡°Maybe me as well,¡± Macille says. ¡°A little fuzzy.¡± Dovik quirks an eyebrow as he looks around at the team he has put together. ¡°What happened?¡± I feel it through the ground before I even hear it, the grinding noise of impossibly heavy stone moving against itself. The noise echoes out of the passage we just entered through, a long moan of the stone, before a massive crash informs us that the passage is sealed behind us. ¡°Great,¡± Dovik says, sighing. ¡°Can you cure the poisoning Adrius?¡± ¡°Of course,¡± he says. The light of his hand grows brighter for a moment as he continues pressing his hand against Samissa¡¯s forehead. The man¡¯s hand continues to glow for a good ten seconds before he pulls it back with a huff. ¡°I cured it, but then it just returned again.¡± ¡°Exeter¡¯s Balls!¡± Dovik swears. ¡°It¡¯s the rainwater,¡± I say. Everyone turns my direction, and it takes me a couple of seconds to pull my thoughts together enough to explain. ¡°It smells odd, doesn¡¯t it?¡± I lift up the soaked sleeve of my undershirt and smell the hem. There is an undertone of something I can¡¯t place, sweet like a pear, but putrid as well. ¡°That bitch outside poisoned us with the rain.¡± Clear and violent anger flashes over Dovik¡¯s face and he squeezes his hands tight like he wants to strangle someone. ¡°When I make it out of this Passage, someone is going to hang. I swear on all that is holy.¡± This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Why would they poison us before going into the dungeon?¡± Macille asks, sniffing his armor and scrunching up his nose. ¡°Because they¡¯re assholes!¡± Dovik yells, kicking the wall. ¡°Maybe,¡± I say, using the function of storage ring to pocket all my armor in my inventory before taking it back out again and letting it fall to the ground, leaving myself sitting in my soaked through underclothes. I call dragonfire to my hands and hold them over my armor, trying to over channel the fire to the point that it will dry out my armor quickly. ¡°I¡¯m going to go ahead and bet that we will keep getting poisoned until we get all of the water off our clothes.¡± ¡°That makes sense,¡± Adrius says, standing and starting to unstrap his own armor. The elven man doesn¡¯t stop there, stripping nude before anyone can say anything and running his hand over himself. ¡°Looks like I was poisoned too, I mostly passively resisted it,¡± he says, standing there and letting everything hang out. ¡°I think you were correct Ms. Devardem; the poison is not returning. Wait... there it is. Perhaps I need to completely dry my hair out as well.¡± I throw a bear pelt at the man to give him something to cover up in. Looking sideways, I see that Macille is almost fully out of his own clothes, still working on laces for his breeches. ¡°Slow down!¡± I say, pulling out pelts for everyone to wear. Samissa already has her top off by then, and looks my way, confused. ¡°It¡¯s a human thing,¡± Macille explains to her, kicking off his soaked pants from beneath his Dire Bear fur. Dovik takes a seat near one of the fires, shaking his head and looking at me like he is the most put-upon man in the world. ¡°Got another fur?¡± I am sure that my face is as red as a tomato. I put several furs over top of myself before I even think about stripping out of my wet clothes in front of all these people. Ten minutes later, we all sit around a constructed fire in the center of the square room, all of our clothes resting on the warm stones that we set up above the fire. When I really focus on it, my dragonfire can turn the stone red hot in a few minutes, taking about half of my mana with it, but I don¡¯t do that for long. No one is looking to have their clothes set on fire. ¡°It¡¯s been a while,¡± Dovik comments, looking back the way we came. Despite everything earlier, I don¡¯t think that he was ever at risk of being poisoned, making me think that the poison must have been magical in nature. I don¡¯t know much about the man, but I know that he is a Magic Defense Specialist. ¡°No one else has come in.¡± I look toward the passageway we entered through as well, remembering that we should have seen another group come through five minutes ago. ¡°Odd.¡± ¡°Do you think we went through a rift gate?¡± Adrius asks. The man sits around the fire combing his long hair. The comb he holds looks as if it was made from the bones of the bears that we killed the other day, which is strange, considering that I disenchanted all the corpses and there shouldn¡¯t be any bones left. ¡°No,¡± Dovik says, shaking his head. ¡°I would have noticed.¡± Not wanting to expose my ignorance, I whisper to Macille and ask him about rift gates. He explains to me that naturally occurring dungeons can have rift gates, but that they are incredibly rare in constructed ones. Apparently, when the magical energy pervades the surroundings strongly enough, the dungeon begins to create separate instances of itself, overlapped upon the same location. A rift gate is where those separate instances intersect with the outside world, meaning that parties that venture inside could end up inside of two different, identical, versions of the same dungeon. He explains a bit more after that, but honestly, I can¡¯t really follow past that. The more I learn about magic, the more complicated it seems. Forty minutes after first entering the dungeon, everyone is once again in their armor, dried now, and no longer poisoned. We even have Adrius check each of us over again to make certain that nothing is lingering. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Samissa says, hefting her pack and adjusting how the straps lay over her shoulders. ¡°If it weren¡¯t for my low Magic Defense, we would have been able to venture forth sooner.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. I am about to comment that I probably have the lowest Magic Defense in the group but hold my tongue about that at the last minute. For a second, I almost forgot that we are in contest with each other. Giving away my weaknesses strikes me as a bad idea. ¡°It was better that we stopped sooner rather than later.¡± ¡°I just don¡¯t understand why they would poison us,¡± Macille says, tightening the strap on his shield. He swings it back and forth in the air, audibly slicing the air with the heavy plane of metal. ¡°It seems like a bad way to start a dungeon.¡± ¡°They designed all of the dungeon,¡± Dovik comments. He stands at the doorway leading out of the room, peering into the darkness. ¡°Evidently, participating in this dungeon while under the effects of some kind of debilitating poison was the intended path. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I hate that we had to spend so much time dealing with it, but it was the right thing to do.¡± ¡°Perhaps it was the first obstacle we were supposed to overcome,¡± I comment. I am still a bit miffed that my threshold bonus for being a Recovery Specialist didn¡¯t prevent me from being poisoned but considering that it was a rank four woman who did the poisoning, I am more amazed than anything that Dovik was unaffected. ¡°If you look at it that way, then we have already succeeded.¡± Dovik snorts and turns back to look at me. ¡°I like that optimism, farm girl.¡± ¡°We ready?¡± Macille asks, moving to the passageway that leads us out of the cubic room. When he receives a nod from everyone in the room, he takes a deep breath, and plunges into the darkness. ¡°Wait,¡± Samissa calls to him. ¡°I am the Scout!¡± It is already too late, however, Macille has disappeared into the shadow. I summon fire to my hand and follow along after, taking position behind Dovik who charges into the darkness after Macille. The shadows of the passageway press in on us, almost trying to snuff out the light of my fire. We leave the sweet scent of evaporated rainwater behind us, and the smell of long-dead stone sticks in my nose, drying my throat. I stop dead in my tracks less than ten feet into the passageway, Dovik¡¯s back looming at me out of the darkness. My wan firelight reaches just past him to show Macille standing at the edge of a bridge that extends out over total darkness toward a huge stone pillar. The five of us inch toward the end of the passageway, and I push magic into my dragonfire, lighting the surrounding area. We stand at the edge of a massive cavern, the largest indoor space that I have ever seen in my life. The walls around us race into darkness in all directions, the light coming from my right hand not nearly enough to illuminate it all. A bridge of stone, almost a hundred feet long and four feet wide, extends away from the passage we stand in toward a cylinder of stone as thick as a mansion. At the end of the bridge, a doorway has been cut into the stone, the telltale curve of a spiral staircase hinted at in the curved wall that I can see. There are more bridges in the cavern. Dozens, maybe even hundreds, of stone bridges extend away from the curved wall that we look out of, scattered above, below, and to the sides of our own bridge. I spot a light down in the darkness, another group on a bridge maybe six hundred feet below us, the sound of battle muted and barely audible to us. ¡°Maybe we should let me to my job,¡± Samissa grunts as she pushes past me, squeezing her way to the front of the group. ¡°I happen to take my job as--¡± She cuts off her own words as a horror spawns into the air over the bridge in front of us. A humanoid monster, its skin as pale as death and its face as barren as a stone, slides sideways out of the open air on the side of the bridge we stand at the edge of. It swims through the open air like a fish, the very air itself rippling like water at the right edge of the bridge as if it were coming out of water. The monster is long, nine feet of too many joints, foot long fingers that end in strange suction cups. It floats through the air over the bridge, and when it reaches the left side of the bridge, begins to disappear back into the open air, the air itself rippling where it meets the edge of the bridge. After a second, the monster is gone, disappearing once again into the open air. Blind Hunter(Level 40) ¡°What in the fuck was that,¡± Macille whispers back at us, eyes wide. His head whips back toward bridge, but there is no longer any sign of the monster floating over the bridge. ¡°Something called a Blind Hunter,¡± I whisper to him. ¡°It¡¯s rank one.¡± ¡°Well, that¡¯s nice and all, but what happens if that invisible monster knocks us off this bridge,¡± Dovik says, stamping on the stone bridge to emphasize his point. I can¡¯t help but look over the edge, staring down at the vast cavern beneath us, and at the barely visible light of some group battling over their own bridge. The cavern is so large that I cannot even begin to see the bottom. ¡°There,¡± Samissa says, pointing at a bridge forty feet away from us, up and to the right of us. I watch as a Blind Hunter swims out of nothingness, barely illuminated by the light I hold in my hand, becoming visible as it passes over the stone bridge above us before disappearing once again into the open air. It dawns on me that I have no idea how many of the things are in this cavern. I look around at the open air, picturing in my mind an entire school of monsters floating invisibly through the air, too long fingers extended in my direction. Samissa crouches on the stone bridge at the front of our group, her eyes closed, listening to the air. Her hand streaks out again, pointing at a spot almost toward the end of our bridge. The second that I see the air begin to ripple, a bald white head emerging out of the darkness, I throw my fire. The Dragonfire Bolt sails across the expanse, exploding in an extravagant plume of orange fire as it detonates against the featureless face of the monster appearing out of the empty air. The bloom of fire lights a considerable amount of the cavern as it expands in that singular instant, casting wild shadows from the stone bridge all around us, before the fire disappears once again. A screech wails out through the cavern, falling away from us for more than ten seconds, before cutting off suddenly. You have defeated Blind Hunter(Level 40) We are left, bathed in darkness for a moment before I call fire back to my hand to illuminate us. The five of us look around at each other, waiting for a swarm of the monsters to appear out of thin air, but after a few seconds pass, nothing comes for us. ¡°Well,¡± I say, ¡°I killed it.¡± Dovik looks over the side at the darkness below. ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± ¡°Do you think it is safe for me to scout ahead?¡± Samissa asks Adrius. The elven man turns to Dovik, who only replies with a shrug. ¡°Well, I¡¯m going to.¡± With clear hesitation, Samissa begins to inch herself forward along the stone bridge. None of us move to stop her as the woman inches herself forward. Her shoulders shudder as she moves with silent feet along the bridge, her head whipping about her in all directions, eyes wide. Not being able to perceive whatever it is that she does starts to grate on my nerves. Maybe I should be putting more of my free points in Perception. Sixty feet along the bridge, Samissa throws herself onto the ground, still as silent as a field mouse. She rolls on her back, looking up at the form of a Blind Hunter emerging out of nothingness above her while she holds her hands over her mouth. The monster rolls lazily through the air, spinning as it swims over the width of the bridge, disappearing in another ripple on the other side. Samissa waits for a heartbeat after the monster¡¯s bony legs have disappeared again into thin air before she hops back up to her feet and races the final distance toward the end of the bridge, still completely silent. Samissa reaches the passageway at the end of the bridge, falling to her knees, chest puffing air in an out as she looks back at us. After a few seconds of regaining her composure, she beckons for us to follow, holding a finger to her lips to tell us to be quiet about it. ¡°This is the strangest place I¡¯ve ever been,¡± Macille mutters as he takes a hesitant step out onto the bridge of suspended stone. He freezes as the loud ringing of metal on stone echoes through the cavern. The scream of a woman somewhere out of our sight pierces the air, falling away from us before being answered with a loud thud and crack. ¡°Let¡¯s move quickly,¡± Dovik whispers to Macille. Macille takes a deep breath, nodding. He steps out onto the bridge, trying to muffle the sound of his heavy armor with slight movements. We follow along behind him, a close line of people ignoring the sound of battle and injury that bounds off the walls of the cavern around us. Only twenty feet out on the bridge, Samissa begins to wave her arms frantically at us, making Macille halt, Dovik almost running into his back. A Blind Hunter swims out of the darkness across the bridge just in front of our group. We hold our breath for the few seconds it takes the monster to pass over the bridge, not making even the barest sound before it leaves our sight. The hair on my arms begins to prickle, my eyes roaming over the open air on either side of the bridge, wondering just how many of the monsters are within reach of me at this moment. Adrius lightly pushes me from behind, and I realize that I am holding us up. We continue to inch across the bridge, Macille¡¯s slow pace setting the speed for the rest of us. The tension in my shoulders it terrible, and the longer that we are on the bridge, the more I can feel my nerves shredding themselves apart. It finally ends, Macille reaching the threshold of the doorway in the massive cylinder, almost falling into the open passage where Samissa squats. As I had guessed earlier, we reach the opening of a spiraling staircase that leads up and down into darkness, turning to the right as it descends into the unknown. I sigh into the passageway after Macille and Dovik have gotten out of the way, moving further down the stairs. My back hits the inner wall of the stairway, and I stare back into the open cavern ahead of me, my heart beating loudly in my ears. ¡°I think it was the water again,¡± I say between gulps of air. Dovik snaps his fingers at my words, pointing at me and nodding. ¡°Now it makes sense.¡± ¡°What?¡± Samissa asks in a small voice, her eyes scanning the empty air back in the cavern. ¡°There was a smell to the water, something sweet,¡± I say, nodding back to the open air that I imagine is filled with invisible monsters. ¡°The monsters are blind. The whole point of the water was probably so that they would be able to notice us.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t explain the poison,¡± Macille comments. He takes a waterskin from his belt and downs a few gulps. ¡°They¡¯re assholes,¡± Dovik answers. ¡°I thought that I explained that already.¡± Macille, Adrius, and Dovik start to hold a conversation as to whether we should go up or down the staircase. I finally catch my breath, and approach Samissa, who continues to squat near the entrance of the stairway, her eyes roaming over the darkness out in the cavern. ¡°How are you?¡± I whisper to her, only making her jump a little. ¡°I am fine,¡± she whispers back to me, eyes still roaming over the darkness. ¡°How can you tell where they are?¡± I ask. ¡°I can hear them,¡± she says, pointing to her ear. ¡°Point them out for me,¡± I say, holding up my smoldering hand for her to see. ¡°We were supposed to fight at least a few of them here, I think.¡± Samissa smirks at me before pointing up at a bridge above us. ¡°There are a lot,¡± she says. ¡°More than you would think.¡± ¡°That actually doesn¡¯t comfort me at all,¡± I say, whipping my hand forward and launching my ball of fire up where she directs. The dragonfire collides with something invisible in the air, expanding in a flash before I hear the sound of a screeching monster falling away.
¡°That was risky,¡± Dovik comments to me. I sit on the staircase, my back to the wall, chest heaving and heart pounding. My mana is almost completely drained, and a sheen of sweat covers my face. I look up at the man offering me a hand, smiling in a way that I imagine isn¡¯t totally ladylike. ¡°It was fun though.¡± ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re here, right?¡± he replies, unable to keep the smile off his own face. He pulls me back to my feet, and I brace myself against the inner wall of the staircase. ¡°Samissa says that it¡¯s mostly clear,¡± he comments, looking down the winding stairwell. ¡°Great,¡± I comment, removing some water from my inventory to drink. Checking my mana, I see it returning at a decent pace. Depending on how long this stairwell is exactly, I might be back at half capacity before we arrive at the bottom. ¡°Unless, of course, that just means there are more invisible monsters for us at the bottom.¡± Dovik pats my shoulder and turns, heading down the stairwell ahead of me. ¡°Try not to keep them all to yourself next time.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll try,¡± I say, pocketing the water again and following along after the man. Galea floats along beside me, the happiest little dragon spirit in the world. You have defeated Blind Hunter(Level 40)x8 You have defeated Blind Hunter(Level 41)x7 THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! Chapter 35 - Down the Stairs ¡°Is anyone hungry?¡± Dovik asks back along the line of our group that treads quietly down the stairwell. He pulls a line of jerky from a lazily sewn pouch on his belt and offers it around. ¡°What is that?¡± I ask, taking the jerky and biting it. ¡°Bear,¡± he says. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you know that.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t have made bear jerky in a day.¡± The meat is hard and chewy, but somehow it has been spiced well. In the tight space of the spiraling stairway, sconces are recessed into the stone walls, casting flickering torchlight over us. The stairs are actually far wider than I expected they might be from the bridge, almost five feet across, enough room to maneuver past people, and the steps themselves are almost two feet deep, meaning that this stairwell is much longer than strictly necessary. The oddest thing are the torches however. The holes they have been recessed into are covered by some barrier that not even my eye can detect, invisible force stops my hand from reaching the fire. The elves look back at me and Dovik as I continue to chew on the jerky he handed me, the oddest looks of irritation on their faces. I take some water that I collected from the lake out of a canteen I smuggled into the competition to wash the jerky down with. ¡°It¡¯s good though even if its contraband,¡± I tell Dovik. ¡°You think Lionel was lying about making jerky?¡± Dovik inspects another strip of ¡°bear jerky¡± before shrugging and taking a bite. ¡°Maybe he did. It tastes good though.¡± ¡°There is no way he dried out the meat in a day,¡± I say. ¡°Is this an important conversation to have right now?¡± Samissa whispers back to us. We stop, still chewing the stringy meat and look back to the front of our little line. ¡°I guess not,¡± Dovik says. ¡°I have mana exhaustion,¡± I lie, pointing at Dovik. ¡°He doesn¡¯t have an excuse.¡± Samissa shakes her head. ¡°You are supposed to be the group leader.¡± ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you be scouting or something?¡± Dovik asks her, motioning for the group to keep moving. ¡°You told me not to,¡± Samissa defends. Macille, at the head of the group, groans and continues his march down the stairs. After a bit more sniping back and forth between Dovik and Samissa, we continue along behind our Guardian. In all honesty, I am grateful they build the stairs so wide, there are more than a few people in this competition that look like they would have a hard time on normal stairs. Our walk down the spiraling staircase has lasted nearly half an hour at this point, and we have run into no other groups on our ways down the stairs. It is difficult to keep my mind focused on the task at hand. I open my attribute window, trying to engage my brain by at least planning on how to spend my next batch of free points. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 21)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 36 Strength: 25 Magic: 209(244) Defense: 36(56) Magic Defense: 29(44) Speed: 102 Recovery: 161 Perception: 26 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 360 Mana: 2440 Stamina: 598 Free Points: 0 Essentia Gold Essentia Magic Essentia Dragon Essentia Emperor Conflux A part of me wants to try and break the threshold for speed. I¡¯m not certain on when I decided that Speed was an important attribute to me, but it seems like it is too late to turn back on that now. Or, if I look at things in the view of the long term, I am still pretty early in my career as an essentia magician. If there was ever a time to really try and refocus on what I should be putting my free points into it would be now. As far as I have been able to tell, only my Magic and Recovery attributes ever really see any effort value gains. Since joining this competition, I haven¡¯t been running daily like I had back in Arabella Willian¡¯s flying mansion, and so my Speed has plateaued. Defense and Magic Defense only ever really improve when I severely mess up in a battle. That rank two catfish slapping me around a bit gave me three entire points in defense. I am a mage; I have come to really accept that in the last few days. Standing at the top of the slope, hurling balls of exploding dragonfire down onto the rampaging bears was a highlight of my career as a magician. Killing a rank two monster by myself, far before I reached threshold of rank two myself, was also made possible by the effectiveness of my magic. Just now, torching over a dozen invisible, incredibly creepy, monsters out in the cavern was something that only I could do. No one else in our group can even approach my strength in ranged combat. Magic is clearly a powerful attribute; I just need to find a proper fantasy for myself with it but seeing myself as an incredibly powerful mage setting fire to the world seem a bit¡­manic. I recognize that it is odd I need to fantasize about hurling explosive dragonfire in order to enjoy it the same way that I do when thinking about how incredible it would be to lift a boulder above my head with an insane Strength attribute, but I am a girl that loves thinking about those kinds of things. Maybe that¡¯s a habit that I need to curb as well. At the end of the day, I am convinced now how important it is to keep my Magic attribute high, just breaking the first threshold for it has caused noticeable improvements. That just leaves what else to spend my effort and free points on. No matter how much I might try to avoid it, the answer is obvious. It has to be Recovery. I might lament not being graced with the Magic specialization. Exeter, now that would be something incredible. That isn¡¯t reality though, Recovery is my specialization, and so far, I think that I have leveraged it to a great degree. It lets me do what Halford advised me to do, work harder than everyone else to make up for the inherent advantages the elites of the world have that I don¡¯t. If nothing else, the mere fact that I get more out of the attribute than anyone else should be a clear indication to me of how important it is to put my effort there. There even seems to be a clear leaning for my effort values to try and always include Recovery as a part of my gains. Why then have I been hesitating so much? ¡°Stop here,¡± I hear from up ahead. It is Macille, holding up a hand to stop Samissa from continuing down the stairs after him. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°What is it?¡± Adrius whispers to him, almost crouching against the wall of the spiraling stairwell. I close the window in front of me and call on my dragonfire, waiting for some unseen horribleness to leap out at us so that I might strike it down. Enjoy exploding monsters more, I think to myself. It will make you feel better about spending points there. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Macille says. He leans his sword against the wall and pulls a stone out of his pocket, chucking it down the stairwell at something I can¡¯t see. The stone rings off the wall, clicking the air as it bounces a few times before coming to a standstill. ¡°Odd.¡± Samissa tiptoes down to Macille¡¯s step, peaking around the bend of the stairwell, and screwing up her face. She looks back at Dovik, an eyebrow raised. ¡°It¡¯s a doorway,¡± she says. ¡°We are scared of doors now?¡± Dovik almost laughs. He stops, scratching his chin. ¡°Actually, that is probably a good approach. I saw someone get their beard singed off because they opened the wrong door in a dungeon once. The trap almost got his eye.¡± ¡°No door,¡± Samissa says, shaking her head. ¡°Just a doorway.¡± The woman shoulders past Macille, walking around the corner. ¡°There is a landing to stand on here, seems safe.¡± Macille shakes his head at the woman and picks his sword back up. ¡°Why would you want the man with the heavy armor and shield to go first? Why even bring a Guardian.¡± Dovik and Adrius can¡¯t help but chuckle to themselves as they also walk past the man on the stairs. I pat Macille¡¯s armored shoulder as we both walk the few steps down to the landing that was indicated. Samissa squats in a small passageway illuminated by six ensconced torches set into the walls. A rectangular platform leads away from us for a dozen feet, ending at an open doorway. Above the empty doorway are words in a language foreign to me, etched into the stone in an arch that follows the curve at the top of the doorway. I look at Macille, but the man just shrugs back to me, clearly unable to read the words either. ¡°Does anyone know what it says?¡± I ask. ¡°I do, unfortunately.¡± Dovik points at the line of script. ¡°Give me a second, it has been a while since I needed to translate this.¡± ¡°What language is it?¡± Adrius asks. The purple gemstone that perpetually orbits the man¡¯s head leaves its eclipse for the first time I have ever seen, floating up toward the words and emitting a warm purple light to help Dovik see clearer. I frown, realizing for the first time that Adrius has been allowing me to be the light carrier for the group, and let the fire on my hand disappear. ¡°It is Alucrean,¡± Dovik says. ¡°The old script of Alucrean too, before the fall.¡± At my side, Macille stiffens, and I can¡¯t blame him for being off put by Dovik¡¯s proclamation. The Alucreans were the staunchest followers of Parfillio, the human god, and were at the spearhead of the crazed god¡¯s crusade against the world. Their magic and technology has been said to be incredibly advanced. Were it not for the combined efforts of the united races, they might have succeeded in their bid to conquer the world. ¡°Why would that filth be here?¡± Samissa asks Dovik. ¡°I said give me a moment,¡± he says, irritation clear in his voice. The group falls silent, waiting on the man as he mumbles his way through his translation. ¡°Alright,¡± he says after a few minutes, ¡°I think that I have it.¡± Dovik points to the start of the line of text. ¡°Hopeful beginnings. Ignominious ends. Where we begin the others behind us shall cease. Step forward toward the ending. Hike back to the start.¡± ¡°Well, what is that supposed to mean?¡± Macille asks. ¡°It sounds like a Feathian meditation of cyclization,¡± Adrius guesses. ¡°Does it really matter?¡± Samissa asks. ¡°The Alucreans were insane, this is probably just some mad scribbling. It doesn¡¯t need to make sense.¡± ¡°The Alucreans weren¡¯t the ones to write this,¡± I remind her. ¡°The Willian guild are the ones that created this dungeon.¡± Dovik shakes his head and looks over the words on the wall again. ¡°It reads like saying that this doorway is the starting point. We start where others did, or where they ended maybe. I hate this cryptic shit. Alucreans loved their philosophy and every person that I have ever met who fetishizes their history is the same. It¡¯s probably best to ignore it.¡± He looks back at me. ¡°Do you see any traps?¡± ¡°What!¡± I blurt out, completely caught off guard by the question. ¡°You¡¯re the Mage,¡± Dovik explains to me, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. ¡°Do you see any magical traps?¡± ¡°I am supposed to just see traps?¡± I ask. I look around, and the faces looking back at me seem confused as to why I would even need it explained to me. ¡°No,¡± Dovik corrects. ¡°You are supposed to check for traps.¡± I look at Samissa. ¡°I thought the Scout was supposed to spot traps.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll check after you do,¡± she says. ¡°I don¡¯t like the look of this door¨Cprobably trapped.¡± I scoff, shouldering through the crowded landing in front of the doorway and come stand next to Dovik. He flicks his hand, gesturing for me to go ahead, and giving him the dirtiest look that I can muster, I finally do so. No one ever explained to me that I am the one that is supposed to be finding magical traps. How does having a high Magic attribute even relate to that anyway? Just because I can throw balls of fire around like it was nothing doesn¡¯t mean-- ¡°Ah,¡± I say after an entire three seconds of looking. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s a trap.¡± Emanating from the side of the door, where the hinges of a real door should be, is the slight glow of magic. The glow is so faint that if I hadn¡¯t been directly looking for it, I don¡¯t think that there is any chance that I would have seen it. When I try to pull up information about the glow with my eye, the window that appears is far fainter than any I have seen before, and the information it gives isn¡¯t all that useful. Spiderleg Trap(???): ??? Sure, my eye has been unable to give me information before, mostly on people like Arabella Willian and Gaius Gore. This seems different though; it is almost as if there is magic at work actively blocking me from identifying it. ¡°It¡¯s called a Spiderleg Trap,¡± I tell the party, getting blank stares back as an answer. I ask anyways, ¡°Does anyone know how to disarm it?¡± ¡°Blow it up?¡± Dovik says, shrugging. We all turn, looking at Samissa, who holds her hands up flustered. ¡°I don¡¯t know much about magical traps,¡± she says. ¡°I don¡¯t have an ability that lets me see magic at rank one.¡± ¡°And you just assume that I do,¡± I huff. Samissa looks at me, a bit of embarrassment reddening her face. ¡°I mean, you have at least one ability that effects your eyes right.¡± She looks around at everyone else. ¡°Did I misjudge?¡± Everyone turns their gazes back on me, which makes it my turn for my face to heat up in embarrassment. Sometimes I forget how obvious my Dragon¡¯s Eye and Eye of Volaash are. Still, it seems insane to me that everyone just assumed that I could see magical auras. Even if they are right, that is some crazy kind of leap to make. ¡°Whatever,¡± I say. ¡°That still leaves us wondering what to do about the trap.¡± ¡°I already said to blow it up,¡± Dovik says, shooing me forward. ¡°Burn mage, burn.¡± ¡°Seriously?¡± ¡°As far as I am aware, if you find a trap in a dungeon, you either disarm it or trip it intentionally. If your fire can set it off so that we don¡¯t have to deal with it later, then that would be one method for getting past,¡± Macille tells me. I roll my eyes at the group and turn back to the doorway, summoning dragonfire in my hand. ¡°Don¡¯t blame me if we all die because of this.¡± I hurl the fire at the doorway. ¡°We should back up first!¡± Samissa shrieks as the fire flashes forward. My Dragonfire Bolt splashes into the side of the doorway, spreading fire over the stone that continues to smolder for almost a minute before slowly dying out. Nothing happens over the span of that minute, no impending doom coming at us from the set off trap, no spiders shooting out of tiny holes in the ceiling, nothing. When the fire has consumed itself, harsh black marks are left on the stone, an indication of the blast I threw into the door. The window marking the magical trap remains. Spiderleg Trap(???): ??? ¡°Didn¡¯t work,¡± I tell the group. ¡°I guess we have to do this the hard way then,¡± Dovik says. He looks around, eyes falling on Samissa. ¡°Who is the fastest in our group?¡± Chapter 36 - Trap and Choice ¡°The fastest?¡± I ask back to him. All the eyes in our group slowly turn toward Samissa, and noticing our attention, she puts her back to the wall. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡± she asks Dovik, a quiver in her voice. ¡°If we can¡¯t disarm it,¡± he says, ¡°then the best option would be to trigger it with something. You are the fastest I imagine. You have the best chance of getting clear in time after the trap has been triggered.¡± ¡°You want me to walk into a magical trap!¡± Samissa yells at him, more fear than anger in the words. The woman¡¯s scream echoes up the walls of the stairwell, and we all allow a moment of silence to fall back over us as we listen. There comes no telltale sounds of approaching groups from above, something we have been on the lookout for ever since entering the stairwell. In fact, there has been no sign that anyone has gone through ahead of us: strange, considering the fact that we were the fifth group to enter the dungeon. ¡°Just trigger it a little bit,¡± Dovik whispers at her, plastering on his brightest smile. ¡°Your cousin is here to help you out if anything bad might happen.¡± Dovik looks at Adrius, his smile a little more manic now. ¡°You have barrier abilities don¡¯t you.¡± ¡°I¡­¡± Adrius trails off, looking between Dovik and Samissa who looks on the verge of tears. ¡°I do have barriers.¡± ¡°This is stupid,¡± Macille says, putting himself between Dovik and Samissa. ¡°I agree,¡± I say, pulling a big rock out of my inventory that has a pearlescent sheen on one end that I found pretty. Without another word to the group, I throw the rock through the open passageway while leaping back up to the steps behind me, hoping that whatever the trap has in store won¡¯t extend as far as the stairwell. The rock flips end over end as it sails through the open passageway. When it passes the threshold, a spear of silver jets out of the wall from nowhere, pushing straight through the rock like it was made of cheese, impaling it in the air. The metallic spear stops for a moment after impaling the rock, allowing me to see it clearly. I realize that it is shaped like a spider leg, three joints along its length, the tip an almost rounded point that was able to pierce right through the stone even with its lack of sharpness. The metal spider leg slides back into the wall, letting the rock bang and shake against the stone of the passageway as the end of the leg pulls back through the hole it made in the stone. Without any trace of its origin in the wall, the spider leg disappears, the wall completely smooth and unblemished once again. With an echoing clatter, the stone falls to the floor of the passage, a two-inch, perfectly smooth, hole bored through its center. ¡°Do you think you are faster than that?¡± Dovik asks Samissa. ¡°No one is faster than that,¡± I growl back at the man. ¡°Leave her alone. I am still working here.¡± Sighing, I slink back into the landing in front of the empty doorway and crouch, removing the Bane Crystal from my inventory with as much gentleness as I can, setting it on the ground next to me. I have no idea how much abuse the crystal can take or if breaking off small pieces of it will damage its magic in any way, but I am not willing to take chances with my new treasure. I call dragonfire to my hand again, over channeling the ability as I press the orange fire to the smooth face of the crystal. Watching the green glow spread through the fire in my hand excites something deep in my belly; I don¡¯t think that I will ever get tired of it. ¡°Playing with affixes at rank one,¡± Dovik comments from the stairs. ¡°I knew you were a good pick for the group.¡± ¡°You just want me because I can disenchant monsters and carry all of our loot,¡± I say back to him as I continue to pour my mana into the dragonfire. Since passing the first threshold in magic, there has been a change in the fire that is difficult for me to describe. It seems more real somehow, more opaque, the colors more vibrant. I can¡¯t help but smile at the dancing green flames in my palm, the pure power of the corrosive flame lighting my face and eyes with its glow. ¡°Charlene,¡± Macille starts hesitantly, ¡°are you ready?¡± ¡°Almost,¡± I say, still staring at the fire. I feel the magic hit its limit, but pushing, I find that this is one of the few occasions I can push past that limit. I continue to build the power in the flame. The fire barely grows in size, becoming as large as my head, but the light that it throws off brightens incredibly as I push more than three hundred mana into it. Despite the others squinting at the green glow¨Caside from Samissa for some reason¨Cthe light never hurts my eyes to gaze at. Reluctantly, I turn back and look at the open passageway that dances with shadows and a flickering green light. ¡°I am going to destroy this thing.¡± ¡°Back up!¡± Dovik yells to the group, jumping back up the stairs as I set my feet to throw the fireball. The ball of dragonfire sails at the doorway like a missile, a fraction of a second in flight as it covers the short distance between me and its target. The explosion is a muted thing, no sound, an expansion of green light that nearly reaches me. Strands of hair, black in the green light, drift lazily toward the epicenter of the explosion, suspending in the air as the magic starts to fade. A sucking sound, air rushes toward the fireball from the stairwell behind me, the suddenness of it almost knocking me off my feet. Then, in the span of a blink, the explosion is done, and green fire spreads up the walls of the passageway like my normal dragonfire would. Instead of disappearing into the air, the green flames eat into the stone of the passageway, every bite taken by the flames causing stone to crumble out of the walls in pebbles of black ruined dust. As is the nature of fire, it eats itself as much as it does the wall, every inch that it spreads over the stone reducing its brilliance by a fraction. It continues to smolder, piling black dust onto the floor of the hallway as it moves across the stone. In less than a minute, it is gone, the barest flickers of green fire still smoldering amid the ash on the ground. The passageway looks as if a dozen men beat at it with pickaxes for an entire day, the doorway that stood open completely gone, and the walls, floor, and ceiling uneven and charred where the green flames ate into it. Without the doorway, I can see the hallway that lay beyond, a stone, featureless, hallway that extends for twenty feet before coming to an end at an end with a wooden door. A blackened stone falls from the now uneven ceiling, splashing into the black ash and spraying the air with smoke and soot. I hear a whistle behind me and turn to see Macille descending the stairs. ¡°Now that is something I didn¡¯t know you could do.¡± ¡°I picked it up recently,¡± I say, touching a dragonfire-covered finger to the Bane Crystal and storing it in my inventory once again. ¡°It takes a bit of time to ready, but it seems pretty effective.¡± ¡°Pretty effective,¡± Dovik scoffs, joining Macille and me on the landing and shaking his head. ¡°You killed the wall.¡± ¡°Seemed like the best way through.¡± ¡°Now, the question is, does the trap remain?¡± Dovik asks me. I turn, looking back toward the ruination that my corrosive dragonfire left behind, scanning the walls with my eyes now that the doorway is completely gone. I don¡¯t detect any sight of the spider leg trap remaining, and even after sending Galea to look around, she doesn¡¯t bring anything to my attention either. ¡°I think it¡¯s gone.¡± ¡°Best to check.¡± Dovik pulls his weapon, Pokey, from its spot on his waist, and with the ring on his other hand, creates an identical copy. He throws the copy down the hallway with all the force he can muster. The metal rod that resembles a fire poker spins in the air, racing toward the end of the hallway in less than a second, embedding itself in the stone to the side of the door with a reverberating twang. The weapon waves back and forth in the stone, and we all wait for more sinister spider legs to crawl out of the walls to strike at it. Nothing happens. ¡°I think you got it,¡± Dovik tells me, smirking. With a gesture, the weapon sticking out of the wall disappears into motes of light, reassembling in his open hand. ¡°Time to move on then. Now the next question, is there a trap on that door?¡± He points toward the waiting door at the end of the hallway. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°I don¡¯t see one,¡± I say. ¡°Do you want to get closer?¡± Dovik asks, words dripping sarcasm. I huff, marching into the hallway, leaving clear boot prints in the black ash that covers the floor. Though I might show bravado, I am still afraid that spider legs might crawl out of the wall and run me through. Nothing comes for me, and I stop a few feet in front of the closed door. Searching the door for any sign of magical auras, I find nothing. ¡°I don¡¯t see anything,¡± I say again to Dovik. ¡°Maybe you want to check this one.¡± I slap the door, causing Samissa, back on the stairwell, to jump. ¡°Wait!¡± she almost screams at me, bounding down the hallway and grabbing my arm, pulling me away from the door. ¡°Let me check for traps as well.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I thought I was doing,¡± I tell her. The boys leisurely stroll down the hallway, Macille kicking a blackened stone as he passes it. ¡°The Mage checks for magical traps, the Scout checks for mundane ones,¡± Samissa scolds, like it is the most obvious thing in the world. I can¡¯t help but wrinkle my face as I look at the woman that is a full head shorter than me. ¡°How was I supposed to know that?¡± ¡°Is this your first dungeon or something?¡± she asks. ¡°Obviously.¡± Samissa looks back at Dovik, her mouth hanging open, but he just shoos her ahead to look at the door. She groans, stomping over to the door, and falls to her knees so that she can look under the tiny crack beneath the door. Samissa spends almost five minutes inspecting every minute detail of the door as she slowly works her way toward the top. ¡°Do we have to do this for every door?¡± Macille asks Dovik and Adrius. ¡°That is the safe way of doing things,¡± Adrius says, looking on. ¡°It is also the slow way of doing things,¡± Dovik sighs. ¡°Generally, taking your time and doing things in the safest way possible is the best course of action. However, I think that this dungeon is more designed to reward people for finding the treasure first. That woman outside already told us that there are treasures to be found. There is probably some component of a race to all of this.¡± ¡°We were fifth in,¡± I say. ¡°That is pretty early, considering how many people were outside.¡± ¡°True,¡± Dovik agrees. ¡°Normally, you can be a little bit riskier in manufactured dungeons, as they are actually designed by their creators, and typically aren¡¯t made to kill the people trying to clear them. They are more about offering a challenge than being deadly. Considering that the guild decided to poison all of us before we even entered and the general brutality of this competition as a whole, I don¡¯t know if that is the case here. It is probably wisest to proceed as slowly as possible, prioritizing safety over speed.¡± ¡°Well, I am glad that the party leader cares about our safety all of a sudden,¡± Samissa says, standing up from in her inspection of the doorway and casting a deadly gaze back at Dovik. ¡°I always cared about your safety,¡± Dovik says back to her, his voice as smooth as silk. ¡°I thought that we would have to trigger the trap to disarm it. I am so glad that wasn¡¯t the case.¡± Samissa huffs at his words. ¡°Did you get the door open?¡± I ask her. ¡°Didn¡¯t have to,¡± she says, putting a hand to the door. With a slight push, the door swings open on well-oiled hinges to expose a short passageway beyond that opens into a larger room. ¡°No traps.¡± In the next moment, she ducks into the room, leaving the group behind. ¡°Do we follow?¡± I ask. ¡°Give her a few seconds,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Let her feel useful as a Scout.¡± I shake my hand at the man. Ever since we arrived at the bottom of the stairs there has been something up with him; he is acting like a jerk all of a sudden. We wait, and after a few seconds, Samissa sounds the all clear from the next room. Macille pulls the door closed behind us as we step into the next chamber, the light from my dragonfire and from Adrius¡¯ floating crystal lighting the circular room. Compared to the massive chamber before, the circular room of worked gray stone seems almost cramped. An unadorned pedestal rests in the center of the room and five would-be doorways stand opposite us. Four of the doorways are completely covered by several layers of wooden boards, while the one of the far left has been broken through, splinters of the tannish wood decorating the floor around the dark passageway beyond. Above each of the passageways, etched into the stone and shining with a metallic sheen, are words from the same language that we found earlier. ¡°A fork in the road,¡± Macille says, looking between the doors. ¡°I suppose that it is our choice where to go from here.¡± He points his sword toward the far left door where the wooden boards have been beaten through. ¡°Someone has already claimed that path.¡± ¡°Which makes us the second group to reach this room,¡± Adrius says. ¡°Unless another group followed the first that way,¡± I say, pointing toward the same shadowed doorway that Macille points at. ¡°Who is to say that no one else went that way.¡± I look back at Dovik, who is looking between the different doorways. ¡°What do the words say?¡± ¡°I¡¯m working on that,¡± he mutters, eyes scanning the words on the wall. We allow him plenty of time to work through the words above the doorways. I can¡¯t help but keep looking back at the door that we came through, wondering just how long it will take for another group to come find us here. We haven¡¯t heard any sound from the other groups since entering the stairwell. ¡°Well, that¡¯s funny,¡± Dovik says after a few minutes. ¡°What is?¡± Samissa asks. Dovik points to the doorway that has been broken through, specifically at the words etched into the stone above it. ¡°It says that way to the dungeon.¡± ¡°But we are in the dungeon,¡± Adrius says. ¡°No,¡± Dovik rolls his eyes. ¡°Dungeon, as in the place where you hold prisoners.¡± He keeps his hand moving, pointing at the words above each of the other doors in turn. ¡°Lagoon, Library, Kitchen, Exit.¡± He looks at each of us after he has made his proclamation. ¡°I don¡¯t think the group before us had someone that could read the words. That, or they really wanted to inspect some rusty holding cells.¡± ¡°One of the doors says exit?¡± Macille asks, looking at the last door in the row. ¡°That is a bit of a letdown.¡± ¡°Well, we are obviously not taking that one,¡± I say. ¡°I agree,¡± says Dovik. ¡°I also don¡¯t think that we should follow the other group. That leaves Lagoon, Library, and Kitchen. Which direction do you all want to go?¡± ¡°Lagoon sounds interesting,¡± Samissa says. ¡°That is a place where there might be a pool of water right?¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a fan of that,¡± I say, holding up a burning hand. ¡°I don¡¯t know how effective my fire will be in a lagoon.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t want to take you to a library for the same reason,¡± Macille snickers. ¡°I¡¯m not going to burn down a library,¡± I defend, but the group merely gives me flat stares as their reply. ¡°I won¡¯t!¡± ¡°I guess we are going to the kitchen then,¡± Dovik says, shrugging. ¡°Don¡¯t make a decision around me,¡± I say, looking between them. ¡°They are all the same to me,¡± Dovik says. ¡°I plan to explore most of this place before leaving. Where we start doesn¡¯t matter too much. Besides, you have the greatest offensive potential of anyone in the party, making a decision around that would be a smart choice.¡± I can¡¯t help but blush a little at his odd compliment, even if I don¡¯t believe it myself. Sure, my fire can hit pretty hard, but these people each have at least ten levels on me. I don¡¯t hold a sliver of hope that I could beat any one of them in a fight. ¡°Time to earn your pay,¡± Dovik says to Macille, pointing his thumb back at the boarded up passageway that leads to the ¡°Kitchen.¡± Macille laughs, limbering up his arm as he walks forward. ¡°I have to admit that I have been feeling a little useless.¡± Macille pulls back his hand, and with a punch that could shatter bones, blows the boards into splinters. He takes out his sword and sweeps the edge of the doorway clean of any hanging boards before turning back to the group with a bow. ¡°After you,¡± he say to Samissa. The spark of jealousy that I feel when I see her face light up at Macille¡¯s graciousness surprises me. I store the feeling away; I¡¯ll have to ponder on that later. Right now, there might be a terrifying chef waiting for us on the other side of that darkened passageway. ¡°The other ones too,¡± Dovik says, gesturing to the other doorways. ¡°To keep other groups from knowing which direction we went,¡± I say, understanding immediately. I have to admit, despite his strange moodiness the past few minutes, Dovik is probably as good of a party leader as I could ask for¨Che¡¯s canny. ¡°Yes Boss,¡± Macille chuckles, putting a thunderous kick into the boards nailed across the doorway that supposedly leads to the exit. The man makes quick work of the boards and breathes out a sigh of relief when he has finished. ¡°Any idea of what we should expect in this kitchen?¡± I ask Dovik. ¡°Food,¡± he says with a confidence that can¡¯t be real. ¡°Hard to know really. Probably shouldn¡¯t eat anything we find.¡± ¡°Probably,¡± I agree. I try to look down the hallway as Samissa creeps forward, disappearing into the darkness. ¡°Forward we go then.¡± Chapter 37 - Bloody Kitchen ¡°Find anything?¡± Dovik asks. Samissa creeps back into the amethyst light that Adrius projects from his crystal. I stare past the Scout, trying to discern anything in the darkness beyond the circular chamber we stand in. Samissa was gone for all of three minutes, scouting out the room ahead of us that we planned to enter, returning quickly. ¡°No monsters or traps,¡± Samissa says. She points a thumb back into the dark hallway she crept from. ¡°The passage continues on for thirty feet before turning right, just one room at the end of it. It really is a kitchen.¡± Dovik quirks a brow. ¡°Anything interesting there, or should we go another direction?¡± ¡°Oh,¡± Samissa smirks. ¡°Yes, there was something interesting all right. There is treasure to be had.¡± ¡°And you said there were no traps?¡± I ask. Samissa looks my way and smirks. ¡°None that I could find, and I did look pretty hard. Maybe you will be able to see what I missed, but it just looked like a fairly standard kitchen to me.¡± ¡°Lead on then,¡± Dovik says. Samissa turns and walks back into the darkness of the hallway, Macille on her heels, his sword in hand. As the woman said, the trip to the kitchen is short, just a walk down a single hallway and then a shorter one once we have turned the corner. When the darkness fades from in front of us, it is a sudden thing, completely unnatural. One moment, we are walking through a dark corridor, guided by the soft light that Adrius conjures, and in the next we are standing in the doorway of the most extravagant kitchen that I have ever seen. Looking back through the doorway from inside the kitchen, all I can see is inky shadow in the passageway. The first thing that strikes me is the smell, clean air mixed with a tinge of spice and bread. The room itself is a rectangle, ten feet wide and forty feet long. An island, made from white and polished marble runs almost the entire length of the room, atop which are utensils and supplies made from oiled and polished iron: colanders, bowls, pans, and pots. A row of six ovens line the left wall of the kitchen, the right side made of a single, incredibly long countertop constructed from the same marble. At the far end of the room are two more doorways, one a simple wooden door that stands ajar, leading into a well-stocked pantry, while the other has no door, a transparent wall of yellow magic separating it from the rest of the room. It shocks my mind, finding this modern looking kitchen in the center of this dungeon that for all appearances looks as if it was built more than a thousand years ago. ¡°Just a kitchen,¡± Samissa says, shrugging as she walks into the room. She points out a few lamps tucked into the walls of the room that require someone¨Cme¨Cto light. ¡°Just a kitchen,¡± I repeat, my mouth hanging open as I follow the woman into the room, absently lighting the first of the lamps. ¡°You call this just a kitchen!¡± I look around at the rest of the group, but they stare back at me, a bit confused about what I¡¯m getting at. ¡°I forgot. I¡¯m surrounded by nobles.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a noble,¡± Dovik says, but he can¡¯t help but smile. ¡°Neither am I,¡± Macille speaks up. I look between the two of them while I move ahead and light another lamp. ¡°How big was your kitchen back home? Did it have six ovens?¡± ¡°No,¡± Macille defends. ¡°We only had three,¡± he says, a little quieter. Dovik shrugs at me. ¡°I never bothered to visit the kitchens.¡± ¡°Kitchens,¡± I say. ¡°Plural?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a figure of speech,¡± Dovik says. ¡°At least I think it is.¡± I shake my head, tossing the smallest Dragonfire Bolt I can manage across the room, managing to light the last lamp. I am actually pretty proud of myself for that. ¡°Then what¡¯s the difference?¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you all being a little too flippant?¡± Adrius asks. He runs his hand along the marbled island in the center of the room as he walks toward the opposite side. He points at the sheen of magic over the right doorway at the far end of the kitchen. ¡°There is obviously magic going on. We should be more on alert.¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± I say, sighing. We all gather around the transparent screen of magic at the end of the kitchen, and I can immediately see the treasure that Samissa mentioned. On the other side of the barrier, a small stone room stands, another passageway on the opposite side of that small room leading to darkness. I see three trunks sitting in the small room, looking almost exactly like the chests filled with treasure that Macille and I found in the mud-forest yesterday. The fact that there are chests on the opposite side of this barrier is incredible, but more than that, my eye is drawn toward a white-stone pedestal standing in the center of the treasure room. Sitting atop the pedestal is a stone encircled by inscribed magical calligraphy that glows a soft blue powerful enough to not have its color distorted by the yellow of the barrier between us. It is a rune of attunement. I attempt to use my eye to tell me about the rune, but a lance of burning pain races back through my eye and into my brain. I step away from the barrier, holding my hand over my left eye, gasping. ¡°Charlene,¡± Macille says, laying a hand on my arm. ¡°What happened? Are you okay?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I manage through gritted teeth. I feel something leaking from the corner of my eye, finding blood on my finger when I touch the wetness. ¡°Something hit me when I tried to look at the rune.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t touch the barrier,¡± Samissa says. She pulls a pebble out of her pocket and tosses it against the yellow magic. The pebble sticks to the screen of yellow when it touches, the distinct sound of sizzling cracks on the air, before it falls to the ground two seconds later, smoking. ¡°Or try to use an ability on it,¡± Adrius says. ¡°Apparently.¡± ¡°Adrius, can you¡­¡± Dovik says, motioning at me. ¡°Of course.¡± A tingling cold spreads down my spine as Adrius¡¯ magic washes over me, making me shiver. The touch of his magic lingers for a moment, but then it is gone. I use a rag to clean the blood off my face. There is no chance that I am going to try and investigate the things on the other side of the barrier again. ¡°Good.¡± Dovik points at the right wall of the kitchen. Blocked from view by a tall cabinet there¨CI can see rows of spices sitting neatly arranged inside the cabinet through the incredibly expensive glass that covers the doors¨Cthere is a strange sculpture set into the wall. The sculpture looks like the face of a demon, its head at least twice as big as a man¡¯s, its mouth hanging open. Two stone hands protrude from the wall beneath the face, cupped together. Just to the left of the bizarre sculpture is a line of text written in the elvish script. Actually, the elvish writing is only the top-most bit of text. Engraved into the wall beneath the elven writing is a block of text in Castinian¨Cwhich I can actually read¨Cand beneath that is more text in three different languages I cannot even begin to place. ¡°It looks like we found a puzzle room.¡± ¡°A puzzle room?¡± I ask Adrius groans behind me and kicks the counter. ¡°So, it is just a bloody kitchen.¡± ¡°You want to fight more monsters?¡± Samissa asks her cousin. ¡°You don¡¯t get soul reinforcements from solving puzzles,¡± Adrius says. He lets out a heavy breath and finds a seat on the marble island running the length of the kitchen. ¡°Anyways,¡± Dovik says, continuing. ¡°A puzzle room is something you find in dungeons on occasion. Instead of having to kill monsters to progress, a group needs to simply solve a puzzle or riddle to overcome their obstacles.¡± ¡°That sounds dumb,¡± I agree with Adrius. ¡°Thank you,¡± the healer says from his seat on the island. ¡°How does that even work with natural dungeons?¡± I ask. ¡°Does the world just decide to make puzzles for people?¡± ¡°What?¡± Dovik asks back at me, shaking his head. He crouches, inspecting the writing on the wall. ¡°They are only in artificial dungeons, obviously. Dungeon designers put them in to give groups breaks when trying to clear a dungeon or to change things up.¡± I roll my eyes at the explanation. I would rather kill a monster and get levels. Dovik motions for Macille to join him at the wall. The two spend a few minutes talking in hushed voices and reading the script while Samissa and I inspect the pantry. There is a mountain of produce inside that looks as if it was picked just the day before, as well as entire loaves of bread, a full pail of milk, rare ingredients like sugar, and exotic spices like cinnamon. I only recognize a scant few of the spices. ¡°I am going to venture a guess and say that they want us to cook something,¡± I say, summoning all my sass and looking around the pantry. ¡°Looks like it,¡± Dovik calls from the wall. Samissa and I rejoin him and Macille as Dovik begins to explain the text. ¡°Macille confirmed what the elvish text says; I expect all the lines are essentially identical, written in all the major languages. Well, except for Karno, fuck them I guess.¡± He points to the Castinian line. ¡°I¡¯m just going to explain the answer to this riddle. They want us to make a dessert and place it into the hands of the sculpture. I¡¯m pretty sure that will open the barrier for us and allow us to continue on in the dungeon.¡± I squint at the line written in Castinian. It mentions something about fire, sweetness, and satiating the demon. It doesn¡¯t take a genius to figure out that it wants us to bake something. ¡°So,¡± I say, looking at the group. ¡°What do you all know how to make?¡± ¡°Like¡­cook?¡± Dovik asks back at me. I look around the group, only getting blank stares back. I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing. For a moment, I had forgotten that I was speaking to a bunch of rich scions of powerful families. ¡°Of course. Just to be clear, none of you know how to make anything?¡± I receive a chorus of ¡°No¡± from the group. ¡°How hard could it be,¡± Adrius says. When I look to him, I find the man using a knife to get the grime out from beneath his nails. ¡°If servant girls can do it, then I am certain that it can¡¯t be that hard.¡± ¡°Exeter save me,¡± I mutter, stalking back to the pantry. I start picking through the ingredients. ¡°I am going to make a pie then.¡± ¡°Cherry pie please,¡± Adrius calls after me. ¡°We don¡¯t have cherries,¡± I yell back to him as I pick through ingredients. I might be a bit frustrated at the rich scions outside, but internally, I am a bit excited to be able to cook with so many ingredients I have never had access to before. The sugar is a miracle by itself; I can count on one hand the number of times that my mother was able to procure sugar at market to bake with. Those were always the best pies, though this pantry is distinctly lacking pears to use in the pie. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°You know how to make pies?¡± Macille asks me, peeking into the pantry. I hand the man a sack of flour and the small container of sugar that I found before going back to digging through the well-stocked pantry. Looks like we will have to settle for apple pie. I go ahead and toss him the bound sticks of cinnamon that I found. ¡°I grew up on a pear orchard,¡± I say to him. ¡°Of course I can make pies.¡± ¡°Wait,¡± Dovik says from back in the kitchen. ¡°You are actually a farm girl?¡± I ignore him, taking everything over to one of the counters and begin to make the dough. ¡°Feel free to keep exploring the dungeon while I do this,¡± I say. ¡°It is going to take a while.¡± ¡°I think we should stay nearby,¡± Dovik comments. ¡°We will watch your back.¡± I shrug and continue working. Honestly, once I start getting into the process of preparing the pie, the minutes seem to fly by. Macille parks himself near the door leading into the kitchen, while Dovik and Adrius spark up a conversation. I am so engrossed in the process of separating my ingredients, ordering everything, and eyeballing the measurements of what I will use, that I don¡¯t notice Samissa standing at my side until she taps me on the shoulder. ¡°Thank you,¡± she says. I look her way, rolling out the dough to be smooth enough to use. ¡°For what?¡± ¡°For sticking up for me back there,¡± she says. I see a blush on the woman¡¯s face but don¡¯t call attention to it. ¡°I was really surprised that Dovik wanted me to just try and run through the trap. I kind of froze up.¡± Shaking my head, I continue my work. ¡°That was ridiculous. Trying to make you put your life on the line like that.¡± ¡°I think that I could have beat it,¡± Samissa says in a quiet voice. ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°Still.¡± ¡°I know,¡± Samissa looks back over her shoulder to where Dovik and Adrius are speaking. ¡°He has been acting strangely since we came down here.¡± ¡°You noticed it too then. Will you grab me that pan?¡± ¡°Yes. I have never known him to be like this,¡± she says, handing me the pan. I start to fill it with the dough, kneading it into the proper shape. ¡°Have you known Dovik long?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say that I really know him all that well,¡± she admits. ¡°He is more Adrius¡¯ friend than mine. I met him a few times before the competition, and he always seemed like the most proper gentleman. When I was separated from my cousin at the parade grounds, I thought for sure that I was going to fail this competition. Now that we all have a big group together; I am hoping that won¡¯t be the case.¡± ¡°I hope so too,¡± I say. I give the woman a smile and am satisfied to see that she returns it. ¡°You are welcome by the way. Try not to let him push you around in the future. I don¡¯t know what he is dealing with right now that is making him act strangely, but I know that it isn¡¯t an excuse to endanger beautiful young ladies.¡± She laughs and leans in to whisper in my ear. ¡°I do actually know how to cook a little,¡± she says. ¡°They would make fun of me if I admitted that though. Proper ladies aren¡¯t expected to know how to do those things.¡± ¡°I guess I¡¯ll keep choosing not to be a proper lady then,¡± I say. My own words catch me a bit off guard. Thinking back just a few months, isn¡¯t that all that I wanted in the world? ¡°Let me know if there is anything you need my help with,¡± Samissa says. ¡°The prep work is done,¡± I say after putting the filling in and working at closing the top of the pie. ¡°I just need to bake.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I meant,¡± Samissa says, shaking her head. I look at her a bit puzzled, but she just moves away to go stand with Macille at the entrance to the kitchen. Moving to the other wall of the room lined with ovens, I am initially excited, before finding that there is no fuel to keep them lit inside. I groan again, putting the uncooked pie inside. ¡°Samissa said you needed my help,¡± Macille says, standing over me as I crouch and look inside the oven. Looking back along the wall, I see her standing there, at the kitchen entrance, throwing a coy look in my direction. ¡°Yes, actually.¡± I say, motioning to the oven. ¡°Can you rip the door off this thing?¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°Just pull the door off,¡± I say again, slapping the door of the oven that hangs open. ¡°You are a big strong man, right. You can do it.¡± ¡°I can do it,¡± he says slowly. ¡°I just don¡¯t understand why you want me to.¡± ¡°There isn¡¯t any fuel to keep the oven lit, so I am guessing that I will have to do that myself. Lucky for all of you, you have a fire mage in your group.¡± ¡°If there is no fuel to keep the oven lit, then I guess we are pretty lucky for that,¡± Dovik says from where he lounges atop the marble island. Macille looks between me and the oven for a moment before leaning down and grabbing the door with his big hand. I might have thought he was picking up a moderate weight as a slight strain causes his muscles to bulge along his arm, rather than shattering steel with his vastly improved strength. The sound of wrenching metal is horrendous, but in just a few seconds, Macille has ripped the door off of the oven for me. ¡°Does this make it¡­easier for you to use the oven? I thought that they need to stay closed.¡± ¡°It lets me stretch my legs out,¡± I say. I sink to my butt, stretching my legs across the aisle between the island and the row of ovens. Dragonfire starts to form over my hand. I concentrate, trying to manipulate the fire, looking down at my hand. I have done something similar to this only once before. Back when I was using my fire to heat my bathwater, I noticed that my mana started to decrease as the temperature of the bath went up. Somehow, I was able to use my fire in a way that wasn¡¯t throwing Dragonfire Bolts at my enemies. Focusing on the dragonfire that coats my hand, I try to project it toward the bed of the oven, and I find that doing so is far easier to do than I initially expected. The dragonfire leaps away from my palm, a constant stream of spiraling orange diving into the bed of the oven, heating the interior immediately. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you do that before,¡± Macille says, taking a seat next to me with his back to the island as well. ¡°Me either. It¡¯s the first time that I have tried. I am starting to think that there is a lot more to these magical abilities that I haven¡¯t explored yet.¡± Macille shakes his head. ¡°You have really come a long way since I met you just a few months ago,¡± he says. ¡°What?¡± The momentary distraction of his words stops the continuous flame for a moment. I summon my focus to begin the stream into the oven once again. The open door of the oven allows the delicious aroma of baking apple and cinnamon to run through the room, entrancing. I check my mana. It is depleting at a significant rate, but I should have enough to keep the stream up until the pie is finished¨Cshould. ¡°I am thinking of the first time that we fought the Desert Spearman together,¡± he says. ¡°Ugh, please don¡¯t remind me. I¡¯ve relived that embarrassment and horror over a hundred times in my head already.¡± ¡°Yet,¡± he says, stopping me from going on about how awful my debut as an essentia magician had been, ¡°you told me that you managed to kill a rank two monster by yourself yesterday.¡± Adrius whistles from where he lounges opposite Dovik. After receiving a glare from me, the man turns back to his conversation with Dovik, though I don¡¯t doubt that he is still eavesdropping. ¡°It wasn¡¯t nearly as powerful as the Desert Spearman,¡± I say to Macille. ¡°That doesn¡¯t really matter,¡± Macille says. ¡°I think that Arabella might have given you the wrong expectations, making us have to beat a rank two monster before allowing us into this competition. Normally, only the true elites of the world are able to hunt monsters a full rank above themselves without a party. Being able to do that means that you are really something special.¡± I can¡¯t help but blush at Macille¡¯s words and hope that he will think my reddening cheeks are just because of the rising heat around us. ¡°I¡¯m not all that special. My brother, Halford, now he was really someone special, and he never hunted something above his rank.¡± ¡°He sounds like a cautious man,¡± Macille says. ¡°You speak about him a lot.¡± ¡°Do I?¡± I can¡¯t look at him. All of his beauty is way too close to me at the moment. ¡°You really admire him don¡¯t you.¡± ¡°What is there not to admire? He is tall, handsome, and powerful. He is nice to everyone, well, almost everyone, and he really cares about his friends. Add to that that he has basically no weaknesses and was able to beat rank two magicians in duels when he was still rank one. It is hard for me to think of a better example of what an essentia magician should be.¡± ¡°Well,¡± Macille says, setting his head back against the island, ¡°now I really want to meet him. Maybe when this competition is over, we will have a chance to return home. For a little while at least.¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°I think you are wrong though,¡± he continues. ¡°If he didn¡¯t have any weaknesses, then he wouldn¡¯t be using a party to adventure with. That is what a party is for, to compensate for the weaknesses of the individual.¡± ¡°I suppose so,¡± I say. ¡°Take me for example. I have good defense, but my offense is pretty lacking. I do have one ability that helps me kill monsters, but it requires me to spend time to prepare it, and even then, if I cannot get close to my target then it is useless.¡± He smirks at me. ¡°I think that is why Arabella partnered me with you. If I have your raw power behind me, then I can focus on defense.¡± ¡°That is all I have though,¡± I say. ¡°Every day it seems like my fire gets stronger, but I am still incredibly frail. I don¡¯t think that I would survive a single hit from someone who has the same kind of offensive magic that I do. I tried to increase my speed, and that has helped a little, but when that rank two fish hit me a single time it almost took me out. That doesn¡¯t sound like someone who is very special to me. I¡¯ve seen you take dozens of hits from something as strong as the Desert Spearman and keep fighting. I wish I could do that.¡± ¡°You are trying to be a Mage,¡± Macille says. ¡°I think you should focus on not getting hit. Leave absorbing blows to stupid brutes like me.¡± He sets his hand on my leg and flashes me a smile that makes my heart just about stop. ¡°I happen to think that you are very special.¡± A shriek from the doorway pulls us both out of the moment. Dovik and Adrius jump down from their lounging positions, weapons in Dovik¡¯s hands and odd energy glowing around Adrius¡¯. We all look to the entrance of the kitchen to see Samissa standing there with her hand on her chest, trying to calm her breathing. ¡°What is it!¡± Macille calls, worry in his voice. The man is already standing, sword in one hand and shield in the other. ¡°Something ran past my foot. I think it was a mouse,¡± Samissa explains. A sense of disappointment comes over me, and I glare at Samissa from where I am sitting, though the woman doesn¡¯t see it. The tension seeps out of Macille¡¯s incredibly well-toned shoulders. He sets his shield on the countertop with a laugh. Dovik starts laughing behind me, and the magic in Adrius¡¯ hands disappears. Samissa looks back at the rest of us with a red face caught in an expression somewhere between anger and embarrassment. ¡°It surprised me,¡± she yells at us. I can hear a banging on the other side of the island and the sounds of a small animal moving around. ¡°I¡¯ll get it,¡± Adrius says, jumping over the island and looking down the aisle on that side of the kitchen. ¡°Not a mouse,¡± he says, walking forward and trying to corner the critter I still can¡¯t see. Macille replaces the sword in its sheath and leans back against the island, letting out a long breath. I cut off the mana that I am supplying to the fire and stand as well, dusting off my pantlegs. Despite the general cleanliness of the kitchen, the stone floor is still what I imagine one might find in a thousand-year-old dungeon filled with grime and dust. ¡°It just scared me is all,¡± Samissa calls to us again, trying to rub the grin off Dovik¡¯s face with her words. ¡°You would be startled too if something ran over your foot out of nowhere.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you supposed to be a Scout,¡± Dovik says back to her as he walks over and looks into the oven that I have been using. His words cause Samissa¡¯s face to redden like a tomato. ¡°Got it,¡± Adrius says, lunging forward and hoisting a small rodent for us all to see. The man pulls the little thing in and gingerly cups it in his hands, cooing to it softly. ¡°You¡¯re okay little guy.¡± He looks around the room, showing off the rodent. ¡°Does anyone know what it is?¡± The thing in his hands looks like a strange cross between a rabbit and a chipmunk, tiny body with over-sized cheeks and ears that fall down over its face. I attempt to use my eye to identify the creature, but my ability gives me no information. I shake my head, blinking, but when I try again, I still get nothing. Weird, even if the creature isn¡¯t a monster, my eye has always been able to identify animals in the past. Maybe there are still lingering effects from the yellow barrier slapping me earlier. ¡°This looks about done,¡± Dovik says, leaning into the stove. He takes a whiff of the pie and sighs. ¡°How would you know?¡± I ask. Before he can say another word, the sound of a violent pop makes me spin around. I feel something wet splash against my face, a drop of red falling into my eye. Adrius stands on the other side of the island from us, looking down at his arms that end in bloody stumps halfway down his forearms. The man¡¯s once clean robes are painted in his own gore, and the confusion on his face morphs into pure agony. Adrius screams, falling backward against the countertop, waving the stumps of his arms. ¡°Adrius!¡± Samissa screams from the doorway, her own voice drowned out by her cousin¡¯s pained shrieking. She never sees it coming. An arrow, nothing particularly fanciful, sprouts out the side of Samissa¡¯s neck, dragging blood and viscera behind it as it sails just past my head, exploding against the wall behind me. Samissa¡¯s eyes roll back in her head as she slumps sideways, her temple colliding with the corner of one of the iron ovens. She is dead before she even hits the ground, blood from the wound in her neck pooling on the ground around her. ¡°Down!¡± Macille roars over Adrius¡¯ screaming. He reaches for the shield he set on the counter, but another arrow stabs into his shoulder before he can reach it, throwing the big man back into me. We both crash to the ground, Macille¡¯s great weight on top of me, the arrow still sticking out of his shoulder. I see past Macille, a man walk out of the shadow of the kitchen¡¯s entrance, stepping over Samissa¡¯s body, two scimitars in his hands that drip black ichor. Chapter 38 - Unseen Enemies The man walking into the room out of the darkness smiles, stepping over Samissa¡¯s body. He is human, scraggly brown hair sticking directionless out of his head and face. He chuckles to himself, hovering a blade over Samissa¡¯s corpse, the ichor dripping off the blade sizzling as it touches her clothes. ¡°Well, well, well, it looks as if I found--¡± Dovik is there, blocking my view of the man. I hear a horrible gasping sound as Dovik¡¯s coat falls around him, and with a roar he hoists the man with swords up into the air, Dovik¡¯s twin weapons sticking all the way through the man¡¯s chest to emerge out his back. The man gurgles a scream as he is hoisted into the air. Mana roils up through Dovik¡¯s weapons, entering the man¡¯s body, and forcing a cough of blood to pour out of the impaled man¡¯s mouth. ¡°Get to cover!¡± Dovik yells back at us; Macille is already moving. I hear a sickening squelch as another arrow punches into the back of the man Dovik holds in the air like a shield, blocking the doorway with his body. Macille swears, tearing out the arrow in his shoulder, and tossing it across the room. With deft movement, Macille makes it to his feet and grabs his shield, grunting against the pain that comes with strapping it to his arm. I scuttle backward, pulling myself around the corner of the island at the far end of the room, getting out of line of the doorway. Weak moaning draws my attention. I peek down the other aisle the island creates, seeing Adrius there, slumped against the countertops, staring down at the stumps of his arms with horror and disbelief. I check my mana, 230/2150. Dammit. The door that leads into the room is at the corner of the room, having a clear shot of the left most aisle close to the ovens, but on this side of the island the hidden archer in the darkness of the hallway should be unable to touch us. ¡°Macille,¡± I call to him. The man is inching closer to Dovik, on the lookout for more arrows that might come sailing out of the darkness and make it past the human shield Dovik is using. ¡°Can you heal Adrius?¡± Macille looks in my direction for an instant before turning his attention back to the door. ¡°It would take me a long time. Days maybe. He would be better at it than me.¡± Dovik looks over where I am kneeling next to Adrius and curses. Another spike of mana flows into the suspended man from Dovik¡¯s weapons, causing him to seize and shudder. With violent swiftness, Dovik rips his weapons out of the man and brings one around to slam into the man¡¯s temple before his body has finished falling. He crumples to the ground next to Samissa, dead as a doornail. ¡°Get out of line of the door!¡± Dovik commands as he dives toward the right-most aisle where I am. Macille is already moving, rolling over the island to fall into the aisle; his shield never stops facing the doorway. ¡°They have at least four more,¡± I tell Dovik as he hurries over to us, crouching, never raising his head above the level of the island. ¡°Is he cogent?¡± The question from Dovik is hurried; I can hear panic in his voice. I look down at Adrius. The man continues to stare down at the spot where his hands should be. I touch Adrius¡¯ face, he feels cold, his skin pale and clammy, spongy with sweat. Looking down, I realize I''m kneeling in a pool of the man¡¯s blood. I feel vomit start to rise in the back of my throat. ¡°Adrius,¡± I try, but there is panic creeping into my own voice. I have fought monsters before, terrifying things out of nightmares, but that isn¡¯t what is happening right now. There are people on the other side of that dark hallway, people that want me dead. ¡°Adrius. Can you answer me? Adrius.¡± The man is muttering something now, but I don¡¯t know elven. His pupils are wide, like giant saucers of black looking at the ruin of his body. ¡°He has lost too much blood,¡± Dovik says, he starts fiddling with his waist, pulling off his belt. ¡°Give me your belt,¡± he tells me. ¡°What?¡± Dovik doesn¡¯t bother saying it again. He reaches forward, grabbing ahold of my belt, and rips it off with one fluid movement, breaking the buckle. The bag Arabella gifted me falls to the ground, bumping against Dovik¡¯s hand as he holds my belt. I see something flash across Dovik¡¯s face as the bag touches him, and he gives me a curious look. The moment is gone before my bag hits the ground. He tosses me my own belt. ¡°Tie it tight around his arm,¡± Dovik commands as he starts doing so with his own belt. ¡°Around the bicep, here. We need to stop the blood flow to his arms, or he will bleed out.¡± At another time I might despise the man for speaking to me this way, but in the moment I am grateful. I use his command to ground me in the moment; I lean on his confidence and his competence. We tie the belts around Adrius¡¯ arms, and by the time that we are done, the man is unconscious, his breathing rapid and shallow. ¡°Anything else?¡± Dovik asks Macille. ¡°No one else has come through,¡± Macille says. Macille stands just high enough to get a clear view of the doorway, still holding up his shield. ¡°How can they see us through the doorway? When we came in, we couldn¡¯t see the kitchen from the hallway.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Dovik says. He looks back at Adrius, worry clear on his face. ¡°Dovik!¡± I yell, pulling his attention away. I point down the aisle to where another of the furry rodents has appeared, looking at the four of us curiously. Dovik flashes, disappearing and reappearing next to the rodent, seizing it violently with a bloodstained hand. I see it happen this time. The rodent starts to spasm in Dovik¡¯s hand, its body deforming and bulging unnaturally. It explodes with a pop, a whiff of violet light splashing into the air. Dovik continues to crouch in the aisle, completely unharmed by the explosion of the rodent. He opens his hand, strands of red hair falling to the ground at his feet. ¡°It is an ability,¡± he says. ¡°Too weak to make it past my magical defenses. If you spot any more, let me know.¡± ¡°What is the move, boss?¡± Macille asks. ¡°No one else is coming through the door. They might all be ranged combatants.¡± Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Maybe,¡± Dovik says, he peeks around the corner of the island toward the door. ¡°That would be an imbalanced group, but it is possible.¡± Dovik reaches with his weapon, Pokey, and slides one of the dead man¡¯s scimitars towards himself before he slides it down the aisle in my direction. I pocket the sword in my inventory without thinking about it and do the same thing with the second one he slides me. ¡°That would mean that if you and I can get close, we should be able to beat them,¡± Macille growls. ¡°We should retreat,¡± I say, drawing both of their eyes in my direction for an instant. ¡°This is a bad position.¡± ¡°You want us to show our backs to these bastards?¡± Macille asks. ¡°I want to torch them just as much as you do,¡± I explain. ¡°We can¡¯t stay here though. We have no idea about their strengths. This is a bad place to try and fight them.¡± ¡°She¡¯s right,¡± Dovik says. ¡°If they have a trap master waiting for us then we would get ourselves killed trying to go down that hallway.¡± He starts crouch-walking back over to me and Adrius. ¡°Macille, get the pie.¡± Macille stays still for a long moment, glaring at the dark entryway to the room that stands silent. ¡°Fuck! Fine.¡± With a smooth movement, Macille tumbles back over the island, his shield blocking the punch of an arrow the second he lands. I can¡¯t see him anymore, but I assume he is doing what Dovik said. I scoop up my bag and wedge it between my armor and shirt before I start inching back toward the yellow barrier at the end of the room. Depending on where the hidden archer is, they might have a clear shot on the doorway to the treasure room, but no arrows spin out of the darkness to take off my head. Sickness builds in my stomach, bile biting into my throat at the thought of retreating from an enemy. The sensation catches me off guard, the pure black hatred I feel toward our unseen enemy. Without thinking about it, I pull the Bane Crystal out of my inventory and put it onto the ground at the end of the aisle. I stop before continuing, really seeing my own hands for the first time in the last few minutes. They are slick with blood, looking like I have plunged them into red paint. The hate rising up in my stomach only builds more and more. With a growl that seems feral in my own ears, I pull Lamplighter¡¯s Charge out of my inventory. There hasn¡¯t been a cause for me to use the weapon yet, but right now I want all of the firepower that I can get my hands on. I feel a rush of mana pour into my body from the weapon, the bar in my vision indicating that I have received two-hundred additional mana just from holding it. My orange fire snakes up the length of the staff as I grab ahold of it, lighting a beacon of dragonfire in the lamp that sits at its head. Testing, I touch the lamp of the staff to the Bane Crystal. Something brushes against my soul when the two meet, almost like the weapon is asking my permission for something. I assent, and the orange fire in the lamp explodes for a split second before settling back into its cage, green light casting harsh shadows around me. Macille comes around the corner of the island. If it weren¡¯t for the blood all over me, its sticky hotness keeping me grounded in the moment, the way the man crouch-walks backwards, keeping his shield in front of him, with an apple pie held protectively in his other hand, might have made me laugh. ¡°Take it,¡± Macille growls, holding the pie back towards me. I look over to see that Dovik has his hands full carrying Adrius, and I don¡¯t want to let Macille be distracted from keeping us safe from the arrows. I slink over to him, taking the still hot pie from his hands, crawling back to the statue in the wall. The second that I place the steaming pie into the hands of the statue, it makes a burping noise, and the yellow barrier disappears from in front of the treasure room. ¡°Through the door!¡± Dovik yells at us, dragging Adrius through the doorway himself, keeping low to avoid any more projectiles. Macille starts backing towards the doorway, but this time, I ignore the order. Sparing a look over the island, I slowly raise my staff, pointing it at the furthest oven. I don¡¯t put too much power in the Dragonfire Bolt that I launch at the oven, but even the base form of my magical attack consumes more than fifty mana now. The fire washes over the iron appliance, eating into it like a termite, blackening and corroding the iron until it begins to fall apart. I am surprised to find that the dragonfire at the head of the staff stays lit, still flickering green. ¡°Perfect.¡± I pocket the Bane Crystal once more as I start destroying the other ovens with blasts of corrosive dragonfire. I look back behind me, seeing Macille standing in the doorway of the treasure room, waiting on me. I shuffle backwards, keeping my eyes trained on the doorway to the kitchen. I have to push Macille back so that I can get a good shot on the statue in the wall. Something tells me that the statue will take a bit more magic to destroy than the ovens did. I can only hope that the barrier will spring back to life if it is. I over channel my dragonfire, pouring more than a hundred mana into the attack, and standing in the doorway, I fire the Dragonfire Bolt at the statue. There is movement in the corner of my eye as I unleash my attack. An arrow sails out of the darkness straight at me as I stand in the doorway. My body moves without thinking. A burning line cuts across the skin of my palm. In the next second, I stand there in the doorway, the point of an arrow inches away from my eye, my hand wrapped around its shaft. The blood of my skinned palm mixes with Adrius¡¯, running down the length of my forearm. The yellow barrier springs to life again, separating us from the kitchen. I had no idea that I was fast enough now to catch an arrow. It is only a few seconds later that I realize I¡¯m not breathing. I take in a shuddering breath, letting the arrow fall to the ground, as I stumble backwards a step. Big hands settle on my arms as I try to catch my breath, keeping me upright. ¡°I¡¯ve got you,¡± Macille says in my ear, trying to comfort me, but my body isn¡¯t shaking with fear or panic. I am so out of my mind with anger that I can¡¯t stop myself from shaking. There is a soft grunt behind me as Dovik settles Adrius onto the ground. ¡°See what you can do for him,¡± he tells Macille. ¡°Sure.¡± Macille lets go of me, moving over to Adrius, light pooling in his hands as he presses them to the injured man. ¡°My healing isn¡¯t all that powerful. It would take me days to heal something like this.¡± I stand in the doorway for several minutes, looking back into the kitchen, watching as my mana slowly fills back up. I spot a kind of lever on the inner side of the doorway and expect that it will shut off the magical barrier between us and the kitchen. All I need to do is wait for my mana to come back and for those bastards to wander in. How dare these bastards do this? We haven¡¯t hurt anyone. We weren¡¯t planning to hunt other people. This competition is hard enough without us turning on each other. How could anyone do this? Killing other people like we were beasts, like we were monsters. How could they do this? They need to pay for this. The need to die for this. My eyes fall on the rune of attunement in the center of the room. Dovik is looking at it as well, and when he notices my staring at it, he nods toward the rune. Rune of Attunement(Very Rare): When an essentia magician utilizes this runestone, they are able to place a permanent affix onto one of their abilities granted to them by an Essentia. This rune contains the affix for Power. It appears that without the glowing sheet of yellow blocking me, I can identify the item just fine. ¡°What kind is it?¡± Dovik asks me. ¡°Power,¡± I answer. I step forward, picking up the rune. Dovik makes no move to stop me, to keep me from seizing this power for myself. I turn back to look into the kitchen, listening to the soft sounds of the treasure room around me. Macille whispers small encouragements to Adrius, but I don¡¯t think that anything is getting through to the man. Dovik has put himself in a corner of the room, biting the nail of his thumb, looking back the same way I am. I wait, feeling my anger continue to smolder in my stomach, looking toward the entrance of the kitchen. They should just show themselves already. I want them to come into the kitchen and see how I have ruined everything for them. I want to see their faces. I want to see the faces of these people that think they could kill me. The minutes pass with nothing happening. The rune grows heavy in my hand as my nails scratch against its surface. I can¡¯t help but squeezing the thing so tight that my arm starts to shake. The waiting continues for more than ten minutes, but nothing comes. My anger settles into hate, and I am sure that if I could see my face right now, I would be revolted. Letting out a long breath, I shake. I let my arms relax, the rune hanging limply in my hand as I turn. ¡°Macille, if you take this, do you think you could heal Adrius?¡± Chapter 39 - Break from Danger I collapse against the wall, sliding down until I am sitting opposite Macille in the cramped treasure room, waving the rune of attunement his way. ¡°So?¡± Macille bites his lip. Magical energy continues to pour out of his hands into Adrius, but the bloody stumps at the ends of his arms don¡¯t look to be improving much. ¡°You would give that away?¡± ¡°Well,¡± I say, looking over at Dovik who stands in one of the corners, arms crossed. ¡°I guess that would be a decision that we need to come to. I¡¯m still fairly new to magic so giving me the rune might not be the best idea anyways; I don¡¯t really know how to use it.¡± ¡°They are fairly intuitive,¡± Dovik comments. He scoots one of the chests towards him, not bothering to open it, and takes a seat on top of it. ¡°You probably have some insight into affixes. The runes function like that, except they can add permanent affixes to a single ability. If that really is a power rune, then it might boost a singular ability to be as strong as a rank two ability.¡± I look at the rune in my hand before looking back at Macille. ¡°Would that be enough for you to heal Adrius immediately?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Macille swallows hard. He looks between his patient and the rune in my hand. ¡°Rank two healing is pretty powerful, but it feels like it would be a waste to use that on me now. If you give me some time, I will be able to get Adrius conscious. He should be able to heal himself better than I can. His healing doesn¡¯t require his hands, as far as I know.¡± We all stare at the unconscious healer. Adrius¡¯ breaths are shallow and rapid, his skin glistening with sweat. Despite Macille healing him continuously, Adrius¡¯ skin looks so pale that he might be made of marble. ¡°Maybe,¡± Dovik says. I can see clear concern conflicting with some other emotion on his face. ¡°The question is then, do we plan to continue or turn back here?¡± My eyes turn his way, surprised. ¡°Can we even turn back?¡± Dovik nods to the lever set into the wall next to the yellow barrier. ¡°I am hoping that will deactivate the wall. There exists the option to rest now, regain some of our strength, and try to make it back to the entryway where we started.¡± ¡°We heard the entryway close when we entered,¡± Macille says. ¡°Charlene here can melt through stone. If we need to do a little of that to make sure that no one else is wounded or killed, then that would be the responsible choice.¡± I can see that Dovik hates the idea of turning back. The man scrunches his face up like the words choke him to speak. ¡°We already lost one person.¡± ¡°Why would they even attack us,¡± I mutter through gritted teeth. Remembering the sight of that arrow passing through Samissa¡¯s neck brings back the anger that I had just pushed aside. My hand clenches hard around the rune in my hand, the joints in my fingers creaking from the strain. ¡°No warning. No demand that we give them our stuff. They just shot her in the neck and blew Adrius¡¯ hands off without a warning. What kind of maniacs do something like that?¡± Dovik sighs, shaking his head. ¡°The kinds of people that have been nurtured all of their lives to believe they have the right to decide who lives and dies.¡± He lays his head back against the wall and sighs. ¡°I thought that there would be infighting eventually. Whenever resources are limited conflict is a natural consequence. I just thought that we would have more time. Why did I have to pick this year to attempt the passage.¡± His smile is sad and self-deprecating. ¡°You mentioned that this Passage is different than it usually is,¡± Macille says. ¡°What is it usually like?¡± ¡°I have only even been alive for four of the Passages, they don¡¯t happen every year. Typically, rich families send their extra sons and daughters here to make inroads with the guild, only a scant few are anything exceptional. The little lordlings are taken on almost a guided tour of the forest, rank three proctors leading teams north for a few months, designating monsters for the little lords and ladies to fight, keeping a running score. There is some infighting, there always is in a competition, but people don¡¯t usually end up dying.¡± ¡°People are dying now though,¡± I say. ¡°Yeah,¡± Dovik says. ¡°People are dying now.¡± ¡°I just don¡¯t understand this,¡± Macille says. Dovik shrugs. ¡°There are no proctors around this time. No one to keep the little lords in line.¡± ¡°So, they want us to kill each other?¡± I ask. I still can¡¯t help but stare at the rune in my hand. It beckons me to use it, and it takes all of my willpower not to immediately give in. ¡°No,¡± Dovik shakes his head. ¡°There was nothing said that indicates they want us to attack one another. It is just that nothing is stopping the opportunists from doing so any longer.¡± ¡°And so, the Willian guild will fill its ranks with murderers,¡± I spit. ¡°It makes you wonder why anyone would want to join it.¡± Dovik stares off into space. ¡°Maybe,¡± he says. The conflict playing out on his face is too depressing for me to keep paying attention to. ¡°Whatever we decide, you should take the rune,¡± I tell Macille, tossing the stone to him. Macille catches the rune and turns it over in his hands. ¡°If we decide to turn back then it would be better that we keep this or use it on someone who needs it more than me.¡± ¡°If we decide to turn back, we will want Adrius healed and conscious anyway. If not, someone is going to have to carry him, meaning that someone will have to take him all the way up the staircase and over that bridge full of nightmares. Samissa is gone now, we don¡¯t have anyone to point them out.¡± ¡°Exeter¡¯s balls!¡± Dovik swears. ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought of that.¡± Macille looks between the two of us, and when we both nod back to him, he bows his head and pulls the rune to his chest. ¡°Thank you both. Really, this means a lot.¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Dovik says, waving his hand. I have a harder time writing off the rune. I bite my lip as I watch Macille somehow start to pull the magic out of the rune while holding it to his chest. Lust dances in my eyes as I watch the magic enter him. Then, after a minute, it is over. ¡°Did it work?¡± I ask. ¡°I think so.¡± Macille turns his attention back to Adrius, his hands moving toward Adrius¡¯ horrific injuries. The green light of his healing magic is more opaque now, more vibrant, like the touch of fresh grass and summer. Before my eyes, I watch as the bones of Adrius¡¯ stumps begin to mend, stretching out in an effort to reform his hands. I find myself holding my breath as I watch the grisly sight of the bones sprouting muscles and ligaments as they continue to grow out of his wounds. I have to turn away before seeing any more of it. ¡°I think it is working,¡± Macille says, though I am studying my own hands too hard to look over. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Good,¡± I say. I spare a glance in Dovik¡¯s direction and see the man cringing as he watches the healing, unable to look away. ¡°Just tell me when it¡¯s over.¡± The healing doesn¡¯t take long, not nearly as long as I had thought it might anyway. Macille¡¯s strengthened magic is able to regrow Adrius¡¯ severed hands in a matter of minutes, and when he is done, Macille is left pale and wrung out, leaning against the wall. Adrius is still very much out of it, but the elf¡¯s breathing has leveled out somewhat, even if he is still white as a sheet. ¡°He didn¡¯t wake up,¡± I comment. ¡°He lost a lot of blood,¡± Dovik says. ¡°I¡¯m¡­sorry,¡± Macille says, attempting to get a hold on his breathing. ¡°I am not¡­ a dedicated healer. This was the best I could do.¡± ¡°You probably saved his life,¡± Dovik says, standing and patting Macille¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You saved the life of one of my oldest friends today; I won¡¯t forget this.¡± Macille waves off the thanks rather than speaks, still focusing on slowing his breathing. Dovik walks over to Adrius and unties his belt from around Adrius¡¯ arm, doing the same with my own belt. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want him to lose his hands again because of bad blood flow.¡± He tosses me my broken belt. ¡°Thanks,¡± I say, looking at the buckle. It is something that I might be able to fix. ¡°How long do you need to be ready to move?¡± Dovik asks Macille. ¡°Give me two hours and I will be in good enough condition. It is going to take another day at least for all my mana to regenerate.¡± Just hearing that makes me feel slightly guilty. Looking at my own mana, almost a quarter of it has regenerated over the half-hour or so that we have been in this treasure room. I work at tying the belt around my waist, threading my faux bag back through it. It takes some work to do, but it is just about functional after a few minutes of effort. ¡°So, what do we want to do?¡± Dovik asks. ¡°Honestly, I want to track down those people that killed Samissa and torch them,¡± I spit. Dovik nods gravely at me. ¡°Have you ever killed someone Charlene?¡± The question catches me a bit off guard. I hadn¡¯t expected him to be so direct. ¡°No.¡± ¡°Well, I have,¡± he says, nodding back to the kitchen. Whoever was attacking us from the shadows of the hallway never appeared. Standing at the entrance, I was clearly able to see the dead man¡¯s boot with the toe sticking lifelessly up in the air. I knew that Samissa was laying just next to him, the two bodies almost looking like lovers lying next to each other¨Cif you ignored the dullness in their eyes. Emotions that I don¡¯t even want to try and figure out coil like a ball in my stomach, churning. ¡°Is that the first man you killed?¡± I ask Dovik. He looks back into the kitchen for a long moment, chewing on his cheek. ¡°Yeah,¡± he says in a low voice. ¡°Yeah¡­¡± ¡°How do you feel?¡± Macille asks. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Dovik shakes his head. ¡°He deserved it, or he would deserve it. Maybe he never hurt anyone before. I don¡¯t know.¡± He sighs and bends down to one of the chests. ¡°Let¡¯s talk about something else.¡± Without hesitating, Dovik unlatches one of the chests and opens it up. I hear the jingling of coins move inside and stand to see what it is that he has found. The chest appears on the outside like most of the chests that I have found in the forest before. Inside, a pile of silver and bronze coins catch the yellow light of the barrier, almost tricking the mind into thinking there is gold inside. ¡°You might have to dig around to find the item,¡± I tell Dovik. ¡°Item?¡± ¡°Most of the chests we found in the mud-forest had a magical item inside,¡± Macille says. Dovik starts pushing the coins aside, digging up an amulet on a silver chain, a circle of bronze inlaid with an emerald. ¡°Great,¡± he says, ¡°another reason for some assholes to try and kill me.¡± Despite the ironic smile Dovik tries on, the humor doesn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°Can I see that?¡± I ask. Dovik hands it over to me without hesitation. I don¡¯t really need to hold the object in order for my eye to tell me about it, but I am starting to think that maybe being a bit more subtle about what my abilities can actually do would be a good idea. Amulet of Protection(Rare): An amulet crafted of a purity gem, engraved with sigils of protection by a shaman of Khelflin. This amulet will impart protective warding onto any who might wear it. Enhancement: +15 Defense, +10 Magic Defense ¡°It¡¯s a defensive charm,¡± I say, handing it back to Dovik. Dovik looks down at his armor, thinking for a moment. ¡°I would like it if no one opposes it.¡± In all honesty, I am starting to think that it might be a good idea for me to get my hands on as much defensive empowerment as I can. The only times that my defensive attributes have ever increased is when I have taken significant damage in a fight. I expect that in the future all of my defense will come from my equipment. Still, I don¡¯t want it enough to take it from Dovik. We find some good things in the other chests as well. Ring of Regeneration(Rare): A ring of regeneration, a mainstay of any well-prepared adventurer. This ring was crafted in the Wall City of Grim, a collaboration by guild artisans to produce many such beneficial items for the upcoming Passage of Rising Tide. Enhancement: +20 Recovery, +5% Recovery Boots of Striding(Rare): Your classic boots of striding, a mainstay of any well-prepared adventurer. These boots were crafted in the Wall City of Grim, a collaboration by guild artisans to produce many such beneficial items for the upcoming Passage of Rising Tide. Enhancement: +25 Speed No one complains when I ask to take the ring for myself. It has a multiplicative effect on it, and according to what Arabella told me prior, that is an extremely good thing for a specialist. However, when I offer the boots to Macille, trying to split the loot evenly, he turns me down, claiming that the rune was more than enough for him. Dovik turns them down as well, and while I do extremely want the boots¨Cthey are made of an interesting blue leather and the three-inch heel would admittedly look a little silly on a man¨CI still feel a bit bad about accepting them. Kicking off my own dirty boots, I decide that I will give them to Adrius when he wakes up. The man is pretty enough to pull them off. Thinking about Adrius makes me think about Samissa, and any elation I might feel at getting new magical items quickly disappears. Despite both Dovik and Macille claiming they don¡¯t care about silver or copper coins, I make them sign my growing ledger next to the amount that I owe them as soon as I have put all the coins in my inventory. ¡°Are you not going to take these chests?¡± Dovik asks. I look through my inventory. ¡°I already have eight chests. Do I need more?¡± ¡°What?¡± Macille says. ¡°How can you fit eight chests inside of that bag?¡± ¡°It¡¯s a storage bag¡­¡± ¡°No,¡± Dovik says. ¡°That must be a huge storage bag. I don¡¯t think you are likely to find many first rank storage items that can contain that much.¡± He slaps one of the chests. ¡°It can hold eight of these. Arabella must really like you.¡± It is a difficult thing to keep my eyes from flicking down at the ring that is actually my storage item. I had no idea that there were ranks to magical items, but of course there are. It seems like every part of this new magical world that I am learning about has some kind of ranking system attached to it. Perhaps I really should have tried to read more about those kinds of things in the books that Arabella offered to let me peruse. Sure, the runes and magical theory is incredibly boring¨Cextremely boring even¨Cbut learning a little more mathematics might have been a good idea. Whenever I think about numbers in terms of money, well, it is just so much easier to stay interested. My eyes flick toward the numbers in the top of my inventory that indicate my current funds. Either way that this competition ends, at least I won¡¯t be going hungry for a while. We while a few hours away, and when Macille indicates that he is ready, we prepare to leave. Adrius is still out cold, though he has stopped sweating so much, and the water that Macille makes him drink seems to be helping. ¡°Be ready for anything,¡± Dovik says, taking up a position near the yellow barrier. He inhales deeply as he grasps the lever on the side of the door. We all wait with bated breath, muscles preparing for sudden movement as Dovik¡¯s hand lingers on the lever. It has gone unspoken between us, but the people that attacked us could still be waiting in the corridor for us to let down the barrier. With a sharp exhale, Dovik pulls the lever, throwing it hard the other way. A second passes, all of us waiting to run into the kitchen, Macille having hoisted Adrius up onto his back. Nothing happens though; the barrier remains in place, its sickly yellow still glowing. Dovik throws the lever back and forth a few more times, but nothing happens either. ¡°Fuck!¡± Dovik screams. His weapons are in his hands, and he is slamming them into the barrier yelling with each strike. The man rages against the magic, the air around each of his strikes violent and distorted by the clashing magic. One of his weapons is ripped out of his hands by the barrier, spinning off into the room to clatter onto the floor. Dovik falls away, chest heaving, rage and impotence on his face as he stares at the barrier. Slowly, his eyes roll over to me, and I know that we are both thinking the same thing. I must have broken the lever when I destroyed the statue outside. We can¡¯t go back. Chapter 40 - Defining the Path ¡°Gods,¡± Dovik puts his head against the wall in the corner. He laughs, a quiet, sad thing. ¡°This is not how I thought this was going to go.¡± ¡°What do you want to do?¡± I ask. I watch as Macille sets Adrius back down on the floor. With my assistance, we manage to get some water into the man. ¡°If we can¡¯t go back¡­¡± ¡°Forward,¡± Dovik sighs. The yawning passageway at the far end of the cramped room shows us only darkness. I stare into the shadow in the doorway, straining my eyes to try and see anything on the other side. Nothing. ¡°When?¡± Macille asks. He looks down at Dovik. ¡°I don¡¯t know how long it takes for someone to recover from this kind of blood loss. We could wait here. I think we have enough supplies for a few days that we could spend here. ¡°We don¡¯t have that kind of time,¡± Dovik says. He looks down at Adrius with a pained expression. ¡°This competition is a race against time. The deadline might be months from now, but we have hundreds of miles to travel. I have no idea how close we will be cutting it if we wait in here for a few days, but I am willing to bet that there isn¡¯t an extreme amount of leeway.¡± ¡°So do we leave Adrius here or take him with us?¡± I ask. The two of them look at me like I¡¯m crazy. ¡°What?¡± ¡°We are not abandoning him here,¡± Dovik says. ¡°You want to bring him? If we go forward, we are going to be bringing him into dangerous situations where he can¡¯t defend himself. Do you think it¡¯s better to do that?¡± I say. ¡°There aren¡¯t any great options,¡± Macille says. He looks down at the man. ¡°Still, I say that we bring him. Leaving him here alone when he is in this state is too cruel, and there is no guarantee that we will be able to return for him. He isn¡¯t too heavy; I can carry him.¡± ¡°Are you fully recovered?¡± I ask. Macille shakes his head at me. ¡°We should wait until then.¡± ¡°That will take hours,¡± Dovik says. ¡°It¡¯s better to wait now than to regret it later. If we are going to make Macille responsible for protecting an unconscious man, I want him at top condition. We are down two people. Anything less than our best might end up with us all getting killed.¡± I stare at Dovik until he eventually relents. The man punches a wall and sits in a corner of the room. ¡°We will take the time to rest then. We will move on in a few hours, rest up.¡± Not wanting to waste time, I pull furs out of my inventory and make myself a pallet on the floor. I have only gained a single level since the last time that I reinforced my soul, but I am not going to let this opportunity to strengthen myself slip by. If it can help even a little, I think that it will be worth the short nap. When I awaken a few hours later, I stay underneath the furs to not give away the allocation of my free points with the light show that follows. I look over my attributes for a long moment, trying to really understand just how different I have become from the girl I was a few months ago. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 21 ¡ú 22)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 36 ¡ú 37 Strength: 25 ¡ú 26 Magic: 209 ¡ú 215(250) Defense: 36 ¡ú 37(57) Magic Defense: 29 ¡ú 30(45) Speed: 102 ¡ú 103(128) Recovery: 161 ¡ú 178(208) Perception: 26 ¡ú 27 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 370 Mana: 2500 Stamina: 745 Even putting all of my free points into Recovery, I am still a bit shocked at the massive jump. Until I put this ring on, I didn¡¯t really understand how much of a gain five percent could be. Though, to be fair to myself, I think I only heard of the concept of percentages less than a month ago. I waver back and forth beneath my protection of furs for a while longer before finally forcing myself to settle onto a plan. So far, I have been too haphazard with allocating my free points. Just two days ago I had put at least forty into Speed and given that I focus on not getting close to enemies, it seems like a complete waste in retrospect. I cannot deny the massive benefit having access to free points has given me. Through simple arithmetic, it isn¡¯t difficult to see that having the Eye of Volaash has given me more than a two hundred attribute bonus through free points, and that isn¡¯t including all of the other functions that it is capable of. Truly, it is an incredible artifact. Arabella giving it to me might almost make up for her sending me into this competition without properly explaining just how terrifying everything would be. Having access to the free points does present me with a unique dilemma, however. After having asked Macille some leading questions, I have found out that while elves don¡¯t waste any of their spiritual energy when reinforcing their souls, they don¡¯t exactly get to decide how it is spent. Instead of free points, the additional strength in their soul reinforcement is split between effort values and their racial bonuses, meaning that how they train is even more important for them. Humans, all the ones except for me, have the opposite issue, where the inefficiency in their soul reinforcement culminates in a huge buildup of unused energy. No one has directly said it but given that Dovik is level fifty and still rank one, while the catfish I killed was rank two and level fifty two, I am assuming that level fifty is the threshold for the second rank. That means, that when Dovik gets access to a soul cage and is able to cross that barrier, he will have five hundred points of attributes immediately infused into him. Galea has told me that humans are able to control this allocation of energy somewhat, making them more akin to free points, though not as easy to use as the free points that I have. The similarity between humans and elves, or more like inefficient soul reinforcers and efficient ones, that I don¡¯t share, is that they end up being more spread out in their attribute allocations. This is where I am unique. My attribute allocations are completely lopsided. All that is left for me is to decide on whether that is a good thing or a bad thing. If I never have to worry about getting hit in a fight, then Defense and Magic Defense don¡¯t do anything for me. If I never have to worry about recovering from a serious injury, then Vitality is in the same basket. I have already given up on Strength, despite my hesitation about it, so is there even a reason for me to worry about attributes other than Magic and Recovery? If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. One thing I have noticed is that every single time I have reinforced my soul, no matter what I did to gain the levels, Recovery is almost always boosted. It isn¡¯t as if I can ask anyone else if that is the case for them as well; I am the only one able to see real numbers for my attributes after all. I think it has to do with the fact that I am a Recovery specialist. Add to that the fact that as a human I receive twice as much Recovery from leveling up than I do any other attribute, and I would be stupid not to take advantage. According to a brief conversation I had with Dovik, it is rare for a human to break through the first threshold in a given attribute before they reach rank two. The elites with incredibly strict training regimens manage to do so fairly frequently, but for the average magician who cannot focus their effort values so narrowly, it is incredibly difficult. I have already broken through two different thresholds before I really even understood what they were, and I haven¡¯t even made it halfway to the second rank. I spend more than a full hour staring at the screen, eventually coming to a concrete conclusion about my path forward. My firepower, granted to me by my massive Magic attribute has been the only reason that anyone has included me in their parties so far. I haven¡¯t had much experience competing against other Mages¨Cother than Coriander¨Cso it is difficult for me to take what Dovik and Macille say about my strength at face value. Some part of my mind whispers to me that they are just being nice with their compliments. Killing that weak part of my mind is more difficult than killing any monster I have faced so far. Before remerging from the furs, I have come to my final decision. Are there clear weaknesses to being as specialized as I am right now? Yes, of course there are, but I have decided to keep going in the direction I am with the exception that I will be focusing more on Recovery. I would have given up on my Speed attribute completely if it hadn¡¯t just saved me from getting an arrow through my eye. Given that, I will keep raising it. Who knows, maybe I will break the first threshold in three attributes before I make it to rank two. The room around me is quiet as I emerge from my furry cocoon. Both Macille and Dovik sit against their own walls, each looking as if they are in the middle of serious thought. I give them time as I put away the furs and prepare a small meal for everyone. We eat in silence, Macille checking on Adrius every ten minutes or so. There is no change in the man, he remains pale and unconscious on the floor. ¡°Are we ready?¡± Dovik asks, handing me the crude clay bowl that I prepared our forest salad in. Apparently, someone in the big group we are part of is able to manipulate earth, and Lionel put them to work making bowls and utensils for everyone to eat with. ¡°I am,¡± I say, stowing the bowls away. ¡°I am as well,¡± Macille says. He stares down the passageway that we are going to need to take. ¡°I guess all that is left to decide is whether you want me in the front or the back.¡± ¡°Back,¡± both Dovik and I say at the same time. He motions for me to go ahead. ¡°If you are going to carry Adrius,¡± I say, ¡°then you staying at the back makes the most sense.¡± ¡°But we need a Guardian to be at the front,¡± Macille says. ¡°We don¡¯t strictly need a Guardian,¡± Dovik says. He brandishes his weapon, swishing the tip of his fire poker through the air. ¡°I¡¯ll stay at the vanguard. If we encounter anything incredibly dangerous, Charlene will back me up with her magic. You can stay at the rear, guarding Adrius and our backs.¡± Dovik dusts off his pants as he stands. I take my cue from the man and get to my feet as well. ¡°Any idea what else this dungeon has in store?¡± ¡°I know that it will end with a big dangerous monster,¡± Dovik says, stroking his chin in thought. ¡°That is a staple of Willian Guild Dungeons. My uncle is the head designer for most of the dungeons that the guild creates and runs. The man is a bit¡­odd.¡± I look back at Adrius on the floor. We have cleaned him up a bit, but he still looks terrible. At least his breathing has evened out. ¡°So, we will have to fight some big monster down two people,¡± I say. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t be too difficult,¡± Dovik says. ¡°This is only the first dungeon after all.¡± Both Macille and I stare at him. He looks between us, taking a few seconds to register our surprise. ¡°Oh. Yes, there will probably be more than a single dungeon. I mean, we haven¡¯t even made it a tenth of the distance towards the end of the competition. It would be strange if there was only a single dungeon for the entirety of the Passage.¡± ¡°You know more than you are letting on,¡± I say. Before he can protest, I brush past him and stand near the door. ¡°As long as you aren¡¯t holding back any information that will get us hurt or killed, that¡¯s fine. Now, after you, fearless leader.¡± I motion toward the darkness. Behind Dovik, Macille gingerly picks up Adrius, slinging the man over his shoulder. ¡°Right,¡± Dovik says, approaching the darkness. ¡°I guess I will just walk into whatever is waiting head first.¡± The man takes a deep breath before plunging into the dark. Macille and I wait for a moment, listening for the sound of some creature attacking him in the darkness or some trap to be set off. After ten seconds, Dovik returns, a strange expression on his face. ¡°No traps or monsters,¡± he says. He sighs, looking back through the door. ¡°It¡¯s best you see for yourselves.¡± Without another word, he is back through the doorway. Macille offers me a shrug when I look to him, making the man slung over his shoulder look as if he weighs nothing. I shrug back to him, marching into the shadow of the doorway. I emerge out into a large circular room of stone. It appears almost identical in make to the door room that we found earlier with the key difference that there are no other doors out of the room: a room of dark stone that forms a huge circle, a depression in the center. Dovik stands in the center of the room, shaking his head as he looks down at what I can only describe as a mannequin made out of meat. Walking over to Dovik, the smell of the strange doll in the center of the room hits me like a punch to the face. I gag, the violent smell of days old meat making me stumble. For the first time, I hate my improved eyesight, as I can see maggots crawling over the slabs of meat that have been tied together with string and metal to resemble the shape of a human. ¡°What in the three hells!¡± Macille swears, a few steps behind me. Dovik looks over at us, holding a handkerchief to his face. ¡°There is a note on it,¡± he says, pointing down at the meat doll. He¡¯s right. Attached to the chest of the doll is a piece of paper that has writing on it written in an incredibly small script. I stoop, snatching up the paper, only to find Dovik looking at me with wide eyes as soon as I stand up. ¡°What?¡± I ask. He doesn¡¯t need to bother reprimanding me for grabbing the paper; the sound of the doorway we entered through slamming shut behind me does that for him. I am thankful for the magic gloves that I am wearing. The sheet of paper in my hand is slick with something horrific that I don¡¯t even want to identify, and it is a nightmare to keep the flies off me as I look down at the writing. ¡°Protect the meatman,¡± I read aloud. ¡°This is a mock escort mission. Like all escort missions, the target will be completely useless and likely detrimental in completing the mission.¡± Dovik growls and spits words in a language I don¡¯t know, kicking the meatman on the ground. A rattling shakes up through the ground, rumbling up my boots and setting my heart to beating fast. I look around the room; dozens of holes begin to open in the walls, holes that rise all the way toward the ceiling. Macille hurries to set Adrius down in the center of the room, next to the toxic smelling meatman, and equips his shield even as the snarling begins to echo from the holes in the walls. We spot the snarling beasts a moment later as the first one steps out of the shadows of the hole it crawls from. A head, like a cat¡¯s, is the first thing that appears, followed by a second head just next to it. As it crawls forward, I stare at a huge cat, almost half the size of a horse, with two heads, two tails, and six legs. The dark fur, almost the color of night, make the monster difficult to track as it slinks through the shadows to begin circling us. More peek their twin heads from their holes, slowly moving out toward us when none of us are looking directly at them. Cabal Cat(Level 42) Chapter 41 - Burning Nightmares ¡°Can someone explain to me what is going on?¡± I ask, summoning my staff. The head of my staff erupts in orange fire as I begin pouring my magic into it. When I look back up at the monster slowly circling us, I find that another one has slipped out of a hole in the wall while my eyes were turned away. ¡°We have to protect this meatman from the monsters,¡± Dovik says. He has already activated his ring, making a copy of Pokey in his free hand. ¡°I¡¯m guessing that we will have to defeat a certain number of the monsters or survive for a set amount of time.¡± ¡°You guess?¡± I say. I point my staff at one of the monster cats. I hate it, getting ready to blow this cat away. I like cats. The monsters being ugly and having too many legs helps console me¨Cbut still. I notice that a third monster has slipped out of the shadows, joining the other two in circling our group. It is getting hard to keep them all in my sight. ¡°Advance or defend?¡± Macille asks. ¡°Defend,¡± Dovik answers. ¡°Got it.¡± ¡°We have to protect the dumb meat thing,¡± I mumble, looking down at the weird construct for a moment. I call on reserves of strength I didn¡¯t know I had to kneel down and actually touch the meatman, the wretched smell of the thing making me gag. With a swipe of my fingers, I place the meatman in my inventory, removing it from the room all together. ¡°Got¡­it,¡± I manage to say. A fly lands on my cheek, and the slimy feel of it on my face actually makes me retch. My stomach spasms, bile burning the back of my throat, but I keep myself from spewing all over the ground. I turn my watering eyes back towards the monsters above us, finding that something has changed in the room. The cat monsters have stopped their circling. All of them stare down at me with a penetrating gaze. ¡°They didn¡¯t like that you did that,¡± Macille says. ¡°I don¡¯t really care.¡± Still on my knees, I turn my staff towards the nearest Cabal Cat, launching a fully charged Dragonfire Bolt at it. The ball of orange fire races across the distance between us in an instant, smashing into the head of the Cabal Cat in a fiery explosion that completely engulfs the monster. The screams of the monster are eaten up by the momentary roar of flame, and when the flame vanishes into the air, it leaves a smoking ruin of flesh behind, lines of burning ruin running through the body of the dead monster as it slumps forward, burns glowing like dying coals. When the monster hits the stone floor its body explodes a second time, a cloud of darkness erupting from its corpse like smoke, sitting heavy in the air instead of dissipating, leaving behind an impenetrable cloud of inky blackness. More of the Cabal Cats crawl from the holes in the wall, the monsters around the room joining a chorus of hissing and howls. In only a few seconds, there are eight of the monsters at the edges of the room, their screeching digging into my head. Two disappear into the black smoke that continues to linger, completely obscured by the dark. ¡°They really didn¡¯t like that,¡± Dovik comments. I begin to charge another Dragonfire Bolt on the head of my staff, but doing so draws my eye to my gloves. There is a sickly, clear liquid clinging to my hands from where I touched the meatman. Bile burns the back of my throat again and I feel as if the room is shrinking down on me. All I want in the world right now is to get out of here. I hurl another Dragonfire Bolt at a monster at random, the half-charge of the ability enough to end its life in a single strike. Like the Cabal Cat before it, its body erupts into a cloud of darkness as it slumps to the ground. ¡°Just kill them all,¡± I say, turning my staff to point towards another. The monsters are moving now, diving into the black smoke for cover. ¡°They are just rank one.¡± There is a grunt behind me. I turn slightly, finding Macille just behind me, his shield jammed into the open mouth of one of the monsters just five feet away from me. With a smooth motion, he cuts one of the heads off the monster, not needing to bother infusing his sword with magic to do so. The monster jumps away from Macille, dodging his strike that was aimed to remove its second head, but in a flash, Dovik is behind it. With an almost casual swing of his weapon, Dovik sticks Pokey through the Cabal Cat¡¯s remaining neck, the neck exploding in viscera when Dovik pours mana through his weapon into the monster. The Cabal Cat¡¯s body erupts into more black smoke, near enough now that it blinds me; the feeling is as if someone just threw sand in my eyes. I gasp from the sting, stumbling back a step, and feel the swipe of claws scrape into my armor from behind, a singular claw sliding off the magically reinforced steel and cutting a gash across the back of my neck. I try to breathe; the black smoke pours into my lungs, tasting oddly like fresh sweetbread and making me light headed. Without looking, I force fire to erupt from the head of my staff in a stream towards where I expect the monster that attacked me from behind to be. It¡¯s pitiful cry as I torch it alive tells me that I hit the mark. Even if I could keep my eyes open against the sting of the dark smoke, I would still be blind. The smoke rolls across my skin like a wave of sand, not coarse enough to rub the nerves in my skin raw but possessing a weight that presses in on me. After three seconds, I hear the sound of an exploding monster in front of me and cut off the power that I am pouring into my staff. ¡°Is everyone okay?¡± I call in the dark. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Dovik calls back. ¡°Can¡¯t see anything though.¡± ¡°Macille!¡± I call. There is a grunting nearby me. I turn in that direction, wanting to help my friend, but unable to see, I might burn him as much as I might the monsters. There is a cry and a guttural shriek just a few feet ahead of me. ¡°Macille!¡± ¡°I¡¯m¡­fine,¡± he says from somewhere in the dark a moment later. ¡°They attack your back. Keep your back to the center.¡± I feel the trickling of my blood running down my back, beneath the armor, as he says the words. I spin, just soon enough to stop the monster leaping out of the dark to tackle me from behind, trying to push my head into the ground. The monster is three times as heavy as I am, and it easily drives my body into the ground as it launches out of the darkness toward me. I land hard on my shoulder. Instinct drives me to throw my staff out. A shiver shakes up through my arm as both heads of the monster bite down on the staff I hold in front of me, the teeth of one of the monster¡¯s heads gnawing into the meat of my pinky like a hot knife. The pain makes me gasp, and I draw in a huge breath of the black smoke, the thickness of the air making me feel as if I am drowning. And then I am drowning. In my mind¡¯s eye I see a monster in the darkness above me, a huge snake with pitiless eyes, sharp teeth gnawing on the simple stick I hold it off with. I feel the mud on my back, my body sinking into the stinking swamp as the monster tries to bring its head down on my collarbone, and the drowning of the smoke is just like the wash of fetid water pouring over my face all over again. My arm shakes, the monster above me, the real one, too heavy for me to hold back for long. One of the Cabal Cat¡¯s clawed feet rakes into my side, three-inch long nails pushing through my supple flesh and spilling the dark blood. The vision of the black snake disappears, the pain of my side banishing it. My hand continues to shake on the staff, my arm no longer able to stay straight. Shadowy eyes loom out of the darkness as the Cabal Cat inches nearer and nearer to my face. This nightmare is so much worse than that snake ever could have been, but I am different as well. ¡°You want to eat me!¡± I roar at the monster. With its mouths wrapped around the staff, I am able to jam my left hand down its throat before it can react. Dragonfire spews forth from my hand; a burning blaze erupts out of the back of its head before it can react, the cat¡¯s leftmost head erupting in flames. I see fear in the eyes of the cat¡¯s right head, but before it can jump away, I wrap my legs around its huge body, driving the staff deeper into its mouth. There is confusion mixed with fear in its eyes. It tries to rake me again with its claws, but the fear makes its strikes lazy and uncoordinated, its dangerous claws landing only on my armor. It springs into the air with a thrust of its powerful back legs, but I keep my own legs clenched tight around its body, and it drags me into the air along with it, the extra weight causing it to spin uncontrollably. With a roar of my own, I pull my hand out of its dead head and jam it down the throat of the right head, burning the mewing beast from the inside out. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Its body lands on the stone a moment later, my own straddling its corpse as it collapses. I look around, noting more than a dozen of the beasts staring at me; we have made it past the black smoke for a bare moment. The body of the monster beneath me begins to shake, about ready to explode with more smoke. Before I can disappear into the smoke once more, I point at one of the Cabal Cats with my staff. I want it to know that it will be the next to die. Twenty minutes later I am sitting on the floor in the center of the room. Macille hovers over me, the magic pouring out of his hands working at closing the several cuts all over me. Just looking down at the marks across my armor lets me know that it saved my life today. Both of the boys are slick with sweat, and half of Dovik¡¯s face is covered in his own drying blood from a cut across his brow. I wring out a rag made from the ripped remains of the undershirt I had been wearing before. There are enough holes in it now to make the garment practically worthless. The threadbare one I wear now is my only change of clothes, and I curse myself for not getting more off the dead soldiers on the slope; some had been women around my size. I guess for however much longer this Passage lasts, I am down to a single shirt and pair of pants. I scrub the ragged cloth in my hands across my blood-smeared arms, trying to wash the red away. ¡°That was a little insane,¡± Dovik says from where he lay. ¡°No one got too injured,¡± I say. The water in the bucket that sits before me is already a watery crimson as I plunge the rag back into it. I only brought so much water with me here, but this seems like a decent use. I feel Macille¡¯s hand run over my back, my armor sits discarded next to me as the man works at healing the deep gash across my shoulder. ¡°Just barely.¡± Macille tsks. ¡°If this wound was any deeper, it might have hit your spine.¡± ¡°Good thing it wasn¡¯t.¡± The smoke around the room began to fade a few minutes after the last of the monsters died. The smoke lays on the floor, piles of black dust that almost has the luster of sand. ¡°I don¡¯t think I have fought a rank one monster that uses magic before.¡± Dovik runs a finger through the dust before bringing it up to his face. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of these monsters before. They seem like they would be pack hunters, odd for feline monsters.¡± ¡°You know a lot about monsters,¡± I comment, still scrubbing my arms. ¡°That must be useful.¡± Dovik shrugs, licking the dust off his finger before spitting on the floor. ¡°The different kinds of monsters are just about endless. We can study monsters all we want, but new kinds are discovered all the time. It almost seems like a waste of time.¡± ¡°But¡­¡± I begin to say, but a stinging pain along my back cuts my words off as I gasp. I actually feel my skin tug as it pulls the split ends around the wound together and begins to reknit itself. I glare up at Macille, but he only offers me a shrug. Suppressing a growl, I toss a wet strip of cloth to Dovik so that he can start cleaning himself up. ¡°Why weren¡¯t you wearing your helmet?¡± Dovik catches the cloth and begins to apply it to the blood on his face. ¡°I am coming to understand that I hate helmets.¡± ¡°Do you hate having a head that much?¡± ¡°I just don¡¯t like the feeling of something on my head. It makes me feel like I am trapped, you know?¡± I shake my head at the man. The sentiment seems¡­well, incredibly stupid to me, but who am I to give advice. It isn¡¯t as if I fight with a helmet on either. I look down at the only uninjured member of our little party, Adrius, who continues to sleep in the center of the room. ¡°I thought that a way out would have appeared by now,¡± Macille says as he comes around my side and also takes a seat on the ground. ¡°Bring out the meatman,¡± Dovik says, nodding to me. ¡°Ugh.¡± I lever myself to my feet with a grunt and walk a good distance away, pulling the meatman out of inventory as I hold a bit of cloth over my nose. Just the sight of the meat doll flopping to the floor is enough to make me want to gag. As the doll splats onto the ground, there is a rumbling from the wall opposite of where we entered. An open doorway reveals itself from the stone, a passage of darkness leading out of the room. ¡°Well, there you go,¡± Dovik says, motioning towards the open passageway. ¡°Are you ready to move on?¡± Macille asks both of us. I check my energies, seeing that both my mana and healing points are still above half. ¡°I am fine,¡± I say. Dovik parrots my response. We spend a few more minutes cleaning ourselves up before heading into the next room. Cleaning all of the blood off our armor is the most annoying part, and with a simple cloth it is impossible. Still, I don the magical armor once again and prepare myself for the next chamber. Dovik leads us into a strange room, rectangular, very large. About halfway across the floor, the stone tiles that make up the floor begin to bear strange figures marked on their surfaces. It strikes me almost immediately that the odd symbols are the letters of some foreign language. At the opposite end of the room is a closed stone doorway around which are more symbols matching the ones on the floor. ¡°Another puzzle room,¡± Dovik sighs. The room brings to me memories of the kitchen. I force the memories away; there will be time to think about that later, hopefully much later. ¡°Can you read the script?¡± I ask. ¡°Yes,¡± Dovik answers. He scratches his head, looking between the tiles and the doorway on the other end of the room. ¡°This might take a while.¡± ¡°Is there anything that you need us to do?¡± Macille asks, Adrius¡¯ slumbering form slung over his shoulder. ¡°Maybe.¡± Dovik stares into space, his eyes roving over the room. ¡°Take a rest for now. I don¡¯t know how long this will take me.¡± I take a seat with my back to the wall, watching as Dovik starts pacing in front of the tiles. Macille sets Adrius gently on the ground once more before taking a seat next to me. We watch as Dovik walks back and forth, muttering to himself in a language I don¡¯t know. There is a strange expression on Macille¡¯s face as I look over to him, a dour seriousness that is different from his usual exasperation. I can see exhaustion in his eyes, and I only now begin to realize that we have been forcing Macille to push his magic harder and harder as we have advanced through this dungeon. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± I ask him. I only notice that I have set my hand on top of his when his eyes flick down. I let myself linger there, feeling the strength of his big hand through my gloves, squeezing his fingers for a moment before pulling away. ¡°I am fine,¡± he says after a long moment. He sets his head back against the wall, falling into silence, watching Dovik trying to work out the puzzle. I join him, watching on, sharing a long silent moment in this dungeon of stone that is feeling more like a tomb with every new room we discover. ¡°I just can¡¯t stop thinking about it.¡± ¡°Thinking about what?¡± Macille swallows, the muscles in his jaw tensing before he lets out his frustration with a defeated breath. ¡°I let her die,¡± he says. He blinks a few times, grunting. ¡°Samissa, I can¡¯t stop thinking about that arrow going through her neck. The way she looked. She was so surprised, and then she was nothing.¡± ¡°That wasn¡¯t your fault,¡± I say to him. ¡°People started attacking us without warning. How were we supposed to be prepared for that?¡± ¡°I was prepared for that,¡± he says, shaking his head. ¡°Essentia magicians can turn bad so easily. That is what happens when you give people the kind of power that we have; it makes it so easy for people to give in to that terrible part of themselves. I have been warned so many times. I even started to guard the door; I understood why Dovik didn¡¯t want anyone following us. Then, I let my guard down, and Samissa died because of that. I am the Guardian, I am supposed to keep everyone alive.¡± It only strikes me then why Dovik had us mislead whomever would be behind us by opening all the doors in the chamber before the kitchen. I had thought that he wanted to trick people into going the wrong way to slow them down in the dungeon. Had he really been trying to protect us from murderous magicians? ¡°You saved Adrius,¡± I say, motioning towards the man. ¡°Without your healing, I don¡¯t think that he would have survived those wounds.¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°No maybe,¡± I say. ¡°You are a good man, Macille. You are strong and kind. Don¡¯t blame yourself because other people were murderous assholes. They will get what¡¯s coming to them.¡± Macille offers me a sad smile and shakes his head. ¡°Thanks.¡± He falls into silence again, and I let him keep it. His words come again after a few more minutes of watching Dovik try to solve the puzzle. ¡°I just can¡¯t stop seeing it. She was gone so fast.¡± I rub the big man¡¯s arm, trying to give him even a little bit of comfort. ¡°Was she the first person you saw die?¡± ¡°Yes. Well, no.¡± He looks at me, and I can see the sadness deep in his eyes. ¡°I saw you die so many times, fighting the Desert Spearman.¡± His words catch me so off-guard that I forget to breathe. ¡°In the real world, it was Dovik¡¯s cousin. Samissa was different though. I actually spoke to her, I liked her. It was just so fast, a single instant and she was gone.¡± Nodding, I see it happen in my head. Death is so fast here, life snuffed out in a single moment. She was a nice girl; I wish I knew more about her. My mind drifts back to the first person that I ever saw pass, my grandpa. He died in his sleep, the sickness that took him gentler than most. When I think about him, I can still hear the last shuddering breath he ever took, the way that it barely disturbed the dust floating through the sunlight spilling in from the window. That isn¡¯t what Macille needs to hear from me though. ¡°The first person I ever saw die was a girl I didn¡¯t even know,¡± I say. My mind takes me back to just a few months ago, back to the Green Mountain. ¡°Kapin found her in the woods. This was during the competition on the Green Mountain. Something had stung her, and you could see the poison running through her. Bali tried to heal her, but she couldn¡¯t cure whatever had been done. That girl suffered for a long time until she finally succumbed. I wouldn¡¯t want that for anyone. We never even found what stung her.¡± ¡°Is there even a good way to go?¡± Macille asks me. I don¡¯t have an answer for him. This time, the silence that falls over us is too heavy to dispel with idle chatter. After some time, I find myself leaning against the big man, and he doesn¡¯t seem to mind. I take what comfort I can from that. Without the fighting and the monsters to keep me busy, I find my own mind returning to the kitchen, and I hate myself for it. We watch Dovik work, content to stay like this for now. Chapter 42 - Boss Room ¡°What?¡± Macille looks at me skeptically. ¡°Say again?¡± I am still a bit bleary, only having just woken up from my nap a few minutes ago. A few sconces placed about the rectangular room offer the warm glow of fire, and the constant flickering had finally lulled me to sleep. The deep exhaustion that I feel in my bones helped more than a little bit with that as well. I rub some of the sleep out of my eye, pulling away from Macille and looking up at him. A little ways off, Dovik continues walking back and forth in the room, muttering to himself intermittently as he tries to puzzle out the solution that will let us move forward. The intervening hours don¡¯t seem to have effected the man in the least. If anything, he looks livelier now than when we first entered. ¡°I said that I don¡¯t understand the purpose of this Passage,¡± I repeat. ¡°Why would hundreds of people come here to take place in this death race? Why would nobles send their sons and daughters here to die? It just doesn¡¯t make any sense.¡± Macille looks at me with disbelief apparent on his face for a long while before shaking his head. ¡°You really don¡¯t know do you.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t look at me like I¡¯m stupid,¡± I tell him. ¡°Sorry. It¡¯s just, I can¡¯t believe that Arabella never explained that to you. Though, now that I think about it, Kendon was the one who explained it to me, after hearing from Coriander.¡± Macille rubs the back of his neck, looking at me a little embarrassed now. ¡°Dovik, do you want to--¡± His question is cut off as Dovik waves a hand in our direction, harshly shushing Macille. Dovik never even looks over, simply returning to puzzling out the room as soon as Macille stops speaking to him. ¡°What is it?¡± I ask Macille. ¡°What is the big secret?¡± ¡°That¡¯s the thing,¡± Macille says. ¡°It isn¡¯t a secret. The reason for participating in this Passage is fairly apparent if you think about it for a while, effort values.¡± ¡°You know about effort values?¡± I can¡¯t stop myself from asking. Macille squints at me. ¡°Yes, of course. How else do you think that I would be able to improve in the areas that I need to?¡± The idiocy of my own question hits me a second later. Of course, that would be something that every essentia magician would know about. If not, there would be no reason for them to undergo focused training, trying to improve themselves in particular areas. Why would Macille bother running every day and lifting weights if it weren¡¯t for the fact that upon reinforcing his soul his Strength and Speed attributes would be improved because of the effort that he spent. I realize that my mouth it opening and closing like a fish, and get ahold of myself. ¡°Please, continue. I won¡¯t ask anymore dumb questions.¡± ¡°It isn¡¯t a dumb question,¡± Macille says. He spends a moment staring at the ceiling, trying to think of how to go on. ¡°Sometimes I forget that you didn¡¯t have a proper teacher as a magician. Arabella Willian certainly wasn¡¯t a proper instructor.¡± ¡°You can say that again.¡± ¡°I can and I will, many more times in the future. All that woman really offered me were constant illusionary battles and a facility to train in. If it weren¡¯t for the instruction that my grandmother already imparted to me and Kendon, I don¡¯t think that we would have made much headway. Let¡¯s get off of that though. From what I can tell, there are two main points of this Passage. The first is effort value. ¡°Typically, it will take an essentia magician two to three years to bridge the gap between rank one and two. It is inevitable for everyone to eventually reach the precipice of rank two; it is a forgone conclusion once you have completed your set of essentia. If you do nothing except go about your daily life once you have made a full set of essentia, no training, no hunting monsters, you will typically reach the threshold to rank two in five or six years. That is what most people do, but the less effort that you put in toward improving your soul, the weaker you are when you do finally hit the second rank.¡± ¡°And that is because of effort values?¡± I venture. ¡°Precisely. Not only does fighting and slaying monsters help you reinforce your soul faster by forcing you to pit your will against that of a monsters in mortal combat, but it also focuses your effort values. It isn¡¯t that you will lose effort value by going about a normal life while slowly reinforcing your soul passively, but your effort values will become diffuse. The people who wait to hit rank two will find that their effort values are influenced by minor things, their attributes become hugely spread out; they aren¡¯t specialized at all. Take yourself for instance, if you spend an entire day blowing up bears with balls of fire, I am willing to bet that your magical strength will be what your soul reinforcement focuses on improving for you. On the other hand, if you spent a month going back and forth from market, doing whatever it is that you do on an orchard, then I doubt you would have such a direct benefit to your magic when you did eventually gain a soul reinforcement. The drudgery of life distributes your effort value in all different directions.¡± ¡°Life on an orchard isn¡¯t that dull,¡± I say, though I do see his point. If it really did take a month to passively gain a level, then I could easily see my effort values going into Strength, Speed, Recovery, Perception, and maybe even Defense from just working the orchard. When would there be time for me to work on my Magic attribute? ¡°I¡¯m not trying to offend,¡± Macille quickly says. I gesture for him to continue. ¡°Typically, the faster that you can reinforce your soul, the better. Combat is regarded as the best way to go about it, since you can lean into your strengths. When you focus on what you are already good at and fight enough in a single day to reinforce your soul, then naturally you would expect your effort to pay off in fortifying your soul in the direction that you are already going. That is the first major reason for this Passage to begin with. There aren¡¯t many places in the world where the scions of noble houses can be sent to receive such focused training against monsters in a controlled environment. If we end up fighting monsters every single day, having to rely on ourselves and our wits to survive, there is no reason that we couldn¡¯t climb to the second rank far faster than we can anywhere else.¡± ¡°Even beyond that,¡± I say, starting to understand. ¡°One of the prizes for this dungeon is a soul cage. The Willian guild wants people to break through to the second rank even while inside of the Passage.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± Macille sets his head back against the wall with a sigh. ¡°I can¡¯t believe that Arabella didn¡¯t explain that much to you. I don¡¯t know why I thought that she would. The woman seems tight lipped about everything.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I say, looking down at my hands. I cannot bad mouth the woman too much, without her I doubt that I would have completed my set of essentia with the fantastic finds like the Dragon and Magic Essentias. I also would never have received the Eye of Volaash, an artifact that has been an incredible gift to me. I do have to admit that she is not a very good teacher, but she told me herself that she wasn¡¯t when I first started out on this road I am on now. ¡°You have to understand that something like the Passage, a real crucible where you can push yourself to the extreme and really focus on your effort, is something very attractive to elves like me,¡± Macille says. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°How do you mean?¡± ¡°Unlike humans, elves have to be very deliberate with our training. Humans have more leeway, because you build up unused energy, when you reach the second rank you are then able to specialize if you can influence that unused energy correctly in that moment. Elves don¡¯t have that luxury. We have to be very deliberate from the beginning, there is no wiggle room for us.¡± I huff. ¡°Don¡¯t get down on yourself too much. You forgot to include how elves are stronger than everyone else because of how you don¡¯t have any unused energy. Humans only catch up to you when they reach rank two, but as soon as elves reinforce their souls again, they are ahead once more.¡± ¡°Well¡­I don¡¯t really have anything to say to that.¡± Macille offers me a dashing smile, and I can¡¯t even pretend to be annoyed with him. ¡°That still doesn¡¯t explain why nobles would send their sons and daughters here to die,¡± I say. ¡°Some death is going to be inevitable when you are having people fight for their lives with monsters, but I understand your question. Now don¡¯t take this the wrong way, but I think you are a bit ignorant of the wider world.¡± I squint at him, biting back the snarky reply that I feel rising in me. ¡°Go on.¡± ¡°Every time that I have heard you speak about it, you seem to place the nobility on this pedestal. I understand, growing up in the part of Gale that you did, the nobility was probably the only power that you had to even think about. There are all kinds of powers in this world, all kinds of factions that exist outside of the nobility. From how you have spoken about them, it seems to me that you do not understand how powerful the Willian Guild is. The Willian Guild is a part of the Big Six. There are six guilds whose power stretches across the world, three of which are guilds of essentia magicians, and one of those three is the Willian Guild. They have made inroads and cultivated some of the most powerful people alive today. Their influence is a global domain, and their power is enough to rival the might of entire nations. Less than a hundred years ago they, along with the Falling Lightning Guild, were responsible for toppling Kressmoor.¡± Macille looks at me for a long time, but the name means nothing to me. ¡°Kressmoor,¡± he repeats. ¡°The lich king who conquered the Galo Federation.¡± ¡°That sounds like something that happened outside of Gale,¡± I say. ¡°They didn¡¯t teach much about foreign politics in my church school.¡± ¡°When we get out of here, I am going to take you to a proper library,¡± Macille says. ¡°It¡¯s a date,¡± I reply. Macille¡¯s eyes widen at my words, and he quickly looks away. I feel a heat rising to my own face. ¡°So, anyway,¡± he continues. ¡°Participating in this Passage is a good way to make relations with the guild. That is what I was trying to get at. It also looks good for you when you try applying to join the guild in the future. Actually joining the guild isn¡¯t something easy to do.¡± ¡°Is that why you joined the Passage?¡± I ask. ¡°To join the Willian Guild later on.¡± ¡°No,¡± he says, his words heavy. ¡°I have something else that I need to do.¡± ¡°Hey lovebirds!¡± Dovik calls over to us. ¡°I think I figured out the puzzle.¡± We join him over at the tiles, and Dovik begins to explain the meaning of all the symbols and how he has gone to extensive lengths to solve the room. Honestly, most of it goes over my head, not because I can¡¯t understand what he is saying, but because his tone is just too self-satisfied for me to bother paying attention to. In essence, we have to walk on particular tiles to cross the room, and if we do that, then the door on the other side will open. We are out of the room in less than ten minutes, the intervening hours of waiting in the puzzle room more than enough for us to recover from the previous fight. The doorway of darkness we walk through opens up onto a stone bridge that extends out and away from us. We pause for a moment on the bridge, looking out toward the huge circle of stone that is suspended in the center of a cavern so vast I cannot see where the walls end. The circle of stone in front of us is held aloft by chains, the links of which are as thick around as my leg, and which come down from out of the darkness above. Off the edge of the stone walkway I stand on, I can see the floor of the cavern below, a sea of viscous black sludge that gives off the scent of oil. Where the chains connect to the circular platform, braziers of green flame illuminate the platform. Standing in the center of the platform, eyes closed, is a towering monster vaguely shaped like a human. The monster stands fifteen feet tall, its skin is a deep red, hair long and white as it falls in cascading curls down its back. It appears male, though I can see clear feminine features in its face which possesses six closed eyes. Even from all the way at the opposite end of the walkway, almost a hundred feet distant, I can hear its deep breathing rasping the air and can almost feel it stealing my own breath with each inhale. The monster holds in its hands a great ax made of steel, the head of which is as large and wicked as a coffin. Two chains extend out of the back of the monster, hovering upwards against the pull of gravity, connected to cages large enough to house someone my size. In the cage on the left rests a crane, the colors of its feathers a shining green and violet. In the cage on the right, a crazed red ape thrashes about, raging against the bars of its cell. The Red Jailor(Level 73) I look behind us but find that the doorway we entered through has vanished. I reach out and grab ahold of Dovik¡¯s sleeve when he takes a step forward, attempting to walk down the bridge of stone we stand on toward the circular platform and waiting monster. ¡°Are you insane?¡± I whisper in his ear. ¡°Do you see the size of that thing?¡± ¡°It¡¯s big,¡± he says, nodding. He points out toward the Red Jailor that continues to stand in the center of its platform with its eyes closed. ¡°It isn¡¯t wearing much armor though. I think that we can kill it.¡± My hands shake where I hold onto Dovik, and I am certain that there is fear in my eyes. I have fought monsters before, but I have never even seen something as big as the Red Jailor. ¡°Look,¡± Dovik says, gingerly removing my hand from his arm. ¡°This is likely the last thing that we have to face in this dungeon. Once we have completed this we can leave this dungeon. Stay far away from it, Macille and I will keep you safe.¡± He looks back toward Macille over my shoulder. ¡°Leave Adrius back here. It would be too dangerous to bring him to the platform.¡± ¡°I agree,¡± Macille says, taking great care in setting Adrius down on the walkway. The two of them begin to ready themselves for battle as if facing something like this huge monster is ordinary. I swallow, trying to get the sticking feeling out of my throat as I look on at the monster. I begin to pool magic into the head of my staff, but some wriggling part of my mind tells me that my magic isn¡¯t going to be effective on this creature. Magic flashes over me, making me jump, and I realize that it is merely Macille empowering my armor. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Dovik says, nodding back toward Macille. Macille offers me a smile as he walks to the front of our group of three, hefting his big shield and sword. ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± he says. ¡°We can take this thing.¡± Before I can say anything in reply, he has already turned away, walking confidently down the walkway toward the platform. Dovik follows on Macille¡¯s heels, magic already racing down towards the tips of his twin weapons. My feet feel like lead; sweat already stands out on my neck and runs down my back. Despite the fear that screams at me to do anything else, I grit my teeth, biting my cheek, and force myself to walk after them. The moment that Macille sets foot onto the great stone platform in the middle of the dark cavern, all six eyes of the Red Jailor snap open. It stares down at us with an odd mix of pity and lust, its full and lavender lips turning up in a smile that sends a shiver running through me. The chains sprouting out of its back begin to clink in a hideous progression as the monster raises its ax, but Macille doesn¡¯t stop moving forward; in fact, he begins to sprint across the distance towards the monster. The Jailor¡¯s overhead swing is like a flash of lightning, the ax arcing down from its overhead strike at an impossible speed, slamming into the stone of the platform. There is a flash of light as Macille¡¯s spectral armor sparks to life for the barest moment, his shield meeting the head of the ax, barely redirecting it as it craters into the platform. A scream follows in the next second, one of the Jailor¡¯s massive fingers falling in a spray of blood to the ground. ¡°Finally,¡± I hear Dovik say next to me as he spins his weapons. ¡°A challenge.¡± Chapter 43 - Red Jailor The sound of metal on flesh rings through the room. Macille slides back, the heels of his greaves biting into the stone beneath his feet as he is pushed away from the Red Jailor. I see the strain on Macille¡¯s face, the shaking of his fingers on his shield arm; he grunts and releases a shuddering breath as he comes to a stop. In front of him, the Jailor laughs, its voice like a high-pitched cacophony of clinking chains and strings. It steps forward with the same foot it used to launch Macille across the platform, crushing its discarded finger like an afterthought, hefting its ax to bring it around in an arc. Two of its eyes stay on Macille as he recovers from the kick he just took on the shield while it dedicates two to keep track of Dovik and I. My fire flashes forward, an explosion blossoming over its face, my dragonfire trying to bury into the six menacing eyes it looks down on us with, each eye pointed in a different direction. The fire is gone in an instant, hardly any trace of damage left on its face as the monster continues to smile down at us. Cold snakes up my back, and I vaguely hear Dovik shout something. My eyes are trained on the Red Jailor¡¯s arms though, the strength running through its coiled muscles as it tugs on the massive weapon in its hands. I realize the cold running across my skin is the sensation of death; I¡¯ve felt it before when the Desert Spearman would turn its eyes on me. I fall. My feet don¡¯t give out from under me like they would a girl facing a true monster for the first time¨Cthat wouldn¡¯t be fast enough. I propel myself into the floor with all the speed I can muster. Before my back can even slap into the harsh stone of the platform, a keening splits the air in front of my face, metal racing through the spot I just stood too fast for me to really see. I finish falling as the Jailor completes its swing, air tugging at my hair and clothes from the vacuum its ax made as it ran through where I just stood. I roll backwards, jumping to my feet before a horrible red foot slams into the stone where I just was, cracking the stone. Dovik is there in the next instant, his twin weapons stabbing into the leg of the monster, a charge of mana flowing from his hands toward the monster. Surprise roils across Dovik¡¯s face as his pulse of magic stops against the monster¡¯s skin, some force preventing it from entering the Jailor¡¯s body. A shadow collides into Dovik¡¯s body a second before the Jailor¡¯s ax would have. Macille stands next to the man, his body already glowing with a set of ephemeral armor before I can recognize that the Jailor is swinging its ax again. I haven¡¯t even finished taking three steps back from the monster before its weapon whips through the air, the blow of its ax lifting Macille off his feet for the barest moment as it glances off his shield. The terrible sound of metal scraping against metal pierces through the room, all of Macille¡¯s strength just barely enough to redirect the monster¡¯s weapon. As the Jailor¡¯s weapon cuts upward through the air, both men jump away. It has been two seconds. ¡°High Magical Defense,¡± Dovik says before disappearing again. I continue charging a Dragonfire Bolt and see the man reappear behind the Jailor¡¯s leg, slamming the flat ends of his weapons into the back of the monster¡¯s knee. Even with all of his strength put into the strike, he barely manages to wobble the Jailor¡¯s leg. ¡°Stay far back,¡± Macille commands me as he starts to run forward again, his sword glowing. He doesn¡¯t need to tell me twice. I am well aware that I am not experienced enough in close combat to keep up with what is happening in front of me. I keep my face to the pitched battle in front of me as I back towards the edge of the circular platform, trying to put as much space between me and those three as possible. The Bane Crystal slaps against the floor for a moment. Touching the head of my staff to the softly glowing crystal changes the collecting mass of orange at the head of my staff to green in an instant. My fire barely effected this monster, just like when I was trying to kill that catfish before. Dovik¡¯s attack where he pours his mana directly into his opponent didn¡¯t work either. Maybe the green fire will be different, but I don¡¯t have high hopes. I slip the Bane Crystal back into my inventory. The Jailor continues to bring its weapon down again and again, but Macille and Dovik don¡¯t give it any room to generate a powerful swing. Every step it takes away from the two, trying to put distance between itself and its opponents to make the most out of its outrageous reach, is met with Macille charging it and Dovik disappearing, teleporting to wherever it has stopped so that he can attack it from behind once more. Every swing of the monster is powerful enough to strike fear into my heart. The sound of its ax cutting through the air like Golidar¡¯s scythe, the way that Macille gasps every time he catches the edge of the weapon on his shield, seeing Dovik vanish just as an ax head as big as his body swings through the spot he was just a fraction of a second before, all of it drives the nails of fear deeper into me. What am I even doing here? I can¡¯t dance with death as easily as those two do. My fingers start to tremble on my staff. This monster swings its weapon too fast for me to keep up with the dance. It might not be as strong as the Desert Spearman, but there is no doubt in my mind that it is deadlier. Despite the wounds that Dovik and Macille continue to put into its legs, the monster shows no sign of noticing them. The wicked smile across its face only grows larger and larger as the battle rages on. Green fire springs away from me, and I only realize a moment later that I was the one to throw it. The ball of dragonfire explodes on the Jailor¡¯s chest, the collision of my magic causing it to stumble backwards for a moment. The clinging fire that tries to crawl over its red skin is snuffed out in an instant, but a black scar is left across its chest, melted and blackened skin evidence that my magic isn¡¯t completely useless. A set of baleful eyes turn in my direction, and the hate I see in the monster¡¯s eyes breaks the fear out of my heart. It hates me because I can hurt it. This isn¡¯t a hopeless fight. Magic, invisible to everyone but me, snakes up the chain extending out of the Jailor¡¯s back, a wave of menacing red that surrounds the cage carrying the crane like a jealous fist. The instant the magic washes over the cage, a different aura, a pale blue, explodes around the Jailor¡¯s feet. With an eruption of magic, the Jailor springs into the air, its body sailing forty feet straight up before its momentum begins to run out. A second wave of red aura sprouts out of the Jailor¡¯s back, encircling the cage with the captive monkey-monster inside. A boulder manifests in front of the Jailor, a stone easily as large as a horse and carriage put together. With a roar, the Jailor slams the head of its ax into the floating stone in front of it, splintering the rock into jagged shards that spray down at the three of us like deadly rain. There is no time to hope that Macille is close enough to save me as the shards of stone come racing out of the sky towards me. My hand flashes forward, the window of my inventory appearing in front of me. I barely manage to touch the spot where one of the iron-bound chests that I have collected throughout this competition rests, making it instantly appear in front of me in the air. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. An unseen shard of stone pierces through the iron of the chest from behind but fails to penetrate all the way through. The chest is sent spiraling from absorbing the deadly attack, hitting me in the chest like a cannonball before spinning away and over the edge. My back bounces once off the stone of the platform, but I know how close I am to the edge, and my hands reach out, trying to grab anything. The cold feel of iron scrapes against my hand as my body sails away as I grab the huge steel chain link with all the strength I can muster. I hear and feel several parts of my arm groan and pop in agony as I hold onto the chain for dear life. My stomach collides with the edge of the stone platform just in time to feel the rumble of the Jailor landing from its jump. Macille and Dovik continue to stand around the monster, but both men sport superficial cuts across their shoulders and sides, unable to escape the epicenter of the Jailor¡¯s stone rain unscathed. My staff rests on the platform just in front of me, but I forcefully turn my mind back to my own situation. The muscles in my arm threaten to give up on me as I scratch my free hand against the surface of the stone platform, trying to find any kind of purchase. With ten full seconds of straining and grunting, I just manage to pull myself back onto the stone platform. My right arm screams at me, torn muscles complaining and trying to take my attention away from the fight. I push the pain aside, death is still smiling down at me and my party, its ax swinging back and forth through the air. That ax is too dangerous. I grab my staff in my left hand, the sensation strange, and begin to pour dragonfire into the head of the weapon. I can see the aura building around Dovik as he continues to beat his weapons against the Jailor¡¯s legs like they were drumsticks, the sound of the strikes growing louder and louder with each blow. I think I notice at the same time as the Jailor that Dovik¡¯s right eye is closed, the wound on his forehead having somehow reopened, blood running down his face. The Jailor brings his ax arcing down at Dovik, but the man cannot see that it is a feint. Macille shouts to Dovik, but his warning comes too late. Like a whip, the Jailor¡¯s leg cracks through the air, its shin ramming into Dovik¡¯s right shoulder like the charge of a bull. Dovik is sent into the air like a missile, sailing clear past the edge of the stone platform, sailing into darkness. Dovik disappears from the air, reappearing over the platform, where his body crashes down and rolls across the stone. Delight flashes across the Jailor¡¯s face as it turns, all three sets of eyes staring down at the man shaking on the ground, trying to regain his feet. My feet are already in motion, sprinting in the direction of the monster as Macille runs to cover Dovik. I feel the magic running through my staff hit its apex, and I don¡¯t have time to marvel at how quickly I managed to over channel the dragonfire this time. The ax of the Jailor climbs into the air as the monster coils all of its strength into a single strike aimed at crushing the two in front of it. It has no time or will to notice me as I run forward. This is the third time that I have seen it swing this way. It seems insane to me to use the same attack that many times against the same opponent; perhaps intelligence is the weakness of this particular monster. Pushing my speed for all that it is worth, I streak forward like a green bolt of lightning, seeing the tension run up through the Jailor¡¯s abdomen that marks it starting to swing. I have to be close. There is no other way that this works. The contraction of muscles continues its race against me, spiraling up through the Jailor¡¯s shoulders and then its arms like the uncoiling of a spring. I know my timing is perfect as I release the Dragonfire Bolt. Only a few inches into its swing, my fire explodes against the Jailor¡¯s hands, and the monster roars as its grip loosens. Its swing continues, but the massive ax is gone from its hands, tumbling away through the air as all of the monster¡¯s strength is poured into an impotent strike. A quake shakes up through my feet as the massive ax clangs to the platform, but I ignore the shaking, my legs already propelling me towards the weapon. Behind me, I can feel the Jailor already turning in my direction, trying to recover from its swing, trying to get to the weapon before I can, but it has no chance to do so. ¡°I win,¡± I say as my finger touches against the weapon, my inventory window still alight as I command my storage ring to steal the Jailor¡¯s ax. I feel the same pooling of magic that races across my fingers every time I have stored an item before, but as the magic touches against the pommel of the weapon, an invisible force I have never before experienced prevents me from storing the item. I failed. I cannot steal the ax. My smile vanishes as a cold wind brushes against me. I have only an instant of time to turn and see the Jailor¡¯s fist splitting the air as it arcs down at me. I¡¯m dead. Dovik appears in front of me holding his weapons up to intercept the fist, but with the rage I see on the Jailor¡¯s face, I know that neither of us will survive this. Purple light flashes through the chamber, and the Jailor¡¯s fist collides against a barrier of amethyst that hovers in the air in front of Dovik. The cracking of bone shatters the air as the Jailor¡¯s fist distorts against the crystalline shield, its fingers splintering, finger bones pushing their jagged breaks through the Jailor¡¯s red skin. The monster leaps away, cradling its hand, and in the space it left, I can see our savior. Adrius slumps to his knees on the walkway, sweat pouring down his pale face, weakness shaking through his outstretched hand that continues to glow with amethyst light. There is nothing weak in the man¡¯s eyes however. He glares at the Red Jailor with a hate so barren that it contorts his face. The crystal barrier in the air shatters as Adrius pitches forward, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. ¡°Don¡¯t lose the momentum!¡± Dovik commands, teleporting again, his twin weapons striking into the Jailor¡¯s knee with enough force to knock the monster sideways. Seeing the monster sway from Dovik¡¯s strike spurs something to life deep in my soul, and I find myself running forward, the head of my staff erupting in violent green flames. I can see fear in the Jailor¡¯s eyes, weakness, and I want to eat that up. I forgo channeling a Dragonfire Bolt and pour corrosive flame into the monster¡¯s leg as I near it. The reach of my belching flame is barely six feet, and using my dragonfire in this way dissolves my mana like sugar in tea, but the charring of the Jailor¡¯s skin beneath my biting fire pushes me to keep going. It tries to strike me down with its unwounded hand, but Macille is there, his monstrous strength able to absorb its punches with ease. The sound of Dovik beating the monster¡¯s right leg as I pour corrosive magic into its left makes my heart dance, its labored breathing and roars of anger only pushing me to keep it up. Then it happens; with a snap, the bone in the leg that I have been pouring fire into collapses. The Jailor falls to a knee in a cry of agony that shakes the entire chamber. It sits on a knee for the barest moment before Dovik appears in the air in front of its face, his twin stabbing weapons already racing forward. Dovik plunges Pokey and its copy into two of the Jailor¡¯s eyes, and this time, there is nothing that can stop the huge amount of mana that he has built up over the last several strikes from forcing its way into the Jailor. The back half of the Jailor¡¯s head explodes in a shower of gore, brains and bone painting the platform red as its body falls forwards. Metal wrenches; the Jailor¡¯s body is held aloft for a bare second by the chains sprouting out of its back before the chains separate, disappearing into the air like dying motes of light. The room distorts in the same second, two ramps of stone leading down and away from the circular platform on which we stand appearing out of nowhere, extending towards rectangular holes in the walls that we can suddenly see. Both monsters in the cages vanish in streaks of light that race away from us as fast as sunrays, each one going a different direction, disappearing into the sudden tunnels. ¡°The fight isn¡¯t over!¡± Dovik yells to us. ¡°Go that way, I have this one!¡± Without another word, the man runs down one of the ramps, chasing one of the streaks of light. I slap the head of the Jailor as I turn to run myself, disenchanting the corpse of the big monster. Like a fool, I don¡¯t even question Dovik¡¯s order to keep fighting. Something is pumping through my blood, something like fire and a lust to burn. I spare a glance at Macille as I race towards the ramp opposite the one that Dovik is running down. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of Adrius,¡± Macille shouts to me as I run. ¡°I will catch up.¡± The sound of my heart pounding in my ears, the feeling of fire and magic pouring down my arm into the head of my staff, the sight of watching that terrible monster crumble to the floor just a few seconds before, it is all too intoxicating. I barely have the presence of mind to tap the Jailor¡¯s ax as I run past it, whatever force was keeping me from putting it into my inventory gone now. My speed is too fast to control on the stone ramp, and I find myself sliding down towards the entryway that leads into pure darkness ahead of me. A fire burns in my heart and my eyes. Beyond the dark in front of me, my prey awaits. Chapter 44 - Burning Triumph My feet touch the solid stone, sliding a moment before sticking. I roll, the momentum from my slide into the room carrying me forward, and come up with my burning staff held high to illuminate the dark chamber. The green light at the head of my staff is hardly enough to show me everything. A walkway of stone extends out before me, five feet wide, and runs off into the darkness ahead of me. On either side of the walkway lay the oily surface of a black tar-like fluid that gives off an acrid scent¨Cthe same substance I had seen in the previous room. I have no idea how long the pathway I stand upon is; the green light at the head of my staff gives off far less illumination than my natural dragonfire. With a bit of mana, I fire a Dragonfire Bolt down along the length of the walkway I stand upon. The glowing missile sails forth, traveling for at least two hundred feet before colliding against the far wall. The momentary flash of fiery explosion reveals that there is a closed door at the other end of the walkway, but the monster I chased into this room is nowhere to be seen. The slight sound of clinking metal is the only warning I am given. I jump to the side, narrowly avoiding a hurled stone that collides with the space I had just been standing in. Without thinking, I fire another bolt up towards the ceiling where the stone came from. The hideous face of the red ape is revealed by my ball of fire, though my own attack comes nowhere near hitting its target. The ape sneers down at me from among a mess of steel chains that run through the length of the ceiling above me. In the instant of light that the explosion gives off, I see energy pooling into the ape¡¯s open palm, another jagged stone being conjured from nothing. Then, the light is gone, and darkness hangs over me once again. Not being able to see my target comes as the first problem; not being able to see its attacks is the second. The green flame at the head of my staff transitions back to a burning orange at my will, the light brighter but still unable to illuminate the nest of chains where the monster is hiding. Standing in a brighter globe of illumination, this time I am able to see the hurled stone coming down from the ceiling. I dance backwards, the movements that Kithkik drilled into me with her beatings coming to me without thinking. The force in the monster¡¯s throw is enough to embed the elongated slab of stone into the tiles I stand on, sending tremors through the walkway. Above me, the monster screeches in anger at having missed twice, the clinking of the chains is the only signal I have that it has moved. I know that I need to take the initiative. I fire sporadic balls of flame up towards the ceiling, most of my attacks not even coming close to hitting their mark as the monstrous ape moves through the chains. I only catch momentary glimpses of the creature as it swings and weaves itself through the mess of metal above me. This just won¡¯t do. The monster hurls three more stones down at me as I take my time to think. It has moved further away from me now, seemingly unable to understand how it making distance only helps me dodge its throws. There exists a world where I wait for the monster to exhaust its mana creating stones. If I can hold out until it depletes itself, then it will have nothing to attack me with. I immediately discard the idea. Firstly, there is no guarantee that the monster will come down from its safe space amongst the chains even after it can no longer create rocks. Second, there is also no guarantee that I can continue to dodge its projectiles¨Calready, the walkway is becoming crowded with the stones. Finally, that tactic seems too passive to me. I am not a defensive fighter. It only takes a few seconds for the obvious course to occur to me. Whipping my staff through the air in front of me, a trail of fire ignites the lakes of oil on either side of the walkway. The flash of fire that spreads over the surface of the oil is like the wind, roaring instead of whispering. For the first time, I can see the entirety of the room I stand in, the pools of oil extending thirty feet towards the walls on either side of me: the chamber is a massive rectangle, my walkway dividing it in two. The light the rising fire gives off is terrifying and captivating. Jets of flame rise from the surface of the oil for five feet, and as the seconds tick past the flames only grow taller. Mountains of billowing smoke sail straight towards the illuminated ceiling, and there, I see the red ape tucked in among a bundle of chains, fear and confusion on its face. My grin is like a predator as I stare up at the monster hanging above me. Mana begins to pour into the head of my staff as I over channel a Dragonfire Bolt, but I do not hurl the magic towards the monster, contenting myself with watching the fire rise towards the chains. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. The odd ape begins to shriek at me as the fire rises. Instead of conjuring boulders, fist-sized rocks settle into its open hands. Some of the flaming triumph I feel in the moment vanishes from me as the monster raises both its hands to throw the jumble of stones down at me. I have barely a second to move before a wave of fist-sized stones moving faster than an arrow splash down on the walkway all around me. I dive for the only cover I can, the shadow of one of the boulders the ape threw at me earlier. Pain rips up through my leg as one of the stones collides with my thigh, the armor there denting horribly before repelling the rock. I fall to the floor behind the boulder, hissing as my hand reflexively moves to my leg. A sheet of metal from my skirt has torn from absorbing the attack and hangs loose. The steel of my chausses, over my thigh, is bent terribly and a torn piece of metal is stabbing into the muscle beneath. I welcome the dangerous emotions that ripping the metal out of my skin brings me; I burn the scorn like fuel as greedily as I do my mana. Another salvo of stones rips into the tiles that line the walkway around me. Hunkered in the shadow of the boulder, none of the stones reach me this time around, and I savor the enraged scream of the monster that follows its ineffective attack. I pull the wet rag out of my inventory and hold it up to my face. The flaking embers thrown off by the inferno around me bite at my eyes, drawing tears, and the flames now shoot ten feet into the air. I listen for the movement of the monster up near the ceiling, but the roar of the fires drowns out almost everything else. Out of sight, the monster continues to scream at me as it throws more ineffectual attacks down at me. I peek out from my cover after each salvo, spotting the monster¡¯s movements between each of its attacks and adjusting to put myself out of its sight. For some reason, whether it is the flames causing it to panic or its heeding the danger of the massive pool of mana in the head of my staff, the monster refuses to approach me, opting the throw a tantrum of stones at me from far off. Not even five minutes pass before the red ape finally succumbs to the smoke that has been pouring up into the ceiling. With a wailing cry that pierces through the steady roar of the inferno, I hear the monster slip and begin to plummet towards the burning oil. My smile splits my face as I stand from my hiding spot behind the boulder. In its final moments near the ceiling, the ape tries to swing itself out so that it will land on the walkway, but it has delayed too long. The monster¡¯s lower half splashes down into the boiling oil as it lands halfway on the walkway. Burning oil clings to the ape monster as it crawls its way onto the walkway, flames eating into its fur and skin as it tries to move. It¡¯s wails of terror and pain are muted now, but there is a defiance in its eyes. I do not even give the monster the chance to rise from its prone position on the walkway. With two-hundred mana and a fully channeled Dragonfire Bolt, I blow its head and left shoulder away in an explosion of orange fire. The heat in the room excites something primal deep inside of me as I walk down the length of the walkway towards the dead monster. It only occurs to me as I reach its corpse that I never inspected the creature. ¡°Galea,¡± I call in my head as I nudge the dead monster with a toe, causing it to erupt in pink smoke that evaporates into the air. ¡°Yes?¡± the golden dragon answers me summons immediately. There is a look of pride and hunger on her face. ¡°What level was this thing?¡± I ask. ¡°Fifty-five,¡± Galea answers. ¡°I have more messages that I am holding onto for you. Would you like to read them now?¡± ¡°Not yet. It would be best to leave this room first.¡± Pressing the wet rag hard to my mouth, I continue to march down the walkway towards the opposite end. The door at the end of the walkway has vanished, an arch of darkness beckoning me to continue forward. ¡°Hopefully, Macille won¡¯t follow in this direction.¡± ¡°He is a very sturdy man,¡± Galea tells me as she looks around at the climbing flames on either side of us. ¡°This will not be enough to harm him.¡± ¡°I hope that is true.¡± I spend a bare second in the darkness of the passageway before I am let out into another towering room of stone. A golden light suffuses the room, though its origin is unknown. The room itself is plain, a simple rectangle forty feet deep and twelve wide, but its walls are covered in intricate inscriptions of people out of history and Alucrean script. The detail in the depictions boggles my mind, each man and woman given an incredible amount of care in their carving, each scene meticulously decorated¨Cthe script carved in flowery lines that together form the shapes of monsters and men. A ramp slopes upwards towards the end of the room, leading to a doorway that shines with the impenetrable light of the sun. In front of the ramp stand three pedestals, one barren of anything, and the other two holding treasures that glow with the light of powerful magic. Dovik stands before the pedestals, a piece of burning paper in his hand as he turns to notice my entrance into the room. There are complicated emotions stained on the man¡¯s face that I cannot recognize. ¡°You arrived here pretty quickly,¡± Dovik says to me with a sad smile as the last remnants of paper burn away in his hand. ¡°I knew you were powerful, farm girl.¡± Chapter 45 - Dungeons End ¡°What was that?¡± I ask Dovik, nodding at his hand. Dovik crumples the last ashes of the paper before tossing them away. ¡°A secret,¡± he says. ¡°So, you won¡¯t tell me?¡± ¡°No.¡± He shakes his head and turns back to the pedestals. ¡°You should come look at this.¡± There is something in his voice that sets me on edge, but I walk over anyway. Approaching the three pedestals, I see that the center one is not as empty as I initially determined. Carved into the face of the stone is an incredibly well-detailed map. ¡°This is the Passage,¡± I say after studying it for a moment. ¡°Finding this might be the best treasure we could have asked for,¡± Dovik says. The map carved into the stone is long and narrow. The parade ground where we began the Passage is absent, the Southernmost part of the map marked by the jagged line of the slope where we fought the Armors on the first day. Just barely away from the bottom edge of the map is a circle with ¡°Dungeon of Beginnings and Endings¡± labeled next to it. Staggered across the bottom of the map are five similar circles, all labeled as dungeons, but the one nearest the bottom is different, painted blue. It would seem that just a few miles away from where the map truly begins, there were six dungeons that we might have possibly entered, and we just so happened to select the one that was furthest south. The map continues north, a vast forest stretching for a hundred or so miles before a line of mountains cuts across from east to west, another dungeon marked at the peaks of one of the mountains. Following the line of mountains is a desert that stretches as far as the previous forest, a few tributaries branching off a central river the only landmarks. The desert transitions back into a forest that continues on for the rest of the map until it reaches its terminus in the north. There are more than twenty dungeons marked upon the map, though none of them are nearly as clustered together as the initial six. ¡°Galea,¡± I say in my head, summoning the spirit. ¡°Can you memorize this?¡± ¡°Easily,¡± the dragon spirit nods to me. An instant later, a window appears in front of me that is a perfect replica of the map I stare down at. ¡°Storing and recalling data is one of my key functions after all.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, dismissing the spirit. Dovik snorts next to me, still looking down at the map. ¡°It really makes it seem like we haven¡¯t managed to go anywhere,¡± he says, covering the distance between the start of the competition and the dungeon we are in with his pointer finger and thumb. He holds up his hand, showing a gap between his fingers that could barely fit a few playing cards. ¡°That is some progress at least,¡± I say. ¡°It does look like this contest really will takes months to accomplish.¡± ¡°Unless you can sprint the whole way,¡± he says. ¡°I am sure that there will be a few who try that. Who knows, maybe that will be a successful tactic.¡± ¡°Who knows.¡± We lapse into silence for a long moment, both of us looking back to the entrance to the room occasionally, waiting for Macille and Adrius to join us. I remove a chest from my inventory and find a good spot to sit and recuperate from the fights for a time. The dent in my armor is still annoying, but when I remove the steel to inspect my leg, I find that the wound has already healed over. I suppose that breaking the Recovery threshold really does bring some good benefits. ¡°How was fighting the bird?¡± I ask Dovik. I may be much stronger now than I was, maybe as strong as an average workman back home, but it becomes readily apparent that isn¡¯t strong enough to bend the metal of my dented armor back into shape. ¡°A little disappointing actually,¡± Dovik admits, moving to the side of the room and inspecting the scenes stenciled into the walls. ¡°It only took one attack to finish it off. Though, I suppose birds aren¡¯t known for their hardiness. I was a bad matchup for it. How was the monkey?¡± ¡°A little harder than your fight I am guessing,¡± I say, giving up on fixing my armor for now. ¡°I had to set the whole room on fire.¡± Dovik turns back to me. ¡°I hope Macille doesn¡¯t go that way then.¡± ¡°Me too,¡± I say, though I am guessing that out of the two of us, Macille would follow after me. I look to the door again with a sigh before turning to watch Dovik study the scenes on the walls. The man seems deeply engrossed in what it is depicting. ¡°So, what does it say?¡± ¡°Sorry?¡± ¡°The walls. You can read what it says right.¡± ¡°Ah.¡± Dovik studies me for a long moment, obviously trying to determine whether he should tell me or not. He turns back to the wall. ¡°It depicts Humanity¡¯s Crusade.¡± He points to the far end of the room where the wall depicts people kneeling and pleading towards the heavens. ¡°There, we can see the aftermath of the War of Seven Words, the economic collapse that befell the Alucreans following their loss in that war. They beg the heavens to send to them aid, but they will not receive any.¡± Dovik¡¯s hand moves towards the next scene depicted, a man in black armor standing above thousands that kneel before him. ¡°Then comes the fall of Parfillio, the son of Exeter who descended to take mortal form and to lead his children out of their exile and turmoil. The crusade begins, the masses of humanity making their migration towards the sea.¡± As Dovik moves his hand along the wall, the depiction changes to one of war. Armies of men and women in black armor charge against the forces of the United Races in one battle after another, each depiction meticulously carved so that the gore and death of the crusade are rendered in extraordinary detail. I cannot pull my eyes away from the scenes of glory and death, both sides grinding against each other as the armies of humanity continue their push towards the sea. ¡°The crusade endures until they reach the sea,¡± Dovik continues. He gestures towards the last depiction on the left wall, a shining city of metal and magic positioned on the shores of a huge bay with the sun setting behind it. The representation of Parfillio stands over the city, casting a light down upon it. Dovik turns, pointing at the far end of the right wall behind me, and I turn to follow. ¡°Then comes the return and the betrayal.¡± The scene he points towards shows the same city in ruin, fire and smoke billowing from the tall towers that once constituted a beautiful skyline. In the waters surrounding the city, hundreds of ships are launched into the water, some being torn apart in waves hundreds of feet high, while others are dragged down into the depths by the reaching hands of monsters beneath the water. ¡°Here, the diaspora begins. Much of humanity flees into the sea, escaping the fall of Aluxus in any way that they know how, their ships carrying thousands of souls out into the wider world. Most retreat back along the Path of Triumph, trying to escape back towards the homeland of their ancestors.¡± The depictions of the retreating flow of humanity is far more brutal than the battles on the opposite wall had ever been. The scenes of fleeing civilians running for their lives with barely any belongings to their names, sheltering from an army of shadowy figures while their own army does their best to fend off the pursuers, almost breaks my heart. Most of the wall is given over to the depiction of retreat, hundreds of bodies lying all along the trail as mankind is whittled down bit by bit from the constant attack of the shadow army. ¡°Finally,¡± Dovik continues, pointing towards the last set of images on the wall. ¡°We have the sacrifice of Parfillio.¡± The last scene on the wall shows the same huge man in his black armor, his face revealed for the first time, blood and tears marring what would otherwise be the greatest depiction of beauty I have ever seen. The man in the black armor is ramming two long swords into his own chest as a huge wall of stone sails up from the ground behind him to hold back the tide of the shadow army. In the last image, Parfillio lays in a black coffin beneath the walls as the people he sheltered begin to build once more, their houses climbing further and further up along the surface of the wall. ¡°Until we end with the establishment of Grim.¡± ¡°What?¡± I say, unable to stay sitting. I feel a wetness on my face and am surprised to find tears on my fingers when I pull my hand away. The images touch something deep inside of me that I don¡¯t have the words to articulate. My eyes keep drifting back towards the fallen along the trail of people fleeing the shadow army; the death masks of betrayal on the faces of slain women and children is like a dagger into my heart. ¡°That isn¡¯t what happened.¡± ¡°No?¡± Dovik says, turning to me. ¡°Parfillio led the shadow army,¡± I say, pointing back along the wall. ¡°He aimed to wipe out the world with his forces. He wanted to eradicate all the other races of the world so that only humanity remained.¡± Dovik looks back along the images and sighs. ¡°All of this happened almost a thousand years ago. Who is to say what really happened.¡± ¡°No,¡± I repeat, shaking my head. ¡°You are trying to say that Grim was founded by Parfillio? Are these murals some attempt by the Willian guild to rewrite history?¡± ¡°And how do you know that the history you were taught is true?¡± Dovik shoots back at me, an anger in his voice that I haven¡¯t heard before. It catches me so off-guard that I take a step away from the man. ¡°You were taught the history of your people by a church that venerates the Goddess of the Elves, a curriculum approved of by your elven overlords who treat your fellow humans like serfs. Where you come from, humans are allowed to toil for their entire lives for the scraps that their rulers throw them, allowed the barest hints of freedom so long as they do not step out of line. Humans where you come from are slaves to the land they are born upon, beaten or executed if they fail to break their bodies cultivating that same land.¡± He covers his face with his hand and shakes his head. ¡°Why does it always surprise me? You would think that someone from such a place who managed to break out of that cycle would understand the degradation of their lot in life, but every time that I speak to someone about it, they always try to defend it. Do you plan to tell me that it is natural for humans to be ruled over by the fairer races? Next you will defend their governance of you, claiming that the way they oppress our kind lends stability to us that we could never manage with our short lifespans.¡± The words of my rebuttal die on my lips. I stare at this man, confusion and fear warring inside my head. His words bring bad memories to my mind, memories that I would rather leave far away. ¡°Of course you were,¡± Dovik continues, taking my silence as confirmation that he was right. I see the anger continue to build on his face, his fist shaking at his side. Dovik suddenly turns, planting his fist into the wall with enough force to shake the room. He pulls away, the tension gone from his shoulders, a bloody smear left over the depiction of Parfillio in his coffin from his broken knuckles. ¡°Forget it. I don¡¯t want to talk about it anyway.¡± I am stuck, scenes out of picture books from my childhood as clear in my mind as the scenes on the walls. I try to reconcile the painted scenes from the picture books of my childhood, pictures of Parfillio leading a bloody army of mankind out across the seas to land upon and butcher unprotected villages on the water. I see them, the eyes of crazed men and women, orbs of red, as they march out of their ships with knives and hooks to rip children from their mothers, all at the command of the God of Humanity. The Human Crusade sweeps over the world, and when Parfillio is finally felled by the forces of the United Races, mercy is shown to the armies of humanity that were under the control of Parfillio. They are allowed to settle on new lands, given homes and purpose. ¡°No,¡± I say, shaking my head. The scenes don¡¯t reconcile. I see them like a superimposed mess, the butchers marching out from the sea from the books of my childhood and the faces of the dying men, women, and children on the wall in front of me. Dovik has to be lying to me; the wall has to be lying to me, but all I can see on the man¡¯s face is a tired and resigned honesty. ¡°I--¡± Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°Why are you here, Charlene?¡± Dovik asks, cutting me off. ¡°What?¡± ¡°This Passage,¡± he says, gesturing around the room. ¡°You are powerful, but from what I was able to find out, you didn¡¯t even have a full set of essentia when Arabella picked you out from among the masses. What made you so special that she would invest that much in you? How did she know that you would become this strong after such a short amount of time as an essentia magician, and why did you even agree to it?¡± I stutter, surprised that I cannot immediately answer his question. I know the answer, but it seems so hollow here and now, in this room painted with terrible depictions of war and carnage. I wanted power: no, I still want power. But why do I want it; so that I can be beautiful? That answer is just too shallow to give voice. I have killed over a hundred monsters and beasts at this point to increase my power. Something as simple as wanting to be beautiful and to live for hundreds of years seems vapid in the face of that. To cultivate my burgeoning power, I have seen people die, people that I was growing to like, and in the near future I might even be forced into a situation where I will have to turn my fire on someone else. Is beauty worth all of that? My brother¡¯s words echo in my mind, ¡°What is it that you want to do with yourself, Charlene? Can you answer that?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I say, flinching at my own words. An ache squeezes my heart. ¡°Well--¡± Whatever Dovik is about to say is cut off as Macille walks out of the doorway at the end of the room. Adrius walks alongside Macille, his arm slung over the taller man¡¯s shoulder. They both stop as they step into the room, looking between Dovik and me, sensing the tension in the room. ¡°You made it,¡± Dovik says, a smile on his face. ¡°I was wondering when you would join us.¡± ¡°Someone set a room on fire,¡± Macille says, shooting a playful frown in my direction. ¡°We had to wait for the smoke to dissipate before we could make it through.¡± ¡°I¡­I had to kill that monkey somehow,¡± I say, my voice cracking before I find my words. ¡°It was hiding up in the ceiling.¡± ¡°You are a smart one,¡± Dovik says to me, as if our conversation from earlier never happened. ¡°Both of you, come take a look at this.¡± He motions for Macille and Adrius to come join him at the pedestals, showing them the map. ¡°This would have been nice to have earlier,¡± Adrius comments, his words weak. With an effort, he pulls away from Macille to stand on his own. He looks back to me. ¡°You have paper, right? We can use that to record this map.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± I say. I pull an empty notebook from my inventory and toss it to him, feeling a little embarrassed as Adrius fails to catch the notebook. Macille picks it up off the floor and hands it the injured man, giving him time to make a crude copy of the map on the pedestal. I feel a hollowness in my chest. The sudden change of scene in the last few seconds wars with the ache that still squeezes my heart. I wipe my face, rubbing away any trace of tears that might have remained. Out of the corner of his eye, Macille looks at me in a complicated way, but doesn¡¯t say anything. ¡°Have you two already figured out what these are?¡± Macille asks, gesturing to the two magical items on the neighboring pedestals. I blink, realizing that somehow, I had forgotten the treasures on display. Rune of Attunement(Very Rare): When an essentia magician utilizes this runestone, they are able to place a permanent affix onto one of their abilities granted to them by an Essentia. This rune contains the affix for Multiplicity. Agar¡¯s Chew(Rare): A natural treasure mined from the remains of a Gordibala Hive. Imbibing this treasure grants an increase to one¡¯s natural vitality and has a small chance of further empowering those that have a special affinity for these kinds of treasures. I read the window displaying the information for the two items a few times before relaying the information to the other three. A brief conversation about how to split the final treasures of the dungeons breaks out, all of us immediately in consensus to give the Agar¡¯s Chew to Adrius. Hopefully, the boost to vitality can help the man get back on his feet. Still, there is a paleness in his face that seems a bit dangerous. ¡°You should take the Rune of Attunement,¡± Dovik says to me. ¡°I agree,¡± says Macille. I look at the rune, temptation running through me. Looking back at Dovik, confusion races through me. Just a moment ago the man was yelling at me, and now he is all smiles and gifts. ¡°Why should I be the one to take it?¡± ¡°I was only really after the Soul Cage,¡± Dovik admits with a shrug. He looks around the room. ¡°Either we weren¡¯t lucky enough to come upon it, or some other group beat us here.¡± ¡°I already used a rune,¡± Macille says. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t feel comfortable taking two.¡± When I look to Adrius, he simply holds up the Agar. ¡°I am satisfied.¡± Reaching forward, I pick up the rune and feel the magic inside of it race through my fingers. It feels as if with a simple command I can pull that magic into my being. The temptation to do so right away is powerful, but something makes me pause. The sting of Dovik¡¯s words from earlier still rattle around in my brain, leaving me feeling ungrounded. I stow away the rune without trying to use it. ¡°I suppose that is everything then,¡± Macille says. He looks around the room, eyes scanning over the depictions on the walls. There is a clear lack of curiosity in his eyes. ¡°Let¡¯s get going then. This is a race after all.¡± ¡°Well, it¡¯s not really a race,¡± Adrius says, tucking the Agar into his robes. When Macille offers the man his arm, Adrius demurely declines, opting to walk on his own two feet. Macille steps onto the ramp, ready to make his way towards the shining doorway ahead of us. I am about to follow when Dovik says something, making me turn. ¡°Charlene,¡± Dovik says, his words quiet. ¡°Can you leave Rohinda¡¯s body with me?¡± I almost trip over the lip of the ramp. Turning, I see sadness on Dovik¡¯s face. ¡°This is where we part ways,¡± he says. ¡°You aren¡¯t coming with us?¡± I ask. He shakes his head. ¡°I will stay behind here. You three go on ahead.¡± ¡°Are you leaving the competition?¡± Adrius asks, stepping up to his friend. ¡°I understand that you might not wish to continue, but I think that you will regret it if you do not.¡± Dovik looks at his friend, patting him on the shoulder. ¡°Charlene,¡± he says gently, looking past his friend. ¡°Please.¡± With all the care I can muster, I set Rohinda¡¯s body on the floor next to the pedestals. Seeing her again brings back the emotions of that day on the slopes. Her body doesn¡¯t look like it has aged a minute since I stowed it away. Dovik kneels next to his cousin, setting his hand on her cold one. ¡°I promised that I would keep her safe,¡± he whispers. ¡°Dovik¡­¡± I search for something to say, some platitude that will make this moment easier to remember, but I have nothing. I feel inferior in front of this man. He is carrying an invisible weight on his shoulders that I hadn¡¯t noticed until just now. ¡°Thank you,¡± he says, looking up at me, wetness in his eyes. ¡°Thank all of you. You have been great companions, even if it has only been a few days. If everything works out, we will see each other again.¡± We say our goodbyes in the quiet of the final room. A part of me wants to linger, but Macille was right; we are racing against time. Macille, Adrius, and I climb the ramp leading to the screen of sunlight in the shape of a door. I spare a last look down to where Dovik kneels on the floor, a slight trembling in his powerful shoulders. Macille brings my attention back when he takes my hand in his own. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± he says. I nod, and the three of us step out into the light.
A strange twisting sensation grinds through my bones as I step into the sunlight. I am blind and deaf for a bare moment before an explosion of thunder nearly knocks me off my feet. Macille¡¯s hand around my own grounds me to the spot where we stand between two towering trees that cast us in shadow. I blink, the forest slowly coming into focus around me while the echoes of a thunderclap continue to bounce through the trees before slowly dying away. Macille is saying something to me, but I cannot hear his words. I look around, seeing that we are standing in a barren patch of the woods, leaves and detritus blown away from us in a circle. The dungeon is gone, there is nothing to see in any direction other than the trees. Adrius is gone as well, vanished just as neatly as the dungeon has. A popping in the center of my brain brings sound back to the world. ¡°...more booms,¡± Macille has just finished saying. I look around the forest, still blinking as the colors continue to settle into normalcy. After three more seconds, I hear what he is talking about. Another boom somewhere nearby echoes through the forest, like the sound of a meteor colliding with the ground. ¡°Where is Adrius?¡± I ask. It is just then that I realize Macille is still holding my hand. I look down, a flush rushing to my face. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Macille says. He steps away from me, stalking up the slight incline towards the nearest tree. He inspects the massive trunk of the tree, looking for something that I cannot begin to wonder about. ¡°It looks like we are back in the same forest,¡± he says, motioning at some minute detail of the tree he expects me to notice. ¡°Perhaps the dungeon teleported us a short distance when we exited.¡± ¡°It can do that?¡± I ask, walking up next to him. ¡°I don¡¯t really know,¡± he says. We both look west as another boom bounces off of the trees from that direction. ¡°Maybe it was designed to split everyone up at the end of the dungeon for some reason.¡± ¡°That would make us really lucky,¡± I say. I am about to reach for his hand again when a shriek pierces the air, a woman¡¯s scream. We both turn towards the sound, catching the barest hint of a girl running between the trees, crying out for help. Macille pulls his sword from its scabbard and takes a step in the direction without hesitation, but I grab his arm and press him against the tree before he can make it two steps. He looks at me, a question on his lips, but I hush him before any words can come out. He can¡¯t see what I do. The girl is moving in our direction, running full tilt through the trees, crying out for help, but racing faster through the trees behind her is an insidious blue wave of soul presence. She is less than a hundred feet from us when the soul presence overtakes her. The magic in the blue wave lifts her from her feet like she was a marionette. Her body is stretched spread-eagle in the air, the force of the soul presence holding her mouth shut as her screams try to tear out of her throat. Blue waves of magic gather around her like a fist, growing more opaque as the source of the soul presence walks through the trees in her direction. The source of the magic is an elven man with onyx hair the same color and luster as Coriander¡¯s, wearing black robes that shine where his armor beneath peaks through. The man snickers to himself as he approaches the girl he holds suspended in the air. Her body quakes, the concentrated soul presence around her not allowing even an inch of resistance. Forsin Al¡¯Ruino(Rank Two), Son of Duke Berlin Al¡¯Ruino of the Ruino Dutchy Puppeteer Conflux ¡°It is rude to run,¡± he says as he walks towards her. ¡°After issuing such a kind offer to you, I expected gratitude. Look what I got instead.¡± With a wave of his hand, the girl¡¯s body turns in the air to face him. ¡°You made yourself my enemy.¡± Something unintelligible gurgles in the girl¡¯s throat. With a quick look I can see that she is barely level thirty. She has no chance against this man. ¡°We need to stop this,¡± Macille growls next to me. ¡°We can¡¯t beat him,¡± I whisper, my hand tightening on his arm. ¡°He is rank two.¡± ¡°It is wrong,¡± Macille says, but I can hear the fight dying in his voice. ¡°We are just going to watch?¡± ¡°What else can we do?¡± It isn¡¯t as if I want to abandon this girl to this man, but something in my gut tells me that even a full-force Dragonfire Bolt wouldn¡¯t leave a scratch on this man. All trying to help would do is put us in the same situation as her. ¡°What is that?¡± the man in black asks. With a wave of his hand, the force over the girl¡¯s mouth disappears. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she says, her voice cracking. ¡°It is a good thing to apologize,¡± the man in black says. ¡°You see now that you are in my power, and so you wish to abase yourself. Shameless, but I can allow it. Do you see now that I have you defeated?¡± ¡°Ye¡­Yes,¡± she says, tears spilling down her face. ¡°Yes, you have defeated me.¡± ¡°Perfect,¡± Forsin says, ¡°thank you for fulfilling that requirement.¡± The magic of Forsin¡¯s soul presence ignites, washing over her in a sudden flash. Horror fills me as I watch the girl¡¯s body begin to shrink, the pain of the transformation forcing pained shrieks out of her throat as her torturer looks on with a sadistic gleam in his eye. She writhes, suspended in the air, as the man dominates her with his magic. After just a few seconds, the transformation is over, the girl along with all of her possessions reduced to the size of a doll. My grip on Macille¡¯s arm loosens. Disgust with myself for stopping him from interfering washes over me. Forsin steps forward, roughly grabbing the doll-sized girl out of the air with his hand, a crazed look on his face as he pets her head with his free hand. ¡°You can join the others,¡± he says. He turns, starting to walk away from us. ¡°I am sure--¡± It happens in a flash too fast for me to follow. One second, the sadist nobleman is walking away, and the next, his body is slumping to the ground. I blink, realizing after a second that someone else is standing in the woods near the body of the collapsed nobleman. My eyes widen as I recognize the figure. Jor¡¯Mari(Rank One), Son of Duke Cla¡¯Mari of the Mari Dutchy Demon Conflux Jor¡¯Mari stands alone in the center of the forest, a clawed hand clutching the head of Forsin Al¡¯Ruino. The man is covered in a myriad of cuts and dried blood, his once pristine robes frayed and torn. An uncontrollable shaking runs through him. On the ground behind Jor¡¯Mari, the girl starts to scramble away, her body slowly growing back towards its normal proportions as she crawls through the leaves and dirt. I begin to move from behind the tree, but this time Macille is the one to stop me. There is something deeply wrong with Jor¡¯Mari. The man brings the disembodied head that he holds in front of him, squeezing the skull with two clawed hands until it explodes in a bloody mess. The scream of the girl behind him causes Jor¡¯Mari to whip his head around, and I get my first real look at his face. Black veins run through the surface of Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s face, almost completely covering the left side. His eye nearest to the taint of the black veins is a solid white, blind, while his other moves frantically, looking about the forest but unable to settle on any one thing. Drool drips from Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s lips. ¡°We need to go,¡± Macille says to me. With terror, and despite the distance between us, Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s head turns in our direction, his one good eye coming to settle on Macille. Chapter 46 - Madman Macille steps in front of me, hefting his shield. ¡°Hold on,¡± I say. I grab his shoulder, feeling the tension run through him. ¡°You don¡¯t think he is going to attack us, do you?¡± ¡°How should I know?¡± Macille says. Ahead of us, Jor¡¯Mari continues to stand with his one good eye locked firmly on Macille. ¡°He just killed that man.¡± ¡°He did,¡± I say, and it is only then that my head starts to catch up with the situation. That man had been a rank two magician, but Jor¡¯Mari ripped his head clean off his shoulders with his bare hands. It happened too quickly to even see. I don¡¯t think there is any way that Macille or I could stop him. I raise my hand, flinching when Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s eye flicks over to look at me. ¡°We aren¡¯t going to attack you, Jor¡¯Mari. You know us, right?¡± There is only vacancy in the man¡¯s eyes. The black veins running beneath the surface of his skin pulse in time with his heart. Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s head cocks to the side and a second later I hear something from the woods nearby as well. A man yells, stumbling backwards as he and four others appear out of the woods, looking down at the headless corpse at Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s feet. ¡°He killed the boss!¡± One of the five yells. A second later, a bolt of lightning crashes down from the heavens over Jor¡¯Mari. A woman steps out from among the group of people huddling around a massive tree, her hands alight with yellow energy. Smoke and cinders billow up from the spot Jor¡¯Mari stood, his still unmoving form somewhat visible through the haze. ¡°He is still standing!¡± says one of the men as he scrambles back to his feet, the shock of seeing his boss¡¯ body on the ground having made him trip. ¡°Hit him aga--¡± He jumps behind the tree as a bolt of dragonfire explodes against the trunk. Macille looks back to me wide-eyed, and it is only then that I realize I even threw the bolt. I stare at my hand, fire glowing from my fingertips, a strange sense of betrayal towards my own body building inside of me. I just attacked that man without thinking about it. If I hit him, he might have died. ¡°There are more!¡± A woman in their group yells. An arrow comes sailing my direction from the sound of the voice, but with the hundred feet between us, Macille easily catches the arrow on his shield. A roar erupts from the still billowing smoke and Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s hand peaks from the gray shadow. Three more bolts of lightning crash down on him as Macille pulls me back to take shelter behind the tree. I can still see the obscured figure of Jor¡¯Mari in the smoke, standing there, unmoving. The lightning stops crashing down a moment later. The smoke clears, revealing Jor¡¯Mari, his bloodied robes burnt and falling apart as he stands seething in the center of the lightning strikes. Twin horns spike up from his forehead and drool hangs loosely from his lips. None of that truly registers for me, as I see something I have never seen before. The description given to me by my Eye of Volaash changes before my eyes. Jor¡¯Mari(Rank One), Son of Duke Cla¡¯Mari of the Mari Duchy Demon Conflux ¡°Is that possible?¡± I whisper. Macille pushes me down. A split second later, a bolt of lightning crashes down on our position from among the treetops overhead. Macille shakes, his body seizing as the lighting strikes his outstretched shield before he falls to his knees as well. I am about to grab him, but he waves me away, steam boiling up from his armor. ¡°I¡¯ll heal myself,¡± he says, green light already building in his hands. Another rumble overhead warns me of a lightning strike. A wave of helplessness washes over me as the bolt of light booms down out of the heavens. My heart stops as I see death coming right at me. The lightning strikes crashes into a boulder just three feet in front of me. Shards of rock explode away from the strike, turning into shrapnel that cuts my face and neck. I blink, a blackness in my eyes that slowly begins to focus into the world around me. I find myself once again being attacked by other people, other people that aim to kill me. The burning fire in my hand is like an outlet for my anger. Ignoring Macille¡¯s warning, I peek around the trunk of the tree. The group huddles behind their own tree trunk in the distance. Jor¡¯Mari has vanished in the last few seconds. An arrow comes sailing out of the woods from fifty feet north of where I am looking. The arrow sticks into the trunk of the tree just a few inches left of where my head had been before. I hurl my ball of fire towards their group, the ball of fire erupting against their tree, sending them scattering back for cover. For good measure, I throw another ball of fire towards the archer, forcing them to duck back as well. Looking back, I find Macille still kneeling on the ground, his magic working at fixing the burn lines that run through his skin. He looks back up at me, concern and fear in his eyes. Seeing that look spurs me to hurl another bolt of fire at the other group, the trunk of their tree charring with each blast of magic. One of their members takes a probing step out from behind their tree, and I toss another Dragonfire Bolt in his direction. As the man tries to duck back around the tree, he trips, falling prone. The terror in the man¡¯s eyes turns into confusion and then amusement as he watches my bolt of fire hit the trunk of the tree in the same spot the first two had. He looks across the distance in my direction, a look of triumph on his face. ¡°What¡¯s the matter, girl!¡± he calls. ¡°Never killed anyone before?¡± ¡°Fuck!¡± I swear, dodging back behind our tree as an arrow comes sailing out of nowhere. Panic starts to try and probe into my head. Normally, I would be confident enough to push that aside, but today has been one emotionally taxing surprise after another. Behind us, the forest ends in a dead drop just forty feet away, the land falling away in an almost sheer drop for two hundred feet. My breath starts to become rapid as I look about, trying to find a direction to flee. ¡°Get up. Get up. Get up,¡± I urge Macille. Macille looks back at me as he pulls himself to his feet, using the tree for support. I stare up at the shadows overhead, expecting a lethal bolt of lightning to peel down at us any second. The waiting for that deadly strike is agony. ¡°Run,¡± Macille tells me. ¡°I don¡¯t think we can outrun them,¡± I tell Macille, my voice strained and weak. ¡°There are five of them.¡± ¡°We can,¡± he tells me. ¡°You are fast. You can do this, Charlene. All you need to do is run until they give up chasing you.¡± ¡°Us,¡± I say back to him. Macille rolls his shoulders and gives me the most reassuring smile he can muster. ¡°Right,¡± he says, his projection of confidence somewhat disturbed by an arrow bouncing off a tree just near us. ¡°We will make a break for it. They won¡¯t chase us for that long. We haven¡¯t done anything to them.¡± ¡°So, start moving,¡± I say, trying to push him into running. My fingers shake and I can¡¯t keep from looking back towards the tree, like I will be able to spot the other group through the trunk. I haven¡¯t heard anything from that side of the woods in a while other than the archer shooting from some secret vantage. ¡°Go.¡± ¡°You in front,¡± Macille says, hefting his shield and nodding West along the line that the cliff cuts through the forest. ¡°I will cover us from behind.¡± I want to argue with him, but the words die before they even reach my lips. I nod at Macille and sprint from behind the tree, running towards the next that is more than twenty paces away. An arrow and a thrown ax thud into the dirt behind me as I sprint, our attackers obviously not expecting me to be as quick as I am. The sound of thunking metal and a grunt make me slide to a stop behind the tree when I make it there. Macille still runs between the two tree trunks, the haft of an ax sticking out of his shield. Blood dribbles down Macille¡¯s shield arm, the head of the ax peeking through the metal. ¡°Keep running!¡± Macille commands. My body jumps to obey. My legs burn as I force everything that I have into them, sprinting between the trees while a seemingly endless rain of axes and arrows sail out of the distance towards me. I feel a deadly gust as a javelin lands between my sprinting feet. I realize that I have run hundreds of feet before I even think to look back. I look back, finding Macille huddled behind a tree more than sixty feet away from me, crying out as he pulls the ax out of his shield and arm. Sweat drips from his brow, and his shield arm is covered in a gauntlet of blood. Macille calms his ragged breathing for a moment to build up the words. ¡°Keep running!¡± he yells to me. ¡°Macille¡­¡± A bolt of lightning crashes down out of the sky less than a foot in front of me. My world turns into a blinding field of white as heat scorches my face. Pain blossoms, something sharp punches straight through my right shoulder, and I stumble back, blind. Without thought, my hands scratch at the ground, trying to remember where I am, but the crash of lightning has made everything muted in my ears. ¡°Run, Charlene!¡± I hear Macille¡¯s voice cut through the blinding white in my eyes. ¡°Run!¡± I crawl through the dead leaves and dirt, finally finding my feet beneath me and racing away. Tears streak down my face as fear overtakes me. I run blind through the woods, only the grace of the gods stopping me from sending myself tumbling over the cliff. Bruises and cuts mark my face and arms as I collide with tree after tree on my sprint. Time is gone, lost, but my feet refuse to stop. The world starts to come back to me little by little, indistinct pillars of shadow in a field of white. I stop running headfirst into the trees when my head settles enough to understand what I am seeing. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. The forest turns uphill. I slip more than once as my sprint continues. I don¡¯t know how long it is by the time I can see the ground again, by the time that I can pick out the roots and rocks that try to trip me up. I gasp for air as I run up a rise, my lungs working harder than they ever have in my entire life. Making it to the top of the incline and turning around a tree, I collide with something, sending me sprawling back. Through the wetness in my vision, I register a second later that a man stands at the top of the rise, a sinister black aura billowing up around him. I call fire to my hands, but my body is too exhausted to heed me properly. Panting for breath, I stare up at the man. His coppery hair is plastered to his face with sweat, a gauntleted hand held awkwardly at his side. Confusion and rage battle in his amber eyes, but when I meet them with my own, all of the fire dies out inside of me. ¡°Kendon,¡± I say, still panting for breath. Kendon Esfelle(Rank Two) Devastation Conflux His eyes are huge as they run over me. ¡°You¡¯re dead,¡± he says, his voice like a whisper.
Twenty minutes later I sit against a tree. My heart aches with each beat, the simple inflation of my lung made painful. There is a knot in my side that refuses to go away. More than the pain my body has inflicted on me is the terror and the shame. I flinch as I hear Kendon¡¯s hammer fall with a sickening squelch. He straddles the body of a woman, raising his hammer high over his head only to bring it down on the bloody patch of ground where her head used to be. He pulled his aura back after it became clear that none of enemy magicians stood a chance against him. I will remember their screams as Kendon¡¯s black and venomous aura poured over them, causing their skin to begin to melt before my very eyes. ¡°Here.¡± I look up, finding Coriander standing above me, a handkerchief in her outstretched hand. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, my voice a hoarse whisper. I press the cloth to the arrow wound in my shoulder that has refused to stop bleeding. Through all of it, I can¡¯t stop looking at Kendon. The man grinds his teeth as he steps away from the corpse he has busied himself with mutilating with his hammer, leaving it to boil and decompose from the power of his magically infused strikes. The anger in Kendon¡¯s eyes is inviolable as he stalks through the dead leaves. With a final roar, he swings his hammer into the trunk of a tree, the blow hard enough to shake all the way up through the massive tree, dropping acorns on our heads. I am too tired to appreciate the situation. Until just a few minutes ago, I would have bet that these two had died back at the parade ground. Macille never gave up hope on seeing his brother again. Thinking of Macille turns my attention to him. He lays in the dirt not far off, the entire right side of his face hideously scorched from a lightning blast. Blood stains his armor, and his right arm is bent at an odd angle. Despite his wounds, he still breathes, shallowly, inconsistently. The man hasn¡¯t opened his eyes since we arrived. We found him this way, a group of four arrayed around him, kicking and beating him. The final member of their troupe, the woman with the bow, was already dead by the time we arrived, her belly split open by Macille¡¯s blade. Flashes of what Kendon did to the four threaten to return to me, but I push them away for now. Kendon yells his anger into the air above us, a pain that I can¡¯t understand burning inside of him. His hammer falls to the ground as he stalks back to the prone form of his brother, falling to his knees in front of Macille. ¡°You came back to me,¡± Kendon whispers, running his fingers through Macille¡¯s hair. ¡°You came back from death, but I wasn¡¯t here fast enough. How did you do that, Macille? We saw you die.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°He saved me,¡± I manage to say. Kendon looks up. ¡°When the risers collapsed, he saved me.¡± ¡°No,¡± Kendon says, shaking his head. ¡°No. He died when it all collapsed. You both did. We saw you die.¡± Kendon¡¯s gaze flicks towards Coriander, and the woman shudders as she takes a step back. ¡°We saw you die.¡± ¡°We did,¡± Coriander says, a little too quickly. ¡°I¡¯m sure of it. We both saw it Kendon. You saw it with your own eyes.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Kendon looks down, petting Macille¡¯s hair. ¡°I know I saw it. I know that I did.¡± The love I see on Kendon¡¯s face is too beautiful for the man. He kneels over his brother like a blood-covered angel. A shudder running through the ground snaps me back to the moment. Did I doze off for a moment? A second later I hear the sound of rocks colliding with the bottom of the cliff we sit at the top of. The light in the forest is lower now, but Kendon still kneels over his brother, running his hand slowly through his hair. He is muttering something too low for me to hear, and Coriander stands a short distance away from him, biting the nail of her thumb. ¡°We need to treat him,¡± I say. My voice is still harsh, and I pull some water out of my inventory to drink. Coriander¡¯s eyes flick towards the bag on my waist as I store the water once again. ¡°Do you have anything to treat him?¡± she asks me. ¡°No,¡± I admit. I look back to Kendon as he continues to mutter. Straining my ears, I catch that the word he says over and over again is ¡°How.¡± ¡°Kendon,¡± I try. ¡°We should try and splint Macille¡¯s arm, it looks like it is broken.¡± Kendon jolts at the sound of my voice, his head turning in my direction. ¡°Charlene, what are you doing here? You¡¯re dead.¡± A shiver runs down my spine. ¡°No Kendon, I didn¡¯t die. Macille saved me.¡± ¡°Macille.¡± Kendon looks down at his brother, and it is as if he is seeing him again for the first time. ¡°He¡¯s burned.¡± He looks back at me. ¡°No, we saw you die. Didn¡¯t we.¡± A sudden anger seeps into Kendon¡¯s voice as he pulls himself to his feet, but it is Coriander he is looking at now. ¡°We both saw you die. We saw the bodies.¡± As Kendon steps towards her, a tremble shakes Coriander¡¯s lips. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± she says, her voice projecting confidence despite the fact that she is backing away from the man. There is a distortion in the air between them, a twisting like a heat mirage that passes from Coriander to Kendon. ¡°We saw them die. We saw that snake push them over the edge and then they died.¡± ¡°We saw them die,¡± Kendon says, nodding, the anger vanishing from his voice. ¡°That¡¯s right. Jor¡¯Mari pushed them over the edge, and they died when the risers collapsed.¡± My stomach turns in knots as I watch Kendon step up to Coriander, but his anger and her fear have vanished. She pulls him down, pressing her lips to his in a passionate embrace. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Kendon whispers to her, setting his forehead against hers. ¡°I get confused. Thank you for keeping me sane.¡± ¡°Of course, my love.¡± Despite her words, I can still hear a hint of fear in Coriander¡¯s voice. I try to stand, my mind whirring, trying to follow what is happening, but it¡¯s no use. My shuffling feet draw Kendon¡¯s attention back to me, and I freeze in a half-crouch. ¡°Charlene,¡± Kendon says. ¡°Thank Exeter you are alright. I could have sworn Jor¡¯Mari killed you. Killed you¡­¡± His voice trails away as his eyes fall back on the prone form of his brother. ¡°Someone burned my brother, Charlene. Who would do that? He was always the kindest person. He just wants to protect people. Why would anyone burn him?¡± ¡°That woman did,¡± I say, standing as slowly as I can, pointing to the puddle of black sludge on the ground, all that remains of the mage¡¯s body. ¡°They attacked us and Macille saved me. He told me to run ahead. He never gave up on looking for you. He knew that you would be out there looking for him.¡± ¡°You ran from him?¡± Kendon asks. The way he looks at me, his eyes pinpricks of dangerous intent, it makes my heart pound in my ears. ¡°Why would you run from him, Charlene?¡± A tear falls down Kendon¡¯s cheek as he looks down at Macille. ¡°Someone burned him. Did you burn him, Charlene?¡± ¡°No!¡± I almost scream. ¡°No. That was the mage woman. I would never hurt Macille. You have to believe me, Kendon.¡± A wave of black erupts of Kendon as he pushes his soul presence outward. The air feels like acid in my throat as I struggle for breath. Coriander, standing just a few feet away from him, falls to her knees as the soul presence washes over her. Coriander clutches at Kendon¡¯s waist, trying to pull his attention towards her. ¡°You¡¯re hurting me,¡± she squeaks out. I see the distortion in the air between the two once again. The pain in my throat nearly knocks me over. ¡°Kendon,¡± Coriander says. ¡°Kendon, you¡¯re killing me. Stop.¡± The black aura vanishes and the next lungful of air I take is like a spring, putting out the fire in my throat. Kendon pulls Coriander up, holding her tightly, more tears running down his face. ¡°Who did this to Macille?¡± Horror stabs into my heart as I hear Coriander¡¯s words. ¡°She did. Charlene did this.¡± ¡°Charlene?¡± Kendon asks, pulling away. I try to say something, but the pain in my throat stops me from speaking. I cough. ¡°Why would she do that? She and Macille are friends.¡± ¡°No,¡± Coriander says. She turns her head in my direction, and past the clear venom that I can see in her eyes, there is a deep fear as well. I realize that she is as terrified of Kendon as I am. ¡°She was never his friend,¡± Coriander says, again, space is distorted between the pair. She hugs him tightly, caressing his chest. ¡°She is like all humans, secretly hating our kind. She would kill you if she were strong enough to do it. You cannot blame her for it really, it is in her blood.¡± Despite the tears still streaking his face, Kendon¡¯s eyes hold no emotion as he stares at me. ¡°Is that right, Charlene? Do you hate us that much?¡± ¡°No,¡± I barely squawk out, but Kendon is already moving towards me. Lamplighter¡¯s Charge appears in my hand, and I am already pouring mana into it, setting the head of the staff alight. ¡°I would never hurt him. You have to believe me Kendon. Why else would I have brought you here? I am your friend. I am Macille¡¯s friend.¡± Kendon stops in front of me, his eyes boring into me with frightening indifference. It is as if he doesn¡¯t even consider the weapon in my hand a threat. I can¡¯t stop the shaking in my hands as the man looks down at me. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Kendon says, a smile creeping onto his lips. ¡°You¡¯re already dead anyway.¡± Before I can utter another word, I feel a sting in my stomach like I have been punched. Lamplighter¡¯s Charge falls from my numbing fingers, and I take a step backwards, the strength in my legs already draining away. I look down, seeing two-pronged spear of black jutting out from my broken armor, its surface like the carapace of an insect, stretching all the way back towards the sleeve of Kendon¡¯s right arm. A window flashes in my vision for a bare moment before vanishing in crystalline motes of magic. Serpent¡¯s Bite(Artifact): ??? I fall back, trying to reach out with my hand to break my fall, but my arms don¡¯t obey me anymore. The insect-like spear of chitin vanishes back into Kendon¡¯s sleeve in the blink of an eye. My head cracks against a rock, and the world turns black for a moment. I don¡¯t know how long has passed when my eyes open again. Kendon is there, pulling at me. I can¡¯t feel my body at all. My thoughts are like sludge, and it takes an eternity for me to realize that Kendon is unstrapping my armor. I try to speak, to say anything, to scream but nothing comes out as Kendon pulls my breastplate off and tosses it a short distance away to where the rest of my armor has been piled. Coriander stands against a tree a good distance away, her hands shaking as she grips the bark. ¡°You did this to yourself,¡± Kendon says to me when he sees my eyes are open. ¡°You can¡¯t go around hurting the people that I love. No one can. I am sorry that it had to be this way, Charlene.¡± He holds up the pouch that Arabella gave me. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t waste what you have left with us. I will tell Macille that you died doing something honorable if he doesn¡¯t remember you attacking him. He had a crush on you, you know. I wouldn¡¯t want him to know what you are really like.¡± I try to speak, but I can¡¯t even move my jaw. A low whine escapes from between my lips. There is no vengeance or satisfaction in his eyes as Kendon presses his fingers into my side. I feel then how powerful this man truly has become. ¡°Goodbye, Charlene.¡± The words are full of regret. All I can do is gasp as I feel the man shove me with his prodigious strength. My limp body doesn¡¯t bounce off the dirt as he pushes me away. I sail through the air, watching in horror as the edge of the cliff shoots up past my vision. ¡°You idiot she still had¡­¡± Coriander¡¯s voice trails off as I fall through the air. My shoulder collides with the side of the cliff, spinning my limp body as I fall. Turned, I can see the jagged rock jutting out of the side of the cliff as I plummet towards it. I hit the rock. Darkness. Chapter 47 - Gaius Gore: Fallout The inner halls of the Willian Guild hummed with the excitement of crisis. Gaius Gore sat alone in a room made of white stone and blue plush carpets. A table of great oak stretched out before him, the only fixture upon which being the crystalline illusion projecting device affixed to the center of the table. He sat, a picture of tranquility, listening to the bustle of feet and the whisper of hushed conversation outside the door to the room. On the inside, Gaius Gore was a mixture of roiling emotion. Things in the Passage were going poorly. Gaius felt that events may be on the precipice of a spiral, a runaway confluence of catastrophe that would escape his control if he did not strangle the problems in their cribs. On top of the table in front of him sat a case¨Copen then¨Cholding twenty-three amethyst crystals containing magical recordings of the recent murders. Including the one in the projection device, Gaius had recordings of twenty-four murders, far, far too many. He had predicted that there would be an initial degeneration into anarchic resource hoarding following the first display of true danger and peril. That was how all the trials had gone before, back when the Willian Guild¡¯s reputation had been sterling and unblemished. The secrecy surrounding the Passage, something that in the last century had morphed into a vestigial tradition, had once held a real purpose. There was supposed to be a shock to the trial takers once things commenced. Most of the participants being wealthy scions or quietly cultivated geniuses meant that most did not have any true experience of mortal danger. A shock to wake them up to the world was necessary, and so the secretiveness was also necessary. That had backfired in a way Gaius had not anticipated. A century of guides holding the hands of trial takers as they led them North towards the coast had rendered the Passage into something more akin to a vacation or training camp in the minds of the new nobility, those that had forgotten the old way of business. The new nobility had been by far the angriest about this year¡¯s shakeup. Gaius found their anger disgusting. The guild had warned anyone with proper influence that this year¡¯s Passage would be more dangerous. Did they not take his warning seriously? He was beginning to reassess the events in the first few days now. Gaius tapped the case, trying to put together the puzzle that he found himself stuck inside of. In the old days, there might have been one or two deaths among the participants, and more often than not those would be in self-defense. Once the participants realized that resources would be extremely finite and that the Passage would take months to complete, there were those that turned on each other. This is exactly what Gaius had wanted and was why he had constructed the Passage in such a way. To weed out those of weak character and morals so early on was a clear advantage to the Guild. Identifying those that would turn on their fellows and steal or murder was necessary if you wished to make certain that the magicians you planned to nurture would not turn out to be psychopaths decades down the line. Twenty-four though, twenty-four murders in just a few days. The number easily made it into the top five worst counts for the Passage¡¯s history. Had the nobility of the world slipped so much in the century of his absence that there were now raising young murderers and degenerates with no sympathy for their fellows? It was an enticing thought to Gaius, to view the current state of affairs as an issue with the world. Such views were easy to fall into the older the magician, and Gaius was beginning to wear his years openly. Something pricked at him, a sense that things were being obscured from his view. The current circumstance was not as if a single participant was going around massacring everyone. In such situations, the Guild would step in and smite such an individual. No, this was a general push towards tribalization and deadly conflict among the entirety of the trial¡¯s populace. It was the Guild¡¯s general policy not to interfere directly in such cases. Identifying and destroying unhinged essentia magicians was a vital part of being an essentia magician. The Guild Marshal had told him directly not to interfere with the participants for now. She had even refused his petition to extend her grace and raise those among the slain that might still be given another chance at life. That directive alone let him know that a larger game was being played. He looked to the door of the rom. ¡°Let them in,¡± he said. The heavy ashen doors flew open hard enough to crack back into the wall as an older elven man and his two sons marched into the room. Gaius rose, greeting the irate man with a simple bow before returning to his seat, and idle hand petting one of the crystals in front of him. ¡°Sixteen hours!¡± the Count in front of him raged. Gaius didn¡¯t know of the man¡¯s providence, only that he came from the Windfire continent and that he had replaced his father only a decade before. The pure, almost colorless, aura of the pure nobility steamed off the man, filling the chamber. ¡°You have kept me waiting with this news for sixteen hours!¡± Gaius tasted the aura of the Count. It was fairly strong for the rank of a Count. Gaius imagined that this man must have two million or so souls on the lands he controlled, wisps of their souls empowering his own; such was the prerogative of the nobility. The Count¡¯s aura also carried with it a slight affinity for lightning that was of slight interest to Gaius. He would place the man¡¯s overall power as a good fifth above his own. If the man was skilled in any particular aspect of war, he might even make it to the range of a slight threat. Gaius banished thoughts of putting down this noble personage, but he savored the fantasy for a fleeting moment. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Your Excellency might imagine that I have been busy,¡± Gaius said, motioning to a seat at the table opposite his own. ¡°Are there any refreshments that I might have fetched to accommodate you and your progeny after your long wait?¡± The Count sneered, whispering, ¡°Vulture,¡± under his breath, only he and Gaius capable of hearing the insult, before taking the offered seat. Being a human that had reached such a high level of influence, Gaius was not unused to hearing that particular insult. In fact, he found it somewhat tame now-a-days. ¡°I know that this must be a trying time for you,¡± Gaius said, summoning as much sympathy into his voice as he could manage. It wasn¡¯t much. ¡°It has been made known to me that you wished for an audience to air grievance against me.¡± The Count slammed his hand on the table in front of him, glancing down with minor surprise that it did not break beneath his fist. ¡°Last night, your woman came to me and told me that my daughter had been killed inside of your trial. How could something like this possibly happen? Are you so grossly negligent that you would allow such a thing to occur?¡± ¡°This trial is supposed to simulate a dangerous environment where participants must fend for themselves. Any danger that exists inside of the trial is real, and it was made known before commencement that this would be a particularly dangerous event. That said,¡± Gaius sighed, real sympathy in his voice, ¡°this is not such a case.¡± Gaius leaned back in his chair, a simple gesture making the illusion projector between the two come alive with light. A scene began to paint the air. In the illusion floating over the table, a young elven woman fought with twin rapiers against a lizard monster, her struggle endearing and righteous. After three minutes of battle, and after having sustained numerous wounds, she triumphed. In her moment of exaltation, the smile on her lips turned bloody. She looked down, fear rivenning her face as she saw a blade protruding from her chest. The girl sputtered on the ground for a few seconds before falling still. Her assailant, a young lizardkin woman bending over and searching her corpse before meandering over to the slain monster. What really set the Count¡¯s aura to crackling and pushed an oppressive air into the room so powerful that one of the man¡¯s sons collapsed was the way in which the lizardkin woman whistled as she went about rifling through the corpse of the Count¡¯s daughter. ¡°You will bring me that child,¡± the Count said, his voice low and full of threat. ¡°We shall not,¡± Gaius said. The full weight of the Count¡¯s aura pressed down upon Gaius, a sloppy flexing of power that the nobility often used to cow their lessers. Even with Gaius¡¯ immense experience combating such effects, the rage in the Count¡¯s aura slashed against his soul like knives. He did not let any of the agony from the blatant attack show on his face, choosing to weather the storm of the man¡¯s rage for the few moments the Count was capable of keeping it up. Just a few moments later, the pressure ebbed, and the Count sank into his seat, a grieving man. ¡°My Moonflower,¡± the man lamented. Gaius leaned forward in his chair. ¡°There are no words that I have to express how deeply unsettled I am that have the Passage perverted in a manner such as this. The Willian Guild does not condone murder, we abhor it.¡± ¡°Yet you will allow a cretin such as this to escape me?¡± the Count snarled, his anger returning for a bare instance. ¡°You would recruit one such as this?¡± ¡°Regardless of whether this individual participant manages to make it to the end of the Passage in the allotted time, there is certainly no chance that the Willian Guild will ever extend an invitation to join us to them. We do not recruit those with such weak foundations. However, in the matter of interventional recourse, my hands are tied. To the noble personages that come here to take part in the Passage, certain guarantees against arrest and criminal prosecution have been given. The same guarantees that were given to your daughter. In so long as these protected individuals do not trespass against Grim itself or any of its protected citizens, we cannot directly involve ourselves.¡± The Count looked back to the illusion in front of him. He was almost there, Gaius could tell. To push him over the edge, Gaius motioned to the projector in the center of the table. ¡°Take the recording with you,¡± Gaius offered. ¡°This?¡± The Count touched the projector, but his baleful glare had shifted away from Gaius towards the lizardkin in the scene before him. ¡°You would gift me this.¡± ¡°How could I not give you this? It depicts your daughter¡¯s final moments. You will also find that inside of this recording crystal is the entirety of the journey your daughter made through the Passage. I have watched it myself; she was a fantastic talent, kind as well.¡± The Count stood, bringing his face level with the projection of his daughter¡¯s murderer. ¡°Thank you for this,¡± he said. Gaius did not have to imagine what dark fantasies the Count might be thinking of just then. Given the face of his daughter¡¯s killer, this man¡¯s anger towards the guild had been adequately directed in a different direction. Such occasions, where the scions of two powerful houses got into a deadly dispute, could hold serious ramifications. Wars spawned for lesser reasons. Gaius did not care about the infighting of the nobility, so long as the Guild¡¯s reputation was left intact. The Count and his sons left the room with as much purpose as they had entered with a short time later. At the end of his first meeting for the day, Gaius took a moment to settle his soul and bolster it against future bluster. He stroked the case in front of him¨Ctwenty three more recording crystals. ¡°Just what is really going on?¡± Chapter 48 - Poison and Soul ¡°Why are you here?¡± My eyes whirl in my head, the world a blur around me. I try to breathe, but my chest is frozen. Rivulets of black, veins containing black putrescence run wild beneath my skin like ice. Each shuddering breath I manage to choke in through my clenched teeth is agony. Simple movements are made impossible, every minor shift cutting up my insides as the black veins beneath my skin refuse to move with the rest of my body. The sky above me shines down a with blue vibrancy, indifferent to my suffering. Broken rocks dig into my back, the pain of their stabbing into my back lesser than the agony of movement. Tears streak my face, mixing with the sweat standing out across my skin. I shake. Am I awake, dead? Like a sick rabbit my chest pumps with shallow breaths barely enough to keep me conscious. I stare at the line in my vision that shows my healing energy. All the lines are broken, their colors muted and erratic. My eyes focus through the fire in my mind on where the green one should be, but it is gone now, only the number fluttering: 0, 1, 0, 1, 0, 1, 0. I am going to die here. A meaty slap makes me turn my head. The pain is gone. I crouch at the corner of my house, the smell of dry dirt assaulting me. I flinch as the next blow lands, the sound drowning out the constant buzz of the cicadas. My hands, dainty, the small fingers of a child, dig into the chipping maroon paint of our home. My dad kneels on the pebbly drive running up to the house, wiping his face with a rag. Constable Fragrass, a potbellied man with frizzy brown hair stands over my dad, sweat lining the collar of his pressed woolen shirt. The Constable wipes his own face with a handkerchief handed to him by one of his deputies as his lungs work like bellows. Constable Fragrass spits his chew in my dad''s golden hair before swearing at him in the pidgin that marks the upper class: a mix of elvish and Castinian. My dad cleans his face and pushes himself back to his knees. He grins up at the Constable, his smile serene, lacking the venom I know exists deep in his soul. ¡°Bastard,¡± The Constable swears, stepping forward and knocking my father into the dirt with a blow across his chin. He hisses, rubbing his red knuckles as he turns away to walk back down the drive. On their way out, one of the deputies grabs the hammer leaning against the cart and lays into one of the back wheels until it shatters. They disappear down the road a few minutes later. ¡°Daddy,¡± I yell, running out from behind the house. ¡°Are you okay?¡± He lays in the drive, staring up at the summer sky. He is the biggest man I have ever known, powerful arms built from decades of back-breaking labor, his sweat poured into the prosperity of the orchard around us. He drags his rag across his bloodied face, showing me a radiant smile when he has finished. ¡°Hello, Snowpear. Where is your mother?¡± ¡°She went to the creek with Halford,¡± I say. ¡°That''s right, that''s right.¡± He sighs, his eyes landing on me. He holds up his hand. ¡°Help me up, baby.¡± I pull on his arm, but my dad is a monster of a man. Still, he makes enough of a show to let me think that I am helping as he drags himself to his feet. With his steady arm around my shoulders, he leads us back to the porch, falling into his wooden rocker with a grunt. ¡°Get me some tea, won''t you.¡± He didn''t even need to tell me to grab the good glass. For as long as I have been alive, my family has owned a single pair of cups made from real glass. When I bring back his tea, the glass in my hand sparkling like a crystal in the afternoon light, Dad holds it to his cheek and tries to reassure me again. I look out to the drive again. The dirt still stirs in the air, a loose cloud that refuses to settle. In the middle of the drive, I can see a patch of blood, the earth already having drunk up the moisture, leaving a discolored puddle of brown behind. Dad sighs as he takes a sip of his tea, patting me on the back. ¡°Thank you for that, baby girl.¡± ¡°How can he do that to you?¡± I ask. My dad clicks his tongue before taking another sip of tea. ¡°That asshole--¡± ¡°Hey.¡± ¡°That asshole can¡¯t come here and hurt you like that! We should tell Lord Timmian about this. Lord Timmian likes us; he won¡¯t let the Constable get away with this.¡± I can feel my small fists shaking at my side while I look down at the dirt. ¡°The reason that Lord Timmian likes us, is because we don¡¯t make his life more difficult than it needs to be. It¡¯s not worth messing up a good relationship with the Lord to deal with Dale.¡± My dad rocks in his chair, looking out at the yard. ¡°Not much harm done.¡± ¡°So, you¡¯re going to do nothing?¡± I look at him; I just cannot understand it. My dad is the biggest man I have ever seen. If he wanted to, he could have knocked the Constable and his two men into the dirt. ¡°I¡¯ll remember this, and when I¡¯m growed, I¡¯ll thrash him good, beat him over the head with a log on his way home from church.¡± My dad whistles but can¡¯t help but chuckle a bit. ¡°That¡¯s some temper you got there, baby girl. No, you won¡¯t do anything to Dale. This¡¯ll just be another day, and we will move past it. You don¡¯t deal with men like that.¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t fair,¡± I whine. My dad considers me for a time, sipping his tea. He motions to the chair in front of him, and I hop up into the seat. ¡°No, it isn¡¯t fair. Things aren¡¯t generally fair, baby girl. One man sees his business dying in his hands, and so he walks out of his house and puts the hurt on someone that this world hasn¡¯t crushed yet. It ain¡¯t fair that man can vent his anger with his fists while people like us have to suck it up and take it. As long as he doesn¡¯t put a worker out of commission or kill anyone, no one is going to do or say a thing about it. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you this baby girl, and hopefully it will save you some years of hate and sadness. Things like that will eat you up, they hollow you out, turn you into the kind of person that those on high think we are, just beasts that only know how to use their fists to change things. People aren¡¯t going to like you, Charlie. They aren¡¯t going to see the beautiful girl that I do. They will see where you came from, they will judge you for what you know or how you speak, and those little things will be enough for them to dismiss you. That¡¯s the world, baby girl, and you can¡¯t spend your time trying to fight the world.¡± ¡°So, you really are gonna do nothing?¡± Tears sting my eyes, but I am too angry to let them fall. ¡°When did I say that?¡± He sets his glass aside. I never sense any of the anger I know must be somewhere deep inside of him. He never lets me see that, ever. ¡°I¡¯m going to do what I can do, what I¡¯ve always done. I am going to make this the best damned orchard in the county. I am going to pull this family out of the mud with my own two hands. I don¡¯t suffer fools like the Constable. I put my hands and, more importantly, my mind towards what is in my power. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Besides, Dale is a dumbass. Since his daddy passed and he got the money, the man can¡¯t help but spend his tithe on frivolous shit. I don¡¯t have to lift a finger.¡± He looks out across the yard, watching the wind play with the leaves on the orchard. He was right. Two years later, Lord Timmian confiscated the Fragrass lot for failing to meet quota three seasons in a row. My dad bought out the land from the Lord, almost doubling the size of our orchard. Constable Fragrass was found in a ditch a few months later. Someone had beat him to death. Given how many people the man had abused over the years, no one looked that hard for whoever did the deed. He died with a bottle in his hand. I feel a tremble, a pulse of pain that shakes the tears free from my eyes. My dad turns into a tunnel in front of me, falling back faster than I can reach out for him. I shudder, my hand contorting like a claw, unable to relax my fingers. The dirt in the air pulls me back to the real world where jagged rocks stab into my back. I can¡¯t see out of my left eye anymore. Half-blind, I stare up at the naked sky, the rays of morning light sprinkling down, the sunny face of the world painfully beautiful. I see my arm out of the corner of my eye, laying oddly on the rock next to me. I try to relax my fingers, but the black veins squirming beneath the surface of my skin are like metal rods. A whine croaks out of my throat, all I can manage as time speeds by in the sky overhead¨C0, 1, 0, 1, 0, 1, 0. Bali is there then, her sobbing face looming out of the top of my vision. Her tears fall on my face, mixing with my own. Despite the darkness of night falling all around me, I can still see her face so clearly, every line that grief and helplessness etches on her features. Another person steps out from the dark behind her, eyes looking down at me with pity. The other person is me, not as I am now, but as I was then. Bali murmurs, and I am the elf girl dying of poison in the forest. I stare up at my own form, myself before I got caught up in the madness that dropped me off the cliff, but only sputtering gurgles escape my throat. ¡°Why are you here?¡± Bali asks me. ¡°Why did you have to come here? Don¡¯t you understand how weak you are?¡± I do. With my whole being I feel my own weakness, with every sporadic beat of my heart, pushing poison and coagulated blood through my veins, I feel it. Bali strokes my head, but I can only look at the girl behind her, staring at me with an innocence I dropped somewhere along the way. My legs start shaking despite the pain. I try to will myself to stay still, to minimize the stabbing pain from inside my own veins, but my body does not obey me. ¡°Why are you here?¡± Bali cries. ¡°Why are you here?¡± I am in the dark. I spin, my feet scrapping against black sand that stretches into the void around me. The echo of the question bounces all around me. I try to speak, choking, but managing to pull a few words out of my hoarse throat. My heart beats, and it comes like a hammer blow. My legs collapse, knees digging into the compact sand beneath me. Despite the dark, I can see my hands; my whole body is illuminated by a light without origin. ¡°Why are you here?¡± the question comes again. The sound is directionless, somehow bouncing off the ground around me while giving the impression that the emptiness I see in every direction is an infinite expanse. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I cry. The pain remains, a thudding inside my body. ¡°You have no purpose?¡± The voice is feminine, strong and commanding. Its scorn is worse than my mother¡¯s. I wilt, broken and hurting. ¡°You came here did you not? You are alive Charline Devardem. Are you simply a puppet, set to dance by the hands of another?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t believe he did that to me,¡± I cry. I see my hands shaking in front of my face, the black veins running under my skin. ¡°He killed me. Kendon killed me.¡± With the color drained from my skin, I look just like that girl in the forest. Kendon had been part of that trial too hadn¡¯t he, the competition on the Green Mountain? ¡°Is that a why? Is that a purpose?¡± The dark presses down upon me, and I stare back with wide eyes. ¡°I¡¯m here because I am weak,¡± I say. The words are truer than anything I have ever said before. The dark retreats away from me as I say the words. A pinprick of light forms out of the heavens above me, and the loose outline of black sand dunes pock the vacant space around me. I kneel at the base of one of the dunes, black sand rising so high that it hurts to look towards the top. A man, his back strong and wide, crawls up the sand, each handful of dirt an agony for him. His blonde hair falls in waves around him, and the smile on his face sparks envy in my heart. Despite the agitation, despite the pain of the climb, Halford cannot help but enjoy it. Standing at the top of the dune, a solitary figure stares down at the two of us, a wild mane of crimson floating in the air around him. His eyes are like dark suns, a red so deep and hot that they could set the world ablaze. ¡°I just wanted to be like you,¡± I say to the man standing at the top of the dune of black sand. ¡°I just wanted to want something as much as the two of you do. How can you live so freely? Why can¡¯t I love something the same way that you do?¡± Halford never hears me, his eyes locked on the figure at the top of the dune, ambition and glee spurring him on. The shadow at the top never looks away from me, his eyes vacant of emotion, his face a featureless void. A hand grasps my shoulder; a face leans in to whisper in my ear, its voice all promises and dark intentions. It is the woman from before. ¡°You are weak,¡± it whispers to me. ¡°That is why I am here,¡± I say, watching my brother scrape and tear to crawl up the rising mountain in front of me. ¡°I was weak, chasing my brother, no direction. I was weak, thinking that I had a purpose. I was weak, letting someone be stronger than me. I was weak, and I never knew what I wanted.¡± ¡°What do you want now?¡± the voice asks, silk in my ear. ¡°I want to be there.¡± I point at the figure at the top of the dune, looking down on the world of empty darkness and rolling sand like a god, power so grand that it doesn¡¯t need to be spoken. ¡°I want what it takes to get there.¡± ¡°Take it then,¡± the voice whispers. Hands turn my head to the left and I see Kendon and Coriander climbing the stairs of a crumbling castle, a glowing orb at the top. My hand stretches out, plucking the orb out of the world. The two stand, confused, and scream as the stairs collapse beneath them. ¡°It belongs to you,¡± the voice whispers to me. ¡°Everything belongs to you. You just have to take it. You just have to protect it.¡± I look down at the glowing orb in my hand, and as I do, the world shifts again. I stand at the top of a ledge hewn from obsidian stone, watching black dust tumble down past me. Kendon and Coriander lay at the bottom of the cliff I overlook, desperation and horror painted on their dead faces. Others lay next to them, the murderers from the dungeon; I know that it is them despite never having seen their faces. Constable Fragrass lay there as well next to the body of Forsin Al¡¯Ruino. Despite their dead eyes and vacant stares, their faces are all turned up towards me, looking at the orb I hold in my hand. Dancing inside the crystal sphere is the destiny of these people. I feel it try to break away from my grasp, but my hand is like a vice, unshakable. The futures I have taken away belong to me now. They are mine, and looking down at Kendon and Coriander, I feel a warmth and peace spreading through my chest more pleasurable than I have ever known. These two tried to steal my future, but now I hold theirs in my grasp. It belongs to me. ¡°Why are you here?¡± the voice whispers in my ear. ¡°Because I was weak,¡± I say, staring at the swirl of possibility in my hand. The orb in my hand captures all of my attention; it is impossible to turn away. ¡°This is their future isn¡¯t it, their dreams.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I could crush it,¡± I say. My fingers squeeze the orb, cracks spread across its surface like spiderwebs. Those down below scream watching their hopes and dreams pressured in my hand. ¡°Or, I could keep it for myself. This is what they tried to steal from me isn¡¯t it. Why shouldn¡¯t I take it from them?¡± ¡°That is the purview of the powerful.¡± ¡°I am weak,¡± I say. ¡°But I don¡¯t always have to be.¡± The voice laughs and I feel it retreat away from me. ¡°Keep running, Little Emperor. Nurture your envy. The world belongs to you.¡± The orb is gone. I stare at the claw that my hand has clenched into, lying awkwardly on a rock, the craggy surface of the cliff rising behind it. The sun bakes my skin and pain throbs in my head. Despite that, I try to flex my hand, the movement agony and still impossible. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch a spec of green in the top of my vision: 0, 1, 0, 1, 0, 1, 2. Chapter 49 - Recovery Turning over is the hardest thing I have ever done. Straining, my hands as weak as a kitten, I peel myself off the rocks and fall the three feet that remain to the ground. I only wake up a few hours later. Orange light from the setting sun throws shadows all around me. I try to push myself to my knees, feeling the wind roll over the bare skin of my back, chilling the dried blood from my cuts. I don¡¯t have the energy to make it to my knees. My attempts to conjure my inventory window fail. Odd distortions of blue and black light appear in front of my hand. The wind rustling against my tattered shirt, I fall back into the bliss of unconsciousness. It is morning, I think, when I stir again. The blinking eyes of a dragon spirit greet me as I come awake. The first thing I notice, other than the worry on Galea¡¯s face, is the stiffness all throughout my body. The black veins are gone from beneath my skin, but the sickly pale pallor remains. ¡°Water,¡± I croak through dry lips. ¡°Here,¡± Galea says. I look up at the golden lizard. She holds open the inventory window with her two claws. It takes serious concentration to reach up to the box where I have kept a bucket of water stored. The movement causes the ligaments in my shoulders and arms to pop like an old woman¡¯s. The bucket of water falls to the rocky floor at the bottom of the cliff, half spilling, and I dunk my head inside, sucking down the refreshing coolness. An attack of coughing shakes me when I finally come up for air, but my head is so much clearer. My entire body protests as I push myself to my knees, the popping of my stiff muscles loud enough I fear it might summon monsters out of the woods. I drain the rest of the bucket, as much of the water spilling down my chest and over my head as in my mouth. A pervasive sense of sickness lingers in my head, the aftermath of a fever, a burn behind my eyes. ¡°Are you alright, Mistress Charlene?¡± Galea asks, flying around my head as I toss the bucket to the side. ¡°Not dead,¡± I say, falling back against the big rock I landed on. Looking up, I can see sunbaked trails of crimson running down from the top of the rock. ¡°What was that?¡± Despite the question being rhetorical, Galea creates a window to show off to me. Afflicted with Serpent¡¯s Bite Toxin ¡­ ¡­ ¡­ ¡­ Serpent¡¯s Bite Toxin has been resisted! (Recovery Specialist Threshold) With a thought, the window expands to the tallest one I have ever seen. Over eight hundred instances of the line ¡°Afflicted with Serpent¡¯s Bite Toxin¡± climb high into the air overhead before I finally resisted it. I look at the lines in the top of my vision to mark my vital energies, finding that they have mostly become whole again, though cracks in their facade still remain: Healing Points 120/410. ¡°How long was I out?¡± I ask Galea. ¡°Three days,¡± she says. ¡°At least I estimate it to be that long. From the moment you were attacked, my functions were cut. I did not regain my demi-conscious functioning until sometime during the last night, just before I began to incorporate your soul reinforcements.¡± ¡°You leveled me up while I was in that state?¡± ¡°That is my prerogative,¡± she says, smiling a toothy grin. I look down at my pathetic form, my nice shirt hanging off my body, the back completely torn up by jagged rocks. My armor is gone, taken by that son of a bitch. He even stripped my magical greaves from my feet before tossing me over the cliff, leaving me barefoot. Staring up at the top of the cliff high overhead I feel a deep and powerful anger boil inside of me. The dreams and nightmares of the last few days are blurry. I remember staring at my paralyzed body, trying to move or do anything at all. I remember trying to cry out for help through my seizing throat only to be met with silence. I remember that look on Coriander¡¯s face, that sneer as she told Kendon I had been the one to attack Macille. I look down at my arm again, the traces of the black veins entirely gone. Kendon had been the one to attack that girl on the Green Mountain, I remember figuring out at least that much. Why though? Was he always a murderer, and I just couldn¡¯t see it? No, that doesn¡¯t feel right to me, but the fog in my brain stops me from thinking about it too much. The nightmare in the desert of black sand stands out in my mind. I remember every detail, the sensation of the warm sand beneath my fingers, watching my brother climb up the dune ahead of me. I remember with awful clarity the envy I felt chewing up my heart as I watched him smile and struggle. It told me what I never really wanted to admit to myself. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. I was always jealous of him. Ever since Halford was a boy he had always wanted one thing in his life, one single goal, to become an adventurer. All I ever wanted was to crave something as much as he did that goal. I never did. I never could. There had never been anything in my life that I wanted so much as Halford wanted that, not until now. The most powerful feeling I recall from the nightmare, the urge that repulses the rational parts of my mind, is the absolute glee that I felt watching the despair in Coriander and Kendon¡¯s eyes as I held what it was they most desired. If those bastards wanted to steal my life from me, I would take whatever it was they dreamed of. ¡°Mistress?¡± Galea says. I blink, realizing that I have been staring into nothing. I set the fantasy of knocking Kendon and Coriander down aside. That wasn¡¯t something I was going to be able to do any time soon, but I made sure to hold onto the corner of the emotion I felt then, that dark ecstasy. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I tell the spirit, making a motion to open the window that displays my personal information. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 22 ¡ú 26)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 37 ¡ú 41 Strength: 26 ¡ú 30 Magic: 215 ¡ú 249 Defense: 37 ¡ú 41 Magic Defense: 30 ¡ú 34 Speed: 103 ¡ú 107 Recovery: 178 ¡ú 196(226) Perception: 27 ¡ú 31 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 410 Mana: 2490 Stamina: 774 Free Points: 40 Seeing the drops in all most of my stats from having my items stripped away from me makes the anger and pain spark all over again. I push the anger aside; it doesn¡¯t help me right now. My Magic and Recovery are far higher than any other attribute that I have. A part of me wants to put all of my free points into Recovery immediately. If it hadn¡¯t been for that attribute, that poison would have killed me for sure. I look down at the rings on my fingers, the only magical items left to me. One is my magical storage ring, something that has been invaluable to me since the start of this passage, and the other is my Ring of Regeneration. I wonder for a time whether I would have even survived if Kendon had taken the rings from me as well. The trees at the base of the cliff are smaller, grouped more together than those at the top. The canopy climbs away from me, transitioning back towards the towering trees that stretch hundreds of feet overhead. For the first time since starting this competition, I am truly alone. I pull some jerky from my inventory and think about my circumstances. ¡°Galea, do you have that map still?¡± I ask. Galea swims through the air and produces the map of the Passage for me. ¡°I do not know where we are on this map,¡± she says. ¡°That¡¯s fine.¡± Lines of green thread away from the wall of dungeons at the bottom of the map, the East and West encompassed by the parallel mountain ranges that run off towards the North. If the map is to be believed, there were six different dungeons that contestants in the Passage entered. If all of the dungeons contained even a single Soul Cage as one of the prizes for clearing it, then that would mean that there are likely six rank two magicians now among the competitors. I correct myself, there could likely only be five now after Jor¡¯Mari killed that elven man. ¡°Did Kendon get him too?¡± I ask myself, remembering the black veins running up the side of Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s neck. ¡°Tits and Honey, what is going on?¡± One thing begins to crystalize out of the fog that still presses down on my brain, I don¡¯t think that I can trust anybody in this competition any longer. ¡°Can you at least determine whether we are closer to the Western or Eastern mountains?¡± I ask Galea. ¡°The Eastern ones,¡± she says confidently. ¡°The length of the tree shadows as the sun rose this morning would suggest this, as well as the time it took for sunlight to hit the tree crowns directly after the sunrise. Given that the horizontal length of the Passage is approximately one hundred and fourteen miles, I would estimate that we are within forty miles of the Easternmost edge of the usable area.¡± I stare at the spirit as she preens. ¡°You made that up.¡± ¡°I did not!¡± Galea says, completely affronted. ¡°It is a simple observation.¡± ¡°You said that you can only know what I know,¡± I say to the dragon spirit. ¡°I certainly do not know about whatever it is you just talked about.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± she huffs. ¡°Do not take my word for it. Check with your own eyes if you do not believe me.¡± I shake my head at the mouthy spirit before looking back to the window in front of me. No, there is no chance that I am going to risk traveling with a group again. If I can¡¯t even trust someone that I thought I knew well like Kendon not to try and kill me, there is no chance that I will trust a stranger not to. ¡°Which way is East?¡± I ask Galea. She points out to the trees in front of me. ¡°I will try to make it to the edge of the Passage, near the mountain range. Hopefully, everyone else is going to try and stay clear of the borders of the Passage, and we won¡¯t run into anyone.¡± Looking back at the window, I scrunch my nose and try to consider. I no longer have the freedom of trying to decide what will be best for me down the road. I set my sights on the immediate future; I need to do what is in my power right now just to survive this insane trial. A part of me begs for me to put all of my free points into Recovery, and that is certainly an attractive route, but I don¡¯t think that I can go that way. What I need now, more than anything, is a way to make certain that I don¡¯t end up being stabbed again or having someone get the drop on me. With how I have allocated my free points already, there is only one route to take, Speed. Galea waves her claws over me, a momentary light exploding away from my skin, as I put all forty free points into my speed, determined to break the Speed Threshold before I focus on anything else. A surge of energy rushes through me as the magic of my soul enhances my Speed attribute. Knees popping, I stand and stretch the stiffness out of my legs. I have to tie my torn-up shirt at the small of my back to keep it from falling off of me. Taking a single step with the intention of jogging into the forest sends a wave of lightheadedness over me. I grunt, taking a seat against the rock once again. ¡°We will go when my energies have recovered,¡± I say. ¡°As you say,¡± Galea agrees, nodding her head. ¡°However, I do not think that those creatures will agree with your delay.¡± Snapping off a piece of jerky, I looked to where her claw points. I squint into the trees, finding a small motion among the general gloom. ¡°Right now?¡± As if conjured by my words, a monster of branches and wood steps out from behind the trees. It is a monster in the shape of a wolf, not too big really, but covered in two-inch long thorns. Fire pours into my fingertips, my mana completely full from three days of no activity. I hold up a ball of orange dragonfire for the monster to see, smirking at the creature of wood and dry twigs. My grin begins to crack as the wooden wolf barks harshly at me, fire spreading over its form until it looks like a nightmare built from burning twigs. Three more of the burning wolves slowly pace out of the cover of the woods to the sides of the first, each lighting up in a flame of a different color. ¡°Why can nothing ever be easy?¡± Chapter 50 - Island Reading My feet stabbing into the dead leaves and branches that line the forest sound like the hammering of nails in my ears. Lucky for me, I had stored my original boots in my ring when I found the enchanted ones stolen from me by Kendon. Not so lucky was the pack of dozens of bramble wolves chasing after me. The monsters made of twigs and flame turn out to be completely immune to my dragonfire, at least the orange version. Without my staff, I have no way to keep my fire green and corrosive for repeated attacks, and having to stand still with wherever I set down the Bane Crystal would be far too much of a handicap. So, I run East through the forest, picking up stragglers of the bramble wolves as I run. The short trees surrounding the cliffside I woke up at the bottom of give way to the looming towers of bark and shadow that I have come to expect inside the forest. Galea glides along next to my head, calling out the monsters that she finds as I sprint through the forest. The pack of monsters on my heels grows by the second, snapping maws dripping an odd burning fluid as the group of rank one monsters manage to keep up with me. They aren¡¯t as fast as I am, my investment in Speed has done that much for me, but their claws grip the ground far better than my traveling boots. Every time that I think I lose them around a bend, I find them a minute later, sprinting at me from the sides and sometimes the front, having used some shortcut through the bush that I am unaware of. I hold my arm as I run, blood slipping slowly through my fingers from a nasty bite. A strange sensation beneath my hand distracts me as I feel my skin knitting in real time. A bite across my arm wasn¡¯t so bad; the worst thing had been that the monster set my clothes on fire as it lunged at me. Superficial burns across my torso and arms still healed, and I was practically wearing rags now. Ahead, the path opened a bit, enough to send a shiver down my spine. I slide as a bramble wolf leaps out of the leaves ahead of me, sailing through the spot I had been just before. Two more of the monsters rush out of the woods at my side, but I am already running again. One manages to snag a thread of my pantleg before I leave it in the dust behind me. I spare a glance back at the pack behind me, Galea being helpful enough to let me know that fifty-three of the monsters are chasing me at the moment. When I turn back ahead, I see a lizardkin man stepping out from a bush, his head turned away, speaking to a short woman that walks at his side. Two more in the unexpected party stop just as they enter the clearing I sprint through, a look of shock on all of their faces as I race past. ¡°Sorry,¡± I call to them through panting inhales. I don¡¯t know who these people are, and just an hour ago I confirmed to myself that I wasn¡¯t going to be joining any more groups. Still, it felt bad to lead this many monsters right to them. The air reverses as I sprint past the four, a whirlwind of energy being sucked past me, straight towards the unknown group. An explosion booms out into the air, followed swiftly by the cry of a warrior running into battle, but I am already past the clearing and back into the trees. ¡°Left,¡± Galea says, sounding almost bored. Without hesitating a second, I jump right and escape the ambush of three bramble wolves exploding out of the detritus of the forest floor. I bounce off a tree, not so fun without a proper shirt to protect me from the bark and continue running. That little lizard told me that she can only see what I do, but at this point, that lie feels laughable. My lungs work like furnace bellows, sucking in sweet cool air as my feet carry me through the forest shade. When I can really press myself on the straightaways, I feel like I can almost take off and soar into the air with how fast I am going. The longer I run, the more freeing the sensation that spread through my limbs is, and the more the fear of the monsters behind me recedes. Twenty one of the monsters still chase me, but the gap between us is widening. They yip, growl, and snarl, the fire sparking between their thorn-like teeth distorting the sounds, but I pay them less and less mind. More than an hour has passed since I began this run, and they have managed to keep up with me this whole time. My body exalts in the chase, exhaustion the furthest thing from my mind. Sparing a glance to the bar indicating my reserves of stamina, it really looks as if I could keep running for hours more. Perhaps this too was part of my high Recovery. A roar up ahead lets me know that the chase will soon be over, at least I hope so. No matter how freeing it feels to dodge and dash between the ambushes of deadly beasts, only becoming better at it each time, I understand that if I keep pressing my luck I will eventually lose. My foot splashes onto a beach of river stones, scattering the rocks into the air as I dig out whatever speed I can find. Ahead of me, a river more than two hundred feet wide rushes North with a speed that could match my own. Something that sounds like hesitation enters the growls and barks coming from the monsters behind me, and I am certain that my guess is correct. If the monsters are immune to my fire, they will probably do less well in the water. I am across the pebbly shore of the river in the blink of an eye, my booted foot splashing into surface of the river, the shallows. The solidness of the riverbed doesn¡¯t come, my speed carrying me forward before I can even touch the bottom of the river. Surprise and elation flood through me as my second step lands on the surface of the water, barely sinking a few inches before my momentum propels me further. ¡°I can¨C¡± My mouth fills with rough river water as my third step sinks through the broken water and foam ahead of me. I roll head over heels for several feet out into the river, knocking my head on a big, smooth rock before I flounder to the surface. A mouthful of the sour water¨Cyes, actually sour water¨Cdrips from my lips as I spin on the surface of the river. Already more than a hundred feet away, a gathering of twenty or more bramble wolves sit at the shore, all staring at my bruised body drifting away. The water rushing over me is cool and like a tonic to the fire in my muscles despite its weird taste and smell. I float for a time, the idea that there might be dangerous things in the water not even occurring to me. Through several bends, the river begins to slow somewhat, though the smell coming off the water only grows more pungent. I decide to leave the water when I see the river split around a large island in its center. Dry land and hopefully a good place to rest ahead of me.
The bird is strange, even as far as monsters go. Not overly powerful, it sits alone in the center of the island, the nest it built on the floor of the island filled with bones and shiny trinkets it has collected over the years. While it may not be the strongest of creatures, the webbed wings it possesses instead of feathers hint at an aquatic lifestyle, and judging by the mountain of fishbones littering the island, it is at least successful at hunting. It never spots the ball of fire descending out of a tree towards it until it is already too late. An explosion of orange fire consumes the monster in its entirety, roasting it with tongues of dragonfire before it can even stand. I sit on a branch in one of the small birches that grow all over the island, looking down at the creature as it fails to even get enough air to let out a death rattle. ¡°Sorry, but this is my island now.¡± I watch the fiery spectacle below me for a bit too long, realizing after a few seconds that bird nests tend to be flammable. I spotted the glint of treasure down there before blowing up the beast. ¡°Tits and honey.¡± After three minutes of beating the smoldering fires with the scabbard of a sword I salvaged back at the battlefield, I fall on my ass in the middle of the nest, watching black smoke snake up around me. At my feet, a leather chest piece studded with gold lay. Too bad that half of the armor piece was burned and unusable. I kick the corpse of the monster, turning it into pink smoke, and wrap myself in a bearskin as I take a seat in the middle of the nest. Galea is able to determine a semblance of where I am from the river and the looming mountains in the East. With the speed the river moves, it will take me North pretty fast. That is something for later. Firstly, the odd smell from the water still lingers on me; I¡¯ll have to use some of my fresh water to get the smell off. Secondly, I need a real plan before I try to go anywhere. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. I look up at the sky, specs of stars standing out against the darkening orange. This island is one of the few places in the forest that has a good view of the heavens. The stars fade into view, coming out of the velvet darkness overhead. I think, looking up at those untouchable lights overhead, trying to figure out a trajectory for myself. I have already decided that I am going to finish this competition. I never heard anything about dropping out, but I have to assume that doing so is possible, somehow. Adrius seemed to think that it was possible. I throw the idea aside. For the first time in my life I have a goal, a real goal that I want. Pushing through this Passage is the only way to reach it. Still, a plan is impossible. A window appears in front of my hand, and with a tap of my fingers, a bookshelf falls out of nothingness to land unevenly on the sticks and twigs of the nest. Three thick tomes piled on top of the bookshelf fall to the ground in a heap, some last minute additions that I nabbed leaving Arabella¡¯s mansion. The books were the most expensive things I took from Arabella¡¯s mansion, a clear risk to smuggle into the competition, but I am certain that is what she wanted me to do with the ring. The proctors of this Passage never searched my ring, or they had and found the things that I brought into the Passage to not be noteworthy. To me, the books represented what I lacked most in the world, understanding. It only really strikes me now how flippant I have been about this whole agreement I made with Arabella Willian. I agreed, I signed a contract, promising that I would become a rank three magician within three years, something that was unheard of where I come from. Despite that, despite my brother telling me how hard I needed to work, I lived for weeks in Arabella¡¯s mansion without exploiting her for what I would need. It seems like the actions of a child as I reflect upon it. Had I just expected her to hand me everything, to tell me everything I needed to know, without putting any work in? She had even given me some books to read, but when I had, did I bother to cultivate an interest? That apathy almost got me killed. Not because I hadn¡¯t learned about my new profession properly, but because I hadn¡¯t bothered to learn about anything. Despite knowing, despite being explicitly told, that the others in the group had artifacts, I never bothered to find out what they were or what they did. If I knew that, there is no way I would have let Kendon get that close to me. My ignorance almost killed me. As I light torches made from dried stick, hanging them from the boughs of the trees around me, I stare at the books on the bookshelf. No plan, nor any idea of how to properly make one, I know that I need to cleanse myself of this deadly ignorance. I read until dawn, my eyes having no difficulty with the night. The tomes are immense volumes, some not even meant to be read through. The first one that I find truly interesting is one such tome: Glossary of Basic Affix Interaction. The book captures my interest for most of the night, explaining some of the basics about magic that I never even could have guessed at. There exists, apparently, two major categories of magical expression outside of the innate abilities of magicians, monsters, and magical beasts. Enchantment, the brief subject that the book covers, is the first of these. The entire purpose of enchantment is the creation of magical constructs, permanent or consumable fixtures of magical expression meant to create a replicable magical outcome. All of the magical equipment that I have picked up so far, the rings I still wear and even the Eye of Volaash, are products of enchantment. It isn¡¯t so much the fact that enchantment exists which captures my interest, I have known about that for quite some time, but the fact that a major point of enchantment deals with affix interactions. The majority of the glossary is devoted to denoting the interactions between different magical affixes, and with the book covering one hundred and sixty six affixes, there are a lot of interactions to know, hence, the need for a glossary. Pages upon pages of itemized and sorted interactions detailing how Fire mana and Ice mana interact under specific circumstances, weakness and reinforcement fusions, useful and destructive combinations, it all sparks my curiosity. It reminds me of what Arabella told me about how my dragonfire would have poor matchups against certain elements. That had certainly proven true with the rank two catfish, and it happened again today with the bramble wolves. On a lark, I flip through, finding the section devoted to Acid affixed mana in the middle of the book. ¡°Explosive interactions with Fire Mana,¡± I read aloud, finding the entry. ¡°So that would have worked on the wolves.¡± Then, thinking again, I skip through the book, eventually finding that a fusion between Fire mana and Thorn mana exists, named Cinder mana, that has an extreme interaction with Acid mana. ¡°Why didn¡¯t I already have this?¡± I find the answer to that particular question in another one of the books. Arabella had mentioned it to me before when I first integrated all of my essentia for the first time but rank one and two are considered by many to be the same rank really. In ¡°An Introductory Guide to the Magician¡¯s Profession,¡± a book I will never forgive my so called mentor for not having given to me on my first day as a magician, the similarity is expounded upon in length. According to the information, being an essentia magician is just one of a plethora of paths towards magical power and might. In simple terms, the book explains that what attaching essentia to your soul does is call a splinter of your true soul out of the divine plane, the Horizon Lands. The soul takes a long time to reach the new rank one essentia magician, years even, but the process can be accelerated through the reinforcing of the soul. The book gave a couple of explanations for this, making it seem as if the writer didn¡¯t actually understand why testing your will against monsters helped to speed up this process. When the soul splinter reached the magician, and after the magician captured the splinter within their body inside of a soul cage, they would reach rank two, where apparently all the good stuff started. The largest difference that gaining rank two brought along was the ability to project a soul presence. The ability to do so was always guaranteed for essentia magicians at this stage, and in almost all cases the projection was colored by their conflux, though sometimes it took on the aspect of one of their essentia. There was a lot about soul presences, but what I found most relevant to myself, was that this was when most magicians started to bother with affixes. A basic ability of the soul presence was its ability to allow magicians to project their mana more easily, increasing their control of their magic and its power inside of the aura the soul presence created. It was this aura that was necessary for a magician to be able to manipulate their own magic deftly enough to examine its affixes and even attempt to change them. Small wonder everyone told me not to bother with affixes. For me, however, this does not seem to be the case. Likely because of my Emperor¡¯s Prerogative ability, I have been able to change the affix of Fire in my dragonfire to Acid. I am not able to do so spontaneously like the book describes incredibly skilled magicians as being able to do, but I am able to do it. Finding this pushes me to read every line of this book like my life depends on it, and I am not surprised when I find some more interesting information. Also in rank two, the book¡¯s entry for this rank is more than five times longer than its entry for rank one, magicians are more easily able to reinforce their souls by outside means and not by just fighting monsters or training their bodies. Oddly, these means are narrowly defined and delineated upon the lineage of the individual magician. The introductory book goes to great lengths to justify this through some philosophic babble about theology that does not square at all with all of the church learning my head has been filled up with. The diatribe is almost boring enough to make me close the tome all together, but with my new purpose found, I somehow manage to read the entire monotonous entry. At the end, I am rewarded with real information. Since the time that essentia magicians first came into the world, something I am surprised to find out was not always the case, the different races of the world have been able to reinforce their souls through different means. The Celenials, for instance, are able to absorb mana from the ephemeral concept of novelty. By experiencing new and exciting things, they can actually make themselves stronger. Of course, I immediately look for elves, finding that they are able to absorb ambient mana from the world around them through meditation, the denser the mana around them, the better. I believe Dovik mentioned to me something about elves gathering in highly populated cities, the mere fact that there were so many of them in one place increasing the density of the magic around them. The entry for humans is¡­well it is a bit odd. While other races might be able to meditate, travel, or even find power through expressing themselves, humans can help reinforce their souls by eating things. I find the entry a bit of a letdown after reading about elves and celenials, but I keep reading on anyway. By eating the flesh of magical beasts or harvesting magical plants, humans are able to siphon some of the mana invested into their food into their souls, strengthening themselves. The book even mentions briefly how affixed food interacts with this process, increasing the power of an individual magician¡¯s own affixes by prolonged exposure. In fact, all of these methods are closely related to affixing mana and increasing affix affinities. I notice that the sun has come up by the time that I finish reading through the introductory book, earmarking the sections that I find most pertinent to myself. I munch on some more jerky as I think over the contents of the book, trying to feel for mana or mana affixes in the meat, but utterly failing. The information is interesting, but nothing all that actionable for me at the moment. I continue working my way through the books well into the morning, feeling no need for sleep. It is sometime around midmorning, while I am reading a history text that would have been considered heretical back home, that an offhanded question to my spirit companion stops me dead in my tracks. ¡°I can do that,¡± Galea tells me. ¡°In fact, it is one of my prime functionalities.¡± Chapter 51 - Enchanter I quirk an eyebrow at Galea, looking between her and the history text that I have open in front of me. ¡°I don¡¯t think that I heard you right,¡± I say. ¡°That should be impossible. This form was created and chosen for having the greatest affinity for understanding between you and I,¡± she says, looking a bit confused. Looking down at the book again, I point to the section I just read aloud to her. ¡°This, you can do this?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± she says, nodding. The current section of the book I am reading is a text devoted to describing magical craftsmen from antiquity. After reading through a few more books that lightly mention enchanting, I decided to look up some records of famous enchanters. Dorian the Green was a master enchanter that lived almost three hundred years ago. The text describes the man as a genius, coming from a dirt poor area of some place called the Black Lagoon Archipelago. One thing that made me initially give up ever trying my hand at the art of enchantment when I first started reading about it this morning was the fact that it was likely the most expensive of the crafting arts. Special apparatus are required to pull potent affinities out of magical materials. These consumable tools are also required to be attuned to each specific affinity of mana in order to be useful, and as they degrade over time, they need to be replaced. Add to that the necessity of storage spaces for the magical energies to keep them from degrading, and the cost of enchanting begins to climb instantly. The reason that I found the text on Dorian the Green so interesting, is because the man managed to circumvent the need for expensive tools by exploiting his human heritage. Though the text does not describe exactly how, the man found a way to store the affinities that he harnessed from magical materials inside his soul, circumventing the requirement for both storage and extracting devices. ¡°You can do this?¡± I ask Galea again. ¡°You can store affinities?¡± ¡°No,¡± the dragon says, chipper. ¡°Although, the creation of soul tools is within the purview of my abilities.¡± I motion for her to continue. ¡°As a Faethian fey spirit attached to the artifact integrated with your soul, I have permissions to modify your soul in small ways you desire. The creation of soul tools lies within the bounds of my performable operations.¡± I squint at the spirit. ¡°And what exactly is a soul tool?¡± ¡°The name is quite self-explanatory. By cutting away a part of a sentient¡¯s soul, there are understood configurations for such free-floating pieces that can be used to achieve similar functions as that of magical abilities. Those in Faeth have been at the forefront of enchantment research for the last six centuries, and their directions for the creation of tools to aid their craft are an integral part of the culture. It is not uncommon for the craftsmen of Faeth to have created soul tools specifically for enchantment before they even reach adolescence.¡± Tapping my finger on the paper, several possibilities flash through my mind. What Galea says is interesting, even if the idea of having her ¡°cut¡± my soul is very disturbing. ¡°Did Dorian the Green go this route?¡± ¡°I do not know,¡± Galea says. ¡°From his description in the text you just read, I would assume that it is more likely he stumbled upon an essentia that granted him a similar ability. Both the knowledge and methodology of manipulating the soul in a way to create soul tools is not widespread. Most with any basis for enchanting would rather spend coin to acquire the tools rather than risk damaging their souls to create equivalent materials. There are downsides related to utilizing soul tools, such as the tool¡¯s potency being tied to the rank of your soul. While the more mundane tools for enchantment can be used by anyone regardless of their rank, soul tools are different.¡± ¡°So, I would need to decide between using expensive and powerful tools or cultivating my own tools that are tied to my soul,¡± I summarize. ¡°If these soul tools are so much less adequate than real tools, why would the Faethian¡¯s use them?¡± ¡°Many use both,¡± Galea says. ¡°For everyday work, it would be preferable for a craftsman to use a soul tool, as that does not cost them in a financial sense. Many in Faeth follow the pursuit of the craft as their primary focus in life. Being hampered from crafting by their wealth would seriously slow down their progress towards mastery. When an enchanter is asked to make a particular object of incredible potency, that is when they would likely choose to use real tools, tools that are of a higher rank or rarity than their own souls, allowing them to create incredible pieces.¡± ¡°That makes a certain sense,¡± I say, nodding along. I skim through the passage about Dorian the Green once more. He is depicted as a master of his chosen craft, single-handedly increasing the wealth of his entire archipelago by a huge margin with his craft. Opening my inventory, I look over the items I have accumulated, my eyes finally falling upon the number in the top right of the window: 32 gold, 18 silver, 93 copper, 687 iron. From the description of enchanter¡¯s tools in the glossary I read through earlier, this amount of wealth that have accumulated over the last several days of killing monsters could pay for maybe ten disposable enchanting tools of the first rank. I cannot even begin to fathom how expensive it must be to train an enchanter through a full apprenticeship. ¡°Didn¡¯t you tell me that you only know what I know?¡± I ask the spirit. ¡°This seems like it would easily fall outside of things that I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°No,¡± Galea corrects, ¡°I can only perceive what you are capable of perceiving.¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t what you said before.¡± I stare at the spirit for a full minute, her just floating there unabashed, before sighing and shaking my head. ¡°Whatever. You are capable of making a soul tool, one specific for enchanting?¡± ¡°Yes. With direct access to your soul like what I have already, I am capable of splitting and partitioning a portion that will then be able to store magical energy. The manipulation of implementation of this energy is outside of my capabilities, but the creation of the tool is something that I am able to do.¡± I take a long time to think about what Galea is offering. Skimming through the bookshelf, I do find an introductory reference for enchanting and a novice¡¯s guide to the trade. ¡°We might do that,¡± I tell her, taking a seat on my pallet of bear furs and opening the book. The idea of allowing the fey spirit to mess around with my soul is off putting, but hasn¡¯t she been doing that already? Every time that I reinforce my soul, Galea is in charge of that process as I sleep. Thanks to her, I have been able to fix the inefficiencies with the soul reinforcement process that makes humans lag behind the more efficient races. Without those additional attribute points, I might have died already. There is no malice or underhandedness in the spirit¡¯s words, despite her obviously keeping secrets from me. If she wished me any harm, she probably would have done so by now. I push the musings aside and focus on the book in my hands. If I am going to pick up the enchantment trade, then I should probably find out all I can about it before beginning. The book covers a decent amount of material that I already learned from the glossary. ¡°A Novice¡¯s Novel Pursuit¡± explains how enchantment is the other half of spellcraft, the two disciplines that encompass magical expression as an artform. Enchantment is the more physical form of magical creation, relying on the possession of magical materials in order to work, while spellcraft does not necessarily require any outside materials. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. One part of the enchantment process is harnessing affixed mana from natural treasures and affixed items found in the world, taking that affixed mana and delivering it into stable materials provided by the enchanter. Affixed mana by itself does affect the world, but often the items that the mana is bound to are unusable for crafting. My Bane Crystal would be one such example, the affixed mana that it gives off is incredibly potent, but as it is, it cannot be used to make a weapon that would carry the Acid affix. An enchanter would first need to pull the affixed mana from the Bane Crystal and transfer it into a medium, gold, silver, copper, and platinum being the most common. It is this medium that would then be integrated into the creation of a weapon in order to give the finished product the mana affix of the original crystal. Spellcraft, on the other hand, is a far more ephemeral form of magic. Skimming the few notes on spellcraft in ¡°A Novice¡¯s Novel Pursuit¡± leads me back to the shelf to retrieve the same two books that Arabella had me read. Unlike enchantment, spellcraft does not necessarily require affixed mana, though it can sometimes be incorporated. Spellcraft is as much a language as it is an artform; its creations are called stanzas, and the language that comprises the form is immensely complex. Essentially, a master of spellcraft is capable of writing complete stanzas with their own natural mana, creating a spell that would then produce a predetermined magical effect. Reading this makes me think back to that woman on the slope who summoned potions for us to use in our fight against the Dire Bears. The spells that masters of spellcraft are able to produce are incredible works capable of carrying out very specific and powerful effects, but once the spell is cast it is gone, needing to be constructed from the ground up once again. Everything begins to become more complicated once you begin to add in the runic language of spellcraft to enchanting items. While enchantment is mostly a form concerned with mana affixes and their interactions, to create items that have very particular effects, requires the integration of spellcraft, though, the introductory text clearly states that an in depth understanding of spellcraft is not required to begin. For example, if I pulled the Acid affix out of the Bane Crystal and joined the affixed mana with a bladed weapon, simply by being integrated into the weapon the affixed mana would cause magical acid to accumulate on the edge and make the weapon far more potent. Entire sections of the glossary are devoted to describing the effect of mana affixes interacting with otherwise mundane items. I don¡¯t get a good explanation of why, but something about the form of an object has an effect on what the affixed mana will do. More specific and complicated magical devices require the addition of the runic language to direct the mana to carry out a specific process. Looking through the description of how all of these work together begins to give me headache after an hour or two. For some reason, I always thought of magic as being a relatively simple thing. A magician would get their essentia, gain magical abilities, and that would be the end of the story. The books laid out in front of me paint a very different picture of reality. I lay back, watching the clouds pass overhead for a while, thinking about what I should do. Almost all of my gear is gone, stolen from me by Kendon and Coriander. Sure, I acquired all of those pieces over the course of just a few days, but something tells me that it will not be so easy to find magical items in the future. If I want to finish out this Passage on my own, I am going to need some kind of edge that will get me there. ¡°Galea,¡± I say, the dragon appearing in front of me as I say her name. ¡°Tell me more about this soul tool.¡± She smiles. ¡°By separating a small part of your soul from the whole, I am able to create a finite pocket capable of storing mana. You can think of it as similar to the storage ring that you already possess, a separate inventory that can hold a limited amount of mana types that can then be utilized in the creation process of enchantment.¡± ¡°You can only imitate the storage item?¡± I ask. ¡°Not the extraction items?¡± ¡°Correct,¡± she says. ¡°That is a limitation, but all of the races of the world have a way to pull affixed mana out of the world. The soul tool is merely a way for an enchanter to hold onto the mana and prevent it from decaying.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Having just read about how the different races of the world are capable of taking mana from the world, the explanation makes sense to me. Dorian the Green was a human like me, and apparently, we are capable of gaining and strengthening our affixes by eating things which contain those affixes. Elves are able to merely meditate in a magically dense environment to take mana into themselves. It would be through this process that the soul tool would accumulate affixed mana over time. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t I be incapable of doing this until I reached rank two?¡± ¡°Not at all,¡± Galea assures me. ¡°While magicians require the second rank to begin incorporating environmental mana into their souls to reinforce their souls or increase their affinity for affixes, the harnessing of these energies can be done even at rank zero. However, without the soul splinter captured inside of the soul, this energy has nowhere to go, nowhere to be imprinted, and dissipates.¡± ¡°I see.¡± An hour passes as I continue to mull over the decision. Eventually, after being unable to see any negatives for going through with this, I sit up in the nest. ¡°Will creating this soul tool harm my soul?¡± ¡°No,¡± Galea says. ¡°The soul is infinite, taking a small portion of it to create this tool will cause a temporary weakening of the soul, but such damage will repair itself shortly. You may experience your vital energies being unable to reach their maximums for a few days following the process.¡± Taking a deep breath, I focus on the fey spirit. ¡°Alright, do it.¡± A window appears in front of me with a simple message. Grant the fey spirit, Galea, permission to create a rank one soul tool, Enchanter¡¯s Affix Index? (Yes/No) After a few attempts, I realize that I actually need to push a finger into the spot indicating that I consent to this. The second that I press my finger to the word ¡°Yes¡± an incredible pain rakes through my body like someone just took a razor to my spine. I contort, my lungs frozen as I double over from the pain, and the world begins to disappear around me. In the next second I am somewhere else, the pain in my body vanished, standing in an infinite void, the wan lights of stars far off and in all directions. Something begins to emerge out of the blackness in front of me, a shapeless object of wispy white light that rotates and slowly becomes more and more real. The translucent object slowly condenses until its form stops shifting, floating towards me as I hold out my hands. It hovers in front of me, a strange object of twelve sides, each a pentagon, which turns over and over itself. Galea scares me as she pops into the void right next to me. ¡°This is it,¡± she says, pride stretching her face as she puffs out her chest. ¡°A perfect Enchanter¡¯s Affix Index if I do say so myself.¡± I study the strange object. All of its twelve faces are completely bare, unmarked by anything. ¡°What do I do with it?¡± I ask her. ¡°When next you consume anything carrying trace affixes, you should have an instinctual understanding that you can push the mana into your Enchanter¡¯s Affix Index. At rank one it can only hold twelve different affixes, but as you climb in ranks, it will be capable of more. I have to say Mistress Charlene, having such a large Enchanter¡¯s Affix Index at rank one is quite remarkable.¡± ¡°Is it?¡± ¡°The average enchanter will only have six sides to their index at the first rank.¡± Galea turns, looking behind me. ¡°I am guessing that is responsible.¡± I turn with her and am struck dumb by what I see. A massive object of white floats in the void in front of me, as large as a ship but of incredible complexity. Because it is somewhat transparent, I can see the complicated mechanisms of its constitution. On the surface, it looks like a sphere, only the faint outlines of ridges over its surface giving away that it is made up of hundreds of faces. Inside of that object is another that also rotates slowly, something made up of a hundred faces. Inside even that one is another geometric object, twenty faces this time, and on the surface of one of those I can see an unfamiliar rune emblazoned. There are more of the geometric shapes, each smaller and with less faces than the large one that surrounds it. All of the objects turn and shift in a pattern impossible for me to understand, though I intuit that there is some order to the movements. Around the largest of the shapes float three familiar spheres: gold, silver, and orange. ¡°This is the shape of my soul,¡± I say, knowing that it is true as I say it. ¡°You have a beautiful soul, Mistress Charlene. I have never seen one with so many unutilized affinity plates.¡± ¡°You have seen more souls than mine?¡± ¡°No.¡± I ignore the spirit, my attention captured by the intricate movements of the soul before me. I know without needing to ask. Emperor¡¯s Prerogative has made my soul into this shape, a series of shapes inside each other, an infinite canvas on which I will one day be able to paint every affix in the universe upon. ¡°I think that I will like enchanting.¡± Chapter 52 - Forward The boar monster shuffles its feet, stepping through the pungent mushrooms springing up from the dirt, moving towards the decaying body of some fungal construction. The boar was the largest of its group, a good three feet taller than the next largest, with a wicked looking horn sprouting from its forehead. Making it through the field of mushrooms, it pokes the corpse in front of it, a body that was surely humanoid once but was now bloated with decay and sprouting purple mushrooms all over it. After a few seconds of prodding, finding that the body truly was dead, the boar monster pushed its head forward and tore the head off the body with a crunch. Others of its herd, six smaller monsters that remained outside the circle of mushrooms growing around the body, take their leader¡¯s actions as a sign that the mushrooms were safe, and set to plucking the fungal caps off the ground. When a snout bends down and snatches up a mushroom, a cloud of purple spores erupt in the vicinity, but the monsters take little notice, completely unaffected by the fungal spores. The largest of the monsters continues to snort as it turns partially decayed bones and sinew into easily swallowed bits with its powerful jaws. The horn jutting from its forehead glows with a pink contentment as it eats. Bristles down the spine of the boar stand up, its chewing ceasing, but the bulky monster is too slow to stop what is coming. A ball of orange fire screeches out of the trees above the monster, colliding with the center of its back before erupting in an explosion that shakes the air. The other monsters leap away from the sudden fire, tongues of flame licking the two closest which are almost ten feet away. The big boar is allowed a single screech of agony, expelling all the air in its lungs, before it is choked by the conflagration. Another bolt of fire, not nearly as powerful as the first, screams down from the tree canopy far overhead, blowing a hole straight through one of the lesser monsters before sparking another explosion of the vicious orange flames. The fire engulfing the leader of the herd gives way, showing the slumped body of the great boar that continues to burn and sizzle. Panic sinks into the hearts of the monsters, the lesser boars running in different directions, one narrowly escaping a bolt of fire that explodes against the detritus at its feet. Running in different directions, the lesser boars become more difficult to hit. They are fast and strong, and if their ability to resist magical attacks wasn¡¯t so completely abysmal, I doubt I would have killed any of them. As it is, I down three of the lesser boars and the big one before all of the monsters have scattered. More than a hundred feet overhead, I allow myself a bit of rest, taking a moment to calm my heart as I look through the canopy floor for any sign of an oncoming monster. The day before I realized that the canopy that the huge trees create like a lattice is far more complex than I initially understood. It is almost as if the trees intentionally created a floor with their sprawling branches a hundred feet up, another gap in the foliage stretched far over my head, leading up to a similar level another seventy feet up or so. I stand, the huge leaf beneath my foot as stable as the ground. Vertigo tries to invade me as I stare down at my kill, the charred bodies of monsters a hundred feet below. The sound of oncoming monsters doesn¡¯t reach me. Throughout the first level of the canopy, Climbing Pythons and Rock Tellemurs are numerous. The snake monsters are the easiest things to kill in the forest, if you knock them out of the tree they won¡¯t survive the fall. Unfortunately for me, they are not useful for what I am currently trying to do. The Tellemurs are more useful, but the evasive bastards have a tendency to run away if they know they will lose the fight. The big, dumb, and landbound boars on the other hand, are perfect. Reaching the trunk of the tree on who¡¯s branches I stand, I scale down, using the poison dagger found in the mud forest to keep me stuck to the trunk. I don¡¯t dismiss the charge I am holding on my Dragonfire Bolt until I step up to the first body of one of the smaller boar monsters. A light dusting of lavender colored spores cover the body. Mushrooms, hundreds of different kinds, grow throughout this section of the forest. My eye has informed me that almost all of them are toxic in some manner, but the monsters around here seem to have some level of immunity to some of them. Fire burns away from my hand, scorching the spores from the carcass of the monster before I bend over to tap it, turning it into sparkling pink smoke. I do the same with the rest of the bodies, slowly working my way through the forest floor, incinerating any mushrooms long before I get near them. Most of the mushrooms are rank zero or rank one things, and my Recovery is likely high enough to prevent them from effecting me, but after Kendon, I don¡¯t take any chances. A smile spreads across my face when I finish disenchanting the largest boar, the pink smoke that its body becomes funneling into my storage ring directly. 42.3lbs. of Wayfinder Boar meat has been added to inventory 16lbs. of Wayfinder Boar meat has been added to inventory 3 gold has been added to inventory 13 silver has been added to inventory Wayfinder Boar Tusk has been added to inventory(Multiplicity)x2 ¡°Must be my lucky day,¡± I say. After deciding my path forward, I had agonized for a good four hours about how to use the Rune of Attunement that I gained from the dungeon. Upon holding the rune, the knowledge that it would only work with two of my abilities somehow became imprinted in my mind. The decision on whether to use the rune on my Disenchantment ability or my Dragonfire Bolt had been almost as difficult to make as choosing which essentia I wanted. My decision had ultimately been decided by the nature of my Dragonfire Bolt. The attack was the only real power that I have, and it has become a truly powerful ability over the last twenty five levels, capable of killing a rank two monster in a single blow if they were caught off guard. It might have followed then that adding the Multiplicity affix to my dragonfire would be a no brainer, but something had held me back, whispering to me that it might not work the way I wanted it to. If the rune had allowed me to create three Dragonfire Bolts at a time instead of one, my offensive ability would have become a true terror. On the other hand, if it then forced me to have to conjure three every time instead of one, it might have tripled the time that it took for me to launch an attack. The speed at which I am able to hurl my dragonfire is one of the biggest strengths of the ability, even having multiple of them at once would not have made up for a slowdown. In the end, I chose to apply the affix to my Disenchant ability, and I have not regretted it since. Gold Essentia: Disenchantment(Rank 1) By touching a dead monster, you are able to break down their residual essence into component parts and solidify their magical residue into physical objects. Gold: this ability also produces an amount of coin commensurate with the power of the monster. Multiplicity: using this ability has a low chance of producing an additional, duplicate item and will always produce two to five times as much coin as it would without this affix. After thoroughly clearing the area and checking for hidden monsters, I make my way back to my island. This has been my routine for the last three days, swimming off my island each morning to look for monsters out in the forest. Today was the first time that I have managed to find a rank two monster, the big boar, and after hunting almost twenty of the creatures, I think that I might finally be ready. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. Nothing has approached my island in the last few days, and it has been rare for me to spot any monster along the shoreline of the river. The monsters seem to avoid the river water for some reason, relying on small ponds scattered throughout the forest for their water. I¡¯ve taken the natives¡¯ distaste for the water to heart, relying on my own stores. The slightly sour water doesn¡¯t seem dangerous, but it isn¡¯t worth taking a chance on. The nest I have built my small camp inside of is mostly a pad of broken twigs and branches at this point, my heavy boots having done wonders to slowly break it over the last few days. The bookshelf stands alone in the center of the island, surrounded by furs and my previous attempts at sewing clothing from the pelts and skins my ability produces. I am halfway through sewing a bearskin shirt that doesn¡¯t look completely awful; I¡¯ll have time to get back to that later. I ignite a roaring fire in the pit I have dug, stabbing heavy skewers of boar meat to roast over the fire before returning to the sewing. I skim through an enchantment guide as my fingers work, slowly stitching together something that I can use to cover up better than the cut up rags that hang off of me. It is still winter here, and despite there being no snow around, a chill pervades the forest at all times. Almost an hour later, the meat has cooked sufficiently, and the real work begins. Extracting the mana affixes from the boar meat is much easier than I had initially expected it to be. I had expected there to be some kind of technique to it, some skill, but after roasting and eating the catfish meat a few days ago, I discovered that just having a soul tool facilitated the process greatly. The instant that I took my first bite of the catfish meat, I felt a strange power dance across my tongue, a vibration that tickled my pallet, almost fizzy. Strange as it may sound, the cut of catfish, completely unseasoned and burnt on one side, was the tastiest thing that I have ever eaten in my life. I tore into the meat like a beast, ravenous to push the meat down my gullet. A split in my attention made me aware of strange effects. As if I stood in that void and in the real world, I could see the twelve-sided object that was my Enchanter¡¯s Affix Index while my body moved to wipe my face clean, even heading down to the river to wash my hands off. For a few minutes, it was as if two of me existed simultaneously, one in the world of the mundane, and another in a place far more special. Two streams of energy, one a muddy brown and the other a pure cerulean, snaked around the index in two streams. With my hands I found that I could channel the streams, directing them into the index with my attention alone. The streams resisted me, barely wanting to shift, but it was as if my will was their bane. I could feel the inexorable movement deep inside of the streams of mana, their inertia something that should be impossible for a weak magician like me to manipulate. My will was like a bucket of water compared to their lake¡¯s worth of momentum and unyielding direction. Somehow, that bucket of water was enough. Despite our difference in raw power, they bent to my will, and poured into the index. After the streams disappeared fully into the index, my split consciousness collided back together, stunning me for a moment. I thought that I might have messed up somehow, broken whatever I was trying to do, but Galea creating a window in front of me banished my fears. In front of me, a transparent window with twelve different boxes appeared, two taken up by symbols so faint they were almost unreadable, the other ten blank. I tried to guess at the symbols for a while before referring back to the enchanting glossary, only to find that it didn¡¯t describe the symbols either. The answer was found inside of the book on spellcraft. In the back of the book, a rudimentary outline for basic runes is written, two of the runes matching the ones in my Index window: Earth and Water. Considering that the catfish had been a monster that lived in mud, this made a good amount of sense to me. Still, looking at the window, the two runes were barely even visible. I sampled all of the different monster meats that I have been accumulating throughout this Passage, finding that most of the time, meat from rank one monsters do not contain any affixed mana, while all of the rank two monsters did. Hunting in the forest for a day let me come upon the boars, and to my delight, the meat from the rank one boars contained Earth affixed mana. I take a steadying breath before digging into the nearly hundred pounds of meat that I have roasted over the fire. Another surprise that I found in the last few days was that I can seemingly eat an endless amount of food so long as it contains some kind of mana affix. How that works or how my stomach doesn¡¯t burst from all the meat I shovel down my throat, I don¡¯t know. An hour later I finished gorging myself on the boar meat and recline against a tree for a few minutes to recuperate. My Index window opens in front of me, a few symbols stand out, dark and almost impossible to see, while one reflects a powerful brown light, Earth. I devote another hour to going through my plan, reading back through the books to make certain that I have everything in order before I begin. Assured that I should be able to manage at least something, I stand and walk to a cleared area I have prepared for my work. With a wave of my hand, ten silver coins fall into a divot in the sand that I dug out. Calling dragonfire to my hands and pouring heat into the metal is the simplest part of the process, the silver melting after a few minutes into shiny goo while I continue to pour on the heat. The text indicates that natural metals are the most basic sources in which to house affixed mana, though, depending on the item an enchanter is working on, other substances may be used. For example, incorporating affixed metal into leather pieces seems to work, but not as well as affixing monster blood and applying it to the piece like paint. Base, non-magical metals also have issues with containing the affixed mana for extended periods of time, slowly losing their magical potency. What I am trying to do now is the most basic of enchanting, which is the only reason that I am even somewhat confident in completing the job. Aside from being only a master of enchanting, most enchanters also master a craft. An armorer will create magical pieces of armor, running affixed mana beneath the surface of their metalcraft so that it cannot be damaged and so that it will be perfectly integrated into the piece. Devicers, enchanters that focus on creating astounding devices, will likewise create the magical mechanisms inside of the items they produce, both hiding their workings and protecting the arrays that the affixed materials create from the elements. Without a craft to do in hand enchantment, I am at a severe deficiency, only able to even attempt the most basic of craftwork. Still, watching the silver coins melt before my eyes and feeling the mana storied inside of my index, I am excited to see what I can do. Transferring the silver to a second hole I have dug in the sand is difficult. I spent more than two hours this morning making certain that I drew the rune at the bottom of the second hole perfectly, and as I watch the silver pour into the lines, energy brims inside of me. Time flies by as I wait for the metal to cool, unable to work with it until it has become solid. I pull a misshapen hunk of metal out of the hole the next morning, turning it over in my hand. The silver didn¡¯t set smoothly, something I had been worried about but expected. My Bane Crystal comes in handy, my green dragonfire carefully applied across the surface of the metal to wash it with acidic pour, making it smooth out. I even chip away at small imperfections that stick off the silver rune with the utmost care. By the time I eat lunch, the silver rune in my hand shines brilliantly in the light, its surface capturing the sun. The final part of the craft, the actual infusion of the metal with the affixed earth mana I have been accumulating, is far easier than I ever expected. As soon as I begin to press my will into the index, the earth mana jumps at the opportunity of release. An odd, muddy-brown fire spreads over my fingers, pouring into the silver rune in my hand like water down a hole. I deplete all of the mana in my index in seconds, the rune I hold taking it all in, as if the silver rune is an infinite repository for magic. The book mentions the maximum magical density of various materials; the reason I chose to make this rune from silver was due to silver having the highest possible density of mundane metals. As I sever the connection between the rune and my index, completing the craft, I feel a bit of regret at not having gathered more mana before beginning. I push that regret aside, feeling the thrum of magic in my hand, the silver rune almost vibrating as I hold it. Galea swims in the air around my hand, staring down at the rune with interest. ¡°This is your first craft, Mistress Charlene,¡± she says. ¡°It is,¡± I say, putting a string through the top of the rune, turning it into a necklace. ¡°Show me.¡± The dragon nods, and a window appears in the air between me and the rune. Lesser Talisman of Earthen Protection(Uncommon): The first craft of the Enchanter Charlene Devardem, this talisman was created in the wilderness during the Passage of Rising Tide. Its simple form and nature belies a budding understanding of the Enchanting arts. Enhancement: +5 Defense I¡¯ve done it. I have actually made something. Chapter 53 - Mushrooms It¡¯s a strange thing to figure out that you no longer need to sleep. Well, not that I never need to sleep, but three days into my hunting trip, I realized that I could keep going. I spent more than a week ranging out into the forest, trying to find enough boar monsters, enough prey, to make talismans from before bothering to return to the island. As before, the boar meat only gave me Earth affixed mana, but damn, was it tasty. Given that I only have the ability to create the most rudimentary enchantments, talismans, the things that I can do with my accrual of mana is limited. Talismans at their core are monolithic pieces of affix infused materials that are arranged to represent a single rune, the most useful ones relating directly to the eight primary attributes. Knowing that I only have Earth affixed mana to work with, I made my first talisman with the rune representing Defense, the attribute for which Earth has the greatest efficiency. I¡¯m lucky that the ¡°Glossary of Basic Affix Interaction¡± describes the attribute efficiencies of each affix so that I didn¡¯t have to waste my time with trial and error. Despite all the limitations, after a week and a half of boar hunting, I have gained two levels and created eight more talismans: Earth has a negative efficiency with speed and perception, so I didn¡¯t bother with those. I am fully aware that in the first three days of the Passage I found magical equipment that far outstrips rudimentary talismans that I can make now, but there is something so gratifying about making my own equipment. Wearing nine talismans is not the quietest approach I have found; the increasingly heavy burden of jangling trinkets around my neck certainly cut into my ability to moved unnoticed¨Csomething to deal with at a later time. My hunting grounds have become sparser over the last week, the mana in the atmosphere not powerful enough to replenish the forest boars at the same rate in which I kill them. I wander the woods North of the island after having stored all of my camp materials back into my ring. Again, the ring proves itself as my most valuable possession. Following the river north, the pervasive smell of sour water grows, the pebbly shallows of the river taking on a sickly purple-green hue, the rocks growing an odd orange moss. Dams of odd lichen floating in the river accumulate at natural eddies, growing thicker as I hike to the point of stretching in wild tangles all the way across the water. There is nothing that could possess me to drink the water anymore, just being within a few feet of it makes me gag. The mushrooms throughout the forest also grow more dense, colorful patches of green, purple, and orange sprouting from the duff like wildflowers in bloom. Worrying, certainly, but the more mushrooms, the more boar monsters I am able to find. Standing a few feet away from a tree completely overtaken with a colony of purple-specked mushrooms crowding the base and spreading up the trunk, I stare down at the odd remains of what was once probably a dwarf. This isn¡¯t the first time that I have come across an odd body in the woods, far from it; the sight of these skeletal remains surrounded by a burst of mushrooms has become common. It is the best place to prepare an ambush for a pack of boars. Without any real evidence, I always figured that the remains are from trial takers decades ago. Maybe so far off the regular path as I am here, many of their bodies aren¡¯t reclaimed when this terrible event ends. The Passage certainly seems bloody enough to pile up this many bodies. That doesn¡¯t explain why even after checking five of the bodies I have yet to find a single item or article of clothing among them, or why I have found all of them leaning up against trees. I am just about to pick out a tree to climb up to the first layer of the treetops when a shuffling sound catches my attention. Holding the talismans to my chest to stop them from making noise, I slink to the tree, putting it between the noise and myself. Peeking around the tree, the oddest sight that I can remember greets me. At first, I mistake the three figures plodding through the underbrush as being a band of three short men in odd hats, but my Eye of Volaash dismisses that possibility. Mycose Wandering Spawner(Level 50) The odd monsters are vaguely humanoid in shape, barely four feet tall. Their two stubby feet almost bounce as they move through the forest, their flesh the off-putting gray-beige of the mushrooms in the forest. Two grotesquely muscled arms stick out of what I can only describe as stalks, ending in hands that bear five-inch talons instead of fingers. They have no face. Instead, their bulbous torsos transition into a mushroom cap at least four feet in width, from which dangle fruits that glow a soft golden color. Each of the monsters has a different speckle pattern to their caps: green, yellow, orange, all on a bed of lavender purple. They also have a different number of the fruits hanging from their mushroom caps, the one in lead having three while the two behind it having only two. ¡°Silk on my dick,¡± I mutter, watching the odd and uncoordinated creatures plod along. Galea, floating next to me, opens her mouth to make some kind of comment about my choice of words. ¡°Don¡¯t even,¡± I tell the dragon, unable to stop myself smirking as I see the dragon¡¯s disappointment. No doubt, she was going to try and correct me about something. Thoughts of hunting boars having vanished, mana begins to pour into my fingers, blooming orange fire over my skin. The boars are great for their mana affixes, but after a week and a half and having only gained two levels from hunting them, they are becoming a disappointment more and more. Each of these monsters is level fifty, probably a good challenge. As my magic has grown, the time for me to over channel a Dragonfire Bolt has stayed fairly consistent, around thirty seconds. Occasionally, I will be able to break through that barrier, creating a truly masterful explosion, but I still haven¡¯t figured out how to do so consistently. Holding condensed fire in my hand, I round the tree enough to have a good vantage on my targets. The monster in the middle seems to be the leader of this band; I will begin with it. Orange light burns like an arrow through the forest, shrieking as it cuts the air with its speed. The monsters hardly have a chance to slightly turn in my direction before the magic makes contact with the center mushroom man, the explosion enough to toss its two companions a good distance away. The dust from the explosion clears in less than a second, revealing the body of the mushroom man engulfed in fire from orange-specked cap to weird pudgy toes. It makes no noise as it flails, dragonfire turning its gray flesh to charcoal as it stumbles around like a drunk. A well of pity tries to manifest in my heart as I watch the monster scratch at its cap with its clawed hands, but I quash that emotion. If I want to make it to the end of the Passage, I don¡¯t have time to pity monsters. ¡°Your dragonfire seems to be very effective,¡± Galea comments at my side. We both watch the center monster fall sideways, slumping to the forest floor where it continues to shake for a few moments before falling still. ¡°It does,¡± I agree. So far, my orange dragonfire has been fairly effective on beast-like monsters, but anything substantially stranger has had some kind of innate defense against the fire. Even the catfish had been practically immune to my fire. I know all of that has to do with how mana affixes work against one another and powerful monsters having especially high magical defenses, but as I watch the body of the mushroom monster smolder on the ground, dismissing the window Galea shows me to let me know the monster is dead, a warmth spreads in my heart. ¡°Finally, some good luck.¡± ¡°Left,¡± Galea says, somewhat lazily. My feet are already in motion, my speed able to easily put ten feet of distance between where I was just standing and myself in a split second. I land unsteadily, the crash of a taloned hand with the ground shaking the earth beneath my feet. In the spot where I had been just a moment ago, a monster that my eye still identifies as being a Mycose Wandering Spawner stands, pulling its hand up out of the ground, but a clear transformation has taken place. The monster is more than eight feet tall now, its arms and legs now looking more jointed, like a person¡¯s would, no longer flesh blobs. The talons at the ends of its hands extend three feet, almost looking like five black sword blades. I see its legs coil for a second, and already my fire is flying forward towards its gray body as I run sideways. The blob of fire splashes into the monster¡¯s chest as it lunges forward like an unwinding spring, digging a burning hole into the center of its mass as ten talons race towards me. I kick forward off of a rock, pushing myself closer, inside the range of its closing talons, while also planting a hand on its chest. A blazing eruption engulfs the monster¡¯s right shoulder as its swing finishes, the meat of its forearm colliding with my own shoulder. A crack sucks the air out of my lungs as my body is sent flying to the side, the world a dizzying jumble of leaves, dirt, and pain. A lucky bounce off of the ground gives me an instant of vision without my head buried in the duff. Finding my orientation, my heels slap into forest floor, and I roll backwards head over heels twice before I can stick the landing. The monster affords me barely a second to get myself together before it is flying through the air at me once again, a taloned hand outstretched like a spear, its other completely engulfed in flame. More falling to the side than anything else, I manage to drop beneath the monster¡¯s body, hearing it crash into a tree trunk some distance behind me. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. In the same moment that I realize my left arm is broken somewhere near the shoulder, I realize that the monster¡¯s single strike sent me bouncing through the forest for almost fifty feet. If I let that thing touch me again, I won¡¯t survive it. A thunking sound behind me makes me spin, fire spreading over my hand, ready for another lunge. The monster stands, its burning arm hammering into the trunk of a tree while its only good arm is stuck into the bark for almost a foot. It tries to pull itself from the tree even as the fire continues to spread across its body. Another bolt of dragonfire smashes into the back of the Mycose Wandering Spawner, followed by another and another. With one good hand, I put four more Dragonfire Bolts into the back of the monster before its struggling finally begins to slow. Fire has turned it into a burning husk by the time that it stills. ¡°Where is the other one!¡± I demand of Galea, turning while I cradle my injured arm. The dragon spirit looks me up and down before pointing in a vague direction. I take off, sprinting towards where she pointed. It takes me less than a minute to overtake the Mycose Wandering Spawner, the short creature stumbling through the leaves as it races off. Dragonfire already condensing in my hand, I try to find a good vantage to incinerate the monster before it has a chance to make a move. It notices me somehow, its faceless body half spinning in my direction as I race after it. As it runs around a tree, the mushroom monster plucks one of the fruits hanging from its mushroom cap. By the time that it emerges around the side of the tree a second later, its body has swelled to giant proportions, looking almost identical to the last one that I killed. The Mycose Wandering Spawner begins to coil its legs, its hands coming up to point in my direction, but I stand at the top of a rise, looking down at the monster, relief on my face. The Mycose Wandering Spawner never reacts to the ball of screaming fire sailing at it. The bolt of dragonfire passes right between its outstretched arms as it prepares to launch itself in my directions, its movements stopped by an explosion of fire. A burning body rolls out of the plume of flame, the giant mushroom knocked a good two feet backwards through the air by the explosion before falling to the ground, burning like a yule log. The monster never moves again, and a minute later, Galea floats up to me, holding a window between her claws. You have defeated Mycose Wandering Spawnerx3 I breathe out my relief, falling on my ass at the top of the rise. My heart pounds in my ears, and it takes a long moment before I can calm it to any extent. As I watch the monster continue to burn at the bottom of the short slope, a painful popping in my left arm draws my attention away. The pain is gone after a second, strength flooding through my arm once again. I flex my hand, making a fist, and stretch out my arm. ¡°That was fast,¡± I say, looking at the bloody patch of new skin where a nasty gash had been just a few seconds before. ¡°Mistress Charlene is a recovery specialist,¡± Galea says. ¡°Still.¡± I give myself a few more moments before getting back to my feet and walking down the slope to the body. I nudge the dead monster with my foot, using Disenchant to turn it into a cloud of pink smoke. Looking over the message window that tells me what has been added to my inventory, I see all the expected things. I have no clue what ¡°Mycose Flesh¡± will taste like, and at the moment, I am not particularly interested to give it a try. At the bottom of the window, something does strike my interest. Opening my inventory window, I retrieve the newest item in my collection. A fruit, about the size and shape of a chicken egg, appears in my hand, glowing a warm golden color. Mycose Spawn Seed of Growth(Rare): A spawn seed from a colony of Mycose with natural affixes of growth. If planted as intended, the spawn seed will attempt to grow into a Mycose Territory Bulb, helping the colony expand its reach. If consumed by a non-mycose, this spawn seed can grant a permanent increase to one¡¯s attributes. My eyes widen at the description. Natural treasures that are capable of permanently increasing the attributes of a person are some of the most sought after items¨Cif my books aren¡¯t lying that is. Naturally, there is a limitation to their effectiveness, but it is a common practice for wealthy magicians to stuff themselves with as many as they can get their hands on. Access to these expensive items is an incentive that many of the larger magician guilds use to bring in new members. Who would say no to easy power? ¡°Am I reading this right?¡± I ask Galea. ¡°The description should be perfectly legible, Mistress.¡± She looks between me and the message window. ¡°I just wanted to make sure.¡± I bring the spawn seed up to my mouth, ready to eat the thing whole then and there, before a stray thought stops me. Aren¡¯t the other bodies still burning up? Five minutes of frantic running and disenchanting later, I sit on the ground, four of the spawn seeds laid out in front of me. Even with the first monster having still had three of the spawn seeds attached to its mushroom cap when I blew it up, my disenchanting ability only gave me one. When I used the ability on the body still stuck to the tree, my multiplicity affix managed to give me two. ¡°Maybe I need to not completely destroy the bodies in order to get all of the seeds,¡± I muse. Being able to do that without setting the flammable bodies ablaze might not be something that I can do just yet. Still, four of these natural treasures is quite the haul for a day¡¯s work. A book rests in my hand, a journal of an adventurer¡¯s travels though the world and her recollection about what she found out in the wilds. I like to read it for the stories during stretches of boredom, but now I am more focused on her descriptions of some of the magical treasures she found out in the wilds. ¡°It says here that a skilled alchemist can refine these kinds of treasures,¡± I tell Galea. ¡°Will you save them then?¡± she asks. I mull over the question. As it stands, I have no idea how potent these spawn seeds might be. If I could find an alchemist capable of refining these treasures, they could turn them into something worth a fortune and far more powerful. I sigh, looking in the direction of what I imagine to be North. ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°I was lucky today. I stumbled upon monsters that were naturally weak against my fire, monsters that also produce powerful items like these spawn seeds. I doubt that I have any luck left to find an alchemist before the Passage ends, and I can use all the advantages I can find to get out of this thing alive.¡± It wasn¡¯t as if I was planning to find another living person for the time being either. ¡°Best just to use them now.¡± Before I can change my mind, I pluck up one of the spawn seeds and pop it in my mouth. The seed explodes with ecstasy inducing flavor the second that I bite into it, tasting like honey and strawberries. The magical juices of the seed try and dribble down my chin, but I catch them before they can escape. The power of the seed floods into me like a sweet wave, racing through my veins like the welcoming spread of fire. The sensation relaxes after a second, but the vibrance of the memory continues to linger for a time. A window appears in the air in front of me. Congratulations! You have gained 2 Free Points! ¡°Incredible,¡± I manage to say after swallowing. The remaining three fruits disappear into my mouth before I can think to do anything else. Their power is intoxicating, like a warm massage that relaxes into my muscles and my core, but I notice that not all of the energy flows into my body. On a hunch, I open the window that shows my Enchanter¡¯s Affix Index. A new rune has appeared in one of the empty boxes, its glow already vibrant and green. I pull my book on spellcraft from my inventory as I stand, wiping my chin with the base of my hand. A short flip through the basic runes in the back of the book later matches the new rune to one in the book: Growth. ¡°We should find out where those monster came from,¡± I tell Galea, already heading in the direction the mushroom monsters had come from as I retrieve my copy of ¡°Glossary of Basic Affix Interaction¡± to begin reviewing the Growth affix. ¡°There will be more of them in that direction, likely,¡± Galea says. ¡°That is the idea.¡± According to ¡°Glossary of Basic Affix Interaction,¡± the Growth affix is commonly used in high level enchanting to make growth items, magical items, like artifacts, which will grow in power alongside their users. I get a bit caught up in reading up on the affix, relying on Galea to inform me if there are any enemies nearby as our walk continues. Unfortunately, it does not appear that the Growth affix is all that useful in the creation of talismans. I have already given up a space in my Index to containing the growth mana, it would be a shame to dissipate all of that stored mana without using it. I set my sights on possible enchantments that I may be able to do in the future; the idea of creating an artifact of my own is incredibly attractive. I am so caught up in reading about this particular affix, flipping through the glossary to review the various and interesting interactions that it has with different kinds of affixed mana, that Galea¡¯s warning catches me off-guard. ¡°Ahead,¡± she says. I stop, the book disappearing from my hands, and ready myself to fight. Only, I do not see any apparent enemies around. The forest has changed, lichen and mushrooms covering the trunks of the trees and every loose stone around me. Budding mushrooms grow up from the ground, too numerous to avoid stepping on, and some of the stalks reach almost two feet high. A tree stands directly ahead of me, its trunk eaten out and hollow, yet still somehow able to support its massive weight. In the hollow of the tree¨Can open space as big as a cottage¨Cstands what at first glance appears to be a sapling. A spindly stalk of gray flesh rises up from the middle of the hollow, thin tendrils, almost like branches, sprouting from its top. There are six tendrils in total, and at the end of each sits a golden spawn seed, gently waving in the cool breeze of the evening. Mycose Territory Bulb(Level 72) Chapter 54 - Pulling Up Roots I stand still, staring down at the strange tree ahead of me for a full minute, trying to figure out an approach while I begin to channel a Dragonfire Bolt. As far as I can tell, this monster is just a tree, a sapling even, and for the full minute that I watch it, it does not move. Six of the golden spawn seeds dangle from its top, their glow beckoning. Those six treasures represent twelve permanent attribute points, enticing. The catfish, the first rank two monster I beat on my own, guarded a chest that contained much better equipment than these few fruits, and that fight had almost killed me. That monster had also been significantly lower level than this one. Looking at it in that light, it would be a poor risk to charge headlong into a fight against this thing, but at the same time, I didn¡¯t feel any fear looking at this monster. The fire roiling over my hand, a mass of orange mana condensed in such a small space that it seemed almost like a liquid, pushed for me to take on this challenge. For the first time in a long time, I felt desire really pulling at me, beckoning me to push forwards, to overcome a real obstacle in my way. There was no doubt in my mind that this monster was far more dangerous than its simple appearance gave away. Never in my life have I encountered a harmless monster; this Mycose Territory Bulb will be no different. Still, I know now, in this moment, that I will win. My legs coil, bending, boots digging into the soft detritus of the forest floor, grass roots snapping deep beneath the fallen leaves as I bend forwards. Like popping tendons, the ground beneath my feet gives away, slowly compacting, while I plant my non-burning hand on the ground in front of me. My full concentration goes into my legs as I keep my eyes on the monster in front of me, my thighs growing tighter and tighter as I compact my legs as far as I am able. When I can¡¯t prepare any more, I let a slow exhale slip through my lips, breath puffing in front of me in the cool air of the forest. Like a bolt of lightning, I explode off of the ground, a streak of orange light chasing me as I run forwards, straight towards the Territory Bulb. The distance between what I can see of the monster and myself shrinks in an instant, my legs pumping, beating the ground, as I sprint straight at the monster. Some reaction, a shiver shaking up the stalk of the sapling in front of me, threatens to give me pause as I close the distance, but I press on. In the bare few seconds it takes for me to reach the tree hollow the monster hides inside of, the sapling bends, its flowering head turning in my direction like a face. Green spores, so small that they would be indistinguishable from smoke to the eyes of anyone other than a magician, spray into the air from the spot on the sapling¡¯s crown where the branch-like tendrils meet the central mass. There is doubt that the green spores are toxic, but the Territory Bulb is too slow. By the time the cloud of spores blooms, a fast-racing cloud of noxious air, I am already past. The momentary weight of a spawn seed falls into my free hand before disappearing into my inventory. It won¡¯t do to burn up the treasures I am after. A blink later, my foot collides with the wall of the tree hollow, my speed too much for me to stop fully. I leave the ground, both boots clapping into the wooden wall behind the Mycose Territory Bulb, vibrations from my collision shaking up through the inside of the huge tree and my legs. I feel a pop in my ankle. My speed might make me race like a monster now, but my body isn¡¯t prepared to take a full collision with a wall. The Territory Bulb begins to bend in my new direction, its movements slower than I thought before. A part of my mind recognizes that I am still on the side of the wall, the weight of my collision still being absorbed by my legs, gravity hardly a force on me for the moment. It is almost as if time moves like molasses. For a fleeting moment I am afraid that the spores have gotten to me, infected me, and are now messing with my head. Then, I realize what this really is, the battle fever that Halford would sometimes talk about. The creaking of the inner tree wall beneath my feet pushes me back to the task at hand. In the hollow of the tree, I do not even land on the ground as my feet explode off the wall, my jump carrying me straight past the Territory Bulb, another spawn seed falling into my hand, disappearing into my inventory. I misjudge my jump, landing on my side rather than on my feet, rolling on my shoulder out of the hollow of the tree before regaining my feet. The coolness of a passing shadow brings my attention upwards, and I dive to the side just barely ahead of a long gray mass that crashes into the ground where I had just been standing. The crinkly remains of dead leaves and dirt explode into the air from the collision. In front of me, pulling itself up from the ground, is a limb of gray mass nearly twenty feet long and a foot around, sprouting from the ground just a few feet away. The heavy tendril bends like rubber as it pulls itself out of the ground, the space where it had just crashed down a flattened mat of dirt. I do not consider the strange tendril long before I flick the fire off my hand towards its base where it sprouts out of the ground. The ball of fire explodes against the dry leaves, a plume of fire sprouting up the tall stalk of gray, fire climbing up and along its length like a torrent. Unlike the other Mycose monsters I killed before, this monster shrieks as the fire chews into it. The sound is awful, like the earth groaning, split apart by the whine of an out of tune guitar. The ground beneath my feet rumbles as the mass of gray spasms through the air like a burning whip, and I begin to realize that this monster is a lot bigger than I at first understood. The burning limb sprouts out of the earth nearly twenty feet away from the sapling in the center of the hollow, and as the earth continues to shake, fountains of dirt and leaves explode out of the ground as eight more twenty-foot long tendrils snake skyward. I fall to the side, a green cloud of spores passing over me, splashing against the mushroomed trunk of a tree behind our battle. The mushrooms climbing up the tree erode in a fraction of a second as the spores pour over them, their vibrant color turning gray and chalky, calcification covering them before they start falling off the tree one after another. Rolling back to my feet, two spears of gray stab into the ground around me. I dash towards the sapling again. The tendrils shouldn¡¯t be able to attack me so easily when I am right near it; at least, that is what I hope. Two more of the limbs that spike up from the ground slap down in my path, but I dodge around them easily, their movement titanic but slow. I toss a few motes of dragonfire towards the base of the tendrils as I run, the unchanneled attacks not nearly so effective, but still manage to spark fires that eat into the gray meat. The ground heaves as burning tendrils pull away, spasming and charring, and I duck into the hollow of the tree. In the center of the hollow, the sapling spews a cloud of spores straight up, covering itself in the green death. Wincing, knowing I might ruin the spawn seeds, I release a gout of orange fire over the sapling, the barest licks of the flame cutting through the green haze. The sapling recoils from the fire, bending away from me like a curling finger, but again it is too slow. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. I slide forwards, both hands shooting out this time, grabbing ahold of a pair of spawn seeds that disappear into my inventory. I linger, fingers grasping another of the seeds, my left hand just barely missing the last of the seeds as the sapling bends away. I jump to the side with the seed, nothing other than knowing that I cannot stop moving pushing me to do so. A gray tendrils shoots into the hollow of the tree, the walls surrounding the sapling and me preventing most of the limbs from being able to reach inside. I am not sure as to whether it would have hit me if I hadn¡¯t dodged to the side, but seeing the tendril stab into the bark on the inside of the tree, tunneling all the way through, I¡¯m glad I jumped. A stupid smile splits my face as I slap the tendril, pouring burning power over its rubbery skin. The earth bulges beneath me as the tendril retreats, but the fire scouring it only continues to spread. Alone with the sapling again, I see that it is curled in on itself in the center of the hollow, trying to hold onto its last spawn seed. My feet are already in motion before I know it, the battle fever pushing me on and on. Bouncing off the walls of the hollow, I get onto the opposite side of the sapling, finding the last spawn seed laying out, ready to be plucked. The moment I reach towards it, the earth beneath me bulges again, the sapling rising away from me as a torrent of gray matter springs up right in front of me, leaving the spawn seed behind in my hand. A face made of gray decay and fury stands in front of me as my feet coil to jump away. One great green eye stares down at me as a mouth the size of a barn door opens wide, revealing teeth made of wood splinters. The world lurches, time having changed in some strange way, everything around me speeding up. The face of the Mycose Territory Bulb falls towards me as if bending on some huge rubbery neck. Disorientation and weakness washes over me for the barest of seconds. My boot slips in the detritus, my focus lost as the battle fever slips away from me. A gray tendrils slaps into my back, lifting my feet from the ground, hurling my body towards the descending teeth in front of me. The mouth of the Mycose Territory Bulb comes down on me, its bite ready to split me in half. A horrendous wrenching sound forces me to open my eyes. The momentary flash of panic fades as I feel needle-like teeth digging into my back, easily piercing through my shoddy bearskin cover. Teeth loom over me, moving an inch at a time, crunching down on the steel chest just next to me. My hand holds the handle on one side of the chest, wedging it between the jaws of the Mycose Territory Bulb; the steel box the only thing stopping the monster from biting down on my abdomen. I put a boot into the monster¡¯s pallet, pushing against its jaw with all my might. I may be a lot stronger than I once was, the closing mouth of the Mycose Territory Bulb even gives an inch or two as I strain against it with all of my might, but I am well aware that I might only be able to hold it off for a second or two. The keening scream of the monster shatters my eardrums as it tries to bite down on the pest halfway in its mouth, sending me into a world of high-pitched whines. The lower teeth of the monster dig deeper into my back as I push against it with everything I have, a silent roar echoing out of my mouth. We hold in a stalemate for seconds longer, and I feel the steel chest at my side finally give away, forcing me to sacrifice another chest to this monster. I do so gladly, the precious seconds well worth it. My legs scream, bones and muscles sending jolting pain through my body to join the red in my vision, but still I hold on. Then, I feel my magic hit its crescendo, the burning fire in my hand having reached its pinnacle. In front of me, the hideous mouth of the monster doesn¡¯t give way to a throat, more a slab of hideous and confusing innards. My grin gone, feeling rivulets of my blood spreading across my back, I flick the ball of fire towards the back of the Mycose Territory Bulb¡¯s mouth. The explosion of orange magic is enough to blow me cleanly out of the monster¡¯s mouth. My back collides with the wall of the tree hollow, barely enough presence of mind left to me to allow me to duck a swing of a gray tendril. In front of me, the monster thrashes, flames pouring out of its open mouth as it swings its bulbous head around inside the hollow. I sprint away from it, weaving through gray tendrils that spasm in all directions, wreaking havoc on everything even remotely close to the monster. I fall to my knees almost a hundred feet away from the monster, watching as it wails and convulses in the tree hollow, flames slowly burning out of the center of its weird body like windows into the three hells. Watching its death throes does a bit to soothe my pain, but the big monster takes a long time dying. I keep an eye out for anything else in the forest approaching from another direction, but I doubt that anything will. The wailing of the burning fungus is enough to drive off anything, though, at the moment, I cannot hear its screams. After a full two minutes, the last of the monster¡¯s life has left it. Galea appears in front of me, a window held in her hands and a smile on her dragony face. You have defeated Mycose Territory Bulb THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! ¡°Congratulations, Mistress Charlene!¡± she cheers, clicking her claws together in applause. ¡°Thanks.¡± I try to stand, finding my legs too sore to even manage that. My attention flicks to the top of my vision. With my incredible recovery, the sprains racing up through my legs should be gone by now. I am a bit startled to find that my Healing Points have been completely drained, despite the mostly superficial injuries I gained from the fight with the monster. I run my hands up along my back, finding that the bite marks are still fully unhealed. Ten minutes of pondering on the strangeness passes by as my recovery slowly takes care of my injuries enough to allow me to stand. At the end of the ten minutes, I can only come to one conclusion. Despite how ridiculous it might seem, I can only guess that the heightened state of the battle fever somehow depletes my healing points. I would consult my books to try and figure out the mystery, but I am well aware at this point that even the idea of healing points is a construction designed by the Faeth. I really do need to travel to that remote island someday. As the seconds tick past, I feel my strength return to me more and more. I kick one of the gray tendrils laying out on the ground as I walk towards the hollow, absently pushing the power of Disenchantment into the corpse of the huge monster. A huge chunk of my mana disappears in an instant, something that mostly goes unnoticed by me as an eruption of pink smoke blows the ground apart. I fall, the ground beneath my feet collapsing for a good three hundred feet in all directions as the body of the subterranean monster is turned into a pink cloud that spreads out all around me. While I cough, lying on my back, the pink descends at me like a waterfall, pouring into my inventory. The forest returns to silence as the mist vanishes, leaving me lying in a huge crater staring at tree roots all around me. A crack cuts through the ground, the massive tree the Territory Bulb cut into to house its body collapsing. Several hundred feet of ancient tree falls towards my left, sending a cascade of branches, leaves, and more than a few monsters to the earth as it snaps through the forest. The collision of the trunk against the ground is the single loudest thing I have ever heard, and in the wake of the trees death, the forest falls into silence. More minutes pass before I pull myself out of the earthen crater, climbing to the lip and observing the devastation left by the death of the massive tree. ¡°I think that is enough monster hunting for today,¡± I tell Galea. Chapter 55 - Dovik Willian: At the Back Dovik froze, the weight of Pokey falling into his hand as he spotted the depression in the mud. Over the last week and a half, he had made a small hovel of the first dungeon, ranging out daily to clear out the monsters in the surrounding woodland before returning at the end of day. He knew long ago that he was on the precipice of the second rank; killing monsters would not benefit him with any more soul reinforcement until he ascended the second rank. Despite that, he spent every day pushing himself harder than the one before. An odd shape in the mud, a subtle dipping that hadn¡¯t been there when he left that morning, pulled his attention as he strode toward the gateway. Dovik sent a measure of his mana into the weapon in his hand, preparing to strike immediately at anything amiss inside the walled structure that had become his territory. Fear and suspicion turned to a more complicated emotion when he rounded the inner wall to find a circular disk of shining steel set on the ground near the back entrance of the dungeon. The magical disk was ten feet across, perfectly smooth, and covered in surface geometries so intricate he could only make out a fraction of their purpose. Spellcraft was his trade of choice, and works of marvelous enchantment still surpassed his understanding. He didn¡¯t need to understand the design; he knew to whom the flying disk belonged. He slid his weapon back into its place on his waist as he came around the first corner of the dungeon¡¯s facade, spotting the square doorway where he shorted the teleportation enchantment more than a week ago so that he could come and go as he pleased. Someone had tampered with his work, reinforcing it with genuine materials that wouldn¡¯t need to be patched every other day. Dovik steeled himself for the confrontation, tossing the sack of fruits he had gathered in the forest aside and splashing his face with a bit of water. The stone ramp inside the door echoed with the falling of his boots, his intention of being seen made known. A woman sat on her knees in the center of the pedestal room; before her lay the body of Rohinda, covered in a bearskin. Dovik stopped at the bottom of the ramp, watching the woman gaze down at Rohinda, a weathered tiredness hiding behind the redness in the woman¡¯s eyes. She was beautiful, of course she was, but today it would be hard to know at first sight how much power hid inside of this avatar of tenderness. She smiled at Dovik when she turned to him, but that smile tore at his heart. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Aunt¨C¡± he tried, only to fall silent when she raised her hand. ¡°No,¡± she said. The woman stood. She was easily a head taller than he, and her Regalia, like a crown of golden leaves floating above her head, demanded his obedience with any whim she might push upon him. To his knowledge, she never had used such power on him before. Then again, if Crisma Willian wanted something of you, you likely would never realize that you danced by her machinations. ¡°You look so rugged nephew. A few days away from the barber and you fall to pieces.¡± ¡°I failed you,¡± Dovik said. Despite the woman clearly wanting to speak about other matters, the words could not be stopped. ¡°I made a promise to you. I was¡­I am a failure.¡± Crisma stepped forward, wrapping her nephew in an embrace. Wrenching pain churned up his insides, a vice-like grip squeezing his heart, making it hard to breathe. Tears leaked from his eyes and stained the fine material of his aunt¡¯s robes, the salty water turning red on her white clothes. ¡°My beautiful girl is gone,¡± Crisma whispered to him. ¡°I do not blame you for that. You are still a child. A clever, powerful, and caring child, but a child still.¡± She kissed his forehead before stepping away. When Dovik finished wiping the wetness from his eyes, he found that the body of Rohinda was gone, vanished from the room. ¡°I suppose that I am,¡± he said, trying to steady his voice. ¡°I am sure that most people look like children to you.¡± ¡°No,¡± Crisma said. ¡°You will make a man of yourself one day. I wait for your rise; it will be a beautiful thing I am certain.¡± ¡°I would offer you a drink if I had anything,¡± Dovik said, feeling suddenly awkward in front of this woman. What could he say? Despite her trying to let him off the hook, he still blamed himself for his cousin¡¯s death. He had promised that he would look out for her. It was hard for him, coming to realize that his promises were so empty. ¡°I will be leaving soon,¡± Crisma said. She looked around the room, admiring the murals put into the walls, the history of their guild and the history of the greater humanity rendered in gruesome detail. Crisma¡¯s eyes flicked to the map cut into the center pedestal. ¡°Clever boy,¡± she said again. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Dovik looked along the murals, rereading the story depicted another time, though he knew it by heart now. ¡°What exactly are you crediting me with?¡± Crisma moved her finger over the scenes, and they seemed to dance to life beneath her attention. ¡°We start at the cradle of humanity, taking our march towards the sea. When we are betrayed and our empire broken, we make our way back to the point of our origin, eventually stopping at the wall, our declaration not to be pushed any further known. When I took the Passage myself, I came to the same conclusion that you did.¡± ¡°That must have been a long time ago,¡± Dovik said eliciting a smirk from his aunt. ¡°Cheeky boy. A few of our family, privy to the true history since we were small, have been able to piece the clues together this early on. When I took the Passage, I was not so bold as to risk my future on such a small piece of the total puzzle.¡± ¡°So, it is true then,¡± Dovik said, his eyes widening. ¡°The final part of the Passage will happen here, not at the sea. The sea will only be the halfway point.¡± ¡°Not entirely correct,¡± Crisma said, ¡°but under normal circumstances, your understanding would have placed you in front of the largest prize of this test.¡± Crisma held out her hand, and above her palm appeared a soul cage. The orb of vibrantly blue filigree was made of a metal that Dovik had never before seen in his life, but one of such legendary quality that he knew it immediately. ¡°Corisbane,¡± Dovik said, unable to believe his own words. ¡°The guild made a soul cage from something like that.¡± ¡°You would need to spend a century roaming the world to find a more perfect housing for ones soul than this,¡± Crisma said. As she spoke, the could cage rotated in the air above her hand and a green sheen stood out along the surface of the orb. The green came from a scripting so small that it could not be seen clearly with the eyes of even a rank two magician. In the center of the orb, its light peeking through the intricate filigree of its design, a soft orange light pulsed. ¡°Traditionally, when the competitors reach the sea, they are highly rewarded for their efforts on the other side of the land bridge. If they have managed to make it that far, then they are among the true elite of the generation, and it would do for the guild to make close ties with them. However, as almost always happens, one of the triumphant will carry spite in their heart, pushing them to destroy the bridge behind them as they pass over. The failures will gather at the shoreline, the weight of their own lacking and the hate at having been so unfairly pushed out of the contest wrestling for dominance inside of their souls. ¡°An opportunity will be presented to those failures that have shown exceptional performance throughout the Passage, a glimmer of hope in the wake of betrayal.¡± Crisma motioned to the other side of the room, the long march back towards Grim. ¡°Those few exceptions among the youth, those that are still within the bounds of the first rank, will be given the opportunity to take the Passage in reverse. The Retreat from Death will happen, the final destination being here, the first dungeon, with this soul cage as the final prize.¡± Triumph at his correct guess and confusion at his aunt¡¯s confession warred against each other in Dovik¡¯s mind. ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡± he asked. ¡°Is it against the rules for me to have stopped here.¡± ¡°No,¡± she said. ¡°In fact, two others have before done exactly what you are now. Only one actually managed to seize the final prize, their arrogance and ill-preparedness causing them to stumble at the final instant. You have simply managed to catch me as I have come to retrieve the final prize from this location. I have been asked to move it.¡± ¡°I caught you, did I?¡± Dovik asked, looking to the spot where he had first found his aunt kneeling. There had been water on the disk outside, and Dovik clearly remembered the rain having stopped for the day more than three hours before. His finding her here was no accident. ¡°Indeed. I cannot speak too much about it, but the second half of the Passage, The Retreat from Death, has been canceled. As such, only the initial premise will be conducted, the race to the sea.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve wasted my time here then,¡± Dovik said. ¡°From what I have seen, you have not been sitting idle. All of the monsters inside of this dungeon are dead. You have made my mission of retrieving the final prize quite easy.¡± Crisma rested a hand on her nephews shoulder as she stepped up to him. ¡°I get restless easy,¡± he said. ¡°Good.¡± The woman¡¯s wan smile faded as she looked down at him. Her face grew still, the hand on Dovik¡¯s shoulder heavy. ¡°You will need to move quickly and carefully. Someone, or something, has been muddying the Passage. We do not know who or what has been influencing events, but determining the identity of the interloper has become a top priority. Do not be too trustful of others, Dovik. Things are not clear.¡± Before he could speak, she was gone, vanished so completely it was hard to believe she had ever been there. Dovik choked down the swirl of emotions trying to come over him, looking to his pack laying on the ground, all of the possessions that he carried with him inside of this test. The ground was moving on him, the situation that he had thought he grasped just an hour before completely upended. ¡°So, this is what it feels like to be at the back of the pack.¡± Chapter 56 - Lost Dungeon In the dark of a crevice hidden away from both time and the eyes far above, the rock creaks. Tendrils of living matter, a reaching web of roots made of gray flesh, spread through the ceiling, their ever probing stretch digging into the stone. The colony¡¯s expansion is ignorant of the malice pouring out of the stone, the mindless expansion of the whole the only pursuit. Infinitesimal shifts within the mica build, first a dusting of sand drifting from the top of the dome buried deep beneath the surface. Pebbles fall from the eighty foot height a decade later, their rapping report against the top of a metal cylinder sparking life into the ancient enmities enclosed within. A stone the size of a human head falls, crashing into the ancient transport turned tomb, vibration pulling prescience out of ancient hate. An eye opens inside its glass enclosure, waves of magic flying away from the skin of the creature inside, shattering its prison as it comes to wake. The Thirty Seventh falls to the floor, the ancient white ichor of its housing spilling out into the interior of the transport. Forty similar glass tubes line a single aisle that runs the length of the corroding metal tube, but The Thirty Seventh spots no signs of life from its brethren. Their corpses float, suspended in the white ichor, the passage of time having reduced their bodies to withered skeletons of tar and bone. Cognition floods into The Thirty Seventh, its red eyes taking in everything around it, and by the time the stone outside the transport clatters to the earth inside the ancient crevice, The Thirty Seventh has left the housing area. It stalks through the transport, spindly legs of alabaster denting the old metal with each stride, seven-fingered hands wrenching open locked bulkheads that long ago lost their strength. The Thirty Seventh prays as it crashes through the transport, searching for signs of what happened, trying to find any information that its growing faculties will be able to put together, but everything is broken, the clear culprit being the passage of centuries. Even its god does not return its prayers, though The Thirty Seventh senses that the Highest has not left this world yet; there is meaning in the silence. A single crate of enchanted feathersteel stands out in the hold, the magic enclosing the chest still active, shining panes of blue that might almost be mistaken for glass. The worn enchantments sunder at The Thirty Seventh¡¯s touch, their potency spent trying to hold back its hand for the barest instant. Inside the crate a pool of black matter floats, suspended and shifting like a liquid. The Thirty Seventh reaches into the acidic torment of the black matter, its dissolving fingers wrapping around the solid object buried within. It pulls back its hand, the pommel of a blade coming along with it, and as the green blade of a saber emerges, the rising sword drinks up the black matter like a sponge, leaving the crate free of anything once the saber is removed. The Thirty Seventh stands for a moment in the hold admiring the glowing green saber, the same sword that its commander used once upon a time. With a thought, The Thirty Seventh is gone from the hold, a glowing sword in its right hand and a metal container carrying annihilation and the promise of dark futures on its back. The air moves, ancient power inside The Thirty Seventh¡¯s body coming to life in a display of amber light. The roof of the underground cavern explodes, miles of rock spotted with green and purple creepers flashing past the eyes of The Thirty Seventh as it ascends. It¡¯s feet crash down onto a tiled floor buried beneath the crawl of moss and peat. A trifling beast, awakened by the explosion of the earth inside its chamber, races towards The Thirty Seventh, dozens of tendrils firing forth to subdue the sudden intruder. The Thirty Seventh dispatches the monster with a casual swing of its saber, sneering at the misshapen construction, its natural endowment such a laughable thing in the face of constructed perfection. Dozens of floors explode in the passage of The Thirty Seventh, the stone and spiderweb of the colony hardly an impediment as The Thirty Seventh soars skyward. It halts when the last of the stone disappears, the face of the naked sky arresting The Thirty Seventh. It stands atop a structure in the middle of a forest, miles of the uncultivated earth spreading out around it like an anathema. Already, The Thirty Seventh feels weakness creeping into its bones, the less than a minute of activity having already drained its reserves of vital mana. Before it moves off to recuperate and regain its true strength, The Thirty Seventh pauses, the connection to the Highest opening for the barest of instants. There is danger in the connection. The Highest¡¯s position is made vulnerable for a brief moment, the message that it relays to The Thirty Seventh costing it dearly. Like a good son, yes, the Highest is naming The Thirty Seventh as its son in this moment, The Thirty Seventh takes in the message. ¡°The lines persist,¡± The Thirty Seventh mutters, the chords and sinews inside its throat creaking at having not been used in centuries. ¡°I hear you Mother. Willbender, Avarice, Grace, Champion, Extinction, and Blooming Death remain.¡± Atop the stone structure that topped its tomb for so long, The Thirty Seventh takes a deep breath, the scents of those horrid bloodlines infusing the very air. ¡°Your will be done.¡± The Thirty Seventh vanishes, its passage unnoticed by any. It enters hibernation, taking its time, never rushing. For the undertaking to be done, The Thirty Seventh will require its full strength, the strength of its mother¡¯s vanguard.
I am starting to enjoy fire. The concept of enjoying the way the flames run, the light that spreads out and away from me, the act of burning itself, none of it ever occurred to me before. Now, sitting on a root in the center of my last fight¡¯s wreckage, crunching charred leaves in my hand and enjoying the lingering smell of smoke in the air, I feel truly grateful for this power I have been given. A field of gray ash spreads out around me, a crater in the forest floor where the body of the last Territory Bulb had been my temporary refuge from the biting wind this morning. The smell in the air is the best part of it, the tickle of scorched fungi and leaves that scratches the back of my throat with each inhale. I blow the dried crumbles of the leaf out of my hand, watching as the frigid spring wind catches the remains, carrying them off into the sky. ¡°I am going to need to start heading north soon,¡± I tell Galea. She responds by opening a window that contains the map of the Passage. A red dot that beats like a heart marks where we suspect I am. I¡¯m so far away from the end. ¡°More than five hundred miles still remain until you will meet the coast,¡± she says. ¡°I know.¡± I sigh, looking over the map. By now, I am sure that most of the contestants will be a hundred or so miles ahead of me in this competition. The upside of hopefully not running into anybody is nice, but that won¡¯t mean much if I fail to reach the end in time. ¡°I should be faster than most of the others. That keeps my hopes high.¡± Another window appears. Thresholds Surpassed: Magic(1st Threshold): Reaching the first threshold in the Magic attribute has granted the magician¡¯s own magic increased potency. If the magician¡¯s Magic attribute significantly outclasses the Magic Defense attribute of a target, there is a chance for any magical resistance to be completely ignored. Additionally, passing this threshold grants a slight insight into magical affixes, helping the magician along their journey to true potency. Speed(1st Threshold): Surpassing the first threshold in the Speed attribute imbues the magician with a highly increased reaction time. Additionally, basic movement such as walking, running, or climbing will no longer consume stamina. Recovery(1st Threshold): The effects of spent Healing Points is significantly increased, allowing you to recover from more grievous injuries than naturally possible. Even some previously mortal wounds may be unable to truly end your life. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.Recovery(Specialist): As a specialist in Recovery, the duration of poisons, curses, and harmful magical effects upon you are significantly reduced. My mind returns to the books I have read through over the past two weeks that I have hunted in the woods on my own. It still baffles me that the introductory guide to being a magician states that thresholds are often something that one might manage to surpass near the end of the first rank. Most can only hope to ever get through a single threshold before they reach the second rank, but here I am, already having managed to surpass three of them. By that measure, I should be truly exceptional, but I know that my improvement is owed to the environment I have been thrown into. Over the course of an average adventurer¡¯s career, they might fight ten monsters a week at the most, and often that is done inside of carefully constructed parties and with clear plans in place. For those of us in the Passage, fighting monsters is a daily exercise, making our soul reinforcements come closer together than a normal magician¡¯s. Compressing the time between soul reinforcements stops wasted effort values from going into anything other than what we use in direct combat. It is an amazing boon to our combat potentials, all of our efforts going into what we use the most in those circumstances, and it will likely lead all of us to be highly specialized coming out of the other end of this trial; especially those of us that entered with a low level. Add to that my ability to freely utilize the energy that would be wasted on other humans in the form of Free Points, and I was primed from the start to come out with exceptional numbers in my combat attributes. If only I had been able to recognize that from the beginning. I shake my head, not willing to spend even a moment on regret. Over the last few days, I have managed to snag and eat twenty-two of the spawn seeds. I know that there is a limit to their effectiveness; I will likely hit that limit sooner rather than later. Still, the time has been well-spent. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 30)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 45(57) Strength: 34(46) Magic: 269(271) Defense: 45(55) Magic Defense: 38 Speed: 205 Recovery: 234(290) Perception: 35 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 570 Mana: 2710 Stamina: 1105 The task of bringing the information Galea supplies me with in line with the texts I pilfered from Arabella¡¯s mansion isn¡¯t the easiest thing in the world. What I have managed to figure is that level fifty appears to be the threshold for rank two, meaning that I have pushed past the halfway point. Despite that, my last few levels have been hard fought, requiring me to slay more and more monsters in order to reach the next soul reinforcement. There is a slight mention of this in the texts, that compressing soul reinforcement with slaying monsters can only help so much. The way around that is to keep fighting stronger and stronger monsters, which leaves me at my current predicament. ¡°So, we either head north now, or we go inside of that thing,¡± I say to Galea, nodding at the stone rising in front of the crater. Telling that the wall, rising twenty feet above the mushroom laden detritus is even made of stone is difficult. Small patches of muddy white rock stick out from among the budding flowers that cover the structure, each flower as big as my torso, a dizzying tableau all the colors of the rainbow. ¡°It may be worth investigating,¡± Galea says to me as I climb out of the crater. ¡°This structure is at the heart of the Mycose¡¯s spread.¡± The description of the speed threshold was a bit disappointing. In actuality it may be my favorite that I have surpassed. There has always been in the back of my head a reluctance to expend energy, a voice questioning the need to run somewhere, to waste energy on movement, but that has vanished. It is the simplest thing now to command my body to run for hours, to jump between trees, to use branches as stepping stones; I can focus my mind on other tasks without losing an ounce of focus. I scale a tree, my fingers working like the claws of a squirrel as I pull myself up to the first layer of branches. Crouching atop a branch, the view spreads out beneath me. The spread of the Mycose colony¨Cas I have come to call it¨Ccovers more land than the entirety of Lord Timmian¡¯s domain back home did. If I were to push my speed to its limits and head north from here, I wouldn¡¯t be clear of it even after a full day of running. The trees at the heart of the colony stand like dread statues, their leaves eaten away, their branches shriveled from the climb of purple and teal fungi climbing up their trunks. The inner network of the colony spreads out beneath me, the shriveled trees letting me see for miles in any given directions. Only the Mycose, the strange monsters made of gray flesh, move about in the colorful colony lands, but their number are few. The bulbs stand out amid the swarm of colors, huge flowers the size of cottages, twenty feet tall at the shortest, spreading green spores into the air in a constant stream, yellow tendrils like flower stamen slowly listing in the breeze above them. These are the mature bulbs. I have only killed one since I haven¡¯t spotted any spawn seeds hanging from their fleshy petals. The mature bulbs can hardly move, relying on a mixture of toxic spores and their ability to call upon other fungi monsters in the area to defend them. They aren¡¯t all that difficult to take care of, but they also aren¡¯t really worth it¨Cno spawn seeds. Just ahead of me, in the very center of the mycose colony, stands a structure, one which¡¯s shape was immediately recognizable. Despite the fact that it is covered with flowers of all colors, the vague pyramidal shape jutting up from the center of a walled off square brings back memories of the dungeon. Here, so far off the beaten path, another dungeons sits, waiting to be explored, covered with so much fungal growth that it would be missed if you weren¡¯t looking for it. I kick my feet, thinking over the dilemma again. On one hand, it was really nearing the time that I should start heading north. In the last few weeks, I have made some real progress: learning the basics of enchanting, discovering how to venture and hunt on my own, and, most importantly, finding my conviction. If I take these things with me north, I don¡¯t doubt that I can see my way through the rest of this Passage. On the other hand, I can¡¯t easily pass up this opportunity staring me in the face. The mycose have been awful for pushing my enchanting any further, the gray flesh of the fungus monsters barely contains any affixed mana at all. Despite that, my growth over the last few days from the spawn seeds alone has been exceptional. If I add to that the fact that my dragonfire has been anathema to every mycose I have encountered so far, I am able to fight things much higher than I will be able to elsewhere. If what sits before me really is a dungeon, one that is not marked on the map that I got from the first dungeon, there may be a real possibility for me to complete it on my own. What pushes my decision over the edge is the prospect of finding treasure within, chief among them being clothing and armor, this shoddy bearskin shirt I made myself is already falling apart. ¡°We are going in then?¡± Galea asks. I glance at my vital energies, finding them all fully topped off. ¡°We are,¡± I say. I linger in the tree a few more moments, having Galea assist me in spotting all of the mycose monsters below. They are spaced a fair distance apart, easily avoidable. I fly, my dash from the tree to the gap in the wall taking a scant few seconds, my feet barely touching the ground. I call upon my dragonfire to burn a line in front of me, scorching the earth free of the blooming flowers well before I reach them. The flowers do not exist outside of the stone walls, nothing else in the colony looking even remotely close to them, and I don¡¯t intend to take any chances with them as I make my way inside. A wave of fire races ahead of me as I move, cutting a line directly towards the pyramid in the center of the square. I stop, smothering the fire in my hands as the flames begin to uncover something at the base of the pyramid. There, erected at the bottom of the stairs that will hopefully lead up to the door, stands the decrepit remains of a four-post tent. I hurry forward, slapping the burning embers away from the already rotting posts as I look over the tent. A table, eaten by time and a growth of small mushrooms, lays broken in the center of the tent. The canvas that once shaded the area is now marred with holes and barely clings to two of the post. Most arresting of all, an iron lockbox rests at the foot of the table. Carefully burning a path through the growth, I approach the table. ¡°There¡¯s a book here,¡± Galea informs me, pointing down at a path of mushrooms. When I lift the tome away, it flakes off in my hand, dust and spores spouting into the air. I toss the book aside, sighing as I burn the spores out of the air around me. ¡°This has been here for a long time,¡± I say. ¡°Do you spot anything else useful?¡± ¡°This might have been a map once,¡± Galea says, pointing to a bit of canvas nailed to the remnants of the table. Weather has seared away any information that might have been written upon it. ¡°Anything that hasn¡¯t already been destroyed,¡± I say. ¡°None that I can see, Mistress.¡± The fey spirit shrugs in my direction. I give up, turning to the iron box. The lock on the chest stands rusted and heavy, but a few smacks from the pommel of my magical dagger shatters it. I open it, coughing when a swarm of dust sprouts into the air. Despite the dirt inside, my spirits soar as I gaze inside. Sitting folded in place, resting on a pile of papers and journals, are two pairs of work clothes. Already, deciding to come here has paid off. Chapter 57 - A Slight Stumble As it turns out, the clothes inside the chest are a bit too small for me. I take a moment, looking over myself, and recognize again just how much my body has changed in the last few months. I¡¯ve always been a bit bigger than the other girls in town, runs in the family apparently, but after becoming an essentia magician I doubt that I will be able to borrow clothes easily anymore. Still, despite the button up stretching across my back when I bend or move, it is far better than the bearskin I have been using for the last week. Seeing the clean clothes¨Cwell, comparatively clean; they were still covered in a thin layer of dust inside the chest¨Cbrings my attention back to myself. Dried dirt and mud cakes my arms and legs, and I don¡¯t even bother to look at how messy my face and hair has become. Rather than using the little water that I have remaining, I find that running my flaming hand over my skin does a decent job at searing away all of the grim. Sure, it leaves streaks of ash and soot behind, but it is better than nothing. Being immune to my own fire has more benefits than I first realized. Inside the chest sit three field journals, mostly blank. One of the journals does appear as if someone had taken a bit of time to start filling it out, making comments about the structure the tent is set outside of and the investigations of a woman named Pienna inside the structure. Apparently, this woman was sent out a few decades ago to make an exploration of the abandoned structures in the valley known as the Passage, tasked with scouting out any that would be suitable to make into proper dungeons under the purview of the Willian Guild. She doesn¡¯t describe much, only six pages of the journal have any writing, but she seemed to have been doubtful about the one that looms above me now. Apparently, it was just too far east. I toss the journal back in the chest before putting the whole box in my inventory. I can never have too many chests. A gout of fire from my hand sears away the flowers on the stairs leading up to the top of the structure. Reaching the top, I find my first obstacle of the day. There is no doorway to actually enter the structure. ¡°How did that woman open the last dungeon?¡± I ask Galea. ¡°Magic,¡± she helpfully answers. ¡°Right.¡± A flash of fire burns away all of the growth on the outside of the ten foot cube of stone that tops the pyramid, showing me a bare and featureless slab of rock. The Bane Crystal falls to the ground at my feet, a burning hand changing taking on a greenish hue as I put my fire to the crystal. The same way that I cleared the path to the top, I pour a gout of green fire into the stone, my mana steadily dropping as a hole begins to expand on the surface of the stone, green dragonfire eating away at the rock. After five minutes of burning, a third of my mana depleted, and a speck of darkness is born through the stone. Another minute later and a space large enough for me to walk through is revealed; a darkened stairway leading deeper inside stands before me. ¡°Just use magic.¡± ¡°If you master the door affix then you will be able to seal the dungeon once again,¡± Galea informs me. I pause in the middle of replacing the Bane Crystal in my inventory. ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as a door affix,¡± I say. ¡°There could be,¡± Galea says. Quirking an eyebrow at the strange spirit, I pocket the Bane Crystal and tread towards the stairway. ¡°I have looked through my glossary of affixes more than a dozen times now,¡± I say, beginning to channel orange dragonfire in my hand for some light as I take my first step onto the stairs. ¡°If there were such a thing as a door affix, I would remember it.¡± ¡°That glossary only covers basic affixes,¡± she says. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t contain something as advanced as a door affix.¡± I plod down the staircase, holding up my burning hand to light the way in front of me. The ball of orange fire in my hand pushes back the darkness for twenty feet or so. The walls of the structure¡¯s interior are covered with a mesh of green veins that peek in and out of the walls and floor. Ahead of me, a darkened hallway runs off into infinity. The air in here is damp, the smell of dust and decay tickling my nose. ¡°The door affix,¡± I say, shaking my head. My footfalls bounce off the sparse stone at my feet, mostly muffled by the flexing veins of green that I can¡¯t help but walk on. ¡°How could something like that possibly be an advanced affix?¡± ¡°There were other affixes not shown in the glossary,¡± Galea defends. The spirit crosses her clawed arms across her chest as she floats along next to me. ¡°Did your book mention the Aurora Affix? No, but we know that it is a real one since we saw the Aurora Essentia with our own eyes. It also didn¡¯t mention anything about the Dragon Affix either, and we know that is a real one as well.¡± I stop, looking at the spirit, though she refuses to return my gaze. Galea is assuming that any magic that could form an essentia also could form an affix. Given that essentia are incredibly concentrated amalgamations of magic so potent that they are capable of leaving a mark on the soul, she might just have a point there. My reply is cut off by the sound of shuffling further up the hall. The dragonfire in my hand has long reached its full charge, and I hold up my hand to illuminate the dark just a bit better. The first thing that I notice as the slow plodding sound begins to approach are a set of blue eyes glowing in the dark, three slit orbs carrying a clear malevolence. The approaching creature comes into view, its form so odd that I momentarily lose my focus. What comes walking out of the dark appears to be a horse made of plant matter, its body a mix of gray and green flesh with strange bark-like growths. Its head has three blue eyes situated beneath a budding flower; out of which grows a foot long horn made of some green crystal. Its feet end in four claws that clack against the floor with each step that it takes, its movements more like a feline than a horse. Mold Tender(Level 32) ¡°I hate it.¡± Without giving it much consideration, I launch my fully charge ball of dragonfire at the monster. The fire streaks across the short distance, the resounding explosion engulfing the monster in orange fire. The shock of the explosion in the enclosed space pops my ears, and as the monster in front of me wails and collapses to the ground, I crouch, trying to massage my head. ¡°After observing, I have a better option for dealing with those monsters in the future,¡± Galea says, floating into my vision. ¡°You don¡¯t say.¡± My head pounds. I stand, letting my recovery take care of my head and ears, watching the smoldering corpse of the monster on the ground. Just as I am about to find something sarcastic to say to the fey spirit, a lash of green flesh flies out of the darkness towards me. The tendril is fast, but I am faster. I sidestep the tendril, but three more fire out of the darkness to join the first. I manage to fling a Dragonfire Bolt down the corridor before one of the tendrils snags my ankle, putting a crushing hold on my leg. As the tendril jerks back, my bolt of fire continues down the hallway, illuminating a dozen more of the monsters lurking in the dark. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. My head hits the stone as the tendril jerks me forward, a flash of white blotting out everything for a moment as I am dragged away. Fire is already pooling in my hand, and I kick at the thick length of flesh fitted around my ankle, but I am not strong enough to knock it off. Sliding into the dark, my movement slows. A gout of orange flame leaps away from my hand, igniting the monster that has ahold of me before it can bend its weird mouth down to attack. Fangs dig into my shoulder from behind as I burn the tendril away. I scream, trying to curl away from the monster looming over me, but its serrated teeth tear into the muscle of my shoulder, holding me still. Another of the monsters in the dark snags my already wounded leg with its teeth, trying to dig into the leather of my boots, just failing to puncture skin. A dozen more tendrils snake out of the dark, wrapping around my arms and legs as the two monsters biting onto me start pulling in opposite directions, lifting my body into the air as they try to tear me in half. Blood flows out of my shoulder as I scream, trying to turn my hands to point at the monster biting into my shoulder, but the tendrils around my arms hold my hands away. I am blind in the darkness, a dozen grips on my body pulling me in different directions. My hip pops, the monster on my leg pulling hard enough to dislocate the socket. Two more of the fleshy tendrils wrap around my throat, choking the air out of me. I struggle in flashing orange light, fire exploding away from my hands. One of the hidden monsters in the hallway screams as dragonfire roams over it, flames burning its body like dry kindling. In the flashing light I see the monster tearing into my shoulder, feel my hot blood running down my back, see its uncaring eyes staring down at me as it tears into my flesh. An image flashes through my mind, Macille being eaten alive by the Desert Spearman. Even the memory darkens as the monster''s lashes around my throat choke my consciousness. I try to scream, the sudden change of circumstances igniting a hate inside my chest as hot as my fire. Ozone burns through the corridor, another of the monsters catching fire by an errant spout of flame, but the two monsters that bite down on me continue to tug. Another snap in my leg, some muscle tearing away from the bone pushes my outrage over the edge. No air escapes my lips, my wail of indignity silent, but my breathless scream changes into a plume of orange fire. Astonishment flashes in the three eyes of the monster biting into my shoulder as fire spreads over its body. It releases my shoulder, and my body sags for a moment, still suspended in the air, until the flame from my mouth burns away the tendrils wrapped around my throat. The monster bucks and backs away, screeching as it slams its body into the walls of the corridor, trying to douse the flames. I suck in a breath of cool air before choking out a gasp. I watch, upside down, as the monster, my blood still dripping from its plant-like lips, thunders through the corridor burning and blind. My head hits the ground again and I am moving, the monster biting down on my leg dragging me further into the dark. The lashes around my hands still hold me away from burning the thing to bits. With a deep inhale, power builds in my chest, erupting out of my throat in a column of fire thicker than anything I can conjure with my hands. The monster biting into my leg doesn¡¯t even have a moment to respond before its body is engulfed in dragonfire, the writhing flames carrying away the sound of its death. I fall, pain pulsing up my leg as the Mold Tender stumbles away from me, making it two steps before it collapses on the ground in a burning heap. I roll, ignoring the shooting pain in my hip as I push myself to my knees, counting on my high recovery to take care of my injuries as my eyes scan the corridor. Five of the monsters burn on the ground, only two of them still alive, if only barely. Pain is the furthest thing from my mind as I push myself to my feet, gasping as I feel the joint of my hip snap back into place. My hands pump, fire leaping forth, missing far more than I hit, but I can¡¯t bring myself to care at the moment. In the narrow space of the corridor, the remaining seven monsters try to dodge the deadly blasts of fire, each sending two tendrils to snake down the hallway and try to snag me again. I don¡¯t dodge this time, electing to continue pouring fire down the hall, overpowering the continuous assault of tendrils with destruction and fire. My steps are weak and faltering, but the Mold Tenders inch away, their vine-like tendrils turned to ash each time that they attempt to send them in my direction. Fire claims them one by one, my unchanneled Dragonfire Bolts not enough to kill them with a single hit, but I take no care in conserving my mana as I continue my march. The monsters have nowhere to go, no home to retreat to as I march down the hallway back towards the entrance. They fall, their odd screeching spurring me to continue my burning advance. Finally, all of the monsters lay burning in the hall, the remaining spans of their lives counted in seconds as the fire consumes them. I stand over the last of the monsters, my blood slowly dripping from its charred face. It stares up at me, one blue eye still left unburnt. ¡°You want to eat me!¡± I scream down at the monster. Fire still burning in my hands, I grab its head, pulling it up to reveal the monster¡¯s neck. Barbarism overcoming me, I sink my teeth into the flesh of the monster¡¯s neck, feeling bile rise in the back of my throat, the monster inedible. I don¡¯t care. I scream as I bite down on the monster¡¯s neck, flame pouring from my mouth, erupting and overtaking the body of the creature as it wails and dies. I only stop when I feel its weight break away, leaving me with a mouth full of ash and cinder. My breath comes ragged, but my body starts putting itself back to together, muscles in my legs sewing themselves back to the bone while the skin in my shoulder knits itself together. I stare down at the unrecognizable husk of black ash before me, the corridor more than illuminated by the burning corpses around me. My breathing evens out, and when I look to the green line in my vision, I find that not even half of my healing points have been spent. Less than half a minute later, I stand in the burning hallway, the only sign that I had ever been in danger the blood soaking into my new shirt and the sweat standing out on my skin. ¡°Galea,¡± I say, not bothering to speak in my head. The spirit appears in front of me, worry standing out on her face. ¡°Are you alright, Mistress Charlene?¡± she asks, cutting off my thought. I look myself over, adjusting my clothes. ¡°I just got these,¡± I mutter. With a flick of my fingers, a canteen falls into my hand. I don¡¯t have much water left; I¡¯ll need to make it back too the river soon. I take a swig of water, swishing it around in my mouth to clear out the ash before spitting it onto the charred remains at my feet. The peaty taste that lingers on my tongue isn¡¯t all that unpleasant. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± I tell Galea, trying to remember what I was going to ask her before. ¡°These creatures appear to be rather dangerous for their level,¡± Galea comments. ¡°I underestimated them,¡± I say, nodding. ¡°I guess I was a little careless. Everything that my fire has touched for the last few days has died almost instantly. Best not to become too cocky.¡± ¡°Would you like to take a break before heading deeper within? There is also the chance that more monsters will be approaching even now.¡± I take a moment to look at my energy levels while depositing the canteen. My mana is the worst off, but with the numbers so high now, I can watch my mana reserves refill in real time. ¡°Is taking a break here what a person trying to outwork all of her peers would do?¡± ¡°No?¡± Galea ventures, though she doesn¡¯t look too happy about my decision. ¡°Let all of the others take rests after fighting and suffering injuries. If I fall into that habit, then I might start wasting my greatest asset. I am a recovery specialist. If I don¡¯t have any teammates around to slow me down, why should I allow the monsters to do so?¡± ¡°That is certainly¡­bold, Mistress Charlene.¡± ¡°You know what they say about boldness.¡± I turn, calling my fire to my hand. ¡°There are many idioms about boldness,¡± Galea replies. ¡°Well then, pick your favorite.¡± I fling a bolt of fire down the hallway, watching it sail away from me for more than a hundred feet before splashing into a stone wall, smoldering embers made from the vines covering the walls. I begin to walk, Galea floating along next to me. ¡°I remembered what I wanted to ask.¡± ¡°Yes, Mistress?¡± ¡°What would dragonfire with a Door Affix even look like?¡± Chapter 58 - Down Deep ¡°I am starting to regret coming in here,¡± I tell Galea. I toss a handful of fire down the hallway, setting alight the vines clinging to the wall at the end of the hallway for light. The monster at my feet, something called a Vine Creeper, disappears into pink smoke. ¡°You have defeated thirty-seven monsters so far, Mistress,¡± Galea informs me. ¡°But they¡¯ve all been weak,¡± I complain. I take a seat with a sigh, opening the window for my inventory and looking through it. It is safe to say at this point that these fungus monsters don¡¯t tend to be edible, and the ones that are don¡¯t carry many, if any, strong affixes in their flesh. The best I have managed so far is a slight Decay Affix from two of the monsters I have found in here, but I would need to kill at least sixty of the things to build up enough usable mana to do anything with it. Not that I could really do much with the Decay Affix in the first place. My skill with enchantment is incredibly rudimentary and I am missing the most vital part of enchantments, an object to actually enchant. In my inventory, there are three weapons: the dagger that I found in the mud forest and the two swords that we nabbed off the group that ambushed us in that kitchen. The swords are useless to me. For some reason that I still do not understand, they try to sap the life out of me whenever I hold them. The dagger is nice, but it already has an enchantment on it; so, no luck there. I still have a set of spare clothes in my inventory. Just looking down at the shirt I am wearing and the reddish-brown stains of my own dried blood on the otherwise white fabric makes me cringe, not to mention all the dirt on it. I prefer to save the spare clothes for when I finally leave here. Enchanting them is impossible as well, since it was made clear in the books I have been reading on the profession that enchanting fabrics requires infusible thread. The only infusible materials that I have to work with are the copious amounts of gold and silver that are continuously building in my inventory. At least there is one upside from burning my way through these confusing corridors. My disappointment with the power of the monsters in here isn¡¯t the same as me being lax and incautious. Since the initial surprise in the first hallway, it has become my policy to scout far ahead with my fire and to pour buckets of flame down on anything I see moving. That has worked. The monsters in here last a few seconds before succumbing to my fire, and many of them leave behind materials infused with magic when I disenchant their corpses. The issue is that without a proper enchanter¡¯s kit, I have no way to extract mana from materials other than by eating it. Additionally, the fact that I haven¡¯t found anything in here above rank one and that despite burning nearly forty monsters to a crisp, I haven¡¯t gained a single level. This entire expedition is just proving to be one big disappointment. ¡°It might be a better idea to turn back and start our trip north,¡± I tell Galea as I pull myself up. The slight smoldering down both directions of the hallway gives me enough light to see decently well by. The longer I have been down here, the better my eyes have adapted to the complete darkness. ¡°You have likely made it more than halfway through,¡± Galea says. I tsk, looking back up the way we came from. ¡°How many flights up is it?¡± ¡°It will take seven levels to reach the entrance once again,¡± she informs me. I turn back towards the unknown. ¡°Best not to give up too early then.¡± Ten minutes and two weird monsters later¨Cthey look like spiders with human-like hands and mushrooms for heads¨CI stand on the precipice of a big hole. Making sure to light fires on the other side of the hole, I stare down into the inky blackness below me. A part of me wants to throw some fire down right away, but I hold off for a moment, inspecting the edge. ¡°This looks old,¡± I say, hovering my burning hand over the crumbling edge of the pit. Green roots bury into the stone around the edge of the hole, the cracking stone beneath held in place. There is a layering to the roots, as if years and years of accumulation have made this hole a permanent fixture. The light of my hand illuminates a similar hole in the ceiling above me five feet further ahead. Something tells me that if I climb up into that one, I will find a similar sight in the next floor up. ¡°Something broke out of here.¡± ¡°As you say, Mistress Charlene.¡± I stare back down into the dark, seeing nothing. A thought strikes me, and I leap across the ten-foot hole, landing on the other side and turning back. Sure enough, there is a slight light far in the distance, another hole in the floor beneath the one I currently stand in. A series of holes lead down deeper into the dungeon, a slight white light coming out of the darkness further down. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. ¡°There might finally be treasure to be had. Can you make out what is down there?¡± ¡°The light appears to be out of my range of perception,¡± Galea says. ¡°You could just say no.¡± I mull over what route to take for a moment before deciding to plunge ahead. Dropping down to the next level, I toss bolts of fire in opposite directions, hoping to catch any lurking monsters by surprise. The fire splashes into walls on either side of me, and I find myself crouching in a large room of stone. Thick growths cover the floor and walls, the root-like growths pouring down into the hole a few feet away. I inch closer, repeating the jump down a few more times until I stand on the precipice of the final hole. The source of the light in the deep shadows below is visible now, and my eyes widen as I see it. The floor to the next level and the one beneath that appears to have collapsed a long time ago, leaving a cavernous space open to the overgrowth that permeates the dungeon. In the cavern, right in the middle, rests a mass of golden lights in a clutch: spawn seeds. ¡°How many of them are there?¡± I ask Galea. The spirit flutters around for a moment before turning back to me. ¡°Thirty-nine,¡± she reports. The light that the seeds gives off offers a wan illumination to the overgrown cavern beneath me, displaying a vacuous space filled with roots and vines as thick around as my leg. ¡°Thirty-nine spawn seeds,¡± I mutter. There is no way that I should be capable of making use of that many seeds. My consumption of them in the last few days has helped me boost my attributes, but I have also felt that I am coming close to the limit for their use. Still, those natural treasures are worth more than their weight in gold. ¡°Are there any enemies down there?¡± ¡°None that I can perceive.¡± Caution whispers to me, and I heed it. I sit at the top of the hole for a good hour, waiting for any sign of movement in the cavern below. From what I have pieced together about these mycose monsters, they are a bit unnatural. They are created by other monsters rather than appearing from the ether. Until now, I had thought that the territory bulbs were the only monsters capable of producing the spawn seeds, which would then be carried away by the Wandering Spawners to claim more territory. With so many spawn seeds concentrated beneath me, I might be closing in on the source of the bulbs. Would the source of such a large monster colony be something that I am capable of fighting? With the time elapsed and having seen no monsters down in the cavern yet, my decision is made. Crawling up onto one of the thicker roots that pours down through the hole, I slowly slide my way down towards the cavern floor. The green moss gives dangerously as my boots clap down onto it, springy. A fully channeled Dragonfire Bolt rests in my open palm as I stalk forward towards the clutch of spawn seeds in the center of the cavern. I look about, each step I take across the moss-covered floor slow and measured. I can¡¯t shake the feeling that the second I touch the spawn seeds the entire chamber will come to life and try to eat me. If this cavern were a monster, Galea should be able to tell me about it though. Nothing happens as I inch my way forward. I stand in front of the clutch of spawn seeds, flaming hand held high as I cast light towards the shadows. Still, nothing. ¡°You know the way out, right?¡± I ask Galea. ¡°Of course, Mistress,¡± she says. I can see greed in the dragon spirit¡¯s eyes. She wants the spawn seeds as much as I do. ¡°You still don¡¯t detect any enemies?¡± ¡°None.¡± I take a long breath, stepping forward to lay a hand on the clutch of spawn seeds. The warm magic of the spawn seed flows into my fingertips as I touch it. I sense no reaction in the chamber as I pocket the seed in my inventory. Diving ahead, I put all of the seeds in my inventory, I can go ahead and deal with sorting and consuming them later. The light in the cavern wanes as the seed disappear one by one until the only illumination comes from the flickering flame I hold in my hand. No vines begin to shoot out of the walls towards me, no earthquake as the ground itself comes to life. Turning, I start to push strength into my legs to spur me ahead but stop after a single step. There, standing fifteen feet away from me, is a humanoid monster that had not been there a second ago. The orange light in my hand reflects off of the fitted white plates that make up its skin, budding lichen and fungal growth showing through the cracks between the plates. Unlike the Spawners, this monster is thin, its form lithe and almost artificial. It¡¯s face is a mask, two eyes that glow a hateful amber color shining in my direction, the thin cap on its head looking more like a wide-brimmed hat than a mushroom. In its long-fingered hands it holds twin axes heavier than even Kendon¡¯s hammer had been, ancient things that have long rusted over. ¡°An enemy!¡± Galea shrieks in my ear. My bolt of fire is already soaring across the space between us. In a smooth motion, the monster moves one of its axes, catching the bolt of dragonfire on the head of its weapon and deflecting it. The bolt carries past the monster, exploding against the wall in a burst of flame. ???(???) ¡°Galea, what is that thing?¡± I ask as I push myself to concentrate as much burning mana in my hand as possible. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Galea whines. I hear a fear in the spirit¡¯s voice that she has never shown before. ¡°There are no hits from the archive and its providence is being obscured in some way.¡± ¡°Wha¨C¡± Before I can ask, the monster is in front of me, close enough that I could touch its face. The air splits in a scream of wind, the rusted head of an ax coming up to meet me. Chapter 59 - Round One If I was any slower, the swing of the ax would take my head off. I step away, the gray metal singing through the air just in front of my neck. The edge is brown with rust and dull, but I have no doubt the horrendous strength behind the monster¡¯s attack would be enough to easily cut me in two. There is no time to think; the monster¡¯s other ax descends towards me. Suddenly, it is as if I am back in the training yard with Kithkik, attempting to dodge her sticks. The difference is that if I let a single blow to land now, I will lose my life instead of suffering a bruise. I spin to the side out of the path of the second ax, moving closer, putting a Dragonfire Bolt into the monster¡¯s chest. Without the explosion to obscure it, this time I see my own attack connect. The burst of orange flames splash over the white plates of the monster¡¯s skin, as effective as water, only slightly singeing the growth that peeks through the spaces between the plates. The monster follows me as I circle behind it, hateful glowing eyes attempting to track my every movement. I am faster than this creature but not by much. It swings again, the huge head of its ax crashing into the moss at our feet, quaking the ground. A gout of flame springs forth from my hand, burning over the monster¡¯s face for the barest of moments before I need to duck its other ax. The continuous flame seems less effective than the unchanneled bolt somehow, the fungi peeking through the cracks not even darkening at my assault. Embers rain off of the monster as it presses forward, falling to the moss on the ground, setting small fires here and there. I put my effort into channeling a bolt in my right hand, keeping my left free to pepper it with quick shots whenever I have the opportunity. My first attack did manage a bit of damage; I see now. In the center of the monster¡¯s chest a black stain lingers on the white plates, a crack running through a single plate, the growth around the impact scorched. Its assault is an endless onslaught. I dance with it, the pace of the monster¡¯s swinging axes pushing me into riskier and riskier dodges. The air keens as its weapons kick up violent winds. The barest corner of its weapon knicks my side, the slight collision enough to throw me sideways. I land on my shoulder, a bare moment left to me to see a trail of my own blood falling through the air as the monster charges at me. My body reacts better than it ever has before, my hands catching me as I roll and turning me back to my feet in the air. Instead of jumping away, I push forwards, shoving an unchanneled Dragonfire Bolt into its face while I step inside its reach. The head of the ax falls past me as the fire blooms across its face, the haft of its weapon colliding with my left shoulder. The snap of bone pulls a shriek from between my gritted teeth, but the monster staggers away, leaving its left weapon behind. We stumble away from each other, the monster falling to a knee, swiping its ax in front of it to ward me off while it pats out the flames on its face. I manage to keep my feet, barely. My hand curls around the ax buried in the ground beside me, my eyes never leaving the monster in front of me. Its empty hand pats at the flames lingering on the plate of its face, my fire proving effective for the first time. As my hand curls around the haft of the rusted ax, I feel no magical resistance inside of the object. The weapon disappears into my inventory, a smile spreading on my face. ¡°That¡¯s one,¡± I tell the monster, doubting that it can understand me. I miss my magical staff more than anything in this moment, the lack burning my hate for Coriander and Kendon all the hotter. The monster stands, the fire on its face patted out, and turns to face me. Its left eye no longer glows with magical amber, leaving one hateful orb to gaze in my direction. I give it no time to freely recover, tossing three consecutive bolts of fire in its direction. The monster answers my assault with precise swings of its weapon, almost lazy, each arc of its ax cutting the bolts in half midair. My attention flows to my right hand and the bolt I am still channeling there, not even halfway charged. Less than ten seconds have passed in this fight. The monster rockets forward, burning moss spraying into the air in its wake. With both hands on the haft of its weapon, it swings at my hip, attempting to split me in half with an incredible swing. I jump, my feet clearing the arc of its weapon, a Dragonfire Bolt coming to light in my hand ready to be tossed down into its face again. Fear rips through me as I see the monster continue its swing in a full circle, never intending to slow for a follow through. The monster¡¯s back hand falls away from the weapon, clamping down on my ankle before I can pull my foot back. Midair, I have no way to change my direction. As the monster turns, it drags me through the air along with it. My vision blurs and a second later my back bounces against the floor with a crack that almost drives me into unconsciousness. All of the air and strength in my body vanishes, and I lose control of my eyes for a moment. I am vaguely aware that the moss on the ground bounces up into the air along with my body, the monster¡¯s slam enough to clear the earth of anything beneath me. My eyes focus again as gravity starts to take over, the head of a dull ax coming down at my face. I hit the earth again, my hands jutting upwards, cool metal appearing in my grasp an instant before the monster¡¯s weapon comes down. The titanic force of the monster¡¯s weapon colliding with the Jailor¡¯s Ax in my hands sends shivers all through my arms. I choke down the agony of the strike shaking through whatever bone is broken in my shoulder as I hold off the monster¡¯s attack while on my back. The magical ax I hold onto offers no give, its head only being slightly buried into the bare ground from the horrific power of the monster¡¯s attack. The monster is tossed back a few steps, struggling to keep ahold of its own weapon. I didn¡¯t ever think that I would need to use this weapon. The Jailor¡¯s Ax is something far too heavy for me to manage, even with my magic running through the weapon to lighten the load somewhat¨Ca unique feature of the massive weapon. The sleek metal has proved impossible to scratch, and given the shaking of the monster as it stumbles away, I doubt it can break it either. The temporary reprieve turns sour as I see the monster in front of me give up on its weapon, letting the ax sail away from it. The rusted ax sails off into the darkness, disappearing over the lip of a ledge, the sound of its fall disappearing. Before I can move, the monster turns, dropping low as it swings a kick at my side. Even as I try to move the Jailor¡¯s Ax again to block the kick, it slips beneath the guard of the pommel, connecting with my hip. The world turns into a mess of color once more as I spin away, the sputtering flames I try to throw in return from my left hand marking a trail of fire through the moss. I end my roll on my knees, my stomach lurching. I push down the bile rising in my throat, spitting a mess of phlegm into the burning moss as I stare up at the monster. It stands, the Jailor¡¯s Ax gripped between its fingers. The monster doesn¡¯t bother with me for a moment, tracing its new weapon through the air in graceful arcs. A snapping shakes through my body, the bone in my shoulder reknitting and pushing back into place. I stagger to my feet, breath ragged as I stare across the space at the monster. When it looks at me, I read emotion in its one remaining eye. The bastard is smug. The monster flourishes the Jailor¡¯s Ax, ending with the weapon resting on its shoulder. ¡°That¡¯s mine,¡± I tell it. For a third time, the monster lunges at me in a blur of speed. A whistle like the screams of the damned cries through the chamber as it chops down at me, but I am moving as well. The feigned weakness in my legs vanishes as I lunge into the strike, my left hand shooting upwards. My fingers slide over the cool metal of the ax pommel, the strength in the blow enough to snap the ligaments in my hand even from the barest contact. The Jailor¡¯s Ax disappears into my inventory, my own magic that was inside the weapon still marking it as belonging to me. The monster stumbles in its swing, its balance completely wrecked by the disappearance of its weapon. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. ¡°I told you,¡± I sneer with glee. My right hand comes up to meet the monster¡¯s face before it can recover, a fully channeled Dragonfire Bolt wrapped tightly around my hand. I put everything I have into my palm as I push it into the monster¡¯s face. My magic explodes against the white plate of the monster¡¯s face. The body of the monster leaves the ground, sailing up twenty feet and crashing into the side of the chamber before falling to the floor. I slowly relax my hand, the expected backlash of exploding a fully channeled bolt in my hand completely absent. The monster doesn¡¯t stay down, slowly picking itself up off the floor as I get a grip. It turns its face towards me, the white mask a crumpled ruin. I see a terrible mass of blackened matter between what remains of its once flawless face-plate, bunches of fungi playing a mockery of life beneath the protection of its hardened skin. I waste no time in pouring more mana into my right hand, ready to channel another Dragonfire Bolt to its utmost. Another attack like that might actually kill this thing. Pain stops me cold. It is too sudden for fear to even come over me. I look down. There is the head of a spear jutting from my stomach, a rusted blade covered in my blood. Confusion; I try to wonder about it, how did this happen. The blade retreating, cutting up my insides in a smooth, cold motion rips my words away from me. I stagger forward a step, turning, seeing something unthinkable. Two more of the monsters stand behind me, one holding a bloody spear in its white hands, the second holding a rusted sword. Before I can move, the spear-wielding monster lashes out with its foot, planting its heel right in my solar plexus. My feet leave the ground, my own blood pushes out of me as forcefully as all my air. My side scrapes against the ground, a single bounce, only the one. My mind is on fire trying to understand what is happening, my hands scramble, looking for purchase on anything, but there is nothing to grab. The ground slips away from me before I can crash down onto it again, the cavern and the light inside sailing away from me as I only feel the open air. My vision of the cavern distorts as I sail over the lip at the edge of the room, leading into the pitch black. Flashes of Kendon tossing me off that cliff burn in my head, and I can see him there in the retreating light of the cavern, looking down at me as I sail away. The madness and pity in his eyes burns up my soul. I scream, impotence and hate chewing at me as my hands scratch, trying to catch the air itself, trying to claw back towards that bastard. I need to get back there. I need to put this pain and hate into him. How can I hold onto it and not go insane? My hand grasps something solid, the world fading away.
I stand in a void, the pain of my body having vanished. In the starscape that surrounds me, my emotions are brought to the fore, the anger and shame at being so easily discarded bringing burning tears to my eyes. My Affix Index floats in front of me, the twelve-sided object spinning, giving depth to the field of stars around me. Time is a forgotten thing here, a slow crawl that is meaningless in the outside world. Unlike the last time that I studied this Index, symbols now stand out on its surface, runes that mark the magic I have been pouring into it. Seven of the spaces stand occupied, the only one with any real light to it the rune for Growth. ¡°Why?¡± I question, my voice cracking. Tears slip from my eyes, rolling like boiling water down my face. ¡°Galea?¡± She doesn¡¯t come. I stand alone in the emptiness, no one to see me cry or scream, no one to comfort me and tell me that it will be okay. Is this my final moment? Will I die here, unable to do anything, unable to show that I can become something? The fear is so much worse this time. Finding a goal makes its tearing away all the worse. I scream into my hands, my frustration pouring out. No. The sound is like a whisper, a hot wind from a nightmare that breaks my self-pity. I turn in the void, seeing a huge complex of shapes moving in front of me, the constant and shifting complexity of my soul. It is beautiful, a set of white-transparent shapes, each smaller than the last, all spinning inside one another in a dance that shrinks away into nothingness. Tears still hot on my face, I become lost in the dance, and see for the first time that there are eight of the shapes in total. I don¡¯t know how long I stand there, staring at the dance of my own soul. At first, I had thought that the largest of them to be a ball, but I can see now that I was wrong. I have no name for it, but the largest of the shapes, the one that creates the surface of my soul, is a geometric object with a thousand faces. A level beneath that is an object bearing two-hundred and ninety-nine faces. They continue in a series: one-hundred, fifty, twenty, twelve, four, and finally a perfect sphere that pulses different colors. Having studied the Glossary for so long now, I finally know the symbol pressed into one of the face of the twenty-sided object. The rune is for Fire. Something in the dance of my soul possesses me; it offers me a hint. I turn, looking back at the Enchanter¡¯s Affix Index that floats in the air on my other side. This is also a piece of my soul, having been split apart by Galea, but still a part of me. I reach towards the Index, and it turns in the air without me needing to command it, pushing the face with the rune for Growth out towards me. My fingers brush the face of the rune, feeling the magic stored inside. Growth wants to run free, to be let out into the world, to expand and conquer. My nails dig into the rune, grabbing ahold of the power inside. The magic flinches away from me, trying to retreat away from my grasp, but in this space my power is total, my will the makeup of everything, and I come alive in the feeling of binding the struggling magic in my hand. I am the Empress of this domain. My other hand moves, the geometry of my soul pressing easily against my palm. A voice from a half-forgotten nightmare whispers to me what to do, but I feel as if the coaching is unneeded. I know what to do. How could I not? I pull at the magic locked inside of the Index with all of my strength, but I may as well be trying to pull a stubborn mule by the tail. More pain streaks through me in flashes of lightning, the tears still staining my face changing to magma on my skin. I scream, dragging against the stubborn magic with all of my power, the very stars in the sky around me darkening to a dangerous crimson to echo my pain. Then, as if the magic finally loses its grasp on the inner walls of the Index, I wrench it free. A golden-green light burns in my hand as I plunge it straight into the outer walls of my soul. The world turns white, everything in my conscious mind driven away by the ecstasy of the magic flowing into my soul. I feel power wash over me as the universe around me slowly returns to normal, the distant stars fading back to their natural luminance. I don¡¯t need to breathe in this place, but my body yearns to pant at my exertion. Looking down, I can see blood standing out on my bare stomach, the pain of the wound returning. I can¡¯t keep the mad grin off my face as the starscape begins to fade. In the final vision of my soul, the intricate dance of shapes, I see a new symbol having appeared on one of the larger ones. I know the meaning of the symbol without needing to read it. Growth has been imprinted on my very soul, and now it spins along, two spaces taken up on the intricate canvas. I cough, the world a void around me, the only thing letting me know that I still live the pain in my chest and the scraping of stone against my hand. My left arm holds all my weight as I dangle in the dark. With a grunt, my right hand lurches forward, scraping at the stones around me, trying to find purchase. My eyes focus on the speck of light above me, a flickering orange that continues to burn. Sharp rocks scrape against my skin, prodding me with each movement as I work my way forwards in the dark. My muscles scream, but my new body does not grow tired from the climb. I curse every name I can think of, trying to fuel my climb with anger, each needling of a jagged rock into my flesh another incentive to keep going. For ten minutes I climb, my skin bloody and torn by the time I pull myself up onto the lip of the cavern. The light in the cavern is barely enough to see by now, the fires in the moss having burned down. Three monsters stand in the cavern, each having turned their hideous amber eyes in my direction as I groan to my feet. Fire burns in my hands, a raging flame that wants only to destroy and consume. ¡°Let¡¯s go again.¡± Magic Essentia: Dragonfire Bolt(Rank 1): Conjure flames of consumption, a fire that seeks to grow and consume all that it can reach. Dragonfire is a native ability of all dragons, and its aspects take on the properties of the user¡¯s native mana affixes. Chapter 60 - Climbing Inferno I¡¯m not certain if I could say that the three mushroom monsters standing around in the middle of the darkened cavern look surprised, but I like to imagine that they do. My healing points are already less than half, far better than I expected when I first climbed up over the ledge, and the stab straight through my chest is reduced to only being an incredibly painful cut that still sends pinches of pain through me whenever I move. I think that the damage inside, my organs being cut up, either was never too bad or has been fixed already. I can judge that my experience inside my soul space only took a few seconds by the recovery of my mana, but I still have most of it. I can do this. The spear-wielder lunges forward. I have never fought someone using this kind of weapon before, nothing even close to it that I can think of. My first inclination is to stay far out of its reach. I run from the monster, not bothering to toss a bolt of fire at it as I dance away. Behind it, the monster with the sword is taking a more measured approach, trying to cut off my retreat as the one with the spear presses in on me. The original monster, now disarmed, stands in the middle of the cavern, its chest heaving as it glares at me with one amber eye. I might be faster than the monsters themselves, but the flicking spearhead stabbing at me is faster still. The monster continues to chase after me, using my inability to maneuver to its advantage. My focus is on keeping the spear monster between me and the one with the sword. A flash of burning pain scrapes through my side as a rock hidden beneath the moss at my feet throws me just a hair off balance. I gasp, trying to move to the side, but the monster is already following up its attack, spinning its spear to try and bash me in the head with the haft. I raise my left arm over my head, doing my best to set my feet. The full weight of the spear haft coming down on my forearm tears a scream out of me, the snapping of my arm flashing through me. My block breaks my arm and stops the monster from braining me with the rod of metal. Even as the mana running to my left hand begins to fade, my fingers brush along the length of the weapon. Before the monster¡¯s foot can even land from completing its strike, its spear has vanished, neatly stored into the twenty-third box of my inventory. The monster doesn¡¯t stop, even momentary surprise discarded as it plants its foot and delivers a forward punch into my chest that knocks me back into the cavern wall. I bounce off the rock, my eyes wide, air gone, seeing the sword-wielding monster lunging forward. My left arm flags uselessly through the air, and my right is still channeling a Dragonfire Bolt. I gamble, choosing to advance rather than retreat. The monster plans to cut me in half before I can even hit the ground anyway. A spout of fire pours from my mouth, as thick as the trunk of a pear tree, bathing the monster in front of me in flames that roil orange and white. The head of the sword slams into the stone behind me, its blade cutting a line along my cheek as fire and rage pours from my lips. Even as my feet finally meet the earth again, even as I let the flame pouring out of me die¨Cthe drain that breathing out dragonfire has on my mana is too intense¨Cmy left hand flails towards the blade. Useless fingers miss, and my feet carry me away before the monster can launch another attack. The next attack doesn¡¯t come, not from the sword monster anyway. The disarmed spear-wielder chases me as I make a circuit of the cavern, the one with the sword lingering at the edge of the room. Dragonfire spreads over its form sticking to it as if the fire had real substance. There is panic in the monster as it claws at the fire crawling over it, wiping it away with its hands. Globs of fire fall away from the monster, igniting the moss-covered floor in a blaze that starts to spread. It takes ten seconds for the sword monster to scratch away the lingering flames as it walks backward out of the fire spreading around it, and when it stands, turning its wicked, rusted blade in my direction, it appears relatively unharmed. Aside from the peeking growth between its white plates that has turned ashen and gray, the odd monster appears cleaned from my attack, the dirt and filth that earlier decorated its features burned away. The spear-wielder continues to press on me. Its swings are brutal things, blows strong enough to break bone or even kill if I let it hit me in the wrong spot, but it is also clumsy. The previous grace and expertise that it showed with its spear completely absent. A novel feeling starts to come over me as I step in and out of the monster¡¯s attacks. It never ceases its aggression, always pressing forward, always trying to crush me with a blow. When I step to the right, it tries to hammer me in the face with a wild haymaker from its left, just the same as it tried the last two times. I spring off my lead foot, the monster¡¯s plate-covered knuckles passing just in front of my face, stepping into it before it can recover. ¡°Am I a better fighter than you?¡± I don¡¯t even realize the words have left my mouth as I plant my right hand into the monster¡¯s neck, just beneath the chin. The explosion of dragonfire in my palm drenches me in burning flames as the monster is launched away from me. The fire clings to me like tar, and it feels almost as if there is a real weight to it. I don¡¯t pay it much mind, all it does is lick my skin with a light warmth as it eats into my already ruined clothes. Watching the monster sail into the air in front of me, puddles of flame erupting across the mossy ground all around me, the novel sensation continues to grow, pulling my lips into a smile despite the pain shooting through my arm. That had been almost easy, almost. Before the body of the monster can even hit the ground, a solid object thunks into the moss at my feet. The monster¡¯s head smolders in front of me, the round, thin hat-like cap burning away inside of the orange and white dragonfire. No light shines from the hateful sockets in its mask. Metal sings through the air before I can admire the kill. I leap away, a rusted sword cutting into the ground at my feet. The sword-wielding monster jumps through the climbing fire around me, but I spit a gout of flame over its form before it can land. The creature freezes, the bare second of fire pouring forth from me enough to set it ablaze. Before it can start patting the flames away, I put my heel into its chest with all of my strength. My strength might not be my best attribute, but all of my weight and will goes into the kick I use to knock it back into the mossy fire on the ground. It lands on its back, immediately trying to jump back to its feet, hand reaching out for its sword, but I press in on it. I kick the sword away with my boot that is already disintegrating under the rising heat and flames around me, spraying flames out of my right hand all over the creature as it struggles on the ground. The constant onslaught of fire seems almost to press it into the ground as if it is as heavy as a waterfall. My naked foot falls onto its chest, pinning it to the burning ground as the flames erupting from my hand continue to pour into it. A scream begins to rise from the monster, not a sound that any beast should be able to make, but a high whine that shakes straight through my bones. I hardly notice the inferno rising around me, the wash of dragonfire gliding off the monster¡¯s body as much as it sticks, spreading into the moss and trapping the two of us in the center of a bonfire. The longer I stare, the better I can see it, one hand clawing at the flames dripping through its mask while it hammers my leg with the other. Blood starts to trickle from my leg, my shin groaning and splintering beneath the assault. I just can¡¯t bring myself to care. My vision flashes black. Only when my face collides with the floor of the cavern, now a rocky surface burned bare by the climbing flames all around me, does the pain in the back of my skull register. Somehow, my head hitting the rocks doesn¡¯t snap my neck, and I flail to the side, barely avoiding a stomping heel. Rolling to my bare feet, I try to run back from my unseen attacker, but a flare of blinding pain in my left leg turns my sprint into a hobbling limp. Another monster explodes out of the inferno after me, its mask a ruin, flames climbing all along its body. It grabs me by the hair before I can get away from it, jerking me backward. The bulging arm of the ax-wielding monster wraps around my neck as it coils its body around me. I try to suck in air, failing, its heavy body dragging the both of us to the ground. Its other hand pushes against the back of my head, the strong white plate across my throat choking off any air. Panic sinks into me as it hauls on my neck. I try to flail away from it, but its legs lash out, trapping my own as darkness starts to press in at the edge of my vision. My injured left hand grabs onto the arm around my throat, pouring as much of my fire into the arm as I can, while my right scratches at its broken mask, spraying even more flames into its exposed mockery of a face. I let go of any restraint that I have left, draining as much mana as I can to burn this bastard to a crisp. The heat in the air rises hundreds of degrees, the hungry flames around us spiraling fifteen feet in the air as the world turns into what I imagine the Second Hell to be. Darkness continues to creep in on me. I feel the veins in my eyes bulge, the muscles in my neck groan from the abuse. The world is a sheet of orange light, but even that begins to turn gray. Still, I do not stop. My hand catches, the finger of my index finger digging into a hole in the monster¡¯s face. I feel the monster shudder through the arm around my throat, not even thinking before I push my finger deeper into its ruined eye-socket. The fire pouring out of me chews through the creature. I continue to push my hand deeper. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The world is black by the time that I feel any give. My mind, deprived of air or thought, commands my arm to pull. I am faintly aware of a terrible struggle, a screaming madness driving the two of us to kill one another. Sight comes back to me, not a slow and creeping restoration, but a sudden awareness that I am sitting amid the flames. My left hand digs into the lifeless arm around my neck, pulling the stiffened and charred thing away from my throat, allowing more breath. In my right hand, I hold half of the monster¡¯s head, my dragonfire having eaten through the fungus monster enough to allow me to pull it apart. I have no idea if it was still alive when I did so. Coughs shake up through me, but I ignore the pain and pressure inside my chest. Pink smoke rises from the corpse of the monster, swirling and mixing with the flames around me as I push myself back to my feet. My eyes spin, but the only thing I can see anywhere is fire. The moss-covered floor is alight with flames, and I stand in a burning sea of my own making. ¡°Where is it?¡± I manage to choke out, still looking about. ¡°It is dead!¡± Galea yells over the screaming fire. ¡°They are all dead!¡± ¡°I need to find it before it can heal or regroup.¡± I step through the fire, finding my leg healed enough to walk on already. I am quickly coming to appreciate my specialty. ¡°Where¡­¡± You have defeated ???(???)x3 THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! I stop in my tracks, the golden dragon in front of me holding up the sign. ¡°You did it!¡± she cheers, but there is a wariness in her voice. ¡°I did?¡± I pause, the entire cavern burning, the flames clinging to the stone on the floor and cavern. Ten steps away, two bodies burn in the wreckage of the cavern. I walk over, nudging the bodies with a toe, disenchanting each of them. ¡°That is three.¡± A bucket falls into my hand, and I splash the water inside over my head, returning it to my inventory before the wood can burst into flame. The world is a calamity around me, the water evaporating off my naked skin before I can even cross the cavern. I glance down at myself, flush spreading across my face as I realize how utterly naked I am, my own fire having burned away my clothes. I thank Exeter that the only one to see me flailing around, fighting weird fungus men in the nude, is a spirit that can only speak to me. I want to cover up right away, but my one change of clothes would just burn up as soon as I put them on. I need to get out of this sea of fire first. I look up at the wall of stone above me, the vine that I used to scale down here gone now. ¡°Can¡¯t go back this way,¡± I say. ¡°Mistress Charlene might attempt to climb the wall once the flames have died down,¡± Galea put in. ¡°How long will that take?¡± I look around the cavern, but the inferno doesn¡¯t look anywhere near to dying out. ¡°It cannot continue to burn forever.¡± I wait for two minutes, standing naked in the middle of the fire, and the flames do appear to burn a little less high, but it is so slow that I don¡¯t want to wait around for it. ¡°There is another direction that I can go,¡± I say. ¡°Down the hole,¡± Galea answers. Padding over to the dark hole that leads down into the unknown, I prepare to toss a bolt of fire down to see how deep it goes. I freeze just before I launch the ball of fire. Setting everything down there on fire might not be the wisest idea. I find it simple to pull the Growth Affix out of my dragonfire, leaving it the same old orange flame that I am used to. The ball sails down the hole, splashing against rocks far below, failing to set the next cavern ablaze. ¡°Quite a climb,¡± I sigh, wiggling my bare toes.
The bottom of the pit is a world so foreign to the dungeon that I was in before that it shocks me the two are connected. The still burning flames in the cavern above offer enough light to see the entirety of the chamber when my scraped feet touch down on the cool, slick stone. I am not entirely sure what I had been expecting to find, but it had certainly not been the towering monster in front of me. Mycose Colony Ancestor(Level 83) I take a hurried step back when I realize the shadowy mass in front of me is a monster and not a giant boulder. The fungus climbs into the air in front of me, a mass of green matter more than twenty feet tall. A dizzying mix of flowers cover the surface of the huge monster, a haze of spores that smell like roses drifting in the air around it. The monster is beautiful in its own way, but the mar to its beauty is the same thing that allows me to relax. Across the entire mass of the growth a jagged scar of gray ruin cuts deep into its flesh, carving a path through the flowers that reach far into the monster. Six gray tendrils lay limply on the floor in a pool around its base, one struggling into the air in my direction like the hand of a dying man. Slapping the tendril aside, I circle around the monster, aware that this weakness it displays may be an act. I stop again as I spot the glint of metal, the second odd sight in the chamber arresting me. The Mycose Colony Ancestor rests at an odd angle, its base sitting on a tube of steel as large around as a parlor room and at least ninety feet long. Strangest still, there appears to be an open door on the surface of the tube. ¡°No point in turning back now.¡± The steel beneath my foot creaks as I step into the room on the inside of the metal tube. My toes dig into the dust and dirt of the chamber while stale and dry air attacks my lungs. I try and fail to stop a sneeze as I stumble forward, fanning the dirty air in front of my face as I look around. By this time, I have given up on finding anything that makes sense to me. Arrayed in rows along the length of the metal room I stand inside of are glass tubes set into the walls. My foot sticks to the floor as I step through a long dried puddle of something that was once green, stepping up to one of the tubes. Inside lay the long perished body of a familiar creature, yet odd and different at the same time. It appears almost identical to the three unknown monsters I killed in the cavern above just a few minutes ago, white interlocking plates covering its body like skin. The difference comes in that I can see desiccated muscle peeking through the breaks in the plate, any trace of fungus absent. The rest of the tubes are similar, each housing a dead monster inside. Two of the forty or so tubes stand uncracked, a green fluid filling them, though the monsters inside of these two are as dead as all the others. In the last three tubes near the end of the room is the difference. The dead monsters inside of those three lay still, fungi creeping over their corpses, strands digging into the separations between the alabaster plates of their skin. ¡°Gross,¡± Galea comments as I look over them. ¡°I can¡¯t disagree.¡± I attempt to disenchant one of the corpses with the fungi on it, but nothing comes of my magic, the same as all of the other dead monsters. Before I set everything in the chamber on fire, I opt to go ahead and check the next room over. Steel crates are scattered throughout the room, and they come in all different shapes and sizes. Most sit open, their frames bent and broken. Inside the open crates rest rusted weapons and armor, which at least solves the mystery of where those monsters found their weapons. I spend a good thirty minutes digging through the storage room, finding nothing except ruined metal. For the most part, the crates themselves are the most valuable things that I end up pocketing. Just before I am about to give up on the storage room to go inspect the last chamber, Galea yells at me to stop. Turning, I find a crate and a box sitting whole beneath what had been a pile of metal mess that I had stolen on a whim. The two containers almost shine in the weak light of the room. The seals on each of them are terribly difficult to open, requiring me to use my green fire to melt through them, each requiring me to spend a good half an hour to get through. When at last I have them open, I cannot keep the stupid smile off my face. Finally, this excursion down into this dungeon has been worth it. I put everything away before exploring the last room. I leave the final room almost as fast as I enter it, finding only a mess of broken objects and indecipherable mechanisms that look to have eroded over the course of hundreds of years. It is the oldest looking part of the three-chamber metal tube that I walk through, and by far the least interesting. I spare a bit of time to copy down the strange symbols that I find embedded into the ancient looking mechanisms, but the room offers very little of interest on the whole. Fire burns through the tube as I make my way out, sure to set all of the bodies ablaze even if I might not strictly need to. The light from the fires above has faded to a slight glow as I stand in the open cavern. There appears to be a small branching pathway that leads further into the earth; this open chamber may just be the entrance to a cave mouth. I stare up at the monster above me, still as naked as the day I was born, and feel a bit sorry for the monster as I channel a Dragonfire Bolt, adding the Growth Affix to the magic once more. Though, if I am really honest with myself, I don¡¯t really feel all that bad for it as I start walking back toward the wall that leads up and out of the chamber, tossing the fire back at the immobile monster over my shoulder. It¡¯s a monster after all. It¡¯s my job to kill monsters. You have defeated Mycose Colony Ancestor(Level 83) Chapter 61 - Approaching the Return It takes the better part of a day for me to make it clear of the mycose colony. Running through the infected woods offers me a breath of clean air that was wholly absent inside the dungeon, and I appreciate every second of it. I test my new dragonfire on a few territory bulbs as I race through the forest, but the fire is not nearly as effective against the budding monsters as I had hoped, their enormous limbs being able to pat it out and smother it. At one point I manage to almost set the entire forest on fire. I decide then that the experimentation can wait until I find a place where the forest isn¡¯t covered in dried leaves. The rot of fungi eventually falls away as I speed northward, the forest taking on a healthy brown and green once more. Every few minutes, a monster jumps out of nowhere and pursues me for a time, but none are even close to matching my speed. I opt to string them along for a time, channeling a Dragonfire Bolt, until eventually blowing them away with raw firepower when I turn to face them. The monsters are only good for meat and coin, only the occasional bit of gold coming from them. That is fine by me, the meat is good for affix absorption, hopefully¨Cmany of the monsters I end up slaying I have never seen before¨Cand the coin is a good medium for making enchantable metal. Something I especially need at the moment. I finally stop when I break out of the trees, finding a prairie of lilies and dandelions that encompass a wide field before a bramble-covered hill. My bare feet cut through the grass and flowers as I bring myself to a halt in front of the hill, taking in the view. There are creatures moving about on the hill. From the distance between us, roughly half a mile or so, I can make out that they seem to be birds of some kind, big ones. Galea¡¯s windows inform me that all of the monsters are only rank one, something that I can deal with. In the distance, kissing the sky behind the hill that rises in front of me, stretch a range of mountains that shoot towards the clouds, just barely failing to reach. My next destination is finally within sight. That is where I will find them, Kendon and Coriander. With the sun already behind the tops of the trees, casting a long purple shadow across the prairie, I take the sudden break in the trees as a sign to settle down for the night. I look myself over; I¡¯m a bit sweaty, who wouldn¡¯t be after running for eight hours straight, but my breath is calm and unbothered. The traveling clothes that I pilfered, my very last change of clothing¨CI swear, if something happens to them, I will lose my wits¨Cheld up well from my run. I can¡¯t help but smile. Running for the entire day without growing tired fills me with a sense of power that I have rarely felt. I burn away a nice clear area for myself before taking out my camp supplies, namely my pallet of bearskins, before taking a rest. A few tall branches that I have picked up over the course of my run through the woods make a square of torches around me as I start a fire to cook dinner on. While roasts of monsters whose names I have forgotten cook above my fire, I pull out one of the crates I looted in the bottom of the dungeon. The chest is unadorned, a case of what my artificial eye describes as Gangem Iron and is four feet long and about two deep. There hadn¡¯t been a lock on the crate, not any that I could see anyway, but in order to open it I needed to apply my green, corrosive fire around the lip of the crate where I suspected the lid to meet the rest of the metal¨Cthere had been no sign of a seam when I first started. Inside, I found a real prize. Opening the crate again, I find the same three items resting on a bed of black velvet, their metal surface catching the flickering torchlight. The first and largest piece is a breastplate made of feathersteel, hardly weighting a few ounces when I remove it from the crate. On either side of the feathersteel breastplate are a pair of gauntlets which reach all the way to my elbows and are made from the same material. I spend time admiring the pieces of armor in the light of the fire. They are entirely unadorned, simple pieces that look to be suited for those plate-covered monsters. Lucky for me, we have similar builds. Inspecting the piece in the light of the fire, I find a set of strange latching mechanisms on the left side of the breastplate. I almost miss the latches as they are completely flush with the surface of the armor, but with nothing better to do, I start working at them. I spend more than three hours opening the latches, taking bites of monster meat between sessions of trying to tackle how to open up the armor, tossing away any meat that lacks a useful affix. Eventually, with the help of a copper coin, I finally manage to get the mechanism open. My glee at my new armor explodes when I understand what I find inside. The armor, as I discover, is divided into three main pieces. With the latch firmly closed, the front and back plates of the feathersteel breastplate appear monolithic, I never would have been able to tell that the thing could come apart if I hadn¡¯t found the latches. The middle piece is by far the most interesting. At first, the odd blue material that falls into my hand with the jingling of metal startles me. A sheet of springy blue material that feels a bit like rubber and has no rigidity to it, falling limp in my hand as I hold it. Running through the material are a myriad of metals, formed into lines and symbols that have been embedded into the material, creating strange and swirling patterns. My eye identifies the odd, rubbery sheet of blue and metal in my hands as an ¡°Enchanting Tableau,¡± something I have never heard of, but something I can intuit the purpose of immediately. ¡°This is what is supposed to house the enchantments and magic inside the armor,¡± I mumble as the realization comes over me. There is no magic left inside of the metals that run through the blue material, whatever preserved the armor inside the box apparently failed to keep those enchantments running. The intricate dance of the metal through the fabric of the tableau is far beyond me, and I don¡¯t have any good affixes for enchanting at the moment either. I put the breastplate back together before I inadvertently lose a piece, inspecting the gauntlets and finding more latches set into the metal on them as well. It would appear that I know what my next project is going to be. Setting aside the armor and storing the crate away once again, I retrieve the other box I found in that underground cavern. The metallic box itself is far smaller and had been far more difficult to open as well. Opening the lid, I lift free the loop of gold inside. I hold the unadorned crown of gold in my hand, turning it over and studying the inside of the band where intricate patterns create a weave in the surface of the metal so detailed and small that I cannot see the smallest parts with my naked eye. Magic thrums inside of the crown, more potent magic than I have ever held before. Whatever enchantment had been on the chest had done a magnificent job at preserving this piece. Crown of New Lineage(Mythic): ??? Enhancement: +120 attribute points, able to be distributed at the discretion of the wearer. The weight of the crown in my hand is a profound thing. The simple band of gold hides a tremendous power, a power that even Galea cannot describe to me. ¡°Have you made any further progress trying to understand this?¡± The spirit manifests in front of me, sneering at the crown in my hand. ¡°No, and I won¡¯t either. This piece is of a higher thaumic quality than the Eye of Volaash currently, the most I can glean is the magic it possesses that is within the bounds of the first rank.¡± ¡°Then you cannot access its further features,¡± I say. When I first showed the crown to Galea, the spirit had been giddy with excitement. As she told it, the Crown of New Lineage is of such a high quality that she cannot even evaluate it effectively, and its magic is sophisticated enough to require an administrative assistant like herself to control it adequately. She had expected to make a new friend, but when she made her first investigation of the crown, she found any such spirit absent. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Galea went on to further detail to me that enchanted items possess an involved system of qualitative steps similar to the ranking systems employed to delineate the differences in magical potency between practitioners of the magical arts. As the fey spirit bound to the artifact in my head, both the eye itself and Galea will grow in their potency alongside me; that was the entire purpose of an artifact after all. However, with me still being stuck at rank one, the quality of the magic Galea can employ to effectively utilize the crown is extremely limited. She believes that the crown itself may be something that she will not fully be able to unlock the potential of until I reach the fourth rank. Even the idea of climbing that high amid the ranks of magicians seems ludicrous to me, but I feel an attraction to the idea that I hadn¡¯t before. ¡°Is it safe to use?¡± I ask Galea, flipping the crown in my hand. ¡°I do not have any idea, Mistress Charlene. I have no knowledge of what exactly that item is capable of. Honestly, most of its features are hidden to me. There is no guarantee that won¡¯t affect you in some unforeseen way.¡± I stare into the magical aura peeling off the item between my fingers, the coolness of the metal like water on my skin. The aura of the thing is both the purest white and the most insidious black. I wonder, not for the first time, what kind of monsters had been inside of those tubes if they were potentially powerful enough to wield such a thing that even Galea doesn¡¯t think she will be able to crack before rank four. In the end, my mind is made by the sheer power of the item. This is obviously something that I should not have managed to get my hands on. That fact alone is enough of a temptation for me. The crown sits on my head, a cool band of metal fitting perfectly in place as if it always belonged there. Warmth comes over me as Galea activates the enchantments she can inside the crown, integrating their working into herself. For a moment, I hear a long creaking sound, as if someone was opening a great door behind me. Then, it is over, and a window appears in the air before me, asking me how I would like to distribute the attribute points stored inside the crown. Deviating from my chosen path no longer occurs to me, and I split the points evenly between Magic, Speed, and Recovery. Then, with my spoils thoroughly inspected, I begin to pull spawn seeds from my inventory, popping them in my mouth like the bite-sized morsels of sweet goodness that they are. I end up wasting one of the fruits when I over-indulge, finding the limit for the magic I can pull out of them at the moment. The limit was never quantified in any of the books that I stole from Arabella. I really need to find one that integrates the Faethian approach to magic with what the rest of the world uses. Who knows, maybe I will write such a thing one day, to help the next confused girl that has a creepy black and red eye shoved in her head. I discover that the amount of attribute points I can extract from natural treasures equals twice my level, meaning that I will need to find more natural treasures before I reach rank two. I spend the night reading. Many of the books still on my stolen bookshelf are a mystery to me; in the past week and a half I have concentrated all my efforts on what I found to be the most important at the time, things that would help me not die to some strange monsters as I was all on my own in the wilderness. Now, having conquered that makeshift dungeon¨Cif it can even really be called that¨Call on my own, I find enough confidence to start looking through some of the more obscure books. The histories that I find, while incredibly boring to read, offer me insight about the world that I had never even suspected before. I find the sun already rising over the treetops before I make it halfway through even one of the books. The brambly hill stands like a dark shadow in front of me as I stand to continue my trek north. I fit the armor over my clothes, finding the shape not exactly flattering but comfortable enough. My camp disappears into my inventory once more and I make a breakfast of monster meat. The meat of an odd ferret-like monster I obliterated the day before holds a hint of magic to it, though I do not immediately recognize the symbol that appears on my Affix Index. As I chew, I continue to contemplate the hill in front of me. In many ways, it seems like the mud-forest that we found out in the middle of the shallow lake, something placed here by the Willian guild for the participants in the Passage to test themselves against. Swallowing the ferret meat with a gulp of water, I stare at the odd birds moving along the hill. My eyes flick past the hill towards the mountains in the distance. That is where I need to be, where I will find the people to exact justified revenge upon. I have no idea exactly what form that revenge will take, but I know that not falling behind in this competition is vital to reach it. Licking my fingers, my eyes can¡¯t help but moving back towards the hill. If it really was like the mud-forest, there will be treasure on that hill. I do need to start hunting monsters for their affixes again too. Besides, it was on the way. How long could it really take to burn up some birds?
The heat of the burning brambles gives a cozy atmosphere to the prairie as I dig through the five chests that I found on the hill. Behind me, the hill itself has become a mass of fire that burns smokeless like a second sun fallen to the earth. No monsters scream any longer from their thorn-ridden nests, spitting globs of caustic bile at me from their perches. The flightless birds that covered the hill had been huge, but only one had been above rank one. Of course, that bird had been guarding the largest chest inside its nest when I torched it. Burning the hillside to its rocky foundations had only taken a few hours; looking at the sun overhead, I doubt that it is even noon. I won¡¯t truly know how profitable the short adventure was until I have cooked up some of the monster meat to try out, but so far, I have found it marginally worth my time. Inside the chests I found a mess of copper, bronze, and silver coins, only the largest one containing any gold at all. That is nice, I will never turn down money, but the items inside the chests are a bit disappointing. Most of the chests contain magical weapons: a bow, a spear, two daggers, and an odd weapon that looks like an oversized fork. I also won¡¯t turn down free magical items, but since I have no idea how to use any of them, I can¡¯t bring myself to be too excited about them. The two best things that I find are a piece of heavy armor which I steal the battle skirt off of to help make me not look so ridiculous, and a pair of boots. The battle skirt itself is a gorgeous piece of strong red fabric inlaid with rings of steel, while the boots are a familiar construction of leather and metal. Boots of Striding(Rare): Your classic boots of striding, a mainstay of any well-prepared adventurer. These boots were crafted in the Wall City of Grim, a collaboration by guild artisans to produce many such beneficial items for the upcoming Passage of Rising Tide. Enhancement: +25 Speed The descriptor of being rare does not seem as apt as I once thought it to be. The boots are identical to the ones that I found inside the first dungeon I visited, though they require a good bit of grunting and stamping to finally get on. Even walking through the brambles, the thorns hadn¡¯t bothered my bare feet much, but it is a tad unladylike to go walking around without proper footwear. Finally finished with my inspection, I adjust the armor into laying in a more flattering position, looking myself over with a grin. Chests of coin sit in front of me, no doubt a temptation placed in the forest by the Willian Guild to see who would slow themselves down with the extra weight. Likely, there is supposed to be some kind of lesson in it, but as each disappears into my inventory, I abjectly avoid any such lessons. With the light of the still blazing hillside at my back, I prepare to turn my attention north once more. I stop before I can even begin, seeing a figure standing silently in the swaying grass of the prairie not even twenty feet ahead of me. The man¡¯s bare chest sports a myriad of cuts and bruises, his white hair unkempt and frizzy. His eyes bore into me with a predatory danger that pushes the thought of danger and violence into me. The last few weeks have not been kind to him, but I can see that he hasn¡¯t lost a single step. ¡°I was assured that you were dead,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, his sharp teeth almost luminescent in the glow of the burning hill. ¡°Sorry to disappoint you, my lord.¡± Fire begins to pool in my hand. Arabella Willian warned me against fighting this man, but I won¡¯t let anyone stand between me and what I am after any more. I am going to rejoin this competition, and if I have to do so by bullying my way through this man, so be it. I am not the same girl that I was before. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 32)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 47(59) Strength: 36(48) Magic: 316(378) Defense: 47(57) Magic Defense: 40 Speed: 207(292) Recovery: 297(419) Perception: 37 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 590 Mana: 3780 Stamina: 1540 Chapter 62 - Ally The crackle of the fire to my back stirs the air, throwing shadows around the prairie to be obliterated by the noonday sun. The fire is isolated to the hill, the dry brambles catching flame far easier than the lush field of flowers and grass around the base. The harsh orange light causes the cuts and bruises to stand out on Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s skin, even the slightest injury turned gruesome. His eyes roam over me, investigating, attempting to figure me out. The look in his eyes confirms something I suspected since first meeting him. Jor¡¯Mari is more intelligent than I am, and I don¡¯t think that it is just by a little bit. His eyes linger on my right hand where my dragonfire begins to stir. ¡°Are we going to come to blows, girl?¡± he asks. ¡°That depends on you,¡± I reply, continuing to build my fire. ¡°And that isn¡¯t my name, my lord.¡± Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s eyes flick back and forth, thinking. The man heaves a great sigh and opens his arms wide. As his left hand opens, the grass to his side sighs back, smashed into the earth as if a great weight falls upon it. An indent of an invisible weight is left in the grass and flowers near him. ¡°How impolitic of me to speak in such a way, Ms. Devardem,¡± the man says, bowing at the waist towards me. ¡°You must understand, for the past two weeks I have needed to handle all comers in a quite violent way. Aggression seems to be the theme of this trial, as I have found it, aggression and deceit. Truthfully, I am quite pleased to learn that you are not dead.¡± I relax a bit at his words, though I do not let the fire building in my hand dissipate. ¡°Who told you that I was dead?¡± The grin stretching across his face quirks, a momentary flash of anger on his face that is quickly smothered. ¡°Why, it was that bitch, Coriander Mel¡¯Draven. Following the collapse of the rafters, confusion surrounded all of us as the monsters poured into the parade ground. I came out of my momentary stupor to find that woman digging through my pockets. She claimed to have been searching for healing items that I might have smuggled into the contest; her boy toy was injured in the fall.¡± ¡°Kendon.¡± ¡°Just the one,¡± he quips, pointing toward me. ¡°Though, I am certain now that she had no high-minded intentions such as assisting that boy. Not that I thought she did at that time either; the girl is awfully self-interested. It was then, as I was about to strike her down for attempting to steal from me, that she revealed having seen you and that other one die when the risers collapsed. I did not believe her, of course, but when Kendon stated that he also saw the two of you die with his own eyes, I found the story more credible.¡± I relax a bit more at his story. ¡°You haven¡¯t seen Coriander and Kendon in the last few weeks then?¡± Jor¡¯Mari quirks an eyebrow. ¡°No,¡± he says, his voice serious. ¡°If you know where they are, then I would be inclined to have you tell me. There is some¡­business that I have left unfinished with those two.¡± ¡°Kendon stabbed you with his artifact didn¡¯t he,¡± I say. The surprise that flashes over Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s face is enough to let me know how accurate my guess is. He laughs, brushing back his hair. ¡°I did not expect you to be so insightful. Tell me, Ms. Devardem, how did you come to such a conclusion?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t remember, do you?¡± I ask. ¡°This is not the first time that we have met after the contest started. After my team finished the first dungeon, Macille and I came face to face with you. You seemed out of your mind at the time, but I would have thought that you at least remembered what happened. There was a sickness spreading over your skin, black veins.¡± I take a moment to recount the series of events after meeting him there in the forest: the ambush by an unknown group, my running into Kendon and Coriander, their betrayal, and how they left me to die. Jor¡¯Mari listens to my words, the grin disappearing from his lips as my tale goes on. ¡°Who is this man you claimed that I killed?¡± he asks when I finish speaking. ¡°His name was Forsin Al¡¯Ruino, he was the son of a duke apparently.¡± Jor¡¯Mari nods, tapping his chin and looking thoughtful. ¡°That name does not ring a bell. That viper has turned me into a murderer.¡± ¡°What happened after Macille and I were separated from the rest of you?¡± I ask. ¡°There seems to have been some kind of falling out.¡± ¡°Oh, yes. Yes, there was.¡±
The sliding of a great stone door rumbled through the room of broken shale and rock. Despite knowing that the monster on which he stood was well and truly dead, Jor¡¯Mari did not stop. Standing on the thing¡¯s terrible green shoulders with his hands clasped beneath its chin, he hauled with all of his augmented strength, reveling in the feeling of the great beast¡¯s vertebrae snapping one after another. His bare and clawed feet digging into the flesh of the dead monster¡¯s back, he finally ripped the head free, falling back and off the monster as its one-eyed head flew high into the air. Coriander Mel¡¯Draven screamed as the monster¡¯s head fell to the floor at her feet, splattering her fine boots with viscous black blood. Jor¡¯Mari couldn¡¯t help but fall into a fit of laughter at the sight, the flash of anger in the woman¡¯s eyes only making the scene all the more hilarious. He used the moment to disengage his power, feeling the raw strength the ability granted him drain away, the three horns on his head and the claws on his feet and hands shrinking away to nothing. Neither Coriander nor Kendon had caught on to the weakness that flushed him whenever he disengaged the ability, and with Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s mask of laughing and brushing off his robes, they continued to remain ignorant of it. At least, he was fairly certain that they did. These two were far too unobservant to pick up on his subtle changes, he figured. ¡°The door is open,¡± Kendon said, nodding to the open passage at the end of the room. The man held his side, a nasty wound from the first room of the dungeon still festering in his side. One stumble too many in the earlier rooms had pushed Jor¡¯Mari to taking over the bulk of the fighting in the dungeon. He didn¡¯t mind the duty, it gave him a way to demonstrate his dominance, and though he was coming to like Kendon, he would never pass up a chance to display his prowess. Besides, he felt himself approaching the apex of the first rank, so he would take all of the glory that he could get his hands upon. The troll had been difficult, the strongest monster he had killed yet, but in the end it too fell. Coriander had supported in that fight, but at the end of the day, it was Jor¡¯Mari that had ripped its heart out of its chest. Jor¡¯Mari looked between his two companions and the door leading from the room. There was no doubt in his mind that treasure waited ahead. He had never conquered a dungeon before; his father didn¡¯t believe in exploiting artificial obstacles. The maiden Mel¡¯Draven hid herself behind Kendon to shrink from his sight, odd. He thought to investigate that oddity for a moment, but the woman¡¯s own clothes had been torn in the battle, her blouse torn open somewhat indecently. Jor¡¯Mari tsked, turning his attention back to the open doorway. Of course, the woman would think that he had some inappropriate lust for her, small wonder then that she would seek to hide behind the man playing at being a knight, no point thinking about it overmuch. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°We approach the end,¡± Jor¡¯Mari said, thumbing in the direction of the next room. ¡°I¡¯ll go ahead, clear the way and all that.¡± ¡°Surely, you do not wish to make off with all of the potential treasures,¡± Coriander said. She held onto Kendon¡¯s arm, still hiding behind him. Jor¡¯Mari shook his head. ¡°You would question my honor?¡± he asked, faking offense. He knew well and good that this woman didn¡¯t believe anyone other than full-bloods could even possess honor. ¡°Follow along at your leisure.¡± The last chamber of the dungeon caught Jor¡¯Mari off-guard as he entered the room. The green and blue theme that had carried throughout the entirety of the dungeon persisted inside the chamber of aquamarine stone, but the odd decor meant to evoke feelings of the ocean was absent. Replacing them, two murals telling a strange story stretched the lengths of either wall. Jor¡¯Mari looked over the pictures and the script for a moment before shaking his head and turning away. Certainly, the carvings were delicate, detailed, and interesting in their depictions of battle and death, but he did not have a whit as to the meaning of any of the markings. Instead, Jor¡¯Mari focused on the four pedestals that stood at near the back of the room, four pillars of blue stone that jutted from the ground, three bearing items of power. As he progressed towards the pedestals, he noted a slope in the floor behind them that lead down towards a doorway of light, the exit no doubt. ¡°You were correct,¡± Jor¡¯Mari called back, knowing that his companions continued along behind him by the scraping of Kendon¡¯s boot against the floor as he limped. ¡°There does in fact seem to be treasure here.¡± Three objects dominated the pedestals: a ring, a runic talisman, and, unmistakably, a soul cage. Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s gaze fell directly to the soul cage, and he ignored the other trinkets, only sparing a glance towards the central pedestal that held some kind of map on its surface. He snatched the soul cage, holding it up to the pervading green light in the chamber, feeling the power trapped inside its runes pulse against the skin of his palm. The light made it difficult to tell, but he thought that it might be made of a fusion of gold and amber, the filigree of the ornate decoration made of the two materials spiraling around one another as they continued throughout the shape of the orb. There had been doubt in Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s mind when that man mentioned soul cages were a possible find inside the dungeon, but now that he held one in his hand, he was truly excited. The soul cage was an exquisite piece, perhaps not so valuable and potent as the soul cage Jor¡¯Mari had arranged for himself prior to being sent off with that woman Arabella Willian, but the difference was slight. Such a slight difference wouldn¡¯t harm him too terribly if he were to select this piece to use in his advancement to the second rank. Any deficit in its makeup would likely be offset by the power he would achieve at reaching the second rank so early in the competition. Already, no one would be able to stand a chance against him; why not guarantee his excellent result in the contest? ¡°This is my claim,¡± Jor¡¯Mari said, turning for a moment to look back at the two. They stood halfway down the long walk of the chamber, Coriander eyeing him while Kendon gazed about at the walls. The man seemed completely out of it. He had taken his brother¡¯s death pretty hard. Jor¡¯Mari could sympathize with that at least. ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± Coriander dismissed with a smile she thought was charming. Jor¡¯Mari pretended that it was. He hated women like her, hated them with the deepest part of himself, but what would he gain by letting her know that? He turned away, studying the map as he listened to Coriander approach a moment later. If he was reading the etching correctly, which, of course, he was, then there seemed to be quite a trek ahead. The fact that the valley between the eastern and western mountain ranges was bisected by another range of mountains confused him for a moment, but that oddity was easily dismissed as well. The pulse of the soul cage in his hand was a constant reminder of the mortal world, a distraction that made it clear just how difficult taking apart the entire dungeon had been. A slight pressure on his arm sent a jolt through Jor¡¯Mari. He glanced to his side, finding Coriander curled around his arm, pressing her breasts into his bicep, her eyes glued on the map in front of both of them. ¡°So, this is the grounds of the Passage,¡± she said, effecting a breathy tone. Jor¡¯Mari groaned at the blatant attempt. ¡°I am not giving you the soul cage,¡± he said flatly. Rather than look disappointed, the woman leaned forward to look down at the map, a smirk spreading on her face. A silver locket, its cover inlaid with a polished emerald slipped from her torn blouse, hanging in the air in front of her. The scrawling on the locket caught his attention. The sight of the necklace kicked Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s tired mind into motion, stories, news, and his studies blurring through his head. It fit a description he knew; there had been a record of such a thing in the histories of Gale¡¯s annexation, the traditional bonding items of an old family. It didn¡¯t make sense however, the bonding item, the artifact, that he stared at had belong to the exiled Glaess clan, not Mel¡¯Draven. His body moved before the full revelation could condense in his mind. Jor¡¯Mari tried to turn to face the threat at his back, but the woman¡¯s grip around his arm held him fast. Before he could throw her off, a vicious sting tore through his neck, a feeling like fire pouring into his veins. He cried out, trying and failing to rake his claws over the woman¡¯s face as he fell backward, his free hand gripping the wound in his neck. Coriander dodged away from his swipe, walking backward as her knight stepped in front of her. The weakness was gone from Kendon¡¯s posture, and he stared at Jor¡¯Mari without thought in his eyes. Jor¡¯Mari had been tracking the man¡¯s footfalls, keeping an eye on his position in the room, but Kendon¡¯s approach had made no sound. He wanted to congratulate the two on their ambush, to taunt them with the horrible death he was going to unleash upon them, but Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s jaw refused to open, the muscles in his face contracting horribly as the fire burned through his neck. One of his legs buckled and he needed to catch himself on one of the pedestals, barely enough focus left in his mind to curl his fingers around the ring his hand came down upon. He tried to speak again, only managing to push spit through his clenched teeth. Jor¡¯Mari watched as Kendon stepped forward. He could not feel the boot being planted squarely in his chest, and his body did not register its collision with the cold stone of the floor. There was just enough strength left to Jor¡¯Mari to push away from the stone pedestal, helping Kendon¡¯s kick to send his body sailing down the decline in the floor, tumbling into the light of the doorway.
¡°So, that incensing sting was from an artifact,¡± Jor¡¯Mari reasons as he finishes his story. I study the man a moment, trying to find if there are lies in his tale. That the two would turn on him so quickly does not exactly square with what I had thought of Coriander; she seems far more calculating to me. No doubt, the man has spun the truth into near truths, he seems like the kind that prides himself on not telling outright lies. After a moment of contemplation, I decide that it doesn¡¯t matter much to me if he is telling the truth. I saw him in the forest after the dungeon, the black poison spreading through his neck had been the same poison that had nearly killed me. Clearly, this man is not an ally of Kendon and Coriander. Now, all I need to determine is whether he is a threat to me. ¡°You seem to have come quite far, Ms. Devardem.¡± Jor¡¯Mari nods to the burning hill at my back. ¡°That would have required quite a lot of work in just a few weeks¡¯ time.¡± ¡°I grew up on an orchard, my lord. I am not a woman unaccustomed to difficult work. Besides, you could say that I had a powerful motivation.¡± ¡°Do you seek revenge, Ms. Devardem?¡± he asks. ¡°I do,¡± the venom in my voice surprises even me. The tension in Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s face vanishes and he smiles in a genuine way I don¡¯t know if I have seen on his face before. ¡°You know, all of the tales I have read¨Cpoetry, epics, and myths¨Cwould tell you that revenge is a hollow thing and that it brings with it no satisfaction.¡± ¡°Horseshit!¡± I swear. Flashes of the story I just told to this man, of my humiliation and my powerlessness, being tossed off a damned cliff and left for dead, race through my mind. ¡°Whoever wrote such things doesn¡¯t know what it¡¯s like to hate someone as much as I hate those two. When I stand over them, my heel on their throats, I am going to feel such bliss.¡± The man in front of me laughs and shakes his head. ¡°You have a vindictive streak, Ms. Devardem, and not a shallow one.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been told that I have a temper,¡± I say. Jor¡¯Mari laughs again, and I can¡¯t help but chuckle as well. He startles me by walking forward, but I stop myself from shrinking away. The man stands before me, his form huge and muscled, looking down into my eyes. ¡°I would like to help you with that, if you will help me with my own petty vengeance,¡± he says, offering me his hand. ¡°I think that I can do that, my lord.¡± My own hand slides into his own. For the first time in what feels like a long time, someone other than a disembodied spirit that lives in my head truly sees me. Not just that, he wants to help me, in his own self-serving way. Chapter 63 - Mountain and Ice To compare the Green Mountain back home to the high rocky slopes of these ranges is laughable. Cuts of sheer rock hundreds of feet high constitute the walls of the mountain, the climb to the top requiring as much hauling my body up cliff faces as hiking through dangerous and pebbly areas. The rock turns to snow and ice a third of the way up, the slopes of the mountain apparently not getting the message that spring is closing in on us. My naked fingers dig into the frozen rock, my nails chipped and short from more than a day of pulling my body over the icy walls. How I wish that I could use my dragonfire to warm my handholds, but each attempt makes matters worse, turning the snow around my fingers to water that then freezes to the wall. For the first time since gaining these awesome powers, the cold air invades me, cuts into my lungs and makes my chest ache. To my left, Jor¡¯Mari waits, his knee wedged into a crevice to keep him still on the side of the cliff we climb. He ignores me for the most part, looking skyward toward the next landing. The man¡¯s chest has swelled since we reached the ice yesterday, and the muscles in his arms stand out in a significant way. The skin of his hands do not burn a blistering red the same as mine; claws extend from his nails and allow him an easy time bouldering. ¡°Just a few more landings,¡± he says, his voice easy and unbothered. I return to my task, searching for the next hold, my mind focusing as sharply as it may to avoid the fear of falling. It is not that I am tired, the harsh climb does not exhaust me, but I can feel my body fighting the cold, fixing the damage the chill tries to drive into me with each armlength of progress. I glance Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s direction once again when he begins to pull himself up towards the next landing, sparing time to smirk down at me in his infuriating way. Jor¡¯Mari(Rank One), Son of Duke Cla¡¯Mari of the Mari Dutchy Demon Conflux His liberal use of one of his powers over the past few days has confirmed what I suspected. The man is able to give himself any attribute specialization for a short period of time. A powerful hand grabs my own, pulling me up to a flat stretch of rock where I sprawl on my back, pouring fire into my complaining hands. After two days spent running and another three tackling this mountain, we have finally arrived. Jor¡¯Mari sits nearby, his transformation disappearing as he looks out at the world from our new height. So high above the trees, the forest below appears almost normal, a range of green that travels off toward the horizon. Movement among the trees draws my attention, and Galea takes the opportunity to point out monsters living in the uppermost reaches of the canopy. If I squint, still looking southward, I imagine that I can see Grim and the wall it is built upon. The cap of the mountain towers overhead, we have only made it two-thirds up the side, but that should be enough. ¡°Careful with the fire,¡± Jor¡¯Mari comments. ¡°We would do best to not be spotted.¡± Reluctantly, I dismiss my dragonfire, making do with wrapping myself in a bearskin cloak and hugging it tight. I toss one to Jor¡¯Mari as well, and actually receive genuine thanks for the small comfort. At his beckon, I follow him towards the end of the huge sloping rock we stand on. To the immediate east of us, two hundred feet below, a structure is cut into the mountain. A tower that climbs so high as to ascend past our position and continue for another hundred feet has been hewn from the stone of the mountain, half of its edifice buried inside the snow and rock. Crenelations of weathered stone mark the high balconies that look out onto the squared courtyard in front of the tower. People, so far distant they are little more than specks on the snowy field of stone camp together in the corners of the courtyard, huddling from the wind. At the southernmost point of the courtyard a gate stands open, guarded by six or more people that sit around sheltered fire against one of the walls. Below, winding all the way up the side of the mountain, a steep road of ice and slush leads to the tower, and all along its length are small fires and tents at which shelter even more people. In front of the courtyard gate, ten or so others shelter against a lean-to to save themselves from the bite of the wind, their loud voices carried towards us on the rise of the wind, indistinct and angry. ¡°These are the two groups that you wanted to show me,¡± I ask. It is obvious at a glance that those within the courtyard and those outside are apart from one another. Near forty people linger inside the stone courtyard, mostly curled against the walls or platforms of wood, huddling around small fires. More than eighty linger outside the gate, their small tents and shelters dotting the switch backing road leading down the mountainside. ¡°Yes, exactly.¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, looking down toward the tower along with me. ¡°Who are they?¡± I ask, mist puffing from between my lips. Inside the cover of the bearskin, I form a small ball of fire to keep myself warm. ¡°That, I can only guess at,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°By the time that I arrived here, this standoff had already formed. That was eight days ago, and from the looks of it, more and more have come to join the waiting. I have my suspicions about what exactly is happening down there, but I would like to hear your thoughts on it first.¡± I peek at the man, trying to estimate if he really wants to hear what I can figure out or if he is merely attempting to test me. I need to remember that he comes from a noble lineage; he likely doesn¡¯t think that an ignorant farm girl can drive this cart. My biggest issue comes in the fact that from so far up I cannot make out much. I concentrate, attempting to read the scene far below, but the people may as well be termites. I begin to regret not putting any points into the Perception attribute. Jor¡¯Mari crouches on the landing at my side, his eyes having changed to solid black spheres. A look at the window in front of him confirms that he has given himself a perception specialization. This man¡¯s ability to change his strengths at will is far too overbearing. ¡°Would you like assistance?¡± Galea asks, fluttering around Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s head. ¡°If you would,¡± I return to the spirit in my head. More than a hundred windows open in front of me, each containing the names and the confluxes of the individuals far below. I scan the information, understanding that no doubt I am missing things as Galea tells me nothing about the people hidden from sight inside their shelters. A pattern begins to form almost immediately. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°How strange,¡± I mention to Jor¡¯Mari, pulling the man¡¯s attention away from the field far below. ¡°Have you pondered anything out Ms. Devardem?¡± ¡°There is a clear separation between the two groups,¡± I say. ¡°Those inside the courtyard are commoners, they have no high lineages. Outside of the gate sit groups of noble scions, just in that group nearest to the entrance are two daughters of a duke and three others whose parents are a count or countess. Almost all of the outside group have some kind of noble heritage attached to them.¡± Jor¡¯Mari scoffs. ¡°I would not believe such a claim if you had not revealed when we first met that you were capable of determining a person¡¯s heritage at a glance.¡± He thumbs his chin, the black orbs of his eyes turned towards the scene below. ¡°With that, I believe the picture begins to come into focus. Tell me, what else can you determine about the makeup of these two groups?¡± I hesitate a moment, unsure if I should trust this man with the full capability of what my eye shows to me. Even now, I do not trust him. This young lord no doubt harbors the same anger and desire to vindicate ourselves upon those who did us wrong that I do, but the man seems too ephemeral, too open-handed to be trusted. In the end, I hand over more information, but keep just a bit back for myself. The greatest power of the Eye of Volaash is its ability to determine a magician¡¯s conflux; there¡¯s no reason Jor¡¯Mari needs to know that. ¡°I can see forty two individuals inside of the courtyard, and only one of them seems to have any noble blood. Six of those inside the courtyard are rank two magicians, the noble included. As for those outside, given how many tents they have set up along the road, I cannot be as certain. There are nearly eighty that I can see, most seem to be noble scions with a few others mixed in. There are four rank two magicians among them, three of them are standing in front of the gate.¡± I point out all of the rank twos to him. ¡°With so many having surpassed that rank threshold, my initial theory seems to be incorrect,¡± he says. ¡°And what was that, my lord?¡± ¡°Given that both of these groups reached this tower before I did, I had thought that maybe these two groups forwent the initial line of dungeons. That no longer seems to be the case. That, or at least ten people managed to smuggle soul cages into this contest, and I find that unlikely.¡± He continues to think for a long moment, and I give him silence. After a moment he asks, ¡°Further down the road, are those people blue bloods as well?¡± I attempt to make some kind of measure of the people spaced up down the narrow and winding road, but the obstruction of rock and snow makes it difficult. ¡°No,¡± I say eventually. ¡°For the most part, those further down the road aren¡¯t.¡± ¡°So, there are three groups then. The scene finally begins to crystallize,¡± he says. ¡°I believe I am starting to understand it myself as well.¡± Jor¡¯Mari opens his mouth but hesitates. ¡°Truly? Might you explain it to me then?¡± ¡°Is this a test, my lord?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± He smirks at me with his pointed teeth. The pitch black eyes make the look a good deal more disturbing. ¡°The situation appears fairly simple.¡± I gesture to the inner courtyard. ¡°For some reason, a group of magicians formed in this contest that apparently aimed to exclude the sons and daughters of the nobility. That group reached the tower first, and they opted to hold the gate against the nobility.¡± I take a moment to study the gate itself, two huge doors of sturdy looking wood that were barred with a chain and thick timber. ¡°Outside, either a single group or many smaller ones approached and were kept out. Those inside the courtyard must have some means of telling who is nobility and who is not.¡± ¡°Perhaps they have the same powers of observation that you do,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. The thought unsettles me, but I put it aside. ¡°Perhaps that group inside the courtyard managed to allow non-nobles inside the courtyard at first, but given how many of the nobles are now camped directly outside of the gate and the supporting walls, I doubt they are allowing anyone over, which then explains the amassing of non-nobles further down the road. The nobles aren¡¯t allowing anyone else to come nearer the gate, and the commoners on the inside aren¡¯t allowing any nobility inside.¡± ¡°Perhaps those further down the road do not even really know the situation,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°Maybe.¡± I nod to myself, that would make a good amount of sense. The longer this standoff at the gate goes on, the more dangerous it would become for the nobility caught in the middle of the two groups. Unless those further down the road did not understand exactly why the gate is being held closed. Not that I know why it is happening either. ¡°At least one thing remains unclear. Why are they doing this?¡± ¡°That, I might be able to elucidate,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. He points a finger towards the base of the tower. A large slab of stone stretches out before a climb of stairs that lead to a closed stone doorway. Despite the blowing wind and the freezing bite of the cold, no snow sticks to the stone platform or the stairs. ¡°Can you see those markings?¡± ¡°No,¡± I have to admit. ¡°There, on that stone platform before the stairs, are a hundred runes carved into the surface of the stone, twenty rows of five. I did a quick count, and would you believe me if I told you that forty two of those runes are currently glowing with a wan blue light?¡± ¡°The same number as the people in the courtyard,¡± I say. ¡°Exactly. From the map that I found in the dungeon, this mountain range appears to cut all the way through the Passage. Scaling the mountains is a possibility; I believe that we could do that ourselves if we had a need to, but I am also willing to bet that there is a passage to the other side of the mountains through the tower. If I am guessing correctly, the doors to the tower will only open when a hundred competitors have entered the courtyard.¡± ¡°There are more than a hundred people down there,¡± I say, looking down at the different camps of competitors. ¡°If they cooperated, the doors would be open by now.¡± ¡°I do not know about you Ms. Devardem, but cooperation does not seem to be the theme of this competition. Likely, when the doors open, those that enter the tower will be put in direct competition with one another before making it through to the other side of the mountains. There are just over forty people currently within the courtyard, if they opened the gates to allow enough people inside, their group would be outnumbered.¡± ¡°That is assuming that all of the people outside will work together,¡± I say. ¡°Would you be willing to take the risk that they will not?¡± he asks me. ¡°If you allowed an unknown force inside your encampment and knew that they would outnumber you to a significant degree, I would call you a fool. All they can hope to do is hold the gate closed and slowly recruit enough outsiders to their side until they can hold a majority.¡± ¡°But that won¡¯t happen,¡± I say. ¡°No?¡± ¡°No.¡± I gesture down the sloping road. ¡°Those that might join the courtyard group are piling up on the road. Likely, those nearest the gate are not giving them accurate information. As a result, nearly a hundred people stand barred by the gate, shivering in the cold, slowly eating through the small stores of food that they have accumulated.¡± ¡°We suspect the same thing to happen,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°I believe so. Soon, likely in the next few days, that outside group will hurl themselves against the gate. If they break through, chaos will ensue inside the courtyard.¡± ¡°Very likely,¡± Jor¡¯Mari agrees. ¡°Perhaps cooler heads shall prevail, but given the weather, I doubt it. I think that we should use that point of chaos to our advantage.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say, my eyes focusing on a window far down below me. An elven woman walks among a group of her fellow nobles, her onyx hair flecked with bits of white snow that only compliment her porcelain skin. Coriander traipses toward the group shouting at the gate, seemingly unbothered by the weather, wrapping her arm around one of the men standing there. ¡°We wait for that moment.¡± Chapter 64 - Dovik: The Fog and the Road On the approach to the mountains, Dovik felt himself being subtly pushed towards the center of the new range, the topography of the forest slowly transitioning into a decline that led him that direction. He wondered briefly whether the downhill gradient that led to the road cut into the mountain was natural or a fabrication of the guild to help the competitors not lose their way. In the end, it didn¡¯t matter much. Standing before the huge mountain, its snowy cap straining towards the lazy clouds, he knew that he had arrived. For the better part of a day he hiked the trail, his boots crunching first through the loose stones of the path and then the deepening snow. Strangers were camped along the path of the road, groups of two or three that sat together by the light and warmth of a campfire. They paid him little mind as he pushed upward along the road, not even sparing covetous glances in his direction or admiring his weapons and fine coat. The coat itself was a blessing, and as the temperature of the world plummeted and the snow rose around him, he needed to remove his armor to keep it from freezing to his skin. The additional weight, bundled as tightly as he could manage on his back by sturdy string the farm girl had gifted him, was not so much of a burden as the heavy suit would have been for most others. Dovik¡¯s breath began to puff in front of his face by the time that he reached the middle point of the road and took a break to rest and eat. There were more people lining the path then, groups that were still scattered along the path and who kept to themselves. As he ate, finding a boulder to sit on and recover his strength, a group of two men and a woman came marching down the road from ahead, their faces rimed with frost and sourness in their eyes. Dovik made an attempt to take the news from them, to find out what awaited at the top of the road. A surly man answered him, frustration and contempt in his voice. ¡°It¡¯s useless to go up. Turn back now and save yourself the trouble. There must be some other way around these mountains.¡± When Dovik tried to get more information from the man, he merely grunted and continued his trudge down the mountain, the two others in his group keeping their silence. He found it odd and thought for a moment to pursue the man to demand answers from him but decided against it. Keeping his coat pulled tight around him, Dovik continued to the climb towards the peak, fighting the force of the wind and cold. More and more he spotted people camping off the side of the road, the trickle of competitors building to a mass that camped inside large tents erected on a plateau. The flatland surrounding a bend in the road was an oddity in and of itself. A mass of all kinds of people camped around the road, but standing in the center of the road itself were three men, each wearing furs and equipped with devilishly keen weapons. Dovik spared the impromptu camp a moment of consideration; the temptation to walk to the nearest fire and warm his bones pulled on him powerfully. Instead, he continued up the road, coming to face the three that held the way forward. The lead man was a human, short and squat, bearing a scraggly orange beard and a spear that was more spearhead than haft. The man¡¯s eyes came alive at Dovik¡¯s approach, his fingers flexing where he held the spear, shaking off the lethargy of the cold. ¡°Stop,¡± the man commanded of Dovik. With the cold pushing aches into his legs, Dovik did as the man ordered, stopping in front of the three guards. ¡°Are you highwaymen?¡± he asked. ¡°I¡¯ve never met a highwayman.¡± ¡°The road is closed,¡± the man said, his tone serious. ¡°There are already too many at the top. Wait here with the others for the gate to the tower to open, then everyone can move upwards.¡± ¡°We wouldn¡¯t want things to become too crowded,¡± Dovik said, nodding. ¡°Tell me about this tower and gate.¡± One of the other guards, either an elf or a svelte looking human, it was difficult to tell through the man¡¯s helmet, licked his lips and spoke up. ¡°There is a tower at the end of the road. It is the second dungeon, but the gates to the tower are locked and closed. There are already plenty of noblemen at the top attempting to sort out this business. It is up to us commoners to wait here and rest ourselves until the solution to the problem at the top is found.¡± ¡°You assume that I am not nobility,¡± Dovik said, feigning offense but finding his joke carried off by the cry of the wind. ¡°A real nobleman would have balked when he found the road closed,¡± the first guard chuckled. ¡°Go find a fire to wait near. This matter should be sorted in the next day or two. Best to save your energy until then.¡± Dovik looked between the welcoming fires in the camp and the steep climb of the road that led past him. He had to admit, waiting out the rest of the day next to one of the fires and enjoying a cooked meal was awfully tempting. ¡°I wish that I could, gentlemen. I truly do,¡± he said. ¡°Unfortunately, I have already allowed myself to fall behind in this competition. It would not do for me to rest easy while the front of the pack continues to forge ahead.¡± ¡°We told you,¡± the bearded guard in the middle of the road said. ¡°The gate is shut at the top of the road. No one is getting ahead of you. We are all stuck here on this mountain, the same as you.¡± ¡°If it is all the same to you,¡± Dovik said. ¡°I would rather see the matter for myself. Not that I don¡¯t trust you, but¡­well, I don¡¯t particularly trust you.¡± The center guard hefted his spear, leaning it forward just slightly. ¡°We were asked not to allow anyone else. I suggest you turn back now, unless you believe that you can overman the three of us.¡± Dovik considered the three guards for a long moment. They reminded him of the house retainers that he had seen often back in Grim, the sons and daughters of well-placed folk of common stock that clung to the nobility for stability and fortune. He did not think poorly of these people. Like everyone else, they were doing their best to survive the harshness of the world and better their position. Still, he never credited house retainers with all that much martial prowess. Their strength came from their numbers and their discipline. Looking over these three, he had no doubt that they could be quite dangerous in their way, but standing stiff in the cold blowing wind had stiffened their muscles and eaten away at their stamina. Striding ahead, Dovik produced a wooden gourd from his belt, something that he had found in a chest hidden in the forest. He unstopped the gourd and took a swig of the fire inside, sighing before offering it to the middle guard. ¡°As way of apology,¡± he said. The middle guard considered the gourd, clearly wary. ¡°What is it?¡± ¡°Whisky, I think. It might be a kind of brandy, but I have never been adept at differentiating spirits.¡± ¡°Who could confuse brandy and whisky,¡± the lanky guard asked, taking the offered gourd and drinking from it. By the time the man could sigh at the splash of sweet liquor on his tongue, Dovik had already vanished. He appeared fifty feet up the road, slowly continuing his trek up towards the top. He heard shouts from the three guards a moment later, demanding that he turn back. Dovik waved to them over his shoulder as he continued his climb, letting the shouts fade into the wind. Less than a minute later, the three were out of sight as he rounded a bend in the road. They never bothered to pursue him. The gradient of the road only became steeper as he continued on. A mist formed around Dovik, a cold wall of vapor that burned with the color of the sun and that tried to steal the warmth from his body. By the time he reached the top of the road and it began to level once more, he was left panting for breath and shivering, stuttering puffs of cloud coming from his mouth as he worked to control his racing heart. A certain amount of shame rose in Dovik¡¯s chest, though that could have just been the pounding of his heart against its bony cage. He had lived all his life in Grim, a city built into a wall, where the slopes of the inclines from building to building were legendary for driving away the tourists. Most never even saw the upper reaches of the city. Perhaps, he had been relying on the elevator system for far too long. It was a luxury that he could afford, but just then he was thinking that it might cost him more than the silver penny he paid the operator every day. The fog persisted as the ground became level once more, and as Dovik stalked the road a figure appeared out of the fog. The shadow in the glowing vapor condensed into the form of an elven man wearing armor heavy enough to put his own to shame, standing in the shin-high snow as if he was incapable of feeling the chill. ¡°Who are you?¡± the man asked, the stern features of his face twitchy. ¡°My name is Dovik, I heard that there is an issue happening at the top of this mountain that bars us from entering some kind of tower. I am here to investigate the issue.¡± The elven man showed no emotion on his face, asking, ¡°Did the guards down the road send you on to us?¡± ¡°If they hadn¡¯t, how else might I have gotten here?¡± Dovik said. Rather than putting the man at ease, the stranger reached for the grip of a great war hammer sticking up out of the snow at his feet, pulling the vicious head of the weapon free. ¡°You answered my question with a question,¡± the stranger said. Dovik tried to smile to this stranger in as disarming a way as he could, but the chill was digging into him. He believed he might have come off more cocky than friendly judging by the stranger¡¯s reaction of taking a threatening step forward. ¡°Hold, my good man.¡± Dovik put his hands up. He tried to look past the man, to find a good place to jump to if this situation turned more dangerous, but the fog was keeping him from seeing any point to land, a weakness of his ability. ¡°There is no need to resort to violence.¡± ¡°Then, turn and be on your way. We have enough people up here as it is.¡± The stranger pointed the head of his hammer straight toward Dovik. The agitation at the weather and his general discomfort was nagging Dovik to the point he could feel himself pushed towards that destructive and non-productive path. ¡°And if I do not?¡± ¡°Then, I will hit you in the head and hurl you over the side. You look sturdy enough, you should survive.¡± Dovik¡¯s fingers twitched toward his own weapon tucked in the loop of his belt. His movement nearly provoked the stranger. Both men stood just a few feet from each other, the threat of violence building in the air. Just then, a third man burst into the scene, putting himself between the two. ¡°Kendon, wait!¡± Macille said, grabbing his brother¡¯s arm. In but a moment the tension in the air eased. Dovik stood straighter, seeing Macille there, putting himself between the stranger and him. ¡°Macille,¡± Dovik said, ¡°I should have known that you would have made it here already.¡± ¡°You know this man?¡± Kendon asked, gesturing toward Dovik. ¡°He is a friend,¡± Macille said. Kendon looked between his brother and the odd man in the coat before stepping back and letting his weapon fall to the snow once more. ¡°Brother, this is Dovik Willian. I mentioned him before.¡± Kendon snorted, looking over the man. ¡°You would have let me knock you down rather than giving me your family¡¯s name? Small wonder, many aren¡¯t happy with your family just now.¡± Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°You make the mistake of thinking that you can best me, sir,¡± Dovik said. A wave of magical force washed over Dovik, stinging his skin like a bath of burning oil. Dovik did his best not to react to the show of force, the numbness of his skin helping. He noted that this man before him must be of the second rank, perhaps all of his bluster did not come from imagined power. The sting of the man¡¯s soul presence retreated nearly as fast as it was noticed. ¡°We have a larger tent up the road,¡± Macille said, gesturing back into the fog. ¡°Will I be allowed through now?¡± Dovik asked, looking at the armored man still standing in the middle of the road. Kendon shrugged, looking over his brother. ¡°If you are a friend of Macille then I will not stop you. There is not much use for being up at the top here, you will be waiting, the same as if you stayed down below.¡± Dovik merely nodded to the man, allowing him to have the last word as he walked past further up the road and into the fog. A hurried crunch of boots in the snow let him know that Macille followed close on his heels. The two men walked abreast for a while, the fog thinning around them as they came upon an encampment situated around a wall of stone and two huge doors. ¡°This is where¨C¡± ¡°Your brother certainly thinks highly of himself,¡± Dovik said, looking around the camp. Many lazed about, not so different from the other encampment further down the road; except the nice armor and the shine of the odd expensive weapon gave away the affluence of these people. Certainly, some of the gem-encrusted swords and staves he noticed must have been artifacts or heirloom weapons given to these wealthy scions. His own weapon, given to him due only to his parentage and station, dangled on his hip, but Dovik took pride in its understated appearance. ¡°He is¡­confident,¡± Macille replied, scratching the back of his head. ¡°Earned confidence I hope.¡± ¡°As he would say it, there is no situation where a lack of confidence is superior to possessing an abundance of it.¡± Dovik quirked an eyebrow at the man. ¡°That is just plainly untrue.¡± Macille snickered and looked back with a helpless expression. ¡°Maybe you will be able to teach him that. I certainly have failed to do so.¡± ¡°Let us hope not,¡± Dovik said, laying a hand on Macille¡¯s shoulder. ¡°It is good to see that you have made it this far, and that you have found your brother. I know that was a terrible worry for you.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± Macille tried to smile, but Dovik noticed a sadness in the man¡¯s eyes. ¡°What is the matter?¡± ¡°I will tell you in a moment,¡± Macille said. ¡°When we are out of this fog and wind.¡± He pointed to a large tent formed from dried animal skins. A long tail of smoke snaked out of a hole in the top of the tent, disappearing into the fog that clouded out the sky overhead. ¡°How would you like a meal that has been cooked over a fire and seasoned by someone that knows what they are doing?¡± ¡°That sounds far better than what I have been eating lately,¡± Dovik admitted. ¡°First though, I would like to inspect this gate.¡± Dovik began to march toward the gate, ignoring Macille¡¯s immediate complaint. Six figures turned in his direction as he made it to the door, and Dovik could tell their good grooming by their bearing and the look of condescension in their eyes. Five elves and a woman Dovik thought might have been a kressin¨Ca species of aquatic humanoids from the Vivantee empire that looked to have more in common with fish than the dragons they professed their race descended from. She would have been the first kressin Dovik had ever met, and he noted the pale blue of her skin and the bright purple of her lips that hid a dangerous set of teeth, her eyes deep orbs of a golden-yellow shot through with violent pulsing veins. To look at one, the tallest of which only reached five and a half feet in height, you would never imagine the sheer power the Vivantee empire wielded. Among all the major powers in the world, there was no contention that the Vivantee claimed the highest position in both material resource and sheer martial power. The woman, only coming up to the middle of his chest, made an off-handed comment about a human approaching a meeting of his betters in the sing-song Vivantee language. Dovik was a beat too slow in answering, his attention captured by an onyx haired true-blood elf woman standing near the back of the group, or rather, the staff the woman held casually as it leaned against her seat made from piled rocks. A dark premonition came over Dovik seeing that weapon, a weapon he had last seen in the hands of a certain naive and intriguing farm girl. He pushed aside his melancholic thoughts, turning his attention to the kressin woman in front of him. ¡°Have you already established a ranking of superiority?¡± Dovik answered the woman in unaccented Vivantee. The woman showed no surprise at his knowledge of her tongue, but two of the men standing behind her could not cover their shock before he noticed. ¡°So, it can speak,¡± the kressin woman said. It was obvious that this one was the leader of this small band of someday lords and ladies. ¡°Dovik Willian, at your service,¡± he said, offering a bow. ¡°May the winds not reach to your depths.¡± ¡°May your waters stay clear,¡± the woman said, offering him a small smile. ¡°I am Lady Kit Auger Forendous, Faux-Baroness of the Amber Shores. By your name, I would know you as belonging to the clan that sponsors this little hunt of ours, yes?¡± ¡°You would be correct, milady.¡± Dovik looked between the group, noting that the elves in the mix did not seem inclined to introduce themselves, or maybe they did not have a proper grasp on Vivantee. ¡°I have only just arrived, finding everyone sitting around and not progressing. If I would be so bold to ask, what prevents us from moving ahead?¡± ¡°Malingerers on the other side of the gate,¡± an elven man with crystalline blue hair said, the sheen complimented by the moisture clinging to it. He gestured to the strong doors built into the stone wall. Now that he was nearer, Dovik could see the vague shape of a tall tower looming out of the fog. ¡°You may call me, Graessa Mor, my lord,¡± the elven man said, with a slight bow. ¡°I am not of the peerage, Lord Mor,¡± Dovik demurred. The elven man offered a winning smile and continued to speak in Vivantee for the benefit of the woman standing in front of him. It was becoming obvious to Dovik that at least two of the elves did not understand a lick of the language. ¡°When we arrived, we found the gate sealed against our entry. There are others inside, but they have refused to treat with us as of yet. As such, there is not much that we can do other than wait here and amass more people before we make an attempt on the gate. We are hoping to find someone capable of manipulating the stone of the wall and offering us a way through.¡± ¡°Have you not tried tearing down the gate?¡± Dovik asked. ¡°We have made several attempts to do so,¡± Graessa answered. ¡°Unfortunately, the enchantments on the door have repelled all of our attempts.¡± ¡°I see.¡± Dovik tapped his chin, studying the gate. ¡°Might I inspect the gate? Like you, I do not wish to linger here. We are all on the same timetable.¡± ¡°You think that you might succeed at forcing an opening where we could not?¡± Lady Forendous asked, not even trying to mask the skepticism in her voice. ¡°You must think yourself powerful. Especially so for one that has not descended into the second depth.¡± Before Dovik could get his mind around the strange term for the second rank, he felt an immense force descend upon him. It felt as if the air itself had become as hard as stone, and in its heaviness, it squeezed in on him from all sides, trying to crush him with unfathomable pressure. The onset of the woman¡¯s soul presence was a deadly thing, something that would have immediately squashed an ordinary man into paste. Dovik flexed his hand into a fist, calling upon his immortal conflux to push back the pressure of the invisible soul presence. For his entire life, people had wielded their presences upon him, pushing him around and shoving him down into the place they thought proper for him. That was how the world worked, those with real power forced others into submission, able to crush others without even lifting a finger. Dozens, no, more than a hundred times he had found himself bent before those that thought themselves better than him. The sting of those humiliations burned in his belly, ate him up inside whenever he laid eyes on this particular breed of nobility, and had led him to choose the essentia that would give him the conflux famous for confounding such people. The Immortal Conflux had its uses, narrow uses, and certainly the soul of its users lent the powers it bestowed some air of personality and uniqueness. There was one thing it was famous for producing, however, an incredible resilience against magic. Dovik smiled at the woman in front of him as the pressure pushing in on his body became nothing more than a minor annoyance, stepping in close enough that he could reach out and touch her if he so desired. ¡°There may be things that even a lowly vulture like me might be able to accomplish, where a well-bred and refined lady like yourself would falter. My kind has a good nose for finding the soon to be departed, there is a ripeness we find attractive. Certainly, you might credit me with being able to pick meat off the bones of the dead with a superior alacrity.¡± The woman smiled up at him, her razor-like teeth catching the light. ¡°I would not be so sure of that Master Willian.¡± The pressure pushing in on him released suddenly, and Lady Forendous offered him a path toward the gate. ¡°Examine it at your leisure. If you have a device or plan to overcome this obstacle, we would be inclined to listen.¡± Dovik bowed to the group before taking his leave and approaching the gates. Macille joined him, standing silently to the side as Dovik looked over the strong and intricate iron running over the oak. There was evidence of attacks against the gate before, minor cuts in the doors and scorch mark, but nothing that seemed to truly effect the barrier. ¡°That woman,¡± Dovik said as he pressed a hand to a solid block of iron that ran lengthwise through the door, ¡°she has Charlene¡¯s staff.¡± Macille was quiet a while, watching on as Dovik continued to inspect the gate. ¡°We can speak about that in private,¡± the man said in a small voice. Trying to conceal the stab of pain that ran through him at his friend¡¯s words, Dovik nodded and stood away from his inspection. Macille led him to the tent he had shown before, where the two ate in silence for a while. Once they had the strong fire of an especially awful whisky in their bellies, Macille began his story. He spoke of coming out of the dungeon and being set upon by an unknown group, of staying behind to fight while Charlene got away, of falling at the hands of his enemies. Macille spoke about waking up days later, surrounded by his brother and a group of strangers he didn¡¯t know. It was they who told him about how Charlene had found them and brought them back to save Macille, about how she had died in the attempt to rescue him from the group. By the time that he had awoken, he had already been carried far away from the place where they had buried the girl in an unmarked grave in the forest. ¡°You protected each other,¡± Dovik said, patting his friend¡¯s arm, trying to offer what comfort he could. He wiped a tear away from his face, blaming the terrible alcohol. ¡°No, I failed to protect her,¡± he said. ¡°She was the one who saved me.¡± ¡°What will you do now?¡± Dovik asked, filling the crude tin cup in front of Macille. ¡°What do you mean? I have found my brother, and I intend to stay with him.¡± ¡°This group seems content to linger here,¡± Dovik said, looking down at his own drink. ¡°They haven¡¯t managed to get through the gate,¡± Macille said. ¡°With how many people that are here, a magical gate should be no real impediment. It might be strong, but the concentrated efforts of this many magicians should be plenty to bring it down.¡± ¡°If that is the case, then why haven¡¯t they?¡± Macille asked. Dovik shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Perhaps they are afraid of the people on the other side. Maybe they are just lazy. Or, maybe, they are feeling the same thing that I have begun to feel, that there is something amiss with this contest.¡± Macille quirked an eyebrow at that. ¡°Don¡¯t you belong to the guild that is running this contest?¡± ¡°Not technically,¡± Dovik admitted. ¡°I might be the son of the guild, but I am not a member myself, and I will not be allowed to be until I have reached the second rank and achieved something profound enough to gain me entrance.¡± ¡°And what is this thing that is amiss?¡± ¡°I have felt it since the slope. Perhaps I have been able to tell due to my sensitivity to such things, but something has been trying to influence me; its subtlety is profound. I don¡¯t know how to put into words this magical influence. I have only noticed since I am adept at repelling such things, but it feels as if it is trying to push me towards base violence, to make me see that path as the proper way forward.¡± Dovik neglected to mention the warning his aunt had delivered to him. It would do no one any good to know that he had been given outside information, even if it was just a hint toward something greater. ¡°I haven¡¯t noticed anything like that,¡± Macille said. ¡°Though, I have found some rather quick to turn toward violence. I had thought that might simply be how some of these people were. There are so many cultures mixing in this contest that I don¡¯t have a proper ground on which to judge these kinds of things.¡± ¡°It may be that you are right,¡± Dovik admitted. ¡°As I mentioned, this influence seems to be awfully slight and subtle. In either case, I would ask you to abandon this group and come with me into the tower. My plan is to sprint ahead of the pack and scoop up all the truly delicious things this contest has to offer well ahead of everyone else. I would have you join me on that adventure. You are a stout man and a good one too.¡± ¡°I have felt my feet dragging here,¡± Macille said. ¡°But I have just found my brother again after having lost him. There is no way that I will abandon him here.¡± ¡°You should convince him to come along as well,¡± Dovik said. ¡°He is a bit cocky, but he seems the sort that might be able to back up such an attitude. A group like this is not a place that either of you should stay. I can assure you that in a gathering with people like those six aristocrats in charge will not offer you any treasure or adventure worth your time.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t turn you down,¡± Macille said. ¡°If I am being honest, my brother is the only thing keeping me with this group. I do not enjoy the general pretention myself. Do you plan to leave back down the road, try your hand at finding a new way through the mountains?¡± ¡°No, my friend. I will be going the way of the tower.¡± ¡°How do you plan on doing that?¡± Past Macille¡¯s shoulder, Dovik noticed the onyx-haired elf woman duck into the large tent. She offered him a smile, a rather beautiful one if he was being honest, but his eyes only saw the staff strapped to her back. He suppressed the heat that threatened to boil his blood, taking a long sip of his liquor before turning back to his friend. ¡°That is rather simple,¡± Dovik said. ¡°I will create a proper path forward with a hefty application of base violence.¡± Chapter 65 - Jess Keller: Cold Conspiracy The groan Jess let out puffed away into the freezing air, joining the fog that laid heavy throughout the courtyard. The sight of her own warm breath departing to mix with the air, leaving her just a little bit colder, was finally too much for her. She kicked the bundle of sticks she had set aside near her feet, startling Samielle awake from his bed of furs. The man hit his head on the thick wooden stick they had found to support their tent, bursting the entire construction into a mess of leather and sticks that collapsed upon him. Jess looked on as the man struggled beneath the fallen tent, growling as he searched for the entrance blindly. A few others nearby watched as well, the faint amusement heartening them somewhat, but the freeze sapped that all away. They at least had it easier than she did, the one thing she understood about these mammalian beings was that their hair was warm¨Clusciously and gorgeously warm. She found it interesting how quickly the thing that attracted her to the better specimens of their kind turned to make her envious. Jess put the thought aside, pulling her warm dire bear pelt tighter around her shoulders as she bent to the task of trying to get the hearth to light. She stood on cobblestones free of snow on a platform that appeared as if someone had stolen a blacksmith¡¯s workshop out of their home and plopped it down in the center of the frozen courtyard. The idiot on duty last night had allowed the fire in the forge¡¯s hearth to die out, and it was up to her to try and relight it with nothing other than sodden twigs and the burning passion of her annoyance. She had not been alone in teaching that idiot a lesson in bruises; the forge had provided far more warmth than any of the little fires around the courtyard. Not that she could even see a quarter of the yard with the thick haze. ¡°What happened?¡± Samielle asked, finally having found his way out of the tent. The man took a moment to look around, rubbing his strong shoulders to warm himself. When his eyes fell on the scattered sticks in the snow, he sighed. ¡°Something to say?¡± Jess asked, pushing her fingers through the ash inside the hearth to find any fuel that wasn¡¯t damp already. ¡°I didn¡¯t say anything,¡± Samielle replied, bending and starting to collect the sticks. ¡°You didn¡¯t need to say anything,¡± she sneered. Her teeth began to chatter, the cold metal in the bottom of the forge stealing her warmth just as greedily as the air. The shivering started to attack her, and it was all she could do to bundle herself in her furskin. Samielle bent and tossed the sticks into the hearth, unslinging his weapon. Jess flinched as Samielle pushed the head of his mace into the bundle of tinder, and in the next second, the head of the mace burst to light, the magical fire spreading over the stubborn sticks. Jess hung her head, feeling on the verge of tears as she huddled beneath her cloak. Samielle finished with his lighting the hearth, stoking the fire to rage, before he kneeled next to her and wrapped his strong arms around her. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you ask for my help?¡± he asked. ¡°You know I would have helped you.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said, keeping her voice even. Already, the heat of the fire was burning away the chill. ¡°I can¡¯t think straight with this cold. It slows me down, makes me dumb.¡± ¡°I doubt that,¡± Samielle said, turning her head to give her a kiss. As he continued to hold her, she gradually felt her cold and confusion fade away. She leaned into him, never growing tired of the way his smooth skin tightly hugged the muscles of his chest and arms. That was another thing she admired about these humans, their bodies emphasized their strength far more than most of the other species she had encountered on her travels. She lingered with Samielle in front of the fire for a long while, the air around the pair gradually heating and banishing the fog that persisted. When Jess finally turned away, making ready to stand and leave her place of comfort, she noticed many others had come to sit inside her forge room. ¡°Can you erect the tent again?¡± Jess asked. ¡°Seeing as how I am the one that broke it, I figure that I ought to. You are the builder though. If I do it, it will just end up collapsing again, I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°I can put it up again later,¡± she said. As she stood, she turned and leaned down to the man. ¡°What will you do for me if I do so?¡± Samielle looked around, noting the group that had come into the forge room and smiled wickedly to Jess. ¡°Perhaps I can do that thing wi¨C¡± His words were stolen by a kiss she had pushed onto him. Samielle laughed against her lips before returning the embrace as passionately as he could in his awkward half-squat. When she pulled away, she could not help but giggle a bit, pulling her bearskin tighter around her shoulders as she skipped backward. ¡°I will hold you to that Samielle Kresh.¡± ¡°I am a man of my word,¡± he called to her as she faded into the fog. The last thing Jess heard as she turned and walked into the mist was the sound of a man slapping congratulations onto Samielle¡¯s back. She carried the warmth along with her as she stalked through a vague world of gray. Her hand played at the huge chakram she had fastened to a special ring on her waist, idly spinning the entire weapon in place, listening to the metal roll along its housing with a sharp whine that cut straight through the air. Her eyes detected the heat of the fire long before it should have been visible in the fog. She approached the gate, nodding at the three sentries that huddled around a fire, a length of leather stretched out on a wooden frame sheltering them from the wind. ¡°Thaniel?¡± she asked, not elaborating. They wouldn¡¯t have understood a more complicated question anyway. The three men looked back at her, conversing with one another in the strange guttural language half the people in this camp spoke. A few among their number spoke Castinian, though none of these three apparently did. She had gotten the name of the language and the land where these people came from a few days before, but she had never heard of the continent mentioned. That in and of itself was both strange and not so strange. With the vastness of the world, it was not uncommon for any one person to only know of the smallest fraction of it, their knowledge seldom extending past the immediate neighboring continents. At the same time, that had meant that these people had come to this competition from very far away, and given that there were at least twenty of the similarly dressed humans, that struck her as significant. The humans were certainly an odd bunch, all being incredibly tall and well-built specimens, their hair either being blonde or green. Perhaps the most bizarre thing about them was that they all wore flowing robes made of silk, regardless of their sex, and not a single time had Jess ever seen one complain about the cold. One of the men grunted something to her, pointing off into the fog in the direction she already suspected Thaniel as having gone. Jess nodded to the man, making a gesture with her hand toward the man, running the back of her fingers up her neck and flicking her hand toward the man. From what she understood, the sign was considered incredibly rude and vulgar. The man¡¯s eyes opened in shock before he burst into a fit of deep and hearty laughter, returning a much more obscene gesture her way as she left the small post. Jess lingered in front of the huge gate for a moment, looking up at the iron bar that had been thrown through great iron jambs. Moreover, the iron bar had been bonded to the gate itself, sealing it shut. That had been her contribution to the courtyard¡¯s defense, petty contribution that it was. The thing that really drew her eyes was the stain of crimson lingering on the ice in front of the door. The blood that dyed the ice a color too bright for this foggy world of gray and white looked almost like a seven-pointed star; an ill omen Jess thought. She trudged on, navigating toward the east end of the courtyard. Jess passed rows of sturdy, almost identical tents, counting the shadows until she arrived before the one she was looking for. She found Thaniel, a thin, willowy woman that looked as if the wind might carry her away at any moment. The flowing robe of red and green silk she wore hung off of her like a bedsheet. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°You arrived on time,¡± Thaniel noted, nodding for Jess to follow her. The two continued into the fog, aiming for a spot near the base of the tower. ¡°I am always punctual,¡± Jess said. The woman stopped in her walking, looking at Jess with a bit of confusion. ¡°That word¡­¡± ¡°It means to be on time,¡± Jess explained. Thaniel nodded, tasting the word, her harsh accent cutting down on the first letter like the popping of a bubble. ¡°Thank you for the instruction. Are you prepared?¡± ¡°I need to be,¡± Jess said, sending her chakram spinning on her waist, the metallic trill of its revolution bringing the taste of copper to her mouth. ¡°You may still distance yourself from our affairs. These are not fragile foes we will be facing. One may be very much able to kill you with the might of their aura,¡± Thaniel warned again. ¡°That doesn¡¯t escape me.¡± ¡°As long as you know.¡± Thaniel turned and continued to lead Jess away, dropping the matter. The pair came upon another group that slowly appeared out of the fog, five figures huddled together and speaking in low voices. The group assembled near the tower since the wind would not carry away their words. The wind here was a strange thing, only blowing toward the tower itself and never so much as disturbing the fog with its passage. ¡°I have brought the smith,¡± Thaniel said, repeating the words in her native tongue for the benefit of most. Jess did not mind being called a smith. These people said the title with a reverence she was unaccustomed to back home. The group spoke to each other in hushed tones for a while, argument running through the band. Jess did not understand a word of it, but she didn¡¯t need to in order to read the mood. Some amid the group were still hesitant to do what needed to be done. The largest man among any of the forty or so inside the courtyard whispered harshly at Thaniel, sticking a meaty finger in the woman¡¯s face as he carried on. Thaniel took the beratement, replying in calm and short words that only seemed to enrage the man further. The debate carried on for twenty minutes or more, leaving Jess to linger in the windbreak the tall humans made with their bodies, hugging her fur tight. She did not understand all of this argument; the path forward was obvious. Ever since that first day, since that woman had maimed a man named Jorgash when their two groups first met, tensions in the courtyard had been feverishly high. At the time, the idea to throw and bar the gate had been a logical one, that woman outside had been a terror. After almost a full week lingering in the cold and trying to wait out their opponents on the other side of the wall, their folly had finally sunk in. Those others on the other side of the gate had full access to the forest, they could gather food for themselves at need, and they had been far better equipped in the first place. The only reasons that the confrontation had happened in the first place had been to Jorgash¡¯s and his brother Coli¡¯s aversion to the nobility. Jess had no such bitter hatred of her betters; she understood how it was that the world worked. On top of that, their opponents on the other side of the gate seemed to have a kressin woman leading them. Only an idiot would put themselves on the opposing side to one of those maniacs. ¡°Tell them that we are wasting time,¡± Jess hissed, steam burning out between her teeth. ¡°This had already dragged on too long.¡± ¡°They have difficulty in understanding the need to do away with their leader,¡± Thaniel said, motioning to the group. ¡°They are friends of Jorgash, and while he lingers on the edge of death, they do not wish to push his brother out of his rightful role of leadership. You must understand, Jorgash is the strongest among those of us that came to this strange land. To see him fallen is a blow to the honor of these warriors.¡± None of the healers had been able to help Jorgash recover from the wounds inflicted upon him. More, the man¡¯s natural healing had done little to cure him either. ¡°We cannot continue in this way,¡± Jess sneered. She knew that the cold was getting to her again, making her impatient, but it was difficult for her to care just then. ¡°Do they not wish to move ahead in this contest? Do they believe that the Willian Guild planned for us to waste nearly a week here? Is it within the bounds of honor for their leader to make all of them fail this competition?¡± Thaniel snorted, amusement in her eyes. ¡°I will ask them.¡± Judging by the concern that the others showed at Thaniel¡¯s words, Jess guessed her argument was taken seriously. The tall humans continued to complain to one another for a long while before Thaniel finally turned to Jess and nodded. ¡°We have a consensus. We shall remove Coli from his role as leader and treat with the group on the other side of the gate.¡± ¡°You knew consensus but not punctual,¡± Jess said. Thaniel waved off the remark. ¡°Are you ready to move to action now, Jess Keller?¡± Jess spared a thought for Samielle back at the forge. He was a strong fighter, and he would surely agree with her that this stalemate needed to end. Still, she did not go to recruit him into the conspiracy. What Thaniel had warned her about earlier had been true. There were three rank two magicians among those they went to face, including Coli himself. If blood was to be spilled, many may die. ¡°Let¡¯s go then,¡± Jess said. One by one, those among the group of conspirators reluctantly joined together, walking as a group toward where they knew the largest tent in the courtyard to have been placed. They ignored Jess¡¯s urging to simply go to the gate and open it. In their words, their honor could only be pushed so far; they would not move in deceit like rats. The largest tent in the yard was a sturdy construction that appeared to be professionally made. Jess wondered if the tent itself might have been the single item brought into the competition by one of the participants, and she debated with herself about the merit of choosing to do so. Two guards lingered outside the tent, turning to look at Thaniel as the group approached. At Thaniel¡¯s nod, one of the guards tackled the other, wrapping him in a grapple and covering his mouth to prevent any warning being shouted. At a touch, one of the women in their group cast the struggling man into a deep sleep he wouldn¡¯t wake from anytime soon. The group marched into the tent, now eight strong, and found four figures lounging inside. One was Coli, an average looking man with aquiline features and hair the color of fresh grass. Coli¡¯s woman, Tabinna, a blonde and freckled beauty with an endearing smile, continued to lay in the furs, pulling some up to cover her nakedness, one hand snaking out to grab the hilt of her thin blade. Jorgash lingered on the edge of consciousness in a bed of his own furs, a woman kneeling over him; her attention fully on dabbing Jorgash¡¯s head with a cool rag as the man¡¯s breath hitched with every inhale. Coli showed his rage clear on his face, understanding the intrusion immediately. He shouted at Thaniel, stalking toward a pillar where his heavy ax leaned. Thaniel¡¯s hand flashed out, a wall of red energy forming between Coli and his weapon. Thaniel returned words in that foreign tongue, her tone harsher than Jess had ever heard it before. Coli raged with indignity, seizing the barrier of magic in his hand, the barrier cracking like glass at the force of Coli¡¯s fingers upon it. The man seethed, his burning hate pouring a dangerous tension into the room. Thaniel barked an order at the man, the rest of the conspirators moving their hands to their own weapons. Jess slid her weapon free, leaping forward with her chakram, swinging. As she moved the figure of a woman appeared out of shadow at Thaniel¡¯s right, a terrible dagger speeding down toward Thaniel¡¯s neck. Jess stamped her foot, swinging her chakram up in an arc that perfectly caught the would-be assassin¡¯s blade as it plunged down, the edge of Jess¡¯s weapon landing precisely at the minute spot where the dagger¡¯s guard met the blade. The full force of Jess¡¯s parry into the guard of the blade jammed the hilt into the assassin¡¯s hand, snapping the bones of the woman¡¯s fingers, and flinging the blade into the ceiling of the tent where it sailed straight through and into the beyond. The world slowed around Jess as her Grace Essentia awoke, spurred to action by the perfection of Jess¡¯s parry. Before the assassin could even cry out in pain at her broken fingers, Jess had already looped her weapon under the woman¡¯s foot and was pulling her off balance. Jess was behind the woman before the assassin even understood that she was falling, wrenching the woman¡¯s uninjured arm behind her back and violently driving her into the hard ground, Jess¡¯s knee in the center of the woman¡¯s back. All protest vanished from the assassin as she was driven into the ground, the air driven from her lungs. She took a moment to realize that Jess¡¯s chakram was now around her neck, a deadly blade held against her throat. In its entirety, the attempted assassination lasted a period as long as the blink of an eye. ¡°Jatya,¡± Coli called out, worry in his voice. ¡°Do not harm her,¡± the man half-demanded and half-begged of Jess. Jess looked down, finally recognizing the vibrant green hair that covered the assassin¡¯s head. She had seen Jatya only once before around the camp, the younger sister of Coli and Jorgash often seemed to keep to herself. To her credit, Jatya did not whine or struggle as Jess held her still. Thaniel stepped forward again, shouting at Coli, the demand in her voice harsh. The man¡¯s face turned red as he looked between Thaniel and his sister who was still held pinned to the ground by Jess¡¯s knee. Coli¡¯s hands shook in fists at his side, and Jess could feel magical pressure rolling off this man. Fear beat in Jess¡¯s chest; this man might lash out on them despite the hostage she now had. Jess didn¡¯t know if she could survive the kind of attack Coli would level at her. Just as Coli opened his mouth to say something, the ping of metal in the distance cut through the tent. The single metallic beat was soon followed by another and then another. Confusion passed through the tent as the tempo outside the tent, the ringing of metal striking metal, picked up its pace. A man burst into the tent from the outside, shouting one of the few words that Jess had managed to pick up over the last week or so. Something was happening at the gate. Just then, as the beating of metal that cut perfectly through the cold air and fog began to pick up its pace, a dagger fell through the leather roof, stabbing straight into the icy ground and sticking. Chapter 66 - The Battle of the Gate Boom. Boom. Boom. Sweat dripped from Dovik¡¯s chin as he brought his twin weapons down on Macille¡¯s shield over and over. The hammering of his weapons into the shield numbed his fingers, made him concentrate on keeping his grip. One mistake and he would need to begin this exercise all over again, and he knew as he stood panting, bringing his fire pokers down on the shield like a mad drummer, he would not have the strength left to do that today. Boom. Boom. Boom. He could see figures in the fog around him, a mass of people watching as he and Macille stood in front of the gate. He dismissed them, ignored the amusement and confusion in the eyes of the onlookers. Beneath the heavy slab of metal he beat on, Macille strained, his face red from keeping his defense in place. Despite the ache shaking up through his arms, despite the numbness pricking his hands like a thousand needles, Dovik felt his power building with each hammering blow he laid into the shield. As he panted, beating down with his weapons, he grew aware of a hidden benefit he had not predicted; he was not cold anymore. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Dovik accelerated his pace, barely giving himself a chance to breathe, smashing the shield over and over and over and over. Macille fell to a knee beneath his onslaught, but Dovik did not cease. A terrible thrumming sensation shook up through his arms, the weapons almost vibrating in his dead hands. He roared, his vision turning black at the edges as he pressed on, driving Macille¡¯s other knee to the earth. The snow crunched into the ice beneath the heavy elf, and then even the ice began to crack and fleck as Dovik drove him ever downward. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. His arms were a blur in his vision, and Dovik became aware that he had stopped breathing. A display of ethereal armor appeared around Macille, repelling Dovik and his mad swinging, but that too began to fade, the magic cracking as his weapons fell upon it. Dovik heard the drums, the beat that sometimes came to him in the fury of battle, a driving rhythm that sped him on faster and faster. The spectral armor surrounding Macille shattered into motes of yellow light, and the man¡¯s shield crunched into the ground, leaving him defenseless. The beating of the drum in Dovik¡¯s head stilled, his weapons still swinging down. Dovik possessed enough awareness to haul against his own momentum, making his fire pokers swing down around the sides of the heaving man on the ground before him, twisting his torso to not lose the momentum. Three quick steps brought Dovik in front of the gate. Carrying through with his own momentum, he bent forward, stabbing both of his weapons straight into the wood of the gate, each of the fire pokers sliding smoothly into the wood of either door. The magic placed upon the door was formidable, but ten full minutes of attacking Macille had built an incredible amount of magic into Dovik¡¯s weapons¨Ceven he didn¡¯t know what would happen. The wood of the doors warped as magic funneled into the gate, bulging like a bubble on the surface of a frothing lake. Dovik¡¯s magic scorched through the enchantments within the gate, his pure destructive mana overpowering the guards meant to keep it in place. As the last of his mana poured into the doors before him, the wood continued to swell, straining to maintain its shape. Dovik became very aware that he was standing close to an unstable source of powerful magic. A cry rang out through the crowd in the instant before the entirety of the gate exploded into splinters. The force of the blast sent Dovik¡¯s body sailing back, crashing into the crowd of onlookers and bowling over three men before he fell to the ice and rolled to a stop. The world was silent, a ringing nightmare of blurry images and colors. Dovik staggered sideways, collapsing to the ice before he could find his feet. His eyes spun, trying to focus on any one thing, but fully incapable of doing so. He became aware of a hand grabbing his shoulder and the feeling of pure life pulsing through him. Slowly, the daze began to lift, and he looked up to see Macille kneeling over him, the man¡¯s gauntleted hand on his shoulder, a green light emanating from his fingers. Dovik tried to speak but found himself spitting out a mouthful of blood and wooden splinters instead. He was left hacking as his body pushed loose a two-inch long piece of wood that had stabbed into the back of his throat. With a pop, the world burst into sound once more; there was yelling, commands given out in at least three different languages and people running. ¡°You did it,¡± Macille complimented, patting Dovik on the back before picking a piece of wood out of his face. ¡°And look, you even kept your weapons.¡± Looking down, Dovik found his fingers still tightly curled around the handles of his weapons and couldn¡¯t help but chuckle despite the bloody drool leaking from the side of his mouth. ¡°My mother would kill me if I lost these.¡± ¡°You nearly killed yourself,¡± Macille said, helping Dovik to stand. Dovik found it remarkable just how quickly the man¡¯s magic worked to cure his injuries. He was thankful again that they had given the man that rune in the dungeon. ¡°Did you have any idea that it would explode like that?¡± ¡°I thought it would explode in the other direction,¡± Dovik said. Macille looked to think for a moment. ¡°I suppose that it really should have. I think you might have that to blame.¡± The man pointed to a huge iron bar suspended from its fastenings in the stone wall where the gate used to be. Scorched wood still clung to rivets welded to the bar. Still letting Macille keep ahold of his arm, Dovik stumbled toward the gate, a group already heading that way. At the head of the group, the tall elven noble Dovik had spoken to the day before, Graessa Mor, slapped the butt of a silver spear against the underside of the iron bar. A hideous crack shook the air as the bar sailed free, crashing to the ground just inside the courtyard. Graessa turned, inclining his head to Lady Kit Auger Forendous, sweeping his arm as if to clear a passage for her. The faux-baroness marched through the hole in the gate, finding three men with swords standing in the thick fog of the courtyard, barring her path. A chorus of yelling echoed through the courtyard as more figures began to appear out of the mist. Dovik, finally making it to the front of the pack pushing toward the gate, found himself caught off-guard by the appearances of those inside. The uniform of the humans inside, the make of their clothes and the fact that they all seemed to have the same sun-kissed complexion, made them appear as if they were a single family. He spotted others, the odd elf and dwarf among their number, but they appeared far more homogenous than he had expected. A man appeared from the fog, carrying a heavy ax in his hand, his green hair hanging in loose strands over his face as he marched forward. ¡°So, you seek conflict!¡± the man roared, hefting his ax. To the sides of Lady Forendous, her retinue of elven nobles stepped forward, a few retainers among them. Dovik spotted Macille¡¯s brother there, standing sentinel in front of the onyx-haired woman he had noticed before. Unease settled in Dovik¡¯s stomach as the press of men and women around him grew denser. To the back of the group, people were hurrying up the road in pairs or groups of three, adding to the swell trying to move into the courtyard. ¡°I seek your surrender,¡± Lady Forendous said, her words the perfectly schooled Castinian taught in the high places of learning, the kind that was spoken only by kings and queens. Despite her command of the language, Lady Forendous could not keep an air of annoyance out of her voice, as if speaking the language made her want to vomit. ¡°Your band of beggars and starved men can not stand against us. Look, we already outnumber you two to one, and you have no warrior among you who is a match for myself or even the lowliest of my retainers. I¡¯m certain your brother can attest to that.¡± The man with the ax ground his teeth, the leather of his ax whining as his fingers squeezed tight around its haft. A tall woman standing behind the man laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. A long moment passed as the axman stared at the kressin. The man¡¯s face set and he began to march forward, ignoring the surprised cries that rose up behind him. The man was by no means the greatest in stature among the odd humans inside the courtyard, but standing before Lady Forendous, he might as well have been a giant. ¡°You seek our surrender,¡± the man said through gritted teeth. ¡°You are a woman that attacks unprovoked. Your tongue could not produce honest words if even the gods demanded them from you.¡± ¡°Your gods know better than to stand against my people,¡± Lady Forendous said, unfazed by the man seething in anger before her. ¡°Surrender now, and I shall not kill any of your clan or the others that thought to hold the gate against us. All we wish to do is enter the tower and continue on our way.¡± The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Anger boiled in the man¡¯s face as he stared down at the woman. On either side of Lady Forendous, her group of elven nobility held their hands close to their weapons, ready to cut the man down at the first sign of an attack. The whine of leather on the man¡¯s weapon cut through the air, the wind seeming to finally still for the first time. Flecks of snow in the axman¡¯s beard caught the light, and Dovik could see the moment he knew he had been defeated. With a snarl, the man threw aside his ax, letting it clatter to the icy stone of the courtyard. ¡°I, Coli Tempestus, yield to you,¡± he spat. Lady Forendous quirked her head to the side, looking up at the man. ¡°Kneel.¡± ¡°The Warriors of the Burning Snow do not kneel¨C¡± ¡°Kneel!¡± Lady Forendous yelled into the man¡¯s face. From his distance, Dovik could see the air itself distort as Lady Forendous unleashed her soul presence, something that should have been impossible as far as Dovik knew. He was still in the first rank; there should be no way that he could see soul presences with his naked eye. What kind of presence must this woman have that even he could see it? The man named Coli attempted to fight against the crushing magic that bore down on him with his own soul presence, but his defenses were quickly overwhelmed. A terrible snap pierced through the cold air as Coli¡¯s left leg seemed to collapse in on itself, sending the man to a knee with a scream of agony. To the eyes of Lady Forendous, this was not enough, and she continued to pour her magic down on the man. Next, his left arm wrenched as he held himself on his hands and knees. Coli cried out again as he fell face first into the ice, his nose snapping, his blood joining and mixing with the crimson stain already on the spot where he stood. Lady Forendous brought her boot down on the back of the man¡¯s head, cracking the cobblestones where he lay shaking in his agony. ¡°That is your place cur. It would seem that you have forgotten it. Perhaps your sponsors were too lenient, letting you think you could raise your station,¡± Lady Forendous cackled as she pressed the man¡¯s head into the ground. For a moment, she cast her glare at the shadow of the tower looking out of the fog, sneering up at its edifice. She looked to Graessa, placidity on her face once more as the distortions in the air receded. ¡°Break the ones inside the courtyard. Attempt not to kill any, but if it is unavoidable then so be it.¡± ¡°My lady,¡± Graessa Mor tried, his eyes wide in surprise. ¡°Far be it for me to correct your personage.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Lady Forendous said, halting the man before he could say more. ¡°It would be far, much too far, above your station to seek to advise me or correct my order.¡± The tall, willowy woman inside the courtyard stepped forward. ¡°You gave your word, kressin! You besmirch your honor so easily!¡± ¡°There is no dishonor in breaking truth to your kind,¡± Lady Forendous shot back. ¡°We will not kill you in order to avoid making trouble for our hosts, but we shall not allow you to continue in this contest. Line up dogs and take your beating. Our healers will make certain that you do not die.¡± Graessa Mor held up a hand, motioning for the group of onlookers that began pressing forward. Inside the courtyard, the men and women there looked between each other, some tossing their weapons to the ice while others prepared for a fight. Despite her words, Dovik knew that the Lady Forendous was looking for a fight. She would not have beaten her foe so horribly after accepting his surrender otherwise. As the retinue around Lady Forendous began to move the group forward to the gate, a sickening, squelching sound cut through the dead air. All eyes turned back toward Lady Forendous as a bloody gasp escaped her mouth. On his knees before her, Coli smiled up at the woman that had ruined his arm and leg, his one good hand stabbing straight through her. In the hand that had punched straight through the woman, Coli held a dark liver the color of gangrenous skin that dripped orange blood onto the ice. A dark power began to form around Lady Forendous, her retainers leaping forward, but before anything could stop him, Coli roared, swinging the woman¡¯s small body sideways to crash into the broken gate housing with a bone-shattering crack. The first to reach Coli as he smiled, looking on at the body of the woman he had shattered, was Kendon Esfelle. With one hand smeared in an iridescent orange blood, the other a twisted and ruined mockery, he ignored the hammer swinging for his head. The hammer blow landed on Coli¡¯s face, jerking his head sideways. A snap broke through the air, and Coli tumbled back, falling still on the ice. Then, all hell broke loose. Jess whirled as she ran through the fog looking for Samielle. Beams of light all the colors of the rainbow strobed through the courtyard as the group outside streamed in through the broken gate. A few among her group already ran forward to meet the enemy head on, but the overwhelming tide pushed them into the ground. Yelling echoed from the fog all around her, but worst of all, in her flight away from the gate she had found herself lost. She ran into the fog, her eyes picking out the sparks of magic in the cloud of gray, herding her away from the indiscriminate magical decimation. The side of her foot collided with a raised lip of stone, and she barely managed to catch herself before she could spill over. Her hand touched down on a symbol embedded into a stone platform raised three inches off the ground, the symbol glowing faintly with magic. Jess recognized the spot; she stood at the corner of the raised platform in the center of the courtyard. She could see the steps leading up to the tower. As the roar of battle continued behind her, she could see more of the symbols spark to life. As they had thought, once there were a hundred people in the courtyard, all of the symbols would be active. She needed to find Samielle before that happened. They could escape the chaos into the tower together. Sparking danger creeped up along Jess¡¯s spine, and she turned, her chakram swinging out toward the enemy she detected at her back. Without the sense for danger that her Dance Essentia afforded her, the strike of a hammer might have crushed her spine. The swing carried more force in it than she could turn with her thin blade, and the head of the hammer glanced off her shoulder as she rolled back. A sting like acid soaked into Jess¡¯s shoulder as she rolled to her feet, but she grit her teeth against the burning pain. A man stepped out of the haze of the fog, the same man that had killed Coli with his hammer. Kendon stepped forward onto the platform of glowing runes, sparing a glance down at the symbol lighting up beneath his foot as he leveled his hammer at Jess. There was no pity in his eyes, no emotion of any kind. The shadows that clung to the ice seemed to leap up toward him, each step pulling more ethereal darkness out of the ground to start climbing up his legs, pooling into his back and stretching away like to great wings of night. Jess sprang forward, her weapon singing through the air as she struck at the joint between the man¡¯s armor in his leg. Before her blow could land, a wash of burning pain stole over her, stinging her eyes, feeling as if fire had been poured on her. That time, Jess could not help but scream, her cries of pain mixing with the rest hidden in the mist. A solid hunk of metal landed against her chest as her swinging chakram caught only the air. Jess felt her feet leave the cool stone, the next sensation being her back colliding with the unforgiving staircase. She blinked through the burning tears, seeing the man approach her, swinging his hammer back and forth in the air as it dripped a sizzling liquid onto the ground. The man held a shield in his left hand now, a magical construct of green metal, emblazoned with the laughing face of a devil. Jess watched as the nightmare walked her way; still, no hint at sympathy on his placid face. Three steps before Kendon could reach her, a burning streak fell from the sky like a lightning bolt. Despite Samielle¡¯s sudden appearance, Kendon caught the burning mace on his shield, the collision of the two making Kendon slide back two feet before he could arrest himself. Jess looked up at Samielle as the man huffed standing on the stone, his wings flapping behind his back. ¡°You will stay away from her!¡± Samielle roared. Kendon Esfelle, light gone from his eyes, a swarm of shadows gathering and crawling over his body, turned and levelled his hammer toward Samielle. The dark wings on the man¡¯s back flexed, the air crackling like lightning around him. Samielle brought his mace up ready to charge the man, when a beam of sunlight cut through the haze and straight through Samielle¡¯s side, leaving a clean hole the size of a gold piece through his stomach. ¡°Sam!¡± Jess cried out, trying to rise. ¡°We will do as we please,¡± said an elven woman as she stepped up onto the stone platform to join the fray. Her glossy black hair whipped in the rising wind, the staff she leveled at Samielle glowing with white fire. Light began to coalesce in the head of the staff as she pointed it toward at Samielle¡¯s head. Before she could put a hole through him, Jess watched as an invisible wave of corrosion washed over Samielle, his hair curling as it was singed, his skin steaming as it turned red and began to burn. In the next instant, the form of Kendon had smashed into Samielle, carrying him off into the sky, vanishing into the fog. Coriander watched as the two flew out of sight. She looked down at the lizardkin woman laying injured against the staircase in front of her. ¡°Boys,¡± she said, unable to stop a laugh from escaping her. Coriander moved her staff to point at the woman¡¯s heart. At least, she hoped that was where this creature¡¯s heart would be. How was she to know the anatomy of such an odd creature? ¡°Unfortunately, you chose the wrong side.¡± As Coriander released the magic held in her staff, she found her beam of light pulled aside, raised into the air as it cut a line through the stone of the staircase rising before her. She blinked, turning to her side, finding another hand on her staff. Jess saw the shock run through the homicidal elf as she recognized the woman standing next to her. ¡°This doesn¡¯t belong to you,¡± Charlene said, jerking Coriander closer while the woman still tried to process what was happening. Charlene¡¯s right hand engulfed in a blaze of fire as terrible as hell rose, slapping into Coriander¡¯s face. An explosion of dragonfire boomed through the courtyard like the angry scream of a god, its force blowing the fog back from Charlene. The concussive force washing over Jess overwhelmed her, and the last thing she saw before unconsciousness claimed her was Charlene standing on the stone, clear of the fog, a look of murderous rage on her face. Chapter 67 - The Battle of the Gate: Part 2 Gods, I savor the sting in my hand, the tingling feeling on my skin that lets me know I put everything into that slap. The fog melts away from me, leaving me standing in a vacuous circle in the middle of the rune platform. Heat touches my skin, gifting me a feeling like tiny rivulets of water running over my skin as the cold disappears. My smile is wide, but I can¡¯t help it. Coriander is gone, and a disintegrating tunnel through the mist shows the direction her body went sailing. Galea appears in front of me, flinching at the sight of my manic violence. ¡°I cannot find her,¡± she says to me. ¡°That way, from the looks of it,¡± I say, pointing at the tunnel through the mist that is closing in on itself. I look down, seeing Jess laying against the stony steps that lead up toward the tower. She is unconscious and a bit beaten up. I scowl at the tunnel through the mist as it collapses and stalk toward Jess. Hovering my hand over her mouth, I find that she is still breathing, a good sign. ¡°Are you able to keep track of anyone in this fog?¡± I ask Galea, adjusting Jess so that she lays flat on the stone. ¡°No,¡± the dragon affirms. ¡°Dammit.¡± I linger for a moment before standing and turning toward the fog that closes in on the little bubble I have made. ¡°Time to¨C¡± My thought is cut off as a giant charges out of the fog, directly at me. The man is easily seven feet tall and has a shaggy mane of green hair. His hard features are pulled into a snarl as he races toward me, his arms wide, as if he wants to sweep me up in a hug. There is no chance I am letting that giant get his massive arms around me. I duck his first attempt to grapple me, jumping back and calling fire to my hand. I pause, dragonfire roiling in my hand, unsure if I want to burn this man. I don¡¯t know him. I have no problem with him. He lashes out with a blind kick while I hesitate, and I barely manage to turn the strike on the staff in my hands. Coriander¡¯s white light continues to linger in the head of the staff, preventing me from truly making it my own once again and using it. My block proves too simple for the giant. He turns his missed kick into a spinning backhand that knocks my feet out from under me. I fall on my back, already rolling to avoid the stamp of a huge foot on my torso that shakes the stone. Regaining my feet, I decide to let this man have what he is so plainly asking for. My first Dragonfire Bolt stops him dead in his tracks as he tries to rush towards me, exploding in his chest and leaving a smoking scar behind. He snarls, but I have already thrown three more blobs of dragonfire at him, each exploding in a smaller concussive blast. The man staggers, trying to pat out the orange flames that eat into the silk robes he wears. I continue to make space, channeling another bolt as I back to the end of the platform. ¡°I am not here to fight you!¡± I yell at the man, but he doesn¡¯t hear me over the fire eating into his clothes. The man growls, tearing off his burning robes, leaving him standing in nothing but his undergarments. I can tell by the look on his face that there is no chance to speak with him any longer. When he charges again, I hurl a more charged bolt at him, hoping to blow him down. It only begins to occur to me now that I have no idea how to beat someone without killing them. To my shock, the man throws his left hand forward, his palm reaching towards the ball of fire. I cringe away as the explosion engulfs the man in fire and smoke, not wanting to see the exploded remains of the man¡¯s hand. Again, my ill ease at facing another person in combat rather than a monster turns on me. Charging out of the smoke comes a man made of metal, his body smoking as he runs me down. The metal giant¡¯s left hand is a ruin of scrap metal. I try to conjure more fire to me, to juke to the side to avoid the bull bearing down on me, but the giant only steps into my own path. A massive right hand swings at me as I pour a plume of fire into his face. The sound of ringing hits me, and I realize that I am suddenly weightless. The metal giant shrinks into the distance. I am flying through the air. It is only when the fog takes over me that the pain reaches my head, a concussive wave that makes everything else seem insignificant. My feathersteel armor still ripples with the ringing blow the man¡¯s metal hand made against my chest. My useless body flips in the air, my shoulder colliding with an unknown combatant out in the fog, sending me to spiral. Then, my back crunches into something solid, something made of stone. My head snaps back, and I am gone. The sound of scratching and the distant echo of exploding magic drags me out of the darkness. A wetness on my hand drawls my attention. I try to see what is there through the blurry haze in my eyes, the world slowly forming from the indistinct colors around me. I lay on a floor of stone, no trace of snow or ice anywhere. A fireplace just above me blazes with heat, banishing the cold and fog that persist just outside of the room¡¯s open exterior. A forge looms past me, its instruments scattered all around me: two sets of worn tongs, a nice hammer, a rusted iron vice. A small man crouches in the room near me, his hands working feverishly to remove a ring from a hand. I then realize that it is my hand he is working at. Pulling away, I try to yell at the man, only to find I have no breath. I try to breathe, the muscles in my chest fully uncooperative, and manage a stuttering gasp. The world starts to swim once more as I flail onto my back, trying to suck in air. The unknown man, his features indistinct, drops on top of me, settling his considerable weight on my chest. I can¡¯t hear what he says, nor do I care. A piece of wood, maybe a staff, but I can barely make anything out, crashes down into my face. My eyes whirl about, unfocused. Pain erupts in my nose as the heavy weapon lands on me again. A spurt of blood sprays into the back of my throat, and my body spasms as another blow falls on me. Terror and pain push me to the edge, and as I lay in that well-lit room, some unknown man raining blows down on my face, I let go. My hands scrape out, fumbling over whatever clothes the man is wearing, fire springing up inside of me. I pour flames into him, over him, using all of my power to turn my attacker into a burning matchstick. Another blow lands on my face followed by another. Then I begin to hear the screaming. The weight in my hands struggles, trying to get away, lifting and dragging my body along with it as it stumbles and tries to run. I release whatever I am holding, falling to the warm floor once more and spitting blood onto the floor. I hazily make out a bonfire sprinting out of the room, terrible screams of panic and pain cutting into the air. Finally, I suck in a hitching breath. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. My entire world swims as I push myself to my knees, snorting blood onto the floor. I lose no time in channeling twin dragonfire bolts into my hands as I try to get ahold on my breathing. A head-splitting whine pierces through my brain as my nose snaps itself back into place a good minute later, the rest of my disfigured face knitting itself back together. I lever myself to my feet with the help of the anvil, the world slowly turning into something intelligible. Looking around, I find that there was a single wall inside this misplaced forge. A crushed tool board hangs there on the wall, a vacant spot and a splash of blood telling where my body had collided with it. ¡°How long was I out?¡± I ask Galea. ¡°Two and a half seconds,¡± the dragon spirit answers. Through the fog outside, I can see signs of magic exploding into the air. Moreover, despite the persistent haze, I can see the outline of soul presences battling against each other, some managing to suppress others to an extent, others existing comfortably inside another. The colors of the presences are unique to each, a flair that identifies the magician as much as their name does. I had seen Kendon¡¯s in the fog for a moment, but the man was gone when I arrived. The thought brings back to mind Coriander¡¯s surprised face just before I slapped her with all the magical force I can manage, and the image brings a smile to my bloody face. That won¡¯t have been enough to put her down. Jor¡¯Mari had mentioned to me before we dove into the fog that he suspected her of having a high defense to magical attack. Apparently, that was common among mages¨Canother thing that no one informed me about. I could feel it as my hand made contact with her face. She will be wounded now, but by no means down and out. Just as I am readying myself to step out of the forge room, the sound of gong cuts through the battle. Sounding as if Exeter himself dropped a metal bowl, the grinding noise of metal revolves once, twice, three times, before pattering to a stop. For a moment, the battle freezes, everything falling silent. A wave of released tension shakes the ground, nearly knocking me off my feet, as the gong rings once more. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end when I realize the source of the noise, the tower. Wind as fast and hard as any I have ever felt blows through the forge room, snuffing out the fire in the hearth. Someone cries out in the distance, but the screaming of the wind tears away everything else. I notice motes of the fog blowing past me, traveling along with the wind toward the tower. By chance, I notice something rattle past my foot. I lunge forward, scooping up the Lamplighter¡¯s Charge before it can be sucked away into the building storm. The air clears, and I watch as the last remnants of the fog are sucked away by the wind down and into the open doors of the tower, as if the entire structure of smooth and ancient stone were taking a breath, readying itself to speak. Slowly, I climb back to my feet, looking out into the suddenly clear courtyard along with everyone else. There are so many of us inside the confines of the stone walls now, some unmoving on the ground, but most still managing to keep their feet. Three or so people ignore the proceedings, kneeling over the injured, pouring their mana into them. Galea begins to project windows into my mind, picking out people scattered among the battlefield. She brings my attention to Jor¡¯Mari, one of the few others that is ignoring the sudden lull in the combat, repeatedly hammering punches into a man¡¯s stomach before tossing him aside. ¡°¡±Hold!¡± a voice calls over the courtyard. Eyes turn to a man Galea identifies as Graessa Mor stepping away from people surrounding him, holding his hands up for everyone to see. ¡°This violence has reached its natural end. Any further bloodshed is for naught, the path forward has been opened.¡± Behind the man, more people begin to slowly file into the courtyard, looking around at the display of violence with fear in their eyes. In the absence of the fog the smell of iron starts to come to me, undercut with the cool clean smell of the ice. People linger on the floor, holding their injuries, moaning out their pain. Another voice rises, that of a tall woman in flowing robes¨CThaniel Cape, the daughter of a Duke and the only noble born inside the courtyard prior to the battle erupting. ¡°You would speak of peace now?¡± she asks into the stillness. ¡°After you attacked us, unprovoked?¡± ¡°The alliances that we hold in this contest are fickle ones,¡± Graessa says, inclining his head to the woman. ¡°I am not so tied to the actions of my betters here in the same way I might be in the outside world.¡± ¡°That may be true for you, but we are clan,¡± the woman says, gesturing around. ¡°You attacked us!¡± I ignore the rest of the conversation as Galea picks something out for me in the midst of the battle. Stepping out from the forge, I hurl a ball of concentrated fire through the battlefield, its fiery flight noticed by an exhausted audience as it approaches its target. Coriander, she is so far away that I cannot see her expression, but I doubt she is pleased to find herself attacked as she skulks against the far wall. A bolt of black lightning crashes down from the sky, colliding with my fire in the middle of its flight, stirring an explosion of orange fire and dark power that scorches those too close. When the smoke clears a moment later, I see Kendon standing in the center of the explosion, wings of shadow spread about him, a great green shield held in his hand. He stares at me as I begin to run through the courtyard, hurling another ball of fire; there is no recognition in his eyes, only vacancy. ¡°My knight!¡± Coriander calls out as my second ball of dragonfire races towards her. Kenden soars backwards through the air, plucking the woman from the battlefield before my dragonfire can engulf her, spiraling up into the air and toward the tower. My feet are a blur on the icy stone beneath me as I chase after them. I manage to fling two more Dragonfire Bolts their way before they disappear into the gaping maw of the tower, vanishing into the dark. Feet are moving around me as I sprint for the tower, people stirred into action once more, a mad cacophony of violence picking up. My eyes are so steady on the tower ahead, I hardly register the swing of a sword for my leg, jumping over the woman holding the weapon as I speed along. Those closest to the tower take their chance, sprinting up the stairs to get inside as quickly as they can ahead of me. A flood pours up the stairs, moving into the dark behind the open tower door. Galea points out a man standing at the bottom of the stairs, his eyes focused on me. Just enough awareness is left in me to ignore the clogging pathway of the staircase and turn to run toward Jor¡¯Mari who waits at the bottom. ¡°It looks like you managed to land a blow or two,¡± the man says, smirking at me. ¡°They are getting away!¡± I yell back. Conflict has started again in the courtyard, but most attention has been turned towards storming the stairway. Jor¡¯Mari spares a glance to the staircase before lacing his fingers in front of him, making a step for me. ¡°Step up,¡± he says. I don¡¯t think twice before I put my sturdy boot into his hand. With a heave, the man tosses me like a ball into the air. Flying through the air, my balance is as slippery as an eel, and by the time that I reach the top of the staircase, it is all I can do to grab the lip of the railing. Others dash into the dark ahead of me while I pull myself up. Fire rings my hands, forcing others to shy away from me as I sprint into the tower ahead of them. I will not let them get away from me! Chapter 68 - The White Tower A sudden and powerful light catches me off guard. I stumble to a halt amid the rush of people flooding into the tower. Someone crashes hard into my back, sending me stumbling sideways. I move away from the press as we all begin to spill out into a massive open chamber. The room is circular, more than a hundred feet across, the roof overhead fifty feet high, and the floor made of an odd pure-white substance that illuminates everything. Lines run through the floor, fourteen in total, aiming toward the center where they intersect and continue to the other side. A slight hum pushes an ache into my head. Galea appears at my side, tsking as she stares at me, and with a wave of her claw banishes the hum. ¡°What was that?¡± I ask, looking around the room. Confusion runs through the people gathering near the door, those already inside being pushed aside by the tide that continues to storm in. ¡°An obtrusive probe,¡± Galea says. ¡°I am not the kind of spirit to look down upon another for conducting a scan, but to blatantly attempt to delve through so many layers of providence is rather uncouth. Not to mention the waste of resources. Pardon me saying so Mistress Charlene, but I doubt that this group of youngsters have more than a smidge of providence to their names.¡± I squint at the fey spirit as she stares indignantly up at the ceiling. ¡°Find her!¡± I command, rather than pointlessly asking Galea to explain herself. One of these days I will need to take a trip to Faeth and see if the enchanters there cannot pull more information out of this spirit than I can. Galea turns, scanning the crowd, pointing a claw across the room. ¡°There they are,¡± she says. I turn, seeing Kendon and Coriander standing amid a group of people, their group gradually swelling in number. Jor¡¯Mari pushes his way out of the crowd a moment later, looking at me. ¡°Where?¡± he says. I point across the room to where our enemies stand amid three others, more people slowly filling across the room to reach their gathering. A scowl takes over the man¡¯s face, and I see his body subtly shift. Jor¡¯Mari takes on the form of his speed specialization, the claws extending from his fingers lengthening, his canine teeth almost becoming fangs. When he takes off, I feel the wind buffet me at his leaving. Jor¡¯Mari is already halfway across the room by the time that I work my way into a sprint. A casual brush of his shoulder knocks a woman from her feet as he flies past her like an arrow of death. To my surprise, Jor¡¯Mari releases an ability I have never seen him use before. As he sprints toward the group of five, those standing there turning to notice him, his body begins to swell. It is a fairly slight thing, he grows a foot and a half in height, the muscles already coiling around his shoulders, chest, and arms bulging as they double in size. The horns I have sometimes seen grow from the man¡¯s head sprout anew, two spikes of red-tinted black that curve toward the back of his head. By the time that he reaches the scrambling group, Jor¡¯Mari tops out at just over eight feet tall. Kendon steps out of the group, raising the strange shield of green steel I saw him use earlier. Jor¡¯Mari, his huge form barreling forward faster than any natural creature, does not turn aside. He collides with Kendon¡¯s shield, pitting his lengthening horns against the steel of the rank two magician. An awful clap cracks through the room as the two forces meet, and I am brought back to that first day when I fought the Desert Spearman¨Ca hollow pit forming in my gut. Like his brother on that day, Kendon¡¯s decision to take the blow head on proves disastrous for him. The man is lifted from his feet like a rag doll, his body hurled ten feet back to crash into the glowing white wall with a horrendous wrenching of steel. There is shouting all around me. Faintly, I hear someone call my name, but all of my attention is on the woman standing behind three other men, trying to back away from the monstrous fiend in front of her. I can see her better now that I am closer. The left side of Coriander¡¯s face is a smear of blistered skin, the hair on that side of her head burned away. A ball of fire explodes out of my hand toward her as Jor¡¯Mari moves like lightning, weaving between the panicked swing of a man to seize his arm. Coriander notices my bolt of dragonfire and pushes one of her unsuspecting allies in front of the ball of fire. The explosion blows both her and the unfortunate man off their feet, the leathers of Coriander¡¯s sacrifice not catching flame. With so many people standing around in here, I am afraid to add the growth affix to my attacks. ¡°Stop that crazy bitch!¡± Coriander shrieks as she pushes herself to her knees. Another bolt of fire is already sailing across the distance between her and me, and this time she has no one to protect her from me. The lob of fire collides with her side, the orange flames burrowing into her expensive clothes, making her erupt in fire. She screams, falling to her back and trying to pat out the flames. I am almost there. ¡°Behind,¡± Galea warns. Without thinking, I throw myself to the side, narrowly avoiding a spear of earth. My balance destroyed, I roll over backward before sliding to my feet, hurling two bolts of fire at a man who seems to be conjuring another spear of earth. Surprise registers on the man¡¯s face for an instant before a red barrier of force appears in the air in front of him. Two twin bolts explode against the barrier, leaving it cracked like a pane of glass, but the man behind it otherwise unharmed. I see five others in the mix of people still staggering into the room join hands. In a flash they disappear. ¡°Behind again!¡± Galea screams in my ear. I turn in time to feel a lance of pure radiant light tear through my body. I gasp, my hands falling to the wound in my chest, feeling air and blood sucking into a hole torn straight through a lung. Coriander stands amid a larger group now, a savage grin on her face even as her clothes continue to smoke and smolder, the five I saw before having appeared around Jor¡¯Mari. A group of six stab at Jor¡¯Mari as he weaves through them like a snake, each swipe of his claws cutting deep lines through the arms and chests of his attackers. An aura of brown energy erupts amid the group, one of the combatants a rank two magician. Chains begin to shoot up from the ground, spiraling and trying to catch Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s arms and legs, but the man is just too fast for them. His wild attacks turn to a harried defense as he tries to dodge between a myriad of magic and weapon work aimed in his direction. Then, like the descent of an evil god, Kendon falls from the air with his hammer held in both hands. Jor¡¯Mari tries to dodge, but the bloom of soul presence around Kendon and the scalding of Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s skin makes him just a step too slow. Kendon¡¯s terrible hammer lands on the side of Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s head, his rightmost horn shattering beneath the weight of the blow. A spear stabs through Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s back as he stumbles back a step, and a chain lashes out, coiling its barbed links around Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s leg, pulling him off balance. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Something his happening,¡± Galea tells me as I pour all of my magical might into a Dragonfire Bolt. I can feel it too, growing in the room around us, another magical aura thrown off by the strange whiteness of the floor and walls. The aura is almost impossible to see due to it being everywhere, but Galea picks it out as easily as I do. Magic pours through the entire chamber, the thrum I felt in the back of my head before returning as the swell continues to build. A man in the group circling Jor¡¯Mari hacks at his arm with a hatchet while Kendon stands from his landing, swinging a backhanded strike of his hammer up at Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s jaw. The blow collides, crushing Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s chin up into his pallet, Kendon¡¯s hammer erupting in a show of dark lightning. They will kill him if I do not do something drastic. Adding the growth affix to the ball of fire building between my fingers causes my channeling to accelerate immensely, a benefit of the affix I didn¡¯t notice the first time I used it. The Bane Crystal falls to the floor in front of me, its green light drawing me in as I press the fire in my hands to the crystal. I am vaguely aware that behind me some kind of magic detonates against something solid. The eruption earns as much of my attention as the hole through my chest. Despite the incredible pain and the feeling that I am drowning, I know that the wound will heal. Somehow, that is enough to let me ignore it for these precious few seconds. I hold the ball of churning green fire above my head as the affixes fuse inside the dragonfire. The whine cutting through the room continues to squeeze my head like a vice; I have no time to waste. Pulling a small bit of rock from my inventory, I hold it out in front of me with my free hand, pointing it toward Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°I summon thee, Jor¡¯Mari,¡± I yell into the cacophony of the room. The man only gave me this trinket this morning, and despite doing exactly as he had instructed, a speck of fear blooms in my already crowded mind. The odd marking of blood on the palm-sized slab of rock lights crimson for a bare moment, and the man disappears from his spot of torment, reappearing at my side. The moment that I sense the man collapsing to the ground next to me, I release the dragonfire in my hand. The bolt of green fire roars across the space, the air itself rippling as it races toward its target. Kendon is the first to react, stepping out from amid the confused press of magicians, summoning his shield of green steel in his hand. He braces himself, putting his shield in the line of the bolt of dragonfire. I doubt that he expects what comes next. The emerald dragonfire splashes over Kendon¡¯s shield like a ball of water, the fire spraying over Kendon and the rest of his compatriots. As the fire crashes down onto them, they cry out, the dragonfire eating their clothes, their weapons, their hair, and their skin. The brown aura from one of the men condenses, magical sand spraying from his hands all over his body, snuffing out the fire as it continues to try and dig into him. He manages to douse the flames after a moment, continuing a stream of sand and pebbles over two others that have fallen to the floor, their bodies still alight with eerie flames. I watch Coriander flail amid the group, ripping away her expensive clothing as the dragonfire eats through even her enchanted gear, shoveling sand onto herself to try and put out the flames. I am so close, just one more good strike and I will have her. ¡°What an eventful opening,¡± A voice booms through the room. Just as I am about to release another bolt of fire, the thrumming coursing through the room reaches its crescendo. Walls of translucent light spring up from the ground all around us, cutting the room into twenty-eight sections distinct from one another. My dragonfire splashes impotently against the barrier of force between me and my target, the flames falling limply to the ground and fizzling away to nothing. With a hate that I didn¡¯t know I could have, I stare up at someone floating in the air above the center of the chamber. A jolt of terror invades me as I notice the woman levitating in the air, four angelic wings sprouting from her back, is staring back at me when I turn her way. A force outside of myself slams me to my knees, and it feels as if my hands have become glued to the floor. ¡°The time for petty squabbling is over,¡± the woman commands. ¡°The requisite number of competitors have entered the tower. This test is now to begin.¡± The woman¡¯s aura floods the room, an oppressive force falling over everyone, drowning out all sound other than her voice. ¡°We have watched. We have observed, and the Willian Guild has found this generation of so-called elite magicians wanting. Removed from the supervision of your fathers, mothers, and mentors, you so quickly devolve into violence. Is oversight the only thing keeping you youth in line? Do you not possess an ounce of integrity in you, a drive to live by the tenets you would describe as your ideals in polite company? ¡°You believe that we have not seen your unprovoked assault on one another, your willingness to push past the final bounds of decency for your fellow beings to earn even the slightest advantage. Those of you in the peerage, does this not violate the most basic promises born from your grandiose self-importance, the right to rule not wholly contingent upon your naked exercise of force? Those of you brought here by talent or chance, how easily you debase yourselves, falling to the whims of expediency. You may think that we have not seen, but we have.¡± At a gesture, windows appear in the air around the woman. More shocking than the scenes of cruelty, violence, and blatant murder that they depict, is the fact that I am not the only one capable of seeing them. I hear a gasp near me and turn to see Jess kneeling near me inside of the wedge Jor¡¯Mari and I have been trapped inside of. Samielle, his face a mess of burns and lacerations, pulls a splinter of earth out of Jess¡¯ arm, tossing it to the ground. The man ignores the splinters riveting his left wing as it lays limp on the ground. Through the barriers dividing the room, I can see more eyes fixed upon the scenes playing out overhead. The sight of Samissa collapsing to the ground, an arrow passing through her neck as if it weren¡¯t stealing her life away. Terrible scenes float through the air around the angelic woman, the righteous anger on her face growing more and more earned by the moment. ¡°We have seen everything!¡± she proclaims. ¡°Awful.¡± The woman casts her stare over the whole of the room, forcing men and women to demure beneath her baleful glare. ¡°This contest persists, but it has become clear to the guild that a more childish approach might be necessary for you lot. If you cannot control yourselves, raise yourselves above the most basic proscriptions we give to children, then we shall speak to you like children. Violence against your fellow competitors outside the bounds of direct competition is prohibited. Wanton violators will be ejected and any future intercourse with the guild that they aspire to will be severed. If you cannot abide by even this most self-evident rule, then it will be enforced by your betters. Make no mistakes any of you, we can force this upon you, and we will.¡± ¡°Now,¡± she raises her hands, a thrumming atmosphere running through the room picking up once more, ¡°you have turned your minds against your fellows. It is a magician¡¯s first duty to safeguard the state and the people from forces within and without, to understand what conflicts they face and to find expedient and judicious solutions, to safeguard civilization from the rabid forces of the dark. The guild has found you lacking in this, both in resolve and in character, and we shall test it now. We shall pour monsters down atop you, trapping you in a never-ending progression of the dark beasts that pound at the door. Those of you lacking power, will, or resolve will fall away or perish. To leave this contest, all you need do is infuse some mana into the symbol in the center of your wedge, and the onset of monsters will vanish. You and all others inside your slice of the room will fail the first level of this tower, and not be allowed to progress to the higher floors. The onset of monsters will not cease until half of the competitors have faltered. You have ten seconds to prepare yourselves.¡± At her proclamation, a brilliant light enraptured her form, blinding me for a moment. By the time I blinked away the spots in my vision, the woman had vanished. I stared around the triangular slice of the room I found myself trapped inside of. Jor¡¯Mari, Jess, and Samielle were trapped along with me, each bearing wounds. There were two other that I didn¡¯t recognize, an elven woman and an earthspeaker man. The three of us eyed one another for a moment, all of our gazes sinking to the circle of intricate runes inscribed on the ground, roughly in the center of the wedge. A shaking echoed through the bright room, a square of darkness erupting in the floor of each of the wedges. Then, nightmares began to pour forth from the holes in the ground. Chapter 69 - Gaius Gore: Possibilities There was murmuring within the room once Taessa Calana vanished from the air. Gaius watched the scene before him through a hidden window that looked out onto the bottom level of the tower. Barely any time was given for the participants to absorb their chewing out, pushing them directly into combat immediately afterward. Some still looked properly shamed, while others were merely annoyed and trying to organize the random members inside their isolated wedges into some kind of team. A woman nearby confirmed that the stickers were in their positions, awful creatures that the guild had abducted from one of the lakes north of the tower. The monsters stood four-feet tall each, bearing amphibious bodies that were somewhat humanoid in stature, four stocky arms protruding from their thin chests, webbed and clawed hands always reaching forward. The monsters¡¯ nature as a hive beast set them apart and made them a constant threat to the guild¡¯s hunting grounds every year. Worse than the fact that they burrowed into the earth beneath lakebeds and were thereby a nightmare to displace, was that the blood of the monsters acted as a sort of glue when exposed to the air, giving them their name. The pale creatures swarmed over their opponents, none that individually powerful, but with their hands they sought to grapple their enemies to the ground, and even as they died the tied up the weapons used to slay them. Eventually, if they were allowed to, they would defeat anything with the mass of their numbers, sinking the hideous needle-like fangs inside their mouths into their victims, dragging them into the water to drown. Gaius had not been present for that culling by his own design. Culling the stickers that multiplied around two of the northernmost lakes every year was a job for the youngest in the guild. Taessa Calana appeared in the room, muttering under her breath as she stalked to a table to pour herself a draft of wine. The woman collapsed into a chair with a sigh. ¡°You did well,¡± Gaius said, turning to his subordinate. ¡°I could have been harsher,¡± Taessa said into her drink. ¡°Some of these children could do with a beating now to save us a few despots later.¡± Gaius snorted and shook his head. ¡°Do you believe that a rank three magician tossing around children will change them for the better?¡± He looked out the window to where the first of the monsters had begun to crawl up out of the ground. ¡°These youths are too old for such simplistic lessons. We will not change their character against their will, not without extreme force. Our job is merely to pick out the promising ones and to offer each a chance to push themselves hard to advance.¡± ¡°There are murderers down there,¡± Taessa said. She kicked up from her seat and joined Gaius at the window, staring down at the battle that was beginning to erupt. In one of the triangular cells below, a girl dashed out and smashed her hand down on the rune in the center. An aide in the room activated a specialized enchantment inside the room, and all competitors in that slice vanished from the tower, reappearing out in the courtyard. The group of three hadn¡¯t lasted even half a minute. ¡°They seem to make the murderers younger each year,¡± Gaius said. His eyes roamed through the competitors below, alighting on a few that he had seen do truly awful things in the competition. ¡°Justice, unfortunately, is not within our purview. We are a professional guild of magicians, not rulers or magistrates.¡± At his side, Taessa tsked, putting her wine to her lips. ¡°Careful where those thoughts carry you,¡± Gaius advised. ¡°We are powerful within the bounds of our scope, but stepping outside of those bounds carries a risk you may not be prepared to shoulder.¡± ¡°Conquest does not interest me,¡± Taessa dismissed, cutting through Gaius¡¯ veiled implications. He could not help but smile at her directness. Of course, she would speak her mind frankly. The two watched the battle play out below for a while longer before an aide approached with papers clasped between his hands. ¡°We have the information you requested,¡± the aide, Jogal, said. ¡°Casualties,¡± Gaius asked for first. ¡°Twenty-five with serious wounds, but none dead as far as we can tell. Lady Cassida stood by, ready to subtly intervene, but she informed us that her intervention was unnecessary. According to her, the dedicated healers among the contestants are impressively competent and prevented any deaths.¡± Gaius quirked a brow at the man, a bit surprised. ¡°Honestly? Finally, the gods have seen fit to sprinkle a bit of favor upon us. Forward the recordings of the healers that took place in the skirmish outside for me to review. If they truly kept the death toll to nothing, there are likely promising candidates among them. How many will need to be taken from the competition?¡± ¡°Eight,¡± the aide said. ¡°Lady Cassida has already descended and has begun to evacuate the courtyard.¡± ¡°It is not already done?¡± Gaius exclaimed. Behind him, another group of people vanished from their cell as they became too overwhelmed by the stickers to continue the fight. ¡°We are already sending people out of the tower.¡± Jogal blanched, and Gaius waved his hand to dismiss the man¡¯s worry. ¡°I cannot command Lady Cassida to conduct her work faster,¡± the aide said. ¡°Very well,¡± Gaius sighed. ¡°What did the inspections indicate?¡± Jogal shuffled the papers in his hands, showing them to Gaius. Reading over the papers in his hand, Gaius was surprised to find that six of the roughly hundred and twenty participants that entered the tower had been able to skirt the magical inspection. Certainly, there were abilities that a few magicians possessed to occlude magical scrying, but those abilities were rare. None of the information revealed by the probing returned anything that might indicate one of the contestants as being responsible for the invasive influence that was running through the contest. Still, six people being able to repel a rank three scrying device was quite something. It was maddening. Here, in the tower, Gaius could sense the subtle influence that tried to needle into his mind. The influence was something he could dismiss simply, but its source was hidden from him and all his most powerful devices. A delve through a thousand years of history had turned up several possibilities, but after eliminating the impossible ones, there were very few options left. Half of those that knew about the meddling influence on the competition suspected a God or a fifth ranker of dipping their fingers into the contest, putting a thumb on the scales. If that was true, Gaius would never be able to uncover it if they did not wish to be uncovered. Another possibility existed. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Gaius turned to Taessa who was watching the fighting below with an incredible intensity. ¡°Who among them do you think it is?¡± The woman sipped on her wine, squinting down. ¡°If it is one of the contestants, then they are incredible at hiding this ability. Were I needing to make a wager, I would bet that the culprit would be from among your list.¡± Gaius looked at the woman, a bit surprised. He flipped through the papers in his hand to find the list in question. ¡°Why is that?¡± ¡°Because that would be the worst possible outcome for us,¡± Taessa answered, moving away from the window to refill her glass of wine. He couldn¡¯t disagree with that. When he had become aware of this outside influence on the events inside of the competition, he placed people on monitoring each and every contestant that their scrying devices had recorded, comparing the abilities displayed by the individuals to the ones that the guild had on file for them. So far, the vast majority had displayed a full range of abilities, none hinting at something as insidious as being able to influence an incredible area with sophisticated manipulation magic. No, Gaius did not think that one of the participants was responsible. Looking down at the sheet in his hand, he studied the names and descriptions listed. One of the primary functions of the entire event was to scout out potential talent for the guild to recruit. The top ten candidates stood out on the page, eight of which had already crossed the threshold into the second rank. Their future progression would be far slower. The latter half of the contest could not be made too deadly, and as such the top-most competitors would find themselves at a lack for real challenges outside of the other contestants. The kressin woman, Lady Forendous topped his list of promising youths, though he knew it was highly unlikely that the Vivantee Empire would allow the Willian Guild to recruit one of their young stars. It was clear that she was an alpha magician, able to survive the most grievous of injuries through her own power. Peering over the papers he held, Gaius picked her out amid the combatants below. The woman¡¯s scowl as she crushed the monsters pouring into her cell and the blood stains on the front of her chest told of her humiliation at the hands of what she would consider to be a lesser being. Gaius could not help but think that a dose of humility would do her some good. With a word to an aide, he doubled the pace that the monsters flooded her particular cell. The next name on the list was a bit of a surprise, Kendon Esfelle. Seeming to be the star of the group Arabella presented to the competition, the man demonstrated a brilliance for combat and a ruthlessness far surpassing his years. There were many complications surrounding the young man, not least of which being the woman he had involved himself with. Hopefully, the man¡¯s psyche would survive the trauma once this was all over. What was most surprising was that this man had surpassed all estimations, showing a competence that outstripped another competitor from his group, the only other alpha magician in contention, Jor¡¯Mari, whose name appeared on the list just below Kendon¡¯s. Reviewing the recording, Jor¡¯Mari had not fully shown his potential, preferring to shy away from combat for the last few weeks, only fighting when pushed into a corner. Today, during that bloody skirmish outside and inside the tower, the guild had its first real look at the man¡¯s capabilities. He clearly had potential, maybe enough worth cultivating. Most impressive of all was his ability to hold his own against magicians a full rank above his own, a feat native to the elite of their profession. Given that this competition was meant to house only the elite made the man all the more remarkable. The list became a smattering of relatively unknowns, magicians fortunate enough to get their hands on a soul cage in the first set of dungeons and who had pushed their bodies and minds to their limits. One member on the list languished in a serious condition after his encounter with Lady Forendous and was unlikely to recover. The one thing that set the six second rankers apart from the rest of the pack had been something specific to each: their canny intelligence, their skill at their craft, or the brutal natures that manifested in their soul presences. They would need to be watched closely as the competition proceeded into the second phase. None of the placings on the list were likely to remain stagnant. At the bottom of the shortlist a name stood out to him. It stood out firstly for the fact that it was the only other first ranker on the list of ten potentials, but also because it was not Dovik Willian. From the outset, Gaius had expected Dovik to excel in this contest, to hopefully form a faction of his own that he could lead to a satisfactory end that strengthened the bonds of comradery between the contestants and helped the guild¡¯s relations going forward. That had not happened. Instead, a third member of the group Arabella Willian brought to this contest shone, set apart. Charlene Devardem: from what Gaius had dug up on the girl, she appeared to only have been in possession of a full complement of essentia for less than half a year. Had she been a noble born girl, trained from birth in the arts of combat and sorcery, her unprecedented rise and talent might be explainable, but from all information Gaius was able to get his hands on, she came from unremarkable origins, the daughter of a pear farmer. It would seem that Arabella Willian either had an incredible eye for talent, or she was the luckiest scout the guild had found in decades. Charlene Devardem barely managed to push her way onto the list for one simple reason. Out of everyone in the considerable breadth of the contest, she had by far killed more monsters than anyone else. He noticed a new scribble next to the girl¡¯s name that hadn¡¯t been there the last time he had looked at his little list. Apparently, she was one of the six that had avoided their magical scan. Gaius stared down into the field, watching a plume of orange fire rage over a group of the stickers pouring up through the floor, the flames curling and burrowing into the dark to scorch the creatures before they could even reach the surface. He couldn¡¯t help but smile as he watched the young firebug laugh like a lunatic, walking up to the hole in the floor to stream fire down into the opening, drying blood smearing the bottom half of her face. ¡°I think that is my dark horse,¡± Gaius said. Taessa followed his gaze and couldn¡¯t help but scoff. ¡°The lunatic? No, the young lord will be the final victor of this contest.¡± ¡°You have learned the art of prophecy?¡± Gaius asked. ¡°I thought that was Illigar¡¯s domain.¡± She rolled her eyes, nodding down to where Dovik Willian fought against the tide. The man had no flashy abilities, nothing that truly made him stand out among his peers, but as he battled the oncoming wave of monsters rising up from the floor, he never stopped moving, his twin weapons whirling. Neither did any of the creatures even come close to landing a blow on him. ¡°That man will inherit this guild one day. I doubt that there are three people in this contest that will be able to land a blow on him.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± Gaius admitted. ¡°He certainly is talented. Had he not sat on his ass for nearly two weeks, he likely would have a commanding position in the rankings. You can never know the outcome of these events; that is why we hold the contest to begin with. No matter how talented or well-trained, there is no guarantee of success. After all, even the guild master did not win in his year.¡± A frown stole over Gaius¡¯ face as the situation returned to his mind. In essence, there existed four possibilities for the pervasive magic that had invaded the contest. If the Gods or a fifth ranker was behind it, there was nothing he could do other than mitigate the damage. If one of the contestants was at fault, he would need to uncover them quickly. Of all the possibilities, he doubted that one the most, the magic was too pervasive, too subtle for a first ranker to be responsible for. That left two other possibilities, a naturally occurring phenomenon, something that he would eventually be able to reveal and could potentially put an end to. The last potentiality made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Perhaps there was a creature out there with this power native to them, one that even his most powerful instruments were incapable of finding. The havoc such a creature might be able to wreak scared him. Gaius could not decide which outcome to pray for being the case. The shadow of disaster loomed in each direction he looked. When Taessa returned from her trip to the table with a second glass of wine in hand, offering it to him, he did not refuse. Below him, terrible violence was being wrought, but for the first time since the onset of the competition, Gaius felt in control of where that violence was pointed. The sweet wine on his tongue went far toward banishing the worries from his mind. Even so, he could not shake the feeling of a specter peering over his shoulder, a wicked smile on its face as it watched him carefully lay his plans. Chapter 70 - The Team My fingers roam over the hole in my gut, or rather, the bloody scab where there had been a hole just before. I take a deep breath, my lungs expanding with a twinge of pain. A controlled exhale lets me know I am in relatively decent shape. I wipe the blood on my fingers on the ground before I spring to my feet, fire roiling over my hand. The earthspeaker man, his skin a mottled tone of harsh onyx with gray rings running throughout, stands, holding his hands up. ¡°I do not want any trouble with you,¡± he says, taking a step back. My bolt of dragonfire sails past the man¡¯s head, leaving him flinching and confused for a moment before he hears the collision behind him. He turns, looking down at the charred monstrosity halfway out of the hole. The man looks completely out of place, wearing simple traveling clothes that make him appear more like a clerk than a monster killer. His soft features and the kindness in his eyes only reinforce my poor first impression of the man. Jasper Callaway(Level 32) Seer Conflux Near the wall, a square of darkness leads into the floor, snarling and the sounds of heavy moist breath coming from within. Another sickly hand of pale, almost translucent white, reaches up from the black, its webbed fingers wrapping around the corpse and pulling it back inside. Jasper wheels back from the pit, backing toward the wall of mana that separates our slice of the room from the others. A part of me wants to find out what will happen if someone touches the wall, but I speak up anyway. ¡°Stop!¡± I yell at the man. He flinches at the harshness in my voice, but does as I tell him to, slowly turning to find himself just a step away from the wall of mana. ¡°T-thank you, miss,¡± he says. I am left looking at this man, unsure of how he and I can possibly be the same level. Is this man really supposed to be as strong as I am? It doesn¡¯t seem to make much sense to me. I throw another ball of fire into the dark hole as I notice movement beginning to crawl upward, eliciting an awful howl from inside the dark. My eyes fall on the elven woman. She hasn¡¯t moved from her knees, and she watches me with suspicion, one hand hidden behind her back. Svelte leather armor clings to her, looking so form-fitting that I can¡¯t bring myself to imagine she found it inside of the trial. The high quality of the black armor¡¯s scaled pattern reminds me of the Boiling Python leather I had collected long ago, and the intricate golden weave throughout the armor tells of its obvious enchantments¨Cthough my eye reveals that easy enough. The woman lacks the telltale pearlescent hair of the true-bloods elves, her hair bouncy curls of raven, her eyes a brown so deep the appear black, and her features so sharp that even the fairer race might find them unflattering. Despite her appearance, my eye tells me of her origin, an asset I am coming to value more and more. Clarice Morningcall(level 44), Daughter of Baron Argast Morningcall Eclipse Conflux ¡°Will you stab me if my back is turned?¡± I ask her. The woman continues to glare at me, slowly moving to her feet. ¡°No.¡± I nod, uncertain why I even asked her in the first place. Galea will tell me if she is tries to do something while I¡¯m not watching, hopefully. ¡°You two deal with the monsters if you can.¡± I look over, coming to kneel beside Jess and look over the cuts across her shoulder and back. ¡°You saved me, didn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°Just returning the favor,¡± Jess says, grunting through the pain of Samielle pulling another sliver of rock out of her arm. ¡°That woman was going to blow me away. Who is she?¡± ¡°Her name isn¡¯t important,¡± I tell Jess. I look through my inventory, finding scraps of linen from my destroyed clothing and handing it to Samielle. The man doesn¡¯t look like he is in much better shape; one of his wings still lays limp on the ground, and his skin looks like he has walked through a fire. He doesn¡¯t show any pain in his movements though, dutifully taking the cloth from me with a murmured thanks and applying them to Jess¡¯ wounds. ¡°Those two tried to kill me before. I am merely returning the favor.¡± ¡°I can understand that. I¡¯m feeling a bit of righteous¡­ACK!¡± She turns and smacks Samielle¡¯s arm as he pulls the last piece of rock out of her shoulder. The long jagged piece makes me want to gag just looking at it and the bit of flesh hanging off its barbed tip. ¡°I¡¯m glad to see you again. I was wondering what happened to you two after the dungeon.¡± I catch Jess¡¯ hand and give it a squeeze. ¡°There will be time to catch up later,¡± she says, nodding back toward the hole in the floor. ¡°I think that we have more pressing issues to think about just now.¡± I look over her and Samielle. Jess might actually be able to bounce back and get into a fight¨Cshe is a strong woman¨Cbut Samielle looks like he is just barely managing. I don¡¯t doubt that once he no longer has someone to take care of, his injuries will start needling him. A glance to my side shows Jor¡¯Mari laying on the ground, blood slowly pooling out around him. I squeeze Jess¡¯ hand once more before standing and walking over to the man. He looks up at me, his already alabaster skin more pale than normal. There is no fear in his face, just the stubborn anger that I might associate with a child. ¡°You failed,¡± I say. Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s eyes focus on me as he scowls. ¡°Did you finish the job while I wasn¡¯t looking?¡± I ignore the question, looking over the wounds that continue to trickle blood. ¡°Can you recover? You look like you are going to die.¡± ¡°Who do you think you are talking to, Ms. Devardem? This is not enough to kill me. Would it stop you?¡± He takes my beat of silence as confirmation, his maddening smirk appearing on his bloodless lips. ¡°Then how could it possibly be enough to stop me?¡± ¡°You are mighty full of yourself for a man that charged alone into a group of enemies just to be stabbed and beaten,¡± I say, unable to keep myself from smirking at him in return. ¡°But I looked like a true beast doing it. Did you hear that sound when I sent that bastard flying? It sounded like Exeter slapping a fly.¡± The bulging muscles have faded from his arms and chest, the horns on his head having shrunk to nothing more than nubs. He looks more fragile than I remember ever seeing him, his grin more genuine than ever before. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°Will you be assisting with this?¡± I ask, motioning toward the hole in the floor. Three of the monsters have crawled up out of the floor. The earthspeaker man, Jasper, struggles to contend with one using a wooden staff. The monster, barely level thirty, pressures the man with is grabbing hands. Despite some familiarity with the weapon in his hands, Jasper has no power in his strikes, and as I watch for a few seconds, he fails to utilize any magic to defeat the monster. The elven woman on the other hand is far stranger. In her left hand she holds what looks to be a four-foot rod wrought from white light. Two of the monsters follow her as she steps backward around the hole in the floor, each struggling to stay in line with her as she constantly moves to use one of the monsters to block the other. She doesn¡¯t attack, merely using footwork to stop the monsters from landing their grasping fingers on her. ¡°I will leave that to you,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°I will recuperate here.¡± ¡°So be it.¡± Turning away from the man and my two other friends, I approach the hole in the floor. I have come to stop questioning these strange portals that are found inside of the dungeons. Surely, they are some kind of enchantment, and the idea of making these kinds of opaque doorways in the future is interesting, but I have no energy to spare on such idea for now. ¡°Kill those already,¡± I tell the elven woman, Clarice, as I approach the hole. I grab onto Jasper¡¯s shoulder as I make it to the hole, moving the man aside so that I can belch dragonfire over the slimy monster still trying to make it past his stick. A torrent of orange and white fire engulfs the monster, setting it ablaze instantly. Blind, it tries to run, to cry out, but I knock it back into the hole with a kick from my steel boot. I look up in time to see Clarice cut down the second of the two monsters, the rod of pure energy in her hand cutting through their flesh like a hot knife through butter. She jumps away from the blood of the creatures as it splashes onto the ground. The smell, an acidic burn that clings to the back of my throat, hits me a second later as the beige colored blood begins to pool on the floor. ¡°I hate stickers,¡± Clarice says, continuing to back away and keep her fine boots out of the spreading monster blood. A glance at a window over one of the corpses of the monsters confirms that as being their name. ¡°What do you know about these creatures?¡± I ask. She looks back at me, seeming to consider whether or not answering my question is in her best interest. ¡°They are a kind of monster that spawn around rivers and lakes, making their homes beneath the water. They aren¡¯t all that powerful by themselves, but they move in large groups and swarm people and animals. Their blood is sticky once it has left their body, thus the name.¡± I look at the beige fluid pooling on the ground, not running off in the way like water or blood would. ¡°It looks like we have been put together on a team,¡± I tell her, including the man with a glance. ¡°That might end after we have made it out of the first floor, but in case it doesn¡¯t, I would appreciate that you be upfront with me. Have either of you killed someone in this competition?¡± Jasper looks aghast. ¡°No, of course not.¡± Clarice stares back at me for a good while, her fingers playing on the bar of magic she holds in her hand. ¡°No,¡± she says, eventually. ¡°I couldn¡¯t help but notice that you were trying to.¡± My immediate reaction is to deny it, but when I think about it, I had been trying to kill her. Coriander and Kendon tried to kill me; just seeing them brought up so much anger in my heart that I couldn¡¯t hold myself back. Is killing them really what I want? A part of me really wants that, to end those two, while another part balks. Will I become a murderer so easily? ¡°Good,¡± I say, looking between the two. For some reason, they seem to be treating me like I have some kind of authority. It is a strange feeling, one that I haven¡¯t had much experience with, but I will use it if I can. ¡°I will handle this, if you want to recuperate from the battle. Me and my friends plan to climb this tower and to beat everyone else in doing so, prepare yourselves.¡± We haven¡¯t exactly said so, but I am sure that Jor¡¯Mari will agree with me. If we want to make certain that we get to Kendon and Coriander, we will need to reach the end of the tower before they do. If not, they will be able to escape out onto the north side of the mountains. We might never get another chance at them. Forget whatever that woman from the guild said earlier, I won¡¯t give up on this so easily. I won¡¯t forgive Kendon and Coriander. I¡¯m sure that Jess will help me if I ask her too, and based on how Samielle was just acting, worrying over her, he will likely go wherever she does. ¡°You will handle all of this?¡± Jasper asks me, looking down into the darkness. ¡°You can do that?¡± I look around at the other slices throughout the room, watching as the bodies begin to pile up, men and women in pitched combat with multitudes of the grabby monsters. Dozens have poured up from the dark, forcing magicians to work together, to put their backs to those that might have just been enemies a moment before in order to protect their own lives. It is a completely different story from our relatively quiet hole. ¡°I am already handling it,¡± I reply, making sure that he looks around as well. I cannot blame the man for his skepticism, he doesn¡¯t see what I can see. Deep in the dark of the hole at my feet, a window opens, telling me that a monster has died inside. A few seconds later it is followed by another and another. My fire is blazing down in the dark, growing as it leaps from beast to beast, chewing into the monsters down below. Already, more than ten have died, and Galea has alerted me that I have gained a level. ¡°Someone has gone through the trouble of gathering a bunch of monsters in a cage for me, it would seem like a waste to not give it my all.¡± Holding my hands forward, hungry orange fire streams down into the pit in front of me, crossing over the barrier of darkness with ease. While the flames roil outward, I keep an eye on my available mana, but at this point I have an obscene amount of the resource. I lose myself a bit, pouring twin streams of flames down into the darkness, watching window after window appear to notify me about the deaths of the monsters down below. Watching the windows appear, I begin to sense something faint in the center of my chest. It is as if something is swelling inside me, each window echoing a sensation so distant that I can barely be sure I am not imagining it. The feeling is there, something on the divide between euphoria and satisfaction, a feeling that with each of these terrible beasts I burn from this world I grow a little bit stronger. It is a heady realization. I can¡¯t keep myself from laughing as the fire pours down like a waterfall into an endless hole. If it can be this easy to reinforce the soul, how come no one had offered it to me before? The hole vanishes, snapping me back to the world as the two others standing around the hole near me scream and leap back to escape the orange flames splashing against the pristine white of the floor. I stop my outpour of fire as soon as the hole disappears, and thankfully manage not to ignite either Jasper or Clarice. Blinking, trying to ground myself back in the now, I look around the room, noting that half of the groups have vanished. My eyes fall on Coriander; she sits in her own slice of the room with a man covered in singed clothing. In front of her, five men heave with exhaustion, the bodies of monsters laying all around them, their weapons stuck into the ground at odd angles, caught up in the blood of the enemy. I ready myself to conjure more fire for her. My time never comes. From the ceiling far overhead, fourteen sets of spiraling stairs begin to descend down towards all of the groups remaining in the room, the walls between all of us staying in place. Coriander spares me a single glance before turning toward the staircase and making her way up. There is fear in her eyes as she heads away from me, and I cannot help but savor that. It isn¡¯t enough, not nearly as much fear and pain as she put me through, but it is a good start. The platform of the spiral staircase, a circular base made of the same odd material as the rest of the tower, comes to a halt right over the rune in the ground that would have pulled our group out of the tower. Jess supports Samielle on her shoulder as she leads the big man toward the staircase, while Jor¡¯Mari peels the bloody tatters of his clothes off the ground with a sickening sound. There is color in the man¡¯s face again, not that it had all that much color to start with. ¡°I presume we are to go up,¡± he says, being the first to step onto the marble steps leading up into the ceiling. I get a good look at the man¡¯s back, a mess of smeared and dried blood, his robes nothing more than strips of cloth that cling to him. He doesn¡¯t wait for anyone to follow him, trudging up the spiral at the lead. I spare a look around the empty cut of room that I am left inside of, and the rest of the chamber at large. There is a single other slice of the room that is as barren of monster corpses as our own, though the sticky blood is scattered throughout. An odd woman, her skin a pale greenish-blue leads a group up the stairway, stamping in obvious irritation. Despite my earlier desire to progress upward as quickly as possible, I linger, allowing the others to move ahead first. It would be a shame to leave all this treasure behind down here without even trying to claim it for my own. Chapter 71 - A Warm and Well-Lit Place The room stands silent while I linger at the bottom of the stairs. I watch the other groups throughout the chamber ascend the stairways in their individual slices of the room. Some race upward, not caring for the injured among them that crawl up the stairway behind. Others linger like I do, watching the groups ascend ahead of us, taking in the atmosphere and eerie stillness. Macille and Dovik are together in one of the last chambers in the room, almost on the opposite side from me. Walking to the center, I can so clearly see them through the transparent wall of mana between us, but no sound can pass from one to another. We spend a good five minutes trying to communicate something, trying to say anything; most of the time I spend attempting to hold back tears. I have been keeping thoughts of Macille distant, not wanting to think about him or what lies his brother might have told him about me. There is no spite or anger in the man¡¯s eyes as he looks back through the barrier to me, just confusion and sadness. We try anything we can think of to speak with one another. I even call out to the Passage administrators, asking them to pull down the walls at least for a moment. Nothing. Twelve walkways of spiraling stairs have already risen back into the ceiling, sealing so perfectly with the whiteness above that it is impossible to notice they were ever there. Dovik points upward, making sure that I catch the gesture. When I nod to him, both men retreat toward their staircase, ascending into the ceiling above while I hesitate at the bottom of my own. For all I know, we might all be reunited if I simply climb the stairs leading up into the unknown. Then again, a nagging feeling in the back of my head tells me that would be too simple. When Macille and Dovik¡¯s stairway has finally retreated into the ceiling, I look around the room once more. My foot rests on the bottom of my staircase¡¯s platform, my whole body ready to race upward at the slightest show of the stairway retreating. ¡°Will you let down the barriers now!?¡± I call into the air, unsure if the people from the Willian Guild are even listening. My words bounce off the magic barrier enclosing me, sparking a tinny sound that makes my voice sound so much smaller. ¡°Why do you desire that?¡± A voice, masculine, slightly familiar, booms through the room. The force of the voice seems to rattle the walls erected throughout the room, the only thing that I have seen thus far capable of even forcing them to flex. ¡°I want to disenchant the monsters,¡± I call back, trying to project a confidence I don¡¯t feel. It is one thing to try and order around two strangers, even if one is from the nobility. They do not know who I am, and for all they know I might be an important person as well; I doubt they suspect me of being a simple farm girl with no money or real backing. Whoever speaks for the Willian Guild is different. They know who I am and how little I matter. ¡°For what purpose?¡± the voice asks. I squint up at the ceiling where I think the voice comes from. What an idiotic question. ¡°To win this contest,¡± I state simply. ¡°What other purpose is there?¡± A pause follows. I stand, my toes on the first of the marble steps leading up. After a full minute of waiting, the voice comes again. ¡°The Willian Guild has no need to offer you such a boon. It is not in our nature to advantage one individual over another. You say that you wish to use these monster corpses to win this contest, why should I allow this?¡± It is difficult to restrain myself from rolling my eyes. Tits and honey, all that I have seen from the Willian Guild is their inclination to advantage one individual over another. ¡°They left this behind, and that is why you should allow me to take the corpses with me. I have traveled with adventurers tasked with killing monsters well before this contest even started. The adventurers that I know would be sick if they saw all of these bodies being wasted, the magic within them left to rot on the floor like the runoff from a drain. If they do not wish to use these things for themselves, then allow me to use them.¡± ¡°The Willian Guild is not an adventurer¡¯s league. We do not solely make our measure by our ability to slay monsters and to pull magic from the bodies of these ephemeral creatures. The slaying of monsters is an important aspect of being a fully realized magician, but our concerns span a larger scope. We do not hold to the same traditions and values as an adventurer might.¡± ¡°Then give me what I have rightfully killed,¡± I say, gesturing around at the room. With the aid of Galea, counting the corpses that lay around the space is simple. ¡°I personally killed two-hundred sixty-three of these monsters, but all of their bodies languish below. In this room, there are only one-hundred thirty-five corpses of stickers. Should I not be rewarded for dispatching this number? Is it my fault that they all died so far away from where I can retrieve them?¡± A bark of laughter booming around the room sets my hair standing on end. There is a force inside the sound, something that I know could crush me just as simply as I might an ant. ¡°Yes, Ms. Devardem, I would indeed say that it is your own fault. Perhaps you should endeavor to be more judicious in your application of fire in the future.¡± Silence follows the words, so long that I almost speak, but stop myself when the voice reappears, its sound making the magic walls throughout the room quake. ¡°I will take a bit of pity on you, given that you are the only one to even ask for such a reward.¡± At the proclamation, the walls throughout the room continue vibrate, their frequency pushing a whine through the air that sounds as if the tower will collapse around me. Then, as if they were made of glass, each of the fourteen walls throughout the chamber shatter into sharp motes of mana that melt into the air. ¡°You have ten minutes, Ms. Devardem. Good luck.¡± My feet carry me like the wind, sprinting through the room, burning away the sticky blood littering the floor where I can¡¯t simply jump across. I am not stupid; this is an amazing gift I have been given. There is no chance that I am going to waste it. The stairway closing behind me shakes the room I step into. Wood, a dark red with striated grain, covers the floor and walls, the ceiling left as bare and white stone. The chill that continued to linger on the first floor of the tower is banished by the fire blazing in a hearth on one side of the room, a long table placed between me and it. Three pairs of eyes turn in my direction as I step into the enclosure. Jess stands at a stovetop, cooking plants or roots I have never seen before on an iron skillet; the smell is heavenly. Clarice lounges on a long sofa set near the fire, her armor stripped and set on a small table in front of her. She runs an oiled cloth along the length of a vambrace, barely noting me as I enter. The only other person awake in the room, Jasper, looks up from a book that he is reading at a third table, a shoddy looking round ornament set near the stove and a small basin for water. He opens his mouth as if to greet me, but as his eyes move over me and my disheveled state, his mouth snaps shut. Jor¡¯Mari and Samielle sleep on small cots opposite the hearth; there are seven cots in total, segregated to the far corner of the room. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Jess looks me up and down as I walk into the room, clicking her tongue. ¡°You may want to take your boots off. Actually, please take your boots off.¡± I look down, noticing the grime stuck to my boots. Despite my attempts to burn the monster blood up as I raced through the room, a slight film of the beige blood still cakes the soles of my boots, making each step feel like I am walking in mud. Not wanting to put the boots back into my inventory¨CI have no idea if they will make other things sticky in there¨CI work my way out of them, leaving them in the middle of the room. Two distinct footprints of the strange blood lingers behind me, and I can smell their acrid stench wafting up. ¡°What is this?¡± I ask, looking around at the room. ¡°Aren¡¯t we supposed to continue up the tower.¡± Jess taps the wooden spoon in her hand on the side of her skillet a few times before setting it to the side. The smell of cooking greens and mushrooms banishes the smell of the monster blood as soon as I step into the small kitchen, and the sound of the food sizzling in the pan sets my mouth to watering. For the last few weeks, all I have eaten has been meat cooked over an open fire. It is strange how much I miss simple smell like this. ¡°We will keep going,¡± Jess says, pointing to one of the walls. There, the outline of an archway stands out amidst the wood, looking as if someone burnt the arch into the wall itself. ¡°When we arrived, we found a note telling us that we should relax and recuperate. The door in the wall will open in eighteen hours, well a little less than that now, and we will be allowed to move on to the next challenge. There is a basin for washing around the corner there, and clean clothes to change into.¡± Now that she mentions it, I notice Jess is dressed in different clothes from before. It would be more accurate to say that she is actually wearing clothes now. I don¡¯t think that she had anything on beneath her armor before. Perhaps that is a benefit of her beautiful, scaled skin, no chafing from armor. The outfit she wears now is simple, a white linen blouse with a brown linen skirt, all unadorned, but the silver buttons give away the expensive quality of the clothing. Looking around the room again, I notice everyone seems to be wearing fine if somewhat simple clothing. A pile of everyone¡¯s armor and sweat-soaked clothes lays piled in a corner of the room. ¡°That seems rather kind for the Willian Guild,¡± I say, stepping up to the pan and getting a good whiff of the fragrant greens. ¡°You didn¡¯t need to kill a monster in the washtub in order to use it?¡± As I reach to pick one of the mushrooms out of the sizzling pan, a wooden spoon slaps down on my gauntleted fingers. ¡°Not before you wash yourself. Charlene, your face and hands are covered in blood.¡± Rubbing the back of my hand, I look down to see the lingering signs of dried blood staining the steel. I touch my chin, finding my fingers sticky and red when I pull them away. It takes me a moment to remember how this happened. ¡°I was hit in the face a lot earlier.¡± A snort answers my words from the sofa near the fire. I turn, spotting Clarice covering her mouth with the rag in her hand. ¡°I¡¯ll make sure that none of these beasts have at this food before you finish, but you really do need to wash. When was the last time that you bathed?¡± Jess asks, stirring her pan again. ¡°I swam through a river,¡± I say, a bit sheepishly. Backing away, I ask, ¡°Where are the new clothes?¡± ¡°There is a wardrobe near the water basin,¡± Jasper pipes up, obviously trying to seem helpful. The man turns away with a blush as soon as I look his way. ¡°You won¡¯t try and take a peek, will you?¡± I ask, finding the clever bend in the room I didn¡¯t notice before. Something about how the grain in the wall blends into the small hallway that turns around a corner makes it hard to notice. ¡°I most certainly will not,¡± Jasper sputters, still not looking at me. Behind the bend a warm tub of fresh water and a small wardrobe awaits me. Just as Jess had said, clean and fresh clothes lay within the wardrobe. The soak that I have in the tub, scrubbing off the dirt and grime that has stuck to my body over the last few weeks is the best bath that I have ever taken. As soon as the blood and dirt washes off my skin to mix into the water, it seems to vanish, the water staying a pure crystal in color. The warm water is so relaxing that I continue to soak for a long while, feeling the tension of the last few weeks leech out of me into the water. The worst of it is all the ick that I squeeze out of my hair. The strands of dark orange are far finer than I have had my whole life, but it takes considerable effort to work free the dirt and cloying grime. Perhaps there was a benefit to my nest of curly hair before. The clothes in the wardrobe are miraculously in my size: Two sets of undergarments, a black linen blouse and a red one, a white linen skirt, and finally a set of tan breeches. I dress, finding the crimson blouse fairly flattering and the breeches a bit of a squeeze to get into, making sure to store all of the other clothes in my inventory before leaving the wash area. To my disappointment, the guild didn¡¯t see fit to fit me with new shoes or socks. I suppose that means that I will need to give my boots and greaves a good wash. I notice Jasper¡¯s eyes widen as I come back around the corner, the man standing from his chair, and only realizing that he has done so after a second. I can¡¯t help but smile at his befuddlement. The obvious compliment is deeply appreciated; I don¡¯t think that I have ever made a man do that before, but it also goes to show just how horrid I had looked before. I must have been a sight. Two wooden bowls sit on the counter near Jess as she cleans the pan she used to cook in. She looks me up and down as I return. ¡°Much better. Would you like to eat?¡± ¡°I am starving actually,¡± I say. As I take one of the bowls and a wooden fork, ready to head to the long oaken table no one is occupying, I leave two paper wrapped packages on the counter near the stove. ¡°Try cooking this later.¡± ¡°What is it?¡± Jess asks, picking up her own bowl. ¡°Sticker meat. I thought that it might be tasty,¡± I say. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jasper blanch at the mention. Jess weighs one of the parcels in her hand and turns it over, sniffing the paper. ¡°It might do,¡± she says, tossing it back onto the counter. ¡°Come. We should eat.¡± As we sit at the table, digging into the meal Jess prepared, my heart leaves this competition for the first time in weeks, my mind pulled back to my childhood, eating fried greens around the kitchen table with my parents. The savory smell, the salty taste of the well-seasoned mushrooms, all of it makes me want to cry. A pressure wells in my chest, but no tears fall as I scrape fork against bowl, trying to pick up every last morsel. It isn¡¯t that I stop the tears, but that none come, even as I let go. There is an ache in my heart that I can¡¯t quite place, and sitting here in this small room, chewing on the end of my wooden fork, I feel like there is something I have lost. A hand falls on top of my own, and I look across the table to see unreserved sympathy on Jess¡¯ face. I smile, but it doesn¡¯t feel real to me. ¡°This was really good.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad you liked it,¡± she says, rubbing her thumb across the back of my hand for a moment before pulling away. ¡°It has been an age before I had a proper place to prepare a meal.¡± ¡°It is nice,¡± I agree, looking around the small room, my eyes eventually landing on the two dozing in the corner. ¡°I can¡¯t help but feel like things will turn bad soon.¡± ¡°I know what you mean,¡± Jess agrees. ¡°Everything I have been through in this competition makes me want to doubt any feeling of safety. Luckily, the guild has also seen fit to let us know what we will be doing next.¡± Jess hands a sheet of parchment to me. I read over the words on the page, noting that a three lines of text have been written in several different languages down the page. I can only read the most basic and see that it does mention that there will be an eighteen-hour rest period before the next part of the tower trial begins. The next line leaves me confused. Setting aside the paper, I look to Jess. ¡°What in the world is Stoneball?¡± Chapter 72 - Revelation ¡°How do you not know?¡± Both Jess and I turn to look over to Clarice as she sits on the orange sofa near the fire. The woman holds a piece of her leather armor in her hand, part of the leg-guard I think, and an oiled rag in the other. Her eyes shift between the both of us before finally lingering on the crown I am wearing. Her gaze reminds me that I am wearing the piece. The rest of my armor has been tossed to the side of the room where everyone else has stacked their own sweaty and bloody pieces, but the crown was easy enough to clean during my bath. A wave of vertigo hit me when I removed it to wash; I think that likely has something to do with the sheer number of attribute points that it gifts me. Clarice¡¯s mouth works, trying to find words, before the woman jumps to her feet and stalks over to the table we sit at. Two wooden bowls jump when her hand slaps down onto the table, a look of pure and righteous indignation on her face. ¡°You aren¡¯t royalty, are you?¡± I blink up at the woman, my mind failing to even comprehend the words. ¡°What?¡± Across the table, Jess breaks into a fit of hysterical laughter. ¡°So, you are not Princess Amanandra Corellion?¡± Clarice asks. ¡°No,¡± I manage to say. ¡°You seem to have me confused with someone else.¡± ¡°Is it any wonder? You go around wearing a crown, burning people at a whim, ordering others like it was the natural course.¡± Clarice huffs. Her eyes roam over the note on the table in front of me. The woman closes her eyes and takes a deep and patient breath before turning back to us with a put-upon smile. ¡°I can take it that you are not among the peerage from your country then either, if you do not know Stoneball. If you would like, I can explain this game to you.¡± Clarice joins us at the table. Despite the woman¡¯s apparent feeling of being tricked by me, she is pleasant once we begin to really speak. She says that she comes from the continent of Voral, directly south of the one Gale is located on. Though she professes not to care that neither I nor Jess are of noble blood, she seems exasperated at needing to explain anything to us. I don¡¯t blame her for it, the woman strikes me as one that loves to hear the sound of her own voice, and for the first time speaking to an elven noble, I work up the courage to ask the kinds of questions that I restrained myself from out of a sense of propriety. She explains Stoneball as being a relatively simple game where a group of players meet on a mowed field, each attempting to carry a ball made of stone into the opponent¡¯s goal in order to score. ¡°So, it is just a ball game?¡± I ask when Clarice ends her explanation of the finer points of Stoneball, not that there apparently seem to be any finer points. ¡°I have played plenty of those when I was younger. This game sounds boring by comparison. Carry a heavy ball to the other side of the field to score points.¡± ¡°If I am being honest, I have never played myself,¡± Clarice blows a lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind a pointed ear. ¡°I have been dragged to a few matches by my older brothers, and I do find it boring. The men seem to love it though. You also misunderstand. The ball is heavy, yes, but it grows heavier the longer you hold onto it. It is supposed to encourage passing between teammates, but in the end all it does is give loudmouths and meatheads an excuse to try and show off their strength by carrying it the entire length of the field. It is a game solely reliant upon the strength of those competing. Not the kind of game for third-sons.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± I ask. The apparent ignorance in my voice seems to catch Clarice up. Her face brightens for a moment, as she nods. ¡°Right. We call the unendowed in Voral third-sons. I think they are called hopeful lords and ladies in the Empire.¡± Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jor¡¯Mari shift on his cot. His ability to pretend to sleep is admirable. Where would someone need to learn something like that? My mind returns to the conversation. Hopeful lords are what the nobility calls their children born after the first two children. Remarkably, because apparently, I am as dense as a stone, I quickly understand Clarice¡¯s incredibly complicated term of ¡°third-sons.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t understand why they would not play this game as well. Surely, without the burden of preparing for lordship and¡­whatever it is that inheriting lords and ladies get up to, third-sons would be able to focus on games more. From everything that I have heard about the hopeful lords and ladies in hostels and guilds, they seem like a frivolous lot, whiling away their parent¡¯s money and hoping that they somehow get bumped up the inheritance ladder,¡± I say. Clarice squints at me, attempting to figure out if I am joking with her. ¡°I will try not to take that as an insult,¡± she says. ¡°Are you a third-son, third-daughter rather?¡± I ask. Based on the information that my eye revealed to me about the woman, I had guessed that she was a bastard of a nobleman. She lacks the sheen of hair that all true-borns have. ¡°It is still third-son, even when speaking about women.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t make much sense,¡± I say, eliciting a snort of laughter from Jess. ¡°Since when does language make sense? Anyway, yes, I am a third-son.¡± She stops for a moment, seeming to realize something. ¡°I haven¡¯t introduced myself, have I? Things have been awfully chaotic in the last hour. It appears that we will be on the same team going forward, introductions are in order.¡± She stands, offering Jess, Jasper, and I a well-practiced curtsy. ¡°My name is Clarice Morningcall, and I am the fifth child of Baron Arghast Morningcall, Baron of Cultina City, Pledged Lord of Count Karfinger, Lord of The Lioncress Kingdom under his majesty King Dravan Co¡¯Listina.¡± Without Galea¡¯s help, I doubt I could remember all of that perfectly, though my memory has proved exceptional in the last few months. We all take a moment to introduce ourselves, Jess and I giving the names of the two ¡°sleeping¡± on the cots in the corner. Jasper stumbles over his words, stuffing as many ¡°your ladyships¡± into his words as he can. I decline revealing Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s noble heritage; it isn¡¯t my place to speak on. Clarice ends introductions quite surprised that she is the only noble born in the room for all she is aware. ¡°So, obviously with my severe lack of endowment as the fifth born, I could not compete with my eldest siblings,¡± Clarice says once she has taken her seat again.¡±I was fortunate enough to have my native affixes align with two of the essentia my father had won in a tournament when he was still a young knight. Otherwise, I might very well have become one of those layabouts that spend all of their day at Marley¡¯s Tavern, entreating women into their bed with their fancy name and the flash of silver.¡± ¡°So, is endowment about inheritance then?¡± I ask. ¡°You would have relations with other women?¡± Jasper asks from his chair at the other table. Three sets of eyes turn towards the man, making him wither. A chuckle that morphs into an exaggerated snore comes from the corner of the room. ¡°No, endowment, as in the general term. I am not aware if there is another name for it in Gale,¡± Clarice says, pointedly ignoring Jasper. She looks to Jess for help. ¡°I don¡¯t know what they call it in Gale,¡± Jess says. ¡°In the mountains where I am from, it is called endowment, like it is everywhere. At least, everywhere that speaks Castinian,¡± Jess says, shrugging. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°I suppose I just do not know what that is then,¡± I say, looking between the two, watching the shock grow in both of their eyes. ¡°The only time I have ever heard anyone speak of endowment is when men want to talk about their snakes.¡± Clarice leans forward, her eyes darting back and forth, searching for words. ¡°I hope that you do not take this as an insult. Are you and your family yeomen, Ms. Devardem?¡± I can¡¯t stop a bark of laughter, a bit of self-consciousness leaking in. ¡°My father wishes that he might be a freeholder one day. No, Lady Arghast, my father is a villein. We owe our land and patronage to Lord Timmian. He is a petty noble with only a few small estates to his name, but he is a good man and has been kind to my family.¡± ¡°I had heard rumors of how ignorant the Empire kept its peasants,¡± Clarice mutters. Her eyes widen when she realizes that she said those words aloud. ¡°I truly do not mean to insult you.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, dismissing her worry with a gesture. ¡°In the past year, I have become very aware of how ignorant I have been my whole life. Please, explain what you mean by endowment to me. I have never heard of it.¡± Jess and Clarice share a glance before the elven woman moves into her explanation. The information she reveals to me, speaking as if it is the most simple and self-evident thing, wholly shatters my understanding of the world. According to Clarice, endowment fits hand and glove with the nobility¡¯s right to rule, a right built on strength and stability. As she explains it, the rulers of nations and kingdoms are empowered by the souls of those that live within the borders of their lands. Kings and Queens are capable of wielding the strength of millions of souls. Each ignorant wrench inside their borders, whether they labor in fields from sunup to sundown, are migratory merchants that travel the roads, or craftsman plying a single trade for their entire lives, imparts a fraction of the power residing inside their souls to their monarchs without any conscious effort. The power of the royalty, especially those in the largest kingdoms the world over, can rival and even outstrip fifth rank magicians. The few examples Clarice gives put my imagination to shame, a king shattering a mountain to dust because it obstructs his view, a queen turning a river to salt to spite a fisherman that denied her, an empress literally lifting an entire town to throw it upside down back into the earth. The spread of this endowment does not end with the royalty. The nobles beneath the absolute rulers are apportioned a piece of this incredible power, a tithe of the power going to each Duke, then to the Earls, Viscounts, and even the Barons. Even at the lowest, the rank of Baron, the nobility will be able to exercise the power of a third rank magician; there is simply that much power fed to them by the souls inhabiting their lands: the greater the population, the greater the power. Endowment then further spreads, affecting the children of those that hold titles and lands, becoming more diffuse past the first child and dwindling to almost nothing by the third. Clarice takes in my obvious confusion, trying to relate endowment to the essentia that I know better. The nobility possessing endowment do not have the same magical abilities that a magician might, though they are able to manifest something akin to a soul presence that carries their natural affixes inside. She compares the endowed nobles to attribute specialists, though she claims it is as if they specialize in all attributes simultaneously. They do not keep their place through clever application of power, but through welding overwhelming might and peerless skill. This power is shared by all people¡¯s everywhere, all lords of any domain that hold an inherent or bestowed sovereignty. It is impossible that I cannot have known about this. When I was a girl, I saw Lord Timmian¡¯s eldest son lift a cart that had fallen into the road over his head before setting it back on the road. I never thought again about that, the man was a true blood noble, wielding that kind of power was inherent to him and his kin. That is why they are the lords and we are the field hands, craftsmen, indentured servants, and work chattel. If it isn¡¯t their blood and the favor of the gods that give them such majesty and power, if it is only that they have power because of their position, how can anything I was taught in church school be trusted. It sounds so arbitrary, a small distinction, but it sticks in my mind like a rusted nail. Was Dovik right? Have I been lied to my whole life? ¡°That is also why lords try to find ways to dispatch their third-sons into some kind of professional order. Becoming an essentia magician is incredibly costly and less than one in two-hundred ever cross the threshold into the third rank, but it is a path for third-sons to go forward. The exceptionally ambitious among us might even manage to make it to the third-rank, and at that point you might be considered on par with your more fortunate peers.¡± Clarice spins a wooden fork between her fingers, looking into the wall, oblivious to me or anyone else. ¡°I hope that I can reach that someday, though my ambition might be lacking. The guild associate in Westerly Lanes saw talent enough in me to sponsor me for this event, but if this contest is a true reflection of the young elite among magicians, I might not want to keep the company. It isn¡¯t as if my father is all that rich of a man. Nowadays it seems as if every wealthy merchant is able to secure a set of essentia for their favorite child, turn them into powerful men and women that can carry their business into success. ¡°That kind of scene is all over Graessa, the capital. Young magicians, drunk on their power, rubbing elbows with their betters, ingratiating themselves. Graessa is lousy with rank two magicians, after all, rank two is a guarantee so long as you can secure a soul cage. They don¡¯t need to risk their lives fighting beasts or each other, they can use their personal power, beauty, and agelessness as their currency, pursuing material wealth. It doesn¡¯t sound like such a bad life. I¡¯ve been told rank two magicians among the shorter-lived races can eke out a few centuries, their true age never catching up with them until just before the end. I could see myself doing that, never risking my life to push myself into the third rank, but a part of me knows it would shame father. ¡°I could have taken clerical orders. As far as I am aware, piety is the only requirement to climb that hierarchy. I could see myself there, but they would take too much of my freedom I think.¡± ¡°That is a lot to think about,¡± I say, saying anything to try and stop her barrage of information. ¡°Everyone has to choose how their life is going to play out at some point,¡± Jess says. ¡°There are myriad paths to power in this world.¡± ¡°And what kind of Lord¡¯s daughter would I be if I did not pursue power as my ultimate goal,¡± Clarice says, stabbing her fork on the table. ¡°Which, I suppose, is why I have become so interested in you, Ms. Devardem.¡± She catches my eye, and I can see her curiosity, a void in her dark eyes that wants to drag me in. ¡°How did you manage to get your hands on a set of essentia when your family are peasants bonded to the land? The amount of gold needed for even a single essentia is incredible. You could not manage it in a dozen lifetimes based on what a villein is able to scrimp and save.¡± ¡°My brother is a brave man,¡± I say. ¡°When he was still a boy, he took a knife and climbed a mountain famous for the dangerous monsters that lived upon it. When he returned, days later, he brought back with him three essentia. The ritual to integrate essentia is a restricted thing, something that requires a lord¡¯s approval to be done. Corinth was afraid that Lord Timmian would confiscate the essentia that he had nearly died to find out in the wilderness, but the lord owed my father a favor. That was almost twelve years ago now. He has done well for himself, and when he was able, he sent essentia to each of us, so that we would not age and our bodies would not break working the orchard.¡± ¡°He must be an incredible man to manage all of that,¡± Clarice says, whistling. ¡°He is.¡± I don¡¯t know what compels me to lie about how I received my essentia. Corinth only ever sent me a single one, Arabella gave me more than he had. I can¡¯t even remember my brother anymore. All of the stories about him come from either Halford or my mother; I don¡¯t know why my father won¡¯t speak of him to me. In my memory, all I can recall is my brother¡¯s strong back as he walked into the sunset, all of his life ahead of him. Anyone could know, even just by seeing the man¡¯s back, that he had a dream in his heart so powerful that it would shake the world. A jealousy deep in my gut at the thought of him makes me hate myself. I am not jealous of his power, his strength, or his determination. What I want more than anything is that feeling he must have felt, how it feels to have a dream. Halford had it too, I could see it every day when he woke early to train, in the way that he bent over backward to keep him and his team safe while constantly pushing forward, in the brilliance of his smile when he finally ascended into the second rank. Why do they get to have a dream, while I languish here without anything like that. I can work for a full day as well as any of them, I am smarter than my peers, I am kind, aren¡¯t I? Why then can¡¯t I figure out how to want something so hard that my soul stirs at the thought of having it? ¡°I think that I am going to go to sleep,¡± I say, standing. ¡°Are you feeling alright?¡± Jess asks as I walk toward the cots. ¡°I am fine,¡± I say, flashing a smile that we both know I don¡¯t mean. ¡°I am just tired from all the fighting today. Can you imagine how much mana I have spent? I could pass out any second from fatigue.¡± Her eyes linger on me as she collects the bowls and utensils to carry back to the basin of water. ¡°I have a while left before I can sleep. I think that I will cook this meat and anything else we have for rations later. We don¡¯t know the next time that we will have access to a proper stove.¡± I curl up in the warm woolen bedding, my head feeling the caress of a pillow for the first time in weeks. I don¡¯t feel it, the moment when sleep overcomes me, but thankfully it is a dreamless sleep. This room itself is more reward for the past few weeks than I could have hoped for. Just a fraction, my opinion of the guild rises, but only just the barest amount. Chapter 73 - Talks on Power I am beginning to understand Clarice¡¯s distaste for stickers. I woke up ready to prepare myself for the contest ahead, this game of Stoneball, but knew that I needed to begin with maintaining my kit. Sticker blood, even with the aid of magical fire, is an awful thing to deal with. My first hour and a half of the day is spent scrubbing my clothes and armor in the wash bin until my hands are raw. The sticker meat, on the other hand, turns out to be rather tasty, almost like fish. To my delight, there is a magical affix dwelling deep inside the meat. I don¡¯t immediately recognize its symbol, and leave it as a mystery for the moment, not wanting to pull out all of my books in front of other people. People give me room as I sit in front of the empty hearth, fiddling with the latches on my breastplate. One of the latches became a bit loose during the last fight, probably when that giant metal man slapped me in the chest. Samielle continues to sleep, his wounds still looking nasty, while Jess and Jasper speak at one of the tables. She casts glances at the man when she thinks no one is looking. She must really care about him. ¡°Do you want to talk about our failure?¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, dropping down into one of the chair near me. He looks around the room, his eyes lingering on the ceiling. ¡°The guild is probably listening to everything.¡± That is something I hadn¡¯t really considered before. When I was lost in the forest, when two competitors stabbed me and threw me off a cliff, where were they? In the first level of the tower, that woman revealed that they had seen everything that went on in this competition, why didn¡¯t they intervene? ¡°They don¡¯t care about us,¡± I say, tightening the latch on my armor with a copper piece. ¡°If they cared, do you think they would have let so many people die? Would they have begun this competition with a slaughter?¡± ¡°I suppose,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, scratching his chin with his pointed nails. ¡°Then again, why should they care?¡± ¡°Why should they care?¡± I set my armor aside and look at the man. ¡°Aren¡¯t they people? Didn¡¯t that woman yesterday claim that it is the guild¡¯s responsibility to protect people, to keep them safe from monsters and others? If they really care about protecting people, then they should make sure no one dies in their own competition.¡± Jor¡¯Mari rolls his eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t believe that drivel that they peddle. The first thing that you have to realize about magicians is that they are greedy and envious. Magicians¡¯ guilds are suppressed all of the time when they begin to form, either by the local nobility or by the larger guilds. There is a simple reason for this; magician guilds are trying to build a power base to challenge the landed nobility. Their wealth is impressive, and they are able to accomplish goals on a wider scale than most countries, but all of it is for the benefit of personal power. The Willian Guild is no different.¡± ¡°To what end? If they do not have a higher drive, if they lie about their motivations, then why would they try to scrape power together?¡± He looks at me as if I were a child, his eyes softening a moment later. ¡°I will tell you what my father once told me. I remember the day perfectly; I had just had my nose bloodied during sparring practice with my cousin. For the entire day before, I spent my time fishing in the lake on the estate, didn¡¯t catch anything, but it was a good day. All the while, my cousin spent his time in the training yard, working and working. It was evident from the moment that we started the duel that I would lose. Despite being an unendowed fifth son of a minor lord, Edwin never stopped trying to hone his skill with the sword. He beat me well and good, knocked me into the mud and broke my nose. After the medicos had a look at me and set my face straight, I had to place myself in front of my father so that he could properly detail to me what I had done wrong. ¡°He spoke of the usual things, how I didn¡¯t care to practice, how I relied on the little talent that he would acknowledge, how my good start would be ruined, and how of my peers would climb the rungs of power ahead of me, eventually leaving me so far behind that my name would become an afterthought. I asked him then, standing in his court, looking down at the angelic figures of the family¡¯s storied history carved into the wood, what was the point of power? Edwin was a hard worker, but he was a dullard, and he had no real future ahead of him. My older brother Cravid was already showing signs of inheriting a portion of my father¡¯s endowment, but all he did was spend his time cavorting in taverns where men pretended not to recognize the duke¡¯s son, only now he could lift kegs over his head to impress the locals. Why should he be gifted power so freely when everyone knew that he would never find a proper use for it? ¡°My father looked at me, his face as grave as I have ever seen it, and he revealed to me a vital truth of this world. There is no purpose to power. No one in this world requires an excuse or a reason to seek it out. As he often does, he quoted an ancient text from the Hillvari, that power is the confluence of force and movement. No one needs a reason to seek power, because power does not function on reason. Power is the ability for someone or something to manifest force, their will, and make others move. No reason is required, because everyone has a secret buried in their heart, a desire for the world to be just a bit different. That is what power allows, enabling one person or a group of people to shift the world, pushing it more towards how they think that it should be. From the lowest villein deciding that a rocky field would be better if it supported a crop of grain to the highest king issuing a decree and watching millions jump to action, everyone exercises what power they have to change the world. ¡°Then he made this point abundantly clear, poking me in the chest with his finger. Everyone, and I mean everyone, has that seed of pride inside of them, thinking that the world is just a bit tilted and that they have some inkling of how it can be righted.¡± Jor¡¯Mari has a bittersweet look in his eye as he reclines in his chair, sighing and looking down at his hand. ¡°That still does not explain why the guild would not intervene,¡± I say, looking him over. With proper clothes on, pink-dyed linen for his blouse and some black breeches, he is so different from the man that I first met. He looks smaller than I remember him, vulnerable. ¡°How does allowing the children of nobility inside of their lands grant the guild more power? If anything, would it not diminish it?¡± ¡°I can¡¯t be certain,¡± he says, looking up from his hand. ¡°I do not know or understand much about the political game, but I know enough not to guess at goals or motives. Half of politics is hiding these things after all. It could be incompetence, but I have a difficult time believing that such a powerful force could be so incompetent. They showed us yesterday that they saw everything, they must have a reason for not interfering then, but I haven¡¯t the faintest clue as to what that reason might be. Perhaps they gain from all of us going around and killing one another somehow, or maybe they are trying to stir blood-feuds between the nobility. The reason that it is a poor idea to guess at these things is because it is easy to invent a reason. That by itself is not so bad, but when you begin to believe and act on your own imaginings, you will inevitably misstep.¡± ¡°You are speaking to me quite a bit today,¡± I say. ¡°Feeling chatty?¡± ¡°Maybe I am,¡± he says. ¡°Is it so strange that I might want someone to speak with? I grow lonely at times, and you seem to share a similar¡­focus with me. I find that attractive.¡± I snort, rolling my eyes. ¡°No, I am serious,¡± he says, leaning forward. ¡°More than just the fact that we have been wronged in the same way, I see what is going on beneath the skin. When I met you in that cafe, you were just a local girl plucked out of obscurity. Arabella saw something in you, and I admit that I did not see it then. It has only been a short time since then and your mastery of your power has expanded faster than I have seen anyone else¡¯s before. Well, other than myself of course. I know that does not happen simply by standing still or by lacking a particular level of ambition.¡± I cannot help but laugh. ¡°I do not feel ambitious,¡± I say. ¡°I am simply fortunate in some very particular ways. I feel as if I have spent most of my time as a magician not taking anything seriously. Despite understanding how deadly the world is and knowing that as someone fortunate enough to have gained these powers I would need to hurl myself at that danger, I barely considered it. If Kendon and Coriander never betrayed me, I don¡¯t know if I ever would have started moving forward.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t that make it all the more impressive then?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks. ¡°If you have only been dedicating yourself to accruing power for a short time, it is startling how well you have managed it. The both of us are still in the first rank, where gaining power is far easier, but you are catching up. The two of us have power and we have a shared way that we wish for the world to be, without those two in it. Are we not a perfect depiction of what my father said before?¡± Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Didn¡¯t he say power is without a reason?¡± I ask. ¡°You just said that we share a reason.¡± He waves off the comment. ¡°Perhaps the distinction is still too nuanced for you to understand.¡± I can¡¯t help but share his smirk. The man can be awfully charming when he isn¡¯t being a prick. ¡°Is that what we want though, for the world to exist without Kendon or Coriander?¡± ¡°You aren¡¯t getting cold feet on me now,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°I was stabbed many times yesterday trying to do just that.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t go unscathed either,¡± I say. His eyes roam over me, lingering a bit too long in certain places. ¡°You could have fooled me.¡± I shake my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know if I want to kill them. It feels a little¡­too simple.¡± ¡°They turned me into a murderer,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, his words dripping venom as he flexes his hand. The leather of the chair he sits on cries as his nails dig into it, ripping. ¡°That bastard stabbed me in the back and drove me to kill someone in cold blood. He doesn¡¯t deserve to live. The world will be better off without him.¡± ¡°Maybe things would be better without either of them running around, but I don¡¯t really care about that,¡± I say, a little startled at my own words. They are true I realize. ¡°That might be a bit selfish. It just doesn¡¯t matter to me whether the world is a better place with them in it or not. I just want to make them suffer, to feel that same pain and fear that I felt a hundred times over. I want them to stew in that fear, I want them to crawl and scratch, trying to free themselves from it, but never being able to. I want them to wish that every day when they wake up that someone will come and put them out of their misery. Dead people don¡¯t feel things like that.¡± ¡°Tits and honey, you are a viper,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°What then do you propose to do? I still want to rip that bastard¡¯s throat out, but I am not closed to other ideas. Though, I doubt that the guild will allow such blatant violence any longer. They do not seem the kind to make idle threats.¡± ¡°They said that they would allow violence as long as it was inside the bounds of the competition,¡± I point out. ¡°I don¡¯t doubt that there will be a point that excuse will be relevant. If it isn¡¯t, we can at the least embarrass them and force them to fail this contest. I know that Kendon dreams of succeeding here, he told me as much before. If I could take at least that little from him then it would be a good step forward.¡± ¡°You really aren¡¯t the forgiving kind,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°Not when someone tries to kill me,¡± I say. I pause, studying the man across from me. I know that at least two people in the room are eavesdropping on our conversation, but that is fine by me. They probably should know what the goals of their teammates are, and it isn¡¯t as if we have much privacy. ¡°Are you really just lonely and looking for someone to speak to?¡± ¡°Would you be so surprised if I said that I was?¡± he asks. ¡°I like people; they are interesting. It has been torture stalking through the silent woods, keeping the companionship of bloodthirsty monsters. They severely lack in the ability to banter. Besides, it is much easier to speak to you now that I don¡¯t have to worry about accidentally revealing the secret of endowment to you.¡± My eyes narrow. ¡°So, you knew that I didn¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Of course, you are a human. In the empire, it is illegal to teach a human about these matters. The empire believes that your people are far better being a happy and ignorant workforce.¡± He holds up his hands when he looks up to see my face. ¡°Don¡¯t blame me; I certainly won¡¯t try and defend the empire¡¯s laws. They are backwards. Keeping the human populace ignorant of the world and how things work has only led to the slow decline of the empire over the past few centuries. It isn¡¯t just the matter of endowment either. There is an entire wing of the royal service dedicated to keeping your people an ignorant and superstitious lot, suspicious of learning and bettering yourselves. One day, when the emperor dies, the armies of our neighbors will sweep in and start plucking up the land. That is what happens when you allow commerce and innovation to languish in the name of stability and safety.¡± ¡°So, everyone else knows about this power that the nobility keep, endowment. What those two said was true, and I have been kept in the dark for my whole life about something so fundamental.¡± ¡°I have only left the empire once before,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°I cannot say one way or another as to whether the information is wide-spread, but I do know that it is a part of the legal doctrine to keep that information from the lower classes within the empire.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°For the reason that I said before,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°Power. The empire is afraid of your people, and they want to keep the power for themselves.¡± ¡°How could they possibly be afraid of a bunch of farmers. Does us knowing that the lords and ladies are soaking up the power of our souls to make themselves stronger instead of it being a natural product of their race change much? They are still mighty. What could they fear from a bunch of people with pitchforks and crafting hammers? The lowliest baron can still put down an entire legion of peasants by themselves.¡± ¡°Well, tell me, does knowing the truth change things for you now?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks. I stop a moment, trying to look inward. ¡°It does,¡± I say. ¡°It is just a feeling though, like suddenly fairness has been stripped out of the world. I knew before that it was not fair that the true-blood elves should have so much more power than me, but there was a rightness about it. I had gotten it into my head from Sister Grace¡¯s stories that we deserved to be lesser than them. After the human crusades, we are fortunate to be allowed to live on their lands and to tend their fields. But they don¡¯t give us the land because they are gracious, do they. They give us the land, they allow us to have our small lives, because it makes them stronger to do so, and they won¡¯t even let us know about it. I never agreed to that.¡± He smirks. ¡°You should know better than anyone, those without power don¡¯t have the privilege to agree or disagree with the world.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not powerless anymore,¡± I say. ¡°No,¡± he agrees. ¡°No, you aren¡¯t.¡± I sigh, looking at the wall and the arch burned into it. I don¡¯t have a good way to tell time in here. It might already be approaching the time when that door will open, but my gut tells me that we have a long ways to go still. ¡°You are odd for being a lord,¡± I say, a part of me wondering how he will react. ¡°Well, that is because I am not,¡± he says, ¡°Surely, even you understood that there are no non-elven lords in Gale. I don¡¯t misunderstand, most bastards born in my circumstances spend their lives mucking out stables and ducking the lord¡¯s lady wife. I was born luckier than most, my father, despite all of the pressure from his family, joined my name with that of Mari. I have mucked plenty of stables in my day, but at least I had a bed to sleep in. It was a good life.¡± ¡°Was?¡± He pauses, his gaze still on the ceiling as he leans back in his seat. ¡°Was,¡± he repeats. ¡°I am a magician now, aren¡¯t I? I was never going to go anywhere on that estate. If I am going to have any kind of name worth remembering, I will have to make it on my own. If I am going to make even the least bit of good come out of this life that I was given¡­there is so much to do.¡± I can see in his face that he is holding something back. He looks down at his hand again. ¡°He died, and it happened with this hand. It becomes so easy to rip monsters apart with the barest thought; it should be harder, shouldn¡¯t it?¡± Something tells me that he isn¡¯t thinking about the young lordling in the woods. Something Macille once told me long before when he warned me off of getting close to this man comes back to me. Out in front of the first dungeon, Macille told me that Jor¡¯Mari had killed his brother. Just whose blood was he searching for on his clean alabaster hand I wonder. ¡°I remember a bit of it,¡± he says after a moment. ¡°That is how I know you weren¡¯t lying to me then. The entire scene is a blur, running through the woods, cringing from every sound. I remember a man and an awful snapping sound. When I think about it, the feeling of something wet between my fingers comes back to my mind. I know that I did it, that I killed that man. My heart whispers to me, telling me that I did so. I won¡¯t ever forgive that bastard for that, for putting these sensations and emotions in my heart. They won¡¯t ever disappear.¡± He stops, taking a breath as he looks at me. ¡°I am not like you Ms. Devardem, I do want to kill those two. They have already made a murderer out of me, and so when I think about that, I want it to be their faces that I see caught between my fingers, not the dead eyes of some unlucky bastard that happened to stumble upon me by chance when I was insensate.¡± Warmth. I look down. His hand rests beneath my own, but I can¡¯t recall reaching out to him. Pain, more than I understand, lurks in his eyes. His gaze flicks down to where our two hands meet, and the pain retreats, locked away once more in the far back of his thoughts as a smirk comes to his face. I join him, pulling away and looking at the dead fire in the hearth, a smile pulling at my own lips. ¡°If it makes it any better,¡± I say, ¡°I believe that man was the worst kind of man. In the short time that I saw him, he captured a woman, changed her body into the size of a doll and said that he would add her to his collection. He doesn¡¯t seem the kind that should be allowed to wander about, for everyone¡¯s sake.¡± ¡°I thought you said that you didn¡¯t care about what was good for the world,¡± he replies. ¡°Sometimes I might,¡± I say. ¡°Does that help any?¡± He chuckles. ¡°A little bit actually. It doesn¡¯t make me hate those two any less.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°We will need to make sure we reach the top ahead of them. To do that, we are going to need to win three of these Stoneball matches.¡± The note that Jess shared with me before I slept said as much. Each group will have to participate in three matches of the game against other teams, and each loss in the game carries a five hour penalty for heading up to the next floor. ¡°You¡¯re a pompous aristocrat aren¡¯t you; do you have any insight for me.¡± The smirk on the man¡¯s face becomes just a bit more sincere as he leans forward. ¡°Ms. Devardem, did you just ask a nobleman to explain the rules of a sports game to you? Perhaps you do not know this, given your muddy origins, but allow me to demonstrate how dangerous a thing that is.¡± Demonstrate he does. I sit in the chair for the next two hours, listening to Jor¡¯Mari explain the rules and complexities of the game to me, but also of his great achievements in his years of playing it. All the while, I catch glances from Jess and Clarice, each hiding a smile behind their hands as they watch me take in the impromptu lecture. I don¡¯t mind it though, there is a sincerity in Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s explanation, a genuine glee in how animated he becomes trying to make certain I understand the finer details. It is a far better way to spend the day than polishing grimy gear. Chapter 74 - Game Start The eighteen hours came and went without much fuss. All of us faced the archway burned into the wall with rested faces, watching as the line began to burn with crimson fury and eat away at the wood, the entire passageway turning into embers. Sunlight glared in through the newly opened passageway, a warm contrast to the demure light of the fire and the few lamps already around the room. My armor stored away, I followed Jor¡¯Mari out into the shining light, wearing my worn traveling clothes and the leather harness that secures my armor in place. Apparently, using armor is discouraged during this game. Considering the brutality that Jor¡¯Mari described to me in great detail, that seems somewhat of a poor idea. He assures me that I will be fine, and given my incredible ability to recover from injury, I agree. That doesn¡¯t mean that I like to suffer the injuries in the first-place mind you, but a good deal of the sting that comes along with being stabbed vanishes the moment you realize you will be fine in a few minutes. At least the debilitating fear does. A wave of vertigo hits me the moment that I leave our small room. Before me stands the field that I have been told to expect, a rectangle painted into the mowed lawn with white and yellow, two-hundred feet long and fifty wide, two goals at each end. There are seats set off to the side of the field, ten on each side, and floating in the center of the field is a large black cube ten feet off the ground. What sets my stomach to riot, however, has nothing to do with the space in front of me. Glancing to the side as I exit, I find that the walls to the indoor field have vanished, a howling tundra full of ice and snow passing by. The doorway to the room we were just inside stands at the edge of the circular lawn, leading back to the impossible room that is separate from the driving rain and icy field passing by all around. I feel again as if I am on Arabella Willian¡¯s floating manor, watching the world pass beneath me while I seem to stand still. ¡°That must be expensive,¡± Clarice says, cocking her head to the side as she approaches the edge of the lawn, looking almost as if she is about to step over the edge and fall into the snowy world. She reaches out a hand, knocking on something invisible that I come to realize must be the wall of this indoor field. ¡°It is a very good illusion,¡± she says, turning back to us. ¡°I wonder how much this must cost to maintain.¡± I am about to say something when a booming sound comes from the opposite end of the field, making me turn. Another doorway appears out of the air, an archway that leads into a room identical to the one we just left. People emerge from the doorway. Some are as awed by the presentation of the field as I was, others entirely unimpressed. Eyes lock in the space between our group and theirs, and if as by rote, we all begin to approach the center of the field. As I have been made to understand it, the game in its truest intent is incredibly simple. With a name like Stoneball, how could it be anything but. In the game, the object is to gain possession of the ball, and race down to the opposite end of the field with it and your team. When a person crosses into their opponent¡¯s goal while holding the ball, their team scores a point. There are a few more rules, like if someone carrying the ball is driven to the ground, play resets from whatever point they were pulled down. You are also unable to throw the ball forward, only being able to toss it laterally or backward to a teammate. The most important twist on the straightforward game I was told is that there are in fact four different balls that are used in the game. The black cube floating in the center of the field has inside of it the balls that will be used, each one enchanted in a different way. There are four balls: green, yellow, red, and black. When the game begins and after every goal, the cube in the center of the field, called the Dispatch, will toss a different ball into the game. The green ball is the most standard and common among those that the Dispatch hurls into the arena, and it starts every game. While a person holds onto the ball, it will gradually grow heavier and heavier in their arms, weighing them down and making them an easier target for the opposing team. When they pass the ball or lose control of it, the ball becomes light once more. The yellow ball is a bit different. Like the green ball, the yellow will grow heavier over time to encourage a more team-oriented approach, but it will only ever grow half as heavy as the green ball. People refer to it as the Scoring Ball, as the most points in the game are earned off of a lucky yellow ball coming in at the right time. The red ball differs from the previous two in that it does not grow heavier over time. When the ball is tossed out by the dispatch, it already weighs as much as it might. Jor¡¯Mari referred to this ball as the Stoneball, and it weighs three-hundred pounds and is even rarer than the previous two. The black ball, by far the rarest of any, is so uncommon that a group that plays regularly might only see it once every few months. Getting your hands on this ball will push vast amounts of magical power into your body, effectively working like magical equipment. The downside is that the ball will explode after being held onto by the same person for more than seven seconds. Jor¡¯Mari went at length to explain these rules to me, expecting that we would be playing based off of minor tournament rules. Apparently, alongside dueling, equestrian, and the joust, Stoneball is a crowd favorite at the seasonal tournaments the nobles threw for each other in the springtime. The minor tournament rules are established for the young scions of the nobility, those beginning to feel their endowment empowering their bodies. In real tournaments, where the lowliest competitor would be able to match a rank three magician, each ball carries with it greater properties and there is much more danger involved. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Magicians are allowed a place in these competitions, but the stipulations placed upon us are so strict that they seem almost unfair. We are prevented from using our magical abilities in any offensive way, completely prohibited from touching another with any magical power. Given my abilities, I am going to be of little help in this game. Our two groups came to meet each other, standing at the center of the field, looking over one another. Four men and a woman, all the same tall humans that I saw outside the tower, stare back at us. None of them strike me immediately as being all that threatening, except for the man that stands in the center of their line. He is rank two. A booming clap overhead drawls all of our eyes upward. Above us, it appears as if the sky races past, a flurry of clouds and sunrays passing by so quickly that it is dizzying. While the Dispatch continues to hover above the center of the arena, its opaque and shiny black exterior subtly thrumming with a beat that pierces through the air, I spot a woman standing upon it. She is dressed in a green toga, long silken strands clinging to her body, peering over the staff she leans against at us. A harp adorns her left hip, its iridescent strings strumming a tune without the need of fingers. Heavy jewelry of gold and silver decorates her, rings inlaid with rubies, earrings sparkling in the god rays strobing from overhead, bangles and bands laid so thick on her arms they might work as armor, and golden necklaces drawing the eye to her considerable cleavage as she looks down at us. The ties of gold wrapped in her hair do little to contain the flowing mane of lavender and blue that floats in the air in a single long braid. She is dressed as the goddess Gir Kraessa, the goddess of magic and temptation. I don¡¯t need my eye to identify this woman, not that it can. Arabella Willian, dressed as a goddess, leans on an ancient and gnarled staff, the subtle grin on her face digging up an irritation in me that I did not know I held. Jor¡¯Mari barks a laugh beside me, cutting off whatever I was going to petulantly say to the woman. ¡°So, this was you?¡± he asks, pointing around at the field. ¡°Your impetuousness and temerity are an interesting combination mortal,¡± Arabella says, looking down on him. ¡°You are all arranged now inside of my influence, and what I desire from you is amusement.¡± As I listen, I cannot help but feel a bit disturbed by how differently Arabella speaks. There is a haughtiness in her voice that I don¡¯t remember, and it is as if she truly believes herself to be Gir Kraessa. ¡°There is a game called Stoneball, where young men and women bludgeon each other with their bodies in order to score points and dominate each other. I find this sport amusing.¡± The Dispatch begins to rise into the air, spinning, but somehow Arabella always stays looking directly down at each of us. She jumps back into the air, levitating as she points her staff toward each of us in turn. ¡°Demonstrate to me your prowess in this sport and amuse me for a time. I am bid to remind you that the usage of offensive magic in the progress of this game is forbidden to you, and if I see you turning toward such strategies, I shall throw you off this tower. The game shall go to five points or an hour, whichever comes first. I trust that each of you understands the rules of this game.¡± One by one, those of us trapped on the ground nod our heads towards the woman portraying a goddess. I look between their group and ours. With Samielle still recuperating back in the room, our teams are evenly matched with five players each. I have no idea what it is that our opponents are capable of, and I do not know what Clarice and Jasper can do either for that matter. I will need to be adaptable to do anything during this match. ¡°It would seem that there is no need to make certain that the numbers match,¡± Arabella says, rising even higher into the air. A wind begins to blow through the room, the grass on the field starting to blow in the chill breeze that reminds me of a winter morning. Overhead, the Dispatch begins to whine louder, the black cube spinning end over end in a blur of motion. Arabella points her staff towards our opponents. ¡°Team¡­¡± Suddenly, the Dispatch overhead grinds to a halt, merely hovering in the air. ¡°What is your team going to be called?¡± Five sets of eyes turn skyward, looking at the woman with sudden confusion. ¡°Team Viridian,¡± the woman says before anyone else can say anything. The name is somewhat on the nose, four of the five have vibrant green hair. Though, I suppose that it could also be referring to the green robes that the woman wears. ¡°Very well,¡± Arabella says before she points her staff in our direction. ¡°And you?¡± ¡°Team Mari,¡± Jor¡¯Mari yells out immediately. ¡°What?¡± Jess and I exclaim at the same time. ¡°Team Mari it is,¡± Arabella says, delighting with a grin as she gestures toward the Dispatch that begins to spin like a top once more, its whine picking up, higher and higher. ¡°Team Viridian, ready?¡± The opposing team roars their assent. ¡°Team Mari, ready?¡± Jor¡¯Mari yells with all his heart, while the rest of us give a more half-hearted yell. I feel my heartbeat pick up, the whine of the Dispatch seeming to pour fire into my blood. My muscles tighten as I crouch on the field, the tendons in my legs coiled, preparing to fire forward like an arrow. I might not have much use for my magic in this game, but I have come to rely on my speed. The sound pulsing through the air from the Dispatch crescendos, a long and shrieking note held in the air. That single note is like agony, the seconds seeming to crawl past while the sound rattles through the air, through me, through my bones and my nerves. Then, silence. Like the explosion of a cannon, the Dispatch fires the first ball down into the field. The streak of light that launches all of the players off their starting lines is so startling that only three of us are in motion as the ball collides into the ground. The twenty feet between our starting line and the center of the field where the ball collides into the grass are eaten up by the pumping of my legs, the grass churning into the air in my wake. My eyes widen as I realize that I am at the front of the pack, my legs burning with all of the power I can haul out of them, my prize just a few feet in front of me now. To my excitement and horror, my mind finally catches up with my feet, the color of the ball standing out to me in the stirring grass. A black ball lays in the center of the field, its spherical surface a beautiful nightscape devoid of all color, a menacing aura radiating from it. Chapter 75 - The Black Ball Magic, like the crackle of lightning, sparks off the ball before my fingers even contact its surface. I feel time slow as my hand curls around the mass of darkness on the ground, my body slipping into battle fever without even thinking about it. Power, pure and unadulterated, courses through me; my muscles sing with strength, vibrations of ecstatic potential begging to be used. For a brief moment, I feel like a god, and I revel in the feeling. The second rank man on their team, Jextarella, is bringing his hand down at me, swinging a wide arc aimed at my neck, trying to clothesline me before I can even stand with the ball. It is almost as if he is standing still in front of me. There is a shock in his frozen eyes; he didn¡¯t expect the black ball to be thrown first either. It should have been green. Jor¡¯Mari told me that the game always started with the green. I can¡¯t keep my mind from lingering on the thought as I easily duck beneath his swing, watching, fascinated, as I move around to the man¡¯s back. Arcs of light peel off my body, clinging to his as I move past him, the ball between my hands thrumming with an energy that I want more than anything in that moment. The slowed world around me, I can see everyone on the field, each racing forward like they wade through molasses, the enemy converging on me. I flow through the reaching arms and grasping fingers thrown up in front of me, vaulting over a man that dives towards my legs to try and tackle me. The woman amid their group jumps into the air in my path, beautiful and shimmering butterfly wings sprouting from beneath her long robes. I cannot fly like her, but I don¡¯t need to. The satisfaction in her eyes dims to horror as she sees my rough leather boot approach her face. I feel the crunch of her nose under my heel as I use her face as a steppingstone, hurtling over her and into the air. Then, I am free, the only thing clinging to me the slight weight of my own body as the earth tries to pull me back down. Twenty feet of open air slowly shrinks beneath me as I fall: three of the opposing team are down on the ground, the other two still trying to turn toward me. ¡°Time left?¡± I ask Galea, surprised the mental words come normally despite the slowness of the world. The fey spirit appears in front of me, a window held between her claws that reads, ¡°6.3 seconds remaining.¡± It hasn¡¯t even been a second since I first touched the ball. Stone pillars erupt in a violent burst from the ground in front of me, forming a mess of obstacles that seek to slow me down. The air around me begins to contort, growing thicker, a dampness beginning to cling to my skin. So, this is how magicians need to use their abilities in this game. My fire is no match for stone, but I don¡¯t need to destroy these pillars. My boot claps down onto the top of one of the pillars, my momentum carrying me forward, the full strength of my legs pushing me to vault over the others. The dampness across my body begins to fade, and I look down to see that fire trails in my wake, as if my hair were a torch marking my path. Cloying flames cling to my body, not disturbing my clothing in the least. I know that this comes from the ball between my fingers, that it is helping me call up my fire in some way, but I can¡¯t consider that now. Still, it will be a good thing to think about later. A flash of light explodes in front of me and suddenly that man Jextarella is standing in front of me, his wild green hair whipping around his shoulders, his huge hands opened wide. A wave of energy, his stark green soul presence, rolls off of him like a wave. My mind screams at me not to enter it, that I will be at his mercy inside of his domain, but my feet are already carrying me forward. I dive into his expanding soul presence, flinching as I feel the flow of magical energy wash over me. I open my eyes to find myself awash in a sea of green, the world outside of the soul presence completely gone, just a sea of shifting and indistinct green beyond. I race past Jextarella as he swipes his hand down at me, making it to the opposite wall of the green prison. I am surprised again as I easily pass through the barrier only to find three heavily muscled men sprinting directly at me. Somehow, despite running in a straight line for the opponent¡¯s goal, Jextarella¡¯s soul presence managed to turn me completely around. I glance to the side; two seconds remain on the time I can hold onto the black ball. My mind is on fire with energy, power, and insane ideas. I can see my team sprinting to catch up to me, Jess at the lead of them, but my eyes narrow at the man nearest me, his arms already open, readying to tackle me to the ground. Madness inspires me. My body pumps forward like a furious bolt of lightning, my legs a blur beneath me as the ground becomes mulch in my wake. If I had ever played the sport before, I don¡¯t think such an idiotic and inspired idea would have occurred to me. As we converge on one another, I thrust the ball forward, hurling it straight at the man¡¯s head as he readies to tackle me. The black ball, hard as a brick, smashes into the man¡¯s jaw, turning his run into a backward flip, his head sliding across the ground as his whole body gives out. The ball sails upward, a little too high. I had wanted it to bounce straight back to me, but it seems too hard to do such a thing. The man¡¯s falling form reveals the woman with the wings, her nose bloody and pushed to the side. She rises into the air, her arms outstretched for the black ball as I leap. I fly into the air as if I had wings of my own, the energy of the black ball still clinging to me. The flying woman and I crash into each other in a bone shattering crack, each of our hands clasped around the black ball. I see the dizziness and pain in her eyes as I ignore my own, wrapping my legs around her waist as the earth rises up beneath us. Her back collides with the ground, one of my knees digging into her stomach as I spring forward, easily pulling the ball out of her hands as I leave her wheezing behind. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Energy pours through me once again, pushing me forward, screaming at me to dominate and claim this entire field as my own. Fifty feet separate me from the goal, and I don¡¯t even need to look at Galea to know that I have plenty of time left to make it there. Any idea of getting help from my team is abandoned as a ball of green energy appears in front of me, Jextarella¡¯s soul presence a completely opaque mass. I could go around if I wish to, the terrible energy coursing through my veins gives me an inhuman grace that would allow me to turn in time, but a hunger deep inside of me screams for me to rush straight ahead. I dive in; a rank two magician standing in front of me in the middle of a whirling vortex of color. He is moving forward, bending to try and put his arm across my neck once again, trying to knock me down. No doubt, the man is stronger than I am, and if I wasn¡¯t holding the black ball he might be faster too. I don¡¯t care; in this game of speed and power, I refuse to be intimidated, even by a rank two magician¨Cespecially by a rank two magician. He steps to the side, anticipating me to duck the same way that I did to evade him the first time, but I continue sprinting straight ahead. Despite his size, despite his height and rippling muscles, I can read his conflux¨CMage of Shifting Shores. He is a mage, just like me, and like me, he probably does not have a high attribute in defense. I drop in front of him, my thighs bulging as I coil all the power in my legs that I can manage. Before Jextarella can react, I explode upward, my legs uncoiling, my forehead driving straight into the man¡¯s nose. Darkness. Numbness becomes my everything for a brief moment. Color, first a swirling mirage of green that slowly opens into a full spectrum of light clarifies in my vision. I feel my weight being wrong at the same time that my mind blares a warning to me. I spin, realizing I am falling sideways, and just barely manage to put my feet beneath me before I crash into the grass. The ball continues to buzz between my fingers, not even near unconsciousness is enough to make me release it. I crouch in the grass for a split second, my head crying out and a trail of red snaking down over my left eye. I think that I have my incredible recovery to thank for not letting me go down. To my right, the giant body of Jextarella crashes into the ground with a thud, the wisps of his soul presence dissipating around us. I feel my very bones protest as I throw myself forward, but the field is open in front of me. I sprint through the lines marking the field, the black ball buzzing between my fingers as my foot finally crosses the goal line. Red smoke explodes from the ground in front of me and to my sides, a cheer from hundreds of thundering voices echoing through the open air. I turn, watching as the smoke rises like living flames into the air, the center of the field overtaken by an illusory scoreboard, my point the only mark on it. ¡°Team Mari scores the first point!¡± a voice calls through the open field, sending the unseen crowd into a riot of cheering. I stand, my lungs pumping, my chest heaving, as I look at the spectacle around me, beaming. The ball between my fingers begins to relax, its constant buzz and feed of magical power slowing and becoming nothing. Jess collides with me, lifting me in a hug and screaming my name while I try to calm my head down. The other three come in behind her, clapping me on the shoulder and offering me congratulations while the opposing team pick themselves up. Three are a bit slower, Jextarella being the last to scrape himself off the ground, crawling back to his feet. ¡°Crazy bitch,¡± he says to me, spitting a mouthful of blood into the grass. His skin is split down his face as he glares at me with violent blue eyes, letting one of his teammates help pull him to his feet. The strangest thing is that I don¡¯t think he means it as an insult. ¡°Are you going to let him speak to you like that?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks. ¡°I don¡¯t know if he is wrong,¡± I say, tossing the dead black ball to him after pulling myself away from Jess. ¡°That was certainly a violent point,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, smirking. ¡°Violent?¡± I say, wiping the blood out of my eye. Running a finger up to my forehead tells me that the cut across my brow has already mended. ¡°We are just playing a game.¡± He laughs. ¡°Exactly right. Now, let me show you how I play.¡± It becomes apparent to me that our opponents are as clueless about the game that we have been forced to play as I am. Jor¡¯Mari corrects both of our sides as we stride back to the center of the field, preparing for the second ball to come down. Each team lines up once more on the starting line for our respective sides, twenty feet from the center of the field. With our team being up a point, the next ball will be shot out by the Dispatch five feet closer to their line than ours. As the black cube floating over the field begins to whirr, the whining sound keening through the air from the cube, I glance to my right to see Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s form begin to shift. His horns elongate and his teeth grow into dangerous fangs as he takes on his speed specialist aspect. The transformation goes further, his body growing taller and thicker in the way that I saw on the first floor of the tower. As the whine from the cube overhead hits its apex, the man has become a true monster, his hands digging into the earth as he prepares to launch forward. The second that the ball is shot towards the earth from the Dispatch, Jor¡¯Mari leaps off the line, blazing ahead far faster than I can keep up with. The man snatches the Stoneball off the ground with one hand, pushing his open palm into the chest of an unfortunate man and launching him back ten feet. No one even comes close to stopping him as he sprints down the field, the three-hundred-pound ball tucked under one arm, held as easily as a loaf of bread. Resignation lingers in the faces of our opponents as we all watch Jor¡¯Mari spike the heavy ball into the earth inside the goal. They know as well as I do that they have no way to stop this man, his power is simply that overwhelming. Jor¡¯Mari points toward the sky, straight toward Arabella Willian, something unspoken in his gaze. We win the match before the first ten minutes are up. Jor¡¯Mari could have done it all his self if he wanted; he weaves through the magics of our opponents like a dancer or crashes through them like a brute. We retire to our room afterward, leaving the devastated Team Viridian to pick up the pieces out on the lawn. Today, we have won time. I only wonder how much that will be worth down the road. Chapter 76 - Intermission I collapse into a chair inside of the room as the passageway seals behind us. Sweat sticks out on my skin and I have difficulty slowing my heart, controlling my breathing. A glance at my vital energies confirms that my healing points have been reduced to zero, though the steadily climb back thanks to my high recovery. A weakness lingers in my chest from the battle fever, and despite my still having a good bit of stamina remaining, I feel utterly exhausted. Perhaps the energy of the black ball has something to do with that as well; I don¡¯t know. ¡°That was a good match,¡± Jess says, leaning against the chair behind me and squeezing my shoulder. ¡°Not that I really know what a poor match would look like. Winning five to zero has to be the best we can hope for.¡± ¡°Though I might like to touch the ball in the future,¡± Jasper says from near the stove. The man¡¯s clothes still look as if he might have pressed them with an iron this morning. ¡°My apologies,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, slapping Jasper on the back so hard the man stumbles forward a step. ¡°I got a bit carried away there.¡± Jasper laughs a whinging and somewhat nervous laugh. ¡°I was kidding. If you can win all of these matches on your own, then who am I to stop you? That is what is best for the group.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t win all on my own,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, pointing a thumb in my direction. ¡°Ms. Devardem scored the first point. Kind of rude for that woman to ignore one of the first rules of the game by forcing a black ball to start with, but it turned out in our favor. We seized the momentum from that point, I just kept it up after that. Not that my play wasn¡¯t spectacular and something to be studied for future players of the game.¡± Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s antics manage to pull a genuine smile from Jasper. I catch sight of Clarice slipping around the corner, heading straight for the washtub in the back before any of us think to do so. That is when I notice the food set out on the table for us. Two baskets, one filled with bread and fruit, the other with smoked meats, set my mouth to watering just looking at them. ¡°For a successful game,¡± Jess reads off a note in front of the baskets. ¡°It became a little dull near the end, but the beginning of the match was entertaining. Surprise me going forward.¡± ¡°A little critical,¡± I say, dabbing my forehead. I notice my hands are pale, bloodless, and the veins stand out in a stark blue. Maybe picking up the black ball is a bit more dangerous than I realized at first. I did hold onto it far longer than I should have been able to. I was fortunate that bouncing the thing off of a man¡¯s skull counted as someone else taking possession. ¡°Let her be critical,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, kicking up his feet at the table, taking a loaf of bread from one of the baskets that glistens with oil and butter, steam rising off of it as Jor¡¯Mari pulls it apart. ¡°If she is going to make me do that, then I really can¡¯t give a damn about her opinion. Despicable.¡± I look at the man, confused by his comment. He sees the look in my eyes, and for a brief instant I see anger flash across his features. It is gone, buried behind his smirking eyes a moment later, his attention turned to the bread in his hand. ¡°The note says that our next match will be in six hours,¡± Jess says, waving the note between her fingers. ¡°I suppose that we are back to waiting.¡± ¡°Will you cook me more of this while we wait?¡± I ask, placing five more paper wrapped bundles of sticker flesh on the table. ¡°We have plenty of smoked meat here in front of us,¡± Jess says, nodding to the baskets on the table. ¡°Things other than meat too.¡± ¡°I know,¡± I say, ¡°but I really want to eat more of this.¡± She sets her hands on her hips, looking at me like I am some strange kind of bug. Eventually, she relents, taking the bundles of sticker meat to the counter near the stove and setting them out. ¡°I guess humans really do like to eat monster.¡± I open my mouth to protest but have to stop myself. She isn¡¯t wrong. Even before I discovered that humans are able to increase the strength of our natural affinities by eating certain monsters, monster meat had always punctuated holidays and festivals back home. When an adventuring team ventured far into the swamps or the unexplored woad to slay a particularly large beast, often there was a celebration with the spoils of the kill. I wonder just how that became the way of things; it isn¡¯t as if ordinary people know or care about magical affinities. I just like the taste. Each monster is unique and has its own unique flavor. The hours run away from me. After washing all of the sweat and ick off of myself and devouring the meat that Jess is so kind to prepare for me, I am left with little to do. Jess joins Samielle on one of the cots while Jasper returns to reading in a corner. My interminable boredom leads me to reveal the collection of books that I stole from Arabella to my team, offering them a read as I pluck off a thick tome covering some of the more theoretical aspects of enchanting. During the images that they showed on the bottom of the tower, I noticed there had been scenes of me when I was on my own. No doubt, the Willian Guild knows already that I have the books, and if they know, then Arabella likely knows. Why they allow me to keep the shelf I don¡¯t know, but I am not inclined to bring it up to them. I quickly come to understand that the ideas and concepts inside of the enchanting tome are far too advanced for me to understand. At the core, it is the mathematics that the book takes for granted that I will know that catches me up. I am not so much frustrated with myself for not understanding the terms and equations bandied about as I am at the book for not speaking plainly and explaining everything. If I ever write an enchanting book of my own, I will make certain that every detail is explained. Groaning, I return to the shelf, picking through the books, looking for anything that might teach me about the mathematical principles I am ignorant of. A good half an hour of thumbing through weathered pages brings me to finally settle on a book about economic relations between three kingdoms in a realm called Goradoos. The book is clearly aimed at aspiring merchants looking to move material between those three specific kingdoms, and a good deal of the specifics go over my head. However, the book goes into great depth about the principles behind its claims, how to calculate things like compounding interest, how to track and project costs against potential earnings, how to track multiple unknown figures in a single array as to maximize profit. It suffices to say, the book captures my interest. A quick glance at my inventory confirms again that learning how to manage and grow wealth will be something I need to turn my attention to in the near future. I garner some odd looks from my fellows when they walk past me writing figures and mathematical expressions of sheets of paper to make certain that I can reproduce what I am learning from the book. I am so engrossed in my plotting of figures that I hardly notice as the archway in the wall begins to sizzle once more, burning away to reveal the Stoneball field beyond. I leave my papers as they are; if the last match was any indication, we won¡¯t be away that long. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. A different air suffuses the Stoneball field as we march our way toward the center; a cold humidity lingers in the air and the petrichor of fresh mowed grass after a rainstorm stirs long forgotten memories. Arabella sits atop the Dispatch, looking down at the two assembling teams with a faint smile that can easily be misconstrued as genuine. From the opposite side of the illusionary chamber, a passageway explodes out from thin air, revealing a group of four marching to meet us. I recognize some of the people and names of the four that line up across from me, but one stands out in particular. ¡°So, you have managed to make it this far as well, Little Sister,¡± Lionel Coolidge says, waving to me. The huge, tan man wears his easy relief on his sleeve. ¡°There had been rumors. I did not believe them of course.¡± ¡°You know our opponents?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks me. ¡°They are from Dovik¡¯s camp,¡± I say, nodding to Jess as she calls out to a woman standing across from us that she recognizes. ¡°They look like they might be able to take a beating,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, looking Lionel up and down. ¡°You will find that this one does not break so easily,¡± Lionel replies, thumping his chest. ¡°That is what they all say,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, smirking. ¡°These teams are uneven,¡± Arabella Willian calls from the top of the Dispatch, pulling all of our attentions upward. ¡°While it may be interesting to watch such a match that is so uneven, I believe that would grow boring rather quickly. Team Mari, select one of your members to sit out this match.¡± Jasper is quick to nominate himself for sitting out the match, claiming that he is the least useful in our group in the game of Stoneball. Having no idea what the man is really capable of, I find it difficult to refute him. With four each on our respective lines, the game begins, a green flash of light being thrown down from the black cube floating over the center of the field. It is not so surprising to find Jor¡¯Mari dashing ahead of me at the first sign of the ball hitting the ground, but it is shocking when he is not the first one to reach the center. A woman from the enemy team appears in front of the ball in the blink of an eye, kicking it backward just before Jor¡¯Mari can swipe down and snatch it. Lionel ends up catching the kicked ball between his hands, racing forward like a mad beast, knocking Jor¡¯Mari and Jess to the side as he barrels straight through them both. One of Lionel¡¯s teammates snags my legs out from under me as I try to collapse on the man. The enemy team scores the first point while my entire team lays on the ground, Clarice trapped further up the field beneath a large man. ¡°Alright,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, wiping wet grass off his face as he stands. ¡°If you want punishment, then I can give that to you.¡±
The room of stone is painted in the contrasting colors of red and green by the two lights blazing on either end of the room. Torches, their heads ending in magically created balls of brilliance bleed the color into the room, neither color touching or mixing with one another; the contrast left to linger and throw dark shadows. The smell of baked fish suffuses the small space, much to the irritation of Adrius, who lays within one of the corner cots, trying to gain some rest from the trying day. In the melancholy of the twin lights, Dovik moves his hand toward the board of green and red squares, his own flesh and clothing bathed in the light of red. Across the short table from him, his opponents lays back in his own chair, feet kicked up on the table, watching Dovik move his hand over the board with indecision, his own form seemingly made of green flesh and fabric. ¡°Do we need to add a timer?¡± Macille asks, smiling at the dour growl Dovik lets out at his words. ¡°If you cannot understand these kinds of strategies, then perhaps you might be a poor choice to lead our little band.¡± ¡°This game is for the weak-minded,¡± Dovik says, moving a piece on the board and biting off a groan a second later when Macille captures another one of his pieces. He glares at Macille over the board, moving another piece. ¡°There is no skill involved here. Pieces can only move in one direction and in one way. It is not a sport for true gamesman.¡± ¡°If that was the case, you might imagine that you would have won one of these last five matches,¡± Macille quips as he captures another piece. ¡°You¡¯re down to three, care to concede?¡± Dovik sighs, pushing his chair back onto its hind legs and leaning it against the countertop near the washing basin. ¡°I imagine that I would have,¡± he concedes. ¡°This is just not my game. I prefer games where intelligence and tactics are involved.¡± ¡°Such as Stoneball?¡± Macille asks, dropping his feet off the table so that he might rearrange the board again to its start. ¡°Hardly,¡± Dovik says, nabbing a piece of fruit off the countertop. In the harsh red light on his side of the room, he has difficulty discerning what it might be, everything looks like an apple in the light. A sweet bite later, he determines it to be a pear. ¡°In that game, I will fully admit that I am lucky.¡± He doesn¡¯t lie. Dovik has not only the benefit of playing the game hundreds of times in the high fields of Grim, but also the rules benefit him greatly. Normally, when it is only magicians playing the game, the free use of abilities is permitted, given that there is an adequately skilled healer on hand to deal with any issues that might arise from such a game. In these rules, where no one can harm him directly, his ability to teleport about the field promises an incredible leg up on the competition. Not that his opponent¡¯s magical abilities might offer him any danger had they been permitted. As far as he could tell, no one in this competition possessed a magical potency capable of overcoming his defenses. ¡°Our next match will be soon,¡± Macille says, moving the pieces. In the two-toned light, it is impossible to tell which pieces are natively green or red. ¡°Shall we do the same thing as we did in the last match?¡± ¡°Unless our new pals decide that they want to really participate,¡± Dovik says, nodding to the two looming in the corner of the room, speaking in animated and hushed tones with one another. There were five in their group, Macille, Dovik, Adrius, and the two strangers, a man and a woman. The man, a slight figure, human, and whose cascading auburn hair fell over his face, refuses to speak with them. Dovik guessed that he might be a mage of some sort by the lack of weapons in his possession or by the loose clothing he wore, but Dovik knew better than most that judging someone by their clothing led to mistakes. The woman was kind when she spoke with him before. She has a bubbly demeanor, blonde hair, bright eyes, and a constant smile that belied the wicked blade held to her back by two loops of fraying rope. She gave him a fake name, Sister Bella, and at all times seemed to hold a golden symbol of Exeter, three winged eyes affixed to a cross, in her hands. He had seen her use the blade when they had been inundated by the monsters on the floor below, the blade a rusted piece of iron with hideous serrated teeth, looking as if someone had elongated a butcher¡¯s cleaver. It was the woman¡¯s eyes, some unfathomable mania lurking deep in their depths, and the way that she laughed with glee as she cut monsters to ribbons that bothered him. He and Macille slept in shifts in the small room just to be safe. ¡°Not the sharing kind,¡± Macille says, offering Dovik the first move of their next match. ¡°Do you think that we will win the next two matches?¡± Dovik waves off the board, giving up on beating his friend at this strange game for now. ¡°As long as we do not run into whatever group that Lady Forendous is in.¡± ¡°She is that powerful then,¡± Macille says. Macille¡¯s eyes flick to the archway carved into the wall, his fingers testily scratching at his wrist. Dovik does not fail to notice his friend¡¯s irritation. Macille tried to hide it from him, but the man is ravenous to climb up the tower as soon as possible. Dovik couldn¡¯t blame him for that either, it must be difficult to be separated from the woman he is so obviously infatuated with, especially after finding out that she is not dead as he had thought. ¡°We will continue to win,¡± Dovik says. ¡°As these games go on, I think the benefit of having both you and Adrius in our group will begin to show its value. Having two members of our party capable of healing is quite the boon.¡± ¡°I hope so,¡± Macille sighs, kicking his feet back up onto the table. The forlorn look in Macille¡¯s face forces Dovik to move. It can¡¯t help but feel sorry for the big man; it is like watching an upset puppy forced to stand still when all it wants to do is run free. Dovik grabs a piece from the board, starting the game again as he moves it. He searches Macille¡¯s face again for any sign of grief, any hint that the man saw the same scene playing out that Dovik had when those images had been shown to them before. He wonders if Macille knows of his brother¡¯s deception and what he had done. He wonders what Macille might do if he did know. Chapter 77 - A Frank Conversation ¡°Get up!¡± Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s hands shake where he holds onto Lionel¡¯s torn tunic. Anger is painted on his face, his vicious teeth dripping spittle as he yells down at the man lying limp on the ground. Jor¡¯Mari shakes him again, the man¡¯s tunic ripping just a little more. Past the anger, I can see fear in his eyes. ¡°Get up you bastard!¡± The shock of the collision still rings in my ears as I race toward the two men, the explosion of two great forces colliding with one another in the center of the field. The sight of Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s triumph souring as he stood over Lionel stains my mind. I am not the first to make it to him. One of Lionel¡¯s teammates crashes into Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s side at full speed, sending him sprawling into the grass before he can recover. ¡°Get off of him,¡± the man yells, putting himself between Jor¡¯Mari and the fallen Lionel. I make it there, both teams converging around the fallen man. A nasty gash splits Lionel¡¯s brow, and his half-lidded eyes stare into nothing. I would think that he was dead if it wasn¡¯t for the shallow puffing of his chest. Before I can get closer, a woman from Lionel¡¯s puts herself in my path, blocking my way. ¡°Do you have a healer?¡± I ask her, ignoring the anger on her face. ¡°No,¡± she says, looking down at her fallen comrade. ¡°You fucking killed him!¡± the man standing off with Jor¡¯Mari yells, his face turning red. ¡°He¡¯s not dead,¡± two of us say at the same time, but it is as if neither of the two men hear us. Jor¡¯Mari snatches the fallen Stoneball from the ground at his feet, squeezing it between his fingers so hard I can hear it whine. He stares at the red ball, his shoulder shaking as he gnashes his teeth. Finally, he turns back toward the center of the field, looking up at the Dispatch and at Arabella Willian who stands upon it. ¡°Is this what you fucking wanted!?¡± The Stoneball splits the air as Jor¡¯Mari hurls it skyward. A metallic ping rolls through the pitch as the Stoneball collides with the dispatch, the heavy ball sending the black cube spiraling through the air. Arabella Willian stands on the air, looking down at us like some dispassionate goddess, her fingers drumming the staff she holds in her hands. I search her eyes for a hint of something, any emotion, but find them cold. Jor¡¯Mari begins to stalk away, stomping his way to the sidelines and back toward the archway that leads into our room. No one tries to stop him, all just watching the man¡¯s back as he disappears. Arabella¡¯s alighting on the ground near us brings surprise; I don¡¯t think that anyone noticed her move. ¡°Move aside,¡± she says, casually pushing people back with her staff as she bends over Lionel. There is a tremor in his hands now as he lay on the ground. Puffs of magical power, like smoke, pulse off of Arabella¡¯s fingers. So close to her, I find myself enraptured by the way she uses her soul presence to manipulate the puffs of magic; the control she has over her soul presence is infinitely more fine than what I could do with my own fingers. Her soul presence seems to catch the puffs of magic, manipulating them into runes that float around her hand with precise folding and sculpting, the same way I have seen bakers work with dough back home. The runes, ten of them, float around Arabella¡¯s hand, and when the final one is created and in place, they all catch the light simultaneously, the spell activating. Blue light washes over Lionel and he begins to still, mist spouting from between his lips as he relaxes into a long breath. I feel the cold wash over me then, my own breath clouding the air; the same is true for the others around me. Arabella bends down, running a finger over the cut across the man¡¯s forehead, a line of ice left behind, closing the wound. ¡°He will recover,¡± she pronounces, standing. In an illusion that hurts my eyes to witness, two identical copies of Arabella seem to step out of her body, a canvas stretched over a rectangular frame held between them. ¡°That was a nasty hit; it will be a while before he can move.¡± As if the huge man weighed nothing, the two clones of Arabella lift his body and set him onto the frame, carrying him off of the field and toward the sidelines. ¡°With one member down, the game will continue with three players apiece on each team. Team Mari, come to a decision on who will be representing you.¡± With that, Arabella returns to the air, landing once more on top of the Dispatch. A few minutes pass as our team tries to come to a decision on what to do. No one wants to even try and get Jor¡¯Mari to come back to the game. With him out, our team is significantly weaker, but so is theirs without Lionel. Against my wishes, my team settles on me being the one to sit on the sidelines for a while, claiming my haggard and sweaty appearance as their reasoning. I can¡¯t deny it, I have been playing as hard as I can for the last thirty minutes, finding some genuine enjoyment in the game. Despite pushing myself as hard as my body will go, a glance at my vital energies confirms that I still have well over half of my stamina remaining. That isn¡¯t something I can tell my team though. I eventually decide that I will go along with what they suggest. A part of me wants to continue playing, but I also want to see what all it is that Clarice and Jasper are capable of. I find a seat off to the side, settling in to watch the game continue without me. It is very much a different game without the two strongest players present on the field. Each of the three finds a lot of difficulty in driving the ball anywhere down the field before they are taken to the ground by their opponents. To my lack of surprise, Jess begins to emerge as a strong ball carrier, her finesse truly amazing. ¡°This is not how I wished for things to progress,¡± a voice says to my left. I glance to the side, finding Arabella sitting in the seat near me, her eyes turned toward the match as well. Glancing to the Dispatch, I find her there as well, looking down at the game below with a look of boredom on her face. ¡°I have found disappointment abounds inside of this contest,¡± I say without looking at her. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. ¡°You are angry with me,¡± she says. ¡°I am.¡± ¡°You have every right to be, I think. Events inside of the Passage have not gone as I thought they might. Despite what I told you before this contest began, there was a part of me that hoped the five of you might be able to come together as a strong team, able to watch each other¡¯s backs and have a genuine companionship blossom.¡± She sighs, her mask of beautiful indifference breaking for a brief moment. ¡°Would you believe me if I told you that?¡± I pause for a moment, feeling heat rise up in my chest at the idea of being friends or companions with those two that tried to kill me. ¡°No,¡± I say, eventually. ¡°I honestly cannot believe you would ever think that I could get along with someone like them. Coriander and Kendon tried to kill me, me and Jor¡¯Mari.¡± ¡°Kendon is more innocent in this than you realize,¡± she says. I look at her, staring at her for a long moment. She looks so different than I remembered thinking back on her, more like an actual woman than some powerful being I could never touch. Despite her mask of indifference, there is emotion in her eyes, a small hint at hurt. ¡°I know,¡± I say, turning my attention back to the field where the teams try and drive the ball down the field, neither really finding all that much success. Our team is up three to two: if this keeps up for another half hour we will win by default. ¡°You do?¡± ¡°She has some way to manipulate him,¡± I say. ¡°He was acting so strangely when I encountered them, that it put me on edge. Something moved from her to him when she told him things, some kind of distortion in the air like magic without color. Jor¡¯Mari mentioned something about her having a necklace that she shouldn¡¯t, and that they tried to kill him when he noticed. He refused to tell me what it does, but I think I understand. The way that Kendon acted when we fought outside the tower, like a ghost of a man, no passion or ideas in him, seems confirm what I suspected. That necklace is some kind of artifact, one that allows her to manipulate him.¡± The look on Arabella¡¯s face confirms for me that I am right. ¡°You knew.¡± ¡°Artifacts are inherently powerful by their definition,¡± she says with a sigh. ¡°There would be no purpose of bonding them to an individual otherwise. Some carry unsavory powers with them. With a judicious mind, they can be used in a responsible manner, contributing good into the world.¡± ¡°And you thought a girl like her could do something good?¡± ¡°I had hoped,¡± Arabella says. ¡°I doubt it,¡± I say, unable to stop my irritation from bleeding into my voice. We spend a long few moments without speaking, me looking out at the field while Arabella watches me. Galea floats at my side, the spirit keeping me apprised of what she does. ¡°I see that I have lost all of your trust,¡± Arabella says. ¡°Yes.¡± The woman looks taken aback by my bluntness. Her eyes dart, trying to come up with something to say. ¡°I had hoped to help all of you, in a way that I was once helped. I thought that if I could bring the five of you together, you might be able to push each other forward. Perhaps Kendon and Jor¡¯Mari would finally be able to swallow their guilt. Maybe Coriander might see the shortcomings of her perspective, see how her mind has been bent and shaped by her father, finally break out of the mental prison she has built for herself. In growing alongside new friends, maybe Macille would step out of his brother¡¯s shadow and find that he has something real to offer the world. I wanted to see you discover your power, to realize that great potential that hides within you. I think that I tried to author growth for all of you, but I am finding that I am as poor of a writer as I am a teacher.¡± ¡°You are trying to make me feel sorry for her now?¡± I ask. ¡°No,¡± she says. ¡°No, Coriander has done things that I cannot forgive, things that she expressly promised to me that she would not do. I have no further concern for her, and I will not protect her from the consequences of her actions. I see that the potential I saw in her is buried so deep that the juice will not be worth the squeeze. I will not stop you from confronting her; if you need to use her as a steppingstone for your ascension then so be it. The guild will not look so favorably on your attempt to take revenge, however. They were quite serious when they said that they would allow no further acts of unprovoked violence.¡± ¡°I feel plenty provoked,¡± I spit. ¡°Even so.¡± It takes me a long moment before I can bring myself to look at the woman. I can see plainly that she wants me to trust her again, that she is wounded by how I look at her now, but I can¡¯t be certain if that emotion is real or a fabrication. ¡°I wish that I could trust you.¡± ¡°What would you have from me?¡± she asks. ¡°How about the truth? Before you picked me up out of the squalor of my backwoods, I knew almost nothing of the world. I am grateful for what you gave to me, the essentia that I have now are so precious to me, but you did not try to get rid of my ignorance. You gave me a few books, sure, but did you tell me anything about what was really going on? Almost everyone in this contest knew something of it before arriving, but I didn¡¯t. Almost everyone in this contest had some grounding on how to succeed, but I had to figure that out on my own. Everyone here even understood how exactly it is that those that control my people back home do so. You could have at least told me that couldn¡¯t you? Was it too much to tell me about how I have been kept ignorant my entire life? You knew these things, but you refused to say. How could I ever trust you?¡± I cheer breaks out on the field as the opposing team manages to score a point. They celebrate as Clarice helps Jasper off of the ground, pulling the grass-stained man to his feet. With the score tied, the teams make their way back toward the starting lines, waiting for the Dispatch to hurl another ball down to the field. The black cube whines in the air as it spins end over end. A streak of yellow falls from the sky, crashing down into the middle of the field. The same woman from Lionel¡¯s team appears in front of the ball in a flash, starting her sprint forward. Without slowing a step, Jess runs past her, the lizardkin¡¯s nimble fingers plucking the ball out of the woman¡¯s hands like a pear from a tree. ¡°The truth is,¡± Arabella begins as we watch the team fight over the yellow ball, ¡°I did know about your brother before having you sign that contract.¡± I pull my eyes away from the match, staring at Arabella. ¡°You did?¡± ¡°I did. I came to Westgrove to find his brother. I thought that I could repay him for what he did for me a long time ago, give his brother the things that he had to scrape and struggle for. When I reached Westgrove, however, I found Corinth¡¯s brother to be further along than I expected, but I see now that was a failing of me. Of course, Corinth¡¯s brother would progress at a breakneck pace. I was pleased to find that he had a sister as well; he hadn¡¯t mentioned that to me when we met. I can see the same strength that burns inside of you that burned in him. I hope that one day I can make you see that too.¡± ¡°Tell me,¡± I say, the match forgotten. ¡°When did you meet him?¡± Arabella smiles like she is remembering a fond memory. ¡°It was a good while ago now. We met in Grim. What I remember most from that day was the rain¡­¡± Chapter 78 - Recollection Waves crashed over the shoals far below, the spray of water caught on the air an ever-present distraction. The salty spray of the sea was a constant reminder to Arabella of her tragedy. She tried to focus, to concentrate on the world around her to get herself out of her own head. The moon shone through the shifting clouds; a beam of light cast off to bathe the world in a sea of trickling green. The stars were gone overhead, only a void and the shining body overhead present. The firelight flickered in front of her, the barren earth the four of them sat upon somehow incongruent with the fire and the salty air. She idled for a time, drawing transcriptions in the earth with a stick as the rest bickered with one another or recounted their supplies. As a group of rank three magicians, food and water were not so much a concern as their dwindling supply of elixirs and alchemical ingredients were. To the South, the land extended, a high cliff overlooking the sea upon which they camped for the moment. To the North, where they had tried and failed to enter on several occasions now, a wild growth of brambles stood out. She ignored the chill of the gusting wind, the cold never got to her after her rank three ascension. However, the blistering wind had a tendency to put out the fire, no matter how many windbreaks Caleb set up to divert it. The man stared at the fire as it blew across the ground, pushed by the constant gale, his eyes tired and distant. It had been five days since they could last sleep; the beast came when they slept. No matter how many were posted to watch, no matter what defenses they prepared ahead of time, one person sleeping on this godsforsaken shoreline would summon the creature. Their band had begun with six members, tasked to hunt down some monster the locals thought to be a nightmare of legend, haunting the fishing villages that called this backwater home. Three days of searching had turned up nothing, no hint, no sign of anything that might stalk the night or the day, plucking innocent townspeople from their cozy beds and woolen blankets in the night. Settling in for the night, preparing to make attempts to scry the land the next day, the six had turned in for the night, leaving only Yllissa on watch. When they awoke some hours later, Yllissa had vanished, along with all of the stars in the sky. Day had never broken again after that night, no matter how many hours passed as they explored the brambles or the shoreline. The wind began to blow then, harder every moment, the constant shear of its cry over the rocks sounding like the screams of the condemned. When next they decided to bed down, to recover themselves, it had been Illigar snatched away into the dark. Caleb had seen the abduction, had tried to stop what he claimed to be snaking roots reaching up from the ground to drag poor Illigar away. He was unable to do anything to aide his friend, and no power he possessed could wake the sleeping members of the group until hours later. They did not sleep anymore, but even rank three bodies grew tired and needed the rest after so many days. The figure Arabella cut into the ground with her stick resembled a new scrying schematic. She blinked, immediately finding several faults with the design as she inspected it with her tired eyes. She sighed, wiping away the schematic and beginning again. Near the fire, Ella began to sob to herself, a quiet event that drew little attention. ¡°Are we going to die?¡± Ella asked Arabella, not for the first time. Frustration welled up inside of Arabella as she glanced toward the woman. Why was she asking her? This was only Arabella¡¯s third rank three hunt, why did they all keep looking to her for guidance? Illigar had been the leader of the team, and Caleb had more experience dealing with situations like this than she did. Just because of her family name, they thought that she would have an answer that they didn¡¯t. ¡°Maybe,¡± Arabella grumbled, still drawling in the dirt with her stick. She cringed when she heard the way Ella¡¯s breath caught at her word. None of their storage items functioned, they stopped working the same time that the stars disappeared. They had tried flying away from the shoreline as well, as rank three magicians, they had all mastered the art of flight. Each attempt was met with disaster, the wind becoming an impossible barrier even just a few feet away from the ground. Jaessar still had a nasty wound on his shoulder from a collision he made with a sharp rock. The wound should have long closed and healed, but it continued to trickle blood, even the normal clotting not occurring. Without their healer, even the smallest injury might spell disaster. ¡°Light,¡± Caleb called, pulling Arabella¡¯s attention away from her schematic once again. She found him looking away from his flickering fire, his eyes turned toward the mass of brambles to the north. Arabella did not see what he was speaking about at first, but as the seconds slipped by, as the howling wind continued to blow, she saw the spark of light bleeding out over the top of the mass of thorns. She jumped to her feet, the light peeking over the brambles like the rising of the sun. ¡°What do we do?¡± Ella asked, jumping to her feet as well. The woman, an artist with an ax, shook and trembled as she held her weapon close to her chest. ¡°We go there,¡± Arabella said, using the command the party seemed hellbent to impart on her. Truthfully, she had no plans, no ideas for how to pull them out of the situation they were trapped in that she had not tried already. If the worst found them and she had her back against the wall, she knew that she would be able to retreat, but she did not want to abandon the members she had been put with. Any change promised something new, perhaps even something that might save them. The four crawled through the wall of brambles as they headed north, attempting to fly over the thorns was far deadlier than suffering their intermittent sting. The light continued to grow, taking on the true aspect of the sun, the rays of radiance piercing through the constant gloom. They came upon a clearing in the brambles, eight stones set in a circular perimeter about an altar they had never found before. Chains and the stains of long-dried blood clung to the stones that stood in sentry around the alter, creating a macabre theater for some ancient and terrible being. None needed to imagine what creature might call the clearing home, as it was currently affixed to the alter by chains of burning light. A monster, a creature made of cracked bark that clung to rotting muscle struggled against the chains affixing it to the stone, its taloned and wooden hands passing through the links of light as if they did not exist, disturbing nothing. The monster looked like someone¡¯s sick joke of making a snowman from plant matter, having a bulbous body with no legs and two spindly arms sticking off either side of it. Its head was a hideous mass of screeching mouths, each differently shaped, all predatory, with a single gray eye in the center that stared heavenward. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. The light that drew their attention did not come from the chains restraining the monster, but from the man hovering over the clearing. He stood on the air, hurricane winds whipping his red robe about like a flag, his wild crimson hair flailing like a fire. His eyes were made of fire, no doubt his regalia, and they blazed with a hate that made Arabella stop as she took her first step into the clearing. The man sneered down at the monster he stood over, rivulets of blood running from several wounds on his body. In his left hand, held in the air over his head, a ball of fire swelled, looking as if the man had summoned the sun down from the sky, already more than twenty feet across. The fire grew, its roiling making it look almost as if it were made of liquid rather than ephemera. Arabella could feel the heat of the flames from where she stood more than two hundred feet away, a kiss of warmth on her cheek that promised death at the slightest touch. It continued to expand, and Arabella could do nothing but watch as it grew in size, dwarfing the man that held it up in his hand. Arabella¡¯s mind returned to her by the time that the ball of fire had reached more than fifty feet across. She could not fathom the mana required to create such a thing; it had to be in the tens of thousands, maybe more than a hundred thousand. She had no spell or ability in her arsenal that could even come close to requiring such ludicrous levels of power. ¡°Move away!¡± The man yelled, his voice cutting through the wind that continued to tear at him. She sensed the others around her ducking back into the brambles, ready to be away from the imminent conflagration. Arabella could not bring herself to do the same, jumping into the air, suffering the cutting winds as she watched on. The unknown man glanced her direction for a brief moment, nodding to her in the instant before he cast his hand down. The monster chained to the altar screamed, its hands digging at the restraints holding it to the stone, but it could not move. Fire, a torching ball of screaming flames engulfed it as it gave out its final cry. As the flames collided with the earth, it exploded upward, becoming a pillar of fire that rose into the clouds far overhead, consuming the entirety of the clearing in a wave of orange radiance that lasted more than a minute; even the stranger disappeared into the pillar of fire. The wind that constantly tore at her and tried to throw her out of the sky began to die even before the fire ceased, and Arabella watched the flood of light in front of her, feeling the scorching heat roll over her skin, welcoming all of it. The fire died away, revealing the stranger standing in the air over the epicenter of the explosion, staring down at the scorched and barren earth below him. He scowled down at the naked stone beneath him, the body of the monster vaporized by the destruction he wrought. A trickle of something cold splashed against Arabella¡¯s cheek, making her flinch. She raised a finger to her face, having it come away wet. She thought for a moment that her nightmare vanishing, seeing the stars begin to peek out once more from the void overhead, had set her to tears. More water, as cold as the sea trickled down from the sky overhead, bathing her in a wash of refreshing rain. She could see a hole punched straight through the clouds overhead, the moon and reappearing stars casting light down as the clouds swirled around the epicenter of the pillar of flame. More of the clouds seemed to conjure themselves from nothing, joining the spiraling mass that circled over the clearing, moving westward and becoming a real storm. As the curtain of rain moved over the clearing, steam rose from the stranger, and Arabella found him studying her as they held the sky alone in the rain. ¡°You made water from fire,¡± she said, not really understanding where the words came from. He smiled, but Arabella could see the falsity in the expression as he approached. ¡°My name is Corinth Devardem,¡± he said, the churning fire in his eyes beginning to die. ¡°The townsfolk said that there was a band of magicians that disappeared into the hills a few days ago. Might that be you?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Arabella said, captivated by the fiery eyes that bore into her with their intensity. ¡°Good,¡± he said, sighing. ¡°I am in desperate need of directions. I am trying to reach a city called Grim.¡± She escorted him all the way back to the city after their meeting. The journey was not a short one, taking two weeks even at the groups maximum speed. She learned a lot about the man who called himself the Red Mage of Evengale, though she found the moniker not all that creative. She was shocked to find that he was only of the third rank, the same as her, and that he had come from such humble beginnings. He spoke of his family, especially of his youngest brother, with a nostalgia that told her he had not been home in quite some time. The man carried along with him a letter of introduction to the Willian Guild, as well as a sealed envelope addressed to the head of the guild himself, her grandfather. Arabella liked to imagine that she made friends with Corinth on their journey to Grim, but the man held her at a polite distance, always keeping his true feelings hidden and buried. Whenever they found monsters, no matter how small or out of the way, Corinth could not pass by without burning them all to cinders. The man was a fiend for destruction, only ever seeming truly alive in the moments after he had burned the terrible creatures away. He possessed a great affinity for spellcraft as well, something that the two of them shared. Arabella found several holes in his understanding, coming to learn that he was self-taught. Despite his lack in the breadth of his knowledge, the man¡¯s insights into spellcraft were genius. She imagined that if he ever found a real tutor on the subject, he might one day even match her. Arriving in Grim, Arabella took Corinth to meet with her grandfather immediately. The guild master was disturbed at the loss of magicians in what was thought to be a simple hunt, but he did not dwell on the loss overlong. Hunting monsters was dangerous sport, casualties were expected, and deaths did happen. She was dismissed as soon as she made her report and introduction, her grandfather not wanting her to overhear the conversation he had with Corinth. The last time that she saw the strange man with her own two eyes was as she exited the audience chamber, the fiery gaze of the young magician turned toward one of the most powerful magicians in the world as he sat upon his throne of bleached bone. Arabella did not heed her grandfather¡¯s wishes however, escaping to her chambers in the mansion at once, establishing a scrying link to the audience chamber. Despite his great power, the head of the Willian guild was not a magician with a depth of knowledge on spellwork, relying on his advisors to handle such security, men and women whom Arabella had long learned to circumvent with her own skill. The scry did not communicate sound, making the spying almost fruitless as Arabella was also not adept at reading lips. The two men spoke for a time, their words measured and steady. Then, the grandmaster of the Willian guild led the young mage to another chamber in the guild house, a chamber Arabella had never herself been allowed entrance. A steel door stood in the room, a single seam splitting its center. Arrayed around the top arch of the passageway were ten symbols, each strange and without any meaning to Arabella. The grandmaster approached the door, placing a heavy hand on its surface, motioning to a symbol in the array that lit at his touch, two crossed swords. At his direction, Corinth also stepped forward, touching the surface of the door, jumping back as another symbol began to shed a black light. The symbol was a simple circle, but it shone with a dark light that excited fear in Arabella¡¯s chest. Corinth reacted poorly to seeing the symbol light up, his face contorting in anger as he began to yell at her grandfather. The young magician¡¯s eyes flicked to the side, staring into Arabella as he cast his hand out. The last sight she ever had of Corinth was of fire rolling off of his hand, pouring over the invisible sensor she had in the room with the two men, destroying it utterly. There was anger on his face, as well as the briefest hint of tears in the corners of his eyes. He disappeared into a blur of orange, the two great doors opening behind him. Chapter 79 - The End of the Past It is a strange thing to mostly know about your brother from the stories others tell you. I can barely remember anything about him myself, and at this point I have a hard time knowing if the memories I do have are really mine or what I have invented in my head from hearing stories. The man that Arabella paints for me in her story is a stranger. I wonder if I would even recognize him if I saw him. ¡°Should you have told me about that last part?¡± I ask. ¡°A secret door inside of the grandmaster¡¯s mansion sounds like it would be a secret.¡± Arabella shrugs. ¡°I wanted to tell you the whole truth as I know it. I realize that I am not very good at mentoring; I have only just started trying to understand how to do so. I never had a mentor growing up. Tutors, sure; I had a plethora of teachers to give me assignments and to teach me the fundamentals of spellwork and the trade, but everyone that I admired, that I looked up to, was so far out of my reach, too distant to come to know in that way.¡± She sighs, her composure faltering for the first time that I have seen as her shoulder sag. ¡°I am not so good at looking at things from other people¡¯s perspectives. I tried working with Coriander for months before I recruited Jor¡¯Mari. I thought that she was coming along, that she was getting to a place where she could open up to others, but I see now that I was deluded in this thinking. She hurts you know; deep down she is so afraid.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t particularly care,¡± I say. ¡°She had Kendon stab me and push me off of a cliff.¡± ¡°She did,¡± Arabella says. ¡°It is the things that people do which decide their fate, decide how we view them, not the sympathies they might be capable of evoking. That is just, isn¡¯t it? Like I said before, I will not stand in your way. She might not have injured me, but I find her actions sickening. Do as you will with her.¡± Something in the way that she says it inspires a bit of disgust in me. How can this woman go from admitting that she tried to get close to this girl for months to throwing her aside so easily. Coriander never did anything to Arabella directly. I discard that distaste; I don¡¯t see how it might serve me. Arabella is trying to make amends, even an idiot could see that, all that is left for me to do is decide if I will accept her. ¡°You want to be truthful with me now?¡± I ask. ¡°I will. Ask what you will.¡± ¡°Why did you not tell me about how awful this contest would be?¡± I ask. ¡°You made it this big secret, but even before the contest began, I found out that nearly all of the competitors had some kind of idea of what would be happening. There was never a real secret there.¡± She smiles. ¡°I get blamed for following the rules. No, it isn¡¯t as if the contest itself is some large secret. The general details are known; we have many generations of nobility that send their young through the Passage, though the specific details of each trial are meant to be kept a secret. When the outline for the Passage was presented to us almost a year ago, there was an emphasis on keeping the details from the participants. Unfortunately for me, it would appear that I actually obeyed.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t decide which is worse. Knowing that we are about to step into a bloodbath or finding out by surprise. No, it is obvious that knowing would have been better,¡± I say. ¡°Would the girl that I brought here have done anything if she knew?¡± Arabella asked. ¡°I might not have been a great mentor, but you were not exactly an eager student either. I gave you access to reading materials and training facilities, but you hardly used them to push yourself.¡± I wince, knowing that she is right. ¡°It¡¯s embarrassing to know that it took getting stabbed, tossed onto rocks, and nearly dying to make me interested in magic, truly interested. If it never came down to me risking my life, to having to make myself better in order not to be eaten by monsters or killed by my fellow competitors, I don¡¯t think that I ever might have. I still hate those two, but I can recognize that they pushed me over some barrier.¡± Arabella looks to the sky, to the illusion that she is no doubt casting on the ceiling of the indoor field. Her eyes scan the emptiness, seeming to mull over something. ¡°This was never meant to be a bloodbath,¡± she says. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I took the Passage. Exeter, it has been thirty-nine years since I was in this same tower, pushing myself to climb the fastest. In my entire Passage, I believe that only three people lost their lives¨Cout of five hundred and sixteen participants. Each died at the hands of a monster. That isn¡¯t to say that there wasn¡¯t strife between the competitors; factions formed, alliances were made, and a few skirmishes broke out, but no one killed each other. Young nobles are taught restraint, generally, as a part of their tutelage. When you are to become strong enough to crush stone with a flick of the wrist, knowing restraint from an early age is essential. Those that bear the brunt and harsher realities of life prior to becoming a magician generally understand restraint as a rule. Funnily enough, when an issue like that does come up, it is often the immature girls that show a lack of restraint,¡± she says, looking at me in a peculiar way. ¡°Something about giving real strength and power to someone who has never been able to hold that over anybody in their lives leads to abuse.¡± ¡°I have restraint,¡± I say. ¡°Many who have watched your progression aren¡¯t so sure. I¡¯ve gotten off topic. What I meant to illustrate is that this contest was never meant to be, and never has been, a bloodbath. That first day was shocking, an overreach in my opinion, and even though most who fell on that first day were able to be recovered, I still hate how it was done. Past that, all of this bloodiness has been on the hands of the competitors, and something else as well.¡± She looks skyward once more before nodding to herself. ¡°Something strange is happening in this competition.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t exactly know. Normally, I would be back in Grim, sipping wine and watching the proceedings from the comfort of my villa, but I have been called to hold the tower. There is something affecting the people in the Passage, a subtle influence that seems to carry with it thoughts of conflict and a lowering of violent inhibitions. We think that this influence is responsible for the fighting and wanton murder.¡± ¡°What could do that?¡± I ask. ¡°It is difficult to say. In this world, with so many disparate and unknown powers lurking in the shadows, it is almost impossible to know. There are theories, though nothing has yet been confirmed.¡± Her eyes bore into me with their seriousness. ¡°I tell you this to put you on guard. The authority believes that to inform the participants would spark chaos and suspicion, but I disagree. I might not be willing to go so far as to directly defy them, but in this place where I am in my power, where they cannot spy on me so freely as I converse with one of the young people that I have sent into this situation, I will reveal it to you. If you notice that you are being pushed into conflict by some outside force, steel yourself. We might not know what is causing this, but we can be assured that it does not have our best interest in mind.¡± I study the woman¡¯s face for a long moment. ¡°How can I trust anything you say?¡± I ask. ¡°I told you already that I do not trust you.¡± ¡°Believe me or don¡¯t,¡± she says. ¡°All I can do now to earn your trust is to be earnest. I will tell you the truth because I believe that you deserve to know it. Eventually, you will see that I am being truthful. I can only hope that your suspicion doesn¡¯t lead you into disaster before that time comes.¡± Without another word, Arabella stands and vanishes into thin air. I look once more to the Dispatch that continues to hover over the center of the field, finding a copy of the woman still standing upon it, watching the proceeding match over her staff with a bored expression. I watch the match as well, but my thoughts are far from the bodies that slam into one another, trying to eke out even the barest advantage. I think that today I saw Arabella for the first time. At least the facade that she presented was more relatable than the one she showed off before. When I first saw the woman, I thought of her as some otherworldly being: beautiful, majestic, powerful. She is those things, but I am starting to suspect that she might also be a person underneath all of the pretension and aloofness. Her face when she spoke about failing the five of us, the sorrow in her eyes, it seemed real. A part of my mind reminds me that the woman uses illusions, and that to trust anything she puts on display would be foolish, even if I don¡¯t believe that she is directly hostile toward me. Another part of me wants to believe her. I know full well that she is a horrible mentor, she barely taught me anything, and by her own admission she failed in that respect. Despite that, she was the one that provided me with essentia, and not just any essentia, but incredibly valuable and rare ones. If I had stayed with Halford, I am sure that my brother would have eventually helped me gain essentia, especially if I continued to pester him about it; I have to imagine that a rank two adventurer can earn far more coin than a rank one can. Even so, would they have been as rare as the Dragon Essentia, would they have called to me as powerfully as the Magic Essentia had? She also gave me an artifact. Sure, it had taken my eye being stolen to put in my head, but I don¡¯t believe that I would have survived this long without Galea¡¯s help. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. The biggest point against her is that once she gave these things to me, she simply ceased helping. Did she expect me to learn how to be a magician on my own, the way that Corinth had, the way that Halford had? In the end, I suppose that is exactly what ended up happening. I am pulled from my thoughts by a dark cloud exploding in the center of the field. The black smoke swirls on the grass, engulfing everyone inside it, their shadows cast upon the cloud by flashes of lightning within. The surface of the cloud stills, resolving into a nightscape of a thousand stars, ever-shifting constellations, and a green cloud of spinning nebula. Clarice explodes out of the nightscape turned cloud, dashing forward with a yellow ball held between her hands, a manic look of triumph on her face. A moment later, an explosion of fireworks erupts from the goal, the elven noble having scored the final point for our team. She hardly has time to take in the victory, standing in the opponent¡¯s goal, puffing with her cheeks flushed red, before she is tackled to the ground by an excited lizardkin woman. I lever myself to my feet, jogging over to join the whooping from my team, sparing a glance back toward our opponents who linger on the ground where the black cloud dissipates. One man among them lets out a tired sigh, shaking his head and brushing the grass off of him, while the woman on his team, the one who did all of the teleporting and most of the work for their team, punches the ground, grunting. In the end, they lost by two points. Without Lionel in the game, they didn¡¯t stand much of a chance. Despite his good-natured yell to our team, that same man who continues to laugh to himself, holds frustration deep in his eyes, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye when he thinks no one is watching. The other two wear their anger at the outcome more barren. They understand how important that big man was to their team more than we do, I am sure. ¡°You are a true athlete,¡± Jasper says as I am walking over to the gathering, faltering and hesitating before laying a hand on Clarice¡¯s shoulder. I might have thought Clarice burned as hot as fire by the way the man pulls his hand back when she glances down at it. ¡°No offense meant.¡± ¡°None taken,¡± she assures, clearly puzzled by the man. It occurs to me that she might not have ever met a man like this before considering the circles that she used to swim in. The nobility so far has struck me as a socially adept sort. Jasper reminds me of some of the young boys back home, more afraid of girls than of finding snakes or spiders in their boots. ¡°I think Jess deserves more of the valor for this victory.¡± ¡°We all did our part,¡± Jess beams. ¡°Even you Jasper.¡± She has no problem wrapping a long arm around the man¡¯s shoulders squeezing him and setting his face to blushing. ¡°Once I started listening to you, the paths began to open up. Well, for a little bit.¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± he says, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°With that one in the blue in front of me like that, I couldn¡¯t see so clearly.¡± ¡°Do you specialize in perception?¡± I ask him, though my Eye of Volaash tells me clearly that he does not. Ever since attaining Galea, I have often pondered at the attribute. Clearly, once I completed my set of essentia, the way that I see the world completely changed. Everything stands out so much clearer, there are more colors than there were before, but I have never been tempted into putting points into the attribute. Since that first day, stepping out into the street, experiencing the changed world and being overwhelmed by sensation, I have not noticed much of a change to how I see things, despite the attribute increasing alongside my others. ¡°Oh, heaven above, no,¡± he says, caught off-guard by the question. ¡°Would that I had an attribute specialization. I have no abilities as fancy as that, though when I had my last soul reading, the magician in charge of the reading did confirm that my perception was high. Many of my abilities seem to involve it, so I get a good workout in it.¡± Soul readings, another thing that I needed to learn for myself from one of the books I found on Arabella¡¯s shelf, were a matter of course in the profession. With the right items and spellwork working in concert, a trained magician is able to read the soul of another individual, gaining insight into their souls. Considering that essentia is integrated directly into the soul, such readings allow for a greater understanding into one¡¯s abilities and where they line up attribute wise. In essence, it was a rather vague process that Galea made completely obsolete for me to participate in. ¡°Are you a perception specialist?¡± Jasper asks me. ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°Why?¡± I see his eyes linger flick back and forth between my right eye and my left. Without a proper mirror to look into, it is easy for me to forget how strange my own eyes have become, one a black orb with a red iris, the other normal except for my pupil having become slit like a lizard¡¯s¨Cor rather a dragon¡¯s. ¡°No reason,¡± he demures. His eyes flick back to the entrance to our room, the archway standing open in the illusion of a snowy landscape. ¡°Do you think that he is still upset?¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± I say, looking back to the archway. ¡°You should go speak to him then,¡± Jess says. ¡°Me!¡± I yell, turning on her. ¡°Why in three hells would I go talk to him?¡± ¡°He is your friend, isn¡¯t he?¡± she says. That catches me out. Certainly, we were being friendly recently, but can I really consider the boorish aristocrat a friend? ¡°If he is going to throw a tantrum and wreck the room, I would rather someone stop him before he goes too far. He seems like the type to lash out when he is angry, and Samielle is still recovering in there.¡± ¡°I agree,¡± Clarice says. Jasper doesn¡¯t need to say anything, it is as clear as day how frightened the man is of Jor¡¯Mari. I swallow the groan rising in my throat and pace across the field, followed behind at a considerable distance by the other three. Our opponents have already fled back to their own waiting room, but Arabella doesn¡¯t seem to be in any particular hurry to shuffle us off of the field. In fact, she watches the proceedings from her vantage high overhead; a real look of interest on her face that was absent during the match. My first step into the room confirms that Jess had been right on the mark about Jor¡¯Mari. The long table at the back of the room lays in two pieces on the floor, a crack running through the center of it. The splinters of a chair lay against the wall, the piece of furniture exploded into a hundred pieces. I find Jor¡¯Mari around the bend where the washroom is, sitting in a shallow puddle, staring up at the ceiling. The indent of a fist is punched into the side of the metal basin, a single break leaking warm water out onto the floor. ¡°Lionel will recover,¡± I say. A long and still moment passes before Jor¡¯Mari turns his eyes away from the ceiling to look up at me. There is a vacancy on his face, and that hurt that I saw before lurks in the darks of his eyes, more near the surface now than I have seen it. ¡°It was a difficult match without you, but we won. I knew that Jess would be graceful, and she has more stamina than any of them, but Clarice proved just as dexterous. I think that her abilities lend toward obscuring her movement, though she tried to hide what it is that she can do during the match. Jasper wasn¡¯t so bad either. He never put his hand on a ball, but he seems rather adept at reading the movements and intentions of others. Having someone like that around could be useful in a fight.¡± Jor¡¯Mari grunts, turning his eyes back toward the ceiling. Water continued to trickle from the basin, a slow drip that echoes through the small alcove. I lean back, seeing the other three keeping their distance at the archway, not venturing inside. ¡°It¡¯s¨C¡± ¡°You don¡¯t need to push yourself to be kind to me,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says before I can babble something inane. ¡°We are allied with each other. We share a common goal, but I do not need any false sycophants hanging on. I know full well what you really think of me. My reputation comes well ahead of me. I know that they got to you before we ever exchanged words. I could see it in your eyes.¡± ¡°Who got to me?¡± I ask, stepping into the room, my boots splashing in the shallow water. ¡°Who else, the elves. I don¡¯t imagine that the Lady Mel¡¯Draven would stoop to gossip with you, but those brothers surely did. The way you looked at me that time we met in the training yard, I knew that my image was poison to you then.¡± I scoff, standing over him. ¡°I¡¯ll admit that I didn¡¯t like you then because you were being a prick.¡± That catches him by surprise. He looks up at me, ¡°What?¡± I can¡¯t help but roll my eyes. ¡°You were talking about my ass right to my face. Do you think that women like that kind of thing?¡± ¡°...Yes,¡± he says. ¡°At least in my experience.¡± ¡°Well, I do not,¡± I say. I try to infect the man with a smirk, but there is just absence on his face. ¡°I don¡¯t hate you, Jor¡¯Mari, and I don¡¯t put much stock in gossip. You are right though, Macille warned me not to get close to you.¡± ¡°Called me a murderer no doubt,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, looking down at his hands. Ripples spread in rings through the puddle form the constant drip of the basin, somehow turning our reflections that stare up at us sinister. ¡°Everyone says that I am. I hear it when they think I can¡¯t, whispering behind my back, speaking behind closed doors. They sneer as I pass by, talking about my jealousy or my scornful ambition, but¡­he shouldn¡¯t have died. I didn¡¯t mean for any of that to happen.¡± His fingers tremble as he stares down at them. ¡°Your brother,¡± I say, kneeling in the water next to him. ¡°Macille said that something happened with your brother,¡± I say in answer to the questioning look he gives me. ¡°I loved Timmin,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°He was so strong, smarter than he had any right to be, mischievous like a devil. He had a smile that would make you forgive him for putting ivy in your socks or a tack on your chair.¡± Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s breath hitches. ¡°I can¡¯t see that boy anymore, my smiling brother. All I can see is him on the ground, bent¡­wrong. He was supposed to be stronger than me. He was the lord¡¯s son, he was endowed, and I am just some bastard that came out backward. How could he just break like that? How can I break people so easy?¡± I want to reach out for him, to lay some kind of comfort on him, but my hand hesitates. The pain is there, clear as day on his face now as he stares down at his own hands, grief riven on his face. ¡°I am a murderer now,¡± he whispers. ¡°They were all right. Just losing control for a brief moment is enough to make me into the monster everyone knew that I was. The blood won¡¯t ever come off, will it?¡± Tears fall from his eyes as his hands sag to the ground, splashing into the puddle beneath us. He shakes, staring down at his own reflection, disgust on his face. As he begins to really cry, to let his pain out with a long and bone-chilling moan, my hesitation leaves me. I wrap up the broken man in my arms, holding him tight as he sobs, as he mumbles his brother¡¯s name. We sit in the puddle, undisturbed, his sorrow pulling my own sadness out of me. My eyes stay dry, no matter how hard I wish to join him. There is something broken inside of me, and I don¡¯t know how to fix it. Chapter 80 - The Last Match I don¡¯t think that I have a grasp on time anymore. We have been in this room for hours; sometimes it feels like days, whiling the time away as we wait for our final match. At some point, I was certain that this entire competition was supposed to be a race against time, but with how much time I have spent sitting in a chair or sleeping in a somewhat comfortable cot, that is easy to forget. Not that I can complain much. The rest has been refreshing, and after the last win each of us even found a new set of clothing in the dresser near the wash bin. Considering I only have two changes of clothes, it was a prize I was happy to receive. As we wait, at least three in the room joining me in reading books from Arabella¡¯s shelf, Samielle finally awoke. The man was groggy, and he still looks like someone lightly splashed fire over his whole body, but he was awake long enough to eat something. Jess fed him before re-wrapping the dressing we have applied to his damaged wing to make it more comfortable for him. Wouldn¡¯t you know it, none of us knew how to properly bandage a wing. The man is still in an awful condition, and though I hate to think it, he will probably be a liability going forward. He sleeps again, more soundly than before. Jor¡¯Mari continues to sulk in the corner of the room, pretending to stare at the words in a book on applied economics when he isn¡¯t staring into the corner of the room. He hasn¡¯t turned the page in over an hour now. I don¡¯t know what to say to the man. Up until a few hours ago, I had bought into the cavalier attitude, the display of brash rudeness that makes him seem so confident. He is a nobleman; he acted how I expected. For some reason, I never pictured anything truly terrible happening in his life. Even my books eventually grow dull, not that I think anyone would find most of the topics all that engaging in the first place. A month ago, I wouldn¡¯t have. I find myself speaking at length with Jess, exchanging stories from our youth with one another. It is amazing what kinds of stories a peasant girl from Gale and the niece of a migratory herding tribe¡¯s chief have in common. I find that she has a skill at forging, that she has been apprenticing in the art for almost a decade now. I know that if I wish to continue pursuing enchanting, picking up such an art will be incredibly valuable in the future. That, or making good friends with someone already proficient. After an interminable amount of time, the shining arch of the doorway begins to glow and hum once more. I stretch out of my chair as the pathway back to the field begins to appear, getting a good pop out of my back before we march forward. We need to leave Samielle behind again, but the man waves us on, cheering us to win this final match. The display is a bit heartbreaking, and Jess decides on her own to help the man limp to the seats on the side of the field. The field stands somewhat changed. Rather, rain softly drizzles from the roof overhead that now looks like a billowing mass of gray clouds. Each step on the grass squelches as my boots seep into the grass beneath my feet. It only occurs to me now how strange it should be to have such a healthy lawn of grass inside of this tower. I suppose all sorts of wonders can be done with an educated application of magic, even keeping grass green and flush while it is far from the sun. A confusing distortion of gray covers the view that was the tundra before. Rivulets of darkness running through the pallid color that churns against the open air, almost like clouds pressing in on glass. I might mistake the illusion presented to us for a thick fog if it weren''t for the intermittent moments of ghostly hands pressing out of the gray, slapping against the walls of the illusion for the barest instant, disappearing once more into the torrent a second later, leaving nothing in their wake but disturbed color. Whatever could possess Arabella Willian to present the outside world like this I have no idea, but it does mark this particular match as an outlier. The sprinkling of rain in the interior of the tower is a mystery as well. Perhaps she simply wants to make everyone more miserable than they already are. The rain does not bother me as it seeps into my scalp, sticking long strands of orange to my neck and face, dampening my clothes, making them heavy with water. The cold of the downpour never reaches me. I find cold reaching me less and less these days. Looking around, my companions don''t seem too concerned with the minor downpour either. Should that surprise me? These are all supposed to be elite magicians after all. Even Jasper seems to take the sheet of rain falling on his head in stride, merely removing a cap from his pocket and slapping the thin piece of leather down on his head. A point of light, a rectangle of blue shines across the field from us, the lair of our opponents. We do not need to wait for them to slowly emerge from their own chamber, each stalking to the center of the field, each more menacing than the last. No, six figures already stand in the center of the Stoneball field, though, they seem far more concerned with the rain than does my own team. The entire field is cast in a darker light, the roiling of gray clouds overhead and horrid mist pressing in at the walls does little to illuminate the field itself. The rain cutting sideways through the chamber, blowing as if in a harsh wind despite the complete and utter lack of a breeze, further obscures, or it should have. Despite everything darkening the field, the grass itself almost seems to glow, as if it was sitting pretty underneath the noonday sun. The entire effect makes it feel as if I was stepping onto some ghostly island in the middle of a rainstorm as my boot scuffs across the painted exterior of the field proper. The Dispatch, incredibly visible, its black geometry somehow standing out against the blanket of angry clouds overhead, hovers once more in the center of the field, its ever-present rider standing astride it. Arabella Willian, still disguised as a goddess, looks down at the assemblage, noting with a glance Jess hurrying to catch up with the rest of us after offloading Samielle onto a seat on the side. I think the man might be happier recuperating in his cot. He would be a great deal dryer at the least, warmer too. Of the thirteen people in the chamber, Arabella stands as the only one proof from the constant drizzle of rain. Tiny crystals, shards of ice cast in chaotic geometry, drop away from the dispatch around her, frozen the instant the water even thinks to approach the woman and ruin her pristine appearance. The motes of ice cascade into the grass between our two groups, melting once they hit the grass, piling a slurry in the center of the field. Not even my eye can detect the barrier that must be around her, turning the water to ice, but I know that it is there. There is a look in the woman''s eye, a hunger and excitement that makes me feel like a vole staring up at a raptor. In the previous two matches, the woman never looked so excited. "We are at five participants for Team Mari and six for Team Forendous. I am afraid that you will once again have to cast one of your lot to the side Faux-Baroness," she intones, the sound of the rain splattering into the wet grass disappearing as she speaks and returning once her words have reached us. I study our opponents for the first time, really study them. I do not like what I find. In the center of their line, six in all, stands a woman of alien origins that I can only guess at. She is not tall, barely over five feet I think, and her skin has a shiny blue pallor that bears hints of green; I have never seen anyone like her before. Her eyes are piercing, yellow, almost golden, orbs run through with thick red veins that somehow catch what scant light floats about on the field, shining like I have seen wild cats¡¯ eyes do in the nighttime. Her face is poised and dignified, beautiful in its way, but it is a dangerous beauty. She seems bored with the proceedings, but when she catches me watching her, some spark of interest seems to light in her shining eyes as she turns them on me. The Eye of Volaash tells me about her, but I could have guessed at some things based solely upon the ravenous aura that licks at the air around her, a blanket the color of translucent steel that roils in the rain. Kit Auger Forendous(Rank Two), Faux-Baroness of the Amber Shores Abyssal Caller Conflux "That is a dangerous one," Jess says in a whisper next to me. "I''m fairly certain that she is the one that tore down the gate in the courtyard. Crumpled a big man named... like a twig before almost killing him." "I''ve never seen anyone like her," I say, not bothering to whisper back. "She must come from the Vivantee Empire. They live in the seas of the world. A powerful people, ruthless too," Jor''Mari says from my other side. I look at the man, but I cannot see any clear trace of the melancholy he displayed the day before. He stands, arms folded across his chest as he smirks at our competition who are now arguing with one another about who might be allowed to join the match. The man''s mask of sneering indifference is impeccable, but I''ve seen behind it now. I can''t even begin to guess at what he might do in this match, but given that woman in the middle of the field opposite us, I am glad to have him on my side. "What is a Faux-Baroness?" I ask. He quirks a brow and snickers, shaking his head. "It means that she must be the daughter of a Baron, or perhaps a Baroness. From what I understand about the Empire, the hereditary titles of the young nobles actually carries weight, not just the weight of mommy and daddy''s displeasure. Real, legal weight. Quite something that we are so graced by this woman." Stolen story; please report. "I suppose that it is," I say, turning my eye on the rest of our opponents. The next one that I land on happens to be an elven man standing at the side of Lady Forendous, his subtle smile and open posture a counterplay to hers, though they share the same boredom in their eyes. They must believe that this match is a foregone conclusion, and it is difficult to blame them. This man too is a rank two magician, meaning that they have two where we have none. My eye gives me his name, Graessa Mor, the son of a Count. His long cascading curls are the color of cool-blue crystal, the rain completely unable to do anything other than complement their pearlescence. He stands, imperious and passive, looking at each of us with dull gray eyes, elegant even though you could almost think he was a statue by his stillness. There is something in the way that he stands, two red-gloved hands clasped in front of him, wisps of gray power floating into the air from his shoulders¨Chinting at his soul presence¨Cthat unnerves me. This man is dangerous, maybe even more dangerous that the strange woman he stands near. Despite the disturbing nature of those two, I find a small comfort in seeing that the rest of their group is not so overtly dangerous. A man and a woman( more a boy than a man really, he is the youngest that I have seen in the contest so far¨Cmaybe fifteen) argue in the rain. The similar nature of their golden hair, its sheen turned copper in the downpour, and their shining green eyes tell me that they are siblings as powerfully as my eye does, the children of a duke from some land I have never heard of. The woman¡¯s name is Kess while her brother¡¯s is Allann, and she holds a dainty parasol in one hand as she stares up at her younger sibling. Not that the parasol does her any good, the rain still soaks through both of their incredibly well-tailored and adorned black clothing all the same. Seeing their clothes and looking around at the other four that stand on the line across from us, it occurs to me that they are much better dressed than we are. The clothes provided to me by the guild are nice and well-made, but they lack the ivory tassels, jeweled cuffs, and fine accessories that these people wear. I wonder briefly whose pocket I need to tickle in the guild to get clothes so fine, not that I have ever tickled someone¡¯s pocket before. Girls in town have done far more for far less. I doubt I would get anything so fancy as what our opponents wear despite how deft my fingers might be; my blood just isn¡¯t clean enough. A lot of good their fine clothing does for them in the rain; it¡¯s all mostly the same in the damp. ¡°Bah,¡± Kess barks, waving her parasol in her brother¡¯s face, forcing the boy to step back and slap it away. ¡°I yielded to your pestering too many times. I will not sit aside once again.¡± ¡°You agreed to wait until I made a score. Has that time come yet? Hmm? Go back on your word when it no longer suits you to follow through with it, hmmm?¡± he demands. ¡°Take your place to the side.¡± ¡°You would use your own inadequacy to try and keep your place on the line?¡± she questions. ¡°If you cannot provide anything for the group, then you should be the one to step aside.¡± And on they continue as we watch the spectacle, Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s smirk growing wider. I turn my attention to the last two members I haven¡¯t given a good inspection. Two men, each elven and dressed like they are about to attend a ball, ascots sagging from waterlogging, the fine white linen that peeks from their suit coats dripping in the drizzle. The one on the right is the palest elf that I have ever seen, an honor held by Coriander before, and his silver hair only adds to the lack of color in his features. His name is Jason Kal¡¯Liefer. The burgundy suit he wears still stands buttoned all the way to his neck, as if he is expecting dinner guests to drop out of the sky at any moment. What stands out to me most is my eye telling me his conflux, Retreating Mist, and the redness of both his irises and his full lips. There is a pitying look on his long and narrow face, as if he is the only one who knows some great secret and we are all the poorer for our ignorance. His counterpart is similar to him in the paleness of his skin, but the onyx of his own hair, pulled into a long ponytail that languidly lays over his shoulder, reminds me too much of Coriander for me to believe the similarity is coincidental. My eye tells me he is from some house called Brimman, from a barony that carries the same name. Suddenly I wish I knew a bit more about the relationships between the elven nobility. With the name of Laet Brimman, he stands with a slouch that I have not seen many elves bear. His once brilliant green suit, now darkened from the rain, stands open, its corners leaking a steady heartbeat of drippings into the grass. The fabric bunches around the man¡¯s arms, as if the suit jacket is ill-fitted, but that may simply be the effect of the rain. The man has a hideous scar cutting a jagged path down the right side of his face, leaving his right eye blind and gray. His one good eye stares at the ground, studying a lone yellow flower in the middle of the field, its stem bent from a recent trampling. ¡°Enough of this!¡± Lady Forendous shrieks, turning on the bickering siblings to her side. The brother and sister fall instantly silent, cowed by the sudden anger on the short woman¡¯s face. Lady Forendous calms herself, running a black nail through her forest-green hair, pulling a loose lock out of her face. ¡°Given that this is the final match that we will be partaking in, it would be better if you both participated. I know how heart set you are to be of use, Kess, and I would measure your worth.¡± The Faux-Baroness¡¯ eyes flick skyward toward Arabella, but the fake goddess gives no sign of complaint. It is Clarice that speaks up for our team. ¡°We only have five to play with,¡± Clarice says, gesturing down our line. ¡°Five on six hardly seems fair.¡± ¡°If I am not mistaken, that miserable fellow there is a part of your merry band, is he not?¡± Lady Forendous asks, pointing toward Samielle where he sits in a chair off the side of the field. ¡°He does seem awfully battered, and I am certain that he would be in a better mood playing for his team. If you like, I can have Lord Brimman here heal him of his injuries, allowing his participation.¡± ¡°Yes!¡± Jess says, taking a step forward to speak before Clarice can think of a reply. ¡°Yes, please.¡± The smile painting Lady Forendous¡¯ face grows wider, revealing needle-like teeth lining the woman¡¯s mouth. I can¡¯t help but shudder at the sight of that smile, imagining what those teeth are meant to bite into, feeling their thin tips dragging over the skin on my forearm. ¡°This is a friendly competition after all,¡± Lady Forendous says, gesturing to the sullen and scarred man standing at her side. ¡°Who would I be if I did not offer the hospitality of my underling¡¯s services. Bearing such injuries up further into the tower might imperil him, and I do not want such a thing.¡± Lord Brimman nods to her and begins to walk toward where Samielle sits when she catches him by the arm, stopping him. ¡°Given the nature of us being in competition, I cannot bring myself to be too charitable, however; it would be an insult to you in its way. We will heal him, but only once, either before our game or after. That choice is to you, but I would consider the option carefully, as you may find yourselves a bit more broken than he is now at the end of all this. Others in the groups we have faced before you have.¡± A silence lapses between our two lines, the sound of the rain splashing into the grass the only sound passing for a few seconds. The disquiet is broken by a bark of laughter, and I look sidelong to find Jor¡¯Mari holding his hand over his mouth, making a poor attempt to stifle the laughter bubbling up from his throat. ¡°We will take the man now,¡± he says, dropping his hand to reveal a smile more manic than I have seen him wear before. I cannot tell if the crazed look in his eye is for the benefit of our opponents or genuine. ¡°You may yourselves find need of Lord Brimman¡¯s ministrations following this match. I would hate for him to be too exhausted then to aide you.¡± Lady Forendous releases Lord Brimman¡¯s arm, her smile never faltering as the man proceeds to stride from the field to where Samielle waits, ignorant and in pain. ¡°Team Mari was it; would that make you the infamous Jor¡¯Mari? An acquaintance on the dry bid me to relay her feelings of fondness to you should we cross paths in this contest. You know Lady Quelth, do you not? She had much to say on your account.¡± The smirk on Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s face dips just the barest. ¡°No doubt.¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± Lady Forendous continues. ¡°She did speak of the bravado, so it is no surprise to me to find such high words of confidence coming from you, half-breed.¡± Jor¡¯Mari snickers. ¡°I however do find your own high words a surprise, given your¡­shall we say, vertical challenges.¡± That does the trick. The disdainful glee on Lady Forendous¡¯ face turns into a scowl. She glances off the field to where Lord Brimman is standing over Samielle, a wash of blue energy peeling off the scarred man¡¯s hands to wash over Samielle. I watch as the injured man starts to sit a little straighter, the wrapped wing on his back twitching and seeming to grow stronger and stronger in barely any time. ¡°I suppose we shall see whose confidence is out of place in just a few moments,¡± Lady Forendous quips as Lord Brimman finishes his work. Samielle stands, both wings flexing, the man moving his arms in circles, working out the stiffness in his shoulders. ¡°Though, there is almost no chance that it will be me.¡± ¡°As you say, my Lady. As you say,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, craning his neck to the side, earning a fantastic pop. He sighs, rolling his own shoulders as Samielle comes prancing out onto the field, catching Jess as she leaps at him, wrapping her arms around him. ¡°They all talk big in the beginning.¡± Lady Forendous leaves the talking at that, beckoning Lord Brimman to return to the line, dictating his spot with a snap of her fingers and a point. All attention turns skyward once more as Samielle takes his spot in the line beside us. It occurs to me, just as Arabella begins to call checks to make certain that each team is ready, that Samielle may not know the rules of the game. Our line calls that we are ready before I can ask for a delay, the Dispatch whines overhead, power swelling inside the black cube as it prepares to thunder down the first ball of the match. Light explodes away from it in a green streak as the first ball thuds into the wet grass, power swells off of magicians on both lines while others dash forward. The final match has begun.
Lady Forendous(Rank Two) Abyssal Caller Conflux Jor¡¯Mari(Rank One) Demon Conflux
Graessa Mor(Rank Two) The Still Space Conflux Clarice Morningcall(level 44) Eclipse Conflux
Laet Brimman(Rank One) Green Beast Conflux Jess Keller(Rank One) Blade Dancer Conflux
Jason Kal¡¯Liefer(Rank One) Retreating Mist Conflux Charlene Devardem(Level 34) Emperor Conflux
Allann Bel¡¯Varath(Rank One) Lasher Conflux Samielle Kraesh(Rank One) Nightmare Conflux
Kess Bel¡¯Varath(Rank One) Disturbed Earth Conflux Jasper Callaway(Level 32) Seer Conflux
Chapter 81 - First Point The explosion of motion rocks the earth beneath my feet, even as my own legs spring forward. Darkness, thick as fog and infinitely deeper erupts in the center of the field. Before blackness swamps over my eyes, I see Jor''Mari ahead of me, first off the line. Worrying about Samielle has cost me precious fractions of a second; I have no chance to reach the ball first. I am blind, sprinting forward toward some point I can only recall, the echo of the ball smashing into the earth still ringing in my ears. I catch the vague shape of someone in the darkness of Clarice''s cloud, more of a vague impression than an actual body, and intercept. With no chance of reaching the ball first, or even being certain that I know where it is, I judge that it is no longer my job to try for it. My shoulder collides with the outline I spot, the rattling impact snaking down my back and loosing a surprised squawk from whomever I tackle. My fingers dig into wet cloth as my momentum carries the two of us to the ground where I land atop them, one of my arms trapped underneath their body. "Get off me!" a voice cries out, trailing off in the way that the last gasp of air from the lungs does. The voice is soft, even for someone who just had the wind knocked out of them¨Cthe boy from earlier. A clenched fist cracks across my jaw, the shock and rattle of my teeth grinding together making my fingers go slack. Hands carelessly press into my chest, shoving me sideways into the wet grass, rolling, before I can recover from the crackling white in my vision. On my back in grass, staring up at the darkness above me, my jaw clicks as I flex it. There are lights in the darkness and not just from the nasty blow I took on the chin. Specks of light and rivulets of streaking lightning bloom in the dark, striking an eerie similarity to the scene I have seen when floating in the inky blackness, looking upon the intricacy of my soul or index. My fascination with the sparkling dark begins to fade as quickly as the pain in my jaw. The dark seems to run away, streaming like water pooling down a drain. I sit up, looking around, noticing that the whole of the dark cloud is growing fainter, easier to see through. The others appear out of the fog, each of us looking to a central point where the darkness and the stars spotting it run away to. A man stands, his hand outheld, the darkness curling into the palm of his hand. In seconds it is gone from all around us, becoming a ball of the pitchest night floating above his hand like a sinister marble. That man, Graessa stands with the orb of black floating in his hand, and with a simple motion, he closes his fingers tight around the darkness, snuffing it out. It looks as if the man has not even moved from the spot where he started. Actually, it is exactly that he hasn''t moved, him or Lady Forendous. A loud crash, like a bull hitting a wall with a meaty thump, draws my attention away from the two standing on the starting line. Behind them, about fifteen paces, Jor''Mari stands, his hand curled into a first, pummeling a wall of green energy that has been thrown up in his path. That woman, Kess, stands on the opposite side of the wall, crying out each time Jor''Mari''s heavy fist slams against the barrier, the heels of her boots scrapping away grass as they slide back inch by inch. The barrier warbles as it tries to expand in encapsulate the man, but each hammering blow that he lands into it forces it to shrink back. Tucked neatly beneath Jor''Mari''s right arm, is the ball, its green light steadily glowing. Jor''Mari''s eyes flick to the side as he notices for the first time that the darkness around us has retreated, his interminable smirk plastered on his face. I watch as the muscles on the man''s arm swell, his form shifting slightly as he takes on the aspect of the strength specialist, the simple clothes he wears straining to contain his new bulk. "Just going to sit on your ass?" he barks, laughing, looking directly at me before turning back to the barrier in front of him. This time, when his fist lands against the wall of green light, it shatters into thousands of splinters, the blast tossing Kess into the air to roll and scrape into the wet grass some distance away with a terrified scream. I can''t lightly take his insult and roll myself off my ass up onto my feet, boots digging into the dirt as I sprint to catch up to the man. The still forms of Lady Forendous and the man next to her flash by me, no attempt made to stop me as I spur forward. I glance at the strange woman as I pass, noting the lack of emotion in her eyes as she continues to look forward, not even seeing me. Jor''Mari does not run down the field as I have seen him do before, fast as a bolt of lightning, with no one daring to hope to catch him. He jogs, his pace sedate, easy enough for me to catch up with given my own speed. I make it to him, seeing Kess in front of us begin to peel herself from the ground, a clod of mud clinging to her face, her once fine clothes stained green from where she skidded through the wet grass. She sneers at us as she pushes herself to her hands and knees, hate in her eyes, and something else that I might have only imagined, fear. "Stop them," Lady Forendous calls lazily from somewhere behind us, her voice carrying through the drizzle as if she spoke only a foot away from me. I whip my head around, startled by the nearness of her voice, but find that she still has not moved from where this match began. She was there, still not having moved an inch from the starting line, not even having turned around to watch Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s march up the field. Next to her, Graessa moved his hands, the power emanating off of him in violent curls of midnight stopping Jess in her tracks just as she was about to bully through the man. A cube, almost perfectly matching the Dispatch that still floated over the field, erupted around Jess, casting her into darkness. The soul presence bleeding off of Lady Forendous exploded into motion in an instant, surging forward toward Clarice and Jasper as they too stood just a few paces away from where Jess had been. A grunt makes me turn my head. Jor¡¯Mari topples sideways, the pale man Jason Kal¡¯Liefer holding onto him. Where had he come from? One of Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s hands tugs at the man as he toddles on one foot, ripping at the fabric of the man¡¯s fine suit as the elf grits his teeth, putting all of his strength in driving Jor¡¯Mari into the ground. To my surprise, he manages to do just that. Jor¡¯Mari seems just as surprised, the heel of his boot slipping out from beneath him as Jason roars, tackling him to the ground. Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s free hand flashes out, the glowing green ball tossed gently into the air before his back can crash into the ground, drifting almost lazily in my direction. I catch the thing by instinct, the green ball landing clumsily in my hand, its heaviness almost ripping it away from me. My arms strain as I try to keep a tight hold on the thing; it must weigh forty pounds at least, and it is only going to get heavier. I point my feet downfield, locking eyes with Kess who is still picking herself up from the ground, readying my run. A lash of burning pain stops me, forcing a cry from my lips, and my head whips back once more, finding a burning rope caught around my arm, its length red hot like an iron out of the fire. It is that little bastard, Allann, his hands bound tight around the burning rope, a look of hateful triumph outlined on his sneering face. Anger bubbles up in me, fire curling over my fingers, almost begging to blow this idiot''s face off his head, when a sheet of ice slices down from above, cutting straight through the fiery rope and cutting it in half. ¡°The rule was that there will be no use of magic directly on an opponent,¡± Arabella¡¯s voice sings through the rain, the droplets of water buzzing in the air from the power of her decree. ¡°That is a three-minute penalty.¡± As if some invisible giant flicks Allann in the chest, the water soaking into his clothes seems to explode out of him as forcefully as the air does. His chest jerks sideways, his body tossed into the air to crash into the row of chairs set to the side of the field. He bowls into one with his ungraceful flight, smacking into it and knocking it over before he rolls on the ground beyond it. ¡°To your right.¡± Galea¡¯s voice. I spin, ignoring the searing pain in a ring around my arm just above the elbow, barely managing to stop a meaty palm from snatching the ball out of my hand. Lord Brimman falls past me, his attempt at stealing the ball thwarted for a moment, one hand trying to hook my leg as he topples past me. I bludgeon the man in the back with the increasing weight of the green ball in my hands, earning a hearty oof from him as he falls face first into the grass with a wet slap. I feel a bit bad for that. He wasn¡¯t the one that burned me; he just happened to be the nearest target for my anger. Jason Kal¡¯Liefer drops into a puddle next to the struggling Lord Brimman. Up field, Jor¡¯Mari growls as he picks himself up off the ground, looking back at me. ¡°Throw me the ball,¡± he says. ¡°I can¡¯t throw up field,¡± I say, noting the small gap between us. He squints at me like I am an idiot. ¡°Then come¨C¡± His words are cut off by a barrier of green force springing into being between us. He jumps back a step, looking to where Kess was just a moment before, finding her absent. ¡°Below,¡± Galea says in my ear, almost lazily. A rumbling beneath my feet draws my attention just in time to see the woman, dirt and grass plastered to her face, exploding up out of the ground with a snarl. My back foot slips on the wet grass as I try to jump away, pushing me off balance, and giving her the chance to get her hands around the green ball I hold. The woman lands on bare feet in front of me, a clod of mud stuck to her forehead just above her right eye, the nail of her right index finger digging into the back of my hand hard enough to draw blood. ¡°Give me the damned thing!¡± she snarls, hauling back with a considerable amount of strength. It is no wonder that this small woman thought she could stop Jor¡¯Mari, she is much stronger than I am. My boots skid across the wet ground, my dragging heels cutting through the grass, trying to dig in for any purchase and finding little. Kess¡¯ own feet sink partway into the earth, her two legs as immobile as tree trunks as she swings me about, but my hands do not let go of the ball. ¡°Give it here!¡± she screams at me. ¡°I¡¯ll bite your fucking face off!¡± I snarl back. The words shock her as much as they do me, and I feel her fingers loosen the barest bit on the ball. Was I the one that said that? My forehead crunches into the center of her face, which does the trick. Unlike the big man in the first match, this woman does not fall into the mud, but she cries out, hands slapping over her face as she cries out in pain and falls back, the glowing green wall between us disappearing in an instant. ¡°You crazy bitch!¡± she screams through her fingers, a trickle of blood peeking out between her hands. I can¡¯t exactly disagree. She probably deserves it, but the worst thing the woman has done to me is remind me of Coriander with that sneer on her face and the look of hate in her eyes. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. After three steps down the field I feel my fingers slipping from around the glassy exterior of the glowing ball in my hands. Exeter, the thing must weigh more than I do now. My shoulders strain to hold onto it, and I feel the muscles down my arm stretch, veins I didn¡¯t know I had bulging against my skin as I clench the thing as hard as I am able. I manage two more steps before I feel strong arms wrap around my waist from behind. There is just enough time for me to glance down, finding sodden white sleeves and pale fingers curling around my stomach, before my feet leave the ground. I yelp as Lord Brimman picks me up bodily, before smashing me into the ground with bone-shaking force. The glowing ball sails into the air overhead as it slips from my fingers, not all that high, but high enough to make me cringe as it begins to arc downward. Standing over me, Lord Brimman spins, looking around, a bit of fear showing on his face. He too likely does not wish for a deadly ball to fall from the sky and bludgeon him to death. But it does not fall. At the height of its arc, its menacing glow standing out against the imaginary gray turmoil overhead, a set of hands appear in the air, strong fingers clasping tight the heavy orb. Samielle grunts, straining as his palms smack into either side of the ball with the sound of reverberating grass. He sinks in the air immediately, the sudden strain too much for him to soar away with, and skids into the grass, stumbling forward, somehow able to keep his feet. ¡°Run, Birdman!¡± Jor¡¯Mari yells, snatching the collar of Jason Kal¡¯Leifer¡¯s collar and hurling him to the ground. ¡°Run like you mean it!¡± Run he does. Propped up on my elbows, the grass turning to mud beneath me, a dull pain pounding in my shoulder, I watch Samielle run through the rain. Lord Brimman makes an attempt to chase after him, but I catch the man with my foot, tripping him up too much to even make a real attempt. The green orb is tucked underneath his right arm as he sprints down the field, , the man¡¯s muscled legs pumping. It is not a far run, but I can clearly see by the time that he reaches the end that the ball has gained its full weight. Samielle crosses the line at the end of the field, a flash and crackle of tremendous lightning booming around him the moment his foot crosses the threshold. The green ball tumbles from his tired fingers, sinking halfway into the soft earth, as Samielle looks back on us, a smile gleaming on his face. The lightning crackling around the end of the field continues its display, celebrating the first point of the match for some time, long enough that Jor¡¯Mari is able to race down field and pick up Samielle in a bear hug, swinging him around in his own celebration. ¡°Here.¡± I look up, seeing Lord Brimman standing over me, the scar down his face standing out against the mud that smears it. He offers his hand to me, a somewhat sheepish look on his face. ¡°I will not apologize for manhandling you so roughly, we are in competition after all, but know that I do not enjoy hurting women.¡± Breath puffs out of my nose as I snort, grabbing the man¡¯s hand and jerking myself to my feet. ¡°It will take more than that to hurt me,¡± I say, taking care not to move my shoulder too much. ¡°Clearly,¡± he says, glancing back toward his teammate, Kess. The woman glares at me, one hand still held over her face. ¡°If you wish¡­¡± ¡°Keep your hands to yourself,¡± she snarls, the words somewhat garbled. She turns, hobbling back to the starting line for the next round. ¡°A pleasant woman,¡± I say. ¡°You have no idea,¡± Lord Brimman remarks, shaking his head. He looks at me, his expression somewhat hard. ¡°We will win this match you know.¡± I look back toward the end of the field where Jor¡¯Mari busies himself by tossing the green ball into the air, back toward the Dispatch, the ball disappearing into the solid black surface of the cube. ¡°You have a funny way of doing it.¡± The man shakes his head. ¡°You will see.¡± It does not take long for the team to reset themselves once more on the starting lines. Jess stands next to me on the line, staring out at the tall elf opposite her, Graessa. I would not say that the lizardkin woman looks pale, but there is something in her eyes that is clearly disturbed, and she seems entirely unable to catch her breath. She shakes off my concern when I offer it, so what more can I do other than pat her shoulder and turn my attention back to the match. Neither Graessa nor Lady Forendous have moved even a step from where they first began the match. Lady Forendous no longer looks bored. Her gaze moves up and down the line of her team, each cringing and looking away rather than meet her eye when her stare falls on them. To call them scared of the woman would be an understatement, and honestly, their fear begins to water a seed of fear in my own chest. ¡°Not too difficult,¡± Jor¡¯Mari calls across to the other team as the Dispatch begins to float into its new place overhead. ¡°Will they all be so simple?¡± ¡°Not too difficult,¡± Lady Forendous echoes, her voice dripping venom. Her eyes turn to the side, falling on Allann who sits in one of the chair on the side of the field. ¡°Not too difficult,¡± she says again, a weary sigh falling into her voice. ¡°And the pinnacle species of the dry thinks they even hold a candle to us. Yet, when given the chance to show their worth, it has been my experience to find them¡­lacking. Save for you, Graessa. You have been stalwart.¡± ¡°I appreciate that, my lady,¡± he says, inclining his head. Lady Forendous turns her eyes back across the field, her vision settling on Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°We have a saying in the depths. Menial tasks are best delegated, but quality work can only be done with one¡¯s own hands.¡± Overhead, the Dispatch begins to whine, power swelling inside of it as it readies itself to release another ball. As the pitch inclines toward crescendo, its wail piercing through the constant plopping of the rain, green light shines like the radiance of the sun from Lady Forendous, so horrible and awfully powerful that I have to squint or be blinded by it. To my horror, I realize that I am the only one that even notices it. The flood of green light expands out from Lady Forendous, encompassing nearly the entirety of the field in the blink of an eye. The Dispatch thunders, letting loose its great shot, the yellow light of the Scoreball streaking down from above like the shot of a cannon. It does not smash into the ground like all the balls before it. No, the world itself seems to still, the sloshing of the rain all around us freezing, suspending in the air as tiny droplets, tens of thousands of beads of water tiny and hovering in the air. The Scoreball, the orb of yellow light, hovers three feet above the middle of the field, suspended in the air as surely as the rain around us is, held aloft by a bed of ebbing water. A second ticks past, all of staring at the ball and frozen rain. It is only when Lady Forendous takes a step forward, pale green toes alighting on the soft grass as she walks through the frozen rain, that I realize my heart is still beating, that my breath is still hissing through my clenched teeth. I try to move my arm, but a sudden pain stops me dead. I try to look down, but a sudden flash of heat across my face makes me freeze. Moving my head back just the tiniest bit, I see a dot of liquid standing in the air just in front of my face, a bead of pure water no larger than a pear seed, a drop of crimson clinging to it but not mixing with the perfect sphere. A hiss of pain to my side draws my eye to Jess; she is so hard to see without turning my head. Three rivulets of blood run down her neck and the side of her face, seeping from small holes. Hovering just in front of her bleeding wounds are three orbs of rain, each dripping crimson, so tiny that they are barely visible. I realize what it is that Lady Forendous has done as I turn my eyes back toward the woman who continues to plod lazily toward the floating ball in the center of the field. She has turned the beads of rain into a prison around us, drops of water suspended in the air made as unyielding as iron. Any move we make will spear us on them as certain as an arrowhead. Lady Forendous reaches out, allowing the water to carry the Scoreball into her waiting hand. She cradles it in her arms like a babe, looking up at each of us in turn as she rests her chin upon it. ¡°Such small creatures,¡± she says. ¡°Even the barest touch of the depths is deadly to you. I do not blame you for your weakness.¡± She pads forward, the drops of rain standing in the air sliding off her body like water might a stone. Lady Forendous stands in front of Jor¡¯Mari, tapping a finger on his chest, running her black nails down the front of him. ¡°After all, true hardship does not touch this world above. You are soft animals, made of pulpy material.¡± She laughs at the look of rage in his eyes, the droplets of water pressed so tightly to his face that he cannot even move to speak. She slaps a wet hand into his chest as she begins to walk past, past me and him, though I doubt she even knows I am there. Rage starts to bubble up in me, this arrogant little woman¡¯s laughter seeming to tinkle off the suspended drops of rain around us like light of a chandelier. I am not the only one seething. I watch Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s body begin to shift, only to startle to a stop a second later as bits of water slice into him viciously from the involuntary spasms the shifting puts on his body. Lady Forendous¡¯ wet feet slapping against the ground next to me as she lazily moves past echo as disdainfully as her pealing laughter does. Steam rises, smoking around my eyes, as I strain to look at the woman. I flex my hands, realizing in a second that I can move my fingers freely. Fire roars over my forearms, orange and hot, turning the tiny motes of water to steam with its barest passing. I try to make the fire climb higher, to ring me like armor, but I can only manage to get it to my elbow. That is fine, I just need a little. I roar, screaming mad, a wide ball of fire blooming in my hand, steaming the rain around me as I swing my arm. Pinpricks of stabbing pain score through my flesh, though my muscle, even tearing tiny holes in bone as I turn on the surprised Lady Forendous, a startled expression on her face as she spins to face me. She moves, evading the burning crimson of my fist that punches for her face, but the movement puts her on the backstep. I ignore the torturous pricks of pain scoring my leg like a cheese grater as I turn, slamming the back of my leg into the back of her knees. The delight of surprise as she smacks into the wet grass, the sound of the suspended rain around us clattering down to the earth, its staccato returning, is more than enough for me. I pluck the Scoreball out of her hands before her surprise can turn to anything, and I run for everything I am worth, pouring gouting fire out in front of me. The quaking of the green surrounding me is more than enough to clue me into the mood of the woman without even seeing her. She is angry, very, very angry. Chapter 82 - Rebound When I was a girl, ten I think, I once had the opportunity to attend court at Lord Tiammian¡¯s manor. Yule time court is a fairly regular thing. Once all the harvesting is done, the backbreaking labor of bringing in the grains, autumn vegetables, and seasonal fruits complete, life grows a bit more dreary and tedious for the peasants scraping by when they no longer toil in the fields. There is toil of course; walls need to be repaired, roads shored up for the frost, goods transported this way and that, and silage secured for the winter, but all of that is almost nothing compared to bringing in the harvest. Between the festival to celebrate the successful reaping of the year and the one to honor Glis¡¯Merinda there is a lull as fall turns to winter, a lull in which lords tend to hold their court, to decide matters that have come up in the last months. On most occasions, a magistrate will oversee the dispensation of justice or quarrels if a petition ever makes it past the sheriff and the bailiff. No one ever much cared to make the hike all the way out to the lord¡¯s manor to watch old Magister Biess decide matters, as the man was too old to be intelligible, and too aloof to ever do anything but pass off responsibility to the sheriff. However, as the first rains were turning to sleet, as my hands were still rubbed red and raw from my first year of properly working during the harvest, a case came before the lord¡¯s court that required Lord Timmian¡¯s direct edict. Everyone knew about the matter a few weeks ahead. Even as a child, the gossip had long reached me about what had happened a few months back, and everyone knew even then that Lord Timmian would probably settle the issue direct. Matters of murder aren¡¯t often put off to the magistrate. Which is why no one was surprised when almost a hundred peasants crowded into the square in front of the lord¡¯s manor, shoving elbows against one another, cramming and craning to get a good view of the trial. What I remember most about the trial wasn¡¯t the fabulous velvet chair Lord Timmian sat upon, the chair itself set on a tall stage in front of the stairs leading up into the manor, though the chair was fabulous. It wasn¡¯t the small stand that Elder Kaissen stood inside of, a thin platform of wood with a railing all that kept him from the mud, though the stand was small. It wasn¡¯t even the babbling of Mrs. Calladay¡¯s rage as she spat her words out to Lord Timmian, though she did babble so unintelligibly that the bailiff needed to ask her to repeat her accusations several times. No, what I remember most was how quick the whole affair had been, twenty minutes on the outside. Elder Kaissen stood in from of his lord, accused of murdering Emben Calladay, an unfortunate affair that everyone in the domain was long familiar with. Elder Kaissen, a bent old man with eyebrows so thick that you could hardly see his eyes, was long known as being an old coot, an old coot jealous of the strawberries he grew on his small plot. Decades of growing the delicious berries and having them stolen by local youths had led to the man digging a ditch around his fruits and filling it with spikes. Everyone knew about Elder Kaissen and his spikes, those spikes and berries had been there my entire life, not that they ever dissuaded Halford or I from sneaking onto the elder¡¯s plot in the middle of the night and snatching some berries for ourselves. Well, that summer, someone finally fell in, Emben Calladay. As it turned out, the spikes weren¡¯t all that sharp, put there for show, but Emben had fallen badly on them, and a sturdy stick through someone¡¯s mouth and into the back of their throat doesn¡¯t need to be all that sharp to be lethal. It probably didn¡¯t help that Emben had been stumbling drunk at the time. I remember the look of dismay on Elder Kaissen¡¯s face as Emben¡¯s mother raged at him, called him every name under the sun, and begged Lord Timmian to give him the noose. Lord Timmian sat on his fancy chair, his face impassive, listening to the story. When all the words had been said, the lord sighed and leaned forward in his chair. He decided that Elder Kaissen was not at fault, not at fault for murder at least. Everyone knew about the spikes, knew that they had been there for years, but still Emben had gone to try and rob the man of his berries anyway. It was decided that Elder Kaissen bore no fault if the drunk idiot had speared himself on blunt spikes in the dead of night. Still, the lord ordered the ditch filled in before some other fool could trip themselves into their grave. I figure that it is the same principle keeping me alive at this very moment. If the reeling woman staring up at my back from the ground stopped the rain again, I would likely be cut into a bloody mess, gasping on the ground. Not even I would survive something like that, probably. But, with me and everyone else running now, stopping the rain in front of all of us would almost certainly be murder. I was counting on that to see me through to the other side. Almost as soon as I have the glowing Scoreball clenched between my fingers, I feel my legs begin to buckle. Strength leaks from a dozen small holes in my legs in streaking red, a dull and cold numbness snaking up from below. The rain falling now in sheets makes my blood try to run all the faster, and sharp pain echoes through the general dullness with each step my sprinting feet carry me, the very bones in my legs announcing how they have been cut up by mere droplets of water. A man appears out of nothing in front of me, Jason Kal¡¯Liefer, his arms already stretching wide, ready to take me off my feet. He needn¡¯t try so hard; my feet are coming out from beneath me with or without his help. ¡°Right,¡± Galea says in my ear. I glance to the side, seeing Jor¡¯Mari thundering toward me just as determined as the enemies in front of us seem to be. His skin is covered in strange, almost chitinous patches of dark black, looking almost like obsidian peeking up from his pale skin. A mask of the hard black stuff covers his face, leaving two long slits open for his eyes to peer out from. He is focused on the man lunging at me, and he has just enough time to intercept him. Jor¡¯Mari(Level 50), Son of Duke Cla¡¯Mari of the Mari Dutchy Demon Conflux ¡°Here,¡± I weakly yell at Jor¡¯Mari, throwing the ball at him. Surprise sparks in the eyes looking out from those narrow slits, his heels digging and sliding in the wet grass, his hands springing up to snatch the ball from the air. He juggles the heavy, yellow orb in his hands as he skids in the grass, finally getting his fingers around it. An arm swings through the air over me, followed a moment later by two furious legs running headlong into my falling shoulder. My knees hit the grass as I fall forward, no strength left in my legs. It is the best I can do to trip Jason as he runs at me while I do my best to flop to the ground in the most dignified manner possible. All in all, I managed to make it nine strides from where I left Lady Forendous. As the field continues to flow into motion around me, I look back toward my own starting line, seeing the blue woman still on the ground, propping herself up on her hands while she sits and stares. Her eyes are trained on my legs, on the holes peppering them, leaking red blood. ¡°You would do that to yourself over a game?¡± she asks. I¡¯m not certain she knows that she speaks the words aloud. ¡°I need to win,¡± I say, shifting on the ground. The skirmish has already moved past me, no one sparing me more than a glance as they race forward. Down field, Jor¡¯Mari struggles forward, Lord Brimman hugging his waist, trying to bring him down, while Allann shoulders into him, the young man¡¯s boots skidding across the ground as Jor¡¯Mari pushes forward with one ponderous step after another. ¡°I¡¯m heading somewhere where there will be much more pain than this.¡± Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. I stare down at the gore of my legs also, feeling muscles and fibers wriggle inside the hollow chambers of my wounds, feeling fractured bone move and knit like melting ice. There is a horror about it, some distant voice in the back of my mind screams to see it, to feel the speed of the healing, but that part has become so small over the past weeks that it is easy to ignore. My toes flex inside my boot, curling, responding to my aching commands with drunken slowness. The pain is such a negligible thing, easy to put aside in the recesses, next to the horror of the wounds. I wonder briefly what kind of injury will be too much for me to bear the sight of anymore, wonder if there is any such wound. My boot moves, all my effort put into placing my heel against the wet ground, but that is still too much. I fall back with a groan, moving my attention away from myself. The two men continue to struggle to bring Jor¡¯Mari to the ground, but they have been joined by Jason Kal¡¯Leifer. Brazenly casting aside the pretense of a game, the man stands in front of Jor¡¯Mari, smashing his clenched fist into the faceplate that protects Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s features. The elven man¡¯s knuckles split with the pounding blows he delivers, cuts across his fist splattering Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s clothes with blood as he continues to hammer away. With the three of them combined, they just manage to restrain the armored man. Samielle appears to the side, running full-tilt into Jason and tackling the man to the ground. Jor¡¯Mari shakes his head, leaning forward, muscling his way through the two men trying to drag him down. Jess slides into the crush, her hands stretching out, snatching the ball out of Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s hands with infinite deftness. With his burden relieved, Jor¡¯Mari finally relents, and the three men go splashing into the grass in a heap. Jess runs forward, the ball glittering in her hand as the majority of our opponents sprawl on the ground. Lightning flashes through the rain, a blinding white that stuns everyone still moving even before the clap of thunder shakes me to my bones. That odd man, Graessa, stands in front of Jess. She dodges to the side, her motion as fluid and graceful as ever, but the man steps along with her, keeping a span of three feet between them. Jess fakes a step to the left before jumping back to the right, flowing and trying to spin around the man like a dancer. Graessa is not distracted, backing three steps back, stopping when Jess does to reassess. A wall of green energy springs to life on Jess¡¯ right, cutting off that line, the woman standing behind the wall grinning as she begins to expand the energy. Jor¡¯Mari struggles on the ground, Lord Brimman doing his best to hold him in place, Allann trying to stand, tugging at Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s fingers that hold tight to his clothes to keep him back. ¡°Just take it, Graessa!¡± Lady Forendous calls from behind me. The man¡¯s eyes flick away from Jess for the barest moment, his attention drawn for a fraction of a second. Jess darts forward, leg skidding, trying to slide beneath the man¡¯s outstretched hands. Her timing is immaculate, as always. ¡°NO!¡± I hear another voice yell, and I realize that it is Jasper. The warning is too late, however. This time I am able to watch as a bolt of lightning crashes down from the sky, splitting just above Jess¡¯ outstretched leg and sundering the ground on either side of her. The explosion of noise and light is incredible, bright enough to leave my vision black. The rain falling around us halts for the briefest instant, the sound of thunder resounding through the chamber, bouncing off the false walls of mist that ring us, fading into an echo that transforms into the cascading breath of rain. I blink, the darkness in my eyes fading, and hear a scream from up the field where the lightning struck. Jess lays there on the field, twin scorches burned into the ground on either side of her, holding her balled fists to her eyes as she writhes on the ground. Graessa stands over her, his face a passive mask of indifference, his fine clothing dripping in the rain. He holds the ball in his hands, its great weight barely managing to register on the man. ¡°Lord Kal¡¯Leifer, if you would be so kind as to take this,¡± Graessa says, holding out the ball in his hands, his fingers seeming almost too long and narrow as to be normal. Ten feet away, Jason Kal¡¯Leifer knocks a fist into Samielle¡¯s jaw, Samielle too distracted by Jess¡¯ distress to react properly. The big man falls away, splashing down, as Jason scrambles forward, hands reaching out to take the glowing ball from his teammate. Clarice reaches the man before Jason can, but only just barely. Her hands swipes through the air, Graessa watching as she kicks up water, already turning to leap forward and tackle the man to the ground after her attempt at stealing it failed. Graessa holds the ball out, almost to her, and she falters for a moment. He takes a step back, baiting Clarice in. In an instant, it is as if three of Clarice stand together, each an identical twin, each overlapping impossibly with one another in a confusing jumble of limbs. She slides forward, each instance of Clarice seeming to move in a different direction, each angling to make a different attack on Graessa. The man sways, the hand of one of the Clarices moving through his arm as if it wasn¡¯t there. With a fluid step backward, he raises the ball, and brings his foot up, planting the heel of his black dress shoes into the hip of the left-most Clarice. His foot finds purchase, shoving the woman unceremoniously to the ground. Graessa lowers his hand, dumping the glowing ball into the outstretched fingers of Jason Kal¡¯Leifer as he finally arrives, Graessa¡¯s eyes never straying from his opponent on the ground. ¡°Be done with it,¡± Graessa remarks, putting a foot on the back of Clarice¡¯s thigh as she tries to rise, pinning her to the ground. ¡°As you say,¡± Jason says, hurrying back. The man smiles as he looks downfield, finding Jor¡¯Mari standing, Lord Brimman clinging tightly to one of Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s legs. Then, like he was never standing there, Jason disappears into the rain. Even the glow from the ball he was holding vanishes alongside him. I turn my head, looking this way and that, trying to spot the man, thinking that he may have moved down field in an instant. If he can do that, this match will be terribly difficult. ¡°Where is he?¡± I demand of Galea. The spirit flutters in front of me, her mouth open to say something, but it is Jasper who answers me. ¡°He is on your left,¡± Jasper calls over the rain, pointing. ¡°He is sneaking around you!¡± I look to Jasper. The man hasn¡¯t moved off of the starting line this entire time, but his eyes are focused, a finger pointing to the vacant air next to Jor¡¯Mari. Jor¡¯Mari swipes to his right, fingers raking only air. ¡°He is running!¡± Jasper calls. I growl, pulling my feet up and tucking them beneath me. Pain like dull fire lances up my body the instant that I try to put my weight on my legs. So, it hasn¡¯t vanished from me completely then. A cry is torn from my throat as I splash into the water, struggling, hissing air through my teeth. I grit my teeth, gnash them, feel the metallic taste of iron rush over my tongue as I struggle to my feet. The muscle running through my legs quake, barely strong enough to support me on quaking feet. I stand, turning slowly, trying to see through the haze in my vision. Lights explode behind me, casting the wet and muddy figures all around me in harsh contrast for a bare moment. Lightning erupts in a cascade of celebration from our goal. Forlorn faces stare past me, each with eyes focused on the goal line, pushing me to turn and look at the inevitable. I do, knowing already what I will find. Jason Kal¡¯Leifer, his clothes muddy and sagging, stands in our goal, holding a glowing ball high over his head, bellowing into the rain as a shower of festival lights shine through the torrent around him. His cries of exaltation are matched by others around the field, his teammates cheering him on, roaring with approval. In front of me, Lady Forendous pulls herself from the ground, a tinkling laughter floating away from purple lips. She brushes at her clothes, hardly managing to do anything other than appear carefree, and she turns to look at me. ¡°It does not matter what you need,¡± she tells me. ¡°I want to win, and so that is what is going to happen. Cry, scream, and struggle all you want, but you will fail, because you must in order for me to succeed.¡± That said, she walks past me, heading toward her starting line. They have tied the score, but there is so much time remaining. I¡¯ll be damned if I let that little witch get the better of me. Chapter 83 - Times Up ¡°I¡¯ve got him!¡± Jasper yells, his voice cracking with the force of it in a girly way. He grapples with the air, mud and grass stuck to the side of his head, his eyes clenched tightly shut. ¡°I have oof.¡± Jasper¡¯s hands slacken, but he continues to hug the air. ¡°Get off of me, fool!¡± A voice demands, Jason Kal¡¯Leifer¡¯s voice. It comes from the empty air just above Jasper¡¯s groping fingers. Jasper shakes his head, his eyes still closed tight, his shoulder shaking as another blow lands on him, but he does not let go. Down the side of the field, still peeling myself off of the ground, the water making my clothes sag and stick to the grass, I am too far away to do anything for him. Our two teams stand tied once more, 3-3. For the last forty minutes we have scraped and snarled for every inch of ground, every foot we can push towards our opponent¡¯s goal, and they have done the same. I barely managed to score a single point when I made a lucky break down one side of the field, Samielle picking up the other. It has become apparent to everyone that Samielle and Jason will decide this match. One, able to soar through the air, is just about as unstoppable as it comes for our team: I only hope that the other team doesn¡¯t realize he cannot carry the Stoneball or the green ball at its heaviest and remain flying. The other, Jason Kal¡¯Leifer, has scored every point for his team. Being able to make oneself invisible has proved a remarkably good ability in this game. ¡°Let go¡­¡± Jason reappears as the charging form of Clarice slams sideways into the air, her tackle full-tilt, holding nothing back. The man hits the ground awkwardly, his back arching painfully as both his arms are splayed out. The green ball he held in his hands fumbles into the mud, snatched a second later by Clarice. The others are already moving toward the skirmish over the ball before I make it back to my feet. I consider joining them, but I have my own assignment. At my feet, Kess splutters on the ground, her elven features soaked so thoroughly she looks drowned, blood forming a shallow pool of watery dribble on her upper lip. She wheezes, holding her stomach, looking up at me more frightened than angry. I put her pain out of my mind, spotting Jor¡¯Mari out on the grass, struggling to make it to the ball, Lord Brimman doing his damnedest to keep the man back. He can¡¯t, no single one of their team alone can stop him, but they seem to have known that from the start. I see Graessa headed at him, ready to put his weight next to Lord Brimman¡¯s, looking to keep the strongest member of our team too engaged to contribute. My job is similar to theirs, but different in a very meaningful way. ¡°Where has he got to,¡± I wonder to myself, scanning the field. ¡°There he is,¡± Galea says, pointing a claw through the rain toward a figure who only just now made it back to his feet. I hurry into a jog, aiming at the wet and groaning form of Allann, his back bent, hands on his knees, trying to get the air back in his body. His head snaps up as my jog becomes a sprint, a look of horror coming over his face as he starts to run away from me. ¡°Stop! Stop!¡± he pleads. ¡°I¡¯m done. Stop!¡± But I don¡¯t stop. The boy is fast, just above average for those out in the field now, but I am one of the fastest, and I still haven¡¯t grown tired. Over the past ten or so minutes of playing this part for the team, my tackling form has improved leaps and bounds. Running as fast and hard as I possibly can, I plant my shoulder into the middle of the boy¡¯s back. The shock of the collision snakes through my shoulder, pinching as each vertebrae in my spine smashes together all at once, before the final impact of the side of my head with the ground makes me lose track of all of it. Allann croaks a gasp of air before I drive him into the grass, both our bodies skidding through the wet muck before coming to a still. Allann writhes in my grip, droplets of water puffing from his lips, half his face still buried in the wet grass and watery mud. I snake back one arm trapped against the ground by his body. He feebly tries to grab my arm, but there isn¡¯t much will in the attempt. I spit out a mouthful of muddy water as I make it to my knees, coughing up something wet that leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I look down at the boy, his face still soaking in the water, his eyes exhausted and unfocused. ¡°If you get back up, you are going to make me come back,¡± I tell him, not for the first time. Allann groans, trying to turn himself over with a hand, but sighing and giving up halfway through. My fingers ache and my head feels like it has been kicked by a mule, but I push that aside, stumbling back to my feet. The world is a blurry haze of rain and moving bodies, and I need a few seconds before I realize that I need to actually focus my eyes. Mist puffs from my mouth as I pant in the rain, head slowly turning this way and that. ¡°She is back that way,¡± Galea says, pointing. I see her now, Kess, crouching on one knee, a fist hammering into her thigh over and over like she is trying to punch some feeling back into her leg. I lurch forward, almost slipping, and need to stop for a moment to reclaim my balance. Kess sees me move, her head turning up in a mix of fear and resignation. For the last two tries at scoring, my team has decided that we should use our numbers to our advantage. If they need to keep two members on Jor¡¯Mari at all times to keep him from running over this game, then we should capitalize on that. I made it my job to create an even greater advantage for us by not allowing these two to even play the game. Somehow, charging at two players over and over again, tackling them to the mud, is not a violation of any rule as the game has been explained to me. It makes me wonder why we hadn¡¯t tried it before. A commotion downfield pulls my attention away. I turn, seeing that it is Jor¡¯Mari holding back Graessa in a bear hug now, Lord Brimman sprinting away down field. The green light of the ball bobs across the field, held in the hands of Jess as she puts all she is worth into making it to the goal. Graessa¡¯s hand scratches at the air, and I see a blur between his fingers, not the color of magic that I know, but a distortion in the air around his hand. ¡°Do not let them score, Graessa! Not again!¡± Lady Forendous yells at the man. Despite continuing to linger in near the center of the field, the short woman has been a constant nuisance throughout the match. Her green soul presence continues to flood the entire field, forcing all of us to keep on a constant move or find ourselves surrounded by frozen droplets of water ready to spear us through. A disk of water as large around as a dinner plate and slightly concave wrenches out of the air in front of Jess as she continues to run, the ever-present green aura condensing in that spot. Jess twirls aside, dodging the spinning disk as easily as she dodges almost everything. Dozens, maybe a hundred more of the watery disks begin to solidify in the air in front of Jess as she continues. Clumps of mud and grass spin up from the ground, pressing themselves into the same shape as the water, moving to make themselves an obstacle for the lizardkin woman. Needles of the green energy pepper out of the aura, almost seeming to knit together the obstacles with an uncanny precision, but they aren¡¯t enough. To Lady Forendous¡¯ evident consternation, she begins to understand something that I learned long ago. Jess Keller is a Bladedancer, and any obstacle you place in front of her she will flow through with grace. ¡°Now, Graessa!¡± Lady Forendous shrieks, the entirety of her soul presence quaking with her fury. The disks move in a wild torrent, more stopping those trying to chase after Jess than they do the woman with the ball. ¡°Stop her now!¡± Graessa¡¯s hand clenches, and all at once the rain throughout the indoor chamber ceases. An aching groan that reverberates through some far off and unseen stone draws my eyes skyward. The illusions of storm clouds that Arabella Willian conjured to go along with her rain streak downfield all at once, leaving the sky bare and made of white marble where they slink away from. It only occurs to me just then that perhaps Arabella Willian had not been the one to conjure the clouds and rain. The clouds form a ball that tracks above the jumping, twisting, and rolling Jess Keller as she makes her way through the swirling field of disks. They condense into something looking akin to a gray orb, a small spot against the alabaster ceiling that spins with a maddening fury. There is no warning when the discharge comes. A bolt of lightning, a terrible beam of dazzling light, strikes down from above straight over Jess. I know in that terrible instant that it does not move to block her path, to strike into the ground just in front of her and blind her once again with a flash of luminance, but that the bolt descends to leave Jess scorched and ruined. In my moment of terror, watching deadly lightning crash down, the game is forgotten. They really are going to kill her. But Jess does not die, the lightning does not strike her dead at the edge of the field, her reddish scales made a smoking ruin. Jess¡¯ hand continues to move in an arc, as if she were dodging around a simple obstacle, coming up to balance her out from a flourish. The clawed tips of her fingers meet with the edge of the lightning and in that suspended second of time, I watch as a miracle happens. The edge of Jess¡¯ longest nail and the lightning meet in a perfect instant, the two almost seeming to become one. The lightning turns at a harsh angle, the bolt of deadly heat and energy racing out at neck level across the field in a mad arc, crashing into one invisible wall of the chamber. The astonishment that I feel at watching my friend deflect a bolt of lightning lasts for a but a moment. In the next instant, color and flashing displays of celebration erupt from the end of the field as she crosses the final line into the goal. The field falls silent as Jess turns, her shoulder heaving with exertion, a look of abject glee on her face. ¡°Four to Three!¡± she yells, her voice carrying over the silent field. ¡°One more to win!¡± Then, I am cheering, and I am not the only one. I am vaguely aware of the looks of shock on the faces around the chamber as I run down the field, crushing into Jess, cheering her and lifting her off the floor. We gather there past the goal, celebrating Jess, letting her soak up the adulation in the suddenly dry air. My attention is pulled back across the field by the sight of Arabella descending on top of the Dispatch; I¡¯m probably the only one on my team that notices. She descends on the dark cube toward Graessa as the man lingers in a patch of mud amid the wet grass. ¡°I allowed you to manipulate the environmental enchantments,¡± she says, barely restrained rage behind her words. ¡°Such was an ability of yours, and doing such did not violate the rules. I thought that we had an understanding, but I can see now that I was incorrect. You tried to use the tools of the Willian Guild to strike down a competitor, a thing that is expressly forbidden by both the rules of this match and the rules that were relayed to you by the guild itself not more than a few days ago.¡± ¡°I did,¡± Graessa says, staring at the grass, his own breath ragged. ¡°I will¡­make no excuses for it. I lost my head and¡­almost did something¡­very regrettable.¡± ¡°Get off my field,¡± Arabella sneers. ¡°Do it before I fling you through the walls of this tower and make you find your own way north through the mountains.¡± ¡°How very¡­gracious of you,¡± Graessa says. There is an earnestness in his voice. He drags himself up to standing, and slowly, almost limping, makes his way off of the field. The dry air on my skin is suddenly colder than the rain had been. Along with my team, I make my way back to the starting line, my boots squelching through the water and mud. The Dispatch hovers over the center of the field, just a little bit closer to our opponents, but not by an amount that has made the difference before. Five stare back at us from the opposite line, one of their most powerful members now sitting on the sideline. ¡°Don¡¯t stop moving,¡± I hiss at Jasper as I catch the man resting his hands on his knees. ¡°Sorry,¡± he says, pulling himself up. His breath comes in a ragged wheeze, but it isn¡¯t any worse than the rest of them. My entire team slumps, chests working like overtaxed bellows, feet hardly shuffling from their exhaustion. Jor¡¯Mari is the worst of them; his face is gaunt, dark spots lined up beneath his eyes. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°Are you okay?¡± I ask, making certain that I don¡¯t linger for more than a moment in any given spot. Even with the rain having stopped, I don¡¯t trust that woman on the other line not to take advantage of even the slightest let up. ¡°I¡¯ll make it,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, moving his own feet in a weary shuffle to keep from falling prey to another cage of water. For the last twenty minutes, I have not seen the man take on any special form, but that hasn¡¯t stopped him from becoming more and more haggard as the game has progressed. ¡°Just one more point,¡± I tell him, trying to sound enthusiastic. I¡¯m tired as well. The last time I was nearly as tired was after fighting those three strange monsters in the bottom of that dungeon. ¡°Just one more.¡± The Dispatch buzzes in the air just in front of us. Arabella calls to each side, making certain that we are all ready, getting an assent from each team. The all too familiar whine of the black cube screeches through the air, and as it starts to rise to its peak, I let my feet settle for the barest moment, readying myself to spring forward. A blast, so loud and noisy that it almost startles me into non-movement is let loose from the Dispatch, a black light slamming down from the cube faster than any bolt of lightning. The black ball crashes into the ground, and seeing it sets my blood on fire. My feet has only risen a bare inch from the ground when the field in front of me rips itself up from the ground. ¡°I WILL NOT FAIL!!!¡± I hear Lady Forendous bellow from the opposite side of the rising wall of dirt and grass. ¡°I WILL NOT LOSE!¡± I brace myself, expecting the wall of turf to slap down on top of me, to knock me down into the earth and bury me alive. Instead, the wall of detritus continues to rise, folding back on itself like an earthy bed-cover, thudding to the ground with a wet smack. A long patch of grass, roots, and muddy earth lays folded haphazardly in front of me, no more than ten feet deep but taking up the entire width of the field. Lady Forendous stands there as the earthy curtain falls, the black ball held in her hands, arcs of magical potency ripping into the air off of her. The deep yellow of her eyes begins to glow brighter as she sneers at us like shining lights in the dark depths. A primal fear sparks in me, some sense that I am a deer staring down a wolf as it licks its chops. The green soul presence around us condenses and I know beyond a doubt that if she wished it, Lady Forendous could snuff out all of us with a thought. Instead, sheets of grass, rising up like a wall peels away from the ground and I start to slide away on the sudden slope. Fire erupts along my hands, and I pour my power into the ground, burning a hole through the torrent of roots and scything grass that continues to climb in front of me. It isn¡¯t enough, the waves of green are a tide, and my fire hardly does enough to keep my own feet inside the bounds of the field. I bob on a sea of roiling green. I catch sight of Lady Forendous amid the sea, light spilling out of her skin, the only solid bit of ground in the field beneath her bare feet. I fall into the battle fever, the world slowing around me as I try to burn my way back to the center of the field. Already, I am one of the only people left on the field, my team lays sprawled on the edges, pushed all the way to the walls by the roiling earth. For all my effort, no matter how hard or bright I burn, there is always more pressing in on me. My foot stumbles, and I collapse to a knee, one arm stretched forward as a blaze of fire tries to fight back the tide. I can¡¯t do it. ¡°We just have to stop her for a few seconds!¡± Jor¡¯Mari yells. A shadow soars past me, and I catch sight of a winged man shooting out over the field, carrying another man with him. There, amid the sea of green, a bulge of earth pushes up beneath Lady Forendous, before it starts to skid forward across the field at an impossible speed. She is so close, almost to the goal line, when Samielle¡¯s intercepting arc reaches her. Jor¡¯Mari plummets out of the sky, his body wreathed in black chitinous armor and swelled to huge proportions. He crashes down atop the bubble of land Lady Forendous sails forward on, the entire mound of earth distorting from the impact as if it were filled with air and no thicker than a foot deep. The huge man clings to Lady Forendous, his armored arms wrapping tightly around the short woman, trying to wrestle her down. She is almost like a doll to him, one of his hands as large as her torso, but Jor¡¯Mari cannot wrestle her to the ground. I see roots snarling around her legs, holding her tight to the ground. I am running, sprinting over the bulbous ocean of green, fire bleeding off of me carelessly as I race forward. Lady Forendous screams, light shoot off of her skin in a blinding cascade, she bites and scratches and rages, but the giant man holding her is too sturdy. ¡°DAMN YOU!!!¡± she screams, and then the ball, glowing and pulsing an ominous black color, is thrown away from her. ¡°If you drop this¨C¡± The ball arcs along the ground its shadow drawing all eyes. A woman begins to pull herself from the roiling grass as easy as someone might surface from a pool of water. Kess, her hands outstretched, tries to catch the black ball. ¡°I told you to stay down!¡± I yell, and I see the woman flinch. I am just a few steps away, I can make it to her, I can stop them here and now. My foot snags, a clump in the uneven ground catching my heel just as my fingers come within inches of grazing the ball. A bolt of magic kisses the tip of my outstretched hand as the ground comes up to meet me, and Kess stands there, all she needs to do is not move and she will have it. The ball resounds with a glassy slap as two strong hands hammer down onto the orb from either side. Kess and I both stare, surprised, as Samielle swoops at the ball in the middle of its arc, his hands snagging it from the air. Power begins to arc up the man¡¯s arms as he strains, his dark wings struggling with all their might to rip him into the air, but I know that he will make it. With that ball empowering him, nothing can stop him. ¡°I WILL NOT BE MADE A FOOL OF!¡± The screech is like a knife to the ear. The unsteady earth that I lay upon gives a massive heave before falling away from me. My hand flashes forward, scratching the grass as the entire lifted field collapses back to the earth or whatever it is that is solid beneath us. I fall along with it for at least ten feet and feel a terrible crack race up my arm all the way to the elbow as I land on my outstretched hand. I have just enough attention left to me to see Lady Forendous¡¯ soul presence race to a single point ahead of the streaking Samielle, condensing into a green sheet of dangerous magic. A huge mass of white flesh, a tentacle as large around as a tree trunk, shoots from the screen of magic. It arcs down, its terrible momentum aiming straight for Samielle. The man isn¡¯t blind, and the glowing orb held in his hands offers him an incredible boost in raw magical potency. Even still, spinning to the side like an aerial acrobat, the edge of the white tendril scrapes against Samielle¡¯s shoulder. The man crashes into the ground, flipping, spinning, ripping a long trench of earth from the grass. The sheet of magic continues to slide backward, revealing a terrible monstrosity of white flesh and a thousand eyes pulled straight from the depths of the world. It¡¯s eyes, each different and horrible, look in all directions as five terrible mouths, no two the same, open along its amorphous flesh. It screams, a roar so terrible that it wipes all the sound away. I feel wetness dripping from my ears and wipe it away. My hand, two fingers bent at strange angles, comes away slick with dark blood. By the time that I look back up, Lady Forendous is standing astride the huge monster, the black ball once more clenched between her fingers. A murderous glee lights her face as she stares down at the ruination of the field, her mouth opened to proclaim something. ¡°No.¡± Despite the lack of sound, I still hear the word cut through the ringing as clearly as if it were whispered to just me. A lance of ice, at least eighty feet long and a quarter as wide, appears amid the disgusting white mass of the monster. Its eyes spin wildly, staring in all directions, most looking at the sudden ice piercing straight through it with the same disbelief that I do. It tries to drag itself forward an inch, but the attempt is pitiful. It¡¯s flesh tears around the ice sticking straight through it, and it begins to sag forward, held up by the instrument used to kill it. ¡°This monster violates the rules.¡± Then, Arabella is there in front of Lady Forendous, already holding the black ball in the palm of one of her hands. She pushes the shorter woman, just a simple motion without much force, but it sends Lady Forendous reeling, tumbling down the back of her dead monster. A hush falls over the field. Groaning, I push myself to my feet, looking around at the desolation. Odd ridges of earth and grass stand broken and rumpled throughout the entire chamber, white stone visible through grains of dirt where the grass has been fully ripped away. An entire swath of the grass burns, my fire having caught where I was pouring it into the grass. It does not burn as well as I might have expected. The lines of paint that marked the field are all but vanished, only hints of white grass here and there to even tell that anything but mounds of dirt and grass had been here before. The others around the chamber are busy picking themselves up as Arabella begins to rise into the air once more, the black ball clasped between her fingers. I watch her and come to realize that she has been holding it for longer than seven seconds without it exploding. I check with Galea about the time to make certain, and she confirms that Arabella has been holding the ball for more than ten seconds without anything happening. Galea also shows me another time, and my eyes widen as I see it. ¡°This cannot stand!¡± Lady Forendous yells as she disentangles herself from the dead monster. Its body is left to languish on the field. ¡°I am expected to lose now because of chance!¡± I realize then that my hearing has returned. I motion for my team to make for the starting line once more. They hardly need prompting; they drag their tired and beaten bodies back toward the center of the field, making for a vague point that might be about where we are supposed to stand. Finding Samielle, the man¡¯s right arm hanging limp at his side, I put my shoulder under his left and help him limp his way back to the start. My right hand pinches and burns each time a broken part of me twitches, but I will not stop. Our opponents, all except Lady Forendous, do not look much better off than we are: they were hit as hard by the shaking and rolling earth as we have been. ¡°Chance?¡± Arabella questions after taking a long pause. With a careless flick of the wrist, Arabella tosses the black orb at the dispatch, its impossible glow disappearing into the dark geometry. ¡°Chance is always a component, but I doubt that is what you mean.¡± Lady Forendous waves her arm around, her angry fingers roaming over her beaten and bedraggled team. ¡°You have put me with these¡­incompetents. First you strap these heavy obstacles to my back, and then you constrict me with your arbitrary rules. You make a game where to test a magician¡¯s strength without allowing them to display it! How could this be fair?!¡± That last bit hits home for me. For the last few days I have been wracking my mind, trying to find some way that my power can be of use in this game, but finding nothing. Being second rank, Lady Forendous has twice the number of powers as I do. I can¡¯t imagine how frustrating it must be to be trammeled as she is, but I don¡¯t care to either. I have no sympathy for this woman. Arabella snorts and shakes her head. ¡°Did your father send you up here to show you how fair the world is? Do you think that we are here for your sole benefit, that we should cater all of our tests to show off your prowess? If you are so powerful as you seem to believe, should you not be able to succeed even under these stipulations?¡± Lady Forendous sneers up at the woman dressed in goddess clothes, her sharp teeth grinding, but she holds her tongue. I think for a moment that she is going to attempt to strike Arabella, her soul presence writhes dangerously about her, but she sucks in a hiss of breath instead, her dangerous aura retreating. ¡°To the line,¡± Arabella says. ¡°We do not have all day.¡± Lady Forendous stomps over to the vague position that the rest of her team are milling about at, each other member of Team Forendous doing their best to stay far away. She stares across at us, beaten, some of us broken, all of us exhausted. I don¡¯t know what all it is that this woman can do, but I do not doubt that something dangerous is on her mind. Above the center of the ruined field, the Dispatch begins to whine. ¡°Team Mari, ready?¡± Arabella calls. ¡°Ready,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says through cracked lips. His cheeks are sunken into his face and his shoulders shake as he sways in his spot. This man is on the brink of collapse. Fire sprouts from my hands, a plume of orange as big and bright as I can make it. Lady Forendous¡¯ eyes flick towards me and the fire, contempt and anger painted on her face, her clawed fingers scratching at the air at her sides. My own eyes flick to the right, seeing something that only I in the room can see. ¡°You are about to lose to me,¡± I tell Lady Forendous. The words hit the mark; the woman¡¯s shoulders bunch in agitation. ¡°You are speaking to me!¡± she screams. ¡°Team Forendous, ready?¡± Arabella calls from above the Dispatch. ¡°Everything that you have will prove to be shit,¡± I tell Forendous. ¡°Your position and your power don¡¯t mean much here. You are going to be beaten by someone who only touched magic for the first time just a few months ago.¡± ¡°You take your life in your hands, ant!¡± Spit flies from the woman¡¯s mouth as she hisses through her teeth. ¡°I am going to crush you! I am going to squeeze the red out from your meat and feed it to my pets!¡± ¡°Ready?¡± Arabella calls again. ¡°I would like to see you try,¡± I say, giving the woman my most winning smile. Snakes of green energy leap off of Lady Forendous¡¯ shoulders, the very air around her soul presence distorting violently. ¡°I-I-I¡­You are dead! Your entire tiny life will be crushed to red paste! I will¨C¡± ¡°Time!¡± Arabella¡¯s voice rings through the chamber. A shower of fireworks explode along the field, raining down over the top of us as the Dispatch slowly sinks toward the grass. ¡°Team Mari is the winner, four points to three.¡± My eyes slide sideways, once more seeing the window Galea holds between her hands. It has now been exactly one hour and five seconds since the match first began. A cheer rips through our line, and suddenly I am being pulled into a hug by Jess, lifted off my feet and swung around by the muscular woman. My fingers shake with exhaustion, but for the moment that is forgotten. Pulled into the rest of our group, I catch Jor¡¯Mari wiping away a tear from his eyes with the back of his hand, the smile on his face wide and sloppy. I am thrust at the man by Jess and am surprised when he manages to catch me enough to stop me from falling. Jess has already moved on by the time that I look back at her, scooping up Samielle like a princess and spinning him around. ¡°She is a wild one,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. I turn back. His hand is still on the small of my back, as if he is afraid that I am going to fall over at any second. I must look as bad as he does if he thinks that. ¡°We won,¡± I say, trying to smile up at the man. ¡°We won all three.¡± ¡°We did,¡± he laughs, a weak and tired sound. ¡°We actually did.¡± Chapter 84 - Night Before the Climb I am the last off the field, or what is left of it. Looking back at the huge circular lawn stretched throughout the chamber, all I see is a ruined waste, mounds of grass and earth piled together in places, some places so bare that the white stone two feet down is plainly visible. It makes me wonder how anyone else is going to play a match after ours. Arabella sits atop the floating cube of black surveying the destructions with a little smile on her lips. Our eyes meet for a moment. She nods to me, and I return the gesture, though I doubt either of put any thought in it. ¡°I¡¯m first!¡± I hear Clarice call behind me. Whirling toward the room, I catch the barest trace of the woman disappearing around the corner of the room toward the wash tub. The archway of the room¡¯s wall reappears once I am fully inside, and the more plush chair molds perfectly to my tired and beaten body. Most of the bruises came from throwing myself at those siblings over and over again, but there was plenty more to groan about. I stare down at my hand, flexing the fingers that had been broken just a few minutes before, wincing as they pop. There is time to consider just how much damage I have done to myself over the last few months, just how much damage others have done to me. Far too much for a normal person to survive, far too much for most magicians to survive as well. Would I have taken such brutal punishment if I didn¡¯t know that I would survive it? I doubt it. I suppose that would make any other specialization superior to the one that I have. ¡°New gifts,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says around a mouthful of pear, holding up a box in his hand for everyone to see. My eyes linger on the pear, a bright yellow Birsmith that sets my mouth to watering. The sensation sparks another, the cold and wetness of my clothes and the feeling of grainy mud beneath my fingernails, in my hair, and a bit between my teeth. ¡°I¡¯m hungry over here,¡± I say to him as he tries to open the latch on the box with one hand, still holding his pear. ¡°You have legs, don¡¯t you?¡± he says before sticking the pear in his mouth to open up his other hand. ¡°What do you want, champ?¡± Jess asks, looking into a large basket made of woven poplar. ¡°We have all kinds of produce.¡± She pulls a full head of cabbage from the basket and looks over at me with a raised eyebrow, or I suppose she would have if she had any eyebrows. I wonder briefly if she picked up the expression from some of us haired individuals or if that was a thing lizardkin did naturally. ¡°Are there any more pears?¡± I ask. ¡°Mmmm.¡± Jess rifles through the basket, pulling out a plump green pear and some off and lumpy purple fruit. ¡°Are these a pear?¡± ¡°That one is.¡± I fail the catch when she tosses it across the room to me. Thankfully, there is a basin of water nearby to wash off the fruit and my muddy hands. I take a bite, noting the sharp sourness that turns into a mild sweetness, the flexibility of the flesh, how there is just the tinniest dash of chewiness that lets me know the fruit is perfectly ripe. Sifildian pears are a novelty where I am from, but the few times I have had them they have always set my mouth afire with delight, and now is no different. Too bad father could never get them to grow in our weather. I release a squeak of satisfaction as I take another bite of the pear, shivering as I chew on it. It is impossible not to. ¡°That good?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks. ¡°You have no idea.¡± He looks down at his own fruit, seeming a little disappointed. ¡°You would be a riot at a market, I¡¯m sure.¡± Behind him, Jasper asks in the most polite way for Clarice to hurry along with her bath. ¡°Depends on the market,¡± I say with a shrug. Exeter bless me, a perfectly ripe pear after a day¡¯s hard work is the best thing you can ask for. ¡°I¡¯ll show you around one sometime,¡± he says. Jor¡¯Mari looks around on the table for a moment before spotting and hefting a fist-sized wooden box. ¡°This one has your name on it.¡± ¡°Give it here then,¡± I say. I groan, cheeks flushing when the box slips between my fingers and clatters to the floor. Why can¡¯t anyone just hand something to somebody? I scoop up the wooden box, finding it satisfyingly heavy in my hand. Turning over the amber wood box in my hand, I find my name scrawled in beautiful silver engraving across the top, the lid latched with a simple turn-lock. Retreating back to my chair, I pocket my muddy boots back into my inventory before kicking my feet up on a footstool. Before, whenever we won a match, all we received was some nice food. Was this an extra gift from winning all three matches, or a gift for merely getting through all of them? I don¡¯t know, but what I found inside confirms for me right away that whoever gave me this specific gift has been watching me closely, maybe a little too closely for my liking. The vials, each about as long and wide as my thumb, shine up from a bed of black velvet inside, the shy glow of the liquid inside each letting me know at once that they are magical. Ambrosia of Sky(Rare): An elixir of Affix Ambrosia holding the affix of sky. This is a commonly sought after item for journeyman magicians looking to strengthen their affinities with certain aspects and for enchanters. The affix of sky is rarely obtained and even more rarely useful to a magician, but those able to make use of its strange qualities have select potential. Ambrosia of Cold(Rare): An elixir of Affix Ambrosia holding the affix of cold. This is a commonly sought after item for journeyman magicians looking to strengthen their affinities with certain aspects and for enchanters. Cold, one of the most common and useful affixes, still requires an incredible amount of work and ingenuity to truly master. This ambrosia is but just one small piece toward that mastery. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. Ambrosia of Strength(Rare): An elixir of Affix Ambrosia holding the affix of strength. This is a commonly sought after item for journeyman magicians looking to strengthen their affinities with certain aspects and for enchanters. A common affix, but also one highly sought after. Most magicians attempt to boost their affinity to strength, and enchanters covet the affinity as well. I brush my hand over the vials, feeling the thrum of the glass beneath my fingers. For some reason, a feeling of self-consciousness overtakes me, and I snap the box closed. ¡°Anything interesting?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks, holding up a cut ruby, his own box open in his other hand. I glance at the gemstone, an interesting trinket that helps defends against mental attacks apparently. ¡°Interesting, to say the least.¡± The box disappears into my inventory. ¡°That is an interesting piece as well.¡± ¡°You know what it does?¡± he asks, holding up the gem. ¡°There was no explanation inside the chest for me.¡± I give him a short description of what the item does. He looks thoughtfully at it before returning to the box and fishing out a new piece of fruit to bite into. ¡°That ability of your is useful.¡± ¡°I know.¡± Using the eye to tell me about everything that I am looking at has become almost second nature now. There is an entire profession devoted to prospecting, appraising, and identifying magical items and the usefulness of monster parts. If everyone were so blessed with the artifact that I have, they would all be out of a job. ¡°At the very least, it should help keep my place on any team. That, and my ability to disenchant monsters.¡± ¡°Both useful,¡± Jor¡¯Mari agrees, ¡°but I think that you might be selling yourself short.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± I say. ¡°I can also be a pack mule for an entire team if I need to be.¡± He smirks at that, that devilish quirk of his mouth that is so infectious. ¡°Now, there you go, a useful team member if I ever heard of one.¡± ¡°Can you tell me what this does?¡± Jess asks, holding up a necklace that looks to be made of gold. I squint at the jewelry, a provincial part of me wanting it as soon as I see it. I have to remind myself that I can now afford to buy such beautiful accessories myself, if I ever make it back to civilization that is. ¡°It is a power bearing magical item. It bears some power called Golden Facility, though I have no idea what that means.¡± She looks down at the necklace. ¡°I don¡¯t have any power bearing items,¡± she says. ¡°Not even your artifact?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks. ¡°Would that we were all so fortunate,¡± Jess says, hooking the necklace around her neck. ¡°As repayment for the identification.¡± Without warning, Jess scoops Jasper off his feet in a bear hug from behind, sending the man into confused and embarrassed sputtering. ¡°The next bath is for you, Charlene.¡± Spotting a recently washed and pampered Clarice coming around the corner, I make no delay in dashing out my chair and heading for the wash bin, ignoring Jasper¡¯s protests as I cut the line. I find two more changes of clothes waiting for me in small wash area, which is fortunate given the state of my current clothes. I only really notice all the rips and tears in the expensive cloth as I peel them off, tossing them to the side. Maybe I¡¯ll burn the rags later. Sleep comes to most of us hard. I sit in my cot, seeing perfectly well in the dark and listening to at least three of my companions snore away, though I won¡¯t reveal who. Sleep has become less and less needed for me, and I find the nights comforting. It is not so much that I am lonely¨Cthe only other person conscious is Samielle, thumbing through the pages of a book by candlelight¨Cbut there is something to the quiet of the night while everyone else is asleep. I wonder a bit how I will spend my nights in the future if this lack of sleep continues. There is a romanticism in the thought of wandering the towns and fields at night, enjoying the world without anyone in it for a while. The thought doesn¡¯t scare me as much as it once would have, doesn¡¯t scare me at all really. Hard to be concerned about strange men and people lurking in dark alleyways when you have punched your burning hand into the eye socket of a giant monster. I look down at the vials in their box lying across my blanket-covered knee. Understanding what to do with these is awfully difficult. Outside of the fact that whoever gifted with me with these vials must necessarily know about my abilities, but they must have also been watching me throughout the trial as a whole. There is no other reason for someone to gift me with items that specifically are used to enhance affixes; first rank magicians do not worry about that for the most part, myself being a rare exception. I have to conclude that Arabella gave these to me, probably an attempt to ingratiate herself to me once again. I don¡¯t really hate the woman, but the more I see of her, the more I come to think that she is deceptive as a default. She finally admitted to me that she did know of my brother, and that riding his coattails is the only reason she took an interest in me. She has a further reason for investing in me, going to such lengths to make me indebted to her and her guild. I just don¡¯t know what that is yet. All of the suspicion does little to let me know what to do with the vials. From what I managed to do with the Growth aspect, I have finally come to more closely understand what Emperor''s Prerogative is all about. Normally, a magician will be tested for their affix affinities at some point, typically before they integrate essentia to determine which essentia would most closely align with their natural affinities, or shortly after reaching rank two to point their way forward. As I have come to understand, increasing your affinity with your native affixes is vital in reaching the third rank, as the body of a magician is reborn fully into its more permanent state when reaching rank three, and strong affixes have something to do with this. This is going to work differently for me, that is becoming abundantly clear. The first time that I laid eyes on my soul, there was only a single affix imprinted upon it, the affix of fire, meaning that I only ever had one natural affinity to begin with. After what I did in the underground dungeon, forcefully imprinting the Growth Affix onto my soul, my understanding of my conflux became clear. Emperor¡¯s Prerogative told me before, but I lacked the context to understand when I first looked at the ability. I am not bound by having native affix affinities. With enough affixed mana of any one affinity, I should be able to imprint it onto my soul. Hopefully I will find a less painful way to do so in the future. Which leaves the matter of what to do with the vials. I could drink them now, and they might have enough affixed mana inside of them to imprint on my soul, but they also might not. Each of the three vials are also incredibly useful enchanting materials, and I have been searching for powerful affixed mana to begin working in that realm once again. If I drink the vials, and find that they do not have enough mana inside of them to imprint with, should I use them for enchanting? Should I save them and try to find more of the same mana to gain enough to imprint my soul with? How could I even find such rare kinds of mana? As I am, some of these affixes of mana won¡¯t be particularly useful to me if I do imprint them on my soul. I have no idea how the Sky Affix could even be applied to any of my abilities, and I am well aware that not every kind of affix can be applied to any ability. I could completely waste such a source of magic by putting it onto my soul instead of using it to create something actually useful. I sigh, snapping the box closed and laying my head against the wall. Why can the way forward never be clear-cut. Maybe things will look better in the morning. Returning the box to my inventory once again, I try to make myself comfortable on the cot. Jor¡¯Mari snoozes away, just a bed over, the rise and fall of his strong chest so constant you could dance to its rhythm. You would never know, looking at strands of snow white that fall over his face or the way he delicately clutches his blanket between his forefinger and thumb, that the man is a coy bastard. At night he is just a pretty and pale boy, no sadness lurking behind a smiling face. I fall asleep listening to his breathing, lulled by its constancy. Chapter 85 - Doors A long breath hisses out between my grinning and clenched teeth. I ignore the stink of it, always try to do that, and admire the mess left on the floor that my fire still clings to. I can hardly tell that just a few moments before this pile of smoldering refuse used to be a monster, some plant-like thing with a bulbous head and ever-seeking green tendrils. That was then; now it¡¯s just broken, green leathery skin turned a sickly yellow-brown, and faintly smelling like a fireplace. I can never really ignore the smell. ¡°Help here as well!¡± The yell brings my attention to Samielle. He stands at the back of the room, the walls around us made of that strange and pristine white stone, our only space to maneuver a twenty-foot cube. Samielle struggles, ropes of sticky green wrapped tight around his right arm, constricting his bicep so hard it makes it look like he had two of the bulging muscles. The mace he holds in his right arm also has a length of plant-monster wrapped around it, holding it back from smashing down into the second monster that Samielle holds by the stalk or neck; there is a snapping mouth filled with odd flat teeth on the bulb, so I suppose that either would work. One monster working to hold his arm in place while he holds the second off the ground, its rainbow-colored roots wrapping around his waist and torso, the man looks like a warrior out of some outrageous painting. It would be a shame to ruin the illustration. A part-way charged Dragonfire Bolt slams into the bulb of the monster clinging to Samielle¡¯s arm, exploding the upper half of the creature in a spray of purple colored gore. The tendrils wrapping around Samielle¡¯s arm slacken, and he takes the opportunity to bring the head of his flaming mace down on the bulb of the other monster. Once, twice, three times, and the roots coiling around him fall limp to the floor, soon followed by the rest of the monster. Samielle stumbles back as the monster falls off him, catching his balance a second later. He turns, a look of anger on his face for a moment before his eyes fall over the rest of the room. Six of the monsters lay dead on my side of the room, four on his, and I killed two of those. ¡°That didn¡¯t take long,¡± he says, barely needing an effort to bring his breath back under control. I kick one of the monster corpses, watching as it puffs away into glittering pink smoke. ¡°I got rather good at killing plant monsters in the last couple of weeks,¡± I say. ¡°These are all rank one anyway.¡± ¡°Seems like it,¡± Samielle says, hands on his hips, scanning the room. ¡°Rank one monsters can still kill a man.¡± ¡°Speak for yourself,¡± I say, walking about the room, kicking corpses and watching Galea bring me windows displaying what I got from the bodies. ¡°At this point, if it is a rank one monster that does me in, I would just about die of embarrassment.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t figure that will be possible, with you being dead and all.¡± ¡°That makes a certain kind of sense.¡± I stop, my eyes landing on a particular line in one of the message windows. I reach out, my hands brushing across my inventory screen that has really started to fill out over the past few weeks, plucking a new item out of the inventory window. A rectangular slab of purple metal appears in my hand, fairly nondescript, but important. It is a key. ¡°Do you remember us passing any purple doors?¡± Samielle asks as I hold up the key. ¡°Down a few levels,¡± I say, unable to help a sigh. ¡°Down again,¡± Samielle smolders, sharing my hesitation. We both look to the corner of the room where a neat square hole has been cut out of the floor. A ladder inside of the hole leads back down to the level we were just on previously, the same level where most of our group waits for us now. On the east wall of the room is a silver door, an embossed number three as large as a crate standing out on its door. In the north wall is another door, this one green, a two on it. ¡°Back down it is I suppose,¡± I say, motioning to the ladder. ¡°Maybe the others will have had more luck than we have,¡± Samielle says, hopefully. My hope, small spark that it was, turns to ash as soon as I see the faces on my teammates. Two faces turn to greet me and Samielle after we finish our climb down the ladder and duck through a short passage to enter a room eerily similar to the one we were just in. Jess and Clarice look at me, the former offering a short nod before looking back at the door they are standing in front of. The door is a ruddy shade of red that I have never seen before, a large two emblazoned on its front. ¡°Jor¡¯Mari and Jasper aren¡¯t out yet?¡± I ask, looking at the closed door as well. ¡°They went in before we did.¡± Clarice scoffs. ¡°Is that a boast?¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± Samielle finishes his trudge, coming to stand near Jess, leaning against one white wall like he needs it for support. He frowns down at the mess of linen covering Jess¡¯ shoulder, faint tinges of red soaking through the hasty binding. I can understand his evident worry. Despite how she treats the injury as nothing more than a splinter, three of us had been there to watch the monster slice its long, bladed forearm into the meat of her shoulder; blood had been everywhere. ¡°We can¡¯t all keep going forever,¡± Clarice says, her dark hair pulled into a fraying knot behind her head. As if the admission reinforces her own weariness, she slides down against a wall, head lolling forward to stare at the ground. It¡¯s impossible for any of them to tell exactly how long we have been scraping through these rooms; none of them have a spirit dragon in their head keeping track of the time. From the moment that ladder descended from the roof in our small room, letting us up into the first of the white cubic rooms, over a hundred hours have passed. No instruction was given on how to proceed forward, but then again, not much was needed. In that first room, there had only been a single door, steel, and with a large four pressed into the metal. Jor¡¯Mari, Samielle, and Jess decided to wander ahead, but the moment that Jasper¡¯s foot fully crossed the threshold, a barrier had sprung into being, cutting Clarice and I off from the other side. Monster greeted the others, nothing too powerful, and they easily dispatched them. A metal plate, green in color, was found among the corpses, and pressing it to one of the three doors in that room led to the next, that door also allowing four to enter. So, we continued in that way, finding keys, unlocking doors, killing monsters, before repeating the cycle all over again. Our pace has not been as fast as I would have liked, but how could it? Every second that we spend waiting, I feel more and more like the other teams are racing to catch up to us or sprinting ahead. ¡°Purple,¡± I say, hefting the key in my hand. ¡°We passed a purple door a few floors down.¡± A pair of hard stares greets that news. Maybe no one in our group wants to reach the top of the tower, or whatever awaits us after this maze of blank rooms, as much as I do but the rest of my team isn¡¯t far behind. ¡°Down again,¡± Jess mutters. ¡°That will be three times now. I¡¯m starting to wonder if we aren¡¯t lower down in the tower than we started.¡± ¡°Higher,¡± Samielle says, catching a glare from Jess. ¡°Four ladders higher.¡± ¡°I was being¡­¡± She looks at me. ¡°I don¡¯t know the word in Castinian.¡± ¡°I¡¯m just a peasant, you should ask the noblewoman,¡± I reply, nodding down at Clarice. ¡°Facetious,¡± Clarice says with a shrug. ¡°Hyperbolic works too.¡± ¡°Damnable language,¡± Jess says. I can¡¯t help but agree. A flinch sparks through our small assemblage as the door we are standing in front of shifts an inch, an echoing sound like thunder following as the stone grinds on stone. Jor¡¯Mari stands in the open doorway a moment later, an arm around the shoulders of an exasperated Jasper, almost looking like the bigger man might rub his knuckles into the smaller man¡¯s hair, laughing, at any moment. Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s eyes fall on me, that enviable smirk gleaming on his face. ¡°We made a mess in there,¡± he says, pointing a thumb over his shoulder back toward the room. ¡°Do I look so much like your mother that you think I need to clean up your messes?¡± I ask. He squints at me. ¡°No, can¡¯t really say that there is a resemblance. Now, my maid Jenna, there is a certain similarity. A rural and buxom prettiness, you might say.¡± I do my best not to smile as I shoulder past the man into the room, it would only encourage him to continue. Every hour away from the Stoneball field has seemed to do him good, restoring his assholish nature with remarkable ease. The sadness in his eyes isn¡¯t gone, but it is less hard. A mess is exactly what I find in the room. A cubic space of pure white stone greets me, the same as all the other rooms, except for the disemboweled monster lying in the center of it. The corpse resembles something like a rat, except that it has no fur, its tail is made of boney spines, it has seven eyes on the end of its long snout, and that it is the size of a cart. A stench like the sour breath of someone who has drained their week¡¯s pay on ale wafts off the body, and I gag before I have even made it five strides into the room. Acid burns the back of my throat, and it takes a supreme effort of will to choke it back down. ¡°What is this thing called?¡± I ask Galea, ¡°so that I know to avoid them in the future.¡± ¡°It¡¯s a Rattle Mole,¡± she says. ¡°Of course it is.¡± ¡°Having trouble in there?¡± I hear someone call from the other room, Samielle, I think. ¡°You do not want to come in here,¡± I call back, my voice cracking on the putrid air. There is a round of laughter from the other room. My boots squelch through the purple blood painted across the floor. Someone, though I don¡¯t need to guess who, ripped the monster¡¯s intestines out, and a rope of bloody entrails lay about on the floor, continuing to leak bodily fluid. Holding my nose, I find a spot of the corpse to nudge with the toe of my boot and activate Disenchant. A flood of items, several pounds of meat that sounds unappetizing, some bones, three eyeballs, 1 gold and 16 silver coins, and something called a Putrid Mole Heart, fall into my inventory, along with what I am really after. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. I return to the group waiting outside, taking a second to wonder how Jor¡¯Mari managed to rip the monster¡¯s guts out without getting a spec of blood on his fine clothes, and hold up the rectangular key in my hand. ¡°Blue.¡± ¡°Looks more cerulean to me,¡± Jor¡¯Mari mutters. ¡°There was a blue door in that room,¡± Jasper pipes up. ¡°I saw it,¡± I say before letting the heavy part fall. ¡°It has a one on it.¡± That sobers the faces around me, all eyes turning to land on the metal rectangle between my fingers. ¡°We haven¡¯t done a 1 room yet,¡± Jess says. ¡°If the trend holds, it will be dangerous.¡± ¡°We will have to do one eventually,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°The numbers keep getting lower the higher we go. I wonder if all the rooms on the highest level will be 1 rooms.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve thought the same thing,¡± I say. I look around at the people gathered in front of me and really study them. Despite her brave face, Jess is clearly in pain from that wound in her shoulder, and exhausted from pressing on for the last few days with little break. Samielle, Clarice, and Jasper don¡¯t even try to hide their exhaustion, two of the three leaning against a wall for support. The only one that I think really might be up to take on a room of unknown monsters by himself is Jor¡¯Mari, and there is a greedy look in his eyes as he stares at the key. ¡°I¡¯ll take this,¡± I say, making the key vanish back into my inventory. His eyes flick up to me, a wounded confusion on his face like I have just snatched away his favorite toy. ¡°You¡¯ll what?¡± ¡°I will attempt the 1 room first. If I fail, then you can have a crack at it.¡± Though, if I did fail, I have no idea how they would get the key back. He steps forward, grabbing my arm so suddenly that I fail to pull away in time. ¡°I am the strongest,¡± he says. ¡°It would be folly if it was not me taking the risk. We have no idea what might lay inside of that room.¡± ¡°We haven¡¯t known what are in any of these rooms,¡± I say, shaking his hand off. ¡°Look at yourself, you look terrible, tired.¡± Despite the dark flesh underneath his eyes, he looks ready to dive headlong into any challenge he can sink his teeth into. ¡°Besides, you don¡¯t need it.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t need it,¡± he repeats. His eyes flick over me, trying to puzzle it out. Then, the light of realization dawns. ¡°Picking fights alone for the sake of reinforcement is what fools do.¡± ¡°Call me a fool then, because I have been doing it for weeks. I¡¯ve had to, that was the only way for me to live, and now that I have a taste of it, don¡¯t think that I will stop any time soon. You have already reached your maximum reinforcements before you make it to rank two; I have not.¡± I hold up a finger, and for good measure, count off more points. ¡°I am the least exhausted out of our entire group, I am the only one that will heal from injuries gained by fighting some unknown monster alone, and I have the most potential to outright kill whatever I find.¡± His eyes roam past me, back to the room where just before there had been a giant, disemboweled beast. ¡°Is that right?¡± ¡°As we already went over, it is a waste to send you. I would see anyone else of us go ahead of you, just so that whoever it is will come out stronger on the other side.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°Soul reinforcement is not the only way to grow stronger.¡± ¡°But it is the best way.¡± ¡°I think she¡¯s right,¡± Jess says, hissing and holding her injured shoulder as she slides down to the floor against the wall. ¡°Charlene is still fresh, and she recovers from injuries quickly.¡± ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware that I asked your opinion,¡± Jor¡¯Mari snaps at her. Samielle takes a threatening step toward him. ¡°Watch your mouth.¡± Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s hands clench into fists at his side as he stares at Samielle. Sam is a good head and a half taller, and wider to boot, but there is no fear in Jor¡¯Mari as he stands off with the man. A second passes before Jor¡¯Mari lets out a sigh and steps away. He rubs at his eyes with a hand. ¡°Sorry, maybe I am tired.¡± He looks around at the rest of the group. ¡°Are we a voting kind of group or the not-voting kind?¡± Clarice shrugs. ¡°Voting never got anything important done, according to my mother. Red¡¯s the leader, at least I thought so, figure what she says goes until we find ourselves out of this little tower.¡± ¡°You know where I stand,¡± Jess says. ¡°I agree with Jess,¡± Samielle adds, though no one really thought he would do anything else. ¡°And you?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks, turning to Jasper. The man looks between the two of us, his mouth working on unspoken words. Eventually, after a suffocatingly awkward silence, he finds something to say. ¡°I am not good at making decisions.¡± ¡°Well then,¡± I say, holding up the blue key. ¡°Since I already have the key, I figure that I will be the one to use it. I suggest that the rest of you take this opportunity to rest.¡± ¡°Finally,¡± Clarice says, knocking her head back against the wall. ¡°If this is what being a peasant is like, I would make a terrible one.¡± ¡°Yes, hundred-hour workdays are common for us.¡± She looks up at me, obviously uncertain as to whether or not I am joking. ¡°Just be careful,¡± Jor¡¯Mari tells me before I can turn to leave. His hand twitches at his side, like he wants to reach out for me, but can¡¯t bring himself to do it. ¡°Would you?¡± I ask. ¡°No,¡± he says, pasting on that smirk of his. ¡°But I am me.¡± I shake my head, retreating back into the room. The smell hits me like a hammer in the face just a few steps in, and my hand slaps down over my nose, but all that does is trap the smell inside my head. It takes all of my willpower not to cough and splutter, that would probably be a bad impression to leave the others of me. Imagine if I die in the next room, and all of their final thoughts of me are about how I swaggered cocky into the room and immediately vomited. The thought sobers me a bit, not the vomiting but the death. I step up to the door of blue steel, turning the key over and over in my hand, trying to concentrate on all of the times I have almost died recently. It is strangely difficult to do. At the bottom of this tower someone hit me so hard that I flew through mist and crashed into an inexplicable forge room. If I had landed just a little bit worse, that by itself might have been the end for me. I can recall the pain, even the fear of that stranger straddling me and hitting me in the face over and over again is not too far off, but thinking that I would actually die, I can¡¯t seem to conjure that. Even when I think back about my encounter deep beneath that dungeons, being run through by a spear and tossed off a ledge, that fear of death is so far away, so far behind the pain and the anger that I felt. I know that I could have died, probably should have, but I can¡¯t feel it despite the knowing. One point sticks out in my mind, bawling, crying for my parents, for anyone to help me, feeling my blood turn to fire and knowing that the end was coming. I remember the fear now, the fear that those two put into me, nothing since comes close. Anger bubbles up in my chest, choking me, making every beat of my heart come painful, feeling like someone has a grip on it. Like a tiny point of metal deep in my guts, so cold that not even the anger can reach it, I find that fear, that knowing that I am about to die, that knowing of how small and weak I am. I breathe out, focusing on that spot, that ball of horrible emotion. My fingers brush across the surface of the door, the cold metal tingling my nerves. I know in my head that whatever is behind this door might be the last thing I encounter in life, but despite the knowing, I can¡¯t really believe it. That is why I need the fear, I need to know that I have it, I am afraid that without it I might do something stupid, and this time, the fates won¡¯t grant me another chance. Maybe Jor¡¯Mari is right, and I am being reckless. If I forget myself, he is the obvious choice to take the risks. I ignore my doubts and touch the metal key to the door. Best not to let doubt make my decisions. The metal of the door ripples like the surface of a pond as I touch the key to it. Stone grinds somewhere above the door. A loud bang follows the first shift of the door, then it is pulled up and away into the stone, leaving a short corridor in front of me, a second identical door just ahead. Touching the key to the second door causes the first to fall back to the stone, bathing me in total darkness for a moment before the one in front rises up, displaying the room that I step into. White, perfectly symmetrical walls, form a box around me, the smooth surface of worked stone making a smacking sound as I walk through in my heavy boots. To the north are two doors set into the wall, a red four and a black one. The room is identical to all the previous with one notable exception. The floor on the left half of the room is gone, replaced by a two-inch drop and a calm surface of water. Seeing no evident monsters around me, I creep toward the placid pond that takes up half the room, already knowing what I will find. Brayfish The monster swims in lazy circles inside the water, easily the largest fish that I have ever seen, almost as long as a horse. Its scales are a glittering indigo that somehow blend with the water, its face coming to a long point, several sharp teeth pressing into the flesh around its mouth. Among the glittering scales are a few that glow a faint green, leaving a trail of smoke through the water behind the monster so subtle that I might have missed it if I weren¡¯t looking so closely at it. Obviously, this thing is going to have some magic to it. ¡°Why did it have to be a water monster?¡± My eyes continue to track the fish as it swims lazy circles in the water below, not seeming to be aware of me up on the ledge above it. ¡°Fire affixed mana typically has a poor match against the various water affixed manas,¡± Galea informs me. A window appears in front of her, a perfect replica of the enchanter¡¯s glossary, the interaction between fire and water affixed mana made bold and standing out on the window. ¡°Does it now?¡± She looks between me and the window, squinting, trying to find the point of my apparent confusion. ¡°Yes¡­it does.¡± ¡°What would I do without you,¡± I say, looking away from the dragon and back toward my latest obstacle. ¡°Likely, you would have died.¡± I puff a breath. The last big fish monster that I fought was a mud catfish that my fire was completely inadequate in dealing with. My staff falls into my hand, and I touch it to the Bane Crystal a moment later, turning the fire burning in its cage to green. A gout of green flame pours out of the tip of the staff, sizzling the surface of the water, disturbing it, but failing to even make it an inch down. The monster further down continues its swim, oblivious to the fire burning at the top of the pond, or maybe it just knows that I am no danger to it. ¡°Tits and Honey,¡± I swear, sticking the Bane Crystal and my staff back into my inventory. ¡°They had to make it this.¡± If we were out in the wild, I would likely just avoid this monster all together. That might not be very honorable of me, one of a magician¡¯s primary jobs is to kill monsters after all, but that doesn¡¯t mean that I have to take stupid fights. I briefly wonder if it might be a good idea for me to turn back to the group, pass this room off to Jor¡¯Mari, let that man deal with this. He would smirk and crow about how he told me he was the right one to take these kinds of chances, and three hells, he is probably right. It is not so much the idea of him mocking me with his rightness that stops me from turning back as much as the knowledge that if I give this over to him, I won¡¯t get anything out of it. The chance is mine. Did I not promise that I was going to take every chance possible when I found myself inexplicably still alive at the bottom of that cliff? Did I not swear to get strong, so that I could smoosh the faces of Coriander and Kendon into the mud beneath my boot? In that light, there is no way that I can turn my back on something as simple as an incredibly deadly and huge fish with rows of sharp teeth. It still feels a bit strange to me, feeling all of my armor and my boots vanish into my inventory at the same time. My bare feet fall an inch, slapping onto the white stone, and I curl my toes, relishing their freedom. I stand over the pool in the lightest clothes that I have, the idea of this beast biting down on my naked chest or stomach too much to make me go completely without layers into the pool. I scan through my inventory, finding the most appropriate weapon for the occasion, a spear that I picked up on the first floor of the tower¨Cit had been a nightmare to get all of the sticker blood off of it. ¡°Well,¡± I say, staring down into the water, ¡°best to get on with it.¡± Chapter 86 - A Fish Story Standing on the edge, looking down and through the water at that terrible monster beneath, I find my feet unwilling to move another inch. ¡°This is a terrible idea, isn¡¯t it.¡± Galea float in the air ahead of me, bobbing up and down, looking down at the same monster. ¡°You killed the last fish by stabbing it.¡± ¡°On land,¡± I say, looking up at the sharp point of the spear I hold. Is my plan really to dive headfirst into the water and try to fight a monster while holding my breath? Have I lost my senses? ¡°There has to be a better way to go about this.¡± ¡°Surely,¡± Galea agrees. ¡°Do you have any idea?¡± I ask her. ¡°I do not believe that I am capable of ideas, at least in the same way as you think of them.¡± Stepping back from the edge, I let the spear fall and clatter to the floor next to me. That small, cold point in the center of my chest returns to the forefront of my mind, the memory of what it feels like to lay dying and knowing that there is nothing I can do about it comes to the front of my mind. If I just dive headfirst into this pool, I probably wouldn¡¯t even have time to regret it if that thing got its teeth on me. It could probably just rip my throat out, lightning fast, and all my anger, pain, and dreams to find a dream would turn into a red cloud in the water. ¡°I don¡¯t even know how to use a spear,¡± I say. ¡°Did I really think that I could just kill some monster underwater like it was nothing.¡± Disgust with myself wells up, but the worst thing is that I don¡¯t know where the sudden confidence to just plunge into my almost certain death came from, and that scares me. I sit next to the pool, contemplating the Brayfish lurking in the water, not taking my eyes from it for a second. Time passes, and I set my mind to thinking. I think about myself, about all of the monsters I have killed, about all of the monsters that have nearly killed me. Does my ability to recover from injury scrub my mind of the danger somehow? Impossible to know really, but I decide that I need to watch myself more closely, avoid stupid risks. The monster in the pool is my obstacle, one that I am still determined to overcome. An hour passes as I watch it make lazy circles in the water, there is a pattern to it, a consistency in the way that it swims that no living creature should commit to. I know without needing to try, my fire is not going to be a weapon I can use against this creature, but other than fire what do I have? ¡°We don¡¯t have a fishing pole,¡± I say, looking through my inventory. ¡°Not that I have ever seen one that could catch something as large as that thing.¡± ¡°Can you make one?¡± Galea asks, trying to help. I scan through the boxes in the inventory window. ¡°I doubt it.¡± I blow out a sigh, looking between the open window floating in the air in front of me and the monster down in the water. It is made of menace, though it seems content to allow me to be up here. The trails of color through the water that chase is swirl and ebb with its passage, almost looking like ghostly appendages, almost. ¡°You know what that reminds me of?¡± I ask, looking at Galea. ¡°Yes,¡± she says simply. I frown at the golden lizard. ¡°So, you know whatever I am thinking no matter if it is words to you or not?¡± ¡°Correct.¡± That is peevish. ¡°Then that also means you know what I wanted to be the answer to my question, and you simply ignored it.¡± She looks ready to answer again, her mouth open, eyes shifting around. Eventually, she makes a show of looking down into the water and shaking her head. ¡°No,¡± she says; she is either a poor actor or being sarcastic. ¡°I don¡¯t know what that reminds you of.¡± ¡°It reminds me of a crayfish in a pot,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t have any seasonings with me, and it would be a shame to only have one crayfish, but do you suppose that I could cook this one?¡± Galea looks at me, her eyes narrowing to pinpricks. Then, her face contorts in a dozen expressions so suddenly that I jump back from her a step. Her expression sticks, the left side of her dragony face pulled into a sneer while he tongue lolls out the right side of her mouth. I am just on the verge of reaching out for her, something I know that I can¡¯t do, when life snaps back into her. A window appears in front of her, the normally black and featureless rectangle holding something that looks like a piece of paper. A few seconds of scanning the writing on the page makes me remember where I have seen it before. ¡°This equations should be able to tell you if you can, one way or another,¡± she says. Now that she holds it up in front of me, I recall the equation in particular from one of the books on mathematics, tucked away neatly in the glossary at the back in a section on useful equations. It is a simple expression, equating energy to mass, change in temperature, and something called heat inertia of material. I look at that simple line of mathematics, attempting to really understand it for the first time, and to my surprise, I begin to. Galea is wrong, not something that I get to say often, but the equation itself cannot tell me if I am able to boil the pool in front of me. Firstly, I don¡¯t know the heat inertia of water, nor do I know the temperature of the water, or¨Cfor that matter¨Cthe temperature at which water boils. Asking Galea about this confirms that none of the books I have read out of Arabella¡¯s shelf so far have that information inside. As I continue to stare at the equations, I come to realize that I don¡¯t need any of those factors either. There is a lesson hidden inside the equation that I puzzle out, something that seems obvious when stated outright, but it isn¡¯t until I see it written down, properly constructed, that it occurs to me to try and apply it. To heat something requires energy, and the energy required to heat a material is directly related to how much of the material is at hand. So simple, and, perhaps, very deadly as well. ¡°Galea, how big is the pool, exactly?¡± I ask. Another window appears in front of me, the black void of this one filled with a sketch of the sides of the pool beneath me scrawled with precise cerulean lines. The sides of the pool in the sketch are measured and listed, something Galea must be able to do. I cast my mind back into the book on mathematics, recall the formula for determining the volume of the simple shape, and have its measure in a brief moment. I cannot help but smile, tracing my finger along the darkness of the window, finding new lines scratched in where my nail passes, marking down the volume of water I will need to heat¨Cminus a monster fish of course. ¡°Are these numbers close?¡± I ask, looking at the fey spirit. ¡°I am not some low-level spirit incapable of precise mapping of the environment. How else do you think I can so freely move about, Mistress Charlene?¡± It was my understanding that she was actually inside my head, not moving around anywhere. I set aside the multitude of questions that her reply brings up for the moment. Dipping my hand back into my inventory, I pull free a tin cup, one thumb-sized dent in the side and pocked with roughly cleaned dirt. ¡°Measure this,¡± I tell her, holding up the cup. Another sketch appears on the window that has the pool on it, the window itself growing larger on its own. This time, I do need to ask Galea to pull up the passage from the book to find the volume of this shape. ¡°Is there anything else you require?¡± Galea asks me. ¡°No, I think that will do it.¡± I inch closer to the pool once again, looking down into the water. ¡°Do you think that thing will attack if I just take a cup of water?¡± ¡°No more than it might if you attempt to boil it alive,¡± Galea says after a long moment of pondering. ¡°Good point.¡± Ever so slowly, ever so carefully, I lower myself to kneel at the edge of the pool. All my focus goes toward the monstrous fish swimming circles near the bottom of the pool, watching its lazy routine for any signal of disturbance, my legs ready to jump away at the barest hint. The water is cold on my naked fingers as I dip the tin cup into the water, almost freezing. The fish gives no hint that it notices me, no hint that it is anything other than a large and obviously magical beast content to make laps in the water. Water dribbles off my knuckles, splashing into the disturbed surface of the water, creating ripples that spread until they fade at the edges where water meet white stone, but still the creature does not move. I sigh, standing and inching away from the water once more, my prize of a tin cup full of cold water clutched in cold fingers. I set the tin down on the stone, looking down at the small cup, thinking to myself how strange it is that this small bit of water will tell me whether or not I might kill a large and likely powerful monster. How odd, relying on knowledge gained by a cup of water. ¡°You are hoping that I will ask what you are doing,¡± Galea says from my side. ¡°Will you?¡± ¡°Mistress Charlene,¡± Galea asks in a half-bored drawl, ¡°whatever are you attempting to do?¡±The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°I am going to see if I can kill a rank two monster with mathematics,¡± I answer, ignoring the spirit¡¯s tone. I might not know the heat inertia of water, what the temperature of the water right now is, what the temperature of boiling water is, or even how much energy is inside my fire, but I don¡¯t need to know any of that. I know how much water is in the pool; I know how much water is in the cup; now all that is left is to see how much mana it takes to boil the water in the cup. At the end of the day, the mathematics involved is frighteningly simple. Beads of air cling to my finger inside the tin cup less than a minute later, more latching on than floating to the surface, popping into the air. Plums of flame as thin as a sheet of paper creep into the air around my index finger, making a ring of flickering flame where my flesh meets the water. The greatest effort is in the control, to not let the fire run off and climb up over my hand, far harder than it is to let the flame spread. Fire doesn¡¯t like being contained; it wants to run out wild until it burns itself away. When the bubbles truly start, a vortex of torsion spinning like an undersea storm off my bare finger, I pull my hand away and watch the water continue to boil. My eyes flick toward the ever-present line in the top of my vision: the entire experiment required barely any mana. ¡°Mark that,¡± I tell Galea, watching as the figure appears on the window. Just a bit of division, a part of mathematics I am well acquainted with from chores around the orchard, later and I have my answer. I cannot, in fact, boil the tank of water. It is impossible to stop a sigh of disappointment escaping my lips as I look over the sums once again, making certain that the figures are correct. Unfortunately for me, they are. It seems somehow unfair that I can blow so many things apart with my magic but boiling a huge pool of water with it is beyond me. ¡°It was an interesting experiment, Mistress.¡± Galea floats near my shoulder, inspecting the figures on the window. ¡°A good attempt.¡± ¡°It would be nice if everything worked out so easily as that,¡± I say. My fingers glide once more over my inventory window, my staff topped with its cage of flame falling into my hands. A bit of effort pushes a burning orange flame into the head of the staff. ¡°But I figure that the monster will appreciate dying in nearly boiling water little more than if the water were boiling.¡± The Brayfish lurking inside the pool does not flinch when the head of my staff glides smoothly beneath the still surface of the pool, the light inside the cage not quivering in the least as it is submerged. I feel my mana drain, sliding down through my fingers into the smooth wood of the staff, feeding out toward the light beneath the water as it begins to burn brighter, and disappearing into the cool water as if it were an endless well ready to soak up whatever I give it. Minutes pass as I stand on the edge of the water pushing mana into the pool. It feels like trying to move a great stone, only making the thing slide the barest inch at a time with each great heave, the rock fully refusing to roll over and help at all. The world becomes blurry other than the burning light at the head of my staff, bubbles pooling off of it to swell and pop at the top of the water. I taste salt on my tongue and realize that sweat is dripping down my face, gathering on the tip of my nose and splashing against my lips. I spare a glance away, seeing that more than half of my mana is gone. Mana flows away from me, faster and faster as I flex some great muscle in my head. My teeth ache with how tightly I clench them. I need to remind myself to breathe. Heat flushes me and I feel warm, hot even, for the first time in a long time. Then, at last, the great stone shifts the barest bit, starting to roll away from me as I heave upon it, and somehow, I find the strength to push even harder. Magic soars away from me in a torrent, flashing through the staff and into the water which has become an angry roil around the head of the staff. An ache begins to build behind my eyes as I stare at the flame in the water. I am barely aware that the line counting my mana is shrinking at an outrageous pace, grinding away into nothing faster than I have ever seen it before. I will need to stop soon before¡­ There is a snag. My staff rips down into the water like it has a mind of its own, pulling me along with it, my fingers clenched too tight around the wood to let go in time. I plunge into the near-boiling water. As the heat of the liquid splashes over my face, striking into my eyes, I want to scream, want to shriek and wail, but a part of my mind keeps a grip on my body, or perhaps with how hard my teeth were clenched, they do not come apart so easily. The sting melts away a second later as I glide listlessly through the hot depths, waiting for my skin to start to blister and burn, but it never does. It would seem that hot water is as harmless to me now as hot air has proven. I sink through the water far faster, far easier than I should. Bubbles rise in strings from all around the pool, sparse, but intermittent enough to let me know that I was at least a bit effective in my aim. My staff is gone from my hand, but its burning light pulls my eyes toward it. It is held tight in the viscous teeth of that monstrous fish, its barreled-snout whipping about in the water as if it were trying to tear my staff apart like it might its prey. The once sparkling scales of the fish have dulled, turning gray and flaking away in places. Strips of flesh peel away from the unfeeling eyes of the Brayfish, hanging loose in the water like hangnails rimming its face. One of its eyes has turned white and chalky while another seems to have burst all-together, leaking dark sludge into the once clean water around it, and its once fine fins have withered to crumpled stumps that shrink tight to its sides. My staff tumbles out of the monster¡¯s mouth, spinning slightly as it sinks through the water, the light at its head flickering once, twice, and going out before it hits the bottom of the pool. Then, I find its attention turned on me, and fear wells up in my guts. My left hand scoops at the water, trying to pull myself up toward the surface, but finding it almost impossible to drag my body through the pool. My right snaps out toward an opening window, fingers darting madly for some spot in my inventory, but the entire thing is unorganized; in my mad scramble, I don¡¯t find anything immediately. The creature slithers through the water as if it were still whole, crossing the distance between me and it in a flash. It never slows, its long snout almost spearing my through the stomach as it opens its mouth. Three rows of jagged teeth sink into my flesh, ripping and tearing in the bare instant it takes the Brayfish to smash me into the wall of the pool. My back collides with the white stone, my head snapping back, the monster¡¯s momentum pushing its biting mouth deeper into my guts, tearing me up from the inside. Blood fountains into the water, blanketing me in a red mist that pushes out the world. I fumble, blind, my finger twitching through space that I cannot see. My fingers clip across surfaces, the smooth iron of a chest, the clinging paper of a package of meat, a bit of twine that tangles in my knuckles, drifting away a moment later. Then, leather, a smooth and giving surface. I catch it with the tips of my forefinger and thumb. I am slammed back against the wall again, breath bubbling out, bloody water flowing in, my grip gone. I flail, knee coming up and thudding uselessly into scales, foot kicking hard enough into something metallic that I feel a toe crunch. By some miracle, my flailing hand knocks against the hard leather again, spinning it in the sea of red. I swipe, find the grip, and seize ahold of it. Torrents of water pour into my mouth, down my throat, leaving a tangy hint of iron on my tongue. I ignore it, ignore the darkness pressing in, and ram the head of whatever weapon I hold into the monster fish over and over again. It gives a final attempt, its mouth ripping sideways, slicing through skin and catching on bone, trying to crush me into the wet stone, but I do not stop. I feel dull impacts, a spurt of something cool washing over my hand in the hot water. It struggles, thrashes, but even here in the water it can¡¯t outlast me.
I¡¯m cold. The vague colors I stare at begin to register in my vision. A slab of white becomes the floor, a mess of orange changing into my wet hair clinging to my face. Constant, there is the beat of my heart thudding in my ears, pulsing in time with the ache behind my eyes. My first instinct is to suck in air, to gasp, and it turns out to be a poor choice. A splash of water spits down my throat, leaving me retching and gasping on the stone floor. I make it to my hand and knees before my stomach clenches, hot water and bile tumbling from my lips to mix with the slightly pink puddle I lay in. I cough, rolling back, wiping my mouth with a wet arm. A knife lays on the stone next to me, a familiar blade, the same one that I used to kill that mudfish all those weeks ago. I smile despite the painful hiccup that gurgles out of my throat, trying to stand and finding my legs all too ready to get up off the floor. I hold the dagger in the light, rubbing a bit of flesh off of the edge with my thumb and tossing the strip of scale and pink meat into the water. ¡°I think this will be my fishing knife.¡± My head pounds, but I cannot help but laugh, a sound that comes out as more of a wheeze. I notice my blouse hanging off me, the right side a ruined scrap of cloth where the Brayfish tore into it, the left clinging heavy to me. That knocks the humor out of me. Can¡¯t I go through any kind of ordeal without needing to find new clothes? ¡°How long?¡± I ask Galea, still turning over the knife in my hand. It might do to keep this on me more often considering how useful it has proven. ¡°You have lain on the floor for nine and a half minutes,¡± Galea says. She hovers around in front of me, a window between her claws. THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! ¡°Great,¡± I manage to say, but there isn¡¯t much enthusiasm in my voice. My head continues to pound away, and my fingers shake as I put the knife back into my inventory. Mana exhaustion, at least I think so. Checking my own mana, I find that it is nearly halfway back to full. It doesn¡¯t seem right that I should hurt this much from nearly depleting it, but then when has the world been right? Peeling the scraps of cloth away from my side, I find an angry circle of scabs sticking to my skin beneath, angry zig-zags cut into me where it tore at me. I turn away from the healing wound; I don¡¯t know if I will ever get used to the ugliness of it. To my surprise, the fish monster is not floating at the top of the water. Looking down into the pool, I see it resting still at the bottom of the pool, along with a latched metal trunk, two bundles of sticker meat¨Cone undone and open, and my staff. I roll my eyes to the ceiling, wondering how long I can postpone going back into the water, but finding no real reason to put it off. Dipping a toe in, I find the pool still pleasantly warm. I fall through the water almost as easily as the air, clutching the knife in my right hand as I fall to the bottom. My feet land on the stone, finding it craggy and pocked, abrasively sticking to my feet as I take a step forward. My belongings fly back into my inventory as a touch, but I make a note to dry them out later. It is as I am bending to stroke a finger over the corpse of the Brayfish, I notice something strange in the pool. In the center, right beneath the spot where the fish had been swimming circles, a smooth square of stone stands raised on four legs, leaving a gap almost two feet long in the floor beneath. The gap is impossible to see from above, but down here it is impossible to miss. I am conscious of my breath, finding it easy to hold it as I walk along the floor of the pool, almost absentmindedly disenchanting the corpse of the monster as I go. Beneath the raised section of floor, a hole filled with artificial darkness beckons me on, the same impenetrable black that I have seen in these guild constructed buildings before. Above the hole, engraved into the side of the stone, is a 2. I stop at the edge of the hole, looking through my inventory for the key the fish monster held, finding a golden one falling into my hand. There was such a door upstairs; it would seem that we have a way forward. My mind goes back to the group waiting for me in the hall; I can¡¯t have been gone that long. Likely not enough time for them to have had a proper rest. The number stands out on the stone, and I brush my fingers over it, finding it cool despite the warmth of the water. It would be more than a bit ambitious to keep going on ahead. I look at Galea as she still hovers near me, the same window grasped between her claws. This is the first level that I have gained in more than a week. I am slowing down. That feeling more than anything makes the choice for me. Ducking forward, bare feet slipping in as I slide myself down, darkness overcomes me. More than anything, I can¡¯t fall behind if I want to accomplish my goals¨Cthey are already so far ahead. I will work harder than anyone, that is what my brother told me to do. Sometimes, it seems, to work harder also means to take risk more. Chapter 87 - Gauntlet Rage Venom has failed to be resisted. Rage Venom has failed to be resisted. Rage Venom has failed to be resisted. Rage Venom has failed to be resisted. Rage Venom has failed to be resisted. Rage Venom has been resisted! I blink. There is pain in my chest, my breathing ragged and strange. There is pain in my hand, my right fist clenched so tight my nails dig bleeding lines into my palm. There is pain in my head, a thumping that comes with each beat of my heart, feeling like water pressing on the inside of my skull, trying to make it burst. The iron tang of blood soaks in my mouth, pulling me into the moment, a grounding sensation. The window floats in front of me, the first thing my blurry eyes focus on. My eyes hurt, but I force myself to focus, to kick my brain forward. I blink again, and as if coming out of infinite darkness, the room starts to come into color. A flash out of the corner of my eye catches me up before I can concentrate. My hand darts out, catching a ball of snarling meat and fur where I might have expected an arrow. It is heavy for its size, not much larger than a cat but far heavier, appearing almost like a three eyed fox that has had too much to eat. Instead of paws, singular talons, like the blade of a sickle, stick out from nubby arms. It squirms as I hold it, the weapons on the ends of its legs attempting to stab into my arm, to pierce the gauntlet and skewer me. Mad Caavar(Rank One) I grunt as its blade slips around my armguard and scores a long gash in my forearm. ¡°Irritating.¡± The monster in my hand bursts into violent orange flames, the scrabbling of its arms becoming panicked. It burns away in my hand, charred dust becoming pink mist before it can even fall to the ground. A hiss to my right grabs my attention. This room is similar to the last, a square space of stone, though the stone here is a dark gray. Loose chains dangle from the ceiling, some bearing hooks while others have attached blocks of wood. A stench like wet dog assails me, and I see the smell coming from a thin layer of red mist that covers the floor up to my waist. Several bodies of the Mad Caavar litter the floor, laying in pools of their own fluids, no burning as far as I can see. I catch sight of three more of the little monsters beneath the surface of the mist, skittering along the edges of the wall, trying to move around me while avoiding one another. They¡¯re quick, quick for a rank one at least. Too bad for them that my own speed has long broken through that threshold. The first one is blown to bits by an uncharged Dragonfire Bolt as it makes for a corner of the room. The remaining two screech at me, turning their three red eyes on me. The sound of their bladed feet pecking the ground as they race toward me is an awful beat in my head. I flow to the right, moving into the first one before it understands what is happening. My armored boot catches it in the body before it can turn. It thuds into the stone wall, not even having enough time to fall before fire consumes it. Turning, I find the other already mid-flight, its four bladed legs aimed at me to run me through. I blow a torrent of fire at it, stripping the fur and flesh from its bones before it can make its attack. Then, the room is quiet once again, the only sound the pounding of blood in my ears. ¡°Galea,¡± I say, too afraid that trying to think the words in my head will make my head pound worse. ¡°What happened?¡± She squints at me, gesturing to the still open window floating just to the side. Strange, I didn¡¯t get rid of the thing when I went to burn the last few monsters. It being there didn¡¯t seem to hamper my ability to fight. That will need more looking into later. ¡°I can read it,¡± I tell the spirit. ¡°And now I am certain that you know I can read it. If you are going to show respect in what you call me, the least you can do is not insult me at the same time.¡± A dull thudding in my hand makes me look down, finding my fist clenched tight again, nails cutting into healing lines across my palm. Galea floats away a half step, nodding to me. ¡°Very well, Mistress Charlene.¡± She clears her throat against the back of her claw, though I can¡¯t see any reason she might need to. ¡°You dropped into this chamber and breathed in the Rage Venom. If you look around you on the floor, you will notice the red mist: you might also notice the eight monsters you pummeled to death while under the effects of the venom. I surmise that the toxin was meant to bring on a feeling of violent rage.¡± Looking at the monsters littering the floor once more, I see my knife sticking out on the back of one of the Mad Caavars. Most don¡¯t look to have died in that way. I hold out my gauntleted hands, finding them scorched black with seared blood, rusty with a purplish texture. A long hiss pushes out of me and my fingers stop shaking by the end of it. The square hole in the ceiling stands still, a roiling mist of darkness inside of it, the number 2 standing out from the stone. ¡°What sadistic bastard designed this room,¡± I say, spitting to get the gunk out of my mouth before taking a swig of water from a steel flask. One-by-one, the bodies of the monsters change into mist, swirling toward me and disappearing into my inventory. I spend a moment looking through what the ability created from their bodies but find nothing particularly noteworthy. A rumble from the wall catches my attention before I can catalog everything. From the gray stone on my left, two doors descend out of the ceiling, somehow shifting through the stone like it is molasses. I approach, moving aside chain and hook. The door on the left stands out, the image of a swallow sitting nestled in a tree embossed in brilliant cerulean on its surface. Sweet calligraphy of the same shade in inscribed just beneath the bird, ¡°The Path of Caution: 3.¡± On the other door, an adder bearing long fangs stands out in a ghostly green, written beneath ¡°The Path of Daring: 1.¡± I frown at the doors, tapping a finger on my breastplate while I think. ¡°Daring is just another word for stupidity,¡± I muse. ¡°People only ever use that word when they are talking about men that died doing something smart people wouldn¡¯t.¡± ¡°As you say,¡± Galea agrees. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. ¡°On the other hand, it would not really seem like caution to attempt a three room by myself.¡± I click my tongue, looking around at the room again. ¡°Then again, this one was best done alone I think.¡± An odd thought strikes me, and I spend a moment gathering as much of the Rage Venom in some glass bottles I have filled with water. ¡°This room was a sort of trick perhaps,¡± Galea says. ¡°A trick to affirm that the numbers cannot always be trusted. Likely, there is a lesson hidden in that.¡± ¡°Something tells me that the Willian Guild is not aiming at instructing us much.¡± She does make a good point. Perhaps the numbers are not meant to be trusted, or maybe just the ones found next to ominous holes of darkness found inside the tower. If that is the case, the numbers on the doors in front of me could be tricks as well. In the end, the decision isn¡¯t all that hard to make. My hand lands upon the right door, the door of the bold, and the stone begins to move the second I touch it. The door beneath my hand swings open, showing a long hallway of more gray stone stretching out in front of me, while to the side the second door slides away into the floor, leaving the wall smooth and bare. I check myself over before stepping forward, making certain that all of my armor is in place, no straps loose, and that my staff in clenched tightly in my hand. I take a moment to change the color of the fire to a brilliant emerald before striding forward. Fourteen steps through a length of dark stone let me out into a circular chamber. A soft purple light peeling off of leafy bushes growing upside down through the ceiling cast shadows around the room. A buzz, like the calls of insects, vibrates through the chamber, but its noise is too low, too heavy, and the baritone chittering bounces echoing around me. I do not break stride, reaching the center of the chamber, my eyes scanning the wan light. ¡°Let me¨C¡± ¡°Left,¡± Galea says in my ear. I spin, dipping backward on instinct, a swinging claw bouncing off my breastplate, scoring a shallow line in the surface of the metal. A mass of bulky muscle, ragged gray fur, and snarling teeth sails after the claw, its momentum carrying it past me. Before its body can clear halfway past my own, the head of my staff stabs into what should be its belly, a fully charged Dragonfire Bolt exploding from the point of contact. The force of the explosion buckles my already awkward position, pitching me backward suddenly. I recover my flailing roll, making it to my feet in an instant, the head of my staff already up and facing where the monster should be. A vision of suffering and immolation is all I find. Terror Wolf(Rank Two) The beast is exactly what I might expect, a huge gray wolf, its hair shaggy and long, its teeth too large and pointed to be housed in its head. It screams, flailing and rolling on the ground, green fire spreading through and burning up its hair. The Growth affix eats into it, more fire clinging to the screaming monster by the second, fur dropping to the ground in burning clumps of awful smelling oil. I stand, moving further back as the monster staggers blind before its rear legs give out. It crawls another few feet, its hideous maw open, a terrible high-pitched whine coming from its throat. The whine continues as it finally slumps sideways on the floor, but not for long. Another few seconds later and it is over. The carcass of the monster continues to smolder, throwing off a shining green light that competes with the purple, but no life is left in it. It is a hideous, pitiful thing, the body on the ground. The flames show no sign of dying out, of relenting in their endless search to devour. Tiny pockets in the stone are eaten away where the fire meets it. Galea appears at my side, a window held between her claws. THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! ¡°Already?¡± I can¡¯t help but say. ¡°That was a powerful creature,¡± Galea says, nodding at the smoldering ruin in the middle of the room. ¡°Did your book on adventuring not say that killing a monster a full rank above yourself is something only the strong can do?¡± I remember what she is referring to. Adventurers tend to group together to kill monsters stronger than themselves, often looking to cover for each other''s¡¯ weaknesses. It is typically expected that a magician in the highest reaches of their respective ranks should be capable of tackling a monster even a rank above themselves, but the practice is not done all that often, due to the incredible danger. Danger. I stare down at the head of my staff, emerald fire bubbling in the lantern housed on its end. Killing the wolf had been quick, easy almost. Likely, I would not have thought it was so easy if its first attack took my head off like it intended, but still¡­ ¡°Do you think I am strong?¡± I ask Galea. For some reason, the thought never occurred to me before. ¡°Comparing you against the accounts you have read, I would say that you are far from the central deviation for your rank,¡± she says. ¡°I¡¯m not even level forty yet,¡± I say, watching the dancing flames. A smile cracks my lips as I stare into the fire. I allow myself a bit of happiness in the moment. I might be strong compared to the world at large, but here, inside this contest, are hundreds of elite magicians, most of a higher level than me. When I think of Jor¡¯Mari, I can¡¯t see myself beating him if we ever came to blows, not how I am now. Despite all of his bluster, I have to imagine that the man is only slightly better than average when compared to all of these pampered and long-trained magicians. With that in mind, how could I be anything better than middle of the road in this competition. A sobering thought, but middle of the road compared to these kinds of geniuses is more than I can ask for. My eyes roll to the right, to the door that stands silently in the middle of one wall just as it has since the Terror Wolf expired. The same glowing snake silently hisses at me from the stone, the same line written beneath, ¡°The Path of Daring: 1.¡± The body of the wolf shakes as I slap a hand on it, the churning fire allowing my hand to pass through without so much as growing warm. The body of the wolf vanishes along with the fire, leaving the room once more bathed in a purple glow. My eyebrows shoot up when I read over the items put in my inventory, and I cannot help but pull the interesting one away. Terror Essentia(Very Rare): The condensed magical essence of primal fear driving the horrified to panic. The pyramid of black between my fingers almost seems to pulse with a light all its own, something that seems to eat light rather than throw it off. It is so cold that it almost sets my fingers to trembling through the gloves. Holding it, my mind returns to the swamp all those months ago, that first essentia found lying in the mud after a huge snake almost killed me. How different everything was then. I don¡¯t think that I could have ever dreamed then of being where I am now. Looking about, I am not too happy with where I am now, really. The essentia disappears into my inventory, the cold sensation running through my gauntlets vanishing the instant it does. I stare up at the strange bushes growing from the ceiling. A part of me wants to find a way to climb up there, perhaps stack crates high enough one on top of another so that I can steal some of the plants. How ridiculous. I shake my head, padding over to the door and tapping it with a finger. It opens, and I step through, pouring more magic into the head of my staff, preparing for what is ahead. I can¡¯t help but snicker to myself as I see the next chamber coming into view, filled with the flickering lights of amber torches. It never occurred to me once before that it might have been the smart idea to turn back. Chapter 88 - Rewards I can¡¯t help but scream in frustration, jumping away again, breath hissing through my teeth at the sting in my arm. My feet land, metal scraping against the stonework in a loud screech before I right myself. It never moves, can¡¯t as far as I can tell. My opponent in this chamber, the latest in a long procession of single combats with one powerful creature after the next, is an odd ball of metal, no larger than a ball a child might kick around the street. Unlike a typical ball, this one bobs up and down in the air all on its own, never approaching or retreating, simply bobbing there. It is the most confounding monster I have ever encountered. Steel Lineleech(Rank Two) I look down, seeing blood leak from a cut along my bicep, the skin already working to knit itself back together. Not such a bad wound, not nearly as bad as the hole it had put in my thigh on the last attempt, but it didn¡¯t evidence much progress either. I discard the last of my frustration in a ball of green fire hurled at the monster and watch it splash off an invisible shroud just a foot away from the bobbing orb¨Cjust as I already knew that it would. The light of the fire reveals the orb as having changed shape, dozens of steel spines now sticking from its surface, growing and shrinking like tongues tasting the air, eventually disappearing back into the smooth metal of the strange monster without leaving a trace. The thing is like a riddle, a riddle designed solely to confound me. Seeing that my fire does not work from a distance, I tried to duck into it, past whatever barrier it has to deliver the blow, but that is when it attacks. Nothing I have is a match for those stabbing spears that erupt from its surface, perhaps my breastplate is but I am not keen on testing that. It isn¡¯t as if I can turn back either. I have come too far, and so I am left to solve this puzzle of a monster. I grind the butt of my staff into the floor, feeling the sensation of grit being pressed beneath it rattle up through the wood. Dashing in again is a risk, quite a terrible one if I am being honest, and given how the monster refuses to move, one that I do not need to take. It occurs to me that perhaps I am ill-suited to fight this monster, maybe all it needs is a good smack by someone as strong as Jor¡¯Mari or Macille to shatter the thing. I shake my head, no use in wasting time on such thoughts. It continues to bob, perfectly content to hover there, mocking me with its unshakable silence. There is an option that I have not tried, one that might pit my greatest strength against its. The thought of finding out who might triumph in such a scenario pushes me onto the path. I stamp my feet, wiggling my toes inside my boots into the most comfortable position, and set my stance, the head of my staff pointing directly at the monster. ¡°Who do you think can hold their breath the longest, you or me?¡± A roar of green flame erupts from the head of my staff, tearing through the space and clashing against the shell of the barrier protecting the creature. I pour my all into the flame, every muscle in my body clenching tight, my mind set on wringing out every bit of mana that I might have tucked away. Burning as bright as I can, it takes more than a few minutes to run myself dry. I drop my staff before I get to the end of it, just a bit of blue left in the line always floating in my sight, numb fingers unable to clench it anymore. I gasp in air, falling on my ass, holding myself up with my hands as I stare at the monster in front of me. It continues to hover there, but minutes of fiery torture have rendered the barrier housing the creature visible. Around the metallic ball is a sphere of angry green lines riven out of the air. They are the lines of rivers running over an invisible landscape, chaotic, mad with movement. Before I can even catch my breath, the lines fade again into an unseeable shell surrounding the bobbing monster. I can¡¯t help but frown at this annoying obstacle, pulling some water from my inventory to sip on while feeling flushes back into my extremities with an aching pulse. I watch it for a time longer, studying it, trying to understand if there is something that I do not see, some trick in plain sight that I haven¡¯t grasped. By the time that my mana is most of the way recovered ¨Cforty-three minutes and sixteen seconds later by Galea¡¯s count¨CI must arrive at the conclusion that if there is some hidden secret I cannot puzzle it out. ¡°You take the first round,¡± I say, wrapping my fingers tight around my staff once more, pulling myself to my feet. A few quick breaths to ready myself. I point the staff; fire burns away again. Exhaustion creeps up on me as my mana dwindles. It starts as a spasm in my thigh that settles into a burn in my hip. My left calf starts to shake, leaving me looking like I am tapping out some crazy tune with my heel. My right leg buckles, my knee snapping hard into the stone. I gasp for air, dropping the staff again, more out of breath, out of feeling, than in pain. I keep myself up with one shaking hand on the stone, sweat beading all along my arm, pooling into my gloves. With a practiced effort, the gauntlets vanish into my inventory, leaving my trembling fingers to slide across the cold stone, to feel the trickle as the sweat slides down, slipping sideways over my skin, and seamlessly joining with the stone. Orange hair sticks to my face. I stare through it, head sideways, at the monster that continues to stand sentinel in the center of the room. Those angry green lines are about it once more, like strange cracks in the world that surrounds the metal monster. ¡°Two for you,¡± I croak out. Shaking hand patting around me, searching for my canteen of water. I take another drag, coughing as the water splashes over my parched throat. When I look again, the lines continue to linger, their width slowly shrinking away, but still visible. ¡°So, that is your limit.¡± I fall back, staring at the monster and the lines, nursing my water. ¡°Unlucky for you, friend.¡± I¡¯ve lost track of time. Galea can tell me, but I have asked her to keep quiet about it for now. No doubt, my group is waiting for me by now. They likely figure that I¡¯m dead. I would in their situation. My mana has recovered. With a grunt, I force my hand to clench around my staff, but I don¡¯t bother to rise from the floor. Sitting, legs splayed out on the ground in front of me, I hold my staff in two hands and lock it to my side beneath an elbow. Fire roars out of the head of the weapon, burning away at the monster¡¯s shield, heating the air to sweltering. There is something mystifying in the flames, a waving force that drawls my scattered attention, tries to pull me in. It makes me think of black sands, of some half-forgotten dream from long ago. The scream and crackle of the fire almost sounds like a voice, like a whisper in my ear, a dark promise. A hideous crack pulls me back, pain shooting sideways through my head, leaving a high whine in my ears. The green fire pouring from the head of my staff ripples, seems to grow smoother. Another second passes, and the all too familiar sound of death in flames starts to echo about. I can¡¯t help but look; I dismiss the fire. The metallic monster continues its slow dance up and down in the center of the room, but the side facing me is burned, a huge hole stripped out of what appears to be a metal shell. Inside that hole I see pale flesh, a mass of stubby arms, and one violet eye staring out at me. Curiosity vanished; the flames burn back into life. I don¡¯t stop until Galea informs me that it is dead, don¡¯t stop for a good minute after even. My armor disappears, leaving me sitting in the lone chamber, chest heaving as I suck in air, arms on my knees. ¡°I¡­guess,¡± I manage through hungry inhales, ¡°I¡­can hold my¡­breath longer.¡± ¡°That is your fifth victory in a row,¡± Galea says, making herself known at my side. ¡°Quite the accomplishment.¡±Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. I wave vaguely at the air in front of me, not enough strength to even lift my arm off my leg. ¡°This was just about being stubborn.¡± ¡°Or daring.¡± ¡°Or daring. Exeter¡¯s fancy robe, I¡¯m tired.¡± It feels like an age before I can shake enough feeling back into my legs to stand. Another door has appeared out of the stone at the opposite end of the chamber, just like all the others before. This door stands different from all of those previous, however. Instead of a snake emblazoned upon it, a cerulean chest, open wide and displaying glimmering jewels and shining coins inside stands proudly on the surface of the door. Beneath it in flowing script is a single word, ¡°Rewards.¡± ¡°I would advise waiting until you are fully recovered,¡± Galea says, moving close to the door and appearing to sniff at it. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound very daring to me,¡± I say. Honestly, that is the main reason that I consider waiting. Who would want people to mutter that about you at your funeral, she was daring? ¡°Ten minutes.¡± Taking a step forward into the hallway, I find the path forward blocked. A translucent barrier shines with a faint twinge of red in front of me, a chamber beyond, and people moving about inside. Muffled voices sneak through the wall in front of me, catches of conversation too distorted to tell the meaning, but I do not care for that. In front of me, among those gesturing, arguing, raising their voices in the room beyond, is Coriander Mel¡¯Draven. There are five people in the room, a small confine barely larger than the white square rooms above, all concerned with the east wall. In the wall are set nine boxes, three-by-three, each with a glowing word written on the front that I cannot read through the distortion of the semi-transparent wall. Coriander stands there, even with the oddity of the barrier between us I will never mistake that woman, her hands pointing, in clear argument with one of the others. I set my staff to the wall without thinking, pouring burning green fire into the wall, trying to bring it down, teeth gnashing as I watch their argument. By the time that my energy is spent, not so much as a smoking scratch has been left on the barrier. I kick the wall as hard as I can, not at all caring for the pain that shoots up my leg, anger fueling me. A shadow crosses in front of the barrier no more than a few inches away from my face. The suddenness of it makes me fall back with a yelp, barely keeping from tangling my feet with one another. A step away from the barrier, the shadow resolves into Kendon, replete in his heavy armor, tapping his wicked hammer against an armored shin as he moves along the perimeter of the room, head whipping about this way and that. Those inside the room with him shy away as he passes by, but the man seems to pay them no mind, slowly making a circuit of the room, looking for something. His gaze falls on exactly where I am, and I feel my breath catch. Did I need to burn all my mana away so uselessly? He doesn¡¯t see me and continues his circuit of the room. The flash of anger that overcame me sighs away as I struggle to get ahold of myself. I try to focus on the room, on the conversation taking place, but the words are impossible to understand. One of the people in the room nods to a few others, walking to the wall, and opening one of the boxes. She pulls something from inside, showing it off to the others, before one-by-one they all file out of an opening at the opposite end of the room. Kendon lingers a moment, looking around, until he too leaves by the door. Finally, the door to the chamber vanishes back into the stone, leaving a smooth surface. The barrier in front of me makes some impossible movement, seeming to slide up and down at the same time, vanishing. I breathe hard, trying to force myself calm, but that is understandably futile. I suit myself in armor before striding forward, making certain that I am as prepared as possible for whatever might happen. Nothing, I am alone in the room, the wall of boxes the only feature. Words have appeared above the boxes, lines of script blazing green that I am certain had not been there before. ¡°You have passed the Path of Daring!¡± they read. ¡°Choose three from among these prizes.¡± No doubt, the language indicates the boxes set into the wall, and on this side of the barrier, I can read what is inscribed on each. Each bears a single word, some hint at what might be inside: Strength, Power, Riches, Knowledge, Need, Arms, Protection, Desire, Recovery. ¡°Perhaps this is another puzzle, Mistress Charlene,¡± Galea says, floating around the boxes, studying each in turn. ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± I step forward, looking at each of the boxes. It might be wise to stay a while, carefully consider my options, decide on a course after thinking it all the way through, but seeing her just now, being slow is the last thing on my mind. I select one almost on a whim, opening the box labeled ¡°Arms.¡± I find only a deep darkness inside once the lid is lifted and fish my hand around in the black up to my elbow before my fingers graze against something cold and smooth. I seize the object, finding my fingers wrap around a cold grip, and heave as I pull the thing out. As it comes from the box, I realize what I am retrieving, and my eyes widen as the haft of a metal staff begins to emerge from the dark. A staff, six-feet-long, made of a cold metal so pearly white it reminds me of bone rings to the floor, the head bouncing off one of the other boxes as I struggle with the heavy instrument. In the center of the smooth metal is a wrap of violet leather. Gripping the instrument from there, I find its considerable weight easy to control, hardly any effort. The white metal widens toward the head of the staff, becoming a bident with two wicked and long points, and suspended between the two almost-spear points is golden filigree made into the shape of an eye, a dark piece of glittering onyx set as the iris, a sapphire the pupil. Staff of Luminous Insight(Very Rare): A powerful instrument, created of Moonsilver, is the product of moonlight being trapped in physical form, an art closely guarded and well hidden. This staff holds insight into the fundamental workings of magic itself, allowing for even the most inept of bearers to perceive the magical about them. Magic performed with this staff will have an increase in its efficacy that will grow in relation with the wielders understanding of the staff, and spells woven with it will be made easier. Additionally, this staff¡¯s attunement to the manasphere allows for it to detect far off magical signatures and aides the wielder in navigating toward what they seek. Enhancement: +50 Magic, +10% Magical efficacy Power: Magic Detection, Magic Seeking I read the description in front of me again to make certain that I have it right. The staff makes a strange metallic ring as I move it through the air, like the sound of a sword cutting hard. I look to my other staff, weighing it. It has been invaluable, but I am wondering if it can even compare to the Staff of Luminous Insight. I shake my head, putting both away. Two boxes remain for me to choose from, two chances. The sense of power that my new staff imposed pushes me to wait, to consider closer my options. What is it that I want? What is it that I need? Just thinking about those questions makes the decision for me. I reach out, opening the box labeled ¡°Power.¡± The darkness inside is more shallow than the previous, my fingers finding the bottom of the box, making me feel around. The back of my hand touches something heavy, pushing it away, and I need to swipe to catch ahold of it. Pulling it free, seeing the intricate lace of gold and dark metal, I find myself more stunned than I had when I first pulled free the staff. Soul Cage of Light and Shadow(Very Rare) A soul cage woven from gold and animus steel, the intricate play of these two metals form the foundation for a young magician¡¯s leap into the world. Inscribed with guiding runes for both light and shadow, this soul cage helps in cultivating the first steps of a body forged with these concepts at its heart. The sphere, no larger than an apple in my palm, is the smallest soul cage that I have ever seen, and far more intricate in its design. My sight grows weary simply attempting to follow its sloping pattern, the dancing play of the two metals looking like the most chaotic ball of yarn possible, thin vacancies showing the hollowness of the cage inside. Holding my it close to my face, I can just barely make out impossibly small and fine script lining the surface of the metal. I am only just barely aware of the difficulty making such a thing might be. It is a feat of enchantment that I have never seen before, even the strange mechanisms of this tower seem simple next to it. It strikes me that this is the first time I have ever held a soul cage. I can¡¯t help but looking about, holding the ball to my chest, a sudden fear that someone will sneak up on me and steal my new treasure coming over me. I have not been as diligent in the use of soul cages during my self-study as I might have been, something I will no longer ignore, that is certain. What I know is that they do as they say, trap your soul in the physical world, pulling it out of the divine world. Their makeup is important in some way that I do not understand. In some way, they help establish the basis for which a magician might strive for the third rank, the rank at which the body and soul interweave, as shown by the regalia that also comes with crossing into the second rank. Most never strive for that, the danger necessary deters them. Those that do, however, look for powerful soul cages to set themselves up for taking that eventual step. Soul cages like the one I hold clenched in my hand. An irrational fear of putting the soul cage in my inventory sticks in my head for a moment. It is an effort to push aside my awe and pocket the thing away. I still have a ways to go before the item will ever be useful to me, no need to fumble with it now. A smile pulls at my lips as I look over the remaining boxes. I would have never guessed that such a room of treasure might exist inside this tower. It almost makes up for the guild constantly putting my life in danger. I am torn between wanting to consider the best choice and wanting to hurry back to the group, to push ahead and reach whatever destination we are all going toward first. There is also the consideration that I have several soul reinforcements waiting for me to complete. I click my tongue, eyes eventually landing on the final box that I will open, the final prize that I will seek¨CKnowledge. The familiar touch of paper slides across my fingers. Three pieces of paper, scrawled in a meticulous hand, are all I find when I pull back from the box. My eyes roam over the words, wheels beginning to turn in my mind. This could be more valuable than the other two treasures, but only if I try to make it be. Chapter 89 - Gaius Gore: The Hunt ¡°I do not believe direction will be a concern for them any longer,¡± Tadry said, looking from the suspended spying panel toward her superior. ¡°Good,¡± Gaius answered, glancing across the myriad of displays, each centered upon one group or the other within the tower. Progress through the tower had been a slow affair, purposefully so, but it seemed that everything would arrive at its conclusion soon, one he hoped to shape into a workable outcome. ¡°Continue to monitor and keep the groups separate. Competition over entry into event four will not be allowed.¡± Tadry nodded, her eyes flicking between the three groups she was tasked to monitor. Gaius sensed the barest spark of contempt in the flex of her aura; she did not like to be told to do what she was already doing it seemed. Small matter, he could stomach a bit of contempt if it allowed him to reassert control of the trial. He waded back to his own desk in the monitoring room. The basalt oval laid stacked with reports, readings, and sensor data that he had been at work stitching into something understandable, something actionable. To his side, multiple maps of the surrounding region lay replete with scrawled lines, scribbled inferences, guesses, and uncertainties. Eighteen circles each marked with their supporting data and likelihoods stood out to him. They were made by his hand but doubt still lingered in his thoughts about how accurate they might be. The evidence was just so little to go on after all. The door to the outer chamber opened, though Gaius had long sensed the approach of the Guildmaster¡¯s granddaughter. Arabella Willian strutted into the room, her goddess getup abandoned in favor of her armor, scales of shining metal that molded and flexed like a second skin. Two staves, the notorious Avalanche and Hoarfrost, stood out on her back, weapons so potent that they bent space around their ends and, even suppressed, dropped the temperature of the room. Effervescent hair, a flowing myriad of indigo, violet, and ice blue floated in the air behind her, framing a smiling face that had led more than one man to their deaths. It would seem that the Witch of Winter answered his call with all seriousness, good. ¡°My lady,¡± Gaius said, offering a slight dip of his head to the woman. She did not outrank him, but he was not beyond pleasantries when they were directed toward someone he might actually respect. ¡°You look girded for war.¡± ¡°I am not the only one.¡± She looked him up and down, eyes lingering on the dawnash breastplate he wore, the unnamed sabers on his hips, and the Chain of Crescents which dangled from his neck¨Ca difficult thing to look away from, instinct demanded one pay attention to such a lethal instrument. Perhaps not his full armory, but a proud display of his treasures; he only hoped that it might be enough. ¡°Yes,¡± he said, moving his fingers across the map. ¡°I believe the adage states that preparing for war is the best path toward peace.¡± ¡°Is that what we engage in today? Peace.¡± ¡°No.¡± Gaius spun the map around on the top of his desk, allowing Arabella a good look at what he had written. ¡°Sixteen hours ago, there was a change in the anomaly that we have been sensing. A fluctuation in the spreading of this menacing influence, enough that data could be gathered and dissected.¡± In front of them both stood a map showing the entirety of the lands claimed and owned by Lord Terabrask, the Lord of Grim. Of course, Lord Terabrask was also the married-in son of the Grandmaster, and his role as lord of the city was perfunctory. The endowed nobility started to get a bit uppity when they perceived a simple guild of magicians as outright claiming that they controlled territory. An infantile ruse, one that all parties understood as such, but a necessary one it seemed. Across the thousands of square miles mapped out stood his markings, most of which existed within the twin ranges that created the border of the Trial Path. So much ground to cover, so little manpower to do it. ¡°Within one of these places will lurk our culprit, the one that has made such chaos of our otherwise orderly trail of bodies.¡± Arabella tapped the map with one sharp nail. ¡°Like or dislike my approach to this task, that matters not. What matters is that a threat has been detected within our borders, and seeing as how that threat has been directly responsible for the fiasco that this Trial has become, it is our task as moderators to see to its dismissal.¡±Stolen story; please report. ¡°When my grandfather asked me to reinforce you in oversight of the trial, he asked me to keep a handle on things, not to go hunt unknown and powerful monsters,¡± she said. Gaius roamed his eyes conspicuously up and down the woman. ¡°For one that doesn¡¯t want to go and fight unknown monsters, you certainly come dressed as if that is your plan.¡± ¡°It is your plan, no? I am merely here as the tool of the guildmaster. Direct me as you will.¡± Though, from the look in her eyes, Gaius could tell that there were things she was keeping from him. He would never know it from detecting thoughts or emotions through her aura, the woman had an incredible control of what it told, but it was more of a feeling. It didn¡¯t bother him much, so long as she helped put this issue to bed, she could have her machinations. ¡°My plan indeed,¡± he said. With a pen, Gaius cut the map in half. ¡°We will be taking no chances in the pursuit of this unknown entity, but neither can we be slow in our approach. All that we know for certain is that there was a disturbance in the makeup of its effect, an effect so incredibly difficult to measure in the first place that we have had no previous hope of locating its source. It could mean a few things, but we will be hoping that the unknown entity was at home when this fluctuation occurred. "In this tower, we have two rank four magicians, yourself and I, and thirteen rank threes. You and I will take a complement of five each and begin to investigate each of these possible locations. We have no idea what might be responsible for this effect, but I will take no chances with whatever danger it might pose. If you find something, obliterate it. If you find yourself overwhelmed, pull away and call for the guildmaster. I dare say that if either you or I cannot handle this threat even with support then it will require such a force.¡± ¡°My grandfather hasn¡¯t left Grim in more than a decade,¡± Arabella said, her playful smile replaced by a serious line. ¡°You seem to be expecting that this is caused by some unknown creature, but could it just as easily be a natural phenomenon? With the scale of the magical influence, would that not also be a rather likely possibility?¡± ¡°My luck has never been so good,¡± Gaius said, his turn to smile, though his was a grim thing. ¡°If you find such a natural phenomenon, I can trust you to contain it?¡± ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, I am the second best at spellcraft in this room,¡± she said. In fact, it was worth a considerable amount. ¡°I also wish to see this put to an end. My father has told me that the effects have begun to be felt back in the city. The influence there is even more subtle, but with a city of tens of thousands of people, the effect is incredible. Makes me wish that my grandfather would just put an end to it.¡± ¡°He is,¡± Gaius said. ¡°We are his instruments to do such a thing.¡± ¡°I suppose we are.¡± With a slide of her nail down the page, Arabella divided the map into two neat sheets, rolling up the left. ¡°Do you require a craft to carry you and your team to your destinations?¡± ¡°No. Thank you for the offer.¡± Gaius rolled his own piece of the map up and stuffed it into a bag. ¡°I have a craft, but even as advanced as it is, this task will take a good time to complete.¡± ¡°We have a lot of distance to cover,¡± Arabella agreed. ¡°Best get to it then.¡± She took a step back, looking to the edge of the room where five men and women stood, guild veterans all, ready to escort her. ¡°Will the tower continue to run the evaluation while we are away?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be in charge of that.¡± Sitting in a corner of the room, Taessa Calana, the regality of her goddess uniform somewhat spoiled by the slump with which she sits, waved her goblet of wine toward Arabella. Arabella did not recognize the goddess she was portraying, some obscure cult, that would make sense for Taessa. ¡°I will keep things spinning nicely here while you two step away. Not to worry, I will only give the pups a bit of a thrashing, nothing that will leave long-lived scars.¡± Arabella frowned at that, looking at Gaius out of the corner of her eye. ¡°So, you really are set to go forward with that kind of test.¡± ¡°Not much of a test really,¡± Gaius admitted. ¡°But we are going to find ourselves short on staff leading into this final part of the tower. Facing a rank three magician will prepare them for what it is like to stare down a rank three monster, something that you of all people should appreciate.¡± ¡°You are trying to pick at my old wounds, but you will find only scars there now,¡± Arabella said, but she could not help but think back to her first encounter with such a creature. Fighting against her uncle in the circle had done little to prepare her for that, but it was probably better than nothing. ¡°We are all scarred in that way,¡± Gaius dismissed. ¡°Besides, the winner gets a soul cage, a nice one.¡± Arabella sighed, shaking her head at what she perceived as evident foolishness. Beating up children was not to her taste, but evidently Taessa felt the need to do so. ¡°Nothing permanent,¡± she said, staring down the woman in the corner. ¡°Of course not,¡± Taessa huffed. ¡°I am not some monster.¡± The woman took her goblet and filled it once more with wine from the table she sat at. ¡°Should you two not be moving already? Did you not read the basic tenants; they abhor wasting time?¡± ¡°Very well.¡± Arabella directed her attention toward the five at the edge of the room. ¡°You will find my craft attached to the platform on the roof. It might be a tight squeeze, but it will get the job done.¡± The five gave a half-hearted reply, filing out of the room, jostling each other good-naturedly. Arabella looked back to Gaius. ¡°I take my leave.¡± ¡°Good hunting, Arabella.¡± ¡°Good hunting, administrator.¡± Chapter 90 - Calm Awaiting the Storm Clarice wrinkles her brow, scanning the papers, turning them over to read the backsides. Eventually, she sighs and hands them back. ¡°This is the reward you gained from a hidden trial within the trial?¡± I hand the papers away to Jess, who looks anxious to read them with her own eyes. ¡°One of the things,¡± I say. I wave my new staff vaguely, enjoying the way it seems to ring in the air. My other is strapped to my back with leftover twine. Given that my disenchant ability for some reason creates paper and twine along with its activation, I have quite the stockpile. ¡°An incredible reward. It might even be worth all the risk I took in order to obtain it.¡± ¡°Was risk while you were alone an intelligent thing to do?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks. ¡°I would say so,¡± I tell him, not allowing the man¡¯s clear sarcasm to get to me. ¡°What do the papers say?¡± Jasper asks, trying to look over Jess¡¯ shoulder to read, but the woman twists to always keep them out of his view. ¡°They detail the final challenge,¡± Jess says. She growls at the man, getting him to back away before she has to turn herself into even more ridiculous poses to keep the paper away from his prying eyes. ¡°Some sort of race toward a final prize.¡± ¡°Fighting against at least three other teams as we do so,¡± Clarice adds. ¡°Apparently, at the apex of this maze of monster rooms, there is a waiting stage for the final challenge. Once four teams are in separate waiting rooms, the doors will open, and we will each race to ascend to the top of the tower and claim the final prize.¡± ¡°Not too bad,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, thoroughly interested in the papers. ¡°Our group has some members with speed as an asset.¡± Jess turns a sheet around, showing it off to the group. On it, written in lush black lines, is a diagram of the final arena. It appears as if the final stage is a room a third of the height of the tower, three great ramps built into the side, leading in a spiral toward a platform at the top. A hundred feet of open air connects the top and bottom of the chamber, a deadly fall for anyone unlucky enough to slip from the ramps lining the circular walls. ¡°Clarice neglected mentioning that the final prize will be guarded by a rank three magician from the Willian Guild. A magician who will not open the final doors to the tower until someone is able to claim the prize from them,¡± I say. That gets Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s attention. ¡°Truly? They will pit a band of rank one and early rank two magicians against a rank three.¡± He blows out a breath, idly scratching the white stubble that has begun to grow on his chin. I¡¯ve never seen an elf with facial hair before, and while he might not be a full-blooded one, the scratchy patch of hair certainly works for him. ¡°What are our odds of overpowering an opponent like that?¡± I ask. I have never seen what a rank three magician is capable of, and I hardly understand what a rank two one can do for that matter. ¡°None,¡± he replies off-handedly. ¡°It is really impossible to say. As you ascend the ranks, the jump in power from the bottom to the top continues to widen as well. A few years is standard for someone reaching the second rank, and if they push for going further, a decade is customary for reaching the third rank. Those capable of making it to the fourth rank are shockingly rare, out of a thousand rank three magicians, you might only see two or three reach rank four within a given century. That means that the difference between a newly ascendant rank three and one pushing the boundaries of rank four can be a difference of a hundred years¡¯ worth of knowledge, experience, and power.¡± He scoffs, rolling his eyes to land on me. ¡°See what we need to do to match just the middle nobility.¡± ¡°So, no chance of winning in a fight,¡± Jess confirms, handing me back the papers. I pass them off to Jasper before he chews his lip off in impatience. Galea can show me exact replicas of the information whenever I need. ¡°We cannot win,¡± Clarice confirms. ¡°Rank three magicians are capable of killing rank three monsters after all. If you think that we could do as much, you are dreaming.¡± I have to admit, I may have thought once or twice about trying. I have fought plenty of rank two monsters by now, would it be so impossible to think that a rank three one would be entirely beyond us if we all worked together? Then, I remember Arabella¡¯s story of when she first met my brother, of how she and her own team of powerful magicians had been completely helpless at the time. If a rank three magician can''t overpower such a creature, no, I don¡¯t really see how we could defeat them. ¡°We have an advantage in knowing this information,¡± I say, turning back to the focus. ¡°If the guild decides to not inform everyone about how the next trial will end, then that is a serious advantage.¡± ¡°Do you really think that the guild will keep that information hidden?¡± Clarice asks. ¡°Would you put it past them?¡± She becomes thoughtful, tucking her thumb into her chin. ¡°I could see that possibly happening. Any idea what this final prize will be?¡± ¡°One of these I imagine,¡± I reply, pulling the soul cage from my inventory. As the ball of gold and black metal catches the light emanating off of the pale walls, silence falls over our group. At a glance, everyone in the chamber knows exactly what it is that I am holding. A tension, the feeling I used to get sometimes walking home alone from the miller¡¯s house at night falls over me. ¡°Is that what I think it is?¡± Jess asks. ¡°A soul cage.¡± Samielle leaves the wall where he has been leaning for the conversation, peering at the device with evident lust. ¡°This was the third prize that I secured,¡± I say. Then, with a flick of the wrist, I toss the ball away. Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s eyes widen as he steps back, almost fumbling the soul cage as he catches it, looking up to me clearly confused. ¡°You seem to have dropped it.¡± ¡°No, I am giving it to you.¡± The man opens his mouth to say something, fumbles for words, and clears his throat instead. ¡°Giving this, to me? You understand how valuable this is. Anyone can see that this is not a simple soul cage made out of silver or brass, the value of this is¡­¡±Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. ¡°Is nothing to me right now,¡± I say, dismissing the incredibly valuable item as if it wasn¡¯t like tearing off a finger to give it away. ¡°I cannot use it now and you can. That is all that I care about. We will reach one of these waiting rooms and rest ourselves so that we are fully refreshed when the final challenge begins. In that challenge, we will find Kendon and Coriander. I don¡¯t care about being the one that wins the tower, I care about hurting those two. You making it over the line to rank two will help us do that.¡± The other four keep quiet, but I can see clear discomfort at my words out of the side of my eye. All my attention is focused upon Jor¡¯Mari. The man works his jaw, looking from the soul cage in his hand to me and back. He nods. ¡°They stabbed me in the back over one of these. Now, you are simply giving it to me. How my fortunes have changed.¡± He tucks the soul cage into a pocket. ¡°I will repay you for this.¡± ¡°You can repay me by knocking Kendon down a peg.¡± ¡°Oh, I think that I will be able to accomplish that much, but I aim higher.¡± ¡°I am happy that the two of you are content with plotting your revenge,¡± Clarice says, cutting the tension. ¡°I won¡¯t even bring up how the guild has directly said that doing what you two are planning to do will likely end with you both thrown out of the Trial, but I think that you are both forgetting a crucial point. In order for you to make certain that your foes don¡¯t slip from your grasp, you need to make sure that we reach one of these waiting rooms ahead of the final chamber being opened. Sitting around here talking isn¡¯t going to do that.¡± ¡°No,¡± I admit. I pull something else from my inventory window, opening my hand to show off the seven keys I collected during my excursion, each a metal rectangle reflecting a different color. ¡°With these keys, I figure that we can find a way to make it there first.¡± Clarice picks one up from my hand, a golden key, turning it over in the light, almost as if she suspects it of not being real. ¡°I have to say, the staff is enviable, the soul cage is something that burns me with jealousy, and the information is useful, but getting this many keys might have been the best thing you brought back.¡± I shrug, passing off the rest of the keys to her. ¡°I just had to kill some monsters to get them.¡± ¡°Well, that is unexpected.¡± Charlene Devardem Human(Level 38)(Rank 1) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 53(65) Strength: 42(54) Magic: 362(541) Defense: 51(63) Magic Defense: 46 Speed: 213(298) Recovery: 401(540) Perception: 43 Presence: 0 Healing Points: 650 Mana: 5414 Stamina: 2346 THRESHOLD REACHED! 600 RECOVERY!! Recovery(2nd Threshold): The effects of spent Healing Points are even further strengthened, allowing you to recover from even mortal wounds given enough time. Sleep has become a thing no longer required to keep your body fit or your mind focused. Recovery(Specialist): As a specialist in Recovery, the ability of your body to regenerate organ tissue has significantly increased and the speed at which you heal has become terrifying. The plush couch I lay on is made of a velvet that seems to cradle every part of me as I stare up at the two windows, the first things I see since going to sleep. Overhead, a crystal chandelier sprinkles light down into the room of plush furniture, myriad of refreshments, and pink stone walls. Long curved sofas line the two walls, the other two given over to the door we entered from and the wide outline of the one we will be exiting through, chalk on stone. My drifting hand grazes the cap of a ceramic bottle, the weak wine inside the only thing I have had to drink that wasn¡¯t water for weeks. They have odd alcohol here, so weak I could barely get a warm buzz to nap to after drinking half the bottle. No one else seemed to have as much of an issue, lightweights. Galea tells me that five hours have passed since we arrived, enough time for me to sleep and recover. I am hoping that means we were one of the first to arrive. The other teams, without my disenchanting ability, likely had to waste a horrid amount of time digging through monster corpses to find those keys. Just thinking of having to go through that puts bile in the back of my mouth. Though, given how I dispatch monsters, the search probably wouldn¡¯t have been so difficult. My attention falls back on the windows. ¡°It would appear that the second threshold is at six hundred,¡± I remark to Galea. I read the description over again. Reaching the first threshold while still rank one is something possible for those that truly dedicate themselves to improving in a single area at a rapid pace. From what I understand, strength and speed are the most common as diving into killing monsters with a sword or a sharp stick is the customary approach. Reaching the first threshold in three separate attributes was a true accomplishment, but now I have managed to do something beyond all of my expectations. ¡°Recover from mortal wounds,¡± I muse in my head to the little dragon that I still am unsure is completely real and not some figment of my imagination. ¡°It says I can regrow organs. Does that include my heart? Does that mean I can grow back my brain?¡± ¡°Those are both organs,¡± Galea confirms. ¡°Congratulations. With how often you suffer injury, I am certain that this newest accomplishment will prove vital for you.¡± ¡°I will try to ignore the backhand in the compliment,¡± I say. I can¡¯t really say that she is wrong, being able to recover from falls over cliffs, poisons, and holes put through my guts has kept me alive so far. Attribute specialists can be terrifying creatures. Clarice said that the endowed nobility are essentially specialists in all attributes simultaneously. Would that mean that each of them would have crossed the second threshold prior to reaching rank two, or whatever it is their equivalent is? Likely not, I doubt that they have anything that allows me the sheer specialization that Galea and her free points does. Still. ¡°That is probably enough recovery for a while,¡± I tell the dragon. ¡°My speed has fallen a bit, assist me in getting it back up to par. Magic is still a ways off from the second threshold, but we will get it there in time.¡± ¡°No doubt,¡± Galea says, nodding. I dismiss the windows with a thought. Sitting, I find a scene that I¡¯ve grown strangely used to. Samielle naps on the opposite sofa, Jess sitting not a few paces away, cleaning her equipment and Samielle¡¯s with a washrag and bucket. Clarice reads a book that I have loaned her while Jor¡¯Mari fleeces Jasper at a card game he only just started teaching him this morning. The awkward man makes a call, moving a penny and a half into the pot, prompting a smile to burst across Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s face as he proudly calls Jasper¡¯s apparent bluff. Jasper folds, sighing, leaning in his chair as he starts shuffling the next round, leaving Jor¡¯Mari to scoop the money in his hands and start stacking it in discrete piles on his side of the table. Funny thing is, from where I lay on the sofa behind him, I saw his hand, a winning one by all accounts. As Jasper starts dealing the next hand, a fraction of a smile tickles the sides of his lips. I stare back to the ceiling of veined, pink stone, the light of the chandelier slowly blurring everything overhead. Something pops in my shoulder, and I sigh, contented for the moment, right hand slack on my forehead while the other continues to dance fingers around the rim of that jug. I listen to the dull scrape and occasional squeak of Jess¡¯ rag against steel, a loud man¡¯s sober boasting, a quiet man¡¯s nodding approval and thrice veiled sarcasm, the soft rustle of page against page, and the smooth inhale exhale of a man too large to keep one beautiful wing from drooping to the floor and spilling a half-filled glass over a carpet that likely costs more than my home is worth. That slow in and out, a base so low and even, I realize my own breath moves in time. Far, far away I hear an aspiring would-be hero bickering with his best friend over what we¡¯ll cook tonight, the two men growing so angry with one another you might think they would start knocking teeth out. Then, anger would vanish¨Calways did¨Cand they turn to me, ask me my opinion, and go with that as if that wasn¡¯t their plan all along. A tear slips from my eye, slowly rolls tickling over my cheek, falling and vanishing somewhere in my unkempt mane. Its trail lingers, the air kissing it cold. Not so bad, not bad at all. Chapter 91 - The Ramps Part 1 A tone, a long note obviously made by something artificial, pulses through the room, leaving silence behind it. All eyes turn toward the chalked outline of a wide door, almost like a barn¡¯s, etched on the pink stone at the end of the room. In the space left by the long note, the lights flickering on the chandelier dull, turning a shade of yellow that seems to make everything in the room the same color. ¡°Get up.¡± It is hard to stop myself from yelling the words, not that I need to, everyone is moving quickly. Armor, left loose, is looked to, strapped tight in teams; weapons are grabbed and slung over shoulders or tied to hips. Lucky for me, it only takes a moment of concentrated effort to have my armor appear in place over my most-worn but still complete set of clothes. I manage to have the Lamplighter¡¯s Charge fall into its new favored spot on my back, a braid of pale string landing on my shoulder and wrapping around my waist to hold it on, but my newest weapon, the Staff of Luminous Insight, clatters to the stone floor. A discord of my home-made talismans clatter as they appear around my neck, thoroughly tangled. As I snatch my staff from the floor, another long, harsh note passes through the room, rattling the dishware and glass table. The light from the chandelier turns again, becoming an orange so intense that even Clarice¡¯s black hair looks stained with the color. ¡°How many more colors do you imagine this might take?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks, leaning against the wall near the soon-to-be door, turning a ring about his finger idly, non-anxious prick. ¡°Not too many,¡± I say, striding to the door. Behind me, Jess and Samielle are speaking in low tones. Jasper stands near Jor¡¯Mari, frowning around, eyes darting between the lights overhead and the wall. Clarice stands near me, perfectly poised except for a thumb that runs madly over a button on her cuff. ¡°Which way?¡± she asks, though we both know that she knows the answer. ¡°To the right,¡± I say. I let go a long breath, almost bouncing on the balls of my feet as I wait. When the sound shakes the room once again, it feels almost like the world slows down as it fades ever so slowly. The world changes to red. Jor¡¯Mari kicks himself off the wall, he is more effected than anyone by the new color, a man made of red from his hair to his pupils. His form begins to shift, become lean and athletic, horns pushing up from his forehead. A loud crack just in front of my face makes me flinch. Everything inside the outline on the wall vanishes all of a sudden, leaving haunting red light spilling out into a dark room. A massive, barren round stands in front of me. Three wedges of stone, more than twenty strides across at the width, descended at a slant from the wall. Five spots of harsh red light beam toward the open center of the room cutting the vague shadows. High, high overhead, a pure white light shines over a circular platform of gray stone that eclipses it. ¡°Go.¡± Somewhere between a yell and a whisper. We sprint into the room, hugging the wall as we run to the right. To our luck, the ramps rise into the air in such a way that we can simply run straight onto the nearest one without having to crawl around to the front. Unluckily, a hesitant group of people are between us and it. A man, one of the huge ones wearing silk robes, steps from the red light, spectacled eyes peering about, one hand held up to halt anyone from following him out just yet. Jor¡¯Mari, just ahead of me in our group, hits him like a bolt of lightning. His fist slams into the man¡¯s stomach with a wet thump that lifts him partway off his feet, leaving him falling to his knees and crumpling to the floor. A violent wave of purple light pools off of Jor¡¯Mari, striking into and through the open door shedding red light. Some woman inside the room shrieks so loud it echoes through the chamber. I know he is just scaring that group a little, literally, that is what his soul presence does apparently. We cannot afford to pull any punches here at the final stretch. I slap Jor¡¯Mari on the back as I pass and reach the base of the ramp leading upward before anyone on another team even understands what is going on. I unsling Lamplighter¡¯s Charge, grabbing it in my right hand, while I hold my newest weapon in my left, power pooling in the ends of each. Clarice is the first to make it past me, followed closely by Jess. Each are overtaken in less than a second by Jor¡¯Mari as he sprints up the ramp, Samielle taking a more direct route through the air. The moment Jasper is past, cheeks puffing, hands chopping the air, I begin. Both staves fall to the ground at the edge of the ramp. Without thought for conservation, plumes of orange and white flame sprout from the heads of the weapons, washing over the stone like a liquid as I backpedal up the slope, lingering and churning on the barren stone. It is all I can do to not trip over my own feet as I run backward up the slope for fifty full paces, lavishing the ramp with a carpet of boiling fire all the way. It won¡¯t do to have people following us up the slope. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Names, some familiar but most not, begin to pepper the gloom, labels standing around on the ground floor, hesitantly moving from the red rooms out into the central chamber. I see Macille¡¯s name among them, but I can¡¯t spare any time. We race for the top; I will see him up there. Less than a minute has passed and already people are moving in groups toward the ramps, no one here is so slow on the pickup as to not recognize the nature of the challenge. The groups left need to squabble over the remaining two, and already blazes of light and the clash of arms echo in the dim light. Hopefully we can keep our lead all the way up. I turn away from my fire, sprinting up the incline toward where my group races ahead. A body lying on the slope appears out of the dark, sending a shudder of fear down my spine that turns to confusion as I notice its clearly non-person shaped appearance. Monsters waiting for us on the ramps, that had not been in the information I received on this final challenge. I tap the body with the head of my old staff as I run past, and it erupts in a pink mist that chases after me. No time to slow. They are just ahead. As I finally make to catch up, a cloud of darkness explodes on the slope, myriad stars slowly twinkling into being throughout. My shoulder knocks into someone, Jasper judging by the squawk of surprise, and I feel the head of my newer staff knock into a boney knee. A light in the shape of a short blade flashes through the dark, cutting ribbons out of the odd starscape, and a moment later the world begins to filter back to normal. Clarice stands on the ramp, bent and pulling Jess back to her feet, the corpse of a monster made of wriggling green fingers dead at her feet. Our eyes meet for a moment, and she nods further up the ramp. ¡°He continued ahead, said that we could handle this.¡± ¡°It appears he was right,¡± I say, squeezing Jasper¡¯s arm as I step around him. Impatience burns in me, and I gather myself to run ahead. A grunt stops me after only two strides. Samielle collides with the side of the ramp, a slight string of smoke snaking up from his back as he scrambles with fingers and nail to grab ahold of the side. I beat Jess to him, clamping my arm around his wrist; gods, the man is like an anvil. I strain, legs burning, back burning, and Samielle only makes it harder by uselessly scratching at the stone, twisting this way and that. He comes up an inch, just one, and grunts as the stone digs into his over-muscled stomach. I¡¯m pulling him up. That is when I notice that Jess has me around the waist and is hauling backward, the woman almost lifting me from my own feet with her effort. Samielle comes sliding across the stone, twisting his wrist out of my hand and patting at the seat of his pants, smothering the burgeoning fire. Jess nimbly turns me to the side, and sets me down, moving to kneel over him. ¡°Some damned thing hit me,¡± Samielle says, trying to stand, but finding his legs too wobbly. ¡°Was trying to see what the top looked like and then something jumped up and hit me in the ass.¡± ¡°Are you alright?¡± Jess asks. ¡°Think so, just tingly is all.¡± I can see the effort on his face as he plants a boot, but he needs to lean on Jess in order to put any weight on it. ¡°Can¡¯t really feel my legs.¡± Jess looks at me. ¡°Is his spine alright?¡± she asks. ¡°What?¡± Samielle, sudden worry in his voice. I move around, finding nothing at all wrong with the big man¡¯s back, but there is a hole burnt into his trousers, exposing a red spot on his ass. ¡°Looks like something hit him.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I said isn¡¯t it?¡± Close to the side again, I take a tentative look over. The drop is less than I feared it would be, maybe only thirty feet. I¡¯ve had worse. What does catch me up is the sight of numerous names moving in the gloom of the room, dozens racing in spirals against the far walls. ¡°We need to move,¡± I say. ¡°Go ahead,¡± Samielle says, gesturing ahead. ¡°Don¡¯t let me slow you down.¡± ¡°Right,¡± I say, turning to sprint up the ramp. ¡°Follow as fast as you can,¡± I call back over my shoulder. Clarice is already running before I reach her, and I can hear Jasper¡¯s labored breathing behind, falling further and further behind actually. I want to race at my top speed, burn my way up the ramp to catch Jor¡¯Mari as quickly as possible, but leaving Clarice behind, making my entire team a spaced out line along this twisting ramp, is likely a very bad idea. A good measure up and I spy a change in the structure of the ramp. A line of stone walkway, a bridge, juts off from the side of the ramp, shooting out over open air to join with the ramp ahead of us. The information we received said nothing about the ramps being connected to one another. We pass a corpse, something like a burly cat with its head missing, as we run up the spiral. I barely have the presence of mind to tap it with my staff as we pass. A bridge comes out of the gloom from behind us, becoming an easy turn and horizontal platform that lets out onto our own ramp from the one behind. I look out, trying to see anyone through the stone on the ramp behind us, not even certain if Galea might be capable of doing that sort of thing. More names continue to race up through the chamber, dashing, clumping together at times and breaking apart. I don¡¯t stop to read, all my concentration on putting one foot in front of the other. Chapter 92 - The Ramps Part 2 Noise, the sound of grunting and snarling comes from sideways and ahead, the spiraling nature of the ramp we race up throwing off all sense of forward or back. I pass a bend, and I see Jor¡¯Mari there, straining with the strangest kind of creature I have ever seen. It appears to be a giant puddle, blue liquid with a faint light, sticking to the floor and to Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s leg and right arm. Inside the puddle moves a strange stone that pulses with red light like a beating heart. ¡°Fucking glue!¡± Jor¡¯Mari roars, hand coming down in a fist, a splash of blue liquid as thick as tar jumping up from the impact, but nothing much changes. If anything, the blue liquid climbs up his side a bit more. Floortrap Ooze(Rank One) ¡°Kill it,¡± I yell at him as I keep running, bringing the energy pooling in my staves to its limit. ¡°What does it look like I am doing?¡± Jor¡¯Mari yells back. A ring of purple light glows away from him and I skid myself to a stop, grabbing ahold of Clarice¡¯s arm before she can run into it. The man has only had the presence for a few hours, best not to test his ability to tell friend from foe with it. We come up short a few strides distant from the ooze on the ground, Jor¡¯Mari gritting his teeth, straining, as he brings the weight of his soul presence down upon the thing. Apparently, oozes do not scare so easy. ¡°Gak!¡± he cries out, hunching and almost falling as a strip of flesh is ripped away from his calf. ¡°Let me kill it and we can move on,¡± I say, still keeping well clear of the purple aura that grows more ragged and discordant by the second. ¡°I won¡¯t be beaten by fucking glue,¡± Jor¡¯Mari roars back, his eyes wide and teeth barred. Horns start to shoot up from all over the man, pushing through the bunched fabric on his shoulders, sliding out crooked from underneath his fine shirt, the two on his forehead growing larger, their ringed fringes almost seeming to vibrate. ¡°What¨C¡± My question is cut off by a loud crack, the horns growing all over the man exploding off his skin in all directions. I slap out with my staff, knocking one of the projectiles from the air just before it would have impaled Clarice through the thigh. In the second after the explosion on the man, the explosion on the stone comes, the horns burrowing inches into the ramp and wall without effort. Seven of them stab through the ooze on the floor, a deadly volley if it weren¡¯t what it is. ¡°Bah!¡± Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s knee buckles and thuds with a squelch to the ground, burying him up to his waist in the slime of the creature. ¡°Pride,¡± I growl, lowering the head of my new staff. The monster is only made of two things apparently, so I take aim at the shifting ball inside that beats like a heart. Most things cannot live without their heart as far as I am aware. I vaguely wonder if I might be on the list of things that can now. A ball of fire splits from the head of the staff, launching at the slime on the floor, my aim, of course, unerring. A bloom of orange light blossoms in the chamber, the brightest light in the room as of yet I am proud to say. Something halfway between a screech and a burp follows the explosion. ¡°I got it,¡± I tell Jor¡¯Mari. The man lowers his hands from his face, blinking up at me, moving to stand and finding it still difficult to pull himself out of the newly made corpse. ¡°How can you tell?¡± A good question, other than it''s no longer moving so much, it looks mostly the same. The window hovering in front of me, however, is all the tip off I need. That, and the smoking ruin of whatever that odd organ had been. Eventually he struggles free, bits of sticky blue still clinging to his legs. Jor¡¯Mari looks down at himself, grunting, hand hovering between trying to smear off the ick and not wanting to get it all over his fingers. I place the head of my staff to the weird grossness on the floor, and an instant later it evaporates into pink mist. ¡°Maybe you should have stayed inside,¡± I say, looking over Jor¡¯Mari as he is left in his blue-covered situation. ¡°Do you think that ability might¨C¡± The ramp beneath my feet shakes, and a violent fear of what might happen if it decides to suddenly fall off the wall worms into my gut. It shudders again a second later, and then the pounding begins to become a rhythm. I cast around, looking for anything, everyone is doing it. Jasper points into the dark, a trembling finger slowly tracking something slightly above us through the gloom. ¡°It¡¯s her,¡± he all but whispers. There isn¡¯t even time to ask who he is talking about before I catch sight of a vague shape falling out of the dark. That fear in my guts twists up more as the shape resolves into the underbelly of a massive lizard easily as large as our barn back home. I grab the gawping fool by the back of his collar, pulling him to the side as the creature slams onto the ramp in the midst of us. I am not fast enough to pull us both fully out of the way; the side of the great beast snaps into me, would crush me if it didn¡¯t knock me rolling down the slope first. My shoulder bounces off vibrating stone, then a knee, and then I am sliding on the metal backing of my armor that skips and sparks as the stone of the ramp flexes. I dig my heels into the stone, grinding to a halt, rolling aside as a huge foot slaps down just to my right. Back on my feet, I continue to backpedal, staves coming up and glowing dangerously as I point them skyward. The six-eyed head of the huge lizard turns, looking down at me, tongue flicking out to taste the air. Standing on the head of the monster, is the short-statured figure of a woman I very much wished to never encounter again, Lady Forendous.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°Kas endembo tora ain kraga,¡± the woman hisses, her words strange, high in pitch but almost bouncing off the walls. The monster she rides upon hisses, rearing its head back. A shroud of green light explodes off of the woman, rising high into the air, oddly its light while not illuminating anything in the chamber. Near me, I hear Jor¡¯Mari croak out a groan, catch him staring up at the towering presence. I might not understand the details of what she says, but I think I got the gist. The soul presence arcs down like the titanic and crushing paw of some huge cat, deadly, or as close to it as this woman might be allowed to get inside the tower. Despite its inevitability, it wasn¡¯t all that fast. Three quick steps forward and I reach the raised neck of the big lizard. The heads of my staves detonate, spraying a splash of seared flesh and fluid over me as the monster roars, flailing away and rolling. The diving wave of green power wavers and quakes as the creature screams, a surprised yell coming from its rider. It lands on its side, half leaning off of the ramp, back feet kicking out and raking the air with sword-length claws, scratching up the stone. ¡°Move.¡± Jor¡¯Mari has me by the arm, pulling me away from the spectacle. I take another shot with my staff, charring an armpit with an eruption of fire, but causing nothing more than superficial damage. The creature bends this way and that, one clawed foot finding the ground while the other scratches wildly, its tail snapping about hard enough to crush a horse¡¯s back. We skirt the wall, keeping well away from its dangerous flailing. Then, with a gurgle, its leg scratches the air, and it slips over the side, a long terrified screech peeling off into the air. We watch it disappear from sight, and I hope there is no unfortunate figure down at the bottom that can¡¯t get out of its way. The vanishing body of the monster reveals Lady Forendous kneeling on the stone at the edge of the ramp, one hand held to her face, alien blood leaking between her fingers. Through the crack between her thumb and index finger, one angry yellow eye, shot through with red, leers at me. Green light rings her like an angry fire, boiling up as she pushes herself to stand, bloody hand falling to show a gash across her brow. The ground shakes with each step she takes, her bare feet leaving an indentation in the stone. A spear of gold slithers out of her shroud like a snake, vibrating in the air just behind her, followed along behind by more weapons of increasing points: two, three, five, six. Mana continues to pour into the heads of my staves, but nowhere near fast enough. I don¡¯t think that this woman has any plan to hold shy of killing me. I keep expecting a member of the guild to jump in between us, Arabella or someone else, but no one arrives. Didn¡¯t they say that they wanted to keep bloodshed to a minimum? ¡°Fight like your life depends on it,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says next to me. The ring on his right middle finger lights for a moment and his hand clenches around an invisible weight, the invisible mace that he still thinks I don¡¯t know about. ¡°Can¡¯t die yet,¡± I say. I don¡¯t feel the bravado. With a soul presence, Jor¡¯Mari can at least resist hers a bit, maybe. Without one, I know that I will be at her mercy the second she decides to turn it on me. I remember what happened out on the field. ¡°Khadsia!!!!!¡± A man, tall and muscled, wearing a long robe of woven green silk embroidered with dancing dragons, crashes out of the sky. With a twitch of her fingers, two of the hovering, golden weapons move through the air, intercepting a fist ringed with iron. The noise of the collision rattles bone. I don¡¯t know who this green-haired bastard is or what he wants, but at the moment I cannot care so much. At my side, Jor¡¯Mari dashes forward almost too fast to follow, hand swinging in a graceless arc, not that invisible maces require all that much grace. Lady Forendous¡¯ other hand comes up, two more weapons spinning down, the six-pronged one catching the unseen weapon between its forks, the spear darting out to run Jor¡¯Mari through. He catches the spear in his hand, grunting, straining as it presses on him, drawing a thin line of blood down his chest from the shallowest of cuts it leaves across his chest. Three lights flare around the fighters, one purple, another a springtime shade of pink, and the largest of all a menacing and dangerous green. My feet kick against the stone. For an instant, Lady Forendous¡¯ eye slides to me, but then Jor¡¯Mari is between us, and I do not give up that advantage. No idea who the strange barbarian is, no idea what became of Clarice or Jasper, no idea what pushes Jor¡¯Mari to attack this crazy woman, I sprint up the ramp for all I am worth. ¡°This is a distraction,¡± I grunt, pushing my legs as hard as they will go. The incline becomes sharper near the top, but I am almost there now. ¡°We agreed to go ahead.¡± ¡°You did agree,¡± Galea says from my side. ¡°You both confirmed, whatever it takes.¡± ¡°We agreed.¡± The white light peeking from the edges at the top of the ramp grows brighter as I rise, three wedges of light at the top of the chamber; I can almost feel the warmth. I snort air, lungs pumping like bellows, obstacles and the occasional monster left forgotten as I sprint by. My foot touches the light, and by Exeter, it is warm. Almost at the last instant the incline of the ramp levels out, the change so sudden that I find myself stumbling into the room at the top of the tower. Like the chamber below, this room is a huge circular disk of stone, though the ceiling is only twenty or so feet above my head. Three holes of darkness are cut in even spaces at the edges, one being the one I just climbed up from. The majority of the room is dominated by rings of gold set into the stone floor, each growing more thick and filled with more elaborate engravings as they move toward the center where a dais of gold stands bare. Above the center of the room is a crystal set into the ceiling, a perfect white light shining. Set into the round walls are twelve stone doors, all sealed tight, no doubt the exits to this labyrinth. I feel a shift in the floor, a crack running through the stone, but my attention is stolen away by the sound of boots running. I bring my staves up as three heads appear from the ramp on the opposite end of the room. The Lady of Fate must be with me, because the second of those stolid faces belongs to no other than Coriander Mel¡¯Draven. Power burns through my weapons, and I force in more mana than I ever have before. She turns, onyx hair whipping about her face, big eyes falling on the ends of my shiny new staff. She spits something in the elves¡¯ secret tongue, the two inconsequential people on either of her arms turning frightened faces my way. I am so focused on her, on making use of this bare instant I have, that at first, I do not realize why my vision blurs. Then, as momentary confusion slips through my concentration, I realize that there is a light between us. The dais in the center of the room has vanished, leaving a wide hole, out of which rises a spinning, crystal object. Rings of intricate crystal that gleam like diamond, no bigger than my fist, spin about one another as they rise together into the air. The white light of the crystal above catches on the mesmerizing orb, spraying the white chamber with a myriad of rainbow light, a display too serene for how much anger I hold. It is a soul cage, the most beautiful one I have ever seen. I am just preparing to fire, to smite Coriander Mel¡¯Draven from the world, when a figure standing on a golden platform begins to emerge from the hole. My anger withers at the sight of them. Chapter 93 - Vacant ¡°Dammit.¡± Dovik beat upon the man with his twin weapons, the heavy bars of steel pounding out a meaty echo against powerful forearms. An eye filled with anger and fear, more anger likely, bobbed in and out of his vision through the cracks between the two arms. The man was mostly a punching bag, six-and-a-half feet tall, almost three hundred pounds of muscle, blonde hair hanging in sweaty strands from a pale, chiseled face. A strong man, no doubt about it, but without any speed or skill. A streak of light, blue or white, it was hard for him to tell with all of the strobing magic and insanity going around, thudded into his back, knocking him forward and off-balance. His opponent saw the opportunity, dropping his arms for a moment, readying to lunge. Dovik vanished, appeared in the air slightly behind the man, and brought his fire poker down on the back of the man¡¯s skull. He held back, held back a lot, but the strike still split his scalp and knocked him to the floor, blood pouring out to run down the side of his face. Still conscious, but unlikely to stand again any time soon. Dovik found a new stain, a mark of some magical projectile that had crashed into the back of his shoulder while he was working on his punching bag. It did nothing more than leave a lingering ache in his shoulder, not even powerful enough to injure his coat. He looked about for his attackers. Most mages turned away from him and found different targets when they saw how ineffective their magic was against him, this one seemed to have been no different. He found Macille next to him, the man grabbing someone by their elaborately embroidered silk robes and smashing the rim of his shield into their jaw over and over. There was a sickening rhythm to it, the man¡¯s head whipping back, pulled forward again by his stretching next just in time to meet another strike. Dovik winced, watching the slow deformation of the barely conscious man, he seemed to be a hardy bastard at least. ¡°I think you got him,¡± Dovik said, grabbing Macille¡¯s elbow as he pulled back for another strike. His heels dragged three inches across the stone as his friend¡¯s arm continued straining forward for a moment. Macille¡¯s fingers loosened on the man¡¯s robe who then slumped to the stone floor, head lolling back, breaths a hiccupping flurry. Then it was Dovik pulling Macille as the strength in the man seemed to vanish all of a sudden. Dovik caught him as his legs wobbled, steadying him and patting his back, all the while searching the chamber for new threats. Macille pulled away, wiping his face with his free hand, leaving a smear of blood across his sweaty forehead that turned watery and left a tear streak down his cheek. ¡°You alright?¡± Dovik asked. Balls, it was difficult to see anything. The ramp they stood on had a constant drift of green fog rolling down from above that tickled his throat, likely far worse for anyone else on his team. ¡°Where is everyone at?¡± Adrius had been with them just a moment ago. ¡°Sister Bella and her oaf ran past you while you were beating on that barbarian,¡± Macille said. He ranged around on the floor, eventually locating his sword in the fog. ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened to Adrius.¡± ¡°I told him to stay near me,¡± Dovik crept to where he imagined the edge of the ramp to be, waving a hand about him to clear out the fog as best he could. He found it and looked out into the general gloom. They were probably a good hundred feet up by now, three spiraling ramps around the edge of the room filled with magical flashes and the ringing of metal on metal. He squinted into the dark, several motes of different color flames rising up the ramps, each marking a different magician. He knew some of the motes by their coloration, magicians that he had made a note of before. The color, intensity, and pulsation of the motes denoted them, as unique as a face, each a representation of their soul, information laid bare for him to seize. Soul reading could wait, he was looking for someone, and he could not find her among those he saw. Dovik noticed a group of five on the base level of the chamber running away from one of the rooms bleeding red light, another group entering the chamber. Did he wait¨Cperhaps her group was delayed¨Cor did he push forward, suspecting that she was above already? ¡°Get back!¡± A hand grabbed hard on his collar, yanking him away from the ledge, Macille. His shoulders bounced hard against the wall twenty feet away. He fell, feet barely managing to stay beneath him, and noticed Macille barreling into the wall next to him. Before he could ask what that had been about, a huge monster, all dark scales and wriggling limbs, some kind of lizard-beast, cracked into the edge of the ramp in front of them. It landed on its back, an echoing crack splitting the air, before it rolled backward over the lip, its tail lashing about and disappearing from sight. ¡°Are they really putting ones that large in here?¡± Dovik stared up the ramps, but the stone blocked his sight and information was scarce. The lizard¡¯s bloody crash into the ramp cleared the fog for a brief expanse. In the hazy edges of green, Dovik noticed a boot sticking up. He was there in a blink, leaving behind Macille coughing against the wall. Adrius laid in front of him, prone body half in the mist and half out. Fear swelled in Dovik¡¯s chest, hesitation pushing against him from leaning down to check the man¡¯s neck. The sound of a saw going through wood pushed the fear away, Adrius¡¯ face opening wide in a snore that would shame any self-respecting elf. ¡°Sleeping?¡± Macille asked, making it over to Dovik. He kneeled and started tapping on Adrius¡¯ cheek with a gauntleted hand, getting nowhere. ¡°Lazy!¡± Dovik stuck the tip of Pokey into Adrius¡¯ armpit and started turning it this way and that. ¡°That¡¯s what your uncle says about you. If you fall asleep in battles, I can¡¯t really disagree.¡± ¡°Ah,¡± Adrius grunted, eyes shooting awake, already trying to roll away from Pokey. ¡°Ah. Stop. Bastard!¡± ¡°Are you so hard now that you find our little battlefield boring?¡± Dovik asked, pulling Pokey back and spinning it in his hand. Adrius breathed, green mist puffing with the exhale, staring up toward the ceiling far overhead. ¡°We were fighting something.¡± ¡°Up you get.¡± Macille bent and helped Adrius to his feet. ¡°Best to avoid breathing in poison smoke in the future.¡± Adrius coughed, rubbing a hand over his face, a small magical tremor running from his palm into his head. He snorted, looking much better after. ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll just stop breathing next time.¡±Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Let me know if that works for you,¡± Dovik stared up through the hole in the mist overhead, the entire fog was thinning somewhat. ¡°Best to get¨C¡± An explosive burst of color high overhead cut off his words. The three inlets of white light from the stage above flashed with a brilliant orange, and even still far below he could feel the explosion of heat. Fire gouted, dripping from the holes in the ceiling like liquid, swimming across the stone like the roots of a tree, climbing downward. A drop of fire landed just near his boot, hissing as it melted through the fog. It smoldered there a moment, but slowly, ever so slowly, began to pool and stretch on the ground. Dovik ground it out beneath his boot before it could get far. Similar patches of boiling fire were breaking out throughout the chamber. A discharge of magic so potent that it shook the entire ramp he stood on sparked off down below, followed rapidly by more earthshaking displays throughout the room. Some beast roared, an entire section of one of the ramps further up began to collapse, crashing through the center of the chamber with two screaming climbers holding tight to it. A hole was ripped in a wall, pushing an avalanche of cold dirt and mud to spill out into the open air, the deluge pouring over anyone still at the bottom level. ¡°What in three hells.¡± Dovik stared down at the pot of chaos mixing beneath him. Someone cried out as they were hurled from a ramp, screaming as they fell into darkness. He turned, looking to Macille, and narrowly avoided the swing of a blade aimed at his throat. Dovik ducked back, off-hand weapon rising to meet the crash of a shield rim, but he was too slow. The edge of Macille¡¯s shield cracked into his arm, and Dovik felt his bones bend and bruise, not shattering thankfully. He vanished, appearing a few feet away, right hand coming up to point at his attacker. Macille stood, anger on his face, as he marched forward. Before he could take more than a step, Adrius was on his back, hands scrabbling at his face, teeth biting into Macille¡¯s shoulder. They growled and wrestled, Macille throwing his shoulder back into the stone, trying to pulverize the healer. Another explosion overhead threatened to steal his attention, but Dovik kept his focus on his friends. Raising his weapons, he prepared.
Stony cliffsides, mountains capped with sleet and ice, trees climbing up toward the sky, flew past a platform of steel sailing through the air. A hexagonal monolith, the craft bore riders standing on its surface, each hardly noticing the whipping wind or the deep chill as the craft was pushed to its extreme limits. Arabella stood at the fore, the control core clenched tight in her hand, a cylinder of amethyst that allowed for full control of the craft. They flew quickly, they better have considering how much gold she had spent to purchase the aircraft, just slightly faster than she was capable of on her own, far faster than her escort were. The limitations of the wind shield had long been exceeded, making the journey somewhat uncomfortable. The slightest lack of concentration in any of the magicians on board could potentially rip them off the craft, and she did not plan to stop for anyone who could not even hold on. Three sites checked so far, not even as much as a hint of their quarry spotted. As she steered her craft toward the mountain, toward its peak, she knew that this fourth site was different. Something shuddered through the air as she made the approach, slowing the craft from ludicrous speed toward something that wouldn¡¯t have them all smashed to bits on the rocks. Arabella asked one of her escort to check the map, checking it again herself after to make certain that they were in the correct place. Her platform hovered still in the air, the maw of a cave leading into the dark earth before her. This was it. A jagged hole, replete with broken stone and hills of shale gravel stood ahead of her, a short bend plunging the path forward into the dark. The scale of her armor rippled as she moved forward, growing more jagged, rigid, shucking off the flowing comfortability that it offered in peace time, readying for the fight ahead. She grabbed Avalanche from her back, feeling the power of the weapon flow into her before finally allowing her soul free. She saw it as the blue that was her spread out, stretching to its relaxed state that she so seldom allowed it. The blue swam over the platform, crawling up the mountain edifice, rocks cracking and breaking as the cold seeped into the stone. She saw everything, felt every pebbly bump in the mountain, every pulse of blood pushing against the skin of the magicians around her, felt even the microbes floating through the air freeze and wither away as her soul spread out. A lone mountain goat stood watching with strange eyes, muscles stiffening, breath puffing air as it found itself suddenly unable to move. She spared the creature a thought, did not let it freeze so utterly, but she was hardly willing to restrain herself, not with what she feared might be down there in the dark. Her presence stopped fifty feet from her, its comfortable size, but nowhere near the extent she could push it to. She delighted in it, the feeling of power, of oneness with the materia about her, but she did not let it feed her ego, a danger many of her kind were prone to fall into. ¡°We go,¡± she said, feet lifting from the platform as she flew forward. She sensed each of her escort rise into the air along with her, their own presences straining against her own, protecting them from the cold. The cave came to a shaft that led deep into the mountain. Her senses pushed through the dark, guiding her around obstacles, illuminating the cavernous dark. She became aware of an outlet and fell through space into an underground chamber, a lake in the dark marred by a solitary island. Arabella¡¯s presence exploded, striking through the expanse in an instant. She alighted upon the shores of the lake now changed to a glacier crawling up the sides of the chamber, attention focused upon the island before her. A dome of stone stood, an eggshell of tan marble cracked and chipped. Somehow, the surface of the stone prevented her soul from entering, blocking any attempt to scry the insides with any magic she had at hand. No doubt about it then, this was it. Arabella raised her hand, four spears of ice forming in the dark about the stone hemisphere, growing and growing. She flooded this chamber, and what was inside of it was the same as being within her, her magic was ever-present. If it came to a fight, ceding this ground to her would prove fatal. She cut off the flow of mana as the spears reached adequate size, stakes the size and length of some of the hardiest trees in the forest beyond the mountain. As she clenched her fist, the stakes struck, diving and crashing into the stone dome. Three of the stakes shattered at contact, spinning shards of ice into the air that melted away into motes of mana. The fourth stuck, crashing through from the side. She waited a moment, tried to pour her soul in through the hole the spear had made, but again found herself rebuffed. The final spear of ice disappeared with a motion, leaving a black hole bored into the surface of the dome. With a breath to prepare, conjuring all of the magic she could to herself, Arabella descended inside. Inside the dome, her soul spread out, now able to see everything as clearly as if it were under the light of day. She felt it here, like an opposing presence pushing against her mind, trying to feed her thoughts of carnage and death. She pushed the influence aside, returning to focus, always returning to focus. A barren and curved room of stone stood out before her, featureless except for the intricate web of runes and symbolica carved into the stone. The pattern was so intricate that she could not off-handedly even guess at its meaning. In the center of the runic circle lay a mat of frayed linen cloth upon which sat a pack that had seen better days long, long ago. She set her feet upon the circle, sensing no power in the chamber any longer, only a lingering malice. The pack held nothing of particular interest, a hunting knife, a box of salt, and what might have been bread in some time long past. What held her interest was a container of titanium lying next to the pack, fallen over on its side like a discarded afterthought. Power rested inside of the container, traces of an orange liquid that still ran and formed a miniscule puddle at the bottom of the container when she picked it up. Everything in her body, everything in her soul, screamed a warning as she reached to touch the liquid, and Arabella had long learned to heed such warnings. She looked up, found two of her escort hovering inside of the dome along with her, the others left outside to guard against ambush. ¡°This is the place,¡± Arabella said, holding up the container, finding the knack of its lid and sealing it tight. ¡°Or at least it was.¡± ¡°Nothing is here,¡± one of her escort, Tesha, said. ¡°No. Not any longer.¡± Chapter 94 - Monster The robber, that was the first monster I ever heard of. My mother told me about it one night, some creature that stalks fields after dark Its hands hang down at its furry sides, spit dripping from crazed lips, on the look out for children that ought not to be out so alone in the dark. Right away I would start to see it. Didn¡¯t matter that when I spotted it out of the corner of my eye it would turn to a dog or a coatrack by the time I turned my head that way. I would crawl into bed as soon as the sun started cast long shadows from the trees, making a bundle of my blankets to keep me safe and tight¨Cannoyed the piss out of my father, my worrying. Stayed that way for weeks, curled up in the bed no matter what anyone said, no matter how many times they tried to reassure me that the robber wasn¡¯t such a dangerous thing, that monsters showed up only rarely anywhere near where we lived. It didn¡¯t matter; I still saw it when I closed my eyes, lurking in the dark shadows at the corners of the room. One night my father woke me with a hand on my shoulder in the middle of the night, said that he needed me to hold a lamp for him. Gods, my hands shook. That lamp that I had held a hundred times by daylight was like a stone in my sweaty palms as I crept along behind him, one hand on the ring of the lantern, the other clutching his pantleg. He didn¡¯t tell me what we were on the look out for, but the old sickle in his hand told me of something, the left side covered in a cake of rust from when Halford had forgotten it out in the rain for three days. I could hear the rustle right away as we came up to the barn doors, could hear the ponies huffing inside, shifting around in their pens. In a voice no louder than a whisper, I begged my father to let me go back. Halford should be the one with him, shouldn¡¯t he? He was the second man of the house, the big brother; it was his job to see to the scary things in the night. My father ignored me, told me to hold the lantern higher as he worked at the lock on the barn. The creaking of the door as it slid sideways along its track shot shivers down my spine. Our barn never did look so terrible as it did then, full of shadows and dark corners, the light of the lantern I held in a trembling hand making everything appear washed out. My father caught movement among the hay, darting forward with a grunt. Yellow stalks tossed into the air as he tumbled with something, floating back down in lazy switchbacking arcs. There was a feral growling, screeching, and then he had something in hands, a crazed ball of brown fur and teeth. ¡°Look here,¡± he said, beckoning me forward with a hand while his other struggled to hold the thing captive in his other, grip squeezed tight around the back of its neck. I brought the light, letting it wash over the creep he held up. The knot of snarling was no bigger than a cat really, looking like an oversized rat with four odd arms that scratched at the air while its hind legs danced to find purchase. It twisted itself, crying out in a pitiful way as it bit into the leather of my father¡¯s glove, trying to gnaw his thumb off but finding zero success. ¡°Here is your robber,¡± he said, shaking the little monster up and down. ¡°This is all it is. Not so scary now that you can put a face to your nightmare, is it?¡± I had to admit then, that it wasn¡¯t. More than terrifying, the screaming creature seemed pitiful, like some misshapen animal rather than the monster. I followed him out of the barn, back to the stump behind where he had me continue holding up the light so he could bring his sickle down neatly. Then it was done, a genuine monster vanquished by my father, just a man with a rusty blade. The nightmares vanished after that night. Monsters became animals in my mind, misshapen beasts that ought not to be suffered by good folk, and they weren¡¯t. Some were more dangerous than others, big snakes, spiny little dog-like things that bristled with sharp points, and for those kinds specialized people were needed to deal with them. It all made a certain kind of sense to me no matter how much the old woman in the steeple tried to explain about the evil origin of the beasts that seemed to crop up out of nowhere. They were just a kind of vermin, and they needed to be dealt with like vermin. Nothing too horrific about that, nothing to stir up nightmares.
At first, I mistake it for a man, the one that is supposed to meet us here and teach us a lesson about our inadequacy. What comes sliding into view from out of the hole in the center of the room throws that picture askew. A tremor settles in my hand, weakness that I didn¡¯t expect. Pale shoulders with skin the color of dead flesh rise on the ascending platform of gold, a broad and terrible back filled with twitching muscle. Powerful arms move, holding onto something that it chews on as the platform settles into place in the center of the room, six-fingered hands curled so tight that sinuous muscle cracks through the skin of its knuckles. It pauses as the platform comes to stand still, turning its bald head toward me. It has no face. Three blades of iron split the skin where its face would be, pushing out half a foot from the dead flesh, running down from the top of its skull to its upper lip. In other places along its body, its shoulders, upper arms, the back of its hands, and in two places over its ribs more of the dull blades push up through puckered skin, all leaving wounds that look as if they might start bleeding at any moment. The monster has no eyes in its split head, but I know that it sees me, sees me far better than I see it. Then I notice what is in its hands as it turns its head back to its meal, an arm. It opens its mouth, white, flat teeth dripping pink saliva as it crunches down onto the weeping wound that had once been a wrist, the hand long chewed away. The arm continues back, connecting to a torso that might once have belonged to a woman¨Chard to tell with how the head is missing¨Cthe toga barely clinging to its body bloody and torn. The body lay back over a gilded railing that circles the golden platform, one arm lying outside, fingers curled in such a way that I might imagine it is beckoning me closer. ??? ¡°No¡­¡± a high voice cracks out, and for a second I think it might be my own. An elven man on the opposite end of the chamber falls to his knees, eyes big and staring. ¡°My legs¡­¡± he squeaks, face a mask of disbelief, almost a smile on his lips as he digs his nails into his thighs. ¡°I can¡¯t¡­they aren¡¯t moving. Why can¡¯t they move¡­I don¡¯t¨C¡± I never even see what happens. One moment he is there, babbling, and the next he has fallen into two pieces on the floor, blood and innards spilling out. Those around the new corpse cringe, but don¡¯t move, the monster in the center of the room never looking up from the corpse it chews on. A metallic click bounces off the walls. I look down, finding the head of my staff has fallen to the floor. How did that happen? When I look back up, its face is turned toward me once more, the gnawed upon arm in its fingers forgotten for a moment. My mouth opens of its own accord. I want to apologize for the noise, want more than anything to make some excuse for myself, but the words don¡¯t come. My throat is dry. How do you speak again? How do you breathe? There is a twitch, the most minor thing in the blade protruding from one of its ribs. My feet move on their own, trying to throw me to the side, but I am nowhere near fast enough. Pain scores through me, my own lunge turned into a spinning slap. I roll into the wall, leaving a long splash and smear of blood behind on the floor, and curl around my hurt. A scream tries to rip out of me, but the sound is so high I cannot even hear it. My hands are red when I look down, afraid of what I will find but needing to look all the same. The breastplate is bent, the fastenings on the side torn free and split open. My side looks like someone took a sword to me, almost cutting to my naval with a single blow. The pain that comes when I try to breath forces black into my vision, and my head lolls to the ground, so cold all of a sudden, so hot all of a sudden. It is still looking at me, eyeless, watching as I turn the white stone red. It only has a mouth, but I can see the clear displeasure in its face. It wanted to kill me with that, whatever it had been. The monster¡¯s chest expands in a horrific, popping way as it sucks in air. Then, with a screeching bellow that shakes the foundations of the tower itself, it screams, and the world turns red.
¡°Stop. Stop.¡± A calming voice, but I can hardly hear it over the pounding of my heart. A hand has mine, squeezing tight, something pressed against my palm. ¡°Hold this. Look at me! Hold this!¡± I realize that I can see, almost a surprise to me, my eyes focusing just in front of me. Jor¡¯Mari kneels over me, a crying scratch down the side of his face. My left hand grasps desperately at the collar of his shirt, fingers trembling. I am shaking, staring around eyes wide, the world terrible just beyond my vision. My eyes land on something just past him, a charred arm resting on the gray stone. Stolen novel; please report. ¡°Look at me!¡± he says again, urgent, moving slightly to put himself between me and that arm. It is all I can do land my eyes back on his face, there is an intensity there, worry maybe. ¡°Are you there?¡± ¡°Where else would I be?¡± I ask, my voice croaking. A thickness in my throat makes me sputter; it feels as if I have been eating ash. We are bathed in orange light, the fire all around providing warmth to my bare skin. I look down at myself, realizing that there is more bare skin than there should be. My breastplate lay dented just a foot away, securing straps either ripped or cut completely. My blouse and trousers are ripped in several places, half the blouse covered in drying blood, my blood I think. Someone is screaming somewhere, more than just one someone, I think. ¡°What happened?¡± ¡°Everything went mad,¡± he says. He curls my fingers around a stone he keeps pressed into my hand. Between the cracks of my fingers, I recognize the stone as the one he received as a prize from the Stoneball tournament; it is supposed to help protect against mental interference. It glows weakly, ebbing light flashing from its core as if it is in a struggle against an unstoppable force. ¡°You went mad too.¡± I push myself to my knees, forcing him to move or be stuck in some awkward half-hug. I lift the end of my blouse, finding a scabbing wound down my left side that had not been there before. I remember the cut that made it, feels like just an instant before, but just now time is an unsettled thing for me. There is no weakness as I make my way to my feet, not at all what I had anticipated. Actually, I feel strong, incredibly so. We stand at the near top of the chamber, the outlet into the white and gold room just thirty feet overhead. Snakes of fire drip down from two of the three entrances, running like thin rivers down the surface of the ramps, forking, twisting, and merging once more. The noise in the chamber is a beating drum trying to pound into my head. Everywhere I look there is fighting, indiscriminate, feral almost. On another ramp I see a woman in white robes beating a walking stick on the head of a downed man, screaming something unintelligible all the while, spit flying from her mouth with each strike. In another part of the room, two men grapple each other, each one biting into the shoulder of the other, thumbs hooking into mouths or pressing hard on eyeballs. Down below, the middle of the chamber is clogged with a churning pool of mud and stone that continues to rise, moving slowly, but moving to swallow the entire chamber. ¡°Madness.¡± That is the only word for it. Jor¡¯Mari moves with me, always staying on my right side, but that makes me need to look all the more. Black char and red meat in the vague shape of a person lay on the downward slope, one arm and leg bent at impossible angles, eyeless face staring up with a final despairing question. A crack makes me jump. The woman beating in the head of that poor man stands triumphant, blood and hair sticking to the head of her staff as she yells wordlessly toward the sky. A terrible part of me knows that I had been her, my victim dead by fire instead of having their skull beaten in. The edges of the crystal dig into my palm. I am afraid that I will crack it, but I am more afraid of loosening my grip and having it slip away. ¡°What is up there?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks me, grabbing my shoulder and steering my attention to him. I cannot help but follow his pointing finger, staring up into the filtering white light. The sight of that faceless head comes back to me, watching flat teeth gnash and gnaw on what had been a person. An ache in my hand forces me to realize I am clutching him again. ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel like this is what was supposed to happen,¡± he says. There is an edge in his voice, fear or worry; both are warranted. ¡°No,¡± I barely manage to say. ¡°No, it shouldn¡¯t be. There is a thing up there. A monster.¡± ¡°A monster is doing this?¡± I grab his arm, make him turn away from the light to look at me. ¡°We cannot fight it. We can¡¯t.¡± The desperation in my voice sways him. He nods, slowly. ¡°Okay. What can we do?¡± ¡°What can we do?¡± I look through the chaos, the battle and rising tide of choking mud. I have only ever had one approach to monsters before, but I cannot fight that thing. ¡°We need to run.¡± All but a whisper. ¡°Where is the guild?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks, looking upward to the chamber above. ¡°If there is some creature in the tower causing all of this, then they should be handling it.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know if they can.¡± That gets his attention. ¡°It was eating someone when it came. I don¡¯t think they were a part of the trial.¡± I see a shiver roll over him. ¡°We need to run.¡± He nods again, eyes darting around the chamber. ¡°If whatever it is, is killing members of the Willian Guild, running sounds like a good idea.¡± He throws a hand out to the side. ¡°I don¡¯t see anywhere we can go though, do you?¡± ¡°Charlene!¡± Before I can answer I hear my voice called over the din. I spin, finding a man panting, dragging two limp bodies up the ramp behind him. Dovik Willian groans as he trudges his way up. His right hand is curled about the back of Adrius¡¯ collar, his left tucked under Macille¡¯s shoulder, both men out cold. Dovik crashes against the wall, breathing hard and dropping the two men he is carrying. ¡°Finally¡­found you.¡± I hurry over, ignoring the man for a moment, and checking over Macille. He lay on his back, a nasty welt across one temple, a trickle of blood running from the reddened skin. He is breathing, thank Exeter, and I find Adrius in much the same state. ¡°Started attacking each other out of nowhere,¡± Dovik says, vaguely waving to the two unconscious men. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t stop no matter what I did. Well, until I applied a bit of force to their heads. I¡¯m a bit worried, they should have woken up by now.¡± ¡°You know this man?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks, walking over with arms crossed, looking Dovik up and down. ¡°Dovik Willian,¡± he manages to say, offering a hand up that is left to dangle. ¡°I met the farm girl a few weeks ago and we seemed to work well together. Been looking after her sweety for her.¡± ¡°Sweety?¡± Jor¡¯Mari looks over Macille and scoffs. ¡°Is this the time to be talking about sweeties?¡± I snap. I check Macille¡¯s neck, sweaty, but a strong pulse and even breaths. ¡°How long ago did you hit him?¡± ¡°About halfway down the ramp. Well, it is probably the bottom of the ramp by now. Time flies away from you when you are dragging so much dead weight up an incline. Do either of you have any idea what is going on?¡± ¡°She says¨C¡± ¡°You never did introduce yourself,¡± Dovik interrupts. I see the man stifle a growl. ¡°My name is Jor¡¯Mari, a pleasure I am certain. We might exchange lineages with one another and check in on each other¡¯s family registries at another time. If you hadn¡¯t noticed, we are stuck in a chamber and will all be breathing mud for air soon.¡± He points a clawed finger my way. ¡°She says that there is a monster above.¡± ¡°There is a monster above,¡± I emphasize. ¡°What kind of monster?¡± Dovik asks. ¡°The kind that none of us can face,¡± I say. ¡°I only saw it for a moment, high rank three I think. It killed a man in an instant, almost killed me too. Then it screamed and¡­¡± I trail off, letting the random fighting and chaos in the chamber speak for me. ¡°High rank three,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, barely audible. ¡°You didn¡¯t say that before.¡± Dovik sets his head back against the wall with a click. There is the sound of movement up above us, the same snarling and crying out that echoes through the larger room we are in. The drip of liquid fire has all but stopped, not much fuel left for it up there to feed upon. ¡°There should be a way out up there,¡± Dovik says eventually. He looks at each of us in turn, eyes landing and boring into me. ¡°We can make for that, or we can wait here and drown.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t understand,¡± I try to tell him, but how can you explain something like what I saw up above to someone? I do not have the words to express what it is, the dread that clenched my heart like a winter vice when it turned its eyeless face my way. ¡°There is no hope in facing that thing.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t intend to face it,¡± he says. ¡°From what I hear, there are people still up above that are not yet dead, so it is not mindlessly slaughtering everyone.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, and I can hear the ruckus as well. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to describe it, but it didn¡¯t start killing everyone in the room. It might work based on noise, it attacked someone that was talking first, then it attacked me when I made a noise. That doesn¡¯t explain how they are still up there with how loud they are being.¡± ¡°If it does work that way, it will become a lot noisier soon,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, nodding to the center of the chamber. ¡°Everyone else has gone insane for some reason, but they are all moving up as well. At some point, that rising mud will push everyone into the room above. If this thing is as powerful as you say, it will be a bloodbath once that happens.¡± ¡°I still want to see this monster,¡± Dovik remarks. ¡°No, you don¡¯t.¡± He blows out some air, looking down at Macille and Adrius lying on the stone. ¡°Wish these two bastards would come around and be back to their senses. They are the hero types and would say what needs saying.¡± I know what he is thinking because it is what I am thinking as well. ¡°We are the only ones not going insane,¡± I say. ¡°If anyone is going to find a way out, it will have to be us.¡± ¡°I already know the way out,¡± Dovik says. ¡°This isn¡¯t my first time in the tower. On the dais above there is a lever that will unlock the doors leading out. After that, there are many paths down the mountain. That is the only way out that I can think of.¡± ¡°It was standing on the dais,¡± I say. ¡°Of course it was.¡± ¡°So that means that our options are to stay here and eventually drown or get killed by some mad idiot or go upstairs and get killed by a monster we have no hope of defeating, praying that we can get past it to open the doors out,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°There is always the possibility that a member of the guild might show up before then to save us,¡± Dovik supplies, though it is obvious that none of us think that likely. An awful fear crawls up inside of me, and I can¡¯t seem to stuff it back down. I look for my anger, that usual bonfire that helps me drive away my fear, but the fire seems to have gone out. My hands shake, my fingers so stiff that no matter how many times I clench my fists and open them again I can¡¯t seem to make them comfortable. ¡°We have to go up then,¡± I say. Gods, I wish I didn¡¯t have to. They both look at me, solemn, but understanding that it is the truth. I stare up at the rim of fire circling the white light overhead. There are still cries of anger and grunts of pain coming from that hole, and my mind conjures terrible visions of what might be happening above. I try to push the images away, but only succeed in half-ignoring them. My mind whispers that I am about to die, and I won¡¯t even see the blow coming. It is an extreme effort to keep my breath even. ¡°We have to go up.¡± Chapter 95 - Courage Each step up the ramp makes each breath in all the harder. There is a weight to the air, a sinking that makes my lungs ache with each inhale. The worst part is that I cannot tell if it is real or imagined. I lead us three, that was what we agreed, that is what I demanded. Exeter bless me, why had I demanded that? The crystal tied to one of the talismans tucked into my shirt thrums against my chest, such a small thing to pin my sanity upon. Pushing my foot into the white light spilling from the end of the ramp is a terrible effort, but my boot lands solid on the stone. I am almost at the lip, where the last cinders of some blaze I caused in the time I lost continues to smolder. A shadow passes over the light, and I almost cry out, cringing back against the wall. Then it is gone, and the sound of conflict above continues on without change in its tempo. I inch closer, the lip of the floor above coming closer and closer into view, and then I see it. It is every bit the bloody horror that I expected, a golden circle of blood and terror that grows all the more horrible as it moves to the center. There are more people in there now than I remember, eleven maybe. At the edge of the room, two women circle one another, each with a sword in a hand, striking without care or skill at one another, their clothes sliced and bloody. Further toward the middle a man kneels on another man¡¯s chest, fist pumping up and down, raining blows on to someone that might already be dead. Opposite him on the other side of the room, almost exactly opposite, an elven man and one of the tall green-haired women kneel with their hands wrapped around each other¡¯s throats, leaning this way and that in their attempt to strangle the other. Three strides closer to the center from them Coriander drags a dagger over her skin, giggling as she cuts into the back of her arm, drawing a red line that continues all the way up to her shoulder, tearing one sleeve to cloth. When she reaches the shoulder, she pulls the blade away, tosses it to her other hand, and starts anew on the other arm. Just in front of the dais, not further than an arm¡¯s length away, three naked competitors paw and rip at the corpse of a woman, pulling out its innards and stuffing them down their throats. In the center of the room, that monster continues to linger, its own meal stripped now of all clothes and any shred of remaining dignity. It has worked its way down to the elbow now, even the bone snapping and splintering beneath its flat, white teeth. It sits cross-legged in a silver chair set into the center of the dais that I did not see before, beneath the sprinkling light of the crystal in the ceiling, rainbows roaming over its dead and stretched skin cast off by the spinning ball of crystal just four feet above its head. The whole room shakes, bits of dust raining from the ceiling, though no one inside seems to notice or mind. My stomach clenches and I find myself sliding down against the wall, all the strength in my feet suddenly gone. The incline scoots me ever so gently down the slope, and I do not fight it. I settle, staring down at shaking hands only a few feet from where I stood just a moment before. Those few feet are a godsend. ¡°What is it?¡± Dovik crouches in front of me, clear worry on his face. ¡°Is it in there?¡± I look up. My teeth click, trying to make words, but what words are there? In the end, all I can do is nod. ¡°I¡¯m taking a look,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, creeping closer. The pale man¡¯s face moves into the light, eyes peering over the edge, and it only takes a moment for his face to change. He moves back, stumbles a step, and catches himself against the wall. ¡°Now you are making me nervous,¡± Dovik swears, a strained attempt at levity in his voice. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I could have expected,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, looking over at me. ¡°That is what a rank three monster is?¡± ¡°It is,¡± I say, finally finding the breath for words. ¡°Fuck.¡± ¡°I am going to need to look at some point.¡± Dovik swallows hard, gingerly trading places with Jor¡¯Mari, easing his way up the ramp with his back to the wall. I press my back to the wall, forcing myself to stand, the crippling horror slowly turning to watery dread and an instinctive desire to be anywhere else. Dovik¡¯s face twists into expressions I¡¯ve never seen before as he peers over the edge. He only takes an instant to take in the sight, pulling back and sneaking away from the white light, but who would need longer than that? ¡°Three hells¡­three hells¡­¡± He wraps a hand around the hilt of his odd weapon, knuckles turning white as he squeezes the grip. Dovik looks at me. ¡°Do you still want to go first?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, and shame joins the emotion boiling in my gut. ¡°The last thing I want.¡± Exeter knows it¡¯s true. I step forward, knowing that I have to be the first in. Jor¡¯Mari is stuck in his form that makes him a magical defense specialist, one he adopted when he first began to face off against Lady Forendous. If he hadn¡¯t been that way whenever this madness swept down over everyone, he would likely have been claimed by it too. We haven¡¯t tried to test that theory. As he is, I am faster than him, far faster than Dovik as it turns out. I have seen what that monster can do, seen the consequences of not being fast enough. Scared as I am, about ready to piss myself as I am, I¡¯m not willing to risk their lives because of it. I distract it, one of them finds the controls to open the door, and then we pray that there is someone left alive to make it outside. Not a great plan, and I gave myself the worst role¨Cthe only one in our group that might survive the role. Why do I have to be so damned practical? Jor¡¯Mari puts his hand between my shoulder blades, a strong hand, steadying me as I inch up the wall toward the light again. ¡°Get its attention and run,¡± he whispers in my ear. ¡°We will do the rest. You will be great. I won¡¯t let anything go wrong.¡± He says it while trying to stick on his usual smirk, trying to look as if he is in full and utter control of the situation when we both well know otherwise. ¡°I¡¯m good at running from monsters,¡± I say. Who knows, it might even turn out to be true. Despite myself, I lean back into his hand, let the strength in his fingers support me a bit, a little bit of solace in this nightmare. I need it just then. Fire spreads out over my naked right hand, the gauntlet gone back into my inventory with the rest of my broken armor. A miserly part of my soul keeps my weapons back too, would rather not lose them, and it isn¡¯t as if I am aiming to do a lot of damage to the monster. Would probably be better for me if I didn¡¯t. I take a deep breath as I step into the light, my feet carrying me beyond, up the final rise of the ramp and onto the flat stone of the circular room. The boys are just behind me, Dovik¡¯s fingers twitching over the grip of his weapon, Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s hands curling into fists, releasing, and squeezing shut once more. None of the mad competitors or the monster in the center of the room pay us any mind as we come up. The fencing women have stopped at the other side of the room, one down on a knee, fending off darting stabs as she holds a hand to a bleeding hole in her gut. The three savages have apparently had their fill of intestine and work at stripping the skin from their victim. They¡¯re all victims I suppose, but some more than others. Mana pours into my hand, and my sight falls on Coriander. She has finished decorating her arms and is in the process of pricking one pale thigh with the tip of her dagger, wincing at the pain, and cackling out a laugh before she does it again. The snapping of bone drags me back to look at the monster sitting on that silver seat. A pink bone sticks from its dead and cracked lips, each movement of its jaw splintering the pieces. It looks almost thoughtful, head tilted up to the right like it is trying to remember the punchline to some joke. My hand is like a boulder, it takes all of my strength just to lift it the barest amount. I feel the two men behind me move, readying themselves for the brief and deadly action to come. I realize that I am still holding my breath, but I don¡¯t exhale, entirely unwilling to take in this foul air. Hair stands on end across my clammy skin, and I feel a tear trying to slip its way free of my eye. Ironic, being unable to cry for so long, but here I have to hold myself back. Is that ironic? I don¡¯t know. Gods, help me.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. The bolt of fire rips free of my fingers as if it has a mind of its own. I let out my breath, shocked that I went and did it, even more shocked as the spark of fire flies straight past the monster, missing its head by a good half foot. The fire explodes against the wall, the blast enough to knock over a woman with a sword before she can land the killing blow on her opponent. Have I ever missed before? Just now, I can¡¯t ever recall a time. The monster sits in its chair, one creeping finger bending up to scratch at its chin. Dovik steps out past me, his long coat billowing as his arm swings down. The firepoker I have never seen him without shoots across the short distance like a spear, his aim immaculate. The point of it impacts the side of the monster¡¯s cheek, making a sound like someone striking a gong, the flesh of its face not even pushed back the barest bit. The weapon flips in the air, spinning across the room, clanging against the far wall and rolling into the disappearing depths of one of the ramps, rattling metallically as it slips out of sight. The monster turns its head, lazy, more bored than put out, bringing the three vertical blades of its face to bear on us three. Then it is among us, standing in the center of us three. How had I not noticed its height before, it towers over even Jor¡¯Mari. Any thought of out running this creature flies out of my head. It looks down at Dovik and I notice the slightest vibration of the three blades punching out of the blank space where its face ought to be. Blood splashes over my right eye, leaving me half blind. Dovik is gone, loose fabric fluttering down through the air, flung out of sight down the ramp we stand at the precipice of, out into the dark. Jor¡¯Mari is swinging, the head of his invisible mace thudding into the back of the monster. It stutters forward a step, catching its balance. It has him so fast my mind can¡¯t keep up with it. Its horrible hands are wrapped around Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s throat, lifting him off the ground. The man is so surprised that he doesn¡¯t start kicking at it for a full second. Each thud of his boot into the monster¡¯s legs, stomach, bare groin sounds like someone hitting a tree with a switch and seems about as effective. Black veins start begin to stand out against Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s skin from where it holds him by the throat, crawling upward, spreading out. In hardly any time his kicking grows weak before fading all together, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, milky white. I remember the doors, escaping this tower, getting away from this thing. Desperation cracks the ice in my bones more than any real thought. My foot slides back, just a single step, but that one step takes such an effort. A flicker of movement. My limp body is slapped so powerfully through the air that it feels almost as if the golden railing in the center of the room crashes against my back at the same time the back of the monster¡¯s hand hits my chest. A crack rattles up my spine. The back of my head hits the seat of the silver chair. A choking moment as strings snap around my neck, the last clear sound talismans clattering to the metal floor. I lay limp, seeing black, my head and shoulder laying across the chair, both legs draped over the rail, arm falling and grazing the ground. A wetness dribbles out of the corner of my mouth, spit or blood, who can say. My foot buzzes, both do, not much pain. There is a light in the dark, and then it isn¡¯t dark at all, everything white, bright, tinkling crystal just above me. Two actually, held in an eclipse from this spot. They are so pretty. Someone is tickling my neck, then I realize it is my own hand. It doesn¡¯t really feel like it belongs to me. Something wet slides down my forearm, a single long line of cold that collects on my pointer finger and drips away. A problem that I didn¡¯t even know I was working at clicks into place in my mind. Ah, it doesn¡¯t hate noise. No, cowardice is what it hates. Babbling idiot, my limp hand dropping both my nerve and my staff, my stupid foot trying to back away. Such obvious sense now that I can see it from this angle. It¡¯s kind of funny. No, not really funny at all. Instead of a laugh, a bubble of bloody spit pops out of my mouth, painting my chin red. That¡¯s not very funny either. The pain still doesn¡¯t come, probably not a good thing. My head feels wet and the seat I half lay upon bounces in time with the room¡¯s jumping. Thud, thud, thud. Is someone going to get the door? A shadow falls over the light, and then it is there, towering over me, its horrible and bladed non-face staring down. It smiles, almost disarming how genuine that smile is. It¡¯s hand curls around my right ankle, gentle, lifting my leg until I am staring up at my boot. That banging continues. There is the pain¨Cin the back of my head. My numb fingers bump against something. Guess I have to get the door. That¡¯s Halford¡¯s job, lazy bum. My boot comes apart like wet paper beneath its hand. Somehow, I had expected magical footwear to be a bit tougher. It inspects my naked toes. I keep them clean and presentable, thank you very much. Then it opens its mouth wide, pink spit dripping from its teeth, and I think all of a sudden that it might not just be admiring my foot. It occurs to me as it pulls my leg up to its mouth, I should be doing something, but for the life of me I can¡¯t figure out what. A wind whips past, carrying the monster off with it, jerking my leg to the side. The bone of my ankle slaps hard into the golden railing, shooting pain up through my leg that clears the fog a bit as I flop out of the chair and onto the floor. The noise, everyone in the room crying out at once, chasing away the rest. I stare up, the world more full of color than just the black and white now, terrible pain in my back, my head, and now my leg. How I miss the numb stupidity. Above my head, my hand is wrapped tight around a golden lever set into the floor next to two others. Everyone in the room other than me is screaming bloody murder; the only reason I¡¯m not is because it is so damned hard to breathe. The competitors already spread out through the room claw at themselves, their voices a choir of fear and horror, either at what they¡¯ve done or what was done to them, probably both. Jor¡¯Mari screams at the edge of the room, sunlight from the open door he sits near washing over him. A man, not that big of a man, dressed in ragged, somewhat bloody clothes, screams in anger, fists pumping into the chest of the monster he has up against the wall, the stone behind cracking in a spiderweb with each incredible blow. Panic, blind and awful, spreads through the room. The draw of sunlight from the now open doors offer something similar to hope, and people start fleeing toward the light, either trying to escape the unfolding battle to one side of the room or the horror show. I try to use the lever to pull myself up. Exeter¡¯s balls, I¡¯m tired. The lever I am holding onto is pointed the wrong way to help me any, so I select another, but all that does is pull that lever down. A bloody sigh escapes my lips, and I stare up, so tired, watching as that crystal ball starts to descend out of the air, the cascading rainbows it throws off a wonderful contrast to the gore. I can almost reach out, touch it, but even that seems like too much work. My head falls to the side, my cheek smudged against my own bloody spit on the floor, watching people disappear through the open doorways. Good for them, they¡¯ve probably seen the worst of this whole thing. I see Coriander. She stumbles, braces herself against the arch of a doorway, each step she takes a stumbling limp. Her many cuts and knife wounds bleed, but she is walking all the same, the sunlight only making her look all the more beautiful for her evident hardship. She stops, turns back to look into the room, and our eyes meet for a moment. She lingers there, looking down at me as I lay on the floor in the middle of the room. A smile tickles at the corner of her lips, a small thing, but I spot the pearly white of her perfect teeth through it. She turns away, limping out into the light, disappearing. I see it, the image stained in my mind, seeming so much closer than it had been. That smile of hers. How can she smile like that? How? How? How? It is not such an effort anymore to grab the seat of the chair, to grunt and strain, sliding backward and letting my feet clatter off the rail and onto the floor. Not such an impossible task to let loose my own scream as I claw up the seat, setting my weight onto my legs, finding them willing to bear my weight, far more willing than able. Fire pours through my veins, that familiar anger, that delicious hate, so close and ready at my fingertips it is a wonder that I ever lost it. My hand lashes out, wrapping around the crystal ball, finding it solidly fixed in the air enough that I can pull myself to standing with it. Best not to leave it. I almost trip on my first step, my naked right foot sliding in the ick on the floor, but the railing saves me. My next step is steadier, and the pain down my back that shoots with each step only spurs me forward. I roll over the railing, clattering to the ground, scrambling up and lurching forward. Toward the door, then through. Now I have my feet, and I am running down a rocky decline. A road cut into a warm cliffside stretches out in front of me, the climbing trees of the forest down one side, a solitary figure limping down the road ahead of me. Unintelligible yells boil out of me as I run headlong downslope. I see Coriander¡¯s head turn ahead, look back to find me chasing after, and her limping speeds up. I am gaining on her. I¡¯ll have her, soon, finally. ¡°Leave me alone!¡± she screams, turning, limping to the side, head turning between me and the road ahead. ¡°Stop! Haven¡¯t I suffered enough?!¡± Not by me. My fist cracks into her jaw, tossing her back against the rocky side of the road that is still solid. I trip, knee skidding across the rocks, opening new cuts, but I am beyond caring. ¡°You tried to kill me.¡± Her head is shaking as she presses herself to the rocks. All the grace is gone from my legs as I limp toward her, fire spreading over my clenched fist. My hand comes up; Exeter forgive me, I want this so bad. I almost feel his blessing as the clouds part for an instant, giving us the best light. The light dazzles off something on her chest, a jewel, a gem, a necklace maybe. ¡°You deserve it!¡± she yells, grabbing the sparkling thing as my arm swings down. My fire and anger falls through empty air. The world is dark, nothing all around me, and the hate drains out of me like water in a sifter. The world has vanished, and I stand cold, hollow, in endless dark. ¡°Where?¡± Chapter 96 - Black Sands A dark shore. I stand on the edge of a sea, red water lapping at my feet, black sand churning with each gentle crash of the surf, dragging me just a bit deeper. Dunes of pitch rise behind me across the shoreline, the only light sprinkling down from a wan half-moon overhead, pale and sickly. The salt spray on the wind carries a hint of iron and even where the red waves churn white out on the rocks sticking from the water, there is no sound. A single word rolls back to me on the tide, an echo asking where this is, my voice distorted and made so small. I pull my feet from wet sand, walking back on the shoreline, each slap of my skin against the beach making another ringing echo that bounces through the air in a way that makes me feel someone is always walking just behind me. I turn, this way and that, but I never catch sight of a follower. How did I come to be here? Time loses meaning as I walk down the shore, the only change being the chaotic ebb of the waves crawling up the beach, spilling out, pulling in, over and over again. Sometimes I feel cold, like the sea spray carries with it a chill, never enough to make me shiver, hardly enough to notice. I am supposed to be doing something, but I can¡¯t remember what. Why can¡¯t I make my right hand unclench? I grow so tired of walking down the beach I start to count the steps. I look to the moon time and time again, but it never shifts overhead. The only movement remains the gentle lapping of the waves, the only feeling the dead air all about me, the only sound the crunching of my own feet on black shores. A shadow grows out of the shore ahead, something small jutting from the water, too small to be one of the fang-like stones. The dark outline forms into the shape of a girl standing knee-deep in the waves, arms held about her as she shivers silently, light reflecting up from the water to bathe her in red. The red sea foams as I kick through the shallows, stopping as I stand over the quaking girl; she can be no older than ten. Her cries make no sound; my voice is absent when I bend to ask her what is wrong. I reach for her shoulder, and then I am away. I crouch at the corner of the home, back in the orchard, my child hands groping at the wood, watching as men beat my father in the dirt out front. I bite my lip so hard it almost bleeds. One looks over, straight at me, a smile on his lips before he puts a boot into my father¡¯s ribs, and I curl back around the house, sinking to the dirt and wrapping my arms around my knees. How old am I now? Doesn¡¯t matter. I know now that I am a coward, a scared little girl, and that is all I will be. My foot crunches into the sand, a divot in the side of the dune carrying away my balance. I tumble, hands scratching at the black sand, but the slope is too steep. I slide still in a spray at the bottom of the huge hill of sand, spitting gritty mica. The sea is gone, the world made of rising and sloping dunes of dark sand, carrying off like waves barely illuminated by the glowing moon overhead. The girl, her eyes a terrible red, tears streaking her cheek, stands in front of me as I flounder. I am so tired, my arms run out and exhausted. The effort to pull myself from the sand, to stand as the footing beneath my heels shifts and slides, is almost too much to be worth it, but I know that if I stay down, surrender myself to the earth now, I will never rise again. She stares up at me, hate in her red little eyes, and I reach for her. My fingers run down her hair, so light and wispy it may as well be made of silk. I try to tell her that I can hear her, that her voice is the world, and that I know it, but the sound is dead here. I stand on the edge of a forest, looking back at a graveyard of youth and dreams. Huge bears tear at the land, giants among them wading through bodies and blood, watching while their fellows rip apart the young. Macille cries out, trying to drag himself back toward the ruin, tears running down his face as he pulls, but I have him around the neck. I pull him away despite his protests, despite the way he calls out, because I want him for myself. I force the man to abandon the field, abandon his brother, and seal both their fates at once. Then the sands return, but I am the girl now¨Calways was I know¨Cstaring up at myself. The celestial light casts me in shadow, forcing a halo to glow from the wild tangles that frame my face, and I see what is truly ugly in this world. The woman there, that girl, she is so small. She claws desperately for something to aspire to, something set her apart, but even her hate and anger aren¡¯t enough to make her special. She sneers at the world. She begs and burns and screams, but she has nothing worth hearing, nothing worth caring for. How fragile. How many would be better off if she did not exist in this world? ¡°We should lie down,¡± I say, my words my own and the girl¡¯s both. I look down at that crimson child, finally understanding what her tears are for. She has always carried them in her heart, I always have, would it not be better to lay that down now? The words bounce from the dunes around, their reverberation a soft voice that caresses me. Why should I not put it all down, the heavy things that I have decided to carry, the things that fit so roughly upon my shoulders? My shoulders are so thin, not meant for carrying anything important. The sand rattles beneath my feet, drawing me down like the shore of a beach, and I begin to sink. My feet feel the warmth of the earth like a favorite blanket. It would not be so bad to let go of it all here. Not so bad at all. A brilliant light blooms at the edge of the next dune, a pulse flying through the very earth, forcing everything still. I stare at the line of sand at the top of the rise, white light bleeding away from the edge of it, transfixed. A shape, a moving object of infinite sides and complexity climbs from the rise, and on its smooth surfaces are painted the glowing symbols of concepts too vast to fathom. Within it are simpler shapes, each growing more knowable as they grow smaller, each new one nested within the last, but none less powerful for their understandability. The size of the whole may as well be the moon, it glows brighter than it certainly, making the dark sand glitter like the desert under the noonday sun. A woman walks beneath the light, made black by the way she eclipses it, so small next to the enormity of it, but somehow larger than life all the same. She is a vision of power, all crimson and gold, impossible to know if the rippling scales that cover her are a part of her or not. Then, with a step, she is before me, looking down at me like my mother may have once done. She wears a scar on her face, but the moment I notice it, it has gone away from me. Eyes, all black and red, slit down the center like the eyes of a terrible serpent look at me with dread and compassion.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. The titanic shape still perched at the edge of a dune groans, arcs of light snapping up through its entirety as the spinning shapes inside clunk and grow still. Bolts, like colored lightning, stab both from the center of the smallest of the shapes and the faces of the outermost shell at once, setting the myriad of faces they pass through alight, the glowing symbols on their surface pegged into place by the power, made into an intricate pattern. Fire stands from the woman¡¯s shoulders, its color all blue and silver. The flames spread down her hands, rolling over her like a breeze. She raises her right hand to me, the movement slow and inevitable as she touches my shoulder, squeezes my arm tight. I never even think to pull away from the flames. How impossible would that be? ¡°This is not the Nightmare,¡± she tells me. ¡°Steel yourself for it. Let this shadow pass like wind but remember the taste of it.¡± The thought of vanishing into the sand washes away with those words. My thoughts begin to come back to me. I was doing something. Who else is thinking in my head? There is pain chewing up my gut. How did I not notice that before? She turns and looks down at the girl, brings her burning hand over to gently stroke her cheek. ¡°I am so sorry,¡± the woman says, ¡°but you are not real. Never were.¡± Then her hand is my hand, blue and silver flames spreading from my palm to climb over the girl¡¯s left side. The tears streaking her face boil away, and she opens her mouth in an empty scream as the world about us turns dark. Coriander¡¯s scream is the first sensation. Her face is a mask of agony, blue and silver flames crawling over the side of her, eating into her skin in digging holes, setting her silky onyx hair alight to burn red and stink. We stand on the pebbly road, and I watch as the conflagration chews into her, feeling so little as she cries in dying pain. I feel a sharp pain of my own, and look down to find her right hand gripping the handle of a knife, her arm working desperately, pulling the blade out and sticking it back in. A bubble of spit spills out of my mouth, every muscle in my stomach and chest clenching, my arms going rigid. I expect the spit to be blood, but it is only slightly pink drool. She tries to pull out of my burning grip, but I have my fingers curled into her burning hair, what remains of her ear caught between my forefinger and thumb. She stabs, wriggles, twists this way and that, but I will not let her go. Now is when it ends, even if I have to let her stab me to death for it. Just now, that can¡¯t be too far off. A terrible weight clamps down on my right arm, a big hand covered in steel. ¡°You can¡¯t do this!¡± The blue and silver flames climb up Macille¡¯s arm as he pulls at me, trying to rip me off of Coriander. I will not let go, never. I will have her now! Coriander stabs into previous wounds, and I feel myself coming apart. Macille grunts and strains, his big arms so terribly strong, so irresistible. The fire climbs up them and spills over his shoulder. It crawls over his armor and licks at his face, smoke rising from the flesh it sears. He bites his lip against the pain so hard that a line of blood trickles from his mouth, but he does not stop even as his skin begins to blister, even as the fire starts to catch in his hair. A wound bursts on the side of his neck, the skin charred so terribly that it makes a hole that leaks something too awful to be blood. I let go, no conscious thought to it, just wanting to get away from him, just wanting to save him from me. My legs give out as my hand unclenches, the remaining strength in Macille¡¯s bulky shoulders just about throwing me to the ground against the rocky wall of the road all down the left side, but I would have found the ground even without his help. He falls back as well, the flames dancing up his armor already dying out. Coriander goes back the other way, hands coming up to her face, one holding a bloody knife, tottering as she screams. Fire clings to her, and she scratches at it with a hand, one eye made white and blind. Her foot swings out into the open air over the right side of the road, over the sheer fall. Her leg flexes, instinct driving her to find balance, trying to pull her back, but there are already so many wounds in that leg, holes made by her own knife, that it buckles beneath the effort. She slips away with a scattering of pebbles, no cry, just a moment of terrible realization dawning on her face, and then she is gone. I stare at the spot she just was, a woman on fire, the one I hated more than anything in the world. I want to linger, staring at that spot, wanting to make certain that this is real. It doesn¡¯t feel real, but then, I don¡¯t know what it should feel like. ¡°We have to stop the bleeding,¡± Macille says next to me. Burns paint the left side of him, but he behaves as if they aren¡¯t even there, staggering over to me. I look down, my own blood trickling through my fingers, finding my stomach a gruesome portrait. I hold my guts in, feeling so horribly faint, falling back against the side of the rocky wall while Macille produces a rag from somewhere, gently moving my hands away to apply it to my wounds. ¡°It¡¯s done,¡± I say, feeling all light and tingly. ¡°I actually did it. It¡¯s all done.¡± ¡°You aren¡¯t done yet,¡± he says. ¡°Charlene!¡± He snaps his fingers in front of my face, but it is such an effort to look over to him just then. ¡°You are not done! Stay awake!¡± I can¡¯t help but stare up at the blue sky, a smile coming to me; it seems like no effort at all. Shapes, people I realize, speed through the sky, leaving trails of disturbed air behind them as they all race for the same place, the tower. Macille is shouting something to me, telling me not to go to sleep, but I can¡¯t think of anything more that I would like to do just now. I did it. It doesn¡¯t really seem possible. Then I am stolen away into another dream, this one of my own making, this one far kinder. The Passage of the Rising Tide has ended as a total failure Competitors: 413 Slain by monsters: 9 Slain by other competitors: 27 Competitors slain in the unknown entity¡¯s attack: 8 Proctors slain in the attack: 2 It is recommended that those killed by their fellow competitors should be considered killed by the unknown entity. Its influence on events is still being determined. Investigation persists. Difficult to believe such a thing could have been so subtle to evade as long as it did. It displayed clear signs of actual intelligence. To Guildmaster Willian -Administrator Gaius Gore Chapter 97 - Failure Grim is the most grand city that I have ever visited, the only city that I have ever visited. When I imagined it as a girl, riding through the tall oaken gates of some well-guarded entrance into a city¨Criding a black stallion of course¨CI thought that I might see a landscape of architecture and culture spread out before me. The men would be pleasant-faced, all smiles and beckoning hands, good-naturedly trying to get my attention to visit their shops or stalls. The women would sit on streetside tables, fanning themselves despite the perfect weather, hair done up in over-complicated curls, bodies draped in cloth of the latest fashion, blue or green most likely, and their eyes would move to me as I rode by. They would whisper behind their fans at who might that beautiful young woman be; she is so adventurous looking, rustic certainly, but there is something about her that seems too refined to be what she is, like she is a princess pretending to be a commoner. I would smile at them, say something witty in the spur of the moment, and the gossip at my arrival would begin. That was decidedly not how I entered the city of Grim. When I woke up, I found myself on a linen bed, white sheets tucked tightly around me, a pitcher of water on the table at my side. A mess of bandages were wound tight around my stomach, so much that it made breathing difficult. I ripped them away, depositing them bloody on the floor, finding no lasting wounds on my bare stomach from the several holes the knife had punched in me. There was a scar though, a long and straight line that started on my left side and cut from the bottom of my ribs almost to the naval, the single cut that monster had lain on me. I found the scar¡¯s twin on my back, that line more jagged, almost reaching my spine, only a faint strip of undamaged flesh separating the two where they tried to meet on my side. I can¡¯t remember any of my wounds scarring since I gained my essentia. A lone window stood open in the room, and from it I could see a pristine vista of grassland before a forest, mountains climbing up in the east and setting their long shadows over the waving stalks. It took a moment for my brain to realize that the window was high up, very high up in fact, only ten or so feet away from the edge of a stone platform. Some impulse pushed me to slip out the window, walk to the edge of the platform, and peer down. A great expanse of architecture dropped out below me, hundreds of buildings, some sharing huge stone platforms while others crowded together in conjoined neighborhoods. For each level down along the maze of structures, the platforms seemed to grow just a little larger, jutting a little further forward toward the open air and a fall into oblivion. White stone was the prevailing feature, strong and flat buildings the common thread, but cloth accents of all colors were neatly displayed on every roof, balcony, and doorway. The multitude of color was so great that if I unfocused my eyes, the world below seemed to blur into a chaotic tableau, the stone vanishing in the mix. Ropes, bridges, drawn elevating platforms, and rope ladders were strung everywhere, between the buildings, between the platforms, and even between windows. People moved between, dressed in light fabrics of all colors swaddled about them, their arms kept free of encumbrance as they climbed or descended. A man swung out over the edge of a platform holding tightly to a rope, only to land with inordinate grace upon another one level below, walking off the swing into a confident stride as he stepped forward and grabbed another man in a tight embrace. I stared to the side, seeing huge buildings of grandeur all throughout the levels about me, gold and silver gleaming from decorations, and I noticed for the first time that I stood just next to Arabella¡¯s flying mansion. The wall that the city clung to stretched high overhead, casting half of the structures in shadow despite the sun being so clear in the sky. Vertigo crept over me as I stared up at the highest point of the wall, eyes falling without fail on the few buildings situated near the peak. The need to sit overcame me, and I crawled back in through the window to fall back into bed. It doesn¡¯t take ten minutes before the handle on the door starts to turn and one of Arabella¡¯s simulacra allows itself into the room. It beckons for me, silently, and I toss away my blankets to follow. People scurry about the halls of the mansion, carrying vases, brooms, mops, cans of paint, or some kind of gilded furniture. Scenes of glory and horror line the walls, the paint so intricate that the barely clothed women in them seem real. Barely clothed women seems the theme in each depiction; someone has a thing for blondes. A man carrying a paint can backs into me as I pass a junction, anger flashing over his face as the white begins to settle on the front of his apron. Then he looks up at me, meeting my eye, and all of the anger vanishes in a moment as he bows his head, backing away in a rush. It¡¯s hard to remember the last time a man needed to look up to me, but scanning the buzzing corridors, most of these would. The door to Arabella¡¯s office swung wide on freshly oiled hinges, and there she was, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, a delicate cup of porcelain raised to her lips as she blew on the steam. Her eyes flick up to me as I walk inside, the billowing light show of hair swirling around her making it seem that her face is peering out from some colorful cloud. The door behind me clicks closed as the clone leaves the two of us together. Arabella motions to the sofa opposite her with her teacup. I find my seat and accept the offered cup of tea, drinking a mouthful of the sweet leaf water, steam and all. ¡°First, I believe I should ask how you are,¡± Arabella says, putting her cup down on a silver saucer. She takes a moment to adjust a few pieces of paper that lie on the table between us, written in some language I have no clue at. ¡°Do as you like,¡± I say. The tea really is good. ¡°How are you?¡± I toss the rest of my tea down, letting it linger on my tongue for a delicious moment, before setting aside my cup as well. ¡°I don¡¯t really know,¡± I say, finding the words true as I speak them. ¡°I feel¡­fine, I guess. Worried, a bit, wanting to know why I am back in your mansion and not lying on the side of a dirt road leading away from a tower. Did I mess up in some way and was removed from the contest?¡± Truthfully, since waking up a few minutes ago, the thought of the guild knowing what I did, that I had killed Coriander, had been eating at me. They seemed to know everything that went on in the trial grounds, I had seen projections of such. It is hard to believe now just how badly I wanted to get to her, that I would overlook the idea of what happens afterward. But then, if I was pulled from the contest as a murderer and held was to be held now, there seemed to be a distinct lack of security about. ¡°No, nothing wrong.¡± Arabella sighs, tapping her chin with a slender finger. ¡°Though, you were pulled from the contest, everyone was after that travesty. The Passage of Rising Tide has been ended early, an abject failure by almost every way of looking at it. The contest has only ended early a single time before, making this the second shameful year such has needed to be done.¡± ¡°By travesty, you mean¡­¡± ¡°I hardly need to explain it to you, by all accounts. Kellis says that it was you who allowed him back into the tower to hold that creature down until help could arrive, that you risked life and limb to do it. From the state we found you in just outside of the tower, I doubt that anyone would disagree with him. They would already be sharing projections of your battle with the beast, a rank one magician against a high rank three monster, if it had already not torn through the command deck. My uncle, Dovik, corroborates the story.¡± ¡°I would hardly call what I did a battle,¡± I say, mind working furiously to pick at all the details in her words. It had already gone through the command deck, was that where they controlled the tower from? I already know that it killed at least one of the competition¡¯s proctors, how many more had it cut down before it appeared before me? ¡°I was slapped away from it like a fly.¡± ¡°A resilient fly,¡± Arabella allows. ¡°That creature was¡­unusually powerful for its kind.¡± ¡°What is its kind?¡± I ask, leaning forward, a drip of tea spilling from my cup as I pour myself another glass. ¡°Obviously, I have never encountered something like it before. What was that thing?¡± She furrows her brow, looking at her fingers for a moment. ¡°We do not know. The absurdity of it all, of the last few days, how can it even be considered? The intelligence that it displayed is not so out of place for a monster so strong, but cunning, its approach, as it understood who we were and knew how to penetrate our defenses, it has upset the guild. As well it should. A monster capable of sophisticated reasoning in the third rank is a dangerous thing to consider, if truly a monster it even was.¡± ¡°You are saying that it wasn¡¯t actually a monster.¡± Arabella looks up from her hand, worry disappearing from her face. ¡°Just a pet theory, ungrounded, with only the slightest of evidence in¡­evidence. Forget I mentioned it, the uniqueness of these dangerous manifestations increases along with their power. That there exists such a superstructure of magical expression like the one that you encountered in the tower and that we have no record of is not uncommon. Our guild does not have a comprehensive record of every monster in existence, no guild does as far as I am aware. It isn¡¯t as if we share this information between us.¡± ¡°That seems a dangerous way to do business,¡± I say. ¡°It is done for profit, as most things are. Guilds are more inclined to take commissions for executing creatures for which they have extensive knowledge of. Likewise, others are incentivized to leave the unknown monsters alone, or else face unknown perils as well. One of the greatest benefits a guild can offer are records of particular threats and how to deal with them.¡± ¡°So, it may be that some other adventurer¡¯s guild has information about that thing that attacked the tower.¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± she says. ¡°Its corpse will be analyzed, what remains of it anyway. I believe also that there will be an information bounty placed upon it, the reward will need to be incredible to tempt some secrets out of another guild, but considering what it did, I believe that the guild will spare no expense.¡± ¡°It is dead then.¡± I stare down at the steaming cup in front of me, any temptation to drink another fill of the sweet tea evaporated. ¡°It is hard for me to believe that it could die.¡± ¡°All things can die, Charlene.¡± The sincerity in Arabella¡¯s voice drags me from my melancholy. ¡°That is one of the first things that it is imperative to learn in this line of work. When your goal is to kill monsters, understanding that both they and you can perish at any moment is vital. I had thought that I taught you that on your first day with me, one of the few things I taught you.¡± ¡°You did.¡± I nod, thinking about that first day in the cafe, the feeling of the Desert Spearman crushing my skull in its terrible jaws. It seems like so long ago now. ¡°I have not forgotten.¡± ¡°Good.¡± She sits back, her appetite for tea perfectly intact. ¡°Yes, it was slain. Kellis managed to hold it down long enough for assistance to arrive. He sacrificed his good looks for the effort, something that only a few of us must sacrifice for the greater good, but we all understand it and respect it.¡± She catches the confusion on my face. ¡°Those blades that it used to split poor Dab Salt down the middle with were seemingly capable of leaving soul wounds. The doctors explained that you had a run in with them as well.¡± My hand reflexively falls to my stomach, feeling the new pink scar beneath my shirt. ¡°Soul wound.¡± ¡°It sounds worse than it is,¡± she explains. ¡°Soul wounds can heal, but they will leave lasting scars, something that our profession does not often need to bother with. There are some ways in which they can become a real concern, but you need not trouble yourself with that. Kellis already had a few scars, adding some more prominent once will not bother him too much I imagine.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t imagine that I would need to worry about scars anymore,¡± I say. I realize that I am rubbing at the scar on my stomach and have to forcefully pull my hand away. ¡°After being brutalized so much, thrown off a cliff even, and not finding any, I didn¡¯t imagine that they would be a concern any longer.¡± ¡°They are not, for the most part. I would not concern yourself overmuch with that one,¡± she says, nodding at me. ¡°If someone finds themselves staring at it, I dare say they will likely already have more impressive things to capture their attention.¡± Heat flushes to my face at that, but she waves her hand, moving the topic along gracefully. ¡°Kellis also mentioned one more thing that you did at the top of the tower.¡± My heart skips a beat. ¡°One thing that you took before slipping away. Show it to me.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. It is all I can do not to sigh in relief. If she really knows what happened to Coriander and is dragging this out to work at my nerves, she is twice the manipulative serpent that I already imagine her to be. I stretch out my hand, fingers touching upon the position in my inventory. Once second, my palm is empty, and the next I am holding a sphere of crystal bands, woven together in an intricate embrace that is impossible for me to fully understand. The crystal catches and refracts the light in the room, throwing rainbows about, faint shimmering patterns of myriad runes cutting outlines in the colors. ¡°I thought that I might take this on my way out,¡± I say. ¡°It surprised even me, considering just how much I wanted to be out of that room.¡± ¡°Your greed does you credit. Best to seize all opportunities that appear in front of us and are easy to reach,¡± Arabella says. She plucks the soul cage from my hand, holding it up in the light, turning it this way and that for effect. ¡°Such a wonderful prize. One of the four best soul cages allotted as prizes in the trial, though half were never gotten to before we needed to end things. Considering what you did at the end, how many lives you managed to save with your bravery and decisive action, I cannot think of a better competitor to walk away with it.¡± Arabella sets the soul cage back in my hand, such a delicate and light thing. A part of me soaks up the praise, though the acknowledgement and valuable item seem small compared to the risk. Another part cringes from it, knowing that I saved one fewer life than anyone might imagine. Could you weigh them against each other, one life taken, a few rescued, and say that it was all worth it. I know that the sister in the church back home would tell me no, especially considering that it was a pure-blood life taken, but a part of me, a deep and callous part, feels that I am still on the right side of things when the weighing is done. ¡°What is this meant for?¡± I ask, hefting the soul cage. ¡°I dare say, that eye of yours should tell you that much,¡± Arabella says. ¡°No, I mean yes. What I mean to ask is why should this one be better than another? I only have a passing understanding of soul cages. The one that my brother used seemed to be made of silver. The one that Jor¡¯Mari used was made of gold and some other metal, it is supposed to have properties of light and shadow, but I don¡¯t truly understand what that means.¡± The ball of woven crystal in my hand sparkles, such a tasty trinket. ¡°My eye tells me that this one carries a refractory property, that its form is made to lean toward the soul and body, that it is a clean soul cage.¡± Arabella considers me for a moment, leaning her head to the side to peer at me. ¡°I was about to do it again, wasn¡¯t I? Send you off without properly preparing you. I truly am a waste as a mentor.¡± She sighs, eyes scanning the surface of the table. Then she nods, pulling a smile from somewhere and showing it off to me. ¡°I will remedy that now then. ¡°To say that there are only two kinds of soul cages would be misleading. In actuality, the construction of the objects is as varied as the materials and inscriptions used, no two are exactly alike. However, there exist two major purposes of the device, the first being to capture the soul of an individual and hold it on this side of the divine veil, and the second to aid in the attainment of the third rank. ¡°The second rank is when one begins to solidify their foundations, when they start to unravel the base mysteries of magic and feel for the first time their connection to it. That is what affinities are, the natural concepts to which a soul is attracted. Understanding, mastering, and expanding those is the most vital aspect of the second rank. For the period of the rank, the affinities that a magician cultivates will become imprinted on them if they ever achieve the third rank, where the body is remade and joined fully with the soul. ¡°When I pushed through the second rank I focused on the concepts of cold, light, and deception. As such, when my body was remade during my ascension, those aspects became a part of me in a true sense.¡± She opens her hand, a snowflake made of dazzling yellow light expanding up from her palm. ¡°As such, I require no ability granted by essentia to perform illusions, no spellwork or enchantment is employed, because I am the nexus for this concept to exist in the material world. Are you following me so far?¡± ¡°I think so.¡± I sit back and sip at my tea. ¡°I have my fire affinity, so you are saying that by the time I reach the third rank I will be able to create fire freely. I can already do that.¡± She thinks on that for a moment. ¡°It slipped my mind that you have already been working at affinities. Normally, practitioners will hold off on doing so until the second rank, they do not have enough of an understanding about the makeup of their souls until then, until it is housed inside of them in the material world. You are a bit unique in that, a good thing, I am sure.¡± Arabella leans forward, tapping the soul cage with a finger. ¡°Returning to these, there are essentially two common methodologies in the construction of such devices. In one method, arcane affinities are infused into the material of the cage; the one made of light and shadow would be such a kind. The idea is that by the soul being in close proximity to the powerful magical affixes for an extended period of time, it will then begin to take on the properties of that magic. There are very few ways to permanently gain an affinity, and housing your soul inside of a specific kind of soul cage is the easiest method.¡± ¡°Are affinities so difficult to attain?¡± It occurs to me that revealing I have already attained one may be information that I wish to keep to myself. ¡°To gain an affinity is to make a permanent change to the soul. There are ways to do it, using soul cages, submerging in magical treasures of sufficient power, even being struck by a powerful attack, but all carry drawbacks whether it is scarring, permanent impairment, or in the soul cage¡¯s case, time. As I told you before, when one ascends to the third rank, their soul and body merges, becoming more powerful and gaining some measure of control over the concepts they house. The more powerful one becomes, the further along their chosen path they walk, the more difficult it is to change this. Gaining affinities at the third rank is doable but incredibly difficult, it is almost never done at the fourth, and I am not even certain that it is possible at the fifth. You would have to ask someone at that stage of advancement, though I doubt they would let slip any secrets.¡± I chew on that for a moment. From what I have come to understand about my own ability, Emperor¡¯s Prerogative, it will allow me to gain affinities without needing to naturally lean toward them. If what Arabella is saying is true, then I will need to spend as much time as I can in the second rank finding new ones. As I continue to grow stronger, it will only become more difficult, apparently. Add to that, I also need to find specific affinities to integrate into my soul so that I can merge with their concepts upon reaching the third rank. I can¡¯t help but smile at my own thoughts. Here I am, suddenly so sure that I will actually make it that far when I am well aware that the vast majority never even come close to the third rank. Funny thing is, I am sure that I will make it that far. ¡°How many affinities can someone take with them into the third rank? Or, I mean, how many can they use to create their new body? Can you make your body however you want?¡± Arabella sputters a laugh, looking me up and down. ¡°Do you have particular modifications in mind?¡± I find myself blushing again. It¡¯s an oddly nice feeling; I haven¡¯t had much need to blush recently. ¡°What girl doesn¡¯t?¡± ¡°Ascension into the third rank does not work exactly in that way. The theology is argued in every part of the world, a favorite topic for priests for some reason. The common understanding is that it brings you as close to your idealized form as possible, and the gods acknowledge your climb by granting you Regalia.¡± She motions to the nebula of effervescent hair gently floating around her. ¡°I, however, do not believe that the gods have any hand in the transformation. Placing the nature of the soul aside, easier said than done, the merging of the soul and body does try to change you into a singular being, doing away with the duality of the body/soul separation. The affinities that you have at the fore in the transformation have an influence. I would, for example, attribute my Regalia to my deception and light affinities, and this bloodless skin to the winter affinity I managed to create shortly before breaking through.¡± She holds up an alabaster hand, so flawless, and frowns at it. ¡°Would you believe that I used to tan at the slightest bit of sun. Now it refuses to give me any kisses.¡± She sighs, her hand falling into her lap, and looks me over. Then she squints. ¡°Right, your question. The most affinities I have ever heard of someone carrying over during the merger is five. You might certainly cultivate more than that, particularly talented practitioners might have as many as a dozen at their disposal, but each affinity you attempt to integrate into the merger places a greater stress on the transformation. The negative results can be¡­extreme.¡± ¡°I see.¡± ¡°Which,¡± she rolls the soul cage, ¡°brings me back to the original topic. The second methodology in the construction of soul cages places an emphasis on the purity of the material. These are magical devices after all, works of enchantment, and the cornerstone of enchantment is the creation of tools and items based upon the interaction of magical affinities. To make one that will not allow any kind of affinity to interact with the soul it houses either requires mundane materials or an extreme skill in the craft. This is why the more pure soul cages are favored by those with not much money on hand when they start to reach the second rank, or those with long lineages and paths well-laid out, not wanting to have any influence on the soul outside of their already well-established progression.¡± ¡°How well established?¡± I ask. ¡°My grandfather is the head of one such lineage, made by him and named for the path he managed to navigate on his way to the highest reaches of power, The Silent Blade. I believe Dovik walks that path as well. If Dovik manages to navigate the path of the silent blade all the way to its apex, he would conceivably make it to the fifth rank, though he would be the first acolyte of my grandfather to do so. The confluences of the two men may be different, but the knowledge and guidance provided by working beneath a powerful mentor is an incredible boon.¡± ¡°I can imagine.¡± Arabella winces. ¡°You let me know when I have apologized enough times for my negligence in that area.¡± ¡°You are getting close to the number.¡± I study the soul cage. I only grabbed it on a whim. The crystal almost sings at my touch, such a pretty thing. ¡°So, this would be the second kind, one that won¡¯t help me with affixes.¡± ¡°No,¡± she confirms. ¡°It won¡¯t help you there, it¡¯s focus will simply be on empowering your soul, which is what the really promising ones are able to do. Soul cages such as the one you have there are reserved for those who plan on shooting for the third rank with a certainty, those who have deep pockets and a path they already tread upon, one they do not want influenced by the unnecessary distraction of additional affix influence.¡± I look up to her, but all of her focus is directed to the soul cage. Now I roll it on the table with a finger, back and forth, back and forth. ¡°But I do not have any such path.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know about that.¡± Arabella rests her finger atop mine, stilling my motion. ¡°I am certain that you will find your way forward.¡± She releases her hand, her own sliding to the papers sitting out in front of her. ¡°And I am not the only one.¡± ¡°Letters from my admirers?" She taps the papers on the table, straightening them. ¡°In a way. These are the evaluations of the competitors who participated in the trials. There is a bit of conflict in the placements since the trial itself did not conclude in the usual manner. Fortunes among the sponsors have been lost over the results.¡± ¡°You bet on the outcome of the trial?¡± ¡°Charlene, you may not know this given your background, but whenever you gather the incredibly wealthy together to spectate an event while getting piss drunk, wagers begin to buzz about like flies on shit. I try to recuse myself from such sport. I was always on backup to be an agent for the guild in the trial if the need arose, but by the nature of my competitors¡¯ placements, I did not come out so far behind. Coriander¡¯s loss is regrettable, but I told you before that I had already chosen to cut the girl loose. Her death at the hands of that beast concludes things in as best an order as I can ask for.¡± She looks at me, hard for a moment, and I feel the temperature in the room plummet for an instant. ¡°She died by its hand.¡± ¡°She¡­did.¡± The words come puffing from my lips. ¡°I s-saw it¡­myself.¡± ¡°Good.¡± All at once the cold leaves us, the air returning to a pleasant heat. Arabella taps the papers on the table once more. ¡°You managed to make the top half of the top cut, the top five as it were. Given that over half of the trial was not conducted, these placements are in dispute, as I said before. That does not mean that the guild will shirk its rewards.¡± I sit back, leaving the sparkling bauble on the table between us. My mind works furiously, trying to understand what just happened, the implications of it. How could it be that only yesterday I was dirty, bleeding my guts out, and all I could think about was getting back at the girl who tried to kill me? It seems so far away, so far as merely a few hours can. I feel something cold on my face. My thumb pulls a tear from my cheek. How strange, I thought I couldn¡¯t cry anymore. All at once it feels like I can¡¯t get enough air in, like I need to breathe in three times. A pain in the center of my chest thuds dully and I put my hand to my throat, trying to hold it down. Arabella just sits there, looking at me, a distant pity on her face as I struggle for air. The pain, the feeling of suddenly drowning, passes ever so slowly, and I am left feeling hollow, sitting there on such a wonderful example of fine upholstery. How can it possibly be over? ¡°As one of the top five,¡± Arabella continues, looking down at her papers while I expend all my focus on keeping my hands still. My fingers itch to scratch; at what, I don¡¯t know. I try to focus on her, on the distant buzz of her words, and ever so gradually they become sharper. ¡°...but the usual triumph and procession up the side of Grim will not be called for in this circumstance. The invitation to dinner with the fawning royalty will be politely declined. The guild will extend to you what it usually does for those evaluated in the top ten most poachable participants, a pick of any item of your choosing from the Guildmaster¡¯s vault. As the fourth placement, you will choose fourth. Make up your mind about what you might want to find, my grandfather¡¯s vault is extensive, so squandering such an opportunity as this would be about the most wasteful thing one can do.¡± ¡°I already know what I want.¡± It is all I have been able to think about since I woke up in the mansion again. No, all I have been able to think about since I woke up at the bottom of that cliff. ¡°You said that the competition was a failure, and I will agree. I was supposed to reach the second rank during it. I have not.¡± Leaning forward, swallowing the pain that still thuds in my throat, I pocket the soul cage once more into my inventory. ¡°That is what I want. I want to reach it as fast as possible.¡± ¡°An interesting request.¡± Arabella taps her chin with a finger, the corner of her mouth curling. ¡°It is in my best interest to see that done as well. We have a contract with one another after all; I still need you to reach rank three on time. Do not waste your opportunity to plunder the Guildmaster¡¯s vault on it. I will see that it is done.¡± ¡°How?¡± ¡°Why, the same way that you came so far already. By dropping you into a nest of monsters.¡± The curl to Arabella¡¯s lip turns wicked. ¡°Perhaps we might skip the impaling this time around.¡± Exeter help me, I can¡¯t help but smile as well. ¡°That sounds like an excellent idea.¡± Chapter 98 - A Meeting a Long Time Coming To call the hostel, no this was far grander than that, a hotel then. To call the hotel an extravagant building did not adequately do it justice. Each building on the block looked like it would cost more to build than the entirety of Westgrove put together. A single road, only half a mile long, stretched down one great platform stuck to the great wall of Grim two-thirds of the way up. The people who visited along the road dressed like they had a mind to outdo the buildings of white marble, tasteful gilding, and fanciful statues strung together to perform a story all the way down the block. No doubt masters of their craft had been employed in creating the facades of the buildings and the people both. The Gilded Lily stood erect at one corner of the platform, garden vines spilling from its rear to cascade down the side of the platform and hang in the open air. I arrived on the platform itself, staring at the approaching edifice of marble. It looked so much smaller, so much simpler, when that servant pointed it out to me on my way out of Arabella¡¯s mansion. Standing before it now, I find myself unable to believe the detail put into its design. The square of hard wood I stand on, a sturdy slab suspended on a framework of ropework, slaps into the edge of the stone platform, bouncing back an inch and making me stumble. No one else on the big square loses their footing. A woman looks over at me, shaking her head, muttering something about foreigners. The team of six donkeys attached to a huge spinning wheel that drug our wooden square from the next platform over paws at the ground, staring at their handler and his crop like they have some nefarious plan in mind. I don¡¯t know how they managed to get the beasts up here, several hundred feet above the ground, and I¡¯m not certain that it is such a good idea. Cities, I have determined, are strange places. I hop the gap between the edge of the square and the stone platform itself, a small part of me anticipating the entire street to shake just a little as I land. The noise of the street is strangely muted, the open expanse of air sucking away the chatter of well-dressed people walking down the street, peering into the windows of shops and boutiques, laughing as they lounge on the benches that divide the road neatly in half along with the occasional sapling. Everything smells¡­clean somehow, like the lingering scent of a passed storm. I realize that there is no dirt here, no mud to be tracked and ground into the cracks between the cobbles, no trash littered about by passersby, and not a single trail of horseshit left pebbling the street with the odd bootprint left smeared in it. A bell tinkles as I push open the front door of the Gilded Lily, and a man looks up from an open book from a clean desk just to the side of the large lobby. He flashes me a smile that is impossible to not return and opens his mouth to ask some question which will no doubt come as polite, contrite, and imminently deferential. ¡°Charlene!¡± I turn about, finding Jor¡¯Mari sitting at a table near a window, waving to me. I leave the man at the desk behind, whatever he was going to say or ask gone with the wind. Jor¡¯Mari looks good, dressed in silken robes cut in a style similar to those that the giant green-haired people wore, this one a deep purple and littered with curling roots and falling leaves. He tips a glass to me from his seat, unable to bring himself to even lower the front two legs of his chair to the floor. ¡°Take a seat,¡± he says, motioning to a chair with his cup. ¡°Dovik will be back in a moment. We were just in the middle of swapping stories about the tower. He was telling me about his Stoneball match against the big bastard I shoved off the side of the ramp, the one screaming at the sea witch in that strange barbaric tongue. He had a grudge against that green woman or some such thing. I don¡¯t know how Dovik learned of that, since the man apparently never spoke a word of Castinian.¡± ¡°I know, because unlike you imperials, some of us actually attempt to learn the manners and words of other cultures,¡± Dovik says, appearing from behind a green velvet curtain hung in a doorway and striding across the small cafe set off the main lobby. I consider that a moment as he pulls out a chair for me like a gentleman. I suppose that I am an imperial, though until just a few months ago I had never known so. How did they manage to keep us all so ignorant? Seeing the man for the first time in days, my breath catches. Arabella had told me that he too survived the creature¡¯s attack in the tower; the relief that I felt in that moment was immense, but she did not tell me about his wounds. He wears fine clothes, a coat of deep blue over a black shirt and trousers all done up with silver buttons. One would never think from seeing his easy demeanor that the scars were freshly added to him. One, a perfect line of shiny pink flesh, starts in the center of his left eyebrow and runs down between his eye and nose, perfectly vertical, cutting through his lips and dropping off his chin, only to continue along his neck before disappearing into the collar of his shirt. A second line starts on the left side of his head, cutting a thin bald spot through his hair just behind his ear, running down the side of his neck and also disappearing beneath his clothes. I have no doubt that there is a third scar somewhere on his arm or shoulder, that monster did have three blades on its face after all. ¡°Dovik,¡± I manage to say, hand fluttering in the space between us like a carp. ¡°Arrested by my good looks? I have that effect on women.¡± He smiles at me, and I cannot tell if his grin is strained or not. ¡°The new additions help to add an air of ruggedness and danger, do they not?¡± he asks, gesturing loosely to his face. They don¡¯t. If anything, they make him look like a hurt boy to my eye, one that is afraid to show his true feeling to the world for fear of getting hurt again. I realize that maybe I am just trying to dress him in those feelings, but I can¡¯t for the life of me figure out where they come from. ¡°Perhaps, try growing a beard if you want to look rugged and manly,¡± I say. ¡°A beard.¡± He nods, pursing his lips in thought. ¡°They aren¡¯t quite the fashion in Grim, but if my objective is a kind of rustic danger, there are few others I would look to take tips from than a farm girl from the middle of nowhere. Do the men on farms commonly wear them?¡± ¡°They help keep the chill off when their chewed-up shirts can¡¯t manage it I¡¯m told. Some women have even been known to keep them for that reason,¡± I say. ¡°Do they indeed?¡± He looks like he actually gives that some real consideration. Then he blinks and notices the back of the chair in his hand. ¡°Will you not join the two of us for drinks Ms. Devardem?¡± ¡°What a well-mannered young lord,¡± I say, parking my butt in the chair, gliding forward as Dovik slides it into the table for me. ¡°I am not a lord,¡± he says. ¡°I am a commoner, just like you.¡± ¡°Yes, exactly like me.¡± ¡°And as a correction to your story,¡± he goes on, throwing himself down into a third seat at the small table, pouring himself a glass of amber liquid from the decanter in the middle of the table. ¡°That man very much understood Castinian, he merely deigned not to speak it.¡± ¡°A fine distinction,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, swilling his glass. ¡°Completely worth taking the effort of correcting me over. It makes the story all the better to know that bit of information.¡± He tosses the drink down, and the front legs of his chair smack harshly against the tiles as he leans forward to pour another glass. He looks up to me, pouring another glass and sliding it over. ¡°Local toxin. They ferment it from beans or something.¡± ¡°They aren¡¯t beans,¡± Dovik scoffs, rolling his eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t see anything wrong with bean spirits,¡± I say, taking a sip from my glass. It is like getting kicked in the face by a mule with a slightly sweet and sour after taste. I wonder how many cups these two already have had to not react in the slightest. ¡°You shoved him off?¡± I ask. I remember seeing that man for a moment, saving me from having to face the wrath of Lady Forendous after I knocked her monster over the side. ¡°Well, I thought about letting him keep that woman tied up for a bit, but he started swinging his huge fists this way and that. More a danger to the structure of the tower than anyone in particular. He caught her around the arm at some point, and I saw that as a good opportunity to do away with them both. I pushed him off, and he pulled her off. Not the most elegant victory, but I would still say it was my win. You can guess what happened after.¡± ¡°I can.¡± I have to say, the more of the bean juice I sip on, the more the flavor grows on me. ¡°You know,¡± Dovik says, waving his glass Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s way, ¡°you have a certain unearned bravado about you that is so charming.¡± ¡°Unearned?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks, arching a brow. ¡°I doubt anyone so young could properly earn so much pomp. I find myself liking it.¡± ¡°He is the pompous one.¡± I can¡¯t help but snort at the idea, looking between the two. ¡°I am surprised that this building could fit either of your egos inside of it.¡± ¡°My fine lady.¡± Dovik holds a hand to his chest. ¡°I will have you know that my pomposity is of a subtle and subdued nature. You are meant to infer it rather than me having to tell you about it outright.¡± ¡°Here, here.¡± Jor¡¯Mari holds up his glass to that. ¡°You think yourself subtle as well?¡± I ask him. ¡°Exeter¡¯s balls, no.¡± He laughs. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t appreciate a preening cock when I find one. Birds of a feather and all that. Do you have cocks in Grim?¡± ¡°I believe there is a baker''s wife in the lower third that keeps chickens. By all accounts, she is a truffle pig for cocks if you are looking,¡± Dovik quips. Jor¡¯Mari spits his alcohol back into his glass, wiping his mouth with a sleeve while he chokes on laughter. ¡°Finally, a man of words. How I have missed enlightened company.¡± Dovik turns to me. ¡°I have heard a bit of your story from Jor, but I would have the word direct. What became of you after we parted ways?¡± I look down into my glass, swirling the mixture. ¡°Nothing good.¡± ¡°It can¡¯t have all been bad,¡± he says. ¡°When I saw you again at the tower, you were like a changed woman, all fire, brimstone, and the incineration of innocent monsters. My uncle always said, telling bad stories over sufficiently strong brandy has a way of putting a sweet shine on things.¡± ¡°Is this a brandy?" Jor¡¯Mari lifts the decanter, inspecting it. ¡°Not strictly speaking. I think that jeva is in a category all its own.¡± ¡°Bean drink.¡± I sigh, tipping the remainder of my drink into my mouth before looking back up to Dovik. ¡°A lot happened. Quite a lot.¡± Then, I begin my story. I tell him everything, can¡¯t think of a reason to hold anything back. I tell him about the betrayal, although it seems that he already knows about that somehow. I speak about running from those beasts, jumping in a river, and washing up on a little island. I talk about finding some kind of direction forward, dabbling in enchanting, hunting my way through the woods. I even speak about the lost dungeon I discovered, the monsters I encountered there, the strange structure I found in the cave beneath. The full telling takes quite some time, more time than I expected, and by the end I have a good buzz going. ¡°Still not quite certain who they screwed over more.¡± Jor¡¯Mari reaches for more drink, notices the bottle is empty, and uses two fingers to motion for another bottle from the man at the front of the lobby. ¡°I got stabbed,¡± I say, focusing on not slurring my words. ¡°You get stabbed a lot,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°I do.¡± That probably says something about me. I look over at Dovik, finding him sipping his drink with a relaxed smile on his face. ¡°Where is Macille?¡± He winces. ¡°Upstairs still, I think.¡± ¡°What room?¡± Dovik pads around, eventually finding a brass key in his pocket and holding it up to the light. ¡°309, it looks like.¡±A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°You two are sharing a room?" "No, he''s in the one next to mine." "Don¡¯t you live in this city, somewhere?¡± ¡°Go home to my mother after not dominating the trial and knocking at least a score of other contestants out of the competition? No.¡± He makes a sour face, turning the key over in his hand. ¡°And we are not sharing a room, he merely has the one next to mine.¡± He shows off the key stamped with the number 308. ¡°I need to speak with him,¡± I say, moving my wobbling chair back and getting to my feet. ¡°You should,¡± Jor¡¯Mari agrees. ¡°Want your glass?¡± He had already begun to pour another cup for me. ¡°Better not,¡± I say. ¡°This bean juice has a kick.¡± ¡°Like a mule,¡± Jor¡¯Mari agrees. ¡°Not that I¡¯ve ever been kicked by a mule. A donkey once, and I saw one of my brothers kicked by a hart, but we didn¡¯t have much use for mules at the main house. Your glass will be waiting for you when you come back.¡± ¡°My genuine thanks.¡± Sauntering out into the lobby, I can¡¯t immediately find the stairs. I am left to loiter for a moment until doors at the back of the lobby open wide and a couple with heavy bags come strolling out, not that either would deign to carry their own bags of course. That was left to a man in a smart looking red outfit. Instead of stairs, I find an ornately decorated box waiting for me, another uniformed man standing inside with a polite smile on his face. ¡°Some kind of magic box?¡± I ask, looking around, seeing my warped reflection staring back at me. ¡°Not much magic to it,¡± he says. ¡°Mostly just ropes and pulleys. Carries all the way up the hotel, can bring you to any floor you like with no strain on your part.¡± I shrug, take a step into the odd box, and feel the entire thing sag and bob beneath my weight. Jumping back, I stare at the man. ¡°That is quite normal,¡± he tells me. ¡°I think I will take the stairs.¡± He points them out to me, hidden behind a door for some reason, and I start my climb. Dovik told me the wrong room, if the slightly confused and incredibly short woman that opened the door of 309 is anything to go by. I make my apology, step back and study the remaining options, and land on the door labelled 310. I listen at the door, hearing footsteps approach from inside, and then he is there, standing with the door thrown wide, a bit of shock on his face. ¡°Charlene,¡± he says. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you,¡± I say, stepping into the room. And it is good to see him. He is dressed in simple clothes now, a long black shirt and a pair of pants to match, expensive but simple. Macille moves aside, allowing me into the room where I am given to admire all of the finery. The bed is absolutely killed with pillows, eighteen of them I think, all gold and purple atop a fat velvet cover. The wall is paneled with brass and buffed to mirror shine, and a drink cabinet stands open in one corner of the room. ¡°You¡¯ve been in your spirits,¡± I say, noticing the glass out. ¡°Dovik was here earlier,¡± he says, scratching the back of his neck. I notice a mark on the left side of his neck, a bit of ragged red. He notices my noticing and pulls his tight black collar a little higher. He looks so different out of his armor, still a big man, but smaller somehow. ¡°I met him downstairs,¡± I say. I move closer to him, reach out for his arm, but he moves back and away, trudging over toward the bed. That hurts me, more than I thought it would. ¡°How is Kendon?¡± I ask. My feelings about the man still confuse me. It feels like just yesterday I hated him with all my being, but now there is no trace of that anger left in me. How could I hate the man after what I have done? ¡°Better, maybe. Not certain how well I can expect him to be.¡± He sighs, brushing back his hair and looking at the bed like he wants nothing more than to crash down into it just then. He doesn¡¯t. He stands half-turned to me, eyes looking everywhere in the room except at me. ¡°Good,¡± I say, only barely meaning it. ¡°We will be returning home,¡± he says. ¡°I think it''s best for him, and it is all he wants now. He remembers it, what he did, what she made him do. Some of it he forgets, but he wouldn¡¯t believe that I was really me for days, said he remembered holding my dead body, said I had died so many times. He will be better at home, better there.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± Honestly, I don¡¯t know what to say to that. ¡°That is good. You should do what you can for him. I was going to invite you on a trip I am making, back out into the wilderness, but you should look after your brother.¡± His head snaps up, and he finally looks at me. ¡°Why would you invite me?¡± I fumble for an answer. Damn, I shouldn¡¯t have had so many drinks before coming up. ¡°I thought¡­¡± What did I think exactly? ¡°I thought that there might be something, something between us.¡± I move to him, laying a hand on his arm. Macille looks down at me, at my hand like it was some offending bug that had landed on him. He winces, the same wince I saw on Dovik¡¯s face just a bit ago, and he swallows hard. Oh no. ¡°Maybe there was,¡± he says. ¡°Before the tower. Before how everything turned out, I thought that there might be something. Now though¡­¡± ¡°What changed?¡± I realize my fingers are gripping his arm tight. I back away, making distance, and seeing the sadness in his posture for the first time. ¡°You killed her, Charlene. I watched you murder her.¡± It couldn¡¯t have hit me harder if he had slapped me. ¡°Coriander. She tried to kill me! You are going to try and defend her for it?¡± I¡¯m yelling. Gods, I know I shouldn¡¯t be. ¡°I know that!¡± he spits back. The sudden harshness in his voice catches me off guard; I have never heard the man raise his voice before. ¡°I know that,¡± he repeats, fingers trying to strangle the air as his voice strains to hold itself back. ¡°I saw it for myself, didn¡¯t I? They showed it off in front of everyone at the tower. Everything slid into place then, how my brother was acting, how he had suddenly decided that she was the most important thing in the world. I was so stupid to not notice. I just thought that this was the latest girl he decided to obsess about.¡± ¡°Then what?¡± I want to move forward, put my hand back on his shaking arm, but I can¡¯t. ¡°That doesn¡¯t make it right,¡± he says. ¡°Just because someone wrongs you doesn¡¯t mean you have permission to do whatever you like to them. Murder is still wrong, no matter how justified you might see it. Would she not have been punished for what she did after? Could you not have kept that sin off your soul and allowed the world to find the just course?¡± ¡°Sin.¡± I spit on the nice floor. Venom starts boiling up inside of me. All the terrible things I have learned in the past weeks, all the ways I have been kept in the dark, taught to be docile, taught that I should always harbor some secret self-hatred come churning up like bile. ¡°I do not want to hear any more horseshit about sin, about right or wrong, about my place. How many years did I nod along to sermons telling me to ignore common sense, to accept my lot in life, to be thankful for the privilege that my kind has to toil in the dirt. I am not sorry that bitch¡¯s blood was spilled by such stained hands like mine, human hands, and I relish the thought of her turning in her grave for having such a base creature be her end.¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t what I am saying,¡± he tries. ¡°Do you think I agree with what the Empire does to your people?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t remember you ever trying to show me otherwise.¡± ¡°It is illegal! It is against the law to try and educate humans in Gale. Do you think they would not know if I made an attempt like that, if I tried to point out everything done to your people to keep them ignorant and feeble? I cannot afford to take risks like that, to break the law, it wouldn¡¯t¡­¡± he trails off, afraid of his own words. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be right,¡± I finish for him. "Did you somehow forget what she did to your brother then? I saw him broken, acting like a madman, crying over you because he remembered so well watching you die!" "You don''t get to tell me about him!" He steps forward, face red, stabbing a finger at my face. "Have you needed to listen to him at night? Were you the one that had to pick him up and carry him from that tower, carry two people out? Did you...Did you..." I see the veins in his neck strain, like the words choke him. Then, the anger drains from his voice. "Did you need to pull him off the ledge last night?" And what can I say to that. Nothing good, nothing smart. Any more words from me will just fall like daggers into either him or me, but I can''t stop myself. I know that it isn''t Macille I argue with, just myself, just that narrow spark of bumpkin deep inside that wants so desperately for things to be right and fair, but that girl has been dying a long time. "Knowing that, you would still tell me it''s wrong, condemn me?" "It is wrong, Charlene. You wanting it not to be so doesn''t change that. There is no amount of hate that I can have for her that would make it right." I stare at the man for an uncomfortable moment, suddenly seeing a stranger standing in front of me. ¡°I thought you were different. I thought that you saw me. I thought that there might be something there.¡± ¡°I do see you, Charlene,¡± he says. ¡°But I can¡¯t see anything there between us, not anymore.¡±
I find Jor¡¯Mari still lounging at the same table I left him at before. Dovik is gone now, leaving the man to drink alone, but he doesn¡¯t look like he minds the solitude in the least. I dab something wet and embarrassing from the corner of my eye before he sees me walking out of the stairwell. He looks up as I approach, studying me for a silent moment before sliding my half-filled glass over to me, kicking out a chair at the table. ¡°You found him then,¡± he says, brow arching. The chair creaks as I fall into it. ¡°That was stupid,¡± I mutter, taking the glass, swirling it on the table, making a rhythmic scratching sound as it glides over the wood. ¡°Silk on my dick, that was stupid.¡± ¡°You are young,¡± he says, shrugging while I take a sip from my glass. ¡°The young often are stupid. You were referring to yourself, yes?¡± ¡°Referring to everything, the world probably.¡± I slouch in my chair, tasting the sourness of the drink and coming to like it more and more. I look up at him, narrowing my eyes. ¡°You can¡¯t be that much older than me.¡± ¡°Nineteen as of two and a half weeks ago,¡± he says. ¡°Congratulations.¡± ¡°You¡¯re the first one to acknowledge it.¡± I notice for the first time that he is holding a metal ball in his hand. The thing looks to be made of silvery string, though its luster is far too bright to actually be silver. He spins it over his fingers, almost dropping it, and catching it with an easy grace that lets me know he has been at the activity for some time. ¡°Is that what you took from the vault? I expected you to snatch one of those big swords off of the wall.¡± He looks down at his hand, seeming to be surprised to find it there. ¡°Yes. Gorman¡¯s Knot is what it is supposed to be called. It is supposed to strengthen the mind, like some puzzle that makes you a better person the more you work at it.¡± That much I know right away from what my eye tells me. Such a strange little ball, probably incredibly useful too. ¡°Sorry that I couldn¡¯t leave it for you, privilege of entering second I suppose.¡± ¡°I will have to console myself somehow.¡± ¡°What did you take?¡± he asks. It takes only a second of running my fingers over the boxes of my inventory to produce the item. I pinch a small square piece of white stone between my finger and thumb, holding it up for him to see, allowing him to inspect the pleasing green lines that run over its surface. ¡°You didn¡¯t,¡± he gawks. ¡°I was tempted myself, but it seemed far too extravagant. Too¡­gaudy.¡± ¡°Perhaps I like gaudy,¡± I say. ¡°It serves a purpose as well. I am going on a trip.¡± ¡°A trip?¡± ¡°Arabella arranged for me to have a mountain out there all to myself. I still need to catch up to you,¡± I say. ¡°So, your trial isn¡¯t over yet.¡± He looks down at his own glass, the knot stilling in his hand. ¡°I want to thank you again for giving me that soul cage. I don¡¯t think that I could have kept my head if I wasn¡¯t at my best in the tower, at the end.¡± His eyes are hard when he puts them on me again. ¡°I heard off-hand that she was dead, that she was gone, but I would hear it from you.¡± I nod, nail tapping against my glass. ¡°She is dead. I am certain of it.¡± And I am. Beyond any shadow of a doubt, I know that Coriander Mel¡¯Draven¡¯s life has ended. ¡°No body was recovered. They only found a smattering of blood and some gore at the bottom of the cliff, claim some monster had at the corpse, at what was left. Still, without a body¡­¡± ¡°She is dead, Jor.¡± I look him hard in the eye, needing to have him believe me. ¡°It is over.¡± He hisses out a sigh, slipping the knot into a pocket of his purple robe. ¡°I believe you. Despite myself, I believe you. I guess that¡¯s the end of it then, everything made square.¡± ¡°I guess so.¡± Outside, people pass down the street, their smiling faces totally lost in their own little worlds. The sun struggles to put light to the street, the street suspended on the side of a massive wall, and somehow manages. I imagine for a moment what it must feel like to be a normal girl, out on the town, sipping a drink in a cafe and thinking about simple problems like I used to. But I¡¯m not normal, not anymore, and it is about time that I realized that. ¡°About the body, the one you tried to keep me from seeing,¡± I say. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t ask about that,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, his eyes also on the window. The man looks almost like a statue with the soft light lying across him, a sad statue but a beautiful one. ¡°I remember asking you a similar thing before. The answers gave me nothing but took away so much. Do you really want to know a thing like that?¡± Exeter knows that I don¡¯t. For the last three days I have been working up my courage to ask about that charred hand I saw on the stone, knowing that I had been the one to make it that way but being unable to remember doing so. He will tell me if I ask. I can see it in the stubborn set of his jaw, muscles on the side of his head standing out as he chews on words that will cause me nothing but pain. Shouldn¡¯t I have to know? Shouldn¡¯t I have to live with the knowing? But then, I already know the important part. He is the only person that knows. Can I really leave it all with him? ¡°No,¡± I say. ¡°Forget it.¡± ¡°I will if you do. It will die with me,¡± he says. ¡°We have been through hard days. Take some time to sit back and admire life as it passes by, try to find something good to look at, something to look forward to.¡± I do try as we lapse into a silence that stretches. The people come and go. They certainly have things to be happy about, anyone could see that at a glance. I want to be like that too, to look happily forward, but I don¡¯t think today is that kind of day. Chapter 99 - Two Names Along the upper reaches of the city, is where I find her. A platform that functions as a kind of dock juts off the high wall toward the eastern part of the city, a long road held perfectly level by massive chain lengths that secure it more fast to the wall that any other part of the city. A road stretches down the platform: to the right, a neighborhood of warehouses with men walking in and out, loading or offloading supplies, and to the left, a row of half a hundred circular additions that stretch off the main road and out into thin air. An arrival is coming in as I find the dock platform, it looks like a cabin made of steel, a house and lawn all perched on a pentagonal wedge of iron that buzzes the air like a heat mirage. A man down on the dock platform waves in the flying house, directing it toward the side of the platform where it lands alone, the entire dock buzzing for a moment as it touches down and begins to still. The circles range in size, the one the house lands on easily able to accommodate there such strange cottages. I take the road, hugging my new coat tight though I don¡¯t really feel the chill high up here. There simply was no way that I could travel out into the city without purchasing myself a new wardrobe, or any wardrobe for that matter. The black blouse with the nice buttons managed to survive the tower somehow, and I happen to think my new gray long coat trimmed with brown and white fur goes quite well with it. I pass by men walking down the road, most hard at work, and I nod to them when they feel so inclined to acknowledge me, copying their hidden language. Sometimes we nod up, sometimes we nod down, no rhyme or reason to it that I can tell. Jess is there already waiting for me when I arrive at dock 42, a solitary figure sitting on stone steps, looking down at the platform with the world passing her by. She hugs her own coat to herself, the slight tremble in her shoulders giving away that she isn¡¯t quite so accustomed to the cold. I think for a moment that the woman has grown some modesty, but when I step around her to see her face, I find her usual undress still apparent in the open front of her coat. ¡°You came,¡± she says, puffs of mist coming out of her mouth. ¡°I¡¯m the one that invited you,¡± I say. ¡°It would be rude not to come.¡± ¡°I had begun to wonder.¡± Jess rubs her hands together before working her way to her feet. ¡°I have been here for an hour at least.¡± I look up at the sky, squinting toward the sun. ¡°I said midday.¡± ¡°And it is an hour past that,¡± Jess says. ¡°I¡¯ve had an ear open, but this city seems to lack any time bells.¡± I shrug. She shakes her head at me and starts gliding down the stairs. ¡°Get a timepiece. From the looks of your fancy new clothes, you can afford it.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not made of money,¡± I say, joining her in descending the stairs. ¡°Says the woman wearing a crown,¡± she quips. I touch a finger to the golden circlet on my head. Sometimes I forget that it is even there. ¡°You really think my clothes look fancy?¡± ¡°Fancier than you speak,¡± she says. She must see something on my face because she reaches out and rubs my arm. ¡°You look nice.¡± She tries to smile, but there is a strain there, and I know why. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about¡­¡± ¡°Thanks,¡± she says quickly, cutting me off. ¡°I appreciate it, but I don¡¯t want to talk about it now.¡± She jumps down the last step, making it to the dock and rubbing her shoulders again. ¡°Let¡¯s get a move on.¡± Jess nudges a heavy case with her foot, all dark leather, two more twins sitting out on the dock next to it. The platform of the dock itself stretches out in front of us, smaller vessels parked around. Red seems to be a prevailing color: squares, hexagons, and rectangular slabs of metal painted red with chairs, small rooms, and once even a garden and fountain built upon them. From what I have been able to tell about these contraptions, they all mostly seem to be based upon putting something on a flying platform. The platforms themselves are supposed to be the true masterpiece of enchantment, all the other fluff piled on top just there to aid the driver or provide comfort. One look at even a rudimentary schematic of their working left me more confused than I would be if I had never learned a thing about enchantment¨Cfar too advanced for me, yet. ¡°So, which one is it?¡± she asks. I pull out the wedge of stone from my inventory, turning it over and over in my hand. ¡°Well, I picked this out of all the shiny things in the Guildmaster¡¯s vault, so I only have that to go off of.¡± I make a quick survey of all the craft parked on the dock. ¡°If I was a betting woman,¡± I say, nodding to a particularly extravagant specimen sitting alone. ¡°Are you? Jess asks as he begin to walk, her carrying two of the cases while I manage with one. ¡°Only when I know that I will when.¡± The lines crossing over the stone key in my hand begin to glow with light as we approach a large hemisphere made of pearlescent gold that sparkles in the sunlight. The base of the dome must be twenty feet across, and I don¡¯t immediately see any hint of a way to enter. ¡°Galea,¡± I say in my head. The fey spirit spins into reality just in front of me the green lines on the stone key changing to a steady lavender. The entirety of the golden dome seems to shake a moment, spinning around on some hidden axis and stopping. A door appears out of the metal, a black rectangle that looks to lead into the void. ¡°You have flown one of these before?¡± Jess asks, sticking her hand into the inky darkness and pulling it back out again. ¡°Nope.¡± I jump in, and for the first time I get to admire the prize the Willian Guild saw fit to grace me with for all my turmoil and suffering in their failed trial. It is oddly disturbing as I step into the craft as the gold dome cannot be seen from the inside. Instead, I turn around, finding Jess still standing outside of the craft, staring at the darkness where I just entered with a bit of trepidation on her face. Gold tiles, shining with a slight rainbow finish create the floor of the enclosure. My eye is immediately drawn to the center of the craft that is dominated by a throne made of gold, decorated in gilded sculptures of skulls, thorns, and flowers. To the left of the throne, near where the tiles stop and I imagine the wall to be, several racks are arranged horizontally, places to store cargo. Next to the racks stands a well-stocked liquor cabinet, fine crystal arranged atop it, enough to fashion a decently sized party for a picnic date. At the back of the craft, plush furniture, all the same tasteful brown leather, stand atop a crimson rug that looks to be tasseled with gold around a heavy oaken table currently dominated with a stone gameboard. If I drug a mattress in here, this room might be fit enough to be a home.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°Get in here.¡± I dip out of the door, grab ahold of Jess¡¯ wrist and pull her inside. I leave her to gawk about as I had no doubt done just a moment ago while I grab her bags and haul them over to the racks to store. She is still gawking by the time I get back. ¡°This is what they gave you for the trial?¡± she asks. ¡°All I got was some gold.¡± ¡°Wrong,¡± I say. I squat, pulling a heavy wooden box from my inventory, making certain that it comes into being already resting on the ground, no reason to scuff the new floors of my new ship. I think they are called ships. That¡¯s what the information my eye tells me about the key calls them anyway. ¡°You got this too.¡± ¡°You got me something?¡± If the woman had eyebrows, they would be going high. ¡°I went on a little bit of a shopping spree when we got back to somewhere that I could. I remembered you saying that you could make a forge, and then I saw a merchant selling this.¡± It isn¡¯t so hard to wedge a nail in the join between the lid and the side of the box and pry the lid off, the board squealing in complaint as I open it up. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe the price on this feathersteel¡­¡± My words die as I look into the box. Where just a day and a half before had been pristine and shining ingots of metal so light that it was impossible to believe, now rested bars that had all the luster sapped out of them, a few cracked in places. ¡°Feathersteel?¡± Jess peeks into the box, needing to cut off a bark of laughter as her eye passes over the fifty or so ingots sitting dully inside. ¡°You do understand that feathersteel needs to be stored in a cold place until it is properly worked.¡± ¡°I bought so many.¡± I pick up one of the ingots, straining with the weight. How did it get so heavy all of a sudden? ¡°Fifty ingots of the finest metal.¡± She laughs again, stepping around the crate and wrapping arms around me. ¡°It will be alright; I know how to salvage at least some of this.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t believe I wasted money. Money.¡± ¡°Poor girl.¡± Jess pets the back of my head, her shoulder shaking with a giggle. ¡°Thank you for that, really. The laugh and the metal both. I think I needed that.¡± She steps back, snickering as she looks into the crate again. ¡°I¡¯ll be sure to make you the pieces that you are no doubt hoping to get out of this gift, free of charge, of course.¡± ¡°You really think that I might have an ulterior motive?¡± I start backpedaling toward the throne in the center of the ship. Ever since I first saw the thing, I felt a need to touch it. ¡°I have found you humans to be tricky,¡± she says. ¡°Can¡¯t deny that.¡± My butt slides onto the chair and I find it oddly comfortable despite the hard metal of its composition. Galea still floats in front of me, but the moment that my left hand comes down on the skull set into the armrest of the chair, a dozen windows flash into being just in front of me. ¡°I have integrated with the ship,¡± Galea informs me. ¡°Like the storage ring?¡± ¡°No, mistress. That device was so simple in its design that I was capable of overriding the control spirit and was able to increase its efficiency. The design of this vessel is far more sophisticated and was built to allow for piloting by fey spirits or more fleshy beings.¡± ¡°So, you can fly the ship,¡± I say. ¡°We can fly the ship,¡± she says back. ¡°Though yes, it will mostly be me, but you provide the will, Mistress. A more dull and mundane component, but a vital part.¡± I look past the back-handed nature of her comment. That is just the kind of spirit she is. I flex my will, and with no effort the black rectangle standing out in space shrinks and disappears. ¡°I thought you said that you have never flown one of these before,¡± Jess says over my shoulder, looking at the space the door just disappeared from. ¡°How hard can it be?¡± I scan the windows standing out in space in front of me, and another effort of will instructs the ship to move. If I hadn¡¯t been watching, it would have been impossible to notice the craft lifting up from the dock and floating out into space. From where I sit, I don¡¯t feel the movement at all. ¡°Do you have that map that Arabella provided?¡± I ask Galea. Another window opens in front of me, a map of the entire trial ground, a particular mountain picked out and shaded with green. ¡°Good. Are you capable of navigating us to that location?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Do it.¡± The wall of Grim starts to shoot away from us as if the whole world were moving around our little room. Without a conscious effort, I find myself turned, the throne facing back toward the shrinking city as it grows distant. This ship is fast, faster than anything I could have expected. ¡°For a first timer, you are doing quite well,¡± Jess calls from somewhere behind me. ¡°I¡¯m going to take a nap in one of these chairs. I haven¡¯t managed much sleep these last few days.¡± ¡°Sleep as long as you want,¡± I call back to her. ¡°I¡¯ll let you know when we are close.¡± ¡°Good. This mountain has a lot of things to kill on it? You promised me that.¡± ¡°Yes. Plenty of things to kill on it. I am not leaving until we have both reached rank two.¡± I can¡¯t leave before that, can¡¯t even think about it. I am facing forward once again, watching as the land changes to a forest that begins to speed past beneath the ship. I simply watch the land for a time, eventually hearing the soft breathing of Jess as she sleeps behind me. My hand clenches the skull on the throne, that awful temptation sparking up inside me again. Why do I keep torturing myself like this? Looking forward is so hard, but I manage for a time, thinking about what I need to do, thinking about where I need to get to. Those moments of black, that time stollen out of my memory, what I wouldn¡¯t give to see that absent part of my life, what I wouldn¡¯t give to never see it. The temptation grows to strong, it always does, and my eyes turn right, looking right at that window that has haunted me for the last week, the very first thing I saw when waking up in Arabella¡¯s mansion. You have killed Samielle Kraesh You have killed Coriander Mel¡¯Draven THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! I read it three times, letting out a long and ragged exhale. Why am I so weak? I couldn¡¯t even bring myself to ask Jor¡¯Mari how it happened, how pathetic. He deserved so much more than that. A moment of blackness, like waking up from a dream, and I see that hand there, charred and burned on the stone, a single finger broken and pointing to the side. One moment of darkness and I have killed my friend. If Jor¡¯Mari hadn¡¯t taken that knot from the vault I know I would have. It feels like I live in a different world, a world where someone else did such a horrible thing. Never again. My knuckle pops as my hand tightens on the stone. I can never again let myself be like that, made a puppet by someone else, standing too weak to resist. Never again. I will burn a mountain down if it will give me the strength to stop that from ever happening again. I will burn whatever I need to to stop it. I look once more to the window, knocking my head back against the gilded throne. ¡°Galea.¡± ¡°Yes, Mistress.¡± ¡°You can get rid of the window.¡± I can¡¯t keep it there all my life. For a week I have tried with all my will to not look at it, and then when I notice how pitifully I avoid it, forcing myself to read the names. I don¡¯t understand what I am doing with it, pricking my heart over and over, but I know that no good can come of it. ¡°You told me before not to do so,¡± Galea says. ¡°Keep a record of the names,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t want to ever forget. Never let me forget.¡± ¡°As you wish.¡± The window in my vision vanishes, and it feels as if a weight has been lifted off my chest; I can breathe just a bit easier. ¡°Would you like me to keep room on the record for more names in the future.¡± The future. I pull the soul cage from my inventory and look down at the bundle of crystal. If everything goes right, this will live inside me in just a few short weeks. That is only the beginning of the path, I know. I have started down a road so long, that stretches so far before me into the future, that I cannot possibly guess at its end. ¡°Exeter, I hope there will be no more.¡± With a turn of my wrist, the ball of crystal disappears once more. ¡°Best to keep space open though.¡± Chapter 100 - Epilogue A million lights shining out in the dark, clouds of gas of greater size and galaxies stretching between them, setting the heavens on fire with greens and purple. A thrum is everything, something so deep that it touches the fabric of reality, a sound too present that you hear it always but cannot realize until you are away. Away from the ground, away from the real, able to reach out and touch the filigree. A grand mechanisms stands in the heart of the universe sending a sound through the fabric, binding two to one, binding two to one, binding two to one, binding two to one. The machine becomes sight, an eyeless growth of exotic materia on hard angles, then the curvature of life, and now something beyond comprehension on this side. The machine becomes the universe; existence turns inside out, and the veil is passed. Weight on a metaphysical sense, the vast field of chaos too uncoordinated to be called stars shine through a field of hazy maroon and rivers of crimson. Yellow lights, sparks of crystal made to eclipse suns sparkly on their drift away from the center, shedding shards of their selves that fall into the universe below, seeds of souls for the life that pulls at this realm like gravity. The bright spots birthing the souls of mortals spin up from an explosion, and throughout the existence of this creation stretches the body of a slumbering giant, its fingers made of chaos, as big as galaxies. In the giant¡¯s right hand, it holds a hammer made of a thousand thousand masses more dense than reality, it¡¯s left-hand ends as a stump, bleeding a warm light that feeds all minds in the two realms outside of the truly ancient, outside of the enemy. A being appears from the chaos, a floating point of light with the power of a god and the forgotten name of one as well, untethered now from the real, returned as servant here. It waves a hand, and the shard begins to move away, set on course to rejoin into its original position inside the mass of the soul-birthers. Elation comes, a sense of return so powerful that it cannot be made into words, home, belonging, a final completion.
Coriander gasps, sputtering, her chest heaving and more pain searing through her than she can ever remember. She tries to scream, but that is gone, her voice so cracked that it feels like it bleeds inside. She tries to move, but instead of a jolt of pain, only a horrible numbness comes. She remembers a light, finality, a sense of relief so palpable that it brings tears to her eyes, but it starts to fade from memory, gone like a dream. Again, she tries to move, and through the clearing tears in her eyes she see herself lying still. She is on a rock, body twisted and broken beneath her like she were some kind of discarded doll. Her right arm is a burnt remnant. She tries to speak again, but only manages a choking gasp. A face looms into her vision, so sudden but so still that it gives the feeling as if it has been there forever. From a mask of chalky white that looks like bone, two red eyes glow in deep and hollow sockets. Again, Coriander tries to pull away, but her body gives no indication that it hears her pleas. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­k¡­kill me,¡± she manages to whisper. The face moves closer, so near her own now that it is all she can see, shining eyes looking down at her like a hawk would stare at a mouse. ¡°Kill you?¡± it asks, the entire plate of its face vibrating with the words. She can see the rest of it now, its body a mockery of a well-muscled man, skin made of white bone, gaps in the joints displaying sickly powerful muscle lying beneath. ¡°My dear fairblood, you are already quite dead, killing you would be redundant. Besides, I would not end you now, not after I spent so much trouble to pull you this inch back from the veil.¡± Then she sees herself as the tears clear from her eyes, pushed away by the fear of this creature. No, she realizes now as she sees herself again, it isn¡¯t her right arm that is burned but her left. Coriander stares down at her own back, neck a gruesome twist. ¡°No,¡± she rasps, her voice a squeak through a twisted windpipe. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! ¡°Unfortunately, so,¡± The Thirty Seventh says. ¡°Bother me not with whatever musings on mortality or sick emotions occur to you now, answer me.¡± It holds up a knife in front of her face, her knife. ¡°Upon this blade clings the blood of Extinction. How did this come to pass?¡± Coriander stares at the knife, the blood staining the blade between circular patches of bright metal. She gawks up at the creature, made so small by its casual power. ¡°That is Charlene¡¯s blood,¡± she croaks. ¡°Mmm¡­¡± The Thirty Seventh says, rubbings its chin. ¡°Fate finds me treasures. I come to determine the success of my experiment, and The Highest hands me this boon. Truly, I must be in the course of good works, great works.¡± The Thirty Seventh looks back to the talking corpse of Coriander. ¡°You call Extinction your foe?¡± ¡°Charlene¡­¡± She looks down at herself once more. ¡°She killed me. I¡¯m really dead.¡± ¡°Unfortunate for me to have lost even an ally of such meager substance.¡± The Thirty Seventh looks up the side of the cliff, the drop so high overhead, noticing the flecks of red painting the rocks. ¡°My creation, my once neighbor and benefactor, you saw it did you not? Did you find it magnificent?¡± ¡°You made that monster?¡± Coriander asks. A pressure washes from The Thirty Seventh at the word monster, pushing leaves from the floor, bending the limbs of trees to cracking, tumbling rocks from the cliffside. Coriander was never slow to pick up on social cues. ¡°I saw it,¡± she says. ¡°It was¡­powerful. It killed an administrator.¡± ¡°Promising,¡± The Thirty Seventh comments, staring up at the sky. Through the haze of the trees, it can see the return of this land¡¯s guardians to its tower. No matter how promising the subject had been, The Thirty Seventh never placed a bet against the hard arithmetic of numbers in a fight. The experiment will perish, though worse results could have come. If only The Thirty Seventh had not been delayed, it might have arrived in time to shepherd the experiment¡¯s hatching, to make certain that it persisted as a reasoning and thinking creature. To cause so much destruction and woe to a guild like the Willian Guild though, even given how puffed up and important they carry themselves¡­promising indeed. The Thirty Seventh tosses aside the knife, letting the point stick into the soft dirt, the information it was after gathered. It would not do to linger. The Thirty Seventh bends and collects a case of steel from the ground, a little lighter for the years that have passed, but its contents were meant to be used. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me here.¡± The Thirty Seventh turns about, seeing the animated corpse of the fairblood still smashed upon the rocks. Wetness glimmers in the eye of the corpse, pain and anguish clear on its face. Such a waste to see a member of the fairer races, the natives of this world, reduced to such a state. Such sympathy wells deep in the left heart of The Thirty Seventh that it feels an outpouring of pity. ¡°You are dead,¡± The Thirty Seventh repeats. ¡°Return to the aether and find the natural end away from the dark. Your agency has been spent on this world, return your shard to the crystal from which you fell and give your experience back to the lord above all.¡± ¡°No,¡± she dead elf girl begs. ¡°Don¡¯t leave me alone.¡± The Thirty Seventh does not sigh, its body has long been cured of such minor deficiencies like unintentional communication. Once, when the righteous had armed him, he would have the recourse to offering aide even to the freshly dead, not the even moderately dead though, never had he such armaments. The fear in her eye moved The Thirty Seventh. It set its case down once more, snapping open the latches that would only open beneath its touch. The Thirty Seventh retrieved from the case a single vial filled with a pink liquid the consistency of smoke. ¡°I am afraid that your physiology may be too exotic for this,¡± The Thirty Seventh says, twisting the vial. A needle, long and stabbing like a dagger spins up from the head of the vial. ¡°If you should perish once more, know that all of the pain is only a fleeting thing. Think back to the light. Let that warmth carry you through the agony.¡± As the needle stabbed down into Coriander¡¯s dead eye, as the contents pulsed into her frozen and cold body, the scream that ripped up through her throat was so powerful that not even having her neck nearly twisted shut could stop it. The world became red and full of pain, any remembrance of happiness or relief vanished like a forgotten dream. That last conscious thought she has before sensation leaves her, is that death would have been better after all. Book Two: Prologue In a corner of the world far removed from national conflicts and the sufferage of swelled egos with equally swelled power, the slow dripping of the flagging rain competes in staccato against the buzz of marsh-loving insects. ¡°Little fuckers!¡± Morello squashes a mosquito fruitlessly trying to dig its face into his arm. It can¡¯t; he knows that, but that doesn¡¯t seem to stop the little bastards from trying. The longer the drizzle went on the more he seems to attract. He would have thought that they might be attracted to all the bodies lying about, free blood for the taking, but his luck was never so good. He stuffs another thumbful of casp into his lower lip, tasting the slightly salty, slightly sour flavor of the gunk. Didn¡¯t do anything for him anymore either, no upside to it, but that didn¡¯t stop his fingers from twitching when he went too long without it. Morello scowled through the rain, looking about at what used to be a little hamlet parked in the middle of nowhere. Ugh. Why did he always get the shitty jobs? He knew why, of course. Sigrid had some stick up her ass, frigid bitch, put him on fetching. He could feel a dampness seeping into his sock, making it stick to his toes, and every time that he tried to adjust his foot, to find a more comfortable position, it just made it worse. Fucking Sigrid. Weren¡¯t his fault, not really. If she hadn¡¯t been so cold this last week, everything would have turned out fine, all things made proper, just the way she liked it. But she was cold, and Morello was still a man, wasn¡¯t he? He didn¡¯t rightfully know about that second part, but he knew he still felt urges like a man. He might not get a heady buzz off casp anymore like he used to, might not feel the cold clinging to his skin the same way he once had, he might be too aware of the little pebbles of dew sliding down his back, and all the buzzing of the mosquitoes might sound like someone trying to beat a door down, but that didn¡¯t mean he didn¡¯t feel things. Felt them more keenly now if anything. Yeah, maybe he had found some girls in this little ruin before they had made it such, and maybe he had encouraged them to help him ease his woes. Weren¡¯t really cheating on Sigrid, was it? They were supposed to be above these little people now, so how could anyone rightfully call it something like adultery? They couldn¡¯t, Morello knew that for a fact, and anyone that tried was just trying to fuck with his life, and when Sigrid turned cold that was exactly what she liked to do. And what was he supposed to do, anyway? Not let her go? He¡¯d told the four that the one that pleased him best got to leave with their life, hadn¡¯t he? Was she after making him a liar now? Such a pretty thing she¡¯d been, blonde, full of life, and blonde. Jealous is what she was, Sigrid that is, and what a pitiful thing to be jealous of the cattle. Morello would laugh at the thought of that, like Sigrid was jealous of a cow, if he weren¡¯t so fucking miserable, and wet, and annoyed, and wet. He swats another mosquito as it lands on his cheek, and he feels the warm splash of the insect¡¯s blood against his cold face far too keenly. ¡°Fucking!¡± Morello throws his hat in the mud and stamps on it. He screams curses at the world, pounding with the heel of his boot on the top of the fine headwear crushing it into the ground. The rage passes a moment later, and Morello is left there, looking down at what he had done to himself, again. It had been such a fine hat too, all tall and wide, sleek and black. Hadn¡¯t looked well at all on the burger, the fat man who was all jowls only looked fatter and older in it. ¡°Shit!¡± He kicks the hat, ignoring it as it flutters away and down to the ground. Best be about it, or Sigrid would sick him on some other bullshit duty. Morello tramps to the house just ahead of him. He knows it¡¯s the right one by the old man out on the stoop. Dead old man he was, a ragged sword through his chest, pinning him to his slowly swaying rocker. His eyes were open, looking down at the hilt of the shoddy looking blade neatly lying in his open hand, like he more shocked than anyone that it should be there. Morello guessed he might¡¯ve been. There was a sound coming from around back of the house, so that¡¯s where he went. He found what he was after, someone that by all means looked like a young man, lanky blonde hair falling across his face, gray eyes staring out at the waving stalks of wheat growing in the patch out back of the house. The moon was dark tonight, but just the little bit of light falling out of the sky was more than enough for them to see clear as day by. The little shit was staring at a brown hound tied to a post about ten feet off the back porch; scrawny little thing was barking away, but its voice was all cracked, must have been at it for hour. ¡°What do you think, it¡¯s thinking?¡± Ferro asks. Morello grits his teeth as he clomps up the steps, old boards creaking beneath his boots. Why did he always have to babysit all the fucking crazy ones? The gods must have him in particular, always had. It was better than actually finding the new ones and bringing them over, but not by much. At least this one kept most of his looks, not something that could be said for all of the coven, probably why the kid liked him, because they were similar in that way. Stupid fucking name, coven. It made them sound like a bunch of witches, but it¡¯s what Sigrid liked, so it¡¯s what they said. ¡°It¡¯s probably thinking that it¡¯s about to starve to death now that you done killed the one that feeds it,¡± Morello says. ¡°You reckon?¡± Ferro turns those big gray eyes on him, like the idea never occurred to him that a hound would be put out by what they¡¯d done. ¡°Dogs don¡¯t think, idiot.¡± Morello contains the urge to slap the little shit, barely. ¡°They bark, they eat, and they screw so they can make more dogs. On occasion, they bring balls back to you when you toss ¡®em, but there ain¡¯t a thing going on between the ears.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know about that,¡± Ferro says, looking back at the dog. ¡°I once knew a dog that could count.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, boy.¡± ¡°Ain¡¯t a lie, honest. Wessly Caith had a dog that could count. He¡¯d say a number, and his dog would bark that many times. Smartest animal I ever saw.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not counting, that¡¯s a trick. If I say two and slap you twice enough times, how often you think you¡¯ll flinch after a while?¡± Morello asks. The lanky boy just stares back, no look of thought or any kind of emotion on his face. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t flinch. Don¡¯t flinch anymore.¡± ¡°What¡¯re you doing out here, Ferro? Word was to get your fill, make sure you¡¯re tidied over for a week or two, and head back to the center of town. Sigrid¡¯s looking for you.¡± ¡°I was doing that, Mor, honest I was. Drinking my fill, making sure I¡¯m well over for a while, gettin¡¯ out all of them feeling like you taught me to do, but I don¡¯t think this little corner of the burg was quite big enough for that. Got to the end of it, out to where there¡¯s only the grain and the grass moving, and I still had feelings left. Thought I¡¯d have myself a sit and think on ¡®em for a while. Thinkin¡¯ helps get the feelings gone just as good as anything in my experience.¡± ¡°Thinking? What¡¯s a dullard like you got to think on?¡± Morello sneers. ¡°Not so much as you, I don¡¯t think.¡± Ferro looks up to the moon, or at least, where the moon would have been if the pissing clouds had gotten out of the way. ¡°I ain¡¯t the smartest one, I know that. Takes me a while to think it all through, but I get there, I reckon.¡± ¡°Well, you gotten there yet?¡± Morello asks. ¡°Just about.¡± ¡°How those feelings¡­feeling?¡± Ferro tries to wipe off his pants as he huddles forward to stand, but only slicks a bit of water out onto the porch. ¡°They¡¯re about as snoozy as they get,¡± he says. Then he looks at Morello with that wide smile of his, the one that makes Morello forget all the irritations in his life for just a minute. Morello can¡¯t help but snort a laugh and tassel the lad¡¯s hair. Ferro doesn¡¯t look like he enjoys it, the kid rarely looks like he enjoys anything, but Morello does it anyway. ¡°Best make our way back then.¡± ¡°Best on, boss.¡± They turn away from the sprouts of wheat and the barking dog out behind the house. Morello catches a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye as he turns, sees the rope that ties the pooch to the post flutter to the ground cut, and hears the animal run off into the night. Such an odd kid. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. Just as they are about to make it around the corner of the house, he noticed a body laying out near the edge of the field, a pretty young woman with hair like hay. She lay half-in a shift, like she was trying to put it on while running. Eight shoddy looking blades stick up out of her pale back, making her into some grotesque pincushion decorating the yard. Guess she hadn¡¯t made it all the way out of town after all, Morello thinks. Now Sigrid really did have nothing to complain about.
Ferro lumbers after. He always seems to lumber, can''t help it. His legs had always grown a bit too fast for the rest of him, and now they would stay that way if what Sigrid said is true. He looks about as they trek through the mud and sees the little houses built with rickety boards, scavenged from other structures that either collapsed or needed to be torn down at one point or another. A board stands out to him as having been painted at least three times, all the colors dull; people out this far can¡¯t afford anything better. The rain stops, which he figures is a good thing, but that doesn¡¯t keep the mud from sucking at his boots with each step. The gods never take back their miracles Sister Sinta always said, and what was rain other than a miracle? They passed a woman lying in the muck in front of a burnt-out house, Caberlin¡¯s work probably. The unburnt half of her reminded him of Sister Sinta a bit, any hint of curly black hair did these days, though she had never been too far from his mind. She was one of the feelings he was supposed to do away with, that¡¯s what Morello always told him, and who better to listen to than that man. Ferro kicks a rock as he passes by, sending it through half-drawn shutters with a crack that satisfies something in him and draws an annoyed look from Morello. He had to keep reminding himself that Morello wasn¡¯t a man, Ferro wasn¡¯t either for that matter. It was a difficult thing to do, considering whenever he looked down into the river that same, bland face stared blankly back at him. Just cause he still looked like himself, just cause Morello still looked normal enough, didn¡¯t make it so. Morello was a big man, tall too, and he imagined that women found him pretty handsome, probably why he managed to always keep on Sigrid¡¯s good side, given how much yelling the two did at each other. Ferro had been promised good looks too, that¡¯d been part of the whole deal, but nothing came about from it. He wasn¡¯t quite so sure what made a man look good, just knew that it wasn¡¯t what he had, but all the other parts had come out as a fair shake, so he didn¡¯t complain too much about not getting the pretty face he imagined. He liked Morello, found him interesting and strong. Stronger than Ferro at least, Morello had made that unmistakably clear in that first week when Ferro thought he might have just become the strongest thing in all creation. Weren¡¯t so. He¡¯d have said he had the scars to prove it, but those had gone too. They stalked through the town, finding the odd house collapsed or another burned. The west side had been Caberlin¡¯s part of it, far from Ferro¡¯s east side, and he couldn¡¯t rightly say he agreed with all the wanton burning of things. The things themselves had never done him a bad turn, and there had been so much work put into making them. Only fools broke a thing just because they could, Ferro estimated, and doing that was just plain evil Sister Sinta would have told him. Then he was back to thinking about her, and whether she had ever said something like that. If he was being honest, he¡¯d never listened all those hard to the sermons, too focused on watching how the sister strutted back and forth on the two-inch platform at the head of the chapel, imagining things he ought not to have, especially in the house of a god. He wondered what she¡¯d say if she saw this, probably nothing good. Was a sin to commit murder; that¡¯s what he¡¯d been told. Weren¡¯t really murder when the lord¡¯s son got a bit too drunk and ended up hitting David Finch in the head with the pommel of his sword a bit too hard though; that was what you called an accident. Didn¡¯t even need to have been an accident, the constable had explained that well enough to old Mrs. Finch, right there in the market square in front of everyone. An elf can¡¯t murder a man, only men can murder men, and elves can murder elves. Made some kind of sense to Ferro, but he didn¡¯t like it. Sister Sinta hadn¡¯t liked it none either, but then against she was always the one going on about how men had evil baked right into their bones. Something to do with what Ferro¡¯s grandfather¡¯s grandfather¡¯s grandfather had done. He didn¡¯t recall all the details, too many distractions in church for that, but he remembered a bit about men taking their big metal ships and trying to wipe everyone else off the world, saying that it weren¡¯t big enough. After you do something like that and lose, well, Ferro imagined that you might start looking at men as if they had evil right in the heart of ¡®em, maybe they did. He wondered what she¡¯d done when she¡¯d heard what he¡¯d done to Wailin Casp. He¡¯d pulled the loudmouth¡¯s jaw straight off, the second thing he did right after becoming whatever it was he is now. He¡¯d thought it¡¯d be funny; it wasn¡¯t. Ferro wondered what she might do if she found him in her kitchen some night, whether she¡¯d laugh when she heard his new name, whether she¡¯d shake in terror. He liked imaging that, and his mind stuck on it for a while. ¡°Ferro!¡± He flinched, finding that he was suddenly standing in the little patch of mud in front of the general store, that at least had been left untouched. Morello slaps him on the back of the head, making certain that he is back in the here and now. Sigrid is up in front of him, sitting with her legs dangling off the back of the cart, a mat of scuffed purple carpet underneath her to keep her off the boards. She was a big woman, built like a lumberjack he¡¯d have thought, the strongest among them and the head of the coven. Her long train of silver hair laid over her shoulders like a waterfall, red eyes seeming to glow the lower the light, and there weren¡¯t much light out tonight. Out next to her, was her wicked tree, a thing you might be fooled into thinking was an oak until you saw it twist its leafless branches and snag someone trying to run past. Five people were staked on its limbs just now, run through by spears of bark as thick around as a coin. The family that ran the general store, Ferro reckoned, except they wouldn¡¯t be running anything anymore. At the base of the tree, Kessa worked at a brass spigot nailed into the trunk, turning it open and holding a big glass jaw beneath the head to collect all the crimson fluid that flowed out, shining like amber despite the lack of light. Exeter help him, Ferro hated that one. She might¡¯ve been pretty once, but the change had done her dirty there. All her skin clung tight to her bones, her eyes made into deep hollows that peered out, lips shrunken back so that she could never even come close to closing her mouth. Ferro hated her for how she looked, never did like ugly things, but it was how she always hung around Sigrid and whined about every little thing that he hated the most. Of the eight in the coven, she¡¯d be the one he got rid of first were things up to him. ¡°Well?¡± Sigrid asked. Another slap against the back of his head. Ferro reckoned for a moment that he would get a third from Morello here in a second. ¡°Didn¡¯t rightly hear ya,¡± Ferro admitted. ¡°Didn¡¯t hear me?¡± ¡°The kid¡¯s been thinking,¡± Morello explained. ¡°What do you have to think about, Ferro? Got some interesting perspective that you might like to share?¡± Sigrid sneers. ¡°Says it takes him a while to work through his thoughts.¡± Morello laughs. ¡°Least you can say is that he is aware of that.¡± ¡°Been wondering whether we¡¯re evil or no,¡± Ferro says. The words earn him a look from Sigrid, a slight tilt of the head and a raising of the brow, pushes him to go on. ¡°Men are supposed to be bad deep down, right? Twas by the mercy of the lords and ladies of the land that they¡¯re allowed to stay here, right. If that¡¯s true and all, don¡¯t make much sense to me. Thought for a little bit that I might be a monster now, even though I might not look it much.¡± Ferro tosses a glare over Kessa¡¯s way. ¡°But then I remembered what was true about monsters, things made up out of magic, gods¡¯ punishments for the badness in the world. That¡¯s not what I¡¯m made up of, don¡¯t think so anyway. ¡°Is a good thing to kill monsters, given that they¡¯re evil and all, and that all they wanna do is kill you or me, but then it don¡¯t make much sense that killing men should be all that different. Men are evil too, aren¡¯t they? We¡¯re not them no more, so does that mean the evil¡¯s been taken all out. Is what we¡¯re doing getting rid of it, pullin¡¯ evil out of the world. Better than the nobility does, letting it spread and grow out on the land. Is mercy evil then?¡± Sigrid snickers, shaking her head. ¡°Boy, you¡¯re a strange one. Rest that troubled mind of yours Ferro, it¡¯s not all that difficult.¡± Sigrid raises a jar, sloshing the red deliciousness around inside, taking a sip, her whole body shuddering as it slides down her gullet. Ferro feels his own body shudder; she¡¯d let him drink right from her tree once, and he never could forget the taste of it. ¡°There¡¯s no good or evil out there Ferro, just folks and beasts. I have my doubts that there are any gods watching over us either, never seen hide or hair of one. Would you call a dog evil when it snatches a chicken from the yard?¡± ¡°It¡¯s what dogs do,¡± Ferro answers, his dull gray eyes locked fully on the jar in Sigrid¡¯s hand. ¡°That¡¯s right, it¡¯s just what they do. Get it?¡± He nods, thinking about it for a moment, but finding the answer a bit too easy for his taste. Not that he¡¯d tell Sigrid, tried doing that once, but what she had heard was that he thought she was stupid. You didn¡¯t want to call Sigrid stupid, especially not to her face. ¡°Good,¡± she says. ¡°Now, answer my question. What did you find on the east side?¡± ¡°Wheat,¡± he says. ¡°Woulda thought they¡¯d brought it in by now, but I suppose they could have been a lazy bunch. Wasn¡¯t too much more than that. I did find a chest buried out in the field, but it only had copper in it, nothing too big, not what you told me to be on the lookout for.¡± Sigrid sighs, screwing the lid back on the jar in her hand one agonizing twist at a time. ¡°Figured. Messenger just got around to us, saying that it likely isn¡¯t out here. We will be leaving here, so if there¡¯s anything you might want to snatch, now¡¯s the time to do so.¡± Sigrid looks around at the seven standing around her cart, all somewhat miserable and damp. ¡°Perk up, we¡¯re heading to civilization.¡± Chapter 101 - Mountaintop Humankind is infected with a fascination for death, whether it be their own or that of others, whether they are the cause of it or merely a spectator. Others dismiss this as owing to their short lives, but my experience proves otherwise. They are made of death; it is a fundament of their nature. I beg the Sovereign to refuse this plea for sanctuary. No matter how useful this species may be for cultivating the land, the juice is not worth the squeeze. Do not invite this infestation upon us. No matter your decision, know that it is my now and lasting stance that I will not give them even one acre of land on which to settle. I know that you will see sense. -An excerpt from correspondence to Emperor Corilaise II, penned by Drais, King of Gale High on the eastern slope of the mountain preserve Kor¡¯Liana, there lay a forest climbing up to a bare and bald peak. Well, most of a forest anyway. Looking at it now, black patches spotting the green slope, I imagine that a good bit of it would not count so much anymore. The trees here on the slopes of the mountains were far smaller than out in the great forest that rises to meet the rock, still grand and splendorous, roots as big around as my thigh and leaves all shades of green, yellow, and the occasional red, but their trunks did not climb hundreds of feet into the air, and I cannot walk across their branches like they were a bridge. Most of all, they seem to catch fire far easier than the ones down on the flatland. Smoke still rises from one patch recently burned, no more than twenty acres. It isn¡¯t even my fault really that the fire started over there. I hope all the animals got out alright. Outside of the swaths of green only slightly marred black was the peak of the mountain where the really dangerous monsters laid their claim. Where they had. I kick a pebble off the boulder I sit upon, chewing on some grilled meat, regretting not packing more spices for the trip. The pebble skips, spinning over longways and bouncing among the rocks down the side of the slope, leaving a little, smokey landslide in its wake before disappearing into the trees. Holding the bit of meat in my mouth, it comes from some animal called a camel and I don¡¯t know the name for that kind of meat, I inspect the straps holding my steel gloves on, looking each finger over for weathering. There certainly is some, but not so much that they won¡¯t hold up another day. ¡°This is where I begin the conversation with you again,¡± Jess says, coming out of the ship parked on a flat bit of the mountain just a dozen strides away. ¡°Why bother?¡± I ask around the meal between my teeth. ¡°That¡¯s what I keep asking myself,¡± she says, plopping down on the boulder like it was a cushion. I have no idea how she does that; it makes my spine hurt every time I see it¨Cprobably the reason she keeps doing it. ¡°Then I remember that I can¡¯t fly this ship, and that if you die doing something reckless, I will have to walk all the way back to Grim.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not going to die,¡± I say. Deciding to just go ahead and spit the bit of camel back into the paper that the butcher had sold it to me in. ¡°I can¡¯t.¡± Her scaly lips turn down into a frown, and I take a bit of satisfaction in the dig. I begin to look over my other gauntlet, far less worn and flame-kissed, but no one would mistake it for new. ¡°You aren¡¯t immortal,¡± she says. ¡°You don¡¯t have that yet.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Considering what I have survived, I am secretly immortal or one of the gods has a soft spot for me. Which one do you think, Gavvis? I heard he has a soft spot for red heads.¡± ¡°Well perhaps you can spend some time with him before he ushers your soul on past the veil when you get your head staved in.¡± I find myself squinting at that, considering. I¡¯ve survived being stabbed, impaled, thrown off at least two cliffs, cut up, slapped into a stone wall, strangled, and on one occasion almost having my back broken over a golden railing, but nothing had tried staving my head in yet. ¡°Then, I just won¡¯t let it.¡± Jess pulls on my shoulder, forcing me to look at her. Her cheeks puff up with breath, and her eyes search my face, but then she merely sighs and shakes her head. ¡°I¡¯ll give you an hour,¡± she says. ¡°What!¡± I turn to fully face her. ¡°We said that we would wait until nighttime. There¡¯s going to be a full moon out tonight and everything. This is supposed to be special; we only get to do it once.¡± She shrugs. ¡°You are already making me wait so you can go do this, so you can pretend that you are the big queen of the mountain.¡± ¡°Won¡¯t be pretending,¡± I say. ¡°So, you can pretend,¡± she repeats. ¡°Makes me want to just go ahead and do it on my own.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t believe this.¡± I jump down from the rock, angrier than I expected I might be. ¡°You¡¯ve waited two weeks for me to be ready, and now you are just going to be selfish like that.¡± Jess snorts, folding her arms across her chest. ¡°I¡¯m the one being selfish here, is it? You have nothing to gain, but you want to put your life on the line anyway and inconvenience me in the process.¡± ¡°What did I say when we first saw this mountain?¡± I ask. Her eye twitches. ¡°Something I thought was a joke at the time.¡± ¡°I said that I was going to kill every monster on this mountain. You even told me to do it, said that I should.¡± ¡°Like I said, I thought you were joking.¡± ¡°Well, how many are left?¡± I throw my arms wide, motioning to the silent rock and the partially burned forest. She just stares back at me, arms crossed, thoroughly unimpressed. I don¡¯t know how she manages to not be impressed; I impressed myself a whole lot with all the slaughter of the vile and evil. ¡°Less time left now,¡± she says. ¡°What¡¯s it been¡­two minutes?¡± I swallow the urge to growl at her. She was going to ruin my perfect day, if she had her way. Nothing for it but to be quick about it. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in a few,¡± I say, plastering on a smile. ¡°I¡¯ll be waiting,¡± she says back in a high-singsong tone. ¡°But I won¡¯t wait too long.¡± ¡°You won¡¯t need to,¡± I say, turning and taking a moment to find the path up the side of the mountain, starting my hike up to the cave near the summit. ¡°Good, because I won¡¯t be,¡± she calls after me. ¡°I¡¯m glad, see you in a few,¡± I call back down, tramping up the incline. ¡°Might be a new woman by the time you get back!¡± she calls up, having to raise her voice to be heard. ¡°You might not even recognize me!¡± ¡°Won¡¯t be that long!¡± I shout back. ¡°You¡¯ll probably not even have moved!¡± ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll move alright! Move damned fine if I want to!¡± I don¡¯t even know what she could possibly mean by that, and as I find a level bit of path and pick up the pace, it seems a bit silly to keep shouting back to her now that she¡¯s out of sight. The path was a surprise to find a week and a half back when we decided to go ahead and try the peak of the mountain. It¡¯s an actual worn and seemingly well-trodden path that cuts through the high rocks sticking up out of the earth. Different branches snake off it like a river, each leading out to a different cave bored into rock. I catch sight of one as I walk by, the torched rock around the entrance sparking memory for a moment. That had been dangerous. Well, they all had, I suppose. Killing monsters was dangerous after all, most of the time. First thing I did when we arrived was start blowing them apart from inside the ship, well out of reach of most of them. They got wise to that pretty quick, something I didn¡¯t know monsters could do, get wise. In the last few weeks, I have probably shed more blood on this mountain than there is in three of me put together. Sometimes I wonder why I even wear the armor, but then the chest piece saved me from some nasty kind of spit that ate into even the stone, and I remember. Jess has done her best to keep it fixed, bringing her really had been an inspired idea, but there is only so much one woman without any supplies can do. We need to leave soon, just having a normal bath and meal would be a thing to soothe my soul, and we will leave soon, but I have one more thing that needs to be taken care of first. Then I arrive. The sloping grain of the path up the mountain starts to level off once more, switching between huge boulders sat pointing at the sky for centuries. My staff falls into my hand, and it still requires a good deal of my concentration to activate the correct enchantment cleverly hidden in the length of its silver shaft. A network of intersecting channels, crisscrossing lines of infused mana interplaying with one another, active all along the shaft, and at the head forms a momentary circle of runes flickering a dull blue. The spellform exists for a mere instant before churning away like smoke, becoming ethereal and nothing before it even drifts a foot from the head of the staff. Now stands a blue point from the head of the staff like a spear, and only I can see it. ¡°First try.¡± I smirk at the staff, enjoying the light.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Excellently done,¡± Galea praises beside me. I think she might even mean it this time. My free hand turns over, a pebble falling out of my inventory next to me and plinking off the dirt. It would appear just a simple lump of black stone to most other eyes, but mine see it for what it is. A whisp of power rises off of it, so subtle that I never would have noticed it in the first place had Galea not pointed it out on the path a few days ago. The instant that the blue shaft of light peeling off my staff touches the stone a path coils up out of the dirt. It snakes through the boulders ahead of me, somehow finding the road of least resistance, heading toward and disappearing into the cave at the end of the road. ¡°Looks like he¡¯s home,¡± I say. A tingling heat traces down through my arms, soaking into my fingers like a buzz, the anticipation of a fight. I become a grinning fool, stalking forward, magic flowing through my veins, making the thaumic leap between my palm and the metal of my staff, collecting in the reservoir chamber molded into the crown of the weapon, amplified just the barest amount as it resounds inside. I swipe my hand to the side, pulling free my second staff made of corded wood, the flicking flame in its head burning dull emerald, growing brighter as power thrums inside it as well. I¡¯m as ready as I¡¯ll ever be. The hazy line of blue crawling into the hollow of the cave before me shimmers. I still have not mastered holding the spell and wielding my essentia powers in concert yet, the strain is too much for my focus. Lamplighter¡¯s Charge begins to buzz in my hand, and my smile only grows the wider; a lucky charge of dragonfire burns bright, carrying over twice the mana I can consistently pour into the ability. It is my staff of moonsilver I level at the darkness of the cave however, long ready to begin. A ball of ghostly blue fire sails out of the end of my staff, its luminance so diminished that it hardly illuminates the cave as it disappears into the dark. Two seconds pass before a detonation resounds from the black, a quake passing through the earth beneath my metal-clad feet, followed quickly behind by a roaring cry that cannot have come from a throat made of flesh. I feel it first as tap up my leg, its origins deep in the stone; then another tap, harder, following close behind. The taps become a slow beat, picking up pace, growing stronger with each repetition. Something in the dark bellows once more. Another, smaller ball of blue dragonfire peels away from the head of my staff, pulsing out and vanishing into the dark. I continue to fire blindly, listening for another bellow as the pounding of some great unseen feet picks up in rhythm. The detonations of the bolts in the darkness become chaos, some sailing all the way to the end of the cave, some detonating on unseen obstacles inside, and a rare few slapping in the approaching monster. The pebbles littering the clear space in front of the cave entrance begin to dance to the music of the footfalls, loose gravel sliding down from the slope further up, dust falling from the cave entrance where the light can reach. Another roar cracks out of the cave, the sound so loud that it almost forces my eyes closed in a flinch. A bulky hand of stone is the first thing to come lunging into the speckled light of the cavemouth, a three-fingered mass large enough around to crush a bull¡¯s head between its fingers, leading up to an arm still appearing from the light. The rest of it is kept in shadow, a windowed square of black with blue text written upon it appearing in the air, distracting. I flick Lamplighter¡¯s Charge up just the barest amount, a mass of green fire sailing forth so hard that I stumble back a step despite the set of my feet. The green flame carrying a corrosive payload detonates against the center of the emerging mass of monstrosity, the flash of light from the detonation too much for me to look at. The monster does not roar out its pain, not that I could have heard it over the deafening crash, and it feels as if the entire mountain shakes in that instant of green light. Hardly any time passes at all before the round mouth of the cave collapses in a heap of dust and rubble, chalky smoke launching forward and rushing over me in a wave that leaves me sputtering and my mouth dry. I wave Lamplighter¡¯s Charge, the green fire on the staff scraping away the dust, and stare forward through the haze toward the entrance of the cave. It has become a mound of tan stone, stacked so haphazardly you might imagine that a fifteen-year-old boy had been set to the task. One precarious stone gives way, bouncing down the pile, hopping this way and that, before clattering still at the bottom. Everything was still for a moment, everything but me. With a momentary channeling in the head of both my staves, I rush toward the pile. As I come within ten strides, it explodes outwards in a spray of rocky shrapnel. One large piece bounces off my temple, making me stumble and whirl as I am forced to a standstill or lose my feet. One great arm made of stone sticks up from the pile of rocks. Another explosion of pebbles sprays the air to my right, a cone of deadly debris, among them pebbles of onyx bleeding red power in their wake. With a final flying of stones, the monster pulls itself free of the rubble and stands just outside the cave. Its shape is the most vague thing, like some child scribbled their amorphous imagining of what a monster made of stone might look like. Its body is one huge piece of tan rock, heavily weighted in its bulk to the right side, lacking a neck or head. Two arms emerge from the central boulder on both its craggy sides, each ending in a huge three fingered hand. Its legs look more like petrified tree trunks than anything that should allow it mobility, the left far more gnarled and skinnier than the right. Right in the middle of the boulder that is its body, a huge hole as long across as my leg reveals the dusty cavemouth behind it, and floating in the center of that hole is a ball of stone, perfectly spherical, made of smooth and shiny onyx. Stone Elemental(Level 76) The elemental pulls itself from the rubble, rocks scattering away from it like dandelion seeds. Patches across its boulder-like body are a different coloration, spots of dull gray clinging to it, a thin layer of ice forming in the discoloration. My silver staff fires again and again, hurling blue balls of cold flame into its front. There is no home for the fire on the stone, all dragonfire is at its core fire no matter how aspected¨Cgo figure¨Cbut more spots of freezing gray start to polka dot its body. It swings an arm in my direction as I add balls of green fire to the blue, trying to bring it down with a mixture of corrosion and cold. The swing is as inevitable as death, but it is slow. I move aside, dancing away, my mana burning down as my assault continues. Ice clings to it and pocking holes start to mar its tan exterior, but the damage is superficial. The elemental stumbles forward from the stones, each step more ponderous than the last as the cold seeps further and further into it. Two of its great arms spin forward, trying to snatch me up, but again I dance aside. I fail to notice its other arms until it is nearly too late. There is a glow from its lower sets of arms, hard stone fingers flashing a muddy red as they clench tight around fistfuls of stone. Its lower arms snap forward, flinging the stones at me in a spray of shrapnel infused with its magic. A hail of jagged shards ping into my breastplate, cutting into the gaps of my armor at the elbow and waist, the mass of the stones knocking me from my feet. One stone snaps into my cheekbone, knocking my head to the side, almost ruining my balance as I roll back up to my feet. Lamplighter¡¯s Charge is away in the dirt, the head of green flame slowly dying. The shadow that falls over me is the only warning I get to spin out of the way. Forgoing my peppering assault of chilling dragonfire, I roll away, spin to avoid a wide swipe, tumble away to make distance. Damn, this thing is just too resistant to fire. Charge begins to build in my moonsilver staff, the head almost seeming to glow orange and white as I pour as much power into it as quickly as I can manage. The elemental comes on, chasing me across the dirt before the cave. Its feet seem almost to flow through the gravel like it is wading through shallow water while each step grows more and more precarious for me. I nearly slip on a loose patch of earth, my eye busy looking through my inventory window. The distraction nearly costs me my life, an animated hand of stone smashing into the earth just in front of me. ¡°It¡¯s worth it,¡± I reassure myself. Ripping a package of yellow gizzards out of my inventory, all bound in a steel net I had Jess make for me a few days ago. An elemental¡¯s greatest strength is its amorphous nature. Its lack of supporting physiology requires magic to intercede in order to maintain the superstructure of the animation. As such, they typically enjoy astounding defenses and magic defenses, especially against magical attacks that have poor interactions with their native affixes. All of my delving into enchanting, perusing the books I purchased in Grim during the downtime on my little personal expedition, has made it quite clear that stone will in almost all cases triumph over fire. It is one of the most basic and well-known affix interactions. Given the sheer power and singularity of their affixes, elementals are also prone to very specific weakness as well. I hurl the bundle of thunder lizard gizzards at the elemental, work that required weeks of targeted hunting and delving into the art of butchering. The stone elemental ignores the package flying at its body just as it has done to every attack I have made against it so far. Its four arms climb skyward, its intent to crush me in one motion that I cannot avoid. The bundle of gizzards bounces off its front, and in the slight moment following contact, I raise my staff. A mass of burning orange dragonfire riven through with the chaotic white of the growth affix collides with the bundle. The lightning affixed mana inside the gizzards combusts and combines with the intense fire mana in the dragonfire in compliment, the growth affixed mana only serving to catalyze the reaction. My vision goes white, the heat of the explosion kissing my face. Just as it is understood that stone will defeat fire, it is known that lightning will crack stone. The world returns to color, a whine left in my ears that begins to fade even before I can see clearly again. A spasm of stone in front of me draws my attention. The stone elemental spasms on the ground, a quarter of the great boulder that is its body shattered and missing, the hole running straight through the creature broken. It lays on what you might call its back, only three arms remaining, burning and molten fluid seeping into the cracks of its stone. I waste no time. As it kicks and thrashes on the stone, I leap atop the monster, seizing the sphere of stone that floats in what had once been a perfectly circular hole. The entirety of the monster shudder as I grab ahold of the core, and a gibbering whine vibrates through the air as I begin to wrench it free. The monster¡¯s thrashing becomes so terrible that I need to discard my remaining weapon to steady myself on its chest, pulling against the magical force that keeps the core trapped in the elemental¡¯s center, hoping against hope that it does not regain enough of its senses to bring a hand down atop me and flatten me. Spit bubbles through my lips while I pull. Not for the first time, I wish I had invested more focus into increasing my strength. I haul on the core for what seems like a full minute, and then, with a sudden pop, the sphere of stone comes free. The ground rushes up, knocking the air out of me as I fall on my back. I breathe, looking up at the sky, moving my hand around to pull my staff from the middle of my back after having fallen on it. A window appears in the air in front of me. You have defeated Stone Elemental(Level 76)! You are unable to gain further soul reinforcement until progressing to the next rank I laugh, a puff of dust falling away from my face, and hold up the stone elemental core in front of me, putting it between me and the sun. Idly, I kick the corpse of the elemental with a boot, turning into pink smoke that condenses and spirals away. ¡°Well,¡± I tell the stone core, turning it over in the light, finding it oddly light considering what it is, ¡°I guess that makes me Queen of the Mountain.¡± Finally, I am ready. I have done everything I set out to. It is time to become rank two. Chapter 102 - Rank Two Having studied the issue from multiple perspectives over my long career, I feel the need to challenge the established canon. It is my expert opinion that the crusade was constituted of culture rather than of arms, no matter what the old geezers might tell you. I understand the danger in this interpretation, but the truth always shines through. With the evidence I have collected, there will be no other recourse. -Written by an unknown historian, her name lost to time I knew she was bluffing. After I come down from the mountain trail, bouncing on my feet and tossing the stone core in the air over and over again, I find Jess exactly where I left her, lying back on the boulder and bathing in sunlight. Despite all her talk about one hour, she makes me wait until nightfall before we start. We stack a fire out on the flat plateau, next to the ship, content to stare up at the night sky and watch the stars slowly appear from the expanse. Their twinkling light is always a marvel anytime I actually take the time to look, and the full moon is already high in the sky by the time the night arrives in full. Jess smashes the orange shells of some insect monster we hunted weeks back in a mortar, adding an array of powders and oils until she has a thick and bright paste. She applies the orange to my face, tracing intricate lines with her pointed claw, snapping at me each time I fail to sit fully still for her. The paste runs down my neck in a sloping pattern, forming curls on my shoulders, and coming to intersecting lines near my navel, just a slight distortion where they cross over the jagged scar on my left side. I stare into a large saucer filled with water while she repeats the markings on her own face and body, claws moving deftly despite her not even looking to a reflection for assistance. I look wild, my orange hair made frizzy from the heat of the fire and almost matching the lines in color and chaotic pattern. The paint stands out far brighter and more beautifully on Jess¡¯ scales. She sets the bowl aside holding out a hand to me, beckoning me to sit across the fire from her. Back in Westgrove, there is not so much ceremony to this. When I watched Halford advance to the second rank, he meditated for a long time as we watched on, eventually manifesting his soul and trapping it in a cage. I like Jess¡¯ way better. ¡°Tonight, we shall reflect upon the shards of our greater being for the first time,¡± she says to me, her words strangely accented, as if she is repeating them by rote. ¡°We shall call out to the veil where it lingers, begging its passage into this world of mortality and pain, and in its light and shape we shall see a reflection of ourselves, of our future and past. Contemplate this, understand it, for the energy in the divine is more you than this mortal shell.¡± I politely decline saying that I have seen my soul already, many times in fact. I nod to Jess. She nods to the box we set near the fire, a bit of irritation in her glance, like I am screwing up some part that she already explained to me. Ignoring that, I slide the box my way, dipping my hand inside and pulling free the soul cage of sparkling crystal from inside. In the light of the flickering flame, the crystal glows a pulsing orange, and it feels right in my hand somehow. ¡°My prison,¡± I say, the only words she told me to say before we began. Jess slides the box toward herself, pulling free a soul cage made of feathersteel, one she made herself with what she managed to salvage from the metal I gave to her before we began this expedition. It is a wonderful piece, bands of interlaced chain as thin as a hair all coiling around one another. The runes are not set into the metal as I have seen with all other soul cages but painted on in purple geometry. Flecks of mica in the paint catch the firelight, making the entire thing seem to sparkle. ¡°My prison,¡± Jess says. As one, we stand, each holding our soul cages before us. ¡°When next we come together, it shall be as two different women, but sisters.¡± I nod, turning a second after her, eyes scanning the darkness outside the reach of our fire. The sounds of Jess¡¯ feet padding off into the dark grow quiet as she descends the mountain eastward, toward a clearing she told me of before. I grab two more logs and toss them over the fire before leaving the campsite, the place of my own ascension long since picked and prepared, gravel crunching beneath my naked feet. The glade is by far the most serene place I have found on the mountain. A pool of placid water catches the moonlight, burning a pale white as I step from the trees. Opposite the pool from me, a doe and her fawn lap at the water, their ears flicking as I enter the glade. The do not notice me until I reach the cushion I set before the water, my footfalls on the dewy grass far too soft. The mother deer looks up, and for a moment our eyes meet, and then she darts away. I stand upon the cushion, looking over the fawn, something in the eyes of the animal striking a sad chord within my heart. It moves away through the swaying stalks, loping silently into the forest beyond the glade and vanishing. My breath hurts when next I take it in, but I force myself down onto the cushion, ignoring the heat rising at the back of my neck. Once again, I have reached the threshold, and once again I will cross over. I know no fancy tricks of meditation; such things are made for those that do not recover as quickly as I do. Merely, I attempt to repeat what I saw my brother do, closing my eyes before the water and trying to reach out, to touch that piece of my soul that has been travelling to me for months now. Then I am there, floating in a voidscape punctuated by an infinite number of wan lights floating in the distance and sitting in the glade both. Two things float before me. To my left is a simple shape of dull silver, twelve sides slowly revolving, more than half taken up by runes dedicated to the magic I have stored in the soul index. To my right, the huge manifestation that I know to be my soul. The concentric geometries, the largest faceted with too many sides to count, the smallest most center one with less than five. Two runes are burned into the surface of one of the center shapes, one bearing the symbol for cold and the other fire. Further out, on a spinning geometry of more sides shines the symbol for growth. Occasionally, as all the shapes turn in chaotic resonance, the symbols overlap with each other, and a beam of power attempts to manifest in the space between, a sound like a pure note ringing through the dark. How many hours have I spent staring at the spinning shapes, trying to puzzle out the mystery of my own soul. I lose track of time, staring at the beautiful geometry, my mind lost in my own puzzlement. Then I feel a connection, something reaching out of the vastness of my soul, a hollowness in my gut, a slight tug inward, and I know its destination to be this. Somehow, I know how to pull on that connection. An enormity of weight, a stubborn inertia tears at my guts, both tickling and yanking on my innards, but I do not let go. Flashes of cold and hot crash over me in waves. I become aware of my body out in the glade, sitting and holding the soul cage out in the air before me, sweat dripping from my skin. A ringing sound like an echoing bell resounds and the points of light littering the void seem almost to shimmer. I want to laugh, I want to cry, feeling like my body is trying to turn itself inside out as I haul on a weight far greater than myself, and then it is gone, the void made black.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. I open my eyes, my left clouded by my own sweat, staring at the bundle of crystal held out in my hands. The orange light of dawn colors the sky on the opposite end of the pool, setting the soul cage in my hand alight with fire. Between the gaps in the bindings of crystal loops, I see it, that shifting bundle of shapes made so small within the cage. My hands move on their own, some instinct older than my race ordering my motions, bringing the soul cage to my breasts. It passes into me as if I were made of rippling water, nestling into the right cavity of my chest like a second heart. A lance of pain forces a gasp, and I double forward, my skin glowing with an eerie light. Then world vanishes, everything made white in one glorious moment, and the pain banishes all thought. When next I realize I am alive, I stare down at a slender hand dipped into the water before me. I stare down into my reflection, knowing that it is me as soon as I set eyes on the girl there. No, she is clearly a woman. Her features are thin and serious, one eye a slitted like a serpent''s, the other an orb of black with a red iris, staring back up from above high-cheek bones, looking as if she is taking me in and dismissing me all at once. Any trace of orange paint is gone from her, likely worn away by hours of sweat. She must be in her early twenties, far older than my mere seventeen years. She is a beauty, no doubt about it, but she wears it in a cold way. Hair, red and possessing a slight wave falls around her, melts off her shoulders like bloody fire, no longer the orange that people like to call red, but a genuine crimson. I touch my face, finding my hand transformed as well, the calluses and dirt I have built up over the last months vanished, the skin smooth and without any sign of a blemish. No sign that those hands have ever done anything other than dress myself is in evidence, and the springy skin feels like silk against my fingertips, but there is a strength in it that makes me almost believe it could stop a blade. I try to smile, finding my reflection in the water copying me, and feel myself almost enchanted by myself. I know that I will spend too long staring at myself if I give into that vain desire. There will be plenty of time later for that. Standing, I find myself a bit at a loss for balance. The simple trousers and a wrap of bandages around my chest that I came down to the water with drape me in an odd way. Before, there had been some bulk to me, long hours working in the orchard only refined by the integration of the essentia, but my body has slimmed in reaching the second rank. I find for the first time a part of the transformation that I do not like so much, looking at my arms, finding any sign of muscle slight and dense. At the same time, I must have gained a few more inches in height, the main root of the tightness of my trousers, while the bandages around my chest have only grown tighter if anything. No matter, that is why I bought a few sets in all sorts of sizes before leaving Grim. I bound back the way I came, my new legs learning the new steps, the new length of my stride, more quickly than should be natural. A giggle escapes me as I run through the twilight dawn, seeing as well as if it were midday and not knowing if that is owed to the light in the sky or the new strength of my eyes. Stepping into the light of the camp, the sight in front of me stops me short. At first, I mistake the woman sitting on a cushion by the fire, stabbing the embers with a long stick, for a stranger. How could I not? Jess has changed more than I could have imagined. A woman that the darkness makes seem almost human sits at the fire. The hard cast of her scales has been worn smooth, the triangle pattern standing out across her like a print on red skin. Her face has become softer as well but still angular, almost like an elf''s, and her mouth boasts a set of lips that I might almost call pouty. The woman has hair now, a lizardkin with hair, a loose crop of black ringing her head in a boyish fashion. She notices me standing on the edge of the camp, her eyebrows raising as she looks me over, actual eyebrows with dark and thin hair. She smiles, finally revealing the sharp teeth that I have seen her flash my way a hundred times before. ¡°You did it, sister,¡± she says, tossing the stick aside and standing. Then, I notice the rest of her has changed as well, the taut skin that still vaguely resembles scales pulled smooth across her stomach and showing off rows of powerful muscle. She also has¡­there are¡­Jess now has breasts, there is no other way to say it. Given that, and the usual lack of clothing she is prone to wear, I find myself blushing madly as she wraps me in a hug. ¡°I did,¡± I say, searching for words. ¡°You did too, though it seems you changed far more than I did.¡± She holds me at arms-length, looking me up and down before glancing down at herself. ¡°It would seem that I was further from the creator¡¯s ideal. Tonight, I have grown closer to Sadissa, might this body come to bring light to her vision.¡± ¡°Closer to the creator?¡± Arabella had said something about theology getting wrapped up in the transformations that magicians underwent when advancing between ranks. ¡°Of course.¡± Jess gestures to her near nakedness. ¡°Do I not strike a resemblance closer to Sadissa now than I ever did before?¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know,¡± I say. Her fanged mouth hangs open for a moment before she shrugs and nods. ¡°I suppose that is fair. There are depictions that I need to show to you then. I admit, I only have seen representations of Parfillio, nothing of his wife, the ideal for your women.¡± Her eyes roam over me once more. ¡°I can only assume that she is quite tall.¡± She brings her hands up, hands that noticeably do not end in claws, and cups her breasts, looking between the two of us. ¡°I assume that hers are quite large as well, considering what happened to yours. Are larger better?¡± ¡°Are¡­what?¡± I step back from her, not exactly certain if this is not all some strange hallucination. ¡°When I watched you softskins before, the men seem to find the larger ones more attractive.¡± She sighs, looking down at herself. ¡°I cannot imagine these as being anything other than a hinderance. Sure, they help to feed and nurture strong young, but how do you not get them chopped off in the middle of a battle.¡± It is impossible to do anything but stare at her. She studies me for a moment longer. ¡°Ah, yes. My aunt said that things may become like this. ¡®You won¡¯t be so excited to take the second form of our people when in mixed company.¡¯ Now I see what she means. My nakedness did not distress you before, but now I suppose that it may.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, waving my hand. ¡°It isn¡¯t that you are naked. It¡¯s just¡­I suppose I had gotten used to it in a different way.¡± ¡°Not to worry,¡± Jess squeezes my shoulder, and I notice for the first time that she is nearly a head shorter than me now. ¡°I have prepared for the discomfort of humans beforehand.¡± Before I can say anything, she skips to a basket near the fire and retrieves a huge garment. Jess pulls over herself what looks to be a night shirt, the hem hanging down all the way past her knees, blue linen with darker blue vertical stripes. She holds her hands wide, looking like she just threw on a tent. ¡°See, you should be comfortable now.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I lie. ¡°Thank you for the consideration.¡± ¡°We are sisters now,¡± Jess says. ¡°Looking after one another will be our bond. Now, I don¡¯t know about you, but I could really eat.¡± She crouches near a wicker basket and begins to pull parcels of paper-bound meat from inside. ¡°I think that it is finally about time to start eating that wolf creature, the one from the rocks.¡± I stare at her as the pale light of the sun¡¯s first rays begin to reach down toward the mountain. I find myself fiddling with my fingers, enjoying the sensation of touching my own skin. Jess begins to hum as she prepares breakfast, and I find myself dropping in beside her, matching her tune in a voice deeper than the one I remember having. As the meat sizzles in the pain, the smell of a delicious meal wafting off the cast iron, the sun fully peaks from behind the far mountain range, and the strangest, most important, night of my life comes to a close. Everything else aside, Jess is right about at least one thing, I can¡¯t help but feel bound to her. The next chapter of my life opens, and I find my feet already running down the path. Chapter 103 - Where I Am Now ¡°The Shadow, why ask me such about such an esoteric and inconsequential entity? The Shadow long lost influence in this area of the material, if it ever had a purchase at all. No, I am not avoiding the question. This interview is over for today. Leave, before I decide to make your form into one incapable of such impertinence.¡± -Excerpt from ¡°My Talks with Glis¡¯Merinda, Daughter of Exeter¡± Written by Dak of Kell The breakfast we enjoy is overshadowed by the giddy feeling building up inside me. Jess managed to secret some spices away from me, even managed to hide them somewhere I wouldn¡¯t find while I snooped through all the supplies for any remaining shred of salt almost three weeks ago. The meat melts on my tongue; I swear the woman should be a cook if killing monsters doesn¡¯t end up working out. We eat quickly, neither one of us fully able to keep smiles off our faces. I continuously feel energy spreading through my fingers along with my pulse, unable to keep my vision locked to any one thing. The world has changed. There exists an almost haze about everything, a shifting of color that does nothing to obscure my vision, only enhance it. I see it most pronounced on Jess, the aura of her soul presence lapping off her skin and evaporating into the air. Just looking at the aura, something almost like a taste comes to me, some sensation that I cannot place as I stare at the wisps of silvery gray, feeling a heaviness on the back of my tongue. I know it, can feel the taste of her magic, but the feeling is novel, I have nothing to relate it to. She catches me staring. ¡°You finished already,¡± she says, looking at the wooden bowl in my hands. ¡°I suppose I did.¡± Grease slips from one of the shanks staked over our fire, sputtering and sizzling in the flames. There is a taste to the fire as well, far more muted, its spice almost undetectable. A glare catches my eye, the rising sunlight glinting off the gilded dome of the ship, and along its smooth exterior I sense magic as well. The taste of it is complex, an interplay of ingredients that come together in a recipe only possible for the most experienced of chefs to create. I pick something out in the flavor, that same heaviness, the same hard coolness, that I sensed from Jess. What is this magic¡¯s flavor? ¡°We are leaving today?¡± Jess asks, snapping my attention back to her. ¡°That was the plan,¡± I say. It is hard to focus on her; constant flares of magic pop from the world, catching my attention, tasting of all manner of things. ¡°We have no rush.¡± A tree, I can just see the crown of its leaves, captures my attention. It pulses with a green light, tasting of an arrangement of dust and something watery and green, almost like cucumber. Jess snaps her fingers, and when I turn to her, I find her looking down at her own hand, as if she didn¡¯t expect to get the right sound on her first try. Must be strange, one second having sharp claws at the tips of your hands, the next smooth, purple fingernails. She looks up at me, a sheepish smile on her face. ¡°Are you going to be alright to fly the ship? You seem, distracted. It would be a tragic end to our tale for us to crash into a mountain on the way back to Grim.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± I say, spotting a bird radiating an aura of red. I realize that the animal is thousands of feet above us, just a tiny dot in my vision, but I can taste the cinnamon heat of its magic all the same. ¡°Waiting a little while might be a good idea. I have nowhere pressing to be. Arabella Willian advised me before we set out that I would need some time after advancing to the second rank to allow my body to relax. I have been pushing my soul especially hard for reinforcement over the past few months. Diminishing returns on my effort have made these last few so much harder.¡± ¡°That is fine,¡± Jess says, setting her bowl aside in a basket. She stands, stretching her limbs and pointing down toward another flat space on the mountain. ¡°I will see about packing up the forge. It will still take us days to determine the extent of our changes. We not only have new abilities to discover but need to learn how our previous ones have changed.¡± ¡°And there is the soul presence as well,¡± I say, tossing my own bowl into the basket and dusting off my trousers. ¡°Remind me to purchase a tub when we get back to Grim, I want to install one in the ship. One that can produce hot water.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t you just warm the water?¡± she asks. I remember the tower then, attempting to boil that monster alive inside its tank. ¡°I suppose so.¡± Then, I remember the glade. ¡°You go and prep whatever you need to. I will see about finding us a bath around here. We might be able to show up to Grim all pampered and ready to display ourselves about town.¡± She arches a brow at me, a movement I notice she is becoming more and more prone to do, but nods. Jess jumps off the edge of the stone, landing with incredible grace on the next ledge more than fifteen feet below. For a moment, I am tempted to try and perform the same feat, but I think better of it. Before I set off once more into the woods, I stop inside the ship, digging around for clothes that will actually fit. Unfortunately, I am unable to find any set of pants long enough that they don¡¯t end and squeeze around my mid-calf. I do manage to find a simple black blouse that matches my new shape; it hugs a bit, but nothing too discomforting. I find the glade just as I left it, solitary, but glittering with the light of the morning sun now instead of the moon. Next to me, Galea is practically bouncing in the air, her claws tapping against each other. She has been doing this ever since I came out of my meditation, but I held off on receiving her news, wanting to share the first part of my new rank two life with my friend. ¡°Alright,¡± I say, looking over at the fey dragon. ¡°Show me.¡± ¡°As you wish,¡± she spits in a rush. ¡°I am ever at your service.¡± A multitude of windows open in front of me, my eyes scanning across them all, the window showing my attributes the first to capture me. ¡°What?¡± I scan through the numbers once again, trying to understand. I knew that I would reach level fifty-one with my advancement to the second rank, and that the growth of my attributes would only accelerate the further into the ranks I advanced, but the numbers simply do not make sense. A second window to the side informs me that I have thirty free points remaining to spend. ¡°Thirty,¡± I mutters, eyes shifting through the information. ¡°Three times the amount I had previous. Even if I assume that my effort values and the attributes I gain from being human likewise tripled, it still does not account for the changes.¡± Galea opens her mouth, ready and willing to explain everything for me, but I hold up my hand to forestall her. For once, I want to figure this out for myself. I spend a good ten minutes, puzzling the numbers, guessing at where my effort values might have gone from the last level, and eventually arriving at the answer. When the last level is accounted for, it becomes evident that all of my attributes received an increase of one-fifth during the advancement to rank two. I had been told that advancing through a rank provides a significant enhancement for a magician, but given that I have access to the inefficient runoff of soul reinforcement that humans usually lack in the form of free points, I expected mine not to be all that astonishing. How had I ever been able to compete with any of the rank twos in the competition, when merely crossing that threshold provides such a boon? It isn¡¯t difficult to imagine that had the contest progressed further, I would have been buried in the dust as those fortunate enough to advance began to gain more and more levels, each of theirs worth far more than mine. I banish memories of the contest, best not to revisit them. Looking at the numbers again, I notice something, pulling my attention to another one of the windows open to my side. My attribute in magic has surpassed six-hundred, meaning I have broken through the second threshold. Thresholds Obtained: Magic(1st Threshold): Reaching the first threshold in the Magic attribute has granted the magician¡¯s own magic increased potency. If the magician¡¯s Magic attribute significantly outclasses the Magic Defense attribute of a target, there is a chance for any magical resistance to be completely ignored. Additionally, passing this threshold grants a slight insight into magical affixes, helping the magician along their journey to true potency. Magic(2nd Threshold): The potency of the magician¡¯s magic has surpassed a point not seen by most magicians in the world. The power of your magic has cracked open the lines of thaumic corrugation within your body, opening your sense to magic in a way only known by those close to the third essence of reality. Speed(1st Threshold): Surpassing the first threshold in the Speed attribute imbues the magician with a highly increased reaction time. Additionally, basic movement such as walking, running, or climbing will no longer consume stamina. Recovery(1st Threshold): The effects of spent Healing Points is significantly increased, allowing you to recover from more grievous injuries than naturally possible. Even some previously mortal wounds may be unable to truly end your life. Recovery(Specialist): As a specialist in Recovery, the duration of poisons, curses, and harmful magical effects upon you are significantly reduced. Recovery(2nd Threshold): The effects of spent Healing Points are even further strengthened, allowing you to recover from even mortal wounds given enough time. Sleep has become a thing no longer required to keep your body fit or your mind focused. Recovery(Specialist): As a specialist in Recovery, the ability of your body to regenerate organ tissue has significantly increased and the speed at which you heal has become terrifying. ¡°That explains the strange sensations.¡± I read through the description once again Almost on a reflex, I conjure a mote of burning fire in my hand, the dragonfire climbing high and licking at the air in front of my face. There is a taste to this as well, I sense that same cinnamon I felt from the creature flying so high in the sky earlier. It must be the sensation of fire mana. Galea applauds. ¡°Mistress Charlene has become more potent than ever before.¡± ¡°I suppose I have.¡± I roll my hand, playing with the fire that spreads over my fingers like a liquid, bending this way and that. The fire shifts toward a blue light, and I feel an icy mint sit heavy on the back of my tongue, the sensation of cold mana. ¡°How strange.¡± The spirit manages to allow me a few minutes of playing with the fire, changing its affix composition, memorizing the sensation of magic that each inspires in me, before she almost begins to whine. I look up at her, unable to not notice the window she tries to nonchalantly bring my attention to be stabbing her claws at it over and over again. ¡°Something I should look at?¡± I ask her, enjoying her being the uncomfortable one for a change. ¡°Mistress Charlene is of course obligated to move at her own pace; I would never suggest otherwise. However, I find it my obligation to bring to her attention that the number of essentia abilities she possesses have doubled.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± I say, dismissing the fire. ¡°They have?¡± Likely, she can read the sarcasm in my voice without needing to read my mind. Galea groans, sinking to the ground at the edge of the pool. ¡°I thought you might enjoy how I organized them,¡± she laments. Snickering, I turn my attention to the final set of windows, each of my essentia and my conflux now having their own. I begin with Gold. Gold Essentia: Disenchantment(Rank 2): By touching a dead monster or a magical natural resource, you are able to break down their residual essence into component parts and solidify their magical residue into physical objects. This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
  • Gold: this ability also produces an amount of coin commensurate with the power of the monster.
  • Multiplicity: using this ability has a low chance of producing an additional, duplicate item and will always produce two to five times as much coin as it would without this affix.
Emperor¡¯s Vault(Rank 2): Gain access to the Emperor¡¯s Vault, every ruler requires a sanctum in which to store their belongings. You are able to summon the door of the vault that will allow you into a space of total safety. It is as if reading the description triggers some bit of understanding in my mind. As when I first gained the abilities, a natural feeling occurs to me, a pathway toward manifesting these magical abilities solidifies. I do not miss that the description for my disenchant ability has changed, now stating that I can disenchant natural magical resources, natural treasures I reason. That will save me quite a bit of money. I next plan to concentrate on developing a real foundation in enchantment, and with all of the monsters I have turned into pink mist over the last months, I am at a glut for magical treasures. As far as I was aware, the only method of extracting the mana from them was to use specialized enchanting equipment, expensive equipment. If the ability really functions how it sounds, that will be an incredible boon. My attention falls to the second ability, the vault. Halford once told me that the Adventurer''s Guild back in Westgrove kept its supply of funds inside of a vault, but I never saw it. I was never an officially licensed adventurer after all and was not allowed in the restricted sections of the Warehouse. Now that I think about it, I¡¯m still not an officially licensed adventurer. I cast my hand out in front of me, activating the magic. A door of solid gold manifests out of the air, circular, looking far sturdier than any door I have ever seen. But that is it, simply a door hovering half a foot off the ground. It is seven feet across at least but doesn¡¯t appear to do anything more than simply float there. ¡°Huh.¡± I step up to the door, tapping its metallic surface with a nail, soliciting a high-toned ping. Then, the center part of the door, a golden wheel with six spokes, begins to spin rapidly. I jump back, and the door swings open on non-existent hinges to reveal a room beyond that should by no means exist. Without any idea as to whether or not a magician¡¯s essentia abilities can be harmful to them, I hop over the threshold, my bare foot slapping down on golden tile. I do not know what I had been expecting, but it certainly isn¡¯t what I find. I stand at the top of landing, twin stairways descending to either side of me, down to a huge room that appears to be made of solid gold. It is square, at least thirty feet on any given side, and disappointingly enough, completely empty. ¡°It¡¯s¡­big.¡± I look out at the gaudy room, immediately finding the wall-to-wall gold more than a bit off-putting. ¡°Mistress Charlene was just yesterday complaining about running out of space inside of her storage ring,¡± Galea says, looking around the chamber with a big smile. ¡°That¡¯s true.¡± I consider for a moment what the likelihood that having somehow affected the power my gold essentia granted me but dismiss the notion. How strange would that be? ¡°Useful,¡± I decide with a nod, turning and striding out of the vault once more, hopping down to the grass of the glade. With a thought, the door to the vault swings shut, the wheel in the middle of the door spinning and clunking to a stop before the entire door begins to shimmer and vanish. ¡°Magic is next.¡± Magic Essentia: Dragonfire(Rank 2): Conjure flames of consumption, a fire that seeks to grow and consume all that it can reach. Dragonfire is a native ability of all dragons, and its aspects take on the properties of the user¡¯s native mana affixes. Black Sands(Rank 2): You have gained a primal connection to the black sands, a rare and primal material. Finding and recovering this material is a terrible task, but by its nature, the black sands are the source of renown and power since ancient times. Of course, I notice that my Dragonfire Bolt has now simply become Dragonfire. I did harbor a suspicion before that might happen, I have long since moved past the point where my fire has been restricted to only being bolts. My notice drifts to the second ability that my Magic Essentia has now granted me. It is impossible not to think back on the competition now, the two experiences I have had encountering black sands. One of those had been a nightmare inflicted upon me by Coriander though, and the other had been a hallucination while on the verge of death. There was no way that those visions could have actually influenced anything, could they? Dragonfire springs forth in my left hand, and on a whim, I manifest a second flame in my right. There is a strain, but it is not an insurmountable effort to turn the fire in my left hand cold and blue. That is something I have never managed before. I snap my hands shut, the fire vanishing, and focus on this new ability. A dozen minutes pass as I strain, grasp, and squeeze at every bit of magical know-how I have gained over the past months, but no matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to manifest even the barest iota of the dark sands I saw in my vision. I read the description over and over again, coming to the terrible realization. ¡°This ability only allows me to control the black sand,¡± I say. Galea reads the window over carefully. ¡°That does appear to be true.¡± ¡°Have we ever seen black sand?¡± I ask. ¡°Not that I can recall.¡± ¡°Tits and honey!¡± I dismiss the window and the cruel joke. Given how vital my dragonfire has been for me, I had hoped that my magic essentia might gift me with an equally useful ability. When I return to Grim, I will need to look into this black sand. ¡°Dragon Essentia is next.¡± Dragon Essentia: Dragon¡¯s Eyes(Rank 2): You possess the sight of dragons, eyes able to pierce darkness and veils alike. This ability grants the ability to perceive magical auras and soul presences. The eyes of dragons empower a dragon¡¯s ability to recover its magical and vital energies. Grants a substantial boost to the Recovery attribute and causes the Recovery attribute to be 75% more effective. Dragon¡¯s Wings(Rank 2): Having taken more steps upon the draconic path, you have obtained the wings of a dragon. Allows the magician to summon draconic wings, gaining the aerial prowess only afforded to the lords of the air. A giddy laugh escapes my throat as I read over the words again and again. Sure, the boost to my recovery attribute is wonderful, fantastic even, but all thought of my Dragon¡¯s Eyes are displaced by the second ability. ¡°There it is!¡± Galea exclaims, all of the nervous energy she has been carrying seeming to bubble up in her all at once. ¡°There it is, Mistress. You have gained another asset that sets our kind apart from the everyday godbeasts.¡± I put aside the new term of godbeasts for a moment, my own excitement overpowering. Without putting in any thought to the action, I activate the ability immediately. There is a terrible sound of my blouse being ripped to shreds as two marvelous, scaled wings sprout out of my back. I am almost pulled over backward by the sudden weight on my back, having to tip forward, but finding my movement supported by the new limbs. One scaled wing of crimson touches the ground in front of me while the other leans back, each working to balance me. Standing bare-chested in front of the calm pool is a bit distressing, but the worry is easy to push aside given the gods-damned dragon wings spreading from my shoulder blades. Besides, who would be around to see me anyway. Only a moment passes before I become comfortable with the new weight. The sensation is so strange, but I cannot call it foreign. It is as suddenly I feel two new arms sprouting from my shoulders, and my attempts to manipulate them are clumsy, not impossible. I step up to the water, staring at my reflection, wincing as I concentrate with all of my might to spread the scaled limbs as wide as they will go. There is some resistance, almost painful, but also a spin-tingling sensation as sinews running down the rigid bones snap and pop like a knuckle. I shiver, staring out, seeing the tip of each ending almost fifteen feet away from my body. I stare at myself in the pool, standing half-naked, but looking so powerful in the moment, perhaps what I might have once thought a goddess to look like. Lifting my hands, fire burns away from my palms, burning high and bright. I like seeing myself that way; I like it very, very much. The fire dances in the light of my reflected eye, and I cannot wipe the grin from my face. ¡°I can fly,¡± I say, delighting in the sensation that the new limbs grant me as they move and twist slowly with my will. Galea appears in front of me, looking like she has bad news to give. ¡°I might suggest that Mistress Charlene first attempts to glide. True flight is a skill, like any other.¡± ¡°No use dawdling,¡± I say. I stretch the crimson wings high like I have seen a bird do once before. How difficult could it be really, if something as stupid as a duck can manage it? I put all of my strength into bringing my wings down. A cup of air pushes against the leathery membrane stretched between, the same sensation as trying to scoop my hand through water quickly. My feet leave the ground, and for a moment I really do fly. Then I notice that my right wing came down significantly faster than the left. My body spins as it climbs. I try to correct, only to find myself spinning, and then I am upside down, flailing at the air, unable to find that cup of air to push against. Water rushes over my face as the pool envelops me. I choke out a breath at the impact, sucking water down my throat, leaving myself sputtering. I claw forward, a sudden panic coming over me, my left wing folding over my face and blocking out the sun above. I can¡¯t swim! Thrashing, my body has become a clumsy mess with the added weight and discoordination of the wings. Just as I am wishing they were gone, they are, vanishing into a bright strobe of red light. I feel whole again, almost graceful, and turn over in the water, finding my balance. My feet fold in beneath me, ready to propel me toward the surface, but suddenly finding soft, watery soil pressing between my toes. Still a bit out of it, my legs uncurl, and the surface of the water passes over my face. A splash of water comes from my sputtering mouth, and I find myself standing in the middle of the pool, almost naked, the water shallow enough to end just below my shoulder. Three deer, the doe and the fawn I saw earlier, now joined by a stag whose antlers have just begun to grow back, stare at me from their lawn of purple and white flowers, their black eyes judging. I cover my reddening face with my hands and plod out of the water, knees falling back onto the cushion I set at the edge of the pool, not caring at all for the water soaking into the fibers. The deer still stand there when I build up the courage to pull my hands away from my face a few minutes later, still judging me¨Csome goddess. Might the goddess enjoy a shirt? I snag a blanket from my inventory and throw it around my shoulders, rubbing the water off my skin. Galea floats into my vision. ¡°That will never be mentioned,¡± I tell the spirit before she can say anything. ¡°What will never be mentioned, Mistress Charlene?¡± ¡°Good.¡± Exeter, I still feel like my face is on fire. If anyone I knew ever saw what just happened, I don¡¯t know how I could ever live it down. Galea motions to the last window that is open. Despite the attainment of wings from my Dragon Essentia¨CExeter, how had Kendon made flying look so easy¨CI don¡¯t doubt that we have saved the best for last. It is typical for a magician¡¯s soul presence to appear on their conflux rather than any of their three essentias when they attain rank two, but there was no guarantee. For me, the rule would appear to be proven. I try to manage a smile and look to the last window. Emperor Conflux: Emperor''s Prerogative(Rank 2): A true emperor is unbound by the limitations of the world, and as such, the emperor is not bound by any mana affix affinities, capable of pursuing any magical paths they might choose. Provides a substantial boost to the understanding and attunement of different mana affixes. Emperor¡¯s Presence(Rank 2): The presence of the emperor is oppressive and far reaching. The weight of your presence presses down upon your enemies, growing more powerful as they draw nearer. ¡°What¡¯s gravity?¡± I ask Galea, reading over the ability. Unlike my other abilities, Emperor¡¯s Prerogative seems almost unchanged. ¡°It is a term for the weak attractive force of materia,¡± Galea supplies. ¡°Helpful.¡± I read over the description once more, not exactly understanding all aspects, but understanding some. From what my books on magicians have explained, soul presences can be broken down into three categories, each a description of their reach: close, medium, and far. It is generally accepted that the power of a soul presence is most dependent upon the extent of its reach, close presences being far stronger than far ones, but exceptions exist. Lady Forendous is likely one such exception, her own soul presence easily falling into the far category but being by no stretch weak. The extent of an aura¡¯s reach for close is typically around six feet¨Cfor some reason dependent upon the race of the magician. Medium presences range in distance between twelve and twenty-five feet, while far presences are classified as anything further reaching than twenty-five feet. All of that, of course, is in context of a rank two magician. With each new rank that a magician obtains, the extent of their ability to extend their soul presence expands at an incredible rate. There is reference in the texts claiming that there exists some magicians capable of blanketing entire countries with their soul presences, but that seems unlikely to me. I cannot even fathom that kind of power. Again, as if merely reading the description of the ability unlocks something in my mind, I know at once how to bring it forth. It is different than merely activating an essentia ability, a soul presence is the very manifestation of the soul, my soul, my soul that I have now trapped inside of me. A chord of my consciousness makes contact with that spinning geometry housed in my chest, and I can feel a resonance, a pathway to pushing its power outward into the world around me. The aura peels off of my skin like a flood, a snap lancing through my head like I have finally let go of a band I have been holding taught without realizing it. A wave of red and gold races away from me, flashing across the pool in an instant, racing over and enveloping the animals grazing on the other side of the pool without their notice, vanishing into the forest all around me. I cannot even see how far it goes away from me after it has left the glade, but sensation starts to buzz on my skin. Prickling, the movement of insects in the bark of trees tickles the back of my neck, worms burrowing in the dirt wriggle between my toes, a mother bird tittering to its young is like a dagger in my ear. The deer across the glade grind flower petals and grass between their flat teeth, and it is like they are chewing on my bones. I squeeze my eyes shut, try to push away the sudden noise, but my head is pounding with all of it. It¡¯s too much; it¡¯s all too much. Then, mercifully, everything vanishes, everything. I am left with enough vague awareness to fall sideways as consciousness recedes, collapsing onto the grass rather than back into the water. Chapter 104 - Presence of an Emperor Why did they choose me for this, I am now historian? I spent so many nights among those born into stations far above, being doted upon for my intelligence, fawned over by the secrets of the universe that my mind has gazed into. Once, I found the idea of Ben Alder exciting, an ascended who cared about the nature of the universe in a way similar to how I did before he vanished, but, of course, considering the ancientness of his unenlightened time, there was no chance I would find revelations among the dig. How wrong I was, how wrong I have been about everything. -From the Journal of Physicist Ra Fil¡¯Aldeen I spark awake, flailing at something. I blink around, expecting to hear my heart pounding, but its rhythm is strangely relaxed. More, when I try to feel it, I find that I can, a steady pumping in my chest that takes just the slightest bit of concentration to sense. Rank two is strange I have decided. Jess kneels near me, looking me over, her expression somewhere between amused and worried. She pulls her hand back, looking me up and down. ¡°Jumped up before I even touched you,¡± she says. I blink, the few seconds before I lost consciousness slowly sliding back into place in my mind. ¡°Right¡­¡± I mutter, looking around the glade. Everything is still about me, serene. Those judgmental deer left, an improvement. ¡°I was just¡­¡± ¡°Oh, I know what you were doing,¡± she says, picking up two pieces of black cloth. ¡°You got into a fight with a shirt eater.¡± She doesn¡¯t fight me as I tug the ribbons of the torn garment back from her. Then, looking down at the two pieces of torn cloth in my hands, stuff down the embarrassment that tries to rise up my neck. I stow the rags away, already knowing that I don¡¯t have anything else that will fit my new shape. I snatch the coat I bought back in Grim, tossing it over my shoulders and doing up the front. Jess smirks at me, still dressed in her tent of a shirt. She has her leather straps fastened over the top of it now, cinching tight and awkwardly bunching the fabric in places, but not being wholly terrible to look at. ¡°That was quite something,¡± she says. ¡°Felt you all the way over at the forge. When your aura vanished, I thought something might have happened.¡± ¡°That far?¡± I take the hand she offers and let her pull me to my feet. ¡°I tried using it, but then it was like I was everywhere all at once. I think I blacked out.¡± ¡°Looked that way to me when I got here. Dangerous thing to do, collapse on a mountain that is a monster preserve.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have you know, you are speaking to the Queen of the Mountain,¡± I say. ¡°Right.¡± She looks up at me, hands on her hips. ¡°Looks like you managed to get a far-reaching presence. Might want to go slow in testing it.¡± ¡°You think?¡± Then I notice her toe lightly tapping on the grass, the set of excitement in her shoulders, and know that I would be a bad friend if I didn¡¯t ask. ¡°What is your soul presence like?¡± ¡°Oh, you want to see mine?¡± She smiles like a kid on their birthday. ¡°I just have a short ranged one, nothing so fancy as yours.¡± Jess pulls a dagger out of her belt and tosses it to me. Despite all the grace I have been working at, despite catching more than a single arrow aimed my way, I fumble the stupid knife. It plinks down into the grass, sticking straight up in the sod. ¡°Would you stop throwing things at me,¡± I groan, bending over and retrieving the weapon. ¡°I will stop when you start catching them. Alright, now, try to stab me.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t stab you,¡± I say, holding up the knife. ¡°It¡¯s okay, I give you permission to try.¡± ¡°No, Jess, I can¡¯t stab you. I know you are faster than me. You would have to let me stab you.¡± She takes a moment to consider that, and that is when I lunge forward. Never in a thousand years do I expect to actually stick her with the point of the knife, but I also don¡¯t expect white light to pour out of her and form a cloud around her, the knife biting into and sticking into the soul presence like it were the trunk of a tree. I push the knife, but it is hard stuck, and when I let it go, it continues to hover in place. ¡°You are resistant to knives,¡± I say, watching the blade stay stuck in the air. ¡°Not just knives,¡± Jess says. She motions her hand, and the knife slips forward, turning over in the air, the grip falling into her hand. ¡°All blades.¡± ¡°You seem to have mastered using your presence quickly,¡± I remark, watching her slide the blade back into its sheath. ¡°Of course. A soul presence is your soul after all. Would be strange if I couldn¡¯t use it as I willed.¡± She looks at me pointedly. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± I shake my hands out. ¡°Right. I think I probably just stretched myself out a little too thin earlier. If I try again, and try to keep it close to me, it can¡¯t possibly be so bad.¡± Jess backs away a step. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to explode my shirt with your soul presence, are you? I only bought the one.¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t explode shirts! That was¡­a different ability.¡± ¡°You have a different ability that explodes shirts.¡± I wave her off, trying and failing to not be annoyed. She is just so damned good at getting under my skin. Am I an irritable person? ¡°Do you know what gravity is?¡± Jess shrugs. ¡°Never heard of it.¡± ¡°Me either. Alright, give me a few feet, because I don¡¯t know what will happen.¡± She does so, backing up to the water. I can feel that new muscle in my mind, almost like the same sensation of new anatomy that I had when I summoned the wings, but far more intimate. Like licking my finger and touching a hot stove, I poke at it, flex it a bit, afraid that applying too much force will burn me. The light springs away from me, and seeing its speed I shrink back, and so does it, seeping once more into my skin. I let out a long sigh. ¡°Try a little harder,¡± Jess says. Exeter, I know that she is trying to be helpful, probably. ¡°Trying softer,¡± I mutter, setting my feet in the grass. I tap that bit of energy inside, the barest bit that I can manage, and watch as a hazy outline creeps out of my skin, all gold and red, following my hand through the air like an after image. I press just a bit harder, and the shroud extends out a foot, then with just a little more effort, another foot. By the time that it is as large as Jess¡¯ was earlier, I still feel like I am just barely pressing on it. ¡°It¡¯s pretty,¡± Jess remarks. ¡°I knew it would be.¡± ¡°I think they are all pretty,¡± I say, looking through the haze of color. The aura surrounding me is more red than gold, the light color appearing in momentary veins that run through the entire shroud like a mineral through a mountain. The veins of color slowly rotate, always spiraling down and to my right, giving the impression that the entire aura is constantly spinning. ¡°So, what does it do?¡± Jess asks, her eyes tracking a particularly forked vein of gold as it slowly spirals to the ground. I feel the ground around me, the shifting blades of grass, as if the edges of the soul presence and every part inside were some uncovered nerve. Just this much is so distracting that I can barely keep my attention on Jess. Exeter, how am I supposed to wield it at its full size? ¡°I don¡¯t really understand it,¡± I tell her. ¡°Make people kneel, supposedly.¡± ¡°Your presence makes people kneel?¡± she asks, as confused by it as I am. ¡°I¡¯ve heard of shrouds that can do a whole mess of strange things. That is most certainly in the strange category.¡± I can only shrug in reply, unable to disagree. Jess creeps forward, approaching the barrier between my soul presence and the open air. ¡°Alright then, make me kneel,¡± she says. ¡°What?¡± ¡°Charlene, I just had you try to stab me with a knife. Do you think that I am going to be put off by a little squat?¡± ¡°You had me stab at you because you knew that I couldn¡¯t hurt you. What if this does?¡± ¡°Well, we¡¯re leaving here today anyway, and if I get hurt you will be able to find a healer for me back in Grim.¡± She presses red fingers to the edge of the aura, taunting me. ¡°Come on, I want to know what you can do. I showed you mine.¡± ¡°This feels like the kind of thing that I should use on a monster before a friend,¡± I say. ¡°You would actually try to fight a monster, given that using this soul presence just made you unconscious, instead of doing a little essentia testing on a friend?¡± she scoffs. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I¡¯m coming in.¡± Before I can back away, Jess walks forward, stepping into the bounds of the soul presence. I cringe, but she merely stops, standing a few feet away from me, hands firmly back on her hips. ¡°You aren¡¯t using it on me,¡± she says.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°I told you that I don¡¯t want to hurt my friend,¡± I say. She tsks, then seems to notice her own lips. She repeats the sound, smiling as she finds a pleasant note of disappointment. Then, Jess looks back at me and holds up a fist near her head. ¡°I¡¯m going to punch you Charlene,¡± she says. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to walk over there, and I am going to punch you in that pretty nose of yours. You will have to stop me.¡± She begins to walk. Well, I certainly don¡¯t want to get punched in my pretty nose; I just got it. There is practically no effort involved, one moment I consider Jess my friend and don¡¯t want to hurt her, the next I am more concerned with not having my nose broken. The soul presence responds. Jess¡¯ foot falls hard on the grass, digging into the soul and roots beneath, and she grunts. She tries to lift her back leg but loses her balance and stumbles sideways. Her entire body slaps into the grass floor of the glade far faster than it should, her face pressed into the turf, hands tugging at the grass. ¡°Huh,¡± I say, looking down at her as she struggles, trying and failing to turn over. ¡°So, that is gravity." The light of Jess¡¯ soul presence presses out of her skin, and I feel a pressure in my mind, some force pushing against me that I can oppose. I don¡¯t. She gasps in air as she rolls over, an impression of her face left in the grass next to her. ¡°That wasn¡¯t quite a kneel,¡± I say, looking down at her. ¡°No,¡± she agrees, staring back up at me. Then she smiles, and I can¡¯t help but smile too. ¡°Want to see my wings?¡± There is something about sitting on a golden throne, hands resting upon disturbing and garish ornaments, watching the world shift past you all around at merely the suggestion of your will. Perhaps it is the gold, very likely, though I remain constantly aware of the fortune upon which I sit. I snagged the Guildmaster¡¯s ship out of the vault on a whim, still a bit annoyed at Arabella, wanting to make sure that I had a way to return to Gale on my own. It was only afterward that I inspected what exactly a flying ship was, and the extreme cost of one. Knowing even that, it was not even close to the most expensive item in that vault, but it was turning out to be my favorite one. I also discovered that Arabella¡¯s mansion hadn¡¯t even been a flying ship¨Cflying house¨Clike the others I saw docked. Jor¡¯Mari told me about how she had accidentally crashed hers in a river on her way through Gale, he had no idea how that had happened, but he had been there for it. The woman had merely purchased a new mansion in Westgrove and had flown it all the way back to Grim under her own power. Gods, I can¡¯t even imagine how such a feat could be done. Not that I haven¡¯t tried to puzzle it out, but the forms for spellcraft are so far beyond me that even making the attempt would be a waste of time. Perhaps I will look again at some point, but I already have one magical craft that I have put my mind to mastering, no need to take on another. Trees sail past us, the clouds oddly still. If I look straight toward the sky, I can almost imagine that we don¡¯t move at all. Jess sleeps on the mattress in the corner. Well, the ship actually has no corners¡­on the starboard side then, left of the chair. The morning passed so quickly, each of us showing off for the other, but it became quickly apparent that she had so much more she could actually show off. She had liked the big golden door, but the empty room beyond was admittedly a little disappointing. When she saw the wings I could manifest from my back, that next time I remembered to remove my coat first, she had remarked that they looked so similar to her aunt¡¯s. We¡¯ve swapped a lot of stories over the past two months, hunting the mountain together, and I¡¯ve learned a lot about her. The lizardkin of the Uranaga Plains seem like a strange folk at first glance. They are not really a nation as I have known one to be, but then again, I have been so ignorant of the world my whole life, who am I to judge. The Kalithkar, what the tribes of the Uranga Plains refer to themselves as, are a people made up of two-hundred and sixteen separate tribes. The tribes are then further divided into three major clans: the Adris¡¯Kinari, the Adris¡¯Fin, and the Satalaan, with a few further, more minor clans holding making up less than twenty of the total. Jess comes from the tribe of Tess¡¯Falla¡¯Aldin, a part of the Adris¡¯Fin. What she hadn¡¯t properly explained to me before today is that not only are the different clans competitors with one another but are actually different in physiology. There exists a structure of caste within the tribes. The Amis, who are the average members of the various clans, make up the bulk of all populations, the middle caste. Below even them, are the Rathgari, the exiled. Jess spat when she spoke of them, describing them as a withered breed, wicked in both appearance and character. I didn¡¯t press her on it. Then, there are the Eto, the caste to which Jess is a part of, the high caste. It was not lost on me in the moment of her description that meant that she was someone important, all of my friends seem to be, but I was so busy trying to keep up with all the names that I couldn¡¯t really contemplate that. What causes the difference in physiology among the castes seems to come down to endowment. The rulers of the tribes and those close to them, those who can gain the empowerment and longevity that endowment imparts, are changed, essentially what had happened to Jess when she attained the second rank. The women begin to take on appearances more aligned with the other races of the world: similar to humans, elves, celenials, or dwarves, while the men grow bulkier, more muscled and fearsome in their reptilian appearances. Apparently, they believe that this is due to their bodies moving towards the ideals that their two creator gods symbolize. Who am I to try and dispute that. Jess is of the Eto caste, but she is a daughter too far removed from her father to have gained endowment from him, and she explained that in appearance she had always looked Amis. More, the different clans have to themselves different traits. Jess¡¯ aunt is from the Satalaan, the Skysingers in her native tongue, and all of their Eto women bear brilliant wings. I found the conversation incredibly confusing, too many foreign words, but also so very interesting. I ended up promising to allow her to take me on a tour of the Uranaga Plains one day. Only now, thinking back on the conversation, do I start to see the similarities to Gale, and that dampens my enthusiasm. It requires almost no concentration to keep the ship moving on its course. I leave Galea to it, pacing over to the plush chair at the back and the table. I sit, thinking, contemplating the day. I actually managed it; in just over six months I have pushed to the second rank. With all the fighting and struggling Halford did, it took him a year, and people considered that extraordinary quick. But what now? In two and a half years, Arabella Willian will appear out of nowhere and force me to participate in another one of these guild contests, this time against other guilds. That is if I even manage to make it to the third rank by then, and if I don¡¯t, I will find myself buried in enormous debt I can¡¯t hope to crawl out from underneath. I don¡¯t know which is worse. Given how the Willian Guild¡¯s last competition just ended¡­it is still the debt. Three hells, the idea of owing them so much scratches at me. Sifting through my inventory takes my mind off my troubles. Over the last two months, burning, corroding, and exploding every monster on the mountain, I have built up a vast array of natural treasures. Sorting all of them has seemed like a nightmare for so long that I never really bothered. I pull the Stone Elemental Core from my inventory, holding it in my hand, finding its weight satisfying. This will probably fetch a high price if I try to sell it to the adventurer¡¯s guild or maybe some enchanter. If I do that, I might be able to buy myself out of debt. Do that and get incredibly lucky while I burn half the monsters in the world down, find a legendary essentia, and sell that off as well. But there is something else that intrigues me about the stone core. Holding it in my hand now, that strange magical sense comes alive. I can see with my eye the faint emanation of magic from it and know that to be the escaping of its potency, the magic lost as it leaks into the air. But I can taste it as well, a strong earth texture, dry and sucking away moisture, a bite like salt on the back of my tongue. Looking to the side, a window appears, showing a representation of the index made of and attached to my soul. It has grown in scope along with my transformation, now housing twenty sides. Many are filled with affixed mana, none powerful enough for me to be able to adhere them onto my soul directly, claiming a new affinity. The lack of power in the sky affix had been especially disappointing in that respect. With the additional sides comes more space, which also means that I can finally test something I have been itching to do since I first found out I could this morning. I activate my Disenchant ability and marvel as the stone core in my hand begins to crumble in upon itself. It does not turn to pink mist, like the bodies of monsters do, but becomes a fine dust that spills out of my hand, clinging to my skirt or vanishing into the air. Within seconds, the stone core is gone, turned entirely into vanishing particles. A rune appears on the window in front of me, a new one taking up an unfilled spot and I do not even need to bother with the glossary to recognize it as stone. That taste of mana before must be stone then; I will be able to recognize it now. I clap my hands, but the dark dust clings to my palm. Trying to brush it off my skirt only seems to dirty my hand more. I cannot feel the dust as I grind it between my fingertips, but it carries some sensation to it, something. Almost unbidden, a faint trickle of my soul presence seeps from my skin, and the dust floats atop the aura. I manipulate the aura, pushing the dust into a ball, a dark ball, almost black. Something in the swirl of the dust sparks a memory inside me, a memory of the dream. ¡°Black Sand.¡± I look down at my skirt, extending my will, and more of the dust begins to coalesce in the air in front of me, swirling and mixing into the ball hovering just an inch above my palm. Dust seems to filter out of the air, tiny spots so insignificant that were my eyes any weaker they would be invisible. More peels out of the fabric of my clothing, in the few seconds since the core fell to nothing having already melded with the material. In a moment, a ball roughly the size of my thumb floats over my palm, slowly spinning, individual particles inside of it churning like a beehive. ¡°Galea,¡± I call in my mind, not caring that she is busy piloting the ship. The spirit seems not to care either, appearing next to me, only a momentary drop in the ship¡¯s height of half a dozen feet before the flight levels out again. ¡°Identify this.¡± The little dragon hovers right next to the ball, peering around it this way and that, bringing one eye right up next to it. ¡°I cannot,¡± she says, sounding excited for some reason. ¡°Whatever this is, it does not possess mass. My ability to identify is limited to such things.¡± ¡°It is?¡± She looks up at me. ¡°Mass is a component in almost everything. This limitation has never been exploited before, not that I know of.¡± I mentally jot down the word as something I need to read up on further alongside gravity. Then when Galea looks up at me, opening her mouth, I flick my hand and send her back to the throne, not wanting to hear whatever complex oversimplification she will spout about whatever this mass stuff is. My control over the swirling dust is absolute. I lower the ball to my palm, but even as it spreads out over my skin, I cannot feel it in the least. Trying to command it to slap down into my hand only makes it splay out more, some of it puffing up into the air, some of it seeming to even merge with my skin. It all forms once more into the ball when I call it back. No, this is not the black sand, it¡¯s something else. I remember in my dream walking on the sand. That had weight to it; it had almost sparkled in places with the starlight, had been as deep as night in others. I am pushed further, some part of me knowing that this is an incomplete form of the black sand, it needs to be joined with something, something pure, something with heft to it. There is only one thing that I can think of. My free hand reaches out, plucking a single golden coin from the air. I hold it up to the light, admiring the shine, feeling the weight of it. Could it be so simple? Moving the two together, I feed the coin to the dust. Under my will, the dust moves over the gold, circling around it, enveloping it until the point that a dark disk floats in the air above my hand. I hold it there, watching as the swirling hive of dust grows more still, darker, more substantial. I shift the coin of darkness in the air, and a chewed-up bit of gold falls to the floor, bouncing off the tile, getting lost behind the leg of a chair. The loss of the coin is nothing, my attention fully captured by the perfect sphere of darkness floating over my hand, black sand. This time, as I lower the ball to my palm, I feel the weight of it. As I press harder, I find that I can allow it to squash, turning into fine particles on the surface of my hand, but I can also will it to stay together in a hard ball. I return the ball to the air, making it form loops around my outstretched hand, darting this way and that through the air. Then, with a flick, the black sand races away from me, crashing into the back of the chair across the table from me, flipping it over. A small indent is left in the fine leather of the chair; the ball of dark sand floating in the air above it, perfectly still. ¡°That is nice,¡± I say, calling the ball back to me. ¡°What is?¡± Jess asks from the mattress at the not-corner of the ship. ¡°Nothing,¡± I call over to her. ¡°Go back to sleep.¡± She mutters something about throwing around furniture, before laying back down and putting a pillow over her face. I admire the ball of sand for a moment, but my attention is called back to my crowded inventory window. ¡°So much work to do.¡± Chapter 105 - Return to Grim When you speak of the spheres, you must be more precise. Most outside of this city will think you are speaking about the worlds or the stars, but up near the academy they will assume you are speaking about much smaller things¨Cmuch, much smaller things. Not that any of them are spheres really, except maybe stars, but I have yet to see that proven. -¡±Conversations: Eavesdroppings from the Mad City¡± A tapping sound brings me out of my thoughts. A ball of black sand the size of my fist spins above my fingers, slowly changing shape, occasionally bearing spikes or hard edges as I will it to change. It wants to stay a ball, that is the easiest shape, but there are others that it will stay in easily, strange geometric patterns of links with either sides, sticking together in a lattice so small they are almost imperceptible. I tried to make it into a dog¡¯s head, but the face was too sharp, too angular, to look like anything alive. The tapping comes again, a metallic knock, and I look up to see a man floating in the air, knuckles wrapping on nothing. Then, I realize that he is knocking at the wall of the ship. At Galea¡¯s control, at my command, the ship spins, bringing the door in line with the man. As the door opens, a name appears over his head, and the tension sags out of me. I had thought for a moment that I had somehow attracted the attention of a powerful magician, one capable of keeping up with the ship, but instead I see that he is just a normal man, bundled in woolen clothes to keep the chill off, enchanted boots allowing him to hover. The darkness of the door turns transparent, and I peer out at him. ¡°Yes?¡± ¡°I apologize if I am disturbing you, but you have been hovering over the dock for half an hour. Do you have a permit to land here?¡± The scene past his shoulder pops out to me, several platforms attached to the side of a huge wall of stone, each accommodating several buildings on top. Looking down, a vast ring of stone spreads out before me, a single docking branch of the platform the ship hovers over, other aerial ships parked and left upon it. A group of three men, dressed similarly to the one in front of me, stand around a barren spot down on the dock, looking up, shielding their eyes against the sun. ¡°Permit?¡± I ask. He sighs, shaking his head. ¡°If you do not have a permit or invitation, you will need to pay the docking fee,¡± he explains. Looking at the gilded outside of my ship, he mutters something under his breath about that likely not being a problem. ¡°How much?¡± I ask. ¡°Three silver rings a day,¡± he says. I gawk at the man. ¡°That is robbery. Three silver rings should cover at least a week of stabling." Even that would have been extravagant. I would expect a pony to be feasted each night for that much. ¡°This is not a stable,¡± the man says, motioning to the open air. ¡°Right, you don¡¯t do any work or maintenance for what is left here.¡± ¡°We guard the vehicles,¡± he says. I can¡¯t help but snort at that. ¡°The price is not up for debate; it is set by the master of the docks. Take it up with the lord if you have an issue, otherwise, you will need to land outside of the city and leave your ship up to the whims of bandits and whomever might happen by.¡± I consider doing just that for a long moment, staring out at the man until his crossed arms and hard face start to wilt and he squirms a bit. In the end, it would be too much of a pain in the ass to schlep all the way up the wall, climbing ladders and what not. Maybe once I had more practice with these new wings. ¡°Fine,¡± I growl, making it appear as if I fish into the pocket of my jacket to retrieve the coins. ¡°It will cost a week¡¯s worth, up front, Mrs.¡± He tried to add a bit of deference in there, but his mustache was set now that he knew she would pay up. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you sleep at night,¡± I grumble, handing a fistful of silver to the man. He pulls out his shirt to have a place to hold the coin so he can count it, but I have already turned away. ¡°Take us down,¡± I command of Galea, walking back toward the throne. The man floating outside of the ship soars upward, the three down on the dock springing away, as my ship drops like a stone, arresting its fall at the last moment, and alighting smoothly on the stone dock. The slight bump wakes Jess, the woman sitting up suddenly, pulling the pillow off her head. ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± I tell her as she blinks sleep out of her eyes. She squints, the glare of the sun only slightly muted inside the ship, looking out at the sun-bleached dock, three angry men past us. ¡°Already?¡± ¡°It¡¯s been two months,¡± I say. ¡°Not exactly a short trip.¡± Grim is exactly as I left it, not that I was ever here long enough to get a proper sense of the city. It is a place of tiers, the lower platforms, nearer the earth, stand crowded with people, buildings built practically atop one another, and always abuzz with activity. In the middle platforms, people would sometimes find a small park on a long stretch built away from the wall, sheltering beneath a decorative shade or an imported tree, and watch the activity below for hours. It was kind of like watching an anthill at work. The middle third of the city was for the most part the destination for almost all of the traffic throughout Grim. It was where the ships came in and out, where the ones below climbed up to on their daily commutes to their work, where the good food and entertainment was found. The middle third grew out from the wall like tree conks, crowding together in thick layers, some of the platforms stretching nearly half a mile out into the open air. In some laughable design, likely at the hands of the guilds, they were divided almost completely by function. Smoke billowed up from one of the circular platforms, curling around the edge and choking out the outermost structures on the one above. Traffic flowed in horrible congestion, the noonday rush calling people to leave the busier, more industrious, platforms and migrate to where they could find food. People in the third above the middle probably got more of a kick out of watching that than the middle thirders did of the ones below them. The top third is where most of the important people reside: nobles, visiting dignitaries, those with enough wealth to flee the congested middle third, and the Willian Guild. It wasn¡¯t until my trip out to see my ship at the docks that first time that I released how blessed I had been to stay at Arabella¡¯s rent free, dodging the hour long waits for elevating platforms, cursing and shoving other people as we all wait on the inspectors to make certain everything is safe before we are allowed to move. Then, I think back to that lavish street, and remember Dovik telling me how much a room in that hotel had cost him, and I wonder how bad it would really be to find a small shack down there to sleep in at night. Jess comes to stand beside me, one trunk held over her shoulder, fingers curling around the handle, staring out at the moss-like growths the platforms create on the side of the wall. ¡°We meeting up with the others?¡± she asks. ¡°If they are even still here,¡± I say. Despite the evident misery, it is so hard to tear my eyes from the sight of the spectacle. Grim has some clear problems, but I imagine that any city will, so many people living so close together. With my naked eye I can see right now more people than I have ever met in my life, and the enormity of that presses on me. ¡°Down or up?¡± she asks. ¡°Maybe we can ask Dovik if his family will let us stay with them.¡± ¡°I¡¯d rather not get more involved with the guild than we need to,¡± I say. She considers that, shrugging. ¡°If you want to pay for the room and board, I suppose that makes it your pick.¡± I retrieve my small ledger, flipping it open and reading over the figures inside for a moment. ¡°I still owe you six golden crowns, three gold thimbles, and forty-two silver rings,¡± I say, rounding up to the nearest silver. Gods, if my mother ever found out that I was rounding anything up a full silver ring she would ring my bell. ¡°Sounds right to me,¡± she says. When I hold out my hand, the glint of gold showing between my fingers, she looks at me sheepishly and backs away a step. ¡°Ah, what do you know. No pockets to carry that in.¡± She pats her baggy shirt with her free hand, deliberately avoiding at least six pouches strapped to her with leather belts. I have no idea why she is so against carrying her own money, but I don¡¯t mind. I slip the coin back into my inventory, watching the number at the top of the window climb back up. I really, really like when that number goes up. The bridge leading off the platform we stand on is at a standstill, people lined up all along its length, two men with wheelbarrows stopped in the middle of the bridge, looking ready to come to blows. ¡°Do you think they will let us through?¡± I ask. ¡°You can make them let us through,¡± she says. ¡°Too much effort,¡± I say. Jess stares up at the platforms above. ¡°We should at least spend the night somewhere nice. We¡¯ve been in the woods for so long; I miss modern furnishings and pleasantries.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. ¡°We can,¡± I agree. ¡°But I will be subtracting half the cost from what I owe you.¡± ¡°Fine by me.¡± I sigh, looking at the backed-up bridge. ¡°Best get in line.¡± ¡°Or I could take us up the side.¡± ¡°You are insane if you think that I will allow you to carry me like that again.¡± ¡°Even if I promise not to drop you?¡± Jess asks, trying to put me at ease with a smile. ¡°You promised last time.¡± ¡°Your screaming distracted me.¡± She shrugs again. ¡°You could fly up there on your own, big wings and all.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think that up here, a thousand feet in the air, is the best place to try and learn how to use them.¡± ¡°If you fall,¡± she says, ¡°at least you won¡¯t have to wait in line anymore.¡± ¡°True.¡± At the bridge, the two men start to swing at one another, egged on by the people behind. Their wheelbarrows spill to the side, linen sacks spilling out over the bridge and sailing into the open air. ¡°That itself might be worth it.¡± A bell chimes as I enter the store, a long shining note tinkling back and forth, its spell broken a moment later by the hiss of a cat. The tabby lounges on the windowsill near the door, looking up at me over its chubby stomach, hissing something furious but not bothering to get up. ¡°Hush, Saki,¡± a woman hiss back at the feline as she comes into the main room from a door at the back. ¡°Keep trying to scare my customers away, and I will throw you down to Pop¡¯s Road, see how you like that.¡± The cat hissed at her. I note that Pop¡¯s Road is what the locals refer to the platform beneath this one as, a good eighty feet below this one. My hand lingers on the doorway. Perhaps it isn¡¯t too late to find a different shop. ¡°Come in, come in!¡± the woman demands, her voice hard. ¡°You¡¯re letting the good air out.¡± I step into the small shop, scuttling around a shelf that sits right in the middle of things, barely a foot from the doorway. The woman parks herself at a stood behind a large table, the top stained with unidentifiable colors here and there, marked with cuts from blades, one corner looking to have almost melted. Bottles, some open and half-full of liquids of all sorts of colors lay scattered around the table, between large sheets of paper that form a forest floor between them. ¡°Are you Erika?¡± I ask, looking to the sign hanging above the women, depicting a girl of twenty, raven hair fluttering in a breeze, chest puffed out and proud; the sign is identical to the one out on the street, though perhaps shelving a layer of dust. ¡°Good eye,¡± the woman says. She is clearly in her mid-fifties, barely any hint of darkness to the tangle of gray sitting atop her head, eyes made big by the glasses she squints out at me from. ¡°You after something?¡± I seriously consider leaving for another moment, but the previous enchanter¡¯s store had somehow been even worse than this. You can only roll the dice so many times. ¡°Yes,¡± I say, working around the shelf in the middle of the room, accidentally bumping into another as I try to move into the narrow aisle to get over to the table. I stifle a growl, notice a length of dust now in a line on the hem of my brand-new skirt that I purchased only a few hours ago, and stuff down a sigh. Probably best not to sigh in here, everything seems just about caked in a skin of dust. ¡°I was hoping to find an enchanter¡¯s shop with high-quality supplies.¡± Running a finger along a red, ceramic bowl, it comes away covered in gray. ¡°You will find no¨C¡± the woman¡¯s, presumably Erika, boast is cut off by the cat hissing once more in the window. ¡°Hush!¡± she yells at it, but it has already gone back to laying in the sunbeams. ¡°My daughter¡¯s cat.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°You will find no better wares in Grim than what you see here in this shop,¡± Erika says, gesturing around to the open room, barely enough light to see by, the only source of radiance the two windows at the front. ¡°That is what I thought,¡± I sigh. ¡°Well, I was going to visit Conqur¡¯s later,¡± I say. The woman spits, actually spits, a phlegmy mess into a tin can on the table. ¡°The cheat will take you for everything that glitters in your purse and then will try to snatch your chastity after. No self-respecting person that knows quality goods from the ass end of a horse should step into his shop. Why do you think he moved it up six roads in the first place? Folk with sense got a smell of him, and he had to go somewhere where the air was too thin to think straight.¡± At least that bit of badmouthing your competitors was familiar. Most things in this city are so foreign; they have their own ways of doing things and no one will tell me the rules, but I can at least recognize some good old-fashioned gossip and rumor-mongering. ¡°I¡¯ll steer clear then,¡± I say. I look around the shop, really noticing that this is the first time I have ever been in a store like this. I have no idea what over half of the equipment in here is even for, and no real practical idea of how to use the other half. ¡°I am looking for mediums,¡± I say, picking up a rod that looks like it is made of steel, it pulses in my hand like a heart, but you couldn¡¯t tell just by looking at it. ¡°Of course you are,¡± Erika says. ¡°What kind?¡± I pause, not really expecting a question back. From what I have read, mediums are a necessary tool for enchanters to be able to work fluidly with affixed mana. Extracting mana from a material is only the first step in the process and infusing it into a lattice that has both form and purpose in its construction the last. The reservoir that the energy is placed into is a medium itself, but any material that you can infuse mana into also serves as one. Toying around with the new addition to my enchanting ability, I had ended up filling my soul index with different mana types completely, and as such I needed a medium to infuse them into in order to disentangle myself from them. If I could not free up the space, I doubted that my next attempt at disenchanting would go smoothly, I might even lose all of the affixed mana altogether. ¡°I need a storage medium,¡± I say. ¡°Storage,¡± she nods to herself. ¡°And you said that you were after high-quality goods, so I assuming that you mean reusable storage medium. How many are you after, dear?¡± I think that over for a moment, considering. ¡°Fifty.¡± ¡°Fifty!¡± Erika explodes up from her seat, staring at me. ¡°Honey, if you have that kind of coin to toss around, I will make damn sure that you have the best in Grim.¡± ¡°I thought you already were the best in Grim.¡± She waves off the comment. ¡°What are we talking about, liquid or solid-state?¡± I search her eyes, trying to puzzle out the correct answer, and she catches me searching. ¡°Ah,¡± she says with a click of her tongue. ¡°A novice. Taking your first steps on the enchanter¡¯s path? Did perhaps your mother demand that you cultivate a skill? If so, you chose a fine one.¡± ¡°I decided to be an enchanter after my friend stabbed me and threw me off a cliff,¡± I say, trying to shock her into silence. Erika merely nods, looking up toward the ceiling. No, she is looking up toward the platform above us, the next one up a good fifty feet. ¡°Not the first girl to tell me that. Must have hit your head on the way down I assume, but then, the best enchanters are a bit cracked up in the noggin. I¡¯ll tell you plain and straight then, if you are looking to use the mana quickly, liquid is cheaper, but it will begin to evaporate over time, especially if you don¡¯t keep it stored in a dark place. The fluid can only hold a certain density, you see, so once enough has evaporated, you start losing potency. Solid-state is good for the long-term, but it¡¯s pricey.¡± I give that a think. Honestly, with all of the disparate types of mana I have sitting in my inventory, there is no telling how long it will take for me to get to it all. It kills me to spend more than I need to, but I don¡¯t think that it can be helped in this case. ¡°Best make it solid-state then.¡± ¡°I love to hear it.¡± Erika slaps her hands together, rubbing them against one another so hard I fear she might make smoke rise. Nimble and quick, she dips beneath the table, reappearing with a wooden case. She snaps open the bronze clasp on the front, revealing a row of six different rods lying inside the case on a bed of blue suede. ¡°These are examples of what I am capable of supplying. Go ahead and test them, find one that you like, that feels right to you.¡± Immediately I am drawn to the rod that on the surface looks to be made of gold, a thin reed not even as thick around as my pinky, twice as long as my hand. There is some kind of lacquer applied to its surface, a clear coat that runs down its length, encasing it, the only bare spot a hole drilled into the top. I at least know from my studies so far that the hole is where an infusing tool is meant to be attached, but given my soul index, which is one tool I do not need. The rod is pretty, I do love gold, but I move on. The copper and silver rods that I inspect next are also pretty and of the same form as the gold one, though I have picked up from the glossary that silver will be a better container than either of the other two metals. The fourth rod is made from wood¨C Casterwood my eye identifies, and there is something about it that makes me like it immediately. Even before I pick up the fifth piece, I notice that the last is made of a special kind of silk and know that it is a trap. Silk can be infused, there are very special kinds of it created for such a purpose, but it does not hold magic for long without being integrated into a moving pattern. It abhors stationary magic for some reason. The final rod is of a deep purple, and as I pick it up it bends in my hand under its own weight, falling back over my fingers with only the barest rigidness to it. It is almost comical, bouncing in my hand. ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± I ask, though my eye already tells me that is it made of some material called Deeprubber. ¡°That is a deeprubber rod. Quite good for holding affixed mana, though it can be somewhat of a pain to infuse and get it back out again. The resistance is high, so you will require a powerful infusion device to see it done with that.¡± ¡°Never heard of it.¡± Despite myself, I find bending the weird purple rod delightful. ¡°Why use it over something like silver or gold?¡± ¡°Elasticity,¡± Erika says, her eyes tracking the bouncing tip of the rod. ¡°Silver and gold can be incorporated into designs well, and their resistance to mana flow is low, but when you have flexible joint locations in a given craft or any piece that bends a lot, they will become brittle over time and break. Deeprubber is a bit of a middle ground between various silk types and metallic mediums. ¡°In practice, it is sliced thin and can be almost as flexible as silk. There are other various edge cases to use it.¡± ¡°Interesting.¡± I put the rod back in the box, studying all of the mediums. ¡°Anything leap out to you?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ll take all of them. No, actually¡­twenty of each gold and deeprubber, and let me see your silks.¡± If I am going to spend my money, I might as well experiment a little bit. ¡°Of course,¡± Erika says. I point to a bookcase at the far end of the room. ¡°Also, anything from there that you would recommend for a novice enchanter to use to learn with. That pattern there.¡± I point to a mannequin that stands apart, seeming to have a blouse tacked to it with needles, the shirt itself split open and revealing the ends of medium leads that curl back into the fabric. ¡°Mannequin too. I also require a thaumatometer.¡± I have absolutely no idea what one looks like. ¡°And finally, any equipment that you might recommend for decanting.¡± Erika¡¯s mouth is practically watering as she nods along with each of my requests. ¡°Anything else that you might need, young Mrs.?" Her smile is so nice, almost a pity to ruin it. ¡°Of course, I expect some kind of discount for making such a large purchase. I imagine that I am going to spend quite a lot while I am in Grim; I expect to get my money¡¯s worth.¡± Ah, there goes the smile. Chapter 106 - Disenchantment The sails out there almost cloud out the water. I had Hala start gifting paint to the dockyards; I enjoy the way it makes the sails come to life as the sun touches the water. We will free ourselves, we will take to the seas, a poor imitation of our forebearers, but they sailed too, didn¡¯t they? There are so many lands out there, so much to see. I dream that will make the march worth it. -Prince Kas Van Dialla Baths are wondrous things. So much work put in to create a few fleeting moments of pleasure. On the orchard we had only cold baths, unless you were willing to work to change that, spending time heating the water, lugging it back and forth from the fire to the tub, but it was always worth the effort, the issue was it not so much being worth the fuel to stoke the fire. In Westgrove, I could pay for someone else to put in all the effort, and soak in warm water, trying not to count how many hours of my life I had spent just so that my water would be warm. In Grim, I discover, they have something called a shower. The first night in the hotel, a nice place at the bottom of the upper third, not too expensive, but the amenities were lavish. I spent a good hour beneath the split water, letting it pour and trickle over my skin, sitting on the stone floor of the boxy compartment in the bathing room. The hotel even had an arrangement of soaps to scrub with, four designed for hair by itself. Half my time in the warm running water was spent experimenting with it, trying to decide which soap fit to my new crimson strands the best, being unable to figure it out. My hair was as smooth as silk now no matter what I used. Exeter, those devil curls of orange are finally gone. When I finally drag myself away from the washroom, there is a silver tray carrying three white porcelain plates waiting for me on the single bed with a note. I read the scrawl over, eyes more attracted to the food. Jess went out into the city for the night. I told her earlier that I was busy, so I don¡¯t mind her leaving me alone back in the room. After spending the entire day going from shop to shop, I feel like I can use a night to relax alone. It is probably a good idea for each of us to find some alone time. She left me a steak, now cold, an entire plate stacked with various fried vegetables, and a hand-sized cake with a bite taken out of it. I sear the steak again with a burning finger, finding it absolutely delicious when I settle down to eat. I didn¡¯t realize how much I missed professional cooking, done with real equipment, not just some bowls and hoarded spices out over a makeshift fire. Before I realize, the steak and veggies are gone, and I scoop up the cake, heading to the big, golden door blocking the closet. The vault door spins open at my approach. Descending the stairs inside toward the near-empty floor, I savor the bite of berry and cream filling inside the pastry, forcing away any thoughts about expense, casting a glance over to some crates stacked in a corner. How did the rich possibly live like this every day? Where did they get all the money from? The itch to open my inventory window and look at the amount and type of currency I still hold nags at me, but I force that deep, deep down. The inventory window flashes open anyway, and I run my finger along the top boxes, trying to decide what to do first. The plate I am carrying in my other hand decides for me. I tap a box, and a table appears, clacking as it falls a few inches to land on the hard floor of the vault. The table is twenty feet long and six wide, made of wood the color of smoke, Cinderwood apparently, twice as heavy as oak. Just storing it away until I could bring it back to the hotel had taken up a good chunk of my entire inventory space. It is only after I set the plate down on top of it, sneaking another bite of the cake first, that I realize it¡¯s now where I would like it, up against the wall. Afraid to break the legs under its huge weight, I spend a good three minutes moving one side, running around the table, lifting and moving the other, until I eventually have it snug against the vault wall. After that, I am far more meticulous about where I place the rest of the furniture. A fine four-post bed is set in a corner, fabrics of orange and pink draping it in a veil. I have always wanted a bed like that. The mattress that I work on top of it costs easily five times as much as the frame of shining brass, but its feathery softness is worth every iron penny. I place a table next to the bed, unfurl a glorious emerald colored rug in the center of the vault that covers almost half the floor, arrange a set of ox-leather chairs in a corner around a glass table, set Arabella¡¯s bookshelf, now stained with water marks and with dirt caking the stubby legs, against a wall. Three more empty bookshelves go next to the first, each made of that same Cinderwood, heavy, embossed with dancing horses, and exorbitant in price. When I am finally done with all of the furnishing, I skip back up the stairs near the vault door. Looking back down¡­it is still far too empty. The idea of stacking coins throughout the chamber is appealing and is also what I was told that a vault is for, but I can¡¯t bring myself to make my personal funds that vulnerable. Who knows who out there could break into this place, located in my soul, and pilfer all of my gold if I just leave it lying about. It strikes me that keeping it inside my ring might be less safe than that, but if I took it all out, I couldn¡¯t look at the big number anymore. An impossible quandary. I put thoughts of money aside, again, and look at the crates stacked in a corner. Time to get to work. Schlepping the crates over to my fabulous new table, I busy myself with first pulling out all of the equipment that I purchased at Erika¡¯s shop earlier today. I arrange the glass tubes, vials, glass cups with graduation marks on their outsides to measure with, steel circles with lips designed to hold containers in place, burners that are themselves products of enchantment, columns with odd chambers inside meant for trapping or separating gasses, a trunk with a plush and springy inside for storing volatile mixtures, a set of heavy gloves, a tall machine with three different chambers of various size called a thaumatometer, the various boxes containing the many mediums I now possess, and finally a heavy steel box in which I have stored my black sand. Putting everything out takes the better part of an hour, and at the end of it, I am still not satisfied. At the end of it, I set down a fine chair made of dark wood, plush maroon cushions, and a theme of spiraling lines in front of the table, completing the look with a simple mat of cerulean on the table in front of it to complete the arrangement. My enchanting table is, at last, ready for use. No, don¡¯t dwell on the expanse. Stop it. I fall into the chair, scooting out the footrest already set beneath the table, and kick my feet up while I stack all the books Erika recommended to me in easy reach. It might be a good idea to go out and find a real tutor in the enchanting art, but I feel like doing so will tie me down too long to the city. I don¡¯t have any plans for staying here that much longer. Idly, I flip through a more advanced tome written explicitly on describing the interaction of mana affixes with one another. My original glossary has proven invaluable, but this book contains second and third order interactions, what might happen when three or four different sources of specific power meet. The information is fascinating, the effects almost never what I might have predicted. I smirk, finding a section listing what the confluence of fire, lightning, and stone might do together, but I already know that one, violent explosion. There are graphical illustrations throughout, which helps me, just an uncultured and church-educated bumpkin, understand at least some of what the book describes. My attention curls back to another of the books I tossed out on the desk, one about something called physics. No illustrations there. Up the stairs, from the door to the vault, I hear the door in the hotel room. Jess peeks her head inside, finding me reclined in the chair, flipping through some pages. ¡°How was the city?¡± I ask her. ¡°Interesting.¡± She leans against the wall of the vault door, looking down at me over crossed arms. ¡°I see that you have been decorating.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. ¡°Seemed like a good idea.¡± I think to offer her something to drink, a good host should always have something to offer visitors and realize that I hadn¡¯t made that part of my shopping trip. Perhaps I still need a cabinet. Decorate it with some nice crystal. Buy those fancy liquors that are interesting colors, make the whole thing seem fancy. No, don¡¯t look at your money again, you already know the number! ¡°I ran into Jor¡¯Mari earlier,¡± Jess says. That gets me to snap the book closed. ¡°You did? I would have thought he¡¯d leave the city by now.¡± ¡°Nope.¡± She laughs a little. ¡°Found him at a bar, it¡¯s a place like a tavern except you can¡¯t sleep there, it¡¯s dirtier, and the good ones have almost no room.¡± ¡°I know what a bar is,¡± I say, feeling a little silly for the distance between us. Halford never would shut up about the one time he had been to the capital and lost half his money in a dice game inside one. ¡°Never did understand not having beds in the same place people drink. What do they do with them when they start falling over?¡± ¡°I just said that you can¡¯t sleep there. I didn¡¯t say there weren¡¯t any beds.¡± She must get the reaction she is looking for in me, because she snickers and shakes her head. ¡°They are calling him Galant now.¡± ¡°Who, Jor¡¯Mari?¡± Jess nods. ¡°He looked so fine, sitting on some plush couch, serving women hanging off his arms, a drunk woman practically falling over herself to get into his lap. Gallant, buy us a drink. Gallant, tell us that story about that one thing again. Gallant, flash us that smile so we can pretend to swoon. He spat his drink all over that drunk woman¡¯s face when I snuck up behind him and whispered in his ear. Oh, what a night. Do you like dancing?¡± ¡°I do.¡± I picture Jor¡¯Mari sitting there in some strange lighting, lavender and blue in my head, with three barely dressed women hanging all over him. He would be wearing that robe of his too, probably they would be running their hands over his chest while he has that damned smirk on his face. ¡°I don¡¯t know what city dancing is like though.¡± ¡°You can barely even call it dancing,¡± Jess agrees, leaning over the rail at the top of the stairs. ¡°He invited us to go with him to the dungeon tomorrow. Apparently, the one they have in Grim puts those others we saw in the trial to shame.¡± ¡°Do you really want to go and kill more monsters?¡± I ask, groaning as I flop back in the chair. ¡°We just got done doing that for two months.¡± ¡°No, you killed monsters for two months. I was done in the first three weeks. Then, I just spent time watching you get impaled or cut up from my nice cushion because you didn¡¯t want me to help you, whenever I wasn¡¯t busy fixing the dents and breaks in your armor.¡± ¡°Soul reinforcement is less effective when someone else is helping you,¡± I say. ¡°Is it?¡± I shrug. ¡°Seems to be, for me at least.¡± ¡°He asked about you, you know.¡± She hums. ¡°Where is Red, I thought you were with her?¡± ¡°He calls me Red?¡± I find myself climbing the stairs. Jess just turns sideways on the rail, smirking up at me as I reach the landing. A part of me does like her having to look up at me now, perhaps a petty part of me. ¡°I assume he was talking about you,¡± she says. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t make sense if he was talking about me. Then again, he was pretty drunk. Do you want to go show off for him with me tomorrow?¡± I can¡¯t help but roll my eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve never shown off for him before, why start now? You and Gallant can go murder all the monsters you want; I¡¯m trying to figure out other things.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I figured.¡± Jess pushed back from the rail, walking backward into the hotel room. ¡°That¡¯s a nice-looking bed you have in there,¡± she calls. ¡°Mind if I borrow it some time?¡± ¡°As long as you¡¯re not afraid of getting locked in here while I¡¯m gone.¡± That stops her in her tracks. She considers for a moment before shaking her head. ¡°Nah.¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to get back to work then,¡± I say, heading down the steps. ¡°Enjoy your own bed. Maybe spend some time in the shower.¡± ¡°Why do you say that?¡± she calls from around the corner, but I¡¯m already down the steps making my way back to the table. ¡°Charlene! Why do you say that!?¡± Some grumbling comes from the top of the steps after, but soon enough I hear the splash of running water on stone. I try to turn my mind back to the books, back to trying to wrap my head around principles that are so foreign I can¡¯t even figure out why I can¡¯t figure them out, but that image of Jor¡¯Mari keeps coming back to me when I find my mind drifting. Him there, some wasted woman with her ass in his lap, red-head probably, with big pouty lips, trying to peck at his face while he keeps playfully pulling his own lips back. ¡°Gah!¡± I snap the book shut, tossing it down on the table. There is other work to be about, some that requires a lot less thinking. I gesture over to the steel box I set out earlier, commanding the black sand inside to come to me, and am delighted when a trickle of the fine grains begins to seep from the thin crack beneath the lid. The rubbing of the sand against the steel buzzes the air with a rattling rasp, the motes of sand lazily streaming toward my palm, spiraling three inches above my hand into a ball that draws in more and more. I pull all of the sand out, watching the mass swirl in front of me, all thoughts of the world outside this vault vanishing. The spinning ball of black goes sailing away at my command, careening toward the crates I have piled in a corner of the room. After six feet, the sand drops from the air like a stone in flight, scattering across the floor of the vault, seeping into the lush carpet I just rolled out. Huh, perhaps there is a limit to how far I can move it. I think back to when I first made the material. My soul presence was the first thing the dust that then became sand interacted with, maybe that is a part of it. I weigh that a moment, the swirl of sensation that drove me into unconsciousness when I pressed too far out with the presence against perhaps being able to throw the sand all the way over to those crates. The decision is fairly easy to make. I¡¯m a girl that needs to consciously remember my fears to get them to stop me from doing foolish things. Recovering from painful events is what I am specialized in now. If it happens again, I¡¯ll just wake up again, except this time I won¡¯t be half-naked. Hesitantly, like a child leaving its mother for the first time to see if other children will either hurt it or play with it, my soul presence drifts from my skin. I am careful with it, applying as little force as I can, watching as it crawls through the air toward the spot with the sand, feeling as it washes over the edge of the carpet. It is as if my own hand is running over the fabric, the texture running smooth against my palm, the coolness of the metallic floor seeping into my skin. I feel the first grain of the sand, and at the same time the knowledge of what I touch enters my mind. A speck too small to even see, a coarse kernel that by all means should glint gold in the light but does not. It rolls with the wave of red, sticking into another grain as the two are brought together. A tickle runs over me as thousands upon thousands of tiny grains start to shift inside the presence, kneading together at my command, pooling into a jagged obelisk on the floor, eight-sided like a pyramid reflected in water. The sand rises off the floor, streams of minute particles pulled toward it out of the carpet as it begins to levitate, and it drinks them in. I continue to push against my own reticence, the soul presence expanding even more, almost filling the vault, before I stop. The black sand drifts through the presence like a fish in water, swimming comfortably, at the whims of no force other than my own will. It thunks against the nearest crate, and I command it to become soft. It pools against the wood, smooshing until it has no shape left to it. I imagine the sand running around the other side of the crate, becoming a stiff square at its back, and it squirms out of sight against the wood. I can still sense it, almost see it, inside my soul presence, growing firm once more on the far side. I jerk my hand back, some instinct, and the sand tries to rush toward me. The crate topples over, flipping once, and the black sand rushes off its side and into the air. I takes me a good dozen tries to get the sand to bring me the crate. In that time, I could have likely moved all of the crates over to the table by hand. When I finally have it, I crack the thing open, pulling out all kinds of monster parts that I have collected over the past months, tossing them unorganized onto the table. Each one sparks a strange sensation on the back of my tongue, each having its own kind of mana carried within. I sit back in my chair when the whole crate is empty, looking between the contents out on the table, the several crates and chests still stacked in the corner, and the ball of black sand levitating at my shoulder¨CGalea flying around it, inspecting it with big eyes. ¡°Maybe I should have bought more mediums.¡± Chapter 107 - Bargain I have found what the wharf master reported when I made it to the shore. There are indeed ships parked off the coast. Their weapons are superior to ours, I have seen their demonstration, and I have received their demands. What the demand of your majesty is¡­trade. -Report to his majesty, strange invaders My hand shakes on the table, knuckles curled tight into a fist. I hammer down again, making instruments jump. ¡°Do you think that I will just sit here and stomach insults?¡± Dust settles back over my fist as I stare across the table. ¡°Ha,¡± Erika barks. ¡°Fair price is insulting to you?¡± Erika waves a bit of the dust out of her face. Over the past few days, with my own experiments, I have discovered that the dust lazing about her shop does not come from misuse or age, but the process of transferring mana from one medium to another. Every enchanter¡¯s shop is lousy with it apparently. There were even a number of refrains about it, ¡°never trust a clean enchanter.¡± ¡°Fair.¡± I hold up a rod of copper, waving it beneath her nose. ¡°Just yesterday I infused this with sixteen and a half thaums of rock affixed mana. You ask me to swallow twenty crowns for that? You might be used to swallowing such things, but I most certainly am not.¡± ¡°Twenty crowns is generous,¡± she scoffs. ¡°I like you girl, you¡¯re perky and a tad petulant, remind me of me. But this¡­¡± she taps the medium I hold in my hand. ¡°Sold it to you not three days ago and already you have gone and spoiled it. A novice enchanter should not attempt to push a medium so near to its mana capacity, any inefficiencies in the transfer process can cause loss. Besides, there are only sixteen thaums in here.¡± Thaums are the part and parcel of the enchanter¡¯s trade. They are the numerical value of the density of mana, and therefore, they are how an enchanter knows how much they need to pay for an item. The most expensive thing that I have purchased from Erika. Experimenting over the last few days, I have discovered that I need at least twenty thaums to imprint an affix onto my soul, an incredible amount. Of all the affixed mana I have managed to disenchant over the last three days, I have only managed that twice. ¡°Sixteen!¡± I slap the medium down on the table. ¡°Sixteen!¡± Erika leans over, grabbing a rod made of copper, connected to a larger machine of dials, valves, and coiled wire, a thin length of wire trailing from the end of the rod and back to the machine. She runs the end of her probe over the medium, checking the dials back on the thaumometer. ¡°Sixteen.¡± I have to learn over the table to see the read-out, shown by a thin black arm on one of the dials that hovers back and forth. ¡°And a quarter.¡± ¡°A quarter is not a half,¡± Erika dismisses, rolling her eyes. ¡°It is sixteen and a half on the instrument you sold to me. Which instrument is the broken one, the one you had me pay a high price for, or the one you have in your shop to cheat customers?¡± ¡°I might not balk at much, girl, but I balk at being called a cheat. Simply because you cannot read the instrument correctly, does not mean that what I sold to you is broken or that mine here is. If you are going to complain about it so passionately, fine, twenty-two crowns, because I like you.¡± ¡°Thirty-six,¡± I say. It is Erika¡¯s turn to slap the table. A speck of dust stabs into my left eye, setting my lashes to flutter annoyingly. I try to stop myself from rubbing at it, but fail, and each rub only makes the problem worse, not better. ¡°Thirty-six would be actual robbery,¡± she sneers. ¡°I see you for what you are, girl. Out here to rob an old lady blind because you think you can. I¡¯m not some boy you can flash a bit of flesh at, I¡¯m made of sterner stuff. Twenty-eight.¡± I laugh, making certain that Erika can see the fakeness in my guffaw as I lean over the table and loom over her. ¡°Bedrik said he would give me thirty-eight,¡± I lie. Never met the man, just read his name off his storefront. ¡°I thought that I might come off you the first bid. There¡¯s been a drought for good mana down here, I¡¯ve heard. Guild enchanters eating up all the supplies.¡± ¡°Guild enchanters,¡± Erika spits in a tin next to her. ¡°A bunch of assholes drunk on their asshole power.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t need to tell me about that,¡± I say. She looks me up and down, huffing. ¡°Not like you¡¯re so different.¡± ¡°I am not with them,¡± I say. I spit myself into her tin. I¡¯ve had lots of practice at it back home. ¡°Maybe you aren¡¯t, girl. Maybe you aren¡¯t. Thirty. That¡¯s my final offer. Go flirt your way to more if you can but do it somewhere else.¡± ¡°Thirty-four,¡± I counter. She sputters, but there is a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips as she musters her anger to make some snide comment back at me. We continue on like that for some time. She has no idea just how many filled mediums I brought back with me today. The arguing over price lasts a long while, and when I reveal the dented breastplate, the armor that I found inside that cave so long ago, and begin to barter with it, it really heats up. For the past few weeks, I have been conflicted about it. As I grow faster, the weight of it, the bulkiness of it, weighs on me more and more. It is so odd to think that something called feathersteel to be heavy, and really it isn¡¯t, but when fractions of seconds are on the line, when frantic movement is what you use to avoid deadly attacks, even that much weight is difficult to afford. More, the several dents and repairs in the armor show both how valuable it has been to me, and how costly it is. Toward the end of the excursion on the mountain, I found myself turning to take hits on the arm rather than the armor, to avoid the time and cost it would take to repair. My body repairs itself, and has become very, very good at it. Erika agrees with what I expected her to. The armor is inspired, the lining inside so complex in its design that it can only be the work of a solitary genius¨CI have spent hours retracing its intricacies into a journal. But, in the end, the technical aspects of it are just too out of date. The piece is ancient, a marvel yes, but it cannot compete with modern enchantments. In the modern era, there are fabulous pieces of flowing metal like the one that Arabella sometimes wears, armor so grand that it could protect its wearer from a mountain falling atop them. Such items are not only insanely expensive, but are kept in prohibition, the people capable of creating them watched closely. I cannot make such a piece, but I can do better than plate I believe, better for me anyway. When I crack open the armor, revealing the lining between the two pieces, Erika¡¯s eyes light up. She inspects the stretchy material, identifying it immediately, she inspects the lines of metal running through, looks over the runes written, and puts the mess down with a she has not shown before. In the end, she leaves the table, walking to the back of the shop, returning with a heavy wooden case she tows with shuffling steps. Inside, stand eight rows of gold crowns, arrayed neatly, their metal catching glinting light. I make her retrieve another before we settle on a price.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. Even with all of my new strength, I cannot haul all of the day¡¯s earning away without resorting to storing them in my ring. That number, that fabulous number, ticks ever upwards as I put the new gold inside. I really should store some in my vault. The ring is good protection, but all it would take is someone sneaking up on me and stealing it away to get all of my money. ¡°I didn¡¯t think both of you would walk away from that alive,¡± a voice, one that has thoroughly managed to sneak up on me, says just as I leave Erika¡¯s shop. I spin to my right, a touch of fire licking my fingers, finding a man leaning against the storefront, casual as can be. Dovik has changed since I last saw him. He is taller, his shoulders more broad, and more of a cast of strength about him. A well-kempt brown beard rings his chin, making him look five years older at least. The way that scar cutting down his face goes into the beard, leaving a thin line of skin peeking through, makes him look dangerous. Dovik Willian(Rank Two) Immortal Conflux(Magic Defense Specialist) He looks me up and down, his eyes focusing on mine. ¡°I¡¯m wondering if you can help me find a girl. She¡¯s rural, stringy orange hair, face that makes her look younger than she is, and the worst temper I¡¯ve ever seen on a woman. She has these eyes though, makes a man¡¯s blood run cold when she looks at them.¡± ¡°You took my advice about the beard,¡± I say. ¡°I don¡¯t recall any advice about my beard,¡± Dovik says, stroking the thin svelte strands. ¡°I remember thinking something about it at least. Makes you look like a man.¡± ¡°As opposed to¡­¡± ¡°Do you really want me to answer that?¡± I ask. Damn him, the man¡¯s smile is infectious. ¡°I am tempted to hear what insult you might come up with,¡± he says. ¡°How are you doing, farm girl? It¡¯s been a while.¡± I throw my arms around him, pulling him into a hug. I hadn¡¯t realized until just now how much I¡¯ve missed him over the last few months. Thinking back on it, it feels like I barely know him. He squeezes me back, with arms as strong as any man¡¯s I¡¯ve known. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you come find me when you got back?¡± Dovik asks after stepping back and working for a moment to find a position leaning against the stones of Erika¡¯s store that was both nonchalant and adequately attentive. ¡°I had to hear from Jor, who heard from Jess, that you were back.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve been busy,¡± I say. He looks back at the store-front, trying and failing to peer inside through a dusty window. ¡°Picking up a new trade? Don¡¯t tell me that you¡¯ve given up on the third rank already. Everyone talks it up, but most of my family manage to make it, or they die trying. You are quite good at not dying, so I think you have a real chance.¡± ¡°You reaching it is a foregone conclusion, right.¡± ¡°Naturally.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not giving up,¡± I say. ¡°I am simply exploring a new avenue for advancement. Not all of us have the resources that you do.¡± He runs a finger down the side of a pot filled with dirt and dead purple flowers, holding up the gray dust on the end of his finger for me to see. ¡°So, you are going to make your equipment yourself then?¡± ¡°Perhaps I will. Doubt me?¡± ¡°After what I have seen you do, Charlene, there¡¯s no chance of that happening. So, are you planning to go to an academy? I¡¯m sure you can afford to get into one now, and if you ask the guild for a recommendation, they wouldn¡¯t hesitate to write you one.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve thought about that,¡± I say, starting to walk, forcing him off his perch against the wall to follow after me. ¡°Schooling would take too long, and it would take too much of my time. I have only two and a half years left to reach rank three. If what I have heard about it is true, that is no time to spare.¡± ¡°So, you are still going through with it?¡± he asks. ¡°Preparing for the trial?¡± ¡°What do you know about the trial?¡± He laughs. ¡°About as much as I know about anything. This one though, this one is going to be something big. All of the guilds are coming together for it, and I¡¯m not sure that anyone outside the guildmaster and a few others know the details. I might not be making it sound significant enough, but I hope you understand.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t know much about the Trial of Rising Tide either, why is this so different?¡± ¡°Because when I asked my father about the Trial of Rising Tide, he laughed it off, told me to concentrate on bettering myself and preparing. When I asked him about this, he tried to distract me, and then when I asked again, he told me to stop asking.¡± ¡°And that is important,¡± I say. ¡°That is the only time he has ever told me to stop asking questions,¡± Dovik says. ¡°So, yes. It is important I think.¡± We find our way off the side-street and onto the main thoroughfare for the platform. The street isn¡¯t long in and of itself, but the walk is crowded with people. In the mid-afternoon rush, traffic going both ways is a press. Reluctantly, I stop at the corner, sticking to the vacant side street to watch the flood of people pass us by. ¡°You will be there,¡± I say. ¡°Of course I will. I¡¯ve been working on convincing Jor, but he is not so pleased with the guild at the moment. He thinks that if he breaks the contract, his father will be able to intercede for him. Dare say, he is probably right.¡± ¡°He wants to reach the third rank,¡± I say. ¡°He will come around.¡± ¡°I¡¯m certain that he will, especially after I confirm that you are planning to join.¡± ¡°Planning,¡± I say. ¡°But how likely is it for me to make it in time, really?¡± ¡°It would be more likely if we worked together. Come join my team, I¡¯m assembling one.¡± ¡°What an honor.¡± I give him my best dead-panned glare, and judging by his growing smile, he heard my sarcasm loud and clear. ¡°A chance to join the Scion of Willian¡¯s team, the one with the handsome and dashing Gallant among its ranks, how could I turn that down?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± Dovik says, stifling a laugh. ¡°When beautiful young women start attaching monikers to you, they have a way of sticking. Go ask Gallant about it.¡± ¡°I will when I see him.¡± Each time I look at the press of people in front of me, seeing a momentary gap, someone else fills it before I can. I am well aware that if I really need to, I could shove these people out of my way, but that feels like a bit too much. They all seem to be moving together in some strange, hurried walk native to city people; I¡¯ve not picked up its nuances yet. ¡°Want to go find some lunch?¡± Dovik asks, watching my feet as I step forward, back, then forward again. ¡°There is a great little cafe just two streets upward, right at the part of the city where the upper and middle thirds meet. You¡¯d love it, where fantastic food meets cheap prices.¡± ¡°I have more shopping I need to do today.¡± ¡°Makes sense.¡± He holds his hands up when I turn a glare on him. ¡°You just seem like the shopping type is all.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll never make it anywhere like this.¡± My hands itch to conjure up some flame, to shove my way through the press, but that is probably a bad instinct. ¡°Don¡¯t you have a ship now?¡± he asks. ¡°Just fly over it.¡± ¡°It is parked all the way up at the docks. How am I supposed to use it here?¡± He shrugs. ¡°Just park it on a roof. That is what everyone else does.¡± The thought of parking my incredibly heavy ship on some poor woman¡¯s roof is horrifying. What if the ship falls in and crushes someone? What if it gets scratched? ¡°I¡¯m sure guild personnel don¡¯t have to deal with this.¡± ¡°No, they just fly over,¡± Dovik agrees. ¡°Dealing with traffic is up to us little people.¡± I turn back to him at that, thinking about it. ¡°The guild trains people to fly when they reach the third rank, right? That is when people typically learn how to do that.¡± ¡°Sure. There is a nice park that is commonly used attached to the guild commons.¡± ¡°Show me,¡± I say, grabbing his arm. He looks down at my hand, arching an eyebrow. ¡°What happened to shopping?¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t have to happen right now.¡± He smiles. ¡°Sure, I can show you, but only if you allow me to buy you a meal.¡± ¡°Make it an expensive meal, and you have yourself a deal.¡± Today, I am going to learn how to fly. Chapter 108 - Learning to Fly I found the door, though I wish I hadn¡¯t. -Atherinon, Taker of Secrets The trip to the upper third proves my need to go. Getting there requires us to take four different elevators, walk down or up eight ramps, shove our way through three bridges, and eventually have a porter take us up to the final platform for a silver nickel. You only find the porters in the upper third, their ships are nothing more than circular platforms that they fly up and down the city for a steep price. The worst part is that when they bring you to a platform, they just barely overlap the end of their ship with the lip of the stone street. I can¡¯t help but imagine people falling off all the time, splatting on one of the platforms further down, one that juts out more from the wall. I¡¯ve never seen it happen, but it surely must. The upper third, especially the platforms belonging to the guild and nobility at the very highest points of Grim, are sculpted with a painter¡¯s touch. The stone of the platforms themselves are made of an alabaster that catches the light, and every inch that isn¡¯t reserved for buildings or roads is given over to a vibrant grass that has never known a weed. Great manor homes overlook the wide-open air, their architecture showy, their statues nude and proud, their windows filled with scintillating glass, the frames around often plated with gold or silver, and all of their lawns competing with one another to be the most grand. Parks connect the manors, lazy sidewalks that roll this way and that, not caring for a straight line. As Dovik leads me on, we pass a fountain decorated with statues of fish spitting sparkling water into the air. He leads me down a final bridge, this one made of solid marble instead of the usual oak and rope found throughout the city, which opens into a huge platform dominated by a single building. ¡°That is the guild hall,¡± Dovik says, pointing up to the tower of white stone and decoration that looks more like what my brother described a cathedral to look like than an administration building. As I step onto the platform itself, I can almost feel eyes peering from giant circular windows set into its face, looking down at me, appraising, judging. The rest of the platform is given over to a park as well, the main feature being a pond far larger than any I have seen, a little bridge of white wood stretching over the narrowest point. Willows dangle their long fronds toward the water, creating shade that is used by more than one group: an afternooning couple, a woman reading and eating her lunch, a man snoring away the day beneath a tree. Dotted throughout the park are squares of sand, divided from the grass by huge logs. We pass a group of three men inside one, two jabbing at each other in the middle of the sand, while the third sits on a log, watching with a sandwich in his hands and sheathed sword leaning against his knee. Dovik looks back at me as we walk, noting the clear awe on my face. ¡°It¡¯s nice, isn¡¯t it?¡± he says. ¡°I spent some good days out here just sleeping in the sun. You only really get the good light in the upper-third. Most of everything below is too shadowed.¡± He is right about that. With how close together the platforms in the middle-third are clustered, direct sun is a fleeting thing. Most take breaks during the few minutes of the day when they can get it, crowding outside to bask in the momentary warmth. ¡°I just didn¡¯t think that it would be so big,¡± I say. ¡°We have to keep up appearances,¡± he says, affecting an air that makes it clear he is quoting someone. ¡°Come on. The spot we are looking for is just over there.¡± We pace down the sidewalk that curves this way and that around the artificial hills built into the guild¡¯s park. As we pass around a tree whose leaves are a vibrant purple color and bend away from us as we approach, I see the spot he is talking about. It is a sand pit, much like the others scattered around the park, but with an interesting addition of a scaffolding climbing high up with a single, long board attached. A diving board, if I am not mistaken. ¡°There¡¯s Cindy,¡± Dovik says, pointing up toward the top. ¡°She¡¯s not a lot to look at, but she has a tendency to let men down, hard.¡± I stare up at the tower of wood and the platform atop it. ¡°People just¡­jump off of that?¡± Dovik shrugs. ¡°Most that need to learn how to fly are those that have reached the third rank. Falling from that far would not injure most of them, unless they were especially frail. Sometimes, a magician will gain that power earlier, and in such cases, Cindy is used along with a healer to make sure no lasting damage occurs.¡± ¡°Did you bring a healer?¡± I ask, shading my eyes against the sun as I stare up. ¡°It must have slipped my mind.¡± ¡°Did you develop any healing abilities when you reached the second rank?¡± ¡°Not a one. You?¡± ¡°No¡­¡± I blow out a long sigh, looking sidelong at him. ¡°Turn around.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡± ¡°I need to change my clothes,¡± I say. He studies me for a moment. ¡°I kind of like what you have on now.¡± ¡°Dovik!¡± He holds up his hands, turning his back on me. My inventory window opens in the air in front of me, and I scan through the boxes. Making a final check to make certain no one is looking our way; I stash my blouse and coat inside as quickly as I can¨Cit¡¯s a little too warm up here in the upper third for the layers anyway¨C and retrieve a shirt that I have taken knife and needle to. It is airy, a bit thin, an eye-catching red, and I have slit the sides almost down to the waist. I checked it before to make sure that my new wings won¡¯t make this blouse explode when I bring them out, and they hadn¡¯t, at least not yet. The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. Dovik turns back around when he hears the sound of my hands slapping against the rungs of the ladder. ¡°That looks¡­breathable.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t need comments,¡± I yell back down to him. From the top of the platform, I find the tower much higher than it looks from the ground. The square bit of wood is barely enough room for me to stand on, and the board leading off of it is narrow. Crouching at the top, holding on tight to the sides, I find that this might not be the best idea after all. ¡°What do I do now?¡± ¡°How should I know?¡± Dovik calls up to me. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never flown before. I¡¯ve just watched people fall and splash into the sand, or they don¡¯t, but that is no fun to watch.¡± Inwardly, I curse the man, but then again, what did I expect? ¡°Tits and Honey.¡± I send a slip of my concentration out toward that new part, grafted onto or grown from my soul; I don¡¯t know. A wash of magic runs out from me, and a weight settles onto my shoulders as two glorious wings of vibrant crimson spread out to my sides. The change in weight pushes me to lean hard on my hands grabbing the platform, but it is not so bad as it was that first time. I stand, my balance shifting, and I need to push my hips forward to keep from wobbling. Checking my shirt, I am satisfied to find that it has not been torn into pieces to drift away in the wind. That would be quite embarrassing given where I am standing just this moment. ¡°I knew it.¡± Dovik points up at me from the ground. ¡°I knew it! You have the Red Dragon Essentia, don¡¯t you.¡± That is the second time someone has mentioned a specific kind of dragon essentia to me. Would those be better than my plain Dragon Essentia, or worse? ¡°I¡¯m not sure what you mean?¡± I say, being purposefully coy, which Dovik would of course take as an open admission. I suspect that the man lives in a world of coyness, that¡¯s just his way. ¡°I had not heard that Gale had a red dragon in it. It makes me more excited to see it.¡± ¡°Just wet fields and grass,¡± I say. Finally, I find a good balance on the platform, standing tall and letting my new wings stretch out to my sides. There is a sense of power in it, as if the spans of leathery, crimson scales make me three times larger than I was before. I can¡¯t help but look down at the ground, seeing the legs of the tower I stand on shrink together as they race toward the sand. Bad idea maybe. Then, I am stuck at a decision. Do I jump forward into the open air, or do I try to flap the wings as I did before? That had not worked before. Jump it is. ¡°What are you¨C¡± Dovik¡¯s words are cut off as I crash into the sand sideways, screaming all the way down. I gasp on the ground, a shooting pain running up through my left leg from where I landed on my foot poorly. The ankle begins to reknit itself in seconds, but those few seconds are awful. ¡°Funny enough?¡± I hiss up at him. He stands on the outskirts of the sand pit, looking down at me. ¡°Would you hurt me if I said yes?¡± ¡°Maybe.¡± ¡°Then I won¡¯t.¡± Dovik steps over the perimeter logs and helps me to my feet. ¡°Maybe using actual wings is a bit different from how magicians normally fly.¡± ¡°Kendon and Samielle managed it,¡± I say. Then, just hearing the name again, I feel an awful pain in my gut. Samielle, such a kind and strong man. I had killed him, hadn¡¯t I? I can¡¯t remember it, but I know that it was me. Dovik rolls right past that. ¡°That they did. You are much smarter than them, I am sure. Keep at it.¡± And I do. For the next few hours, until the sun begins to set behind the high wall of Grim, I climb up the tower over and over again, leaping off or trying to flap away. If I didn¡¯t heal from the falls so quickly, I doubt that I would have made any real progress. By the time that the shadows begin to grow long, I am at least competent enough to glide off the tower under my own power, and most of the time I can even gain a bit of height without losing my balance. This is a new avenue that I need to pursue. Gods, it seems like those just keep opening up before me. ¡°This has been a good day,¡± Dovik tells me as I plop down on a log at the perimeter of the sand pit. He lays in the soft grass, looking up at the sky above that is still a bright blue despite the shadow of the wall having already fallen over the city. Days in Grim are much shorter than anywhere else. ¡°Didn¡¯t accomplish much,¡± I say, pulling my newish coat out of my inventory and slipping it on to keep off the approaching chill. ¡°I don¡¯t measure my days by what I accomplish,¡± he says. ¡°This is nice. I¡¯ve felt it, you know, my soul growing taught. These last few months have helped it relax, becoming springy once more, but I don¡¯t believe I am ready to start pushing hard again. Not just yet. I will though, so I will enjoy this time.¡± There is a thrum in my chest that matches his words. Some sleepless nights, sleep is more of an indulgence to me now, I have stared at the shifting forms of my own soul, trying to puzzle out its geometry. For the last few weeks, I have felt that tightness he talks about, a resistance in my very being against changing. Arabella warned me that there was a limit to how quickly one could progress, how fast one could push reinforcements on their soul. In the last few days it has loosened, just a bit. I still need more time. ¡°What was it like,¡± I ask him, coming to sit in the grass next to him, ¡°growing up in a city like this? This is the first city I have ever seen, and it doesn¡¯t seem like many others. I imagine that you lived in some kind of luxury, separate from normal people like me, but you act just like some other boys I knew. Why aren¡¯t you more different?¡± ¡°I find myself pretty unique,¡± he says. ¡°I find you unique too. Maybe that¡¯s why I liked you right away. You¡¯re different, Charlene.¡± ¡°Sometimes I feel different,¡± I say. ¡°But sometimes I feel so plain.¡± I catch him looking at me, his face more serious, considering. He breathes out a sigh, looking up at the sky where a bird passes by high overhead. ¡°It was¡­difficult,¡± he says after a moment. ¡°The difficulty wasn¡¯t in not having things. That is the trouble most people have, a worse trouble than what I did, I know. Gods, how could I even find room to complain. I really did want for nothing, not for food, clothes, or even attention, but when I think about my childhood, growing up, there is this tightness inside.¡± His hand rests on his chest. Then, he tells me. He tells me about his siblings, an older brother and two sisters, speaks about watching them as he stalked through the halls of his home, goes to length about how magnificent they are. He sees light in them, I can hear it in his voice, such powerful radiance. He talks about exploring the city, escaping his minders, making short trips out to some towns where he met and spoke to other children, something he so seldom was allowed to do, but it always comes back around to his family, the accomplishments of his siblings, the kindness and grace of his mother, the power and righteousness of his father. There is a strain in him as he speaks, love and tension. He doesn¡¯t see what I learned so long ago, that if you stand so near to beautiful fires, the winds they throw off will keep trying to snuff out your own little candle. I feel like I really see him then, see myself in him. I have known that shadow cast by lights too near. So, when he runs out of breath, the sky above turning a pale orange, I lay in the grass next to him, and tell him about my own story, holding nothing back. I tell him about the orchard, living life beneath the rule of the elves, trying to remember the good times as best I can. With how much I have learned recently, the bad keeps crowding in. I tell him about Halford and about Corinth, sharing my own feelings about my brothers, how much I admire them, how much I envy them. I feel heat on my face by the time I finish, the beginnings of tears welling at the corners of my eyes, and for the first time I realize just how much I miss home. The sky overhead is dark and black now, a mishmash of twinkling lights sparkling in the dark. A hand settles on mine, and I smother the urge to pull back. When I turn my head, I find Dovik there, looking at me, and I can¡¯t help but smile. ¡°Yeah. A good day.¡± Chapter 109 - Eighteen The land of Mirinnial is ruled not by mortal beings but by a spirit that speaks in the voice of the dying. All writing about such a being is forbidden within the bounds of Mirinnial, and so this writing comes from my recollection. In the heart of the city of Mir, a black temple stands, its devotion given over to the spirit Kor¡¯Alskiliath, the one that holds dominion over the land, the one that flits in the space between life and death. I was given an invitation into the inner chambers, where those from throughout the city bring their near dead so that the dictates of their ghastly god can be heard in the voices of the departing. As I walked between the beds of those near the veil, a woman reached out to me, her grip like iron on my shirt sleeve. Blood pooled in her chest, an accident with a knife slowly claiming her life despite the best ministrations of the clergy. She stared at me with terrible, black eyes. ¡°The shadow will catch notice,¡± she said. ¡°Millenia have they lain asleep, but woken them we have. Pulling kin from history, we are betrayed by the hubris of the divine. Their folly, forced or not, attracts ancient ire from the deep. Flee this world; it will be subsumed.¡± Then, she was gone, dead eyes staring up at my face, the faint trace of words echoing from cold lips. I fled the city that night, her words chasing me all the while. I hope that writing them down will banish them from my thoughts, but it is a wan hope. -Atherinon, Taker of Secrets I sputter. Heavy grains flow over my face and mouth, my gasp for air pulling them down my throat. A book slaps onto the floor next to me as I struggle in my seat. I fall out of my plush chair, the ground cold, and rub the black sand off my face. Without even thinking about it, the black sand pulls away from me, slithers out of my nose and throat with a tickle, floats off the floor, the upholstery of my chair, and that fabric of my clothes, collecting in a black orb floating overhead. It tastes like¡­well, nothing really. My eyes sting. Reality takes a few seconds to begin catching back up with me. It isn¡¯t until I see the book on the ground next to my foot that I piece it all together, Arithmetic and Celestial Motion. Despite knowing that there is nothing on my tongue, phantom sensations of grain make me want to spit as I climb back into the chair, snatching up the book once again. I must have fallen asleep reading this. Yes, I¡¯ve forced a habit of reading through these stuffy tomes each night, but they are so boring that I have been idly playing with the sand as I read to keep my mind focused. Groaning, I toss the book onto my table. It lands next to two different texts on the history of the Empire, written in droll long-hand from the perspective of some of the most boring people I can imagine, and a text on local deific myths. For once, I wish someone would just tell me the information outright, not hide it among the recountings of their lives or what they thought of the architecture at the time. The ball of black sand buzzes overhead, a hive of tiny particles swirling together, attempting to settle into something solid, but always losing cohesion. It wants to be solid, but it is so brittle in its structures. I check my mana, over half gone. Controlling the sands idly doesn¡¯t require too much power from me, but it does require power. I cast my hand to the side, sending the mass of sand back into its heavy chest. Walking down the table, the space I have dedicated to replicating the inner layer of my previous armor stands as a mess. I can remake the lining perfectly in sketch, but doing so with any medium is far more difficult. Besides, there was no mana remaining in the armor when I found it, so the purpose of the intricate patterns is a mystery to me. All enchantment is, at its core, an interplay between different types of mana. My eyes roam over my open journal, the interweave of the original armor broken down into parts. It took me more than a week of trying to recreate the entire design to see them, the individual patterns within the whole. Maybe I should focus on just those. ¡°I knew you would be here.¡± I turn to the voice, finding Jess standing at the top of the stairs, arms folded. ¡°You¡¯re turning bookish.¡± ¡°I only have a few books,¡± I say, pointing to those scattered on the table. She indicates the bookcases lining one wall of my vault with her head, mostly still empty, but filling up. ¡°Not too many.¡± ¡°We¡¯re going out,¡± she says. ¡°Out where?¡± ¡°Out. Come on, Charlene, I am not going to let you waste away the day inside, not today.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t waste any days,¡± I say, already heading for the stairs. ¡°And I go outside every day to practice flying.¡± ¡°Is that what you call it? Seems more like falling to me.¡± ¡°Only sometimes.¡± The air outside of my vault is different, warmer maybe, more alive. It hits me like a wave when I step out. ¡°I think I might enjoy a night out,¡± I say. ¡°Where should we go?¡± ¡°Where do you want to go?¡± Jess asks. I shrug. ¡°The shower.¡± ¡°Then?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. You know this city better than I do, the night part of it anyway. You pick.¡± She looks at me, confused for some reason. ¡°You should pick.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Charlene,¡± she says, as if trying to explain something to a child, ¡°today is your birthday.¡± ¡°Oh.¡± I try to remember what day it is and find that I have no idea. ¡°Are you sure?¡± Jess rolls her eyes and starts bundling me toward the shower room. ¡°Yes, I am sure. Make yourself presentable. Tonight, we are going to have fun and celebrate.¡± She takes me out on the town, shows me places that I never would have suspected to exist in this city on a wall. We stop at a cafe dedicated to selling different kinds of cakes, every flavor in the world that you might like, all delicious and fluffy. Dovik and Jor¡¯Mari join us as we head to a second place to eat, a great big building in the upper third, all porcelain walls and stuffy clothes. Luckily enough, I have spent enough time crawling through the shops of the upper third to have a nice enough dress to get in the doors, classic black, made of ruffles and lacy silk. I pull Jess aside before we go in, giving her a dress that I found in her size a few days ago. She wears only two different things recently, almost nothing aside from belts and straps to hold her adventuring supplies in place, or a big, baggy shirt beneath all the straps and belts. How have I not taken her to find a real wardrobe yet? The meal is delicious, worth the stuffy atmosphere and the side-long glances I catch every now and again from other customers. Jor¡¯Mari is loud, Dovik snide, and Jess a fountain of fun and energy; I can¡¯t help but enjoy myself. To my shock, the place sells monster meat on their menu, and the way the Glassrider steak almost melts on my tongue, the salty spice of its flavoring, the lingering hint of a peach in the rain that my new magical sense picks up, makes it almost orgasmic to me. I can¡¯t keep a smile off my face. Then we are off, sliding down ropes, or gliding in my case, toward the bustling streets of the middle third, where Jess assures me all the best bars are. The idea of a tavern¡¯s moldy front-space are driven from my mind as we step inside the first, just a red door set into a blank wall. Sound blasts me, small white stones attached to the corners of the room blaring music down from the rafters, a band on a small stage in the corner playing out their hearts, belting their rage, toward a writhing audience and a large black stone. Jess pulls me away from the boys after leaving our drink order with them, showing me the dancing that she has been gushing about night after night. So strange, there is no set to it, no orderliness, just a chaotic jumble of limbs out on the floor, where you might as easily knock into someone else as step on your own foot. There is something to it, and despite not knowing what to do with myself, Jess has a way of pouring her own enthusiasm into me. The noise of the bar becomes music on the floor, a wave of sound pressing down on me from all around. I copy my friend, she is a blade dancer after all, but then I find my own rhythm, my own fun out on the floor. This body is still new to me, my feet kick farther than I have known, my hands reach further when I spin, but my grin feels more natural than ever, my laugh more my own. We drink on the floor when the boys return, and I find this city dancing evolves with each new song the musicians trot out. Never before have I seen Dovik so out of place, his eyes darting around to look at everyone else and what they are doing, his head bobbing as he tries to drink his sherry with an air of control. Jess latches onto his stuffiness, grabbing him by the arm and forcing him to the middle of the floor, where she leads, and he can do nothing else but follow. Jor¡¯Mari is at home in the dance as soon as he comes, his arms wide and his movements large, forcing others away without a care. We share time in the music, a perfect and uncaring time, where yesterday and tomorrow are concepts impossible to consider. Jess decides at some point the bar is dead and drags us away to another. We pass the night that way, hopping from one place to another, tasting their atmosphere and their alcohol, feeling the rhythm of them. Only after leaving the fifth place, one whose sole room was bathed in a harsh red light, that I first begin to feel the tingle of liquor on my fingertips. It is gone by the time we make the climb back to the upper third, out final stop for the night. The kiss of drunkenness seems denied to me anymore, allowing me to admit openly how awful the taste of most liquor is. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. We settle down for the night at some place that might rightfully be called a tavern in the upper third, a wooden structure of two stories. In any town, I imagine that it would put almost all other buildings to shame, but here in Grim, it is a quaint little thing. I can tell that it is a good place from the fact that two men are passed out at a table as we stumble in, drool dripping from their chins and onto a table cluttered with amber bottles. We find a table in the far corner, put in an order for more drinks, and relax from the climb. ¡°Eighteen,¡± Dovik says, looking over at me. ¡°That¡¯s a big one in Grim, don¡¯t know about your folksy customs.¡± ¡°Fifteen is generally the big one,¡± I say. I look at my friends, see their general state of tipsiness and tiredness, and can¡¯t help but wonder if my high recovery attribute is more of a curse than a boon. It isn¡¯t, but there are some downsides it looks like. ¡°Eighteen is when people start talking behind your back about how you don¡¯t have a husband yet.¡± ¡°So, you¡¯re an old maid now?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks, the only other one in the group that seems mostly put together. ¡°A young maid,¡± I say. ¡°How old are you, lecher?¡± ¡°Lecher?¡± Jor¡¯Mari feigns hurt. ¡°Twenty, now. Still young for a man; we have that kind of way about us. And you, my friend?¡± ¡°Nineteen,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Odd, that not being the youngest by far for once. Most groups that I find myself in usually have me being the youngest by a few decades. Jess?¡± She groans, leaning back in her chair with her head on the bar across the back of it. Out of all of us, she has enjoyed her drink the most and enjoyed the dancing the most as well. ¡°You humans get weird when I talk about it.¡± ¡°I find they get weird about a great many things,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°Why would I get weird?¡± I ask her. ¡°Hells if I know,¡± she says. ¡°Well, now I have to know.¡± Dovik leans forward in his seat. ¡°We¡¯re all friends here.¡± Jess picks her head up, snatching her cup of beer from the table and sipping at it. ¡°Promise not to be weird then.¡± ¡°I promise,¡± I say. ¡°Though, what you and I consider weird might be a bit different.¡± ¡°I promise not to be anything,¡± Dovik says. Jess cuts her eyes toward Jor¡¯Mari, sitting in the corner of the table, his silk robe partly open; he wears yellow and green songbirds on a deep blue tonight. ¡°I¡¯m not human,¡± he says to her. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be a hard promise to make then.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Fine, I won¡¯t be weird. Whatever that means.¡± ¡°Good.¡± Jess kicks back again, taking her cup and swirling it. ¡°I¡¯m fourteen.¡± A spray of beer splashes across the table as Dovik spits out his drink. He coughs and hacks, beating on his own chest with a fist. ¡°That¡­while I¡¯m drinking¡­¡± ¡°I knew you would be weird about it,¡± Jess says, pointing at him. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know that among my people, I would be older than any of you.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve always thought that about you,¡± I say, patting Jess¡¯ leg. ¡°I thought you were older than me for sure.¡± ¡°Thank you.¡± ¡°I thought so too.¡± Jor¡¯Mari scratches his chin. ¡°Guess that makes me the elder here. That¡¯s no good.¡± ¡°Tonight, has been fun.¡± I fall back in my own chair, sipping at the beer, finding it better than most drinks I¡¯ve stomached tonight. ¡°I want all of your birthdays. We should do this again.¡± Then a thought strikes me. ¡°Does anyone have the time; it might not even be my birthday anymore.¡± ¡°What!?¡± Jess falls forward, the front legs of her chair slapping against the ground. ¡°We have to do gifts before the night ends.¡± ¡°Gifts?¡± Jess leans forward, slapping Dovik¡¯s arm as the man has just barely gotten his coughing under control. He nods at her, rolling his hand over, a box appearing on the table in front of him. Seems he has a storage ring of his own. She snatches the box before I can get a look inside, holding it to her chest and fishing around inside. A chain of silver is pulled out between her red fingers, a glinting charm dangling from the end, catching the candlelight. She sets the piece in my palm, the fine chain a beauty on its own, the charm dangling from the silver a square of metal more precious than silver, platinum. There is a tiny emerald set into the charm, a single letter written on the metal beneath that I can see through the lens of green, though I do not know what it means. ¡°It¡¯s beautiful,¡± I say, turning it this way and that in the light, enjoying the sparkle. ¡°Is this really for me?¡± ¡°We are sisters now,¡± Jess says, pulling a necklace out from the neck of her dress, identical to my new one except that it bears a ruby rather than an emerald. ¡°An exchange of Shikke runes is not usually set into jewelry, but I know you like pretty things.¡± ¡°I do,¡± I say, quickly fastening the chain around my neck, enjoying the cold of the metal against my skin. ¡°Thank you, little sister.¡± She points at me, horrified. ¡°You promised not to be weird.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t see how that was weird.¡± She huffs, turning back to the box she holds, taking a deep breath. I feel like there is a shift in our corner of the room, the two boys at the table looking serious for a moment, though they try their best not to let it show. Jess lets out a long exhale and pulls from the box a book, simple and colored green, the edges flaking with age. She hands it to me. I need to open the front cover to get any hint at the contents. The inside inscription reads, A True History of Humanity¡¯s Crusade, and I feel my breath catch for an instant. I knew this story or knew a version of it that the church taught me as a child. How much will this simple book turn everything I know on its head? When I look back at Jess, I see a tear in her eye. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, can¡¯t think of anything else to say. ¡°It was Samielle¡¯s idea,¡± she says, her words hitching. ¡°I told him about what you told me in the tower, and he said it wasn¡¯t right, said that everyone needs to know their history. Things are different where he was from.¡± She presses her long-fingered nails to her lips. ¡°He wanted to share that with you, wanted it so bad.¡± Jess stands from the table, a tear falling down her cheek. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I need to go.¡± I catch her hand before she can get away, and I feel wetness in my own eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t go, please.¡± She looks back at me, trying to smile but not quite managing it. There is the pain on her face that I have caught glimpses of before, and it about breaks my heart to see. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡­I¡­¡± She tries. ¡°We will go get more drinks.¡± Dovik is beside her then, a gentle hand on her shoulder. ¡°Take a bit of air. Get everything sorted.¡± Jess pulls her hand out of mine, stepping back into the room, Dovik letting her lean against him as he walks at her pace. When I see her shoulders shake, the way her hand grabs tightly to his sleeve, it is like an arrow through my gut. I am out the door before I realize that I am moving. Something solid sits on top of my lungs, a weight that I can¡¯t bear; I can¡¯t find my breath. A rail marks the end of the platform in front of me, a metal barrier that I cling to with shaking hands, needing it to keep me up right. The moon peeks from behind the shifting clouds overhead, the stars in the sky made dim by the lights of the city. I shudder in a gasp of air, feeling so small, so weak, so terrible, and I know that I should feel this way. ¡°So, you did know.¡± Jor¡¯Mari is there, standing beside me. He leans on the rail, looking out and down at the city forming steps beneath us like a staircase. For all his act of nonchalance, there is a tension in his eyes. My legs finally give out from under me, knees clacking hard on the stone. The coolness of the railing against my forehead grounds me. ¡°I killed him,¡± I mutter, the first time I have ever said the words aloud. ¡°I killed Samielle. I killed my friend.¡± The weight on my chest is so terrible; it squeezes me so tight. ¡°How can I be alive? I don¡¯t deserve it.¡± ¡°Come on,¡± he says, pulling me to my feet. I don¡¯t fight him; I don¡¯t have the strength to do that. ¡°Not here. You don¡¯t want them hearing, do you?¡± The terror I feel at that thought, of Jess hearing my confession of murder, at the pain I will find in her eyes when she knows, sets my feet to moving. Jor¡¯Mari practically carries me away, down the street of the platform, toward a large building of green glass, impossible to see into. He snaps the lock on the doors with a twist of his wrist, pushing them open, a soft light spilling out onto the street. They click closed behind us, and for a moment the pain pressing down on me is forgotten as I see the expanse in front of us. Trees, twenty-six, stand around a circle of grass. Their leaves are a mix of colors, some green, others purple, red, or even blue. ¡°I¡¯ve wanted to show you this place,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, leading me out into the middle of the clearing. ¡°I found it while you were gone, and it reminded me of what you told me about your home. Growing up amid the trees, picking fruits. I thought it might remind you of your home too.¡± He holds a fruit out to me, and it does somewhat look like a pear. I take it with trembling fingers, feeling the soft flesh, the rough texture of good things grown from good earth. But the beauty cannot keep my misery pressed away for long. My breaths become short, strained, and I stare around at the beautiful copse around me, emotions tearing me in all different directions. I fall, but Jor¡¯Mari catches me before I hit the ground, setting me gently in the grass. I try to cover my face but find myself pressing the strange pear to my brow, looking like an idiot as I sit in the grass. The tears slip freely away now, rolling down my face, leaving salty trails to drip from my lips. ¡°It¡¯s all so wrong,¡± I say. I don¡¯t even know where the words come from. ¡°I know,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, sitting beside me. ¡°He was so good. He was good.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°I¡¯m evil, aren¡¯t I? I murdered my friend.¡± ¡°No,¡± he says. He makes me look at him, makes me hear his words. ¡°You are not evil, Charlene. What was done to you is evil. What was done to him is evil. You did not murder him, that thing did.¡± I want to refute him, to rage against him like he was me and inflict all the pain that I deserve on him, but my mind is gone from me. Like the weak girl that I know I really am, I cling to him, shaking as the tears fall away. He bundles me in his big arms, holding me tight, stroking my hair as I shake against his chest, keeping all my shattered pieces from falling apart. Jor¡¯Mari allows me to be weak, something I haven¡¯t allowed myself in so long. I need it. Chapter 110 - Toward Home I fear that when I view this day from the distance of the future, such a spat will be the split between us. My sister can still see sense, I know it. I will try again. -King Ugallion Saeth I don¡¯t find sleep. We bought rooms at the tavern before settling down to drink, thinking that we would get too drunk to go anywhere else, not that I have anywhere else to go. I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve seen a familiar sight in months. Jor¡¯Mari is kind, more kind than he tries to let on, but that grove beneath haloed lights only reminds me of the orchard. I haven¡¯t seen a pear tree in months, haven¡¯t heard the soft gurgle of the brook running off the end of the property, haven¡¯t sprung up in the morning to see to chores, haven¡¯t laid awake in a bed that was my own pinning for any other life, haven¡¯t been asked to haul sugar and milled grain back from the millers, haven¡¯t been invited to chop fruit for a pie, haven¡¯t even seen a kitchen in¡­No, I remember a kitchen; the memory does nothing to pull me from the sheets. Light makes a slow crawl across the floor, a beam cutting through the closed slats of the shutters. There is something in the dancing of the dust motes inside the line of luminescence, the chaotic twisting of their waltz, which arrests me as I lay on crumpled sheets. I could spend the whole day lying here, watching until the sun set over the wall and pulled me back into the shadow where the thoughts that daylight banishes still linger, waiting for me. Nothing in the world seems as tempting as curling up in the sheets and lying there for the rest of the day. Thoughts whisper to me that is exactly what I should do, that there is nothing for me outside of the door anyway. I know the self-pity for what it is, and throw it to the floor along with the plush pillow from the bed. Throwing the emotion aside, just makes my terrible side whisper to me that I must be callous. I can¡¯t tell that part of me that I¡¯m wrong; it¡¯s probably true. Opening the door and stepping into the hallway, I nearly collide with the back of a man. Dovik turns, the door across from mine clicking close behind him. ¡°There you are,¡± he says, backing up to give me room. ¡°I thought you were down the hall.¡± ¡°No,¡± he answers quickly. ¡°You must be confused; you were pretty drunk last night.¡± I recall distinctly not being drunk, but it doesn¡¯t really matter. ¡°We were wondering where you went.¡± ¡°I needed some air,¡± I say, pulling my own door closed. ¡°Air, of course.¡± He stops, looking me over. ¡°Are you alright, Charlene?¡± ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t seem fine.¡± ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± I say, rubbing at my eyes. Gods, I don¡¯t often feel it, but this morning I do. ¡°I didn¡¯t get much sleep last night.¡± Dovik arches a brow. ¡°Oh, really.¡± ¡°Does this place have breakfast?¡± I push past him, making my way to the stairs. ¡°I believe so.¡± They do not provide anything as substantial as a full breakfast, a bit of coffee that lacks the bitterness I know and a single scone. I¡¯ll need to find something else when I go back to the other hotel. There are so many restaurants in this city, I don¡¯t think that I could try them all in a lifetime. Well, perhaps in my new lifetime I could. I still don¡¯t understand the thought, being able to see centuries pass me by without age ever really touching me. That is how the long-lived naturally see things: elves, celenials, dwarves. Maybe they could tell me about what¡¯s ahead. ¡°I thought you were hungry,¡± Dovik says. Sitting back in the sunlight near the window, reclining in his chair and idly stirring a cup of dark tea, you might not notice the tussled hair, the way his eyes flinch at the natural light. He makes an effort not to seem like the previous night affected him at all, but even his fine blue coat is a bit ruffled. No, wait, that is a different blue coat, almost identical except the buttons on the sleeves are brass instead of silver. How many of the same coat does this man have? The silver spoon in his hand clinks as he taps the tea off against the rim. He looks back at me, those eyes of his, I know they see nearly as much as mine, and I bet his mind makes up more than the difference. He expects an answer. ¡°I am hungry.¡± I follow his gaze down to the half-eaten scone on my plate, a jar of raspberry preserves open on the table next to it. ¡°But I don¡¯t feel like eating.¡± ¡°There is a cafe a block down if you would want to try there.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. I catch myself playing with a lock of my new crimson hair, feeling the strands rub with friction as they roll over one another, and force myself to quit it. ¡°Here is just fine.¡± The light spilling from the window provides a slight warmth where it washes over my skin, but Grim is cold today despite the season. It always is really; I just never noticed before. ¡°I won¡¯t try to banish your melancholia,¡± Dovik says, ¡°because I know that doesn¡¯t work. If you wish to share it, know that my shoulders can bear quite the load.¡± ¡°No doubt.¡± I stare down into the dark brown of my drink. It is so still, I can almost see my reflection in it, but the image is hazy and shaped all wrong. We sit in silence a while, making a constant of the warm sunlight, sipping away as we watch people pass on the street outside the window. There is something in the contrast, such movement and purpose out the window, a still contemplation here. Dovik seems almost like a painting, a refined man of good means and origins. He will do well. Even when things turned so dark for him, he held up to it. I want to ask him how he managed such a thing, but that isn¡¯t the kind of thing you ask. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. When I look down again at my cup, I find only the dregs of blackened grains sitting in a sad puddle. A sigh escapes me as I set it down, my thoughts hard but of a purpose. This should be said. ¡°I am leaving,¡± I say. ¡°Of course you are.¡± Dovik turns a smile on me. ¡°What? Did you think that I thought you were staying?¡± ¡°I suppose that I don¡¯t really know what I thought you thought.¡± He sets his own cup down, looking at me earnestly. ¡°Grim was only ever a stop on the road for you, farm girl. It is for almost everyone that came here for the contest. Honestly, I have been wondering why you stayed so long.¡± ¡°Other than the amazing sights of your city, the availability of everything I might want being at my fingertips, the company?¡± ¡°Yes, other than that.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I say. ¡°I never really considered it before. I have everything now that I think I will need for a long time. The only thing I am lacking is a place to go. It wasn¡¯t until recently that I realized.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°I need to go home,¡± I say. ¡°Back to the orchard, back to Gale. I only realized recently how much I miss it, and what a terrible thing I did to my parents by leaving the way I did. I simply wrote them a note, saying that I will be away for three years. What kind of daughter does that?¡± Dovik winces. ¡°I¡¯m sure you had a reason for doing it.¡± ¡°I was angry at my brother and rushed into a contract with a powerful and mysterious woman. Arabella would have let me visit home and see my parents if I really asked her to. Maybe, I was afraid of them talking me out of going?¡± ¡°That is a pretty bad reason,¡± Dovik says. ¡°A child¡¯s reason.¡± I lay my forehead against my knuckles. ¡°They are going to be so angry with me.¡± ¡°I would be.¡± I look up at him. ¡°You aren¡¯t helping.¡± ¡°Was I supposed to be?¡± He takes another sip of his tea, looking out the window at a flock of three women in pretty dresses and bonnets. Despite the new oiled and groomed beard, despite the scars on his face, he is still just a boy, isn¡¯t he? ¡°You told me that you would,¡± I say. ¡°True.¡± He considers for a moment. ¡°Then my good and helpful advice would be that you return home. Lucky for you, you have a flying ship capable of the voyage.¡± ¡°I do. I should likely start preparing for that trip, find some maps.¡± ¡°Jor¡¯Mari has been waiting for transport back to the Empire as well,¡± Dovik says. ¡°He seems to have spent a bit too much of his coin to purchase a good trip home. The man refuses to tell me about it, so I can¡¯t arrange passage for him without hurting his pride. You think he might be able to spare a bit with how much he has.¡± ¡°I can take him as well,¡± I say. Now that I think about it, I have no idea where Jor¡¯Mari lived in the Contiguous Empire of Ramancalla. I will need more maps. ¡°I can take him as well. The least I can do really.¡± ¡°Jess also mentioned something about wanting to visit Gale,¡± Dovik adds. ¡°Something about it being part of her pilgrimage, to see as many places and civilizations as possible.¡± ¡°Why do I get the feeling that you are about to tell me how stuffy Grim is becoming?¡± I ask. He shrugs. ¡°Now that you mention it, I have been feeling a bit beneath the thumb of my family. Before, when I wasn¡¯t strong enough to protect myself, I can understand how they might have had cause to keep me here, but now it is different. I am different. There is more of this world to see than a big wall and a forest. I intend to see it.¡± ¡°Yes, I am going home, but then I need to return to my own path. I need to continue getting stronger; I need to keep pushing myself. That will be dangerous.¡± ¡°More dangerous than what I¡¯ve already faced?¡± Dovik asks. The scars on his face catch my attention, and I know that I never intend to face something quite so dangerous as that again. ¡°Facing dangers is what magicians do, at least the good ones that don¡¯t spend their few centuries drinking and partying. Though, I do certainly enjoy those.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be better for you to push yourself here, on the edge such a grand forest of monsters?¡± ¡°It would for you as well,¡± he says. ¡°My family will permit you to use the hunting grounds if you desire, and you know that.¡± ¡°I have a reason to leave.¡± ¡°So do I.¡± He leans forward, laying his hand on mine, making me truly consider him with just the force of his being. ¡°We have seen too much darkness and misery here; I want to show you what the good part of being a magician can be, the parts that I have dreamed all my life to grab ahold of. Imagine the four of us, pushing the boundaries of civilization, hunting the monsters that cause hurt to so many. Us, being able to do something about that. Us, being able to watch out for each other and to push each other further. It could be such a thing, Charlene. All I ask, is that you picture it.¡± I don¡¯t even need to, because I have been on that team before. Maybe it had all been in my own mind, thinking of myself as only attached to Halford¡¯s team, never being a real part of it, but I had sat by those fires, eaten and laughed as we talked about the dangers of the day. The cold never seemed to creep around those fires. My heart aches at the memories, calling me to return home all the sooner. How nice it might be to find myself around those kinds of fire again. ¡°They would need to agree to it,¡± I say. ¡°A good thing they already have,¡± Dovik says. ¡°You¡¯ve thought of everything, haven''t you?¡± ¡°I have been known to be a planner.¡± Dovik reaches into his pocket. ¡°I never did give you your birthday gift.¡± He pulls a bit of silver that catches the sunlight, shining so bright. He sets it on the table next to my open jaw of preserves, a simple badge made of silver, a flat arrowhead shape just a bit bigger than my thumb. I pick it up, seeing the military-precise scrawl set into the metal. Adventurer¡¯s Insignia: Silver Grade ¨C Team Blue Horizon ¡°Blue Horizon?¡± I ask. ¡°I came up with the name. It is a good one, I think. I would you like to join, become the fourth member,¡± he says. ¡°There is a problem,¡± I say, holding up the badge. ¡°I was never registered with the adventurer''s guild in Gale, or anywhere else for that matter.¡± ¡°Ah. I¡¯ll need to take back that present for a little bit,¡± he says, plucking the badge out of my fingers. ¡°I could get into all sorts of trouble giving a think like that to someone not registered. You will consider my plan, though?¡± I look down at the dregs of my coffee, feeling too much like those last little grains that used to hold flavor. ¡°Yes. I like the idea. It will be a good thing.¡± Chapter 111 - Luck and Fell Omens Somehow, I feel like this is partly my fault. When the Takanakan arrived like a meteor from the sky, I thought that he might have been a foreign power. I will note that I was correct about that. He asked who was the greatest in the land, which of course was the emperor. Then, he asked what made the emperor so powerful, and I explained to him that it was the honor of a thousand thousand souls. I did not expect the Takanakan to rocket into the palace and take the heads of all inside, seating himself upon the throne, but upon reflection, I might have guessed. -Confession of Gabric Tarn, on the eve of his execution ¡°Gods damned¡­mother of a whoring¡­Three Hells.¡± I am running out of curses. My hand throbs as I shake out the pain, tossing the embroidery down on the table in front of me. A bit of blood swelled a bubble on the tip of my thumb, suspended there for a moment before I wipe it off on a piece of paper already smeared with red marks. I sit back in my chair, reclining into the comfortable plushness of it, the momentary pain already a memory. Time spent sitting with my mother in the common room of the house passes in front of my eyes, the familiar sting in my fingertips a link back to those days. I have never been good at embroidery or stitching; my fingers can¡¯t figure out the knack of it. I need to get better though, at least at this one small thing. The work sits on the table in front of me, a square patch of woven fabrics, the color made to match the gray coat I already have hung on a manikin in the corner. Gold fabric, uninfused medium, snake through the patch in one of the patterns I puzzled out of my armor before. It will be a warding constellation, one of the most basic enchantment constellations regularly made into anything that a magician might wear, its design meant to protect the greater piece from tear or puncture. This design though, it is far more intricate than anything I have pulled out of the various books I purchased on enchanting. For one, it seems to be clearly meant to utilize six different affixes in its binding, where the most common practice uses only three. Working at deciphering the patterns over the last few weeks has given me an insight into the art of enchanting itself that I would never have gotten from simply reading books. The ancient fabric is like a teacher in that way, something I sorely need. I sigh, leaning forward and picking up the steel needle once more, it itself a work of enchantment, made specifically to work with woven mediums. The keenness of its point is enough to slice through my flesh at the barest kiss, and no matter how delicately I have tried my weaving, I can¡¯t help but feel that kiss at least once an hour. The patch lay bare in front of me, shining up as if it were begging me to finish it, to complete the weaving and begin the process of imbuing the mana. I have what I need for this, just for this one, simple piece. I can tell already from what I have figured out about the other constellations that very specific affixes will be required. At my side, Galea spins into being. The spirit does not even have the time to say a thing before a blue line of light flashes into being in front of my face, trailing sideways through the vault, climbing up and out of the door. ¡°Follow it,¡± I command her as I jump to my feet, needlework forgotten. She salutes and flows away, up and out of the vault, racing just ahead of me. My feet clap down onto the golden platform of my ship as I jump out of the vault. The line of light trails off away from me, pouring through the invisible wall and out into the clear-blue air, turning violently as Galea turns the ship to head in its direction. At the back of the ship, Jess, Dovik, and Jor¡¯Mari look up from their game of cards at my sudden entrance. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks, standing from his comfortable chair, tossing his hand of cards down onto the table. ¡°Nothing,¡± I say, moving to the throne at the center of the ship, feeling power thrum up through my fingers as I touch it. ¡°We seem to have caught something.¡± Before he can ask what, there is a slight pressure as the ship rockets straight upward, the blue line going through the ceiling. I stare up, bringing the others to do the same, and finally catch sight of my quarry. Red Eagle(Rank One) An entire flock of monsters race across the sky at an amazing pace, my golden ship moving to intercept them. ¡°We are going hunting in the sky?¡± Jess asks, joining me in the center of the ship. ¡°Why not? Apparently, that is where all the good treasure is.¡± I do not exaggerate by much. Since claiming this ship as my own, a constant fear of some great beast of the air swooping down and crushing it has nagged at me. When we returned to Grim, I made it my mission to learn as much as I could about threats in the sky as possible. Nothing could have prepared me for what I ended up discovering. For all my life, I had never once thought to ask just how far the sky went, for who could know such a thing. Apparently, many did, and they had known it for a long while. The sky over the world climbs hundreds of miles, distinct parts riven through it and named. Monsters were the denizens of the heavens, praying upon one another in the unpopulated air, for the most part content to stay to the upper reaches where they were born. There even existed land in the sky, islands built upon solid clouds, masses of floating rock as large as oceans, more life than I could have ever expected. The more I learn of the world, the more I recognize how little I understand about it. The ship finishes its ascent having climbed so far into the blue that the ground looks strange and round beneath us. I summon my staves and begin to charge them with mana. ¡°Right now?¡± Jess asks, looking around, finally spotting the approaching flock of birds. ¡°They are rank one monsters; this won¡¯t be a challenge.¡± In my mind, I command Galea to lower the walls of the ship. At once, harsh wind crashes over the flying platform as the invisible walls surrounding us sink away. The cards laid out on the table spiral away into the air, and a single glass is knocked aside, rolling and plummeting over the edge. The furniture itself is tightly affixed to the floor for moments such as this. I level the heads of my weapons at the approaching birds, magic thrumming up through them. ¡°Feel free to join in,¡± I call over the blaring of the wind. ¡°I¡¯ll pay for each carcass.¡± As I had predicted, the battle was not difficult, not really a battle at all. The most difficult part had been seeing how all of our individual soul presences interacted with one another for the first time. The result had predictably been chaotic. There is so much more I need to learn about the powers I have gained at this rank, more I need to learn about what my friends, now teammates, can do. The most time-consuming part of the battles comes in the form of tracking down all of the bodies that plummeted to the ground. With the aid of my tracking spell, it isn¡¯t difficult, but it does take some time as the monster carcasses are scattered over miles. I stand on the ground, hands on my hips as I stare up at the oddest thing. Jor¡¯Mari hits the ground next to me, landing a bit too close and knocking into one of my outstretched wings. I try to curl it back out of the way, but the damned things feel far more comfortable outstretched. Pulling and holding them to my sides feels too much like curling and holding a shaking fist. ¡°Well, that can¡¯t be good,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, gesturing in front of us. The horns on his head, a sign of him having taken up one of his demonic forms to save him from the thirty-foot fall down from the ship, begin to recede back into his skin. He changes between his forms more liberally now, picking and shifting between them at a moment¡¯s notice. I suppose all of his own abilities must have improved when he gained the second rank as well, much like mine had. ¡°Seems like an omen.¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°A bad one,¡± I agree. ¡°What are you looking at?¡± Jess calls down from the ship above our heads. ¡°Did you find the last ones?¡± Dovik calls after. I pull my eyes away from the sight and stare back up at the ship. ¡°Yes, I think.¡± Next to me, Jor¡¯Mari shakes his head. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Jess calls, trying to look to where we do, but the trees block sight of it from up there. Dovik appears next to me, a snide comment dying on his lips as he catches sight of it. ¡°Oh.¡± ¡°This can¡¯t have happened naturally,¡± I say. ¡°There¡¯s no way.¡± ¡°I want to see,¡± Jess yells down. ¡°Jump down then,¡± Jor¡¯Mari calls back up to her. ¡°Are you crazy?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll catch you.¡± He laughs, only for his eyes to widen a second later. Jor¡¯Mari steps to the side, almost knocking into me, a lizardkin woman falling into his arms a moment later. He manages to keep his feet, though barely. ¡°You actually did.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Jor¡¯Mari groans out, setting her down and stumbling back. ¡°Was¡­there ever any doubt?¡± ¡°Now, what¡¯s this omen?¡± But then she sees it, hanging there as plainly as anything ever has. We came to find the bodies of the last three red eagles, my spell leading us to this spot, but I did not expect this. A wicked tree stands before us, the bottom-most limbs of it barren, the top half decorated with glinting red leaves. The bodies of the three last eagles hang from its branches, but in a way impossible to have happened by accident. The bodies form a triangle, the one at the apex stabbed through on the points of three branches that bowed terribly with the weight. A spot of red in the eagle¡¯s neck showed the blow that had killed it, but some other attack had ripped open its stomach. The two other monsters dangled beneath the first, the entrails of the highest wrapped tightly around their necks. ¡°What could it mean,¡± I ask, but no one gives me an answer. I watch the grisly display creaking in the wind for a time before I force the strange spell of stillness to break. I start forward, ready to try and fly up to fetch the bodies. ¡°Wait,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, putting a hand on my shoulder. ¡°For what?¡± ¡°There is something to this,¡± he says. ¡°I can feel it. Give me some time with this.¡± I stare at him, but his eyes are transfixed by the sight ahead of us. We leave him to stare at the display for a time, returning up to the ship and having lunch, though it seems that I am the only one with an appetite. As we reach the end of it, I begin to retrieve parcels of paper wrapped meat that came from the previous red eagles we found. ¡°So,¡± Dovik says, rubbing his hands together as he looks over the parcels of meat, ¡°what kind?¡± ¡°Sky affix,¡± I say, unable to keep my own enthusiasm from my voice. Keeping the tracking spell open for so long was a serious drain on my mana, and I could only do so for a few hours a day. This catch had been worth it. ¡°Sky affix.¡± Dovik smacks his lips. ¡°Did you know that I have an affinity for sky?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. Suddenly, I wish we had shot down more of the monsters. I was only really after finding enough to allow me to imprint the affix on my soul. I never had to consider sharing mana affixes before. Jess looks between us. ¡°What are you two talking about.¡± ¡°Eating monsters.¡± I turn, seeing Jor¡¯Mari standing on the lip of the platform, hauling the bloody bodies of the three monsters behind him. ¡°Humans need to eat monsters to fortify their affixes.¡± Jess gasps, looking between us again. ¡°That¡¯s disgusting.¡± ¡°You have been cooking monsters for me for months now.¡± I point an accusing finger at her. ¡°What is this?¡± ¡°I just thought you liked the taste,¡± she says. ¡°I do like the taste.¡± Especially now that my new mana senses have opened to the flavors of magic. ¡°But I also do it to get stronger.¡± ¡°You make monsters part of your soul.¡± Jess stands up, pointing a finger back at me. ¡°Disgusting, I know.¡± Jor¡¯Mari drops the carcasses at my feet. ¡°Don¡¯t try to make sense of it, Jess. It¡¯s just how they were made, gross as it is.¡± ¡°We all can¡¯t be suave and sophisticated celenials who find their power in merely experiencing new things,¡± Dovik says, looking up at him from his seat. ¡°That is certainly true,¡± Jor¡¯Mari agrees. I kick one of the bird¡¯s bodies with my boot. ¡°Did my gallant knight fetch these up for me?¡± At my touch, the bodies begin to change into pink smoke that floats away, filing in through the open door of the vault behind me. Jor¡¯Mari groans. ¡°I left Grim. That name should die there.¡± Jess pats his arm. ¡°No, we are never going to let that die.¡± I make my way back to the throne, letting the others snipe at each other as they settle into to start another game of cards. They tried to show it to me before, but I cannot follow it to save my life. For some reason, Dovik packed three decks with him leaving the city and no food. What a strange man, With the hood of the ship firmly back in place, there is no rush of air as Galea glides us back onto our path. I pull out one of the eagle talons that my Disenchant ability claimed, feeling the magic swell inside, tasting the sweet breeze of it. I probably could have recovered more mana if I butchered the monsters by hand, but something tells me that would have been a step too far for one of the boys. Despite their pretense, they are both men of culture, likely with delicate sensibilities. The talon melts away into dust as my power runs through it like a bolt of lightning, and I feel the mana inside flow into me, collecting in that reservoir I have made of my soul. Still, not enough, but I have more. I feed the dust most of a gold coin, changing it into the proper black sand, before continuing on. Peace comes to me as I toy with the sand I collect from all of the burned treasures. The manipulations grow more controlled the more time I give to practice, to play. The drain on my mana grows as well, but the time that I lose in watching the twisting and turning of the sand as it roils and pools in on itself is too serene to give up. Hours pass in that way, changing the sand into various shapes over my palm, before the eclipse of a red light pulls me from my reverie. I look up, finding Dovik standing at the front of the ship, hands clasped behind his back as he stares at a sky turned red. No, a giant sheet stands in front of us, stretching from horizon to horizon as far as the eye can see, the world dyed crimson by its curtain. ¡°What is that?¡± I ask, standing and joining him at the front. The wall of color is still miles off, but it stands higher than any mountain, climbing into the clouds and past where even my eyes can see. ¡°You can see it?¡± Dovik asks, looking at me. ¡°Of course you can. You¡¯ve missed the other ones, too busy playing in your vault.¡± ¡°Is it dangerous?¡± I prepare myself to tell Galea to halt the ship, but we are still a ways off. ¡°Oh, yes. It is terribly dangerous. That curtain there marks the border line between the Krass Kingdom, where we are currently, and the Empire. What we look at now, is the aura of the emperor, it stretches over his entire domain.¡± ¡°The emperor¡¯s aura¡­¡± It baffles my mind to behold it, a boundary line that covers the land. ¡°Inside it, we will be in his power, just as we are in the King of Krass¡¯ power now. Most will never perceive it. Even the powerful among our profession often only grow to vaguely perceive it, but I suppose that we are different. We will pass into it shortly.¡± ¡°Not too long,¡± I agree. I stand beside him, watching the oncoming wave of red for a long moment. The Empire, the place where I am from. Just over a week ago we left Grim, and we have already made it here. We¡¯re so close now. The wave of red ahead of the ship continues to swell until it becomes the entirety of the sky. Standing in the ship, its crimson light does not reach out to me, but I can feel the weight of its magnitude spread out before me, pressing on my skin like the palm of a god. The ship slips into the envelope, and the wave of light washes over me, through me, pressing gently against the soul housed inside of my chest. Then, it is gone, and the blue sky spreads out before me once more. I turn, seeing a wall of shining violet retreating away from us as we pass it by, the sight of the border from this side. ¡°Well, that should be the last national border,¡± Dovik says, shaking out his arms like he is recovering from a shiver. ¡°The long and tedious journey nears its end. Welcome home, farm girl. Gale¨C.¡± He trails off, narrowing his gaze at a figure moving in the air before us. It is a man, clad in a brilliant green armor, holding a hand toward our speeding ship. The whole of the sky around him seems to darken as light pools into the palm of his hand. He means to destroy us. Chapter 112 - Arrest Fear not this transient night, for that it too shall pass. My fright comes from the terror of the vacuous dark, for it is eternal, and ever hungry. -Unattributed I was eleven when I first caught sight of the ones they call the Watchers. There had been awful storms that year, more snow at the tail end of winter than we¡¯d ever seen, the floods that destroyed the soil. With stagnant pools about, I ran between the puddles as I worked in the fields those days. The first five minutes of splashing are always fun, no matter how bad the mosquitos started to be as the snows melted and winter turned soggy. Now, all I remember about it really were the terrible few hours after the splashing, tramping through sprinkling rain that never stopped, chores needing to get done despite the rain. One day, while out exercising the ponies, leading them to tramp a muddy circle in front of the barn while they wore their huge woolen covers. The light shined orange most of the day when it wasn¡¯t stuck with gray. I looked up from the circle, eyes trailing along the stripped paint of the white wooden fence, when I noticed a man standing there, looking at me. My heart jumped up into my chest, and I almost screamed, thinking the elven man standing there in all black clothing, features almost as pale as the buzzing water making pools everything, was some kind of spirit come to stalk me. The man raised a white-gloved hand, beckoning me over to see him. The elves are beautiful people, but the man¡¯s smile was too wide, his eyes too still as he nodded his head, which put a shiver in me. I came as I was bid; every mother in town or outside taught their daughters not to be slow about hopping to the task given you by your betters. I didn¡¯t even know I was bringing Linda along behind me as I walked, the pony whining as I pulled her along. He looked won with that pearly smile, stretched so wide you could see the gaps behind his molars. Even now, I can¡¯t remember what he asked me, I can only remember me nodding or shaking my head in answer. He raised a gloved hand, pointing to the barn, and I took his other and showed him around inside the barn. His fingers were cold in his gloves, not a chill that came from the rain and damp, something so cold that it pushed an ache into my hand. With the sun hidden behind the dark clouds overhead, the barn was almost night even with lanterns lit. He pointed out spots in the barn and I dutifully took him around. I took him to the hayloft where the barn was darkest. Even in the deepest of the black, I could see him as plain as in the light, his still eyes almost glowing in the gloom. He needed to uncurl my fingers from his own when he led me back into the drizzle. The man grabbed the reins of Linda¡¯s lead as he walked down the muddy path leading away from the house, out into the flooding dirt roads that cut through the lord¡¯s domain. I watched the dark road, the wan orange light in the sky growing darker and darker as time passed. My mother found me some time later, the light gone from the sky, me shaking from the drenching rain. I saw the man one more time after that. Just two weeks later, those out in the fields were called to the main street of the lord¡¯s manor, told to line up on the road. I watched as that same man all in black led a parade of eight horses, the beasts tied to and pulling a cage lousy with men. They laid against the splintered wood of their cage, naked, eyes staring off into nothing, some weeping and shying away from our captured audience. I recognized Donnar Ripple, a man who could catch any fish you like from the river ten minutes within you asking for it. The man stared at the sky, mouth hung open and allowing the rain to fall in, looking as if he might be trying to drown himself. I learned from the whispers of the adults around me that the man in black was called a Watcher, those that patrol the lands of the Gallean Kingdom looking for dissidents. Where they tread, people dragged away in chains followed. The man carted away fourteen people that day, back to the city so that the higher nobles could sort them. No one ever found out what happened to any of them. The day the Watcher left our little scrape of nowhere, the rains stopped, the floodwaters receded. A man hovers in the air in front of my ship, black cloth swathing almost every inch of him, his elven skin pallid and washed of color. I hardly notice the light of mana pooling in his gloved hand as my eyes lock onto the words I see floating over his head. Imperial Watcher Jat Kevillis ¡°Stop the ship,¡± I command Galea, already moving. Jor¡¯Mari and Jess are at the back, both looking up from their respective chairs as the atmosphere inside the ship changes. Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s hand snaps up, catching the rectangular key to the ship that I throw to him. He looks at me, puzzled. ¡°There is an Imperial Watcher outside the ship,¡± I tell him. His eyes widen at the words, and he is up and out of his seat in an instant. ¡°Get your papers,¡± I tell Dovik and Jess, already heading toward the vault. The crown on my head, the talismans around my neck, and all my other magical items go into the vault one by one, the ring of storage the last to follow once I have removed my papers from inside. The vault door clatters closed, the entire door vanishing. I almost jump out of my skin when I turn back to the front of the ship, seeing the Watcher floating just outside now, his too still eyes staring like he can see us moving inside, a slight grin on his face. Dovik stands in front, oblivious to the man, flipping through a mess of papers, trying to find the ones I made him prepare before we left. ¡°I am officially giving the ship to you,¡± I tell Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°It¡¯s yours.¡± ¡°Good idea,¡± he says, tucking the key away into a pocket in his robe.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. ¡°What¡¯s a Watcher?¡± Jess asks, her eyes locked onto the man floating just outside the ship. ¡°They are the eyes of the emperor,¡± Jor¡¯Mari explains. ¡°They are sent out into the empire to discover threats to the high throne, to pull out dissidents by their hairs and shutter them away in the cells of the dark tower.¡± I don¡¯t have time to absorb that information or to come to grips with the fact that I thought they were an organization belonging only to Gale just a few minutes ago. ¡°Ready?¡± I ask Jor¡¯Mari. He nods. ¡°Give me a moment,¡± Dovik says, shuffling through his papers. ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting to be stopped as soon as we crossed the border.¡± ¡°Neither was I.¡± The man outside the ship curls his fingers, tapping on the metal frame of the ship. It would be unwise to wait longer. Silently, I send a command to Galea to rotate the door toward him and open it. Cold air slips inside the ship in a blast of wind as the door opens. The Watcher peers at the rectangle of shadow from his side before confidently stepping through, black boots clapping down onto the platform. ¡°Good evening,¡± he says, looking around the interior of the ship. ¡°This is quite the vehicle you have. Who owns it?¡± The man needs to turn his head as his eyes only look straight forward. When they fall on me, I feel like they lay me bare, more even than my own eyes do to others. ¡°That would be me, sir,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, stepping forward, rolling the key to the ship between his fingers. ¡°My name is Jor¡¯Mari, of the Mari dutchy. You¡¯ve heard of my father, Duke Cla¡¯Mari. I am returning home after some time away, and I am bringing a few of my companions along with me.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the Watcher nods. ¡°I have had excellent relations with Duke Cla¡¯Mari in the past, you carry his bearing.¡± The Watcher holds out his hand toward Jor¡¯Mari, insistent, without needing to utter a word. Jor¡¯Mari steps forward, laying a folded bundle of papers in the Watcher¡¯s hand, along with a medallion imprinted with the symbol of his house. Watcher Jat Kevillis scans the papers for barely an instant before returning them to Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°In order, as I would expect. Do your companions have the proper paperwork as well?¡± He turns to Jess, and I see a shiver run up through her as the man¡¯s gaze falls on her. She hesitantly hands him a few folded pieces of paper, pieces of paper I just about had to drag her by the hand to make her actually attain. The Watcher scans through the leaves of paper, smiling to Jess as he hands them back. ¡°A pilgrim. I can¡¯t say that I have had the pleasure of meeting many, but I will take the honor now.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Jess says, taking the papers back. Finally, the Watcher turns his eyes on Dovik and I, the two humans inside the ship. He approaches me, almost seeming to glide toward me as I cast my eyes down at the floor, the folds of paper in my hand trembling as I clench them too tightly. Dovik steps between us, flamboyantly waving his papers in front of him and offering the Watcher a bow. ¡°Quite a thing to be meeting one of the eyes of the emperor so soon after entering the empire. Tell me, sir, if you will, what brings you to the border?¡± Dovik asks. The Watcher does not care to hide his disdain as he plucks the papers from Dovik¡¯s offering hand. He snaps them open, taking in the contents in an instant. ¡°A professional, from the Guild of Willian. It is an offense to lie on these kinds of forms. A lie to me is as good as a lie to the emperor himself.¡± ¡°I take offense at that, sir.¡± Jor¡¯Mari steps forward, up next to Dovik. ¡°You impugn my companions in front of me.¡± ¡°Little affront meant,¡± the Watcher says to Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°I am merely attempting to be thorough, that is my commission.¡± His eyes turn back to Dovik as he folds the papers in his hand into a tight bundle. ¡°You carry the cast of a Willian, I will take you at your word, today.¡± He hands back the papers. ¡°I am here at the border, doing as I am always bid to do, searching for the enemies of the throne. Mark carefully that you never cast yourself in such a role.¡± The force of the man pushes Dovik aside as he steps toward me as surely as any hand would. I feel a tremble run up through my arm as I hold my own papers out toward him, not daring to look up to meet his eye. The gloved hand of the Watcher slips the papers easily from my fingers, snapping them open. ¡°You must be a citizen of the Empire,¡± he says before he even reads the first line. ¡°Yes, sir. Of Gale.¡± ¡°Quite a ways distant. Do you¡­Ah, here it is. A Writ of Movement, signed properly by a Lord Timmian. How long have you been gone from your lands, girl?¡± ¡°Just over six months,¡± I say. ¡°That is some time. Will you family have managed to get on without you?¡± ¡°My father will have seen to our commitments. He always has.¡± ¡°Good. This is a paper certifying your enrollment into the Adventurer''s League, is that correct?¡± He holds up one of the papers, showing it to me. ¡°Yes, sir.¡± ¡°This was signed and issued in Grim, not Gale.¡± He takes another step forward, standing just a few inches away now. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°I was unable to meet the requirements while I was in Gale,¡± I say. ¡°The requirements are merely that one has the minimum requisite power to begin vanquishing monsters. You say that you did not meet such a base stands, yet you stand before me now as a rank two magician if my eyes do not deceive.¡± I look up at him, and in his glassy eyes I catch the specter of something I never expected to see someone else looking at, the shadowed ghost of a window, like the ones that my eye provides to me. I read backward in the reflection of his eye my name; he looks directly at my status window. ¡°I have heard outlandish things, but a girl advancing that quickly with such meager origins, never.¡± The Watcher tucks the papers into his black coat. ¡°I will be arranging you, girl. Your companions may go on.¡± ¡°Hold on one minute,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, stepping between us. ¡°For what reason?¡± ¡°Because I find her suspicious,¡± the Watcher snaps at him, forcing Jor¡¯Mari back a step. ¡°I require no further reasons.¡± Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s fist shakes at his side, and I think for a moment that he will strike the Watcher. He relaxes with an exhale. ¡°We will not be abandoning her to you.¡± ¡°Then you may come as well,¡± the Watcher says, indicating the West. ¡°Drelldin Keep is a few miles to the west. Navigate us there.¡± Jor¡¯Mari looks about the ship, being as inconspicuous as he can when he looks my way. I give the slightest of nods in return to his questioning eyes. He pulls his shoulders back, marching to the throne in the center of the platform, and taking a seat. Mentally, I command Galea to turn our ship, taking the heading the Watcher gave. I stand at the edge of the ship, trying to contemplate how my luck could be so terrible. The ship sails through the air on a straight course for the keep, and down below I begin to see smoke climbing from the wreckage of what once had been a village. So high in the sky, the blackened squares of buildings and homes stand out int he light of day, a charred mar upon the otherwise green landscape. ¡°What happened there,¡± Jess asks of no one in particular, staring down at the ruins that had once been the entire world to the people who lived inside it. ¡°That, Miss Keller, is what I intend to discover,¡± Watcher Kevillis answers. Chapter 113 - Audience with the Baron These easterners are such an interesting lot. They seek to count all things, which is their mandate from the one they call the Juggler of Spheres. Their obsession with counting extends down to the roots of their society, threading through everything. It is their documentation of what they find that I find most interesting. Fights and even the occasional murder has been known to happen as the people debate where exactly in the four holy disciplines such observations should be sorted. -Tales of the East Silence, like a nagging itch on the back of my neck, fills the ship as the Watcher takes place at the front. Tension shakes up Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s arm, at being dismissed so easily by the man or on my account, I don¡¯t know. I keep my eyes down, not doubting for a second that this man can still sense every move I make despite his back being turned toward the image of the wide-open sky beyond the dome. He unsettles me, and I do a poor job of hiding it. The ship, under Galea¡¯s control, sails away in the direction indicated by the Watcher. We are so high in the sky now that any keep will stand out long before we come upon it. I steal a glance at the Watcher, my eyes picking out the magical equipment all around him, boots that give him the air, white silk gloves with more power stitched into them than I can quantify, and those eyes, my own can¡¯t even begin to make sense of them. Are they also some faethian artifact? In the eerie quiet, the thrum that runs through the center of the platform we stand on stands out, the whir of enchantment running beneath our feet. The sky looks too perfect to be a real thing, clouds laid too nearly and curling white to be anything other than paint on blue. The effect is made even more powerful with how much nearer we are than usual. One stands out, marred a sooty black, and my eyes track the trailing line of dark down to a hamlet built on the side of a hill. I don¡¯t even notice the ship slowing as I approach the edge of the platform, drawn away by a sudden ill-ease that creeps upon me. The line of smoke curling up to color the clouds is far too much to even be a festival bonfire. The eyes of a magician, especially the eyes of this magician, cannot miss the details once they are turned down to see them. The dark fumes of several roofs pool together at the base of the snaking line, the lick of flame having long left their windows. Other parts of the small town can only be described as dark shapes burned into the dirt, timbers and square poles sticking up out of the earth to tell of their frames. One fire continues to burn in the center of the town, a huge tree set alight and burning freely in an inferno that changes color as I watch it, shifting between orange, blue, and green. Men move around between the ruins, dragging shapes into a pile near the burning tree. I turn away before I can fully decipher what it is they drag; my mind has already guessed it. The Watcher is there when I turn back in on the ship, standing just a few feet away from me, an imperious look in his wide eyes as he stares past me toward the burned-out town. ¡°Far Haven,¡± he says. ¡°Eh?¡± Dovik asks. He and Jess stand near the edge of the platform as well, still looking down at the destruction below us. I glance at Jor¡¯Mari, seeing him linger on the throne at the center of the platform. From there, I don¡¯t doubt that he can see it just as clearly as any of us, probably better, given the pure void of his eyes, a signal that he is straining his perception to the limits. ¡°Far Haven,¡± the Watcher says again, looking at Dovik. ¡°Just a small hamlet, the nearest to the border. There are many such places throughout the empire. They give refuge to travelers, stock news, and get by on selling wares difficult to acquire within our borders. Last night, Far Haven was sacked, the only survivor was a boy who had run off into the woods before dark after getting into a fight with his sister.¡± ¡°Who would do something like that?¡± Jess asks, her hand covering her mouth. ¡°That,¡± the Watcher says, looking over each of us in turn, his eyes lingering on me, ¡°is what I intend to discover.¡± Jess and Dovik continued to watch the smoking ruin of Far Haven until we passed out of sight of it, the snake of smoke soaring into the sky turning into a retreating wisp that eventually blended into the blue. The ship sailed away, flying through the air at speed, taking us on the course toward the keep. The keep appeared on the horizon as a wall of gray stone, a squat rectangle that gradually produced detail as we sped on toward it. The town outside the keep spilled away, six mills turning in the water of the shallow river the keep sat sentry over, carts and people making traffic on the street like it were any other ordinary day. The powerful red doors of the keep¡¯s wall stood open, a small patrol lazing at the entrance, looking on as two members inspected a cart that was in the middle of coming or going. Children splashed in the shallows of the river, just a few strides downstream from a pair of men with lines cast out into the water, sharing an amber jug between them. Birds, huge things with long spindly legs and white feathers perched in the water or on the slanted, tiled roofs of the buildings near the water with utter disregard and audacity. I wonder as I look down upon them, faces turning up to gaze at the golden ship sailing over their heads, if anyone even knows what has happened just a few miles down the road. Did they even care? The fortification inside the wall rears as we approach, revealing a rectangular building that looks more made of stained glass than tan brickwork, high windows stretching more than twenty feet down to the base. The symbol of the Stormmother stands at the apex of the castle¡¯s sole tower, the shining light of the sun perfectly captured by the gilded thunderbolt. The inner court of the keep was abuzz with activity, movement that beat in clear contrast to the content malaise I saw outside the protection of the walls. An elven man dressed in fine groomsman leathers wrestles with a horse in the center of the yard, pulling it by a lead as it thrashes and kicks up a cloud of dust. Officials, marked by their fine clothes and worried faces, scurry through the central walkways while guardsmen, marked by their armor and relax, stand against the walls or doorframes. Eyes turn upward at our approach, but there is little of the awe that was worn on the faces of the townsfolk, though it is not entirely absent. ¡°Land there,¡± the Watcher commands, pointing to a stone square on the east side of the keep itself. Jor¡¯Mari pretends to fiddle with the arm of the throne while I relay the order to Galea. My ship moves smoothly, coming to hover over the spot before lowering to the ground and stilling. A rectangle of light appears as the door to the ship opens, looking from the inside to be a spot of the open air just a bit brighter than all the rest. ¡°This isn¡¯t right,¡± Dovik whispers to me as we disembark the ship. ¡°That isn¡¯t for me to decide,¡± I tell him, aware that the Watcher likely can hear the entire conversation. ¡°You wanted to visit the empire. This is it.¡± ¡°I thought we might at least make it to Gale,¡± he says. ¡°Me too.¡± I remember that when we left, Arabella flew her manor above the clouds. My ship is not capable of flying so high. Perhaps that is something to consider for the future; it would certainly put it out of reach of Watchers, I think. The Watcher leads us away into the keep itself. There is no room inside that is not fully illuminated by colored light leaking in through the shaded windows, every floor turned into a tapestry depicting some elven event or another. I have no knowledge of the history of this kingdom, didn¡¯t even know it existed until a few months ago, but even my uncultured and untrained eye can see artistry put into the work. We pass human work staff inside that bow their heads and avert their eyes from the Watcher as we pass. An open doorway leads into a lounging room filled with young elven men dressed in finery, several crystal decanters standing empty on a table in the middle of the plush carpet, the smell of chewed cigars wafting out from inside. My eye takes their measure in an instant, the sons of local lords, one the son of a baron. One stands out to me, an elven man with a bit more meat on his bones, his blonde hair the color and luster of spun gold, laughing and waving a cigar to puncture the end of some great joke. Beside him, the only human in the room, a boy that can¡¯t be older than me, stares blankly at the wall with dull gray eyes. My attention lingers on him for a moment, that strange elven man, his name doesn¡¯t seem elven to me, Jadis Kelp. Then we are past, and I don¡¯t have the courage to call the Watcher to stop so that I might have time to investigate the oddity. He leads us to a sitting room, as plush and adorned as the one I just observed the gentlemen sitting in before. The room itself is easily half the size of the base floor of my home back in Gale, mostly empty with cushioned sofas and chairs pressed against the wall, a wide bar sitting along one corner, decorated with decanters of amber fluid that glitter in the blue sunlight from the window. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. The Watcher bids us to take our leisure while he pursues his investigation, motioning to the chairs set about the room. His too still eyes linger on me a moment as he retreats into the hall, closing the door behind him. We listen for a moment as the footfalls of the Watcher retreat away. Jess shivers. ¡°What an unsettling man.¡± ¡°That is an understatement,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Why would he detain you?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t pretend to know why a Watcher does what they do,¡± I say. I sigh, falling into one of the plush chairs. ¡°Maybe they think that I have something to do with what happened to those people.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, finding a chair for himself. ¡°But they might think to make you a scapegoat for it, find someone to pin the crime on quickly so that the business is done with. It wouldn¡¯t be the first time that I heard of something like that happening.¡± ¡°They would have to go through me to do that,¡± Dovik says. Behind him, Jess gives a grunt of agreement. ¡°They would try to do exactly that. I¡¯ve heard that Watchers are formidable, but I¡¯ve never seen one fight. Maybe you could take him, but could you take on the nobleman that would come next? Have you ever fought a fully endowed noble son?¡± ¡°I have,¡± Dovik says. His voice is hard, but I notice the way he swallows. According to what I was told about endowed nobles, the least of them is a match for a rank three magician in terms of raw power. ¡°I¡¯m not saying that it would be simple, but I wouldn¡¯t back down either.¡± ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be simple,¡± Jor¡¯Mari agrees. ¡°Which is exactly why we should just leave now. The man didn¡¯t take away access to the ship. Let¡¯s just fly away and leave this kingdom¡¯s matters where they are.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say. Despite myself, I feel so exhausted. Coming back here was a terrible idea after all; I should have stayed out in the wild dispatching monsters. ¡°The Watcher has my papers. He knows where I am from, and if we left, he would just go there, maybe. I don¡¯t want to bring anything down on the heads of my family.¡± ¡°So, we should just wait here and let him do whatever he wishes?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks. ¡°Should we just give you up to him? You know what men like him do.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± I say, even my anger at his questions is a guttering thing. The machine of the empire is too great a thing to struggle against; I would be like a grain of sand in its grinding gears. ¡°You are the one that is supposed to know courtly ways.¡± Jor¡¯Mari stills at that, eyes flicking over to Dovik. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± he says. ¡°I lost my head. It would be best to find a plan. I don¡¯t have all that much good will left back home, but the name of Mari still carries weight, even out this far. I may be able to do something with that.¡± ¡°Who is the lord here?¡± Dovik asks. ¡°Baron Kise Tel¡¯Darakim,¡± Jor¡¯Mari answers at once. ¡°At least I believe so. My etiquette lessons were a few years ago, but the lords don¡¯t exchange places that often.¡± ¡°A baron,¡± Dovik says, tapping his chin. ¡°Pfff,¡± Jess flops into a chair near me. ¡°One of the least of your nobles. Show a man with a weak holding deference and he will think that he has power over you.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t he?¡± I ask. ¡°Only if you let him,¡± she says. ¡°That is not exactly how the game of politics works,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Likely, he will make us wait for a long while before separating us from Charlene. If this watcher is anything like an inquisitor, they will want to question her alone, at which time they will conjure evidence against her out of the air. The one thing that we cannot allow to happen is for us to be separated.¡± Just then, the door to the room glides open on well-oiled hinges. An elven man dressed in finely tailored blacks, wearing brass-rimmed spectacles walks into the room, looking between all of us and offering a swift bow to Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°Lord Tel¡¯Darakim would like to offer his express apologies for your detainment, but he finds the meeting fortuitous. He has asked that you join him in his audience hall and has bid me to show you the way.¡± ¡°So, I do remember something after all,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, scratching his chest through his robe as he stands and inclines his head to the butler. ¡°We appreciate his grace in this matter, of course. I¡¯m certain that we all understand that the lord does not control the watchful eyes of the emperor.¡± ¡°Indeed,¡± the man says, bowing once more. ¡°Any offense the lord hopes to nullify with¡­well, that is not my place to say.¡± ¡°Lead on, goodman.¡± Jor¡¯Mari is the first to the door, taking the lead. I don¡¯t mind it, ever since we crossed the line back into the empire, I have felt cramped, like my whole body is trying to fit back into the shape of a fourteen-year-old girl who knows to keep her eyes down when her betters are walking around. My head feels stuffed. I still remember the righteous anger I felt toward these people, still remember how they kept me in ignorance my whole life, but it is so hard to tap that well now. We follow the butler from the room, walking through a long hallway filled with light that kisses my skin. The clack of our boots bounces from the walls, and the smell of old flowers trying to cover the dust of an old building stabs at me. Dread itches at my back, pushing a warmth into my neck despite the butler¡¯s words of mollification earlier. Could it be so easy to escape the notice of a Watcher? The door to the baron¡¯s audience chamber is no great thing, a simple construction of brown oaken slats pulled closed with the simplest of knockers. The butler raps upon the wood, waiting a full six seconds before slipping his hand down and opening the door. ¡°I have brought the magicians as you have asked, lord,¡± he announces, stepping into the room with a bow and holding the door open behind himself. Again, Jor¡¯Mari is the first over the threshold, confidently striding into the room, the first room in the keep I have seen illuminated by something other than sunlight. The audience chamber itself is not so grand as I might have imagined. A carpet trod by thousands of feet over the years lays spread over the tan stonework that comprises the floor throughout the keep. A wooden platform stands at the far end of the room, upon which sits a large desk with a powerful chair of strong wood set beside. Two stairways flank back along the rear wall, leading to doors up at the second level and a shallow balcony that rings the room. In the center, suspended from the ceiling, is a chandelier that at first glance looks to be illuminated by candlelight, but the steady white luminescence is magical in origin. An older elven man sits in the chair, his finery extending to lush purple robes and a single golden ring wed to his right hand housing a pristine and shining emerald. Laying against the chair is a sword, still contained in its sheath, the properties of its obvious magic blocked by that thin cover of leather. An aged man, human, sits at the desk near the throne, his nose down and his hand speeding at the words he scrawls on the page. A click as the door is glided closed once again steals my attention. The butler glides forward bending toward the man in the chair, one hand sweeping out to encompass us. ¡°His lordship, Baron Kise Tel¡¯Darakim,¡± he says. ¡°My baron, I present the magicians you asked for, Team Blue Horizon.¡± ¡°Thank you for seeing them in, Tavad,¡± the baron says, waving the man back as he sits up in his chair. He looks over us, eyes scanning us in quick order. ¡°You are the leader of this team?¡± he asks of Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°No, my lord.¡± Jor¡¯Mari sweeps a well-practiced bow, motioning toward Dovik. ¡°The young scion of the Willian Guild is our leader.¡± Dovik steps forward, bowing, but not very low. ¡°My lord. I wish we might be meeting under better circumstances. My first impression of the empire is somewhat colored by events.¡± ¡°Truly,¡± the baron sits back in his chair, motioning to the side. The Watcher approaches out of the shadows, striding over to the baron. ¡°Would that circumstances were different, but there has been¡­difficulties recently. I was told that you saw the remnants of Far Haven on your way to the keep.¡± ¡°We did,¡± Dovik says. ¡°A terrible thing.¡± ¡°Indeed, it is.¡± The Baron looks up at the Watcher. ¡°Return to the girl her belongings, I am clearing her of your suspicion.¡± ¡°My lord, that is a most unwise action.¡± The Watcher does not raise his voice. In fact, no emotion seems to break his calm. Not even the curl on his lips drops for a moment. ¡°Unwise is taking to the practice of capturing those that pass through my lands without my forbearance. I have already told you what destroyed that village, yet you fail to head my words. You look for snakes in the grass rather than heading the beast running you down. Now, Watcher, return her papers to her.¡± The Watcher stands for a long moment, looking down on the baron with a hint of a smile on his face. Then, he turns his head, placing the focus of his unmoving eyes upon me, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. The man walks down from the wooden platform, reaching into a pocket, and I tense at the gesture, half expecting a blade to appear in his hand. The Watcher produces no weapon, pulling free my papers of identification and holding them out to me. ¡°Thank you,¡± I say, keeping my eyes down as I reach for the bundle. The feel of the papers in my fingers once again is a comfort, but when I try to pull them away, I find the Watcher¡¯s hands holding tight to them. ¡°I see you, heretic,¡± he says. ¡°I see you.¡± ¡°Enough!¡± the baron barks, and at the word the Watcher lets go of the papers. I take a step back with them, holding them tight as the man turns and stalks back into the shadows. ¡°I will not apologize for the Eyes of the Emperor,¡± the baron says, looking at me. ¡°They are bred to hunt people, that is their one trick and they are rather good at it. What destroyed Far Haven, however, was no mortal being. You are a group of adventurers, yes, stained with the blood of man monsters?¡± ¡°Much blood, your lordship,¡± Dovik says. While not untrue, we have not culled even a field rat as a team as of yet. ¡°What badge did the league give to your team?¡± the baron asks. Dovik holds up a badge, one identical to the one he gifted to me before we left Grim. ¡°Silver.¡± The baron nods, expecting this. ¡°Good. It was not a person that destroyed the good peoples of Far Haven, but I do know what it was. Tell me, young master Willian, is your team up to taking on an orange contract to put down such a creature?¡± Chapter 114 - Magical Beasts Lost, on the verge of dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean, a bloom of white appeared on the water. A whale came, splitting the water in front of my raft. It¡¯s huge eye held an intelligence I have never seen equalled, not in mortal kind or other. It breathed over me a cloud of green, and when next I woke I found myself on land once more, safe, health returned to me. Since that day, I have outlawed hunting on the water; the domain of the wet belongs to those that dwell in the deep. - ¡°The Shar¡¯karak¡± Dictates of the Emperor of Thorns I sit on the edge of my ship, feet dangling over the side. All kinds of ways to control this floating platform are available to me, including some kind of intelligent barrier that can block out the wind but nothing else. My legs dangling over the lip of the flying ship feel like they are submerged in a running stream, the whipping air pulling at them. A few weeks ago, sitting on the edge of a flying disc sailing through the sky, almost a mile of air between me and the ground, I might have felt afraid. Now, the air belongs to me as much as the land does, with or without my ship. Jor¡¯Mari sighs as he takes a seat next to me, tucking one leg under the other and dangling that one over the edge as well. ¡°Was that the home coming you were looking for?¡± ¡°No.¡± Down, far below us, ripening fields cut little checkers in the land. ¡°It¡¯s about what I expected though.¡± ¡°How¡¯s that?¡± I shake my head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Ever since Arabella offered me a kingdom¡¯s ransom in essentia out of the blue, I¡¯ve been waiting for the cow to kick. I keep wondering when people will realize that I don¡¯t belong here.¡± Jor¡¯Mari laughs. ¡°If you keep using folksy idioms, no one will have the time to make that mistake. Keep your mouth shut and that crown on your head shiny, and you blend right in.¡± I turn to him, heat rising. ¡°I am trying to be serious.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know why.¡± He ignores my scowl, looking down at the countryside stretching out beneath us. ¡°Charlene, how many monsters have you killed?¡± Galea is there, holding open a window with the answer. ¡°Four hundred and sixty-five,¡± I say. I admit that I take a bit of satisfaction in watching his mouth fall open at the number. He laughs again, smiling and shaking his head. ¡°I don¡¯t doubt that you remember every single one.¡± He isn¡¯t wrong; I do. Exeter help me, but my memory has sharpened so much over the last half year that I don¡¯t find any difficulty in remembering a fight. ¡°I hope you understand how incredible that number is.¡± ¡°Magicians kill monsters,¡± I say. ¡°That is what we do.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know of anyone that kills them like you,¡± he says. ¡°I think you belong in our little team as much as anyone, maybe more so. Dovik has the experience, the expertise in the magician¡¯s craft, valuable tutoring that we cannot hope to match, an innate drive to lead¨C¡± ¡°Don¡¯t forget that he is attractive and charismatic, if it¡¯s just us girls talking.¡± Jor¡¯Mari snorts. ¡°Just between us girls then. He is a leader and all, but you are the one with the drive, I think. Something pushes you to get stronger. Sure, there are those that have the treasures around when they first take essentia to pass into the second rank, there are those so genius in their understanding of the soul they do it unaided in an afternoon, but I have never heard of anyone so whole-heartedly committed to doing with dirty hands that they accomplish it in half a year.¡± ¡°You make me sound insane¨Cand poor.¡± ¡°I believe you are. The insane part anyway.¡± He taps the surface of my golden flying ship. ¡°I think you have left the poverty far behind.¡± ¡°I might have no more gold than this ship to my name anymore.¡± Jor¡¯Mari rolls his eyes. ¡°One of your abilities is to create a vault. There is no point in doing so unless you have a fortune to guard or a hoard.¡± I squint at him. ¡°Dovik said something to you.¡± ¡°He feels really bad about it,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°The man can¡¯t hold a secret well. He feels so much pride guarding a lady¡¯s secret that he can¡¯t help but brag about it in subtle hints. The problem is, he isn¡¯t quite so subtle as he thinks.¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, looking over my shoulder to where Dovik and Jess share some tea while they discuss the upcoming fight. She looks down at the papers spread out on the table between them, but he has difficulty keeping his eyes down and on the papers alone. ¡°He really isn¡¯t.¡± ¡°Everyone needs flaws,¡± Jor¡¯Mari agrees. ¡°Is one of yours that you carry the essentia of one of the greediest and conniving beasts on the surface of the planet?¡± ¡°Is that how you see dragons?¡± He shrugs. ¡°The stories you are told and the ones I was taught as a child are very different about the creatures. They are sources of chaos in the elven canon. The elves have a tendency to find threat in anything that can rival their lifespans.¡± ¡°It seems to me the elves find threat in everyone,¡± I say. ¡°I told you that you can¡¯t trust them,¡± he says. ¡°Is it true then, you have the Red Dragon Essentia?¡± ¡°No,¡± I say, shrugging. ¡°Arabella told me that it was the best policy to keep my essentia from everyone, but lately I have been wondering if that is good advice. How are we supposed to be a proper team if we don¡¯t understand what each other can do?¡± ¡°A fair point,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°I have to admit that I don¡¯t have the luxury.¡± An emotion that I don¡¯t catch flashes over his face when I quirk and eyebrow at his remark. ¡°Of course, you wouldn¡¯t know. The Mari clan all bear the same essentia, it is a well-known thing. Most, when they find the proper essentia bring them directly to my family as we buy them up. It is a part of the lineage. To my eternal shame, adding more shame to what I carry, while my essentia were correct, my abilities came out¡­wrong. The Mari clan are great summoners and controllers of demons; it doesn¡¯t bring much honor to become one.¡± ¡°The entire family controls demons?¡± He nods. ¡°Except me. I have no problem revealing my abilities to you, it makes sense to know everything our teammates can do. My essentia are the darkness, power, and blood, and my conflux is the Demon Conflux.¡± I gape at him, disbelieving that he gave all of that to me so easily. ¡°Well, I would be a bitch not to tell you mine.¡± He winces at that. Maybe there is a bit of the prissy nobleman still inside there somewhere. Strangely, I find myself wanting to tell him as soon as I set my mind to it. ¡°My essentia are gold, magic, and dragon, giving me the Emperor Conflux.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. His eyes bulge. ¡°You have the Dragon Essentia?¡± ¡°What? You already knew that.¡± ¡°No.¡± He shakes his head. ¡°I thought you had one of the dragon confluxes. It would make sense given all the fire you throw around. There are paths to the different dragon confluxes, they are rare, but people have them. The Dragon Essentia though, I don¡¯t think that I have ever heard of anyone with that.¡± He scratches his chin. ¡°Arabella had that? How rich is that woman?¡± ¡°Very, apparently.¡± I pat his thigh. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, I am willing to bet that you could wipe the floor with any of the Mari magicians in our rank.¡± He smiles. ¡°A nice thought, but I told you that my family are expert at controlling demons. I would be the weakest among them. Maybe that too was why my father sent me away.¡± He shrugs. ¡°I¡¯ll get to ask him soon enough.¡± ¡°So,¡± I say, waving to him. ¡°Dovik is the perfect, handsome, and well-educated princeling. What does Jor of the clan Mari bring to the team?¡± ¡°Me.¡± He puts his hand to his chest. ¡°I will have you know that I am the handsome one, and the strongest, and the best drinker.¡± I scoff. ¡°You cannot outdrink me. If there is one thing that I have become adept at over the last few months, it is holding my liquor.¡± ¡°You just think that because I haven¡¯t tried to outdrink you. If I gave it my concentrated effort, I would last longer by far.¡± It is impossible not to roll my eyes at that but equally as impossible not to smile along with him. ¡°Then me and Jess are the two lovely ladies to hang on with you young adventurers.¡± ¡°Lovely, of course, but you are more than that.¡± He arcs a thumb over his shoulder. ¡°Jess can cook and is better with a blade than me and Dovik put together. She keeps things friendly and bulwarks us against the brooding that you or I might be prone to. And I don¡¯t know if you have noticed this, but she doesn¡¯t like to wear too much clothing.¡± I punch him in the arm. He¡¯s not wrong. I made certain before we left Grim that I purchased the woman a good wardrobe that wouldn¡¯t make people stare as we walked down the street. Two racks worth of clothing cut specifically for her hang in my vault even now. But now, with a fight just ahead of us, she is back to her straps and clothing binding that leave very little to the imagination. I have caught Dovik looking more than once when he is able to pull his attention down from staring at her bright eyes. ¡°And you,¡± Jor¡¯Mari goes on. ¡°You bring the incredibly destructive fire magic and the folksy metaphors.¡± Now it is my turn to snort. ¡°I guess I can do that much.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t underestimate yourself, those metaphors are powerful.¡± I shake my head. The ship passes over a forest now, a copse of old and twisted trees that spread out toward the horizon, a twisted canopy of dark leaves obscuring everything from the air. ¡°Thanks,¡± I say. ¡°For what?¡± ¡°For being¡­someone that will actually talk to me.¡± ¡°Everyone needs someone to talk to.¡± We lapse into silence for a moment, watching the forest pass us by. Galea has the heading, and the hints of color int he sea of green off to the west confirm our direction. ¡°How do you feel about this job.¡± ¡°We can handle an orange,¡± he says, waving his hand. One of the first thing that any adventurer learns is the coloring system that the league employs. Normally, teams are sorted into different ranks of power based on their members: iron, bronze, silver, gold, platinum, emerald, and diamond¨Ciron obviously being the weakest. The vast majority of adventuring teams are either iron or bronze, as those are the ranks usually relegated to teams of rank one or two adventurers. Given that most never progress past the second rank, silver is the furthest ambition for most, gold even being rare for a rank two magician. The league then uses these team rankings to determine difficulty of any given task; the easiest missions are green, the most difficult red, and the impossible black. This mission for the baron is rated as being orange for a silver team like ours, meaning that it will be incredibly dangerous. More than just that, since Dovik didn¡¯t have any of us undergo a proper evaluation when he bullied his way into having a silver team, I worry that we aren¡¯t quite so strong as our silver badges say we are. Halford¡¯s team was a bronze rank, and even he never took on an orange request for the league, yellow at the most dangerous. ¡°That isn¡¯t what I was talking about,¡± I say. ¡°You know what I mean.¡± ¡°Killing a magical beast,¡± he says, sighing. ¡°I know.¡± He curls his fingers into a fist, releasing and clenching. ¡°I¡¯ll admit it, I don¡¯t like the idea of it. Magical beasts aren¡¯t monsters, they are animals, beautiful creatures that use magic to kill monsters just like us.¡± ¡°They are animals,¡± I agree, despite never having seen a magical beast before. I only know them from fairy stories, powerful creatures that employ magic like people. ¡°When an animal goes mad and begins to hurt people, it is put down. Based on what the count said about that village, this Ghostfire sounds like it is responsible.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± he agrees. ¡°I just hate the idea of killing something like that.¡± ¡°I can do it for you then, if you need.¡± I pat his hand, the ship now incredibly close to the trees pointed out as our direction by the Baron''s man. The copse in the forest is made of trees easily twice the height of the others, their branches decorated with leaves of all colors, the long limbs sticking into the air like colorful streamers. I stand on the edge of the ship, hearing Dovik walk up behind me as Jor¡¯Mari climbs to his feet next to me. ¡°That looks like the place,¡± Dovik says, nodding to the trees. ¡°If what the baron told us was true, we will find¨C¡± I yelp as a hand roughly grabs my collar, throwing me to the ground. ¡°Behind!¡± Galea yells in my head in the same instant. My back strikes the platform, driving the air from me, and I look up to see Jess standing over me, grabbing her weapon from her hip after hurling me to the ground. Fear and the stirrings of betrayal flash through me for a moment before I notice that her eyes are turned upward toward the sky. I haven¡¯t even bounces off the hard metal of the platform by the time that a ball of swirling white magic collides with the edge of the platform, right where I had been standing a moment before. The ship wobbles from the impact, my back leaves the ground again, and then I am falling out into open air. I spin, legs flipping over my head as I try to pull in a breath. The panic only lasts an instant before a glory of red wings spread out from my back, arresting my fall immediately. I feel the sky affix thrumming through the scales of my wings, seeming almost to vibrate with the very air, allowing me to hover in place without even needing to beat my great wingspan that has grown even wider at the infusion of magic. I look up, watching my ship sail toward the copse, running in a straight line, and then I see it. In the air above the ship is a pale wolf, its fur as white as winter snow, its body huge, greater than a horse in size. Collimase of the Sky(Rank Two) That isn¡¯t what we are after. The great beast, Collimase, dodges aside as a spike of bone spirals up from the surface of the ship. The spike cuts through the air like a thrown spear, snatching fur from the wolf as it narrowly dodges the attack. On of my staves appears in my hand and I start channeling power into its head, looking to blow the beast out of the sky before it can get too distant. ¡°Beneath!¡± Galea screeches a warning. I don¡¯t think as I move, spinning in the air to the side like a dancer that has been at it her entire life. With these wings infused with the sky affix, I feel more at home here in the air than I ever could on the ground. Before I can even finish my evasion, a ball of concentrated fire sails up from below, narrowly missing me. A long howl tells out the culprit. On the ground far below, another beast stands on a high rock that protrudes from the forest floor, red magic spiraling up from it as an arrow of fire condenses in front of its face. A cacophonous boom splits the air as the arrow is released. A whine shrieks on the wind as it sails upward, but I am not its target, the ship is. My staff is already in motion, releasing the stored mana that I have built over the last few seconds. The two powers meet in the air just twenty feet beneath the bottom of the ship. An eruption that causes the ship to lurch and almost pitch over shakes the air, stabbing at my ears. I am already in motion, calling my second staff to my hand, pouring as much magic into them as I can as I scream down from the heavens. Satrix of the Flaming Sphere(Rank Two) ¡°You are mine!¡± Chapter 115 - Satrix of the Flaming Sphere ¡°Yet, you pester me again. A decade I made you wait before, believing you might have gained some wisdom. Very well, you made the offering, and I promised an answer. Yes, the Shadow¡¯s attention fell upon this sphere but for the briefest instant. A god fled to this world, having attracted its ire. Before its attention could fully fall upon us, we crushed the screaming deity, or at least my father and his siblings did. The Shadow¡¯s attention passed over this world for an instant, but our world is just one of many, as small as a single grain of sand upon the great shore of the galaxy. We never came into its notice, and that is the only interaction that it has had on this world. Do not ask again.¡± -Excerpt from ¡°My Talks with Glis¡¯Merinda, Daughter of Exeter¡± Written by Dak of Kell Air breathes over me in a stream of cold fingers, tickling at the scales that spread out from my wings, buffeting the spans of reptilian skin stretched between the powerful bones. I feel alive with magic. As the power swells and pools into the heads of my twin staffs it vibrates the very air, that churning power flowing from my hands in a rush. I taste it too with my new senses; the lick of the affixes mixing is complex. At the end of my wooden staff, the head of the lamp cage burns a brilliant orange with shocks of white running through it. In my left hand, the moonsilver staff vibrates beneath my fingers, a slight whine on the air as green fire wreathes a halo before its end. The beast down below, Satrix of the Flaming Sphere, turns its attention my way. Magic blooms off the red-furred wolf, creating a bubble around it as balls of fire spin into existence around it. ¡°It has a soul presence,¡± I realize. The motes of fire orbiting the great beast¡¯s head move, forming a triangular pattern, a spear of fire birthed from the air in the center. Only a few hundred feet separate us now as we stare at each other, our magic building. Then, Satrix lets fly a brilliant arrow of burning fire. I meet it with my own bolt of consuming dragonfire from my moonsilver staff. The attacks collide, green fire swirling and mixing with the orange. A bloom of heat washes over me as the meeting fires grow together, consuming the very air in their short flash of life. I let go my other blast as the light shows the first hint of dimming, a ball of orange and white screaming down from the sky at the monster. Satrix lingers on the high stone for a moment, its eyes tracking the descent of my fireball. The fire touches the tip of its soul presence, slowing, but refusing to stop. Before the two can meet, the great wolf vanishes, my ball of dragonfire detonating against the stone with a cough of dirt and fire. Heat washes over me once more, and I see the world as red. There is the barest instant to bring my weapons up over my head as I track the source of the sudden heat. The tail of Satrix collides against my staves before they can cross one over the other like a falling tree. Its tail slips through my guard, hitting me in the face, and the world momentarily vanishes. Everything is flashing colors, blue, green, blue, green. The wind whistling past my ears whispers that I am falling. I reach out with my wings, attacking the air, spreading wide the new appendages to catch the heaviest air that I can find. Without the air itself trying to aid me, I would scatter across the ground. Instead, my mind snaps back into order just moments from disaster, my flight in the air righting, and my crash against the ground becoming a merely painful landing. My feet touch the grassy earth of a small barren circle in the middle of the forest. My legs scream with the effort of catching my fall, failing at the last instant, and driving my right knee into the giving soil with a crack and snap running up my thigh. I bite back the bone-breaking pain, teeth digging into my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Without thought, my soul presence explodes off of me, a wave of red and gold pushing blanketing the entire clearing, overwhelming the great pain with myriad sensations: grass tickling against my skin, the smell of a hare hiding in its burrow, the running smoothness of a python slinking beneath the palm of my hand. The sensations of the forest around me never near a state to render me insensate, my anger is too great, and my attention floats upward toward my enemy. Satrix stands on the air, the burning fires beneath its paws as steady as stones. My attention warps the air, the cloud of aura around me condensing and gaining direction, reaching up into the sky like an inverted twister. Our auras meet, and I feel the clash as they push against each other. The beast¡¯s tastes like fire, a pure and burning passion pushes at my very soul like a coal. The meeting isn¡¯t one sided, even as I feel him searing me from the inside out, the beast staggers in the middle of the air. It strains, legs wobbling as it tries to stay balanced on the fires beneath its feet, but I pour all my anger and malice into the presence wrapping it. A thought strikes me for the briefest moment, something that I don¡¯t even know is possible or not. I let slip the fire affix printed on my soul, pouring the manifestation of magic into my soul presence the same way that I might add it to my dragonfire. The heat brushing my soul slackens, falling away to something no more than the slight warmth of the sun on my skin. The red of my soul grows darker, a deep crimson as the gold recedes, squeezing tighter on the lighter red of Satrix¡¯s soul presence like a fist on the neck of a captured animal. The wolf¡¯s legs shake terribly as it fights against me, but it¡¯s no use. Its front paw slips, sliding off the fire it is perched on and swinging into open air. The beast¡¯s other legs follow in quick order, and it plummets from the sky far faster than is natural. Satrix falls like a meteor, spinning as it howls. A light flashes through its condensed aura, and it vanishes once more, appearing in the air fifty feet away from me. I give it no time to readjust, ripping it from the air before it can find its paws on floating fires once more. Satrix falls sideways, crashing into the grassland hard enough to shake the earth. A smile touches my lips as I push myself to my feet, feeling tenderness in my leg. I realize now that Lamplighter¡¯s Charge is gone from my hand, lost somewhere in my fall. I can find it later. Satrix pulls itself to standing again, and I notice for the first time how massive the creature really is. It is well bigger than even the dire bears had been, and fires begin to bloom inside its soul presence once more as it turns its attention my way. I notice that it favors one leg, unable to recover from the fall nearly as quickly as I can. My moonsilver staff shines brilliantly as I swing it toward the beast, a ball of orange dragonfire spinning away. Satrix has no time to return an attack of its own, the motes of fire gathering in front of its mouth barely able to condense in time. The dragonfire passes through the barrier where our souls brush against one another, and again I see it slow the barest bit. Dragonfire explodes against the head of Satrix, the spinning inferno of fire obscuring it entirely. The grass wilts around the monster, pushed into the dirt charred and ruined.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Then the light clears, and Satrix stands just where it had been. A patch of fur on the side of its face stands barren, tan skin peeking from between burned fur, but otherwise undamaged. It roars, and I see the arrow of fire explode away from its face, larger now than I have ever seen it. I fall, turning my own soul presence on myself to slam me into the ground faster than should be possible. The air is driven from my lungs as the arrow of flame sails over me, the kiss of its passing searing the left side of my face and hand. The arrow detonates in the forest behind me, and I hear trees falling. The wolf appears in the air above me, its paw crashing down, looking to smash my head like a melon. The huge wings on my back vanish into smoke as I roll to the side. I ignore the pull as some of my hair comes away, pinched between its paw and the earth. I ignore the shaking of the ground as the creature lands with its full weight. I ignore the nightmare that flashes in front of my eyes, my head squashed to bloody pulp on the ground, my team coming to find me after they finish their own fight. I ignore the sensation that comes back to me, what it felt like to have my skull crunched by the Desert Spearman. Satrix is already snapping forward as I try to roll to my feet, its jaw wide as it lunges to snap me in two. I scream at the creature as it jumps forward, a gout of blue flame belching from my mouth. Satrix chokes, my fire pouring down its throat, and I just manage to turn away from its lunge. It steps past me, stumbling, its back legs catching oddly on the ground and falling sideways to crash into the ground as if falling from a great height. Satrix chokes and sputters as I bear down on it with the weight of my soul presence and the blue fire of cold pouring from my mouth, giving it no time to recover. Its front paws struggle to hold it up, shaking with the effort, blue fire dribbling from its mouth like saliva. The blue burrows into it, burning past just the outermost layer of its fur, charring away the skin to a blackened, frostbitten, ruin that cracks open to reveal the flesh beneath to the freezing touch of the fire. A howl shakes not just from the throat of Satrix, but out of its very soul presence. A dot of burning orange appears over its head, but I can see such an enormity in the singular spec that my blood runs cold. I breathe in even as the dot shudders, cutting away my own freezing flames. There is no time to call on my wings. I can¡¯t get away from it in time. Darkness. The becomes the surface of the sun. A sphere of fire so bright that it strikes creatures blind for miles, heat enough to render even the trees at the edge of the clearing into vaporous dust before a long and sustained howl scatters them. Flaming death becomes the world, but my world is a void of light. The shaking in the earth ceases, the vibrating stalks of grass growing up around my boots floating back into straightness. Light cracks in through a shell in the pitch dark, and it comes along with a rush of heat. I stand in the center of an eggshell made of black sand, safe form the explosion of fire. The walls of the barrier around me begin to collapse into spiraling balls of dust collecting around me. With all the focus of my mind mustered, I can control six spheres of the sand at a time, but now I only give myself enough concentration to keep three in the air around me, grains of dark sand sinking into the growing spheres from the air. Grass withers back from the clean line in the dirt showing the edge of my impromptu shield. Thin, hot air washes all around me, but it is nothing. A ring of fire smolders around me, those trees not utterly destroyed by the eruption of Satrix¡¯s flame now alight and burning brightly. Everything other than the circle of discolored grass around me is burned smooth, only the barest hints at charred remains telling this clearing as ever being anything other than a desert in a forest. Satrix sneers at me from a dozen paces away, its legs still shaking with the effort of supporting its own body. One of its rear legs has gone lame. The beast dribbles spittle from its mouth that looks almost like molten rock. ¡°The Flaming Sphere,¡± I say, noting the burned away clearing around us. My balls of black sand dance around me much like Satrix¡¯s motes of fire did, though these balls of sand are the size of pumpkins, where Satrix¡¯s motes had been much smaller things. I feel a tug on me as the motes pass before my eyes, a tickle of taste at the back of my throat, cinnamon. I pull on that sensation, my eyes widening as grains of sand glowing bright with heat out of the black spheres. The grains collect into a sphere of their own, the size of a chicken egg, but glowing as bright as the midday sun. The outermost shell of the sand barrier must have absorbed Satrix¡¯s eruption of fire somehow, the mana persists inside it. Fire springs to light around Satrix¡¯s head once more as it prepares to create another arrow, but it give it no time. A black sphere fires forward like a cannon shot, spinning and changing into an eight-sided geometry, the ends long and sharp like a spear. Satrix just managed to leap to the side, but its legs fail to catch it as its own weight drives it into the ground once more. A second black spear strikes for its face as it struggles on the ground. Hardened mud sprays from the ground as the magical beast vanishes. Inside my soul presence, I feel it the instant it appears. My final sphere spins into place, becoming a sheet of sand between me and the swiping claw of Satrix. Satrix¡¯s claw lands on the sheet of black sand, scratching a whine that shakes the very air. I totter sideways a step, feeling as if someone punched me directly in the brain, but I keep my feet. A hole is blown through the sheet of sand from where Satrix¡¯s paw landed, and through it I see the beast open its maw wide as an arrow condenses in its mouth. The final ball of sand, the smallest one already alight with Satrix¡¯s own mana, sail forward, straight into the great wolf¡¯s mouth. I stop the ball just inside its open jaws before it can realize and react. As I fling my fingers wide, the ball becomes an eight-spoked wheel, the points of the spokes stabbing straight through Satrix¡¯s flesh and piercing out the top and bottom of its muzzle. Satrix cries out in its pain, managing to tug the wheel of sand impaling it from inside its mouth a few inches back, but I hold the sand still with as much effort as I can muster, trapping the creature. The gathering magic inside Satrix¡¯s mouth pours into the already glowing sand, sinking in like water down a drain. The wolf cries out pitifully as it tries to move. Even my anger at the beast begins to wane. I can¡¯t let this go on. Two spears of black sand stab down from the sky, one sinking through Satrix¡¯s neck before stabbing into the barren earth, the other its chest. Life vanishes from the great beast¡¯s eyes as the spears sink home into the ground. I release my hold on the sand, letting it crumple into piles on the earth that drift toward the sheet of black hovering before me. The body of Satrix collapses to the ground, shaking the earth before coming to lay still. You have defeated Satrix of the Flaming Sphere THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! I can¡¯t help but feel a sense of sadness as I look over the body of the beast. The last red remnants of the monster¡¯s soul presence crumble away inside my overbearing aura, splitting and melting away like the detritus of dead leaves. I feel in that moment, the earth a strange crimson as my soul stretches out to touch the burning clearing, that it would be no a thing to reach out with my power and take Satrix. More than a dozen feet away, I watch as Satrix¡¯s body begins to dissolve into pink smoke, drifting up into the air and washing over me, vanishing. Three spheres of black sand and one glowing almost white hover in the air around me as I call back my wings. This was a good first fight at rank two. I take to the air, my thoughts trying to linger on the rush of the conflict, but I don¡¯t allow them. I force myself to look to the copse of colorful trees peeking out above the forest, where my ship and team has vanished to. My soul presence wrings in tight, forming a condensed ball around me not more than an arm''s length away. There is still more fighting to be had. Chapter 116 - The Copse They tell a story in Karas, of a young man called by his creator to undertake a great journey. All of the people of Karas know the story, and to know it is to know them. I stumbled upon the story of Shilo when I first departed my ship. I have not been the same man since. -Emperor Tar¡¯Akannan Soaring over the squat and intertwining trees, I push my speed to the limits. The trailing balls of black sand are more of a hindrance than anything, the focus of keeping them speeding through the sky next to me greater than it is worth. I dismiss the sand back into my vault before I have even made a mile, ready to be called back to me at a moment¡¯s notice. A flight of birds scream away from the boughs of tall oak with leaves the color of gold, followed a second later by a horrific crack that splits the air. All the trees of the copse I angle for mingle together, forming a strange painting on the green canvas of the forest, blotchy colors climbing over each other. The sound of snapping limbs cracks through the air once again, this time followed closely behind by the howl of a beast. I realize only now that I have flown off without Lamplighter¡¯s Charge, only my moonsilver staff in my hand. There is no time to regret the decision. My mind races through my affixes before looking to charge dragonfire into the staff. Disenchanting the Bane Crystal left me with such a glut of Corrosive Affix that I was able to tattoo the magic straight onto my soul, and now that particular symbol glow the brightest of any. I select it, emerald-colored dragonfire glowing as it gathers at the tip of my staff. The charging builds as I race through the sky, vibrating the staff beneath my fingers, but still I find that I can pour on more. This will be the first time that I have charged my full limit of magic into dragonfire since reaching the second rank, and the difference is incredible. It takes longer, more than a full minute. It would seem that my capacity to charge mana has outpaced my speed at doing so. An image that I have imagined flashes in my mind, the story that Arabella told me about my brother building a sun out of fire as he prepared to smite a monster. My own power seems meager next to that, but it is grand in my eyes. The staff in my hand thrums with the magic. The fire compresses into a ball the size of a horse¡¯s eye above the head of my staff, but bands of energy escape it, forming great arcs that reach out nearly a foot, shaking and shuddering in the air before returning to the ball of fire. I am almost to the trees when a violent shake rattles up its trunk, sending leaves scattering from the branches to fall back to the floor. Branches whip at me as I dive right into their midst, uncaring for the lashes they leave on my face and warding hand. An expanse rolls out beneath the tree, the lowest limbs of any in the copse almost forty feet high, the ground decorated with a myriad of different colored leaves that weave a tapestry in their brilliant detritus. For a moment, memories of the forest during the trial flood back to me. The colors here aren¡¯t so very different from the feculent mold that clung to the trees during those days I hunted alone, brighter, and far healthier, but similar in a way. ¡°Aaaahh!¡± The cry draws my attention. I spin, raising my staff to unleash my magic, only to find Jor¡¯Mari locked together with a beast almost twice as big as Satrix had been. It appears like a wolf as well, its fur crazed and the color of mud, but for all its matted fur, huge muscles bulge beneath. To¡¯Terradon, the Allstone Jor¡¯Mari wrestles with the beast, his own body huge, eight feet tall if it is a foot, cords of muscles wringing his straining arms as he fights to keep his hold on it. He is in his strength specialist form. An aura of purple light wreaths him, straining and pushing against the presence of pale brown that bleeds off of the huge wolf. Blood spills from Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s shoulder where To¡¯Terradon clamps its massive jaws down, a steady flow of red running down his back and soaking into the robe that pools around his waist. Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s right hand clutches at the beast¡¯s neck, holding its head to him, keeping its jaw open and locked onto his shoulder. His left is busy hammering away at its side with blows strong enough to fell trees. I have no chance to fire into this melee with my magic. ¡°Char¡­Agh.¡± Jor¡¯Mari spots me, our eyes meeting for a second before he turns his attention back to the monster he wrestles with. It tries to scramble away from him, and then I see why. Spikes protrude from Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s skin, not just the horns that curve on his crown, but spikes of bone sticking out from his shoulders, chest, arms, and stomach, stabbing into the beast as he holds it against himself. Its blood is thick, black ichor. The beast fights on its own as well, even as it tries to pull away. While the two soul presences wage a war against one another, Jor¡¯Mari pushes a wild terror into the creature, but its own power is far more dangerous. The arm that Jor¡¯Mari uses to trap the beast cracks, the skin turned dry and tan like dried mud. Red flesh stands out in the cracks rivening his arm, weeping a terrible, clear fluid. I have to act. My own aura flashes out, spreading through the hollow beneath the golden tree. The sound of a thousand brittle leaves snapping as they are pressed into the ground by the wave of crimson almost doubles me over, each cracking leaf feeling like one of my own knuckles popping. I feel the two as well, Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s presence whispering to my own, promising dark deeds and terrible imaginings that make me want to shrink away. To¡¯Terrodon¡¯s is worse somehow, there is nothing intelligible about the beast¡¯s soul, just a feeling of finality and steadiness, the taste of chalk on my tongue. A ball of black sand appears out of my inventory, spinning through the air to follow the point of my finger. It ripples, becoming a spear as it flies like a sparrow straight toward the heart of To¡¯Terradon. The spear of heavy sand crashes into To¡¯Terradon¡¯s soul presence like a brick wall, scattering into useless grains as it passes the barrier between our two souls, and I feel it leave my control completely. All that comes of my attack is a light dusting of sand over the two struggling combatants. My mind sticks on that for only a second, but that second is too long. I watch as the two are pushed into the ground by my own power. I have enough control not to press it down upon Jor¡¯Mari, but To¡¯Terradon already outweighed him by an incredible amount before I arrived. I am more than twenty feet away from the two, but even at this distance my presence places a significant weight upon the beast, a weight that the great wolf uses to pivot and drive Jor¡¯Mari into the ground like an expert fighter. Golden leaves covered in crimson spray up from where Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s back is driven into the detritus, the shin-high accumulation almost burying him as To¡¯Terradon drives him down. Jor¡¯Mari never lets go, his grunts of pain becoming muffled in the leaves burying him. I am in flight, the familiar weight of my poisoned dagger falling into my hand as I fly forward. I strike like a lightning bolt, whipping the dagger straight toward To¡¯Terradon¡¯s eye. It flicks one monstrous pupil toward me, seeing the attack coming, but Jor¡¯Mari holds its head still and the weight pressing it into the ground only grows as I near. The knife slides smoothly into the flesh of its eye, a sickening pop following the spray of fluid that washes over my hand. Even as it whines, crying out and thrashing, the full force of its aura encircles me. There is a common understanding when it comes to soul presence, the shorter the range they are, the more powerful. Mine has quite a distance to it, but near its edge the effect is dim, only a slight encumbrance. As soon as my soul presence washed over To¡¯Terradon, it was subject to that force pressing down on it, but as I strike at it, I enter its power. A wave of tan magic washes over me and I feel as if every part of me begins to crack and crumble at once. I would cry out if there were any wetness left in my throat. There is a creaking inside my skull as I feel the bones in my ear tighten and grind against one another. I step away, but the motion causes my skin to split open and tear. Fire screams from my mouth as I stumble away from the beast in my attempt to flee its power, no thought given to if I might hurt Jor¡¯Mari as he is pinned beneath it. The wave of orange washes over To¡¯Terradon, clinging to its fur, forcing it to scream against the ground. It is blind to me with its weeping eye, but the tan aura chases me, reaching for me, trying to destroy me. To¡¯Terradon lurches, bobbing an inch into the air for a moment, before collapsing to the ground, the color of its soul receding back.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. I finally stumble away from it, my body already fast at work trying to stitch my wounds back together. My feet wobble beneath me, my wings falling to the ground and propping me up as I breathe. The body of the great wolf shudders and then is thrown aside as Jor¡¯Mari grunts and strains on the ground. The color of his aura still seethes around him, but it quiets somewhat as he spots me, pooling around him into a smooth film. ¡°Thank you,¡± he says, fingers scratching into the ground as he pulls himself to his feet. A ripple passes over him as he stands, his body shrinking somewhat, arresting at just over seven feet in height, becoming sleek. My eye tells me that he has changed to be a recovery specialist, like me. At once, the wounds cutting across his body and the deep punctures in his shoulder begin to scab over and heal. I look at the corpse of To¡¯Terradon and see a litany of spikes protruding from its underside, stabbing up into the beast from below. One must have hit something vital. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you do that earlier?¡± I ask, nodding to the creature¡¯s body, its dark blood pooling out and wetting the golden leaves. ¡°I only have one of those in me,¡± he says, his eyes never leaving me. ¡°Have to make sure that it counts.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t you have a weapon?¡± I ask. ¡°Yeah,¡± he looks around at the hollow beneath the colorful trees. ¡°It will be around here somewhere. The problem with an invisible mace is that it can be difficult to find the damned thing.¡± His eyes fall on the knife in my hand. ¡°Can I borrow that?¡± ¡°Sure.¡± I flip him the blade, and he snatches it from the air with ease. Already I am feeling steady on my feet, curling my wings in now that I don¡¯t need the support. ¡°I appreciate that,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, saluting with the knife. ¡°I would give you something in return, but I don¡¯t¡­¡± he pauses, his eyes landing on something on the ground. He bends, scooping up a tooth as large as his pointer finger. ¡°Here,¡± he says, tossing the tooth to me, ¡°a souvenir.¡± My dumb hands make a fool of me, reaching for and missing the tooth. It bounces off my forearm, and I miss it again. I manage to juggle the damned thing between my grasping hands a few more times before it finally plops to the ground, bouncing on the leaves. I feel my face redden at the display. ¡°Where are the others?¡± I ask quickly. ¡°Right,¡± Jor¡¯Mari looks pointedly away as I stoop to snatch up the tooth. ¡°Back near the blue tree when I left them. Well, more like greenish-blue. Maybe blueish-green.¡± ¡°Jor!¡± The man¡¯s flippancy makes me want to scream. ¡°Sorry, this form effects my head a bit, tends to make me take things not too seriously. You must have an awful time living with that.¡± When he sees my face darkening at the words, seriousness does come to his eyes. ¡°This way,¡± he says, pointing and setting off. I follow, sending a pulse of magic behind me, rendering the body of To¡¯Terradon to pink mist before it leaves the range of my aura. Galea delivers a message window to me as I fly behind Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s running body. You have defeated To¡¯Terradon, the Allstone THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! Another level already. It seems that giving myself a proper rest time did in fact help my soul prepare for further reinforcements. That, or the soul cage that I stuffed into my chest is helping. Likely both. We strive between the trunks of the trees, pillars standing out in a field of slowly changing colors. The field below us changes from gold, to ivory white, then slowly toward a cerulean blue. My staff thrums in my hand as we race on, the power held at capacity for so long threatening to leak away into the air. We pause for a moment at the body of a white wolf, the same one that had attacked from the air, laying cut and discarded at the base of the blue tree. The platform of my ship rests on its side against the trunk of the tree like a discarded discus made of gold. ¡°Where¨C¡± I begin, but Jor¡¯Mari holds up a hand to stop me. He turns his head this way and that, and I catch sight of his pupilless eyes, dark orbs that are the telltale he has shifted forms again to push his perception to the limits. My eyes rove over him, noting the still healing wounds that cover him, the scabbed holes in his shoulder, the blood that clings to him still. He should spend more time healing himself, but I am not about to command that he do so. His state brings my attention to my own. The simple travelling clothes I had been wearing just before we were attacked are stained with red where my skin was split open just a few minutes before. Another change of clothes ruined. Hopefully soon, I will be able to put an end to this issue. Jor¡¯Mari turns and sprints further into the hollow, following some sign that I cannot perceive. With a great flap of my wings, I take off after him, managing to catch up to him in short order. I see them now, Jess and Dovik fighting together against another great wolf whose shape is vague and seems to shimmer in the light, its blue fur a stark contrast to the red leaves it fights in the center of. Janta, Moonwhisperer(Rank Two) Both of my friends¡¯ auras blaze brilliantly, Jess¡¯ cold and metallic soul presence wrapping tight around her. I see Dovik¡¯s for the first time, a cloud of blue lazily following him as he moves, spreading out from him nearly ten feet except where pressed in upon by the white aura of Janta. There is more about Dovik that I have not seen before. Instead of the fire poker that I am used to him fighting with, now he holds a long rapier in either hand, powerful weapons with incredible auras of their own. I¡¯ll need to inspect them later. Janta howls in their face as it lunges for Dovik. For a moment I think the man¡¯s arm will vanish into the snapping jaws of the blue wolf, but just as the teeth threaten to sink into his flesh, he vanishes. A spray of blood follows his appearance to the wolf¡¯s side, hardly a second granted to him as it spins and lashes out with a paw. Now that I near, I notice a myriad of cuts marring the beautiful fur of Janta, weeping lines of purple in the blue. The aura of the wolf pushes sideways toward Jess even as Dovik dances out of its swipe. Without a blade to manipulate, I know Jess¡¯ soul presence to not be all that effective, but she proves that notion wrong immediately. Hers is a short-ranged aura, its effect powerful when possible to use, but given that there are no blades around for her to manipulate she pulls it in toward herself, turning its power to defense. The steel of her soul presence shines as Janta¡¯s aura tries to press into it, but Jess is like a stone sticking from the water, letting the rush break over her. Her chakram lashes out, leaving a long gash in Janta¡¯s leg as she too steps around it. The great wolf howls in frustration and pain, snapping at her, but Jess brings up her spinning chakram, perfectly colliding the blade with the closing teeth, emitting a ringing sound that penetrates the hollow. In the instant following, it is as if she gains an incredible speed, slipping out of Janta¡¯s lunge and scoring a line across it as she moves. As it turns on her, Dovik ducks back in, jabbing with the points of his sword at the unprotected side of the wolf. They never give it a moment to concentrate. Even as light strobes from its eyes to ignite the leaves, even as the beast blurs for a moment and seems to move in two directions at once, Dovik and Jess do not relent in their dance of bladed death. ¡°There,¡± Jor¡¯Mari points to the side of the hollow, his dark eyes focusing on a point of empty air. I almost miss it, the distraction from the brilliant display of martial dancing too annoying to pay attention to, but then my eye picks something out. A vague shimmer moves across the leaves, not collapsing any of the loose detritus, but shallowly shuffling the fallen matter. I do not wait, pointing the end of my staff toward the vague shimmer and loosing my pent up ball of emerald fire. The force of the magic leaving my staff almost knocks me off my feet. Instead of the sailing ball of fire, I see a beam of green light appear in the space between me and the shimmer as thick around as the trunk of a birch tree. The beam changes into a bloom of green where the shimmer just was, a roiling inferno climbing up toward the high boughs of the trees overhead, chaotic fire peeling away from me, slipping out into the air. Even as the color fades into the air in cracking motes of light, a black outline in my vision remains of its path. A cry, too choked on roiling fire to sound like anything natural, emits from the clearing flash of light. Another wolf shudders, its midnight fur melting away, eaten by the corrosive fire, its eyes rendered white and sightless. It stumbles blindly, a coarse hissing sound coming from its throat, searching, but for what I cannot know. In the moment, I truly understand just how terrible my own power can be. A missile sails through the air. The dagger that I lent to Jor¡¯Mari thunks into the temple of the burning wolf. It shakes a final time, falling to the leaves with a thud, still. You have defeated Corallian, the Midnight Walker THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! Another howl of pain follows a moment later as Dovik, riding on the back of the beast Janta, stabs down with his two swords into the wolf¡¯s neck. It cries out before slumping forward, dead before it even hits the ground. A moment of silence fall over the hollow as we look at one another. ¡°Is everyone okay?¡± I ask. ¡°I should be asking that of you,¡± Jess says, looking like she is just about ready to rush over to me while she also tries to keep her guard up. ¡°You are the one that fell off the ship.¡± ¡°I can fly though.¡± I look around, but other than the two dead wolves in the red leaves, I see no others. ¡°Did anyone find Ghostfire?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, drawing all eyes. His own pupilless black ones gaze up at the slight incline between the trees, she the red leaves begin to shift to white. ¡°Though I am starting to wish that I hadn¡¯t.¡± I follow his gaze, seeing immediately what he is looking at. Another wolf, this one the largest by far, its fur a sleek white, stands at the apex of the rise. A single horn of ebony bone protrudes from its forehead, the tip thrumming with power. A white aura rolls down the incline like fog as it considers us. Its huge blue eyes seem almost to pierce through me, the intelligence in its gaze stirring my emotions. There is such sadness in its eyes. It inclines its head, closing its eyes for a moment before shaking itself and standing to its full height. Never before have I seen such a magnificent creature Tar¡¯Alu¡¯Alukeen, Ghostfire(Rank Two) Chapter 117 - Ghostfire You ever felt your teeth screech in your head as someone pushes your face down into the creekbed? You ever had to taste the mossy scum as your skull starts to shake and clatter. I know what that scum tastes like. I know the sound that you hear when your tooth chips against the stones. I know what it feels like to drown. I¡¯ve known these things since I was only five years old. -Ferro A tension rolls over us along with the descending mist. Power hums down the length of my staff, buzzing as it collects. As the white clouds falling down the slope touch me, a chill runs up my leg a fog fills the hollow. A flash of light. Dovik appears in the air above the monstrous wolf, his swords descending toward its neck. The blades pass straight through where it should be, Ghostflame¡¯s body puffing away into a spray of mist at first touch. He lands, eyes whipping up as more fog pours in around him. The air is so cold that it seems almost like we add to it, our breaths puffing into smoke in front of our faces. ¡°Eyes,¡± Dovik says, searching the fog. He doesn¡¯t need to tell us; we are busy searching already. Jess walks backward toward us, looking around the fog with her huge weapon twirling lightly between he fingers. Jor¡¯Mari searches, his eyes still black, scanning the rising mist. I am more surprised than anyone by the sudden disappearance of the beast. Up until the last moment, there had been a name window above its head, but in the instant just before Dovik struck, it vanished. ¡°Behind,¡± Galea warns. I lunge forward, rolling, and feel the air snap just behind me. As I roll back to my feet, spinning and pointing my weapon, I catch sight of the vanishing head of a wolf made from mist fading back into the fog. A metallic crash to the side draws my attention. Jess stands with her chakram planted in the mouth of a white wolf¡¯s head, holding its jaws wide on the edge of her weapon. Jor¡¯Mari snaps forward, hand striking out, but the head of the wolf vanishes into fog once again as they collide. As his blow disperses one wolf, another leaps out of the fog, planting the end of its horn in his back. Blood sprays across Jess as Ghostflame¡¯s horn punches out of the front of Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s chest as the great wolf drives him to the ground. My ball of dragonfire crashes into the body of the beast a second later, but again it vanishes into mist. There is a crash in that instant from up the slope, but the fog is too thick now to see. Jor¡¯Mari groans on the ground, his body shifting once more to better handle the wound. Crimson leaks from him as he struggles on the ground. Grabbing his arm, hauling on him with all my strength, I only barely manage to pull the giant to his feet. ¡°Keep your eyes up,¡± he says weakly to me as he kneels. I continue pouring mana into the head of my staff, but a feeling of dread is starting to creep up on me. ¡°You need to get up,¡± I tell him, trying to put some steel into the words. I flinch as a metallic cling echoes from the air just beside my head, Jess catching another strike coming out of the mist on her weapon, scattering the wolf to mist with her counter-attack. ¡°I¡¯m trying to do just that,¡± he says. Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s left-hand struggles on his knee, trying to push himself up to his feet, while his right hangs limply at his side. I see the hole in his chest and have to restrain the instinct to gag. The hole is clean, a punch of black driven right through him, bone, muscle, viscera absent. It looks both to have been burned open and frozen at once, snakes of black veins running back into his shoulder from the impact. ¡°How is he?¡± Jess asks as she keeps her eyes up. ¡°Bad,¡± I say, not caring to spare feelings. ¡°He needs to get out of here.¡± ¡°What about Dovik?¡± Jess slides sideways, cutting a lunging wolf out of the air as it appears, scattering it into more mist. There is another echoing sound from up the slope, the clash of metal and the howl of a creature. I push out my aura and the incredible pressure all around us almost makes me regret it. It feels as if my very bones have been chilled. It is no surprise to discover that this fog is in actuality Ghostfire¡¯s aura as it tries to clash with my own. Our two presences come into alignment overlapping in a sphere that overtakes a large part of the hollow. Then I feel him, Dovik, fighting at the top of the slope. He notices me, and for an instant, there is resistance as my aura swells to encapsulate him. He stops fighting me. My image of him spinning at the head of the slope becomes clear. ¡°He is fighting like we are,¡± I say. ¡°The fog is Ghostflame¡¯s soul presence, we need to get out of it.¡± ¡°So, we leave him behind?¡± Jess asks, her weapon spinning. ¡°Dovik!¡± I yell. I feel him turn his head in our direction from inside my presence. ¡°Come this way, we are retreating!¡± A moment passes when the sounds of battle off in the fog vanish. Jess turns toward the sound of scattering leaves, straining her eyes to see through the earthly cloud. Dovik is almost upon us as he appears out of the fog, almost so close that Jess takes a swing at him. The man takes one look at Jor¡¯Mari and nods. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to attack this thing,¡± Dovik says. ¡°I know. We make a plan and come back later.¡± Dovik gestures in a direction, but inside the fog, one way is very much like another. With my help, Jor¡¯Mari is able to limp as Dovik and Jess take positions on either side of us, their weapons up to guard. I check Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s wound again as we move; it isn¡¯t healing. My eyes are barely worth using. The fog is so thick now that I can¡¯t make out Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s expression as he leans on me for support. Dovik and Jess are just vague shapes in the white; the shuffling of leaves and the heaving of our breath is the only sound. Waves pulse through my soul presence, and my mind accelerates, trying to keep up with all of the sensations. Any regard for reigning in on the aura is abandoned as I strain it to the limits. My team are small pips inside the mist, as real to me as if I were able to see them with my own eyes as if I were touching each of them with a hand. Ghostflame, however, is nowhere to be seen. I should have some notion of him, some sensation that my soul is affecting him as his continues to chill and blind me, but there is nothing. Our two auras come to perfectly overlap one another, forming a huge hemisphere, but I sense nothing of the creature inside. Mt foot collides with something solid, ungiving, and I stop dead. I reach out with my staff, finding once again something preventing any movement forward, and it starts to dawn on me. It isn¡¯t that my aura coincidentally overlaps with Ghostflame¡¯s, it is that the beast has trapped us within a dome made of his soul presence. My staff clinks again against the barrier ahead of me, a sheet of white that bends and soars overhead to form the walls of the trap. ¡°We can¡¯t leave,¡± I say. ¡°What is it?¡± Dovik, just off to my side but impossible to see. ¡°It has made a wall in front of us.¡± A hiss comes out of the fog a moment later. ¡°Ah. Don¡¯t touch it.¡± ¡°What is it?!¡± Jess asks. Without my soul presence I wouldn¡¯t even be able to guess at where she is. There is panic in her voice. ¡°It''s freezing,¡± Dovik says. ¡°It will take the skin off of you.¡± ¡°Put me down here.¡± Jor¡¯Mari pulls away from me, falling to the leaves. His breathing is unabalanced coming in shallow gasps. Mana continues to pool into my weapon as I wave it out at the fog, still searching for the beast. With the first magical wolf I fought, I was able to tell where it was inside my aura at all times. This shouldn¡¯t be any different. If Ghostflame has trapped us inside this mist with it, then I should know where it is. It isn¡¯t as if the beast could have left the field of its own aura.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. As the thought forms in my mind, my soul presence flexes, detecting the shallow streak through the barrier of the aura. I spin, weapon coming up, but even with all my speed, I am too slow. The wall of the barrier is already rippling, the snarling head of Ghostflame coming out of the wall as if breaking the surface of the water. Its jaw opens wide as it plunges toward me, and I know I can¡¯t bring my staff up in time. Black sand snaps out of my vault around me, but instead of condensing into a shield of sand between me and the open maw, the sand scatters into grains that puff into the air. A shadow passes over me as Ghostflame¡¯s jaw stretches around me. I¡¯m going to die. A sound like a thunderclap explodes through the air, pushing back the fog around us for a good ten feet as Jor¡¯Mari plants his fist in the side of Ghostflame¡¯e head. The wolf¡¯s head jerks up, teeth snapping shut like a trap just above my head. Jor¡¯Mari is falling to the ground, eyes tilting back, his leading hand turned suddenly black and cracked as he collapses unconscious to the ground. Time seems to slow as Ghostflame is dragged further out of the wall of white by the blow, its whole body dragged upward by the force of Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s punch. The moment is so serene, the two brutes falling away from the point of impact, that it seems almost a shame to break it. The head of my staff comes up, a swirling mass of orange at the end. I release the stored mana and my vision is seared by the flash of light. A beam of flame punches straight through Ghostflame¡¯s chest, exploding against the white wall of the dome and rendering it in a wash of flamework that climbs high into the sky overhead. The beast howls as it falls to the leaves once more, the hole through its chest trailing a line of smoke behind it. Dovik is there in a flash, swords descending, but the moment of vulnerability has passed. Ghostflame whips its head around, catching one of Dovik¡¯s swords on its horn as his other cuts a shallow gash in the wolf¡¯s shoulder. Instead of rising, Ghostlfame rolls back, the wall of the dome absorbing him as easily as water does a fish. Jess¡¯ blow lands against the wall a second later, but it has become as hard as stone once more. ¡°It is climbing the edge of its soul presence,¡± I say, trying to drag Jor¡¯Mari away from the wall. Already, the fog is trying to press back in on us once again. ¡°Maybe it is in a pocket of its soul presence or it is running along the outside of it; I don¡¯t know. It has to be in contact with its soul, but it is outside while trapping us inside. It might not come back in and just let the mist pick us off.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t let that happen,¡± Dovik says. Jess is there at my side, helping me drag Jor¡¯Mari back away from the wall. We stop after only fifteen or so feet, the fog already pressing back in on us. A wolf head appears out of the fog, leaping for Jess¡¯ back only to be cut into churning mist by the swing of Dovik¡¯s blade. ¡°Stay near me,¡± he says. Dovik¡¯s aura rushes over us as we huddle together, enveloping each of us in the wash of its cool color. I feel for a moment his senses almost overlap with my own, but I push that distraction to the side. I need to find a way out of this. Two wolf heads appear out of the fog, snapping at us. Dovik puts his blade through the head of one while Jess beheads another. ¡°I need my blades, Charlene.¡± Again, my attention reaches out toward my vault, and a lacquered wooden case falls to the ground near me. I snap open the brass buckles, revealing the six sword blades that Jess purchased back in Grim for me to hold onto for her. ¡°I have them.¡± Jess springs back, dodging the lung of a fog wolf and landing next to me. She never takes her eyes from the appearing faces in the mist as her steely aura washes over me and the case. One by one, the undecorated blades float up out of the case, forming a ring around her. Two more wolf heads lurch out of the fog toward her while Dovik is busy with another, but this time Jess doesn¡¯t move as two of the blades lash out in unison, spearing through the heads of the phantom wolves as she turns and cuts apart another I hadn¡¯t seen with her chakram. She becomes a stationary stand of spinning blades while Dovik begins to vanish and reappear all around us. His movements grow smoother, like that of a dancer, his motions never ceasing, one strike becoming two or three as he vanishes and reappears inside his aura seemingly at a whim. Entire packs of wolf heads snap out of the pressing mist, a small clear circle forming around us from the constant fighting of the two swordsmen standing over Jor¡¯Mari and me. I snap out bolts of fire at the phantom wolves as they press in, but my attacks sail through them just as ineffectually as the swords, scattering them, but bringing us no closer to victory. My hand runs over the case, finding a trail of black sand scattered on its cover. Why hadn¡¯t that worked? For the last few weeks I have been able to manipulate the sand however I want, but now I can¡¯t even bring the few grains to floating. Has my power abandoned me? I look over Jor¡¯Mari. His breathing is so shallow that I wouldn¡¯t even know he was alive if he weren¡¯t lying inside my soul. He doesn¡¯t have much time. Gritting my teeth, I force myself to think. No, of course, my power hasn¡¯t abandoned me, I am still able to call fire to myself. Even earlier today I was able to use the black sand; I used it to kill Satrix. Later, it had scattered to dust when I tried to attack the brown wolf with it. The sand had collided with To¡¯Terradon¡¯s aura like a solid wall and scattered; I hadn¡¯t been able to call it back until the beast was dead. It behaved the same way that it is now, becoming useless as it met with another¡¯s soul presence. What had been the difference between that and now? Then, it comes to me in a flash. When I fought with Satrix, I changed my aura, pushing my fire affix into my soul presence and discovering that it lessened the burning pain from Satrix¡¯s aura. What if that had done something more? Satrix¡¯s soul presence had been one of fire, and that had resonated with my own fire infused soul presnece. Performing the same trick again will be impossible. My infant magical sense tells me that this fog-like aura permeating everything has a hint of cold in its makeup, but it is something more like the cold affix is only a part of it. The leaping heads out of the mist come in fives and sixes now, Dovik and Jess pushed into wild and dangerous strikes to keep pace with them. The phantom wolves come faster and faster as the fog presses in. A vain thread of hope wavers in front of me, and I grab ahold of it. The affixes inside soul presence seem to react with one another. I might not have whatever affix permeates this soul presence, but perhaps there is something I can still do. ¡°Galea,¡± I call out in my mind, and the fey spirit appears in front of me. ¡°Reference the affix index. Show me every interaction between my own affixes and the affixes of mist, fog, and cloud.¡± Windows appear in the air in front of me, hundreds of pages of text rendered into simple descriptions of interactions. There isn¡¯t everything, some of the interactions so esoteric that they would likely only be in the most advanced of enchantment guides, but something does catch my eye. I just have to see if it will even be possible. My soul presence shrinks, rushing back toward me in the space of a heartbeat, pressing in on me as tightly as I can make it as I speed to push magic into it. The swirl of gold and red becomes a dark red as I add the fire affix to my soul and the leaves brushing against my feet begin to char. Pain stabs into my head as hot and persistent as a fire poker as I push the cold affix into the aura. My vision blurs, all sight in my right eye vanishing as I choke down a scream. The color ringing around me becomes a swirl of red and blue, each fighting and clashing with one another in a destructive churn that tries to cut me apart from the inside. I already knew the two would interact destructively, all my texts on affix interactions say so. More, even attempting to push two affixes into the most physical representation of my soul is beyond someone as inexperienced as I am with soul presences. To succeed, I will need to add a third. Even attempting would be madness. The pressure weighing down on me and the pain slicing through me tell me that mixing three is impossible. I force my mind into quiet, exhaling a slow breath through clenched teeth as I push back against the pain. It might be impossible for someone else, but I have the Emperor Conflux, and in this area, I am made without such limitations. The wave of color explodes out from me as I pour the sky affix into the unstable mixture. My soul pressure explodes off of me as I scream out the pain, rocketing through the entirety of the dome Ghostfire has trapped us inside of, sizzling as it touches and mixes with what I now know to be the Mist Affix. A shudder passes through the air as the barrier around us cracks and shatters in an instant, my uncaged soul presence breaking through the confines and pressing out to encompass more than half of the hollow. Mana formed into white and red arcs of lightning rise through the air as my and Ghostflame¡¯s auras sap the magic from each other, pushing terrifying thunderheads of power to condense over our heads, bolts of chaotic mana striking out at random and scoring burning lines in the earth and trees. I spin the head of my staff, my senses pulling my attention out toward the left. The fog is gone now, risen into the expanding storm overhead, and standing clear as day in the fallen leaves is Ghostflame, its attention drawn up to the clouds overhead. I give the beast no time to recover. A line of burning orange appears in the air between my weapon and the beast as the dragonfire races out far faster than my eye can track. It explodes over Ghostflame, setting the forest aflame for a good fifty feet behind the great wolf. The plume of flame does not even last a second, the churning orange pulled away and sucked into the glowing horn on top of Ghostflame¡¯s head. The beast stands regal, its white fur charred and burned, power welling in the horn it thrusts skyward. Such a beautiful creature. A spear of the deepest black stabs up out of the mixed leaves beneath the wolf, impaling it through the chest. More come, growing lengths of black sand snaking through the underbrush, stabbing from the ground like stalagmites to push through the magical beast. I do not stop, pouring all of my sand from the vault out, forming spears and pushing them through the body of my enemy. I am still attempting to create more spears when I realize that I am out of sand. I am out of everything. Ghostflame¡¯s body is held off the ground by the spears impaling him, red blood running in small trails down the lengths of the spears. Life still stirs in its pale eyes as its head leans forward, its horn falling to point toward me, toward Jor¡¯Mari. Dovik and Jess pant to either side of me, neither of them realizing yet where the monster is. Again, I see something in that pale eye. Ghostflame, power burning at the end of its horn, stares into my eyes, and I feel my heart ache at its focus. It doesn¡¯t fire. Ghostflame lets out a long wheeze, its head drifting down, the light of magic dying around it. The beast dies, choosing not to take me and Jor¡¯Mari with it. You have defeated Tar¡¯Alu¡¯Alukeen, Ghostfire(Rank Two) THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! Chapter 118 - Rewards Doom always comes. Always. -"The Voice of Exeter" ¡°Jor!¡± I look down at the man, feeling his face. His skin is pale¨Cwell, paler than usual¨Cand clammy sweat sticks out on his skin. Dovik falls to his knees next to me, wobbling hands bracing him against the ground as he takes huge gulping breaths. To my other side, Jess falls back into the leaves, face turned up toward the sky as she tries to conquer her breath. Around her, the blades fall limply to the ground, splashing into the leaves or stabbing into the soft earth. ¡°You¡­got it¡­¡± Dovik struggles to say, staring toward the body of Ghostflame, still suspended from six spears thrusting out of the ground. He shakes his head, sweat dripping from the loose strands of his hair. ¡°I knew we¡­we needed you on this team.¡± ¡°How is he?¡± Jess asks, her eyes still closed and her face turned up. ¡°He isn¡¯t moving,¡± I say. ¡°He isn¡¯t moving at all.¡± Dovik drops one of his swords, leaning over and placing two fingers at Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s neck. ¡°He is breathing, and his heart is still thumping away. He will recover.¡± ¡°How can you know that?¡± It is only when Dovik¡¯s eyes widen at my words that I hear the venom in them. ¡°Sorry.¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he says, sitting back in the mulch. ¡°He told me about his healing ability. Our boy Jor¡¯Mari is apparently an alpha magician, just about unkillable. He will get over this.¡± ¡°We should have recruited a healer,¡± Jess says, finally wrestling her breath into order. ¡°You aren¡¯t supposed to have a full team until you have a healer.¡± ¡°Half our team heals themselves,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Besides, I didn¡¯t want to risk diluting our combat strength and having our grade lowered. It was very difficult to secure a silver grade with an unproven team of new rank twos.¡± He puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it tight. ¡°He will get better. Have some faith in him.¡± So, we wait. I pull back my aura, cutting off the fuel of my mana to the churning thunderclouds overhead. A few more bolts of magical lightning arc down from the infant storm, striking chaotically in the detritus, but none come close to hitting us. I can¡¯t pull my eyes away from Jor¡¯Mari, watching him struggle to breathe. Dovik is right. Just as I begin to fear he might die right here and now, his breaths coming in hitched swallows, Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s skin flashes with darkness so total that I lose the shape of him. The shadow envelopes him for but a moment before it runs off of his skin like liquid, evaporating into smoke even as it pools to the forest floor below him to stain the colorful leaves. As the darkness leaves him, I see bare skin through the bloody hole in his chest, and any trace of a wound has vanished. ¡°See,¡± Dovik says, evident excitement in his voice. He wasn¡¯t sure it would work either. ¡°See, he will be fine.¡± Dovik taps Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s cheek a few times, but the man shows no sign of waking. ¡°We can let him sleep.¡± ¡°Right. Now, would you be so kind as to go and get my ship?¡± ¡°Me?¡± He has the gall to look offended. ¡°You crashed it,¡± I say. ¡°I passed it by on the way over here to save you from these magical beasts.¡± ¡°Firstly, thank you for saving us. I didn¡¯t know what we could have done to get out of that fog, and frankly, I don¡¯t know what you did to do it. Secondly, I resent that you say we crashed the ship. Jess, did we crash the ship?¡± ¡°The ship certainly did crash,¡± she says. ¡°I don¡¯t remember anyone controlling it at the time.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right, we were fighting a flying wolf at the time,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Dovik Willian, are you seriously going to look me in the eye and tell me that you have never piloted that ship before? You want me to believe that you never took your grandfather¡¯s golden flying ship out and that as you were approaching the trees you couldn¡¯t have made it land safely?¡± I ask. ¡°I don¡¯t know where you would get such an idea,¡± he scoffs. ¡°The ship keeps an internal log.¡± He stares at me for a long moment before planting his feet beneath himself and groaning as he makes his way to standing. ¡°Key?¡± I throw him the key to the ship. He spins it in his hand before setting off at a jog back the way we came. Checking Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s pulse again, I find it relaxed, his breathing smooth and regular. Tension falls out of me, a tension that I didn¡¯t even realize I was holding onto as I rock back onto my heels. ¡°We did it,¡± I say. ¡°We did,¡± Jess agrees. She peeks at me, a slight smile on her lips. ¡°You really did save us there.¡± ¡°I figured out how to get out of that trap,¡± I agree. ¡°But I never would have had the chance if you hadn¡¯t saved me on the ship. I never saw that attack coming. It could have killed me.¡± ¡°A team is there to watch each other¡¯s backs,¡± she says. ¡°You should give yourself some real credit. You are a dangerous woman, especially with that.¡± She nods to the body of Ghostflame. A pang of sympathy jolts through my heart at seeing the beautiful creature mutilated and suspended there. ¡°It is a powerful tool,¡± I say. I hold my arm toward the body, and my aura, back to its regular crimson and gold, pushes out like a second hand, stretching the distance to Ghostflame and enveloping the body. The spears of black sand melt away, becoming a bed that cradles the body as it floats back toward where we sit. ¡°I am still learning the limitations.¡± Jess watches the crawl of the sand over to us. It flows away into spheres in the air orbiting high above, leaving the body of Ghostflame in the leaves. ¡°That was an incredible creature,¡± she says. She makes a sign with her hands, muttering words in a language I don¡¯t understand as she bows to the body. ¡°These are the parts of being an adventurer that I don¡¯t like.¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°Have you needed to kill a magical beast before?¡± I ask. She nods. ¡°Once before. I joined my aunt on a hunt that ranged out into the wilds. Out there, a lion beast that had lived peacefully with the inhabitants of a river for centuries began to prey upon the locals suddenly. That creature was such a specimen to behold, a true marvel of the natural world, but it had to be slain.¡± ¡°Why would it do that suddenly?¡± I ask, still looking at the body of Ghostflame. I remember the sadness in his eyes, the clear intelligence. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she says. ¡°They are like people. Sometimes, having too much power reveals the dark parts of a person. I can only assume that it is more common to happen to magical beasts.¡± ¡°And when that happens to a person?¡± ¡°Adventurers put down monsters, Charlene.¡± There is a reverence for the slain beast in her tone, but also a steel that I hadn¡¯t expected. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what they started out as.¡± ¡°Right.¡± She sighs, turning her face toward the treetop once again. ¡°I should probably go and help Dovik with the ship.¡± ¡°That would be useful,¡± I say. ¡°I think that I need to scrounge up what I can from the fighting. There is more than one discarded weapon that needs to be found.¡± ¡°I should go help him,¡± she says again, tilting her head. ¡°But I hear a song that I¡¯ve never heard before.¡± ¡°One of¡­those songs?¡± She nods, pointing toward the biggest tree in the copse that I can barely make out up the leafy slope. ¡°I need to go that way,¡± she says. ¡°I can¡¯t let the tone go.¡± Jess explained it to me once before, how lizardkin gain or strengthen their natural affixes in the second rank. Humans do so by consuming food laden with mana, Celenials do it by novelty¨CI still do not understand how that works¨Cand lizardkin do so by finding the natural tones of magic. Somehow, they can hear the magic they are attuned to, catching its tones out in the open wild. I have no idea how they turn this ¡°music¡± into the strengthening of their affixes, but then again, I don¡¯t know how I do it either. ¡°You should go then.¡± I push myself to my feet. The fatigue is mostly mental, a thudding headache that slaps my brain around inside my skull like it was a disobedient child, but I can push that down. ¡°I will take care of what I can here. You should look out for yourself.¡± ¡°And if there is another one of these wolves waiting for us to let our guard down?¡± Jess asks. ¡°Should I leave you alone here to watch over Jor¡¯Mari?¡± I open my mouth, but my words fail me. I hadn¡¯t even considered that, but nothing is stopping us from encountering more magically potent wolves. ¡°Good point.¡± Jess pulls herself to her feet, sliding the blades back into their lacquered case with ease. She gestures to Ghostflame. ¡°Go ahead and break that one down. We will search for what we lost after we get the ship righted and put Jor inside. He will be safe in there if we keep the dome up. Then, I will follow the rhythm back to the font of magic.¡± ¡°You won¡¯t lose it if you don¡¯t go now?¡± I ask. She shakes her head. ¡°It isn¡¯t going anywhere.¡± ¡°As long as you are sure.¡± I look over the body of Ghostflame. ¡°You might not want to watch this.¡± I raise my hand, and the black sand flows up into the air, becoming a blade positioned over the corpse. ¡°Can¡¯t your ability just break it down,¡± she asks, cringing. I can¡¯t remember her looking squeamish before, not that I can blame her. ¡°It can,¡± I say. ¡°But I am not willing to lose that horn.¡± With a gesture, the blade of dark sand descends. The night is a cool time inside the ship. Once we had our pay from the baron and demonstrated proof that we killed Ghostflame, he was happy to let us on our way. A somber celebration of our first official mission as a team was had, which mostly consisted of Dovik trying to provoke games out of our melancholy as we drank around the table on the ship. He succeeded, mostly. The mood seemed to improve as soon as I left to sit on the throne in the center of the ship, tracking our route back to Gale, contemplating the day. I listened for a while to the sound of them playing that card game once again, and couldn¡¯t help but smile at the noise. As soon as the sun started to fall in the sky, they wasted no time in retreating to the cots set to the side of the ship. Jor¡¯Mari snores loudly, having drunk the most of all it isn¡¯t all that surprising. There was something frantic in him since he woke up in the ship on our way back to see the baron, a slight panic that he tried to push down. I can understand that feeling; I¡¯ve felt it too, that dangerous glee that creeps up on you after you survive something you didn¡¯t think you should be able to. I spin Ghostflame¡¯s horn in my hand, looking through the clear dome of the ship out at the slowly drifting stars. With no moon out tonight, the scene outside the ship is almost as black as the ocean, and if I don¡¯t squint too hard I can almost believe that it is. Ghostflame¡¯s horn rests heavy in my hand, the proof we brought back to show the baron. Glancing up, my status window paints cool letters on the sky. Charlene Devardem Human(Level 51) Emperor Conflux Attributes Vitality: 99(111) Strength: 88(100) Magic: 793(1040) Defense: 113(123) Magic Defense: 92 Speed: 433(493) Recovery: 703(858) Perception: 87 Free Points: 180 Healing Points: 1110 Mana: 10395 Stamina: 4210 Presence: Emperror¡¯s Presence(far) To be honest, the numbers boggle my mind. In just a day, I have seen more improvement in my attributes than I have over the entirety of my career, and the number of free points available to me is, frankly, ridiculous. Again, the artifact that Arabella gave to me proves its value. I never would have made it this far without it. ¡°Bring speed to six hundred, and then put the remainder into recovery,¡± I tell Galea. There is a wash of power that runs through me, followed by a muted light that shines from my skin. A moment later, Galea appears in the air at my side, holding a new window open for me to see. ¡°You have surpassed the second threshold for speed mistress,¡± Galea tells me in a cheery voice. Speed(2nd Threshold): Surpassing the second threshold for speed has further enhanced your reactions to the world around you. You will notice that in times of great stress, the world will seem to slow around you, and with practice, this skill can be mastered. Additionally, the vitality-sapping fatigue of the battle fever lessens on you. ¡°That is quite something,¡± I say, still spinning the horn in my hand. ¡°With that, I have broken three attributes past the second threshold. That shouldn¡¯t be something I am capable of until the end of the second rank.¡± ¡°You are quite the exceptional magician,¡± Galea says, preening. ¡°You have me to assist you after all.¡± ¡°I have been lucky,¡± I say. ¡°Mistress Charlene does not give herself enough credit,¡± Galea says. ¡°Your accomplishments speak for themselves.¡± ¡°Accomplishments I earned with assistance.¡± ¡°All receive assistance,¡± she says. ¡°But not all accomplish great things.¡± I sigh, setting my head back against the back of the throne. ¡°I am not so sure I have accomplished anything great.¡± I hold the horn up for her to inspect. ¡°So, you are certain that you need this?¡± ¡°The mirage mana contained inside could be a vital component in increasing my potency as a fey spirit, and that potency will then be passed on to you, mistress.¡± Her greedy little claws reach out but are unable to touch the horn. My eyes linger on the horn, my own greed telling me to snatch it away for myself. There is no doubt in my mind that there is enough magic inside the horn to grant me a new affix. The enchantment patterns that I have been working with could also make use of mirage-affixed mana. It seems that much of my life going forward will be about deciding how to split the mana I come across. ¡°And if I give this to you, you will become strong enough to work more on the crown?¡± I ask. ¡°I believe so.¡± She nods. I run a finger over the hard metal of the circlet on my head, by far the most powerful item I have in my possession. What more might it have to offer me? ¡°Very well. Tell me what I need to do with the horn.¡± For the remainder of the night, I follow Galea¡¯s instructions as she walks me through the process of strengthening the Eye of Volaash with the mana of the horn. We talk with one another until the sun begins to lighten on the horizon, and for a time, I forget the melancholy that has come over me. That night, we pass into Gale. I have come home. Chapter 119 - A Talk in the Stable ¡°No, no,¡± Faberious, a young elven nobleman with flaxen waves of gold for hair. He spun, an easy smile on his lips, waving back at the three men attempting to stand at the front of the gate. The baron¡¯s sons were especially free with their drink, and Faberious had a way of spurring men to fun and sin. ¡°If I stay any longer, my woman will be more cross than you can imagine.¡± ¡°Come now, Fab.¡± The baron¡¯s middle son, Caladari, called leaning on his steward for support, a half-drunk wine bottle dangling in his hand. ¡°We can find you a dozen women here. One for you and your strange little lad too.¡± Ferro¡¯s eyes roam over the lord. He grants the man a bit of attention, but despite the initial novelty of being in the same room with real nobility, the impressiveness of the young men has vanished. They were much the same as the young men he had known: loud, boastful, judging, quick to drink, and only ever thinking about themselves. They were rather handsome, and elven, which did make them better than the others, but not by much in his estimation. ¡°This lad needs no women,¡± Faberious says, smacking a hand down on Ferro¡¯s shoulder. ¡°As for me, you would not be able to find a woman in your barony as worthy as mine back home.¡± ¡°Must be something,¡± Graeder, the baron¡¯s eldest, grunts. ¡°You¡¯ll need to have us over some time so we might judge with our own eyes.¡± ¡°You are always welcome,¡± Faberious says, delighting in another laugh. ¡°After you have sobered up and had a shower of course.¡± ¡°Fuck off!¡± Caladari calls down before dissembling into more laughter. Taking the cue, Faberious turns and strides down the bricked road in front of the baron¡¯s impressive home, turning Ferro along with him as he begins to walk. The guards at the gate pay them little mind, despite the late hour of night, and they find themselves out into the town in short order. The further they descend away from the keep at the top of the rise, the more Faberious¡¯ smile seems to falter, becoming a scowl as they set sight on the inn. Ferro watches the man as they walk. He also watches the streets, but the people have locked themselves up tight for the night. By the time they reach the front door, Faberious¡¯ back is hunched, and a low growl rumbles deep in his throat. ¡°Fucking elves,¡± he growls as they make it past the door, slamming the heavy wood closed once more. Faberious reaches to his face, tearing the skin and hair away with frenzied fingers, tossing the gore to the floor just inside the entrance. A moment later, Morello, stands on the mat, blood streaking his weathered face, and a bit of fine elven skin sticking in his beard. Ferro watches as the man¡¯s features beneath his clothes ripple and change, growing bulkier, losing the fluid grace that seems innate to the fairer race. He knows Ferro doesn¡¯t need to rip his face off to change shape, but given the man¡¯s easy anger, the thought of bringing it up never occurs. ¡°The wine was nice,¡± Ferro says, though, to his surprise, that only makes Morello seem angrier. The big man turns his seething gaze on Ferro, looking for all the world like he might beat him into the ground again, but a whistle from further into the room stops him dead. ¡°That¡¯s enough of that,¡± Sigrid calls, lowering two fingers from her lips. ¡°I¡¯ll have my questions answered before you two lose yourself to grabassing.¡± Sigrid sits back in her chair, legs kicked up on the table in front of her. Only six sit or stand in the room, only six left in the whole building. Ferro¡¯s eye flicks over, taking in a red stain left on the bar, slowly setting into the wood. It smelled divine, but he had felt no particular draw to it just then. ¡°They think some fuckin¡¯ wolf did it,¡± Morello says, marching across the floor toward Sigrid. As the man stalks closer, Lumina, the newest member of the coven, wriggles in her chair and scoots back from him an inch. The girl always kept a tan robe pulled tight about her, a dark hood drawn and pulled tight to hide her face. Ferro had never even seen her face before, didn¡¯t know if the change had made a monster out of her features as it did most of the others. The one thing he did know was that she has the prettiest hands, fair almost ghostly skin so pale the blue lines of her veins peeked out on the backs. Her hands are on the wrong sides, thumbs sticking out rather than in when she puts them flat on the table, but so long as her face is pretty, Ferro thought that he could like her. He hates the hideous, and remembering that draws his eye over to Caberlin. The cretin sits in his seat at the largest table in the room, pulled up close to a sheeted window that he peeks out from on occasion. He might have been a looker once, big broad shoulders, easy smile, but the left half of him had all but melted away in the change. The left half of his face droops in such a fetid glob that it is hard to tell where his nostril ends and his mouth begins, and his left arm is more a mallet of massed flesh than anything resembling a proper appendage. Ferro keeps his face placid as he looks at the ugliness of Caberlin, not that it is difficult to do. He finds that he has to try to make his face do anything else, and doesn¡¯t rightfully know why everyone else changes their expressions so freely all the time. It seemed exhausting. To Caberlin¡¯s left, a woman no older than nineteen stands in a fine lace dress that barely leaves anything to the imagination. Tear lines streak her face and her hands shake on the clay pitcher she holds. Ferro watches on as the biceps in her arms spasm. How many hours has Caberlin kept her standing here to wait on him? She jumps when Caberlin slaps a hand down on the table in front of him before she rushes forward to fill his crystal glass with more crimson fluid. The tendons on the back of the woman¡¯s hands told that her hands wanted to shudder as she poured, but the fear in her eyes kept the pour steady. Was the woman the daughter of the innkeeper here or the burger in the last town? Ferro couldn¡¯t remember at the moment. The long frayed rope tied with slack around her neck was old, Caberlin brought it around with him to each new town. Old rope, new girl. ¡°You staring at something, freak?¡± Caberlin sneers when he catches Ferro looking. Ferro squints back at the man and remembers that his mind has wandered off-topic. He turns his attention back to Morello and Sigrid, poor Lumina caught between the two, though neither of them seem to notice her. ¡°Weren¡¯t that hard to send ¡®em on that way,¡± Morello says. ¡°Were already half convinced that it was the wolf to begin with.¡± ¡°Not that we should need the distraction.¡± Sigrid thumps her boot on the table, drawing everyone¡¯s attention to herself as she cast a glare over to Caberlin. The man sneers, turning back to the window. ¡°My boy Ferro, did you ferret out what I asked?¡± ¡°Has to be on the third floor, in the baron¡¯s office. A lot of steel there, box-shaped.¡± ¡°That sounds like a safe to me,¡± she says, smiling with her pretty white teeth at him. ¡°Lumina, sneak into the place in a few hours and take it. I am tired of trekking this country like a gods damned peasant. We¡¯ll be taking some horses on our way out of town as well. Big ones.¡± Ferro feels a twinge, a bit of happiness trying to compel him to smile. He considers doing so for a moment; it was rather pleasing to actually locate the thing Sigrid asked him to. In the end, the effort seemed too much, so he merely grunts and nods. Sigrid reaches into the bag laying open at her side and pulls free a jar of sturdy glass, filled to the brim with the most enchanting swirl of crimson Ferro has ever seen. ¡°A full jar for you today,¡± she says, smacking it on the table next to her. ¡°I know how it exhausts you to deal with people all day, and I had you do it for three. You are a good lad, Ferro. A good one.¡± The scent pooling on the sealed jar draws him to the seat before he even realizes his feet are moving. His butt smacks into the chair, eyes locked on the jar. He hesitates, seeing a paper pinned beneath the jar. Ferro looks up to Sigrid, and she nods back to him. Slipping the note away, he unscrews the cap and takes a long pull on the liquid ecstasy inside, shuddering as it slides down and coats the inside of his throat. It takes all the effort in the world to return the lid to the jar, but he does. The best gifts are savored, and he plans to savor this one for a long while. Sigrid rocks from her chair like a dancer, springing to the balls of her feet and coming around the table to stand near Morello. ¡°You won¡¯t be missed tonight, will you?¡± ¡°We made a show of leaving,¡± Morello says. ¡°Throw on some cloaks and no one will miss us making our way out of town. There won¡¯t be questions.¡± ¡°Good,¡± she purrs, moving in close to whisper in his ear. ¡°You met the baron¡¯s wife, yes?¡± ¡°I did,¡± he whispers back. Ferro wasn¡¯t certain who they were whispering for. He was pretty sure that everyone other than the shaking girl with the jug could hear them plain as day. ¡°Good,¡± Sigrid says back, right into Morello¡¯s ear. ¡°You will be her for me tonight. I want to taste some of that myself, see what the nobles keep locked away for themselves.¡± At the wall, Caberlin lets loose a laugh. Morello is on him in an instant. The shaking girl falls onto a table five feet away as she is slapped aside by Morello¡¯s charge, the jug she clings to spilling red fluid all over her pretty dress and the floor around her. She holds her breath, looking up with wide eyes at Caberlin kicking against the wall. Morello holds him there, feet scrambling for purchase. The entirety of Morello¡¯s right arm has become a mass of muscle and sinew, like the arm of a giant reaching out and grabbing Caberlin¡¯s head like a child might hold a bug. Hollow bones press through the skin of the massive arm, dangerous and jagged things thick enough around to impale as well as any spear. There was a whine in the air, the sound of Caberlin¡¯s skull singing as it was slowly squeezed in Morello¡¯s giant hand. ¡°Let him go.¡± Sigrid¡¯s voice is calm, controlled, but imploring. ¡°There is no killing for you today, love.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Morello drops him, letting Sigrid pull him back a step. Caberlin crashed into the table, falling to the ground and shaking there. As Sigrid leads Morello back toward the stairs, his enlarged arm begins to shrink, slowly becoming that of an average man¡¯s once again. ¡°Get those jobs done,¡± Sigrid calls down as she climbs the steps. ¡°We leave with the sun. Caberlin, you can handle cleaning up the horses.¡± With that, the two disappear upstairs. Ferro takes his time, looking over Caberlin as he sits up against the wall, a cut on the side of his head slowly weeping red. ¡°What!¡± Caberlin snaps at him. ¡°You got something to say, ghost?¡± ¡°Nothing much to say,¡± Ferro says, turning away from him. Across the table, Lumina hunches lower in her chair, hood pulled down. Caberlin levers himself up from the floor, the effort of it taxing him. ¡°Come, dog!¡± Ferro listened, hearing the woman jerked violently to her feet by the rope tied around her neck. The stomp-slide of Caberlin¡¯s gait came next as he limped over, and then Ferro felt the man¡¯s hot breath on his neck, hotter than any person¡¯s breath ought to be. ¡°You are just the newest pup, Ferro. Already she grows bored with you. Give it a month and you will just be Freaky Ferro, tossed aside for the new project that she finds. I¡¯ll have you then. Maybe I¡¯ll need to make a new collar for you, put freak in big letters on it, not that you could read it.¡± ¡°I can read it actually,¡± Ferro says, turning his pale eyes up at the man. ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me, freak. You don¡¯t have letters.¡± ¡°Maybe,¡± Ferro admits. ¡°But the candle maker in that last town did. Took his letters from him, and now I got ¡®em.¡± Caberlin squints, trying to puzzle out if there was any truth to that. It wasn¡¯t impossible, they both knew that. Often they picked up impressions or feelings, and Sigrid had found a new knack for the flute after one night of purging emotions. Taking the entire skill of reading, however, that would be quite the claim. ¡°You¡¯re still weak,¡± Caberlin says. He spits a glob of mucus onto the table. ¡°You will saddle some horses for me, dog.¡± He jerks the rope again, dragging the woman after him as he limps from the room, heading to the stable attached to the inn. The slamming of a door signals their exit. Ferro rocks the jar in front of him. His hand presses against the cool metal of the lid, and he only realizes then that he has been shielding it from Caberlin. The fear he feels is more than a twinge of emotion, something real, the thought that Caberlin might have tried to snatch the jar from him, or worse, break it. ¡°I don¡¯t like him,¡± Lumina says. Ferro looks up, trying to look into the woman¡¯s shadowy hood, but finding the darkness there impenetrable. ¡°No one likes him,¡± Ferro says. ¡°Maybe they did once, but no one now.¡± ¡°No.¡± Lumina shakes her head, a soft rustle coming from her hood. She falls into silence, and Ferro thinks for a moment that she might find the same exhaustion with her words that he does with his expressions. Exeter, he wants to see her face so badly. The jar rasps against the tabletop as he pushes it across to her. ¡°Take a sip,¡± he says. ¡°You don¡¯t have to offer me that,¡± Lumina says. ¡°Don¡¯t have to. Choose to though.¡± Lumina reaches out, a pale hand slipping from the sleeve of her tan robe. Ferro cannot help but follow the line of her wrong-sided thumb as she grasps the lid of the jar, unscrewing it slowly. She turns away from him to sip. She must be ugly, he thinks. But then he reckons that he hasn¡¯t seen her face, so he can go on pretending it is like the face he pictures in his mind. A shy and pretty face, like the sister¡¯s back home had been. Maybe she would give him a lock of hair if he asked for it. ¡°Thank you,¡± Lumina says, sliding the jar back. ¡°Sigrid has a job for you.¡± Ferro checks the lid, making sure that it is screwed on tight. ¡°Will you be alright with it?¡± ¡°I wish Iz was here.¡± He nods. Ferro didn¡¯t much like how the coven had been split, going different ways as they all trekked back into the properly populated lands. That was Sigrid¡¯s plan though, so he didn¡¯t voice much complaint. Iz was a good woman, he figured, as good as any of them were. ¡°She¡¯ll be back soon,¡± he says. ¡°Really?¡± Ferro pauses a moment. The rhythmic clink of his nails on the jar lid pop in the air for a moment as he considers. ¡°Don¡¯t know, rightly. Just wanted to say something nice.¡± ¡°I think you are nice,¡± Lumina says. ¡°Nicer than most. You aren¡¯t a freak, Ferro. Don¡¯t let Caberlin get to you.¡± He blinks, turning over the words. ¡°Course I am. It doesn¡¯t bother me none, but it¡¯s true.¡± The jar held loosely by the lid, Ferro pushes back from the table and heads to the bar, slipping his treat into the shelf beneath the bartop. Flies buzz about in the damp darkness, attracted by the blood soaking the wood, but even insects shied away from him now. ¡°Got work of my own to be about.¡± The door leading out to the stables only hung into its frame by a single hinge, the entire thing almost breaking away in his hand. He found Caberlin just inside and closed the big sliding door as he stepped into the lamplight. Caberlin spared him a glance from where he sat in a big rocker, before turning his attention back to admiring the form of the woman struggling to brush and saddle the horses. She was crying again, but they were the silent tears that were easy to ignore. ¡°Don¡¯t you have anything better to be about while your master is busy taking it up the ass?¡± Caberlin growls. ¡°I won¡¯t fall for your sad puppy display. Start following me around and I¡¯ll flay you alive.¡± ¡°Them''s some strong words now that Morello ain¡¯t here to hear ¡®em,¡± Ferro says as he steps up to Caberlin. He spares a moment to look over at the woman as she struggles. He finds it odd how she tries to watch them out of the corners of her eyes like they can¡¯t notice. She is a pretty thing. Hate Caberlin all he wants, but he does have an eye for women, Ferro can¡¯t deny that. ¡°Thought we should make up.¡± ¡°Eh?¡± Caberlin arches his one good eyebrow Ferro¡¯s way. ¡°Make up for what?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t rightly know.¡± Ferro shrugs. ¡°You seem to hate me pretty fiercely. I probably earned that somewhere along the road, but I¡¯d have it behind us all the same. Any chance that you could put that aside?¡± Caberlin scoffs, hocking a wad of phlegm onto the floor where it splashes among loose stalks of hay. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to be put being a pissant behind you, Ferro. You can¡¯t. Just a little errand boy with vacant eyes.¡± ¡°You gotta hate me for it?¡± Caberlin grunts, trying and failing to find a more comfortable position in his rocker. ¡°Don¡¯t suppose that I need to.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like if we could make peace.¡± Ferro holds out his hand to the man. He reaches for a smile, finding just then that it wasn¡¯t too big of an issue to make his mouth curve a bit. Despite the light of the lantern set in the center of the barn, Caberlin sees the smile as he looks up at the young man, a slash of pearly white cut into the shadow of a face, stringy hair framing it. He found it an odd thing to see on the young man, like hearing a dog talk, but he couldn¡¯t help but feel the show of emotion made him a bit more comfortable. Ferro reminded him of a scarecrow just then, and he barked a laugh at the thought, a tall lanky figure in the half-shadow of the light reaching out to him. Only, scarecrows didn¡¯t smile at you, and you wouldn¡¯t ever want one to. ¡°I might be able to start at trying to not hate,¡± Caberlin says. ¡°I can¡¯t say that I¡¯ll be able to do it. I have a lot of hate in me.¡± ¡°We all do, I think.¡± Ferro leaned in just a bit closer, his outstretched hand hovering between them. ¡°Part of the change.¡± ¡°Aye, I think you¡¯re right there.¡± Caberlin reaches out, taking Ferro¡¯s hand in his one good one, squeezing it hard in an attempt to unsettle the young man. Despite whatever Ferro said, he had no intention of giving up his grudge, it was one of the only warm parts he had left. ¡°I¡¯m so glad that we could put that behind us,¡± Ferro says, his hand shaking as the bigger man crushes it harder and harder in his own. ¡°Always heard it''s bad to keep grudges. Can¡¯t settle them with the dead.¡± A chill runs down Caberlin, realization dawning at the words. The magic is like a cold breath tickling down his arm. Caberlin reels, pulling away from Ferro, knocking his rocker over backward in the scramble. A sick squelch tears through the stable house as the flesh at Caberlin¡¯s shoulder rips away from his arm in a slow pull, Caberlin¡¯s one good arm left behind in Ferro¡¯s hand. Screaming. Caberlin scrambles on the ground, the bulbous flesh of his ruined arm reaching and failing to stop the blood pouring out from his dismembered shoulder. He kicks back on his one good leg, backing away from the lanky young man who still holds his arm by the hand. Horror snakes up Caberlin as he watches his arm ripple and shift in Ferro¡¯s grip, changing, folding in on itself, and becoming dark. In a blink, the arm is gone, and a crude iron sword is left in Ferro¡¯s hand. ¡°B-Bastard!¡± Caberlin cries as he pushes back toward the wall. ¡°You think you can get away with something like this? I¡¯ll roast you? I¡¯ll throw your body at Sigrid¡¯s feet and show her what you did. You are fucking dead, freak.¡± ¡°Mister Caberlin,¡± Ferro says, taking a step toward him. ¡°Who do you¡­¡± Ferro¡¯s words are cut away by a gout of fire that sears over him. Caberlin holds up his stump of an arm, fire pouring freeling from the mass, washing over Ferro as powerfully as any hose. Despite the pain, despite the loss, Caberlin smiles as he watches the sight of Ferro burning. A hand shoots out of the flames, wrapping tight around the mass of Caberlin¡¯s left arm hard enough to crack bone. The wash of power tears a scream from Caberlin¡¯s throat as his melted arm ripples and bubbles beneath the touch. His arm falls away, made into a new sword of jagged iron, the blade cutting a long gash down his side as it clatters to the ground. Ferro stands over him, his hair still burning, the front of the man burned and naked, skin flayed away to reveal twisting muscle and the white of bone. He doesn¡¯t feel the pain. Pain is just one of the things Ferro lost in the change. He turns his head sideways, looking down at the quaking form of Caberlin at his feet, both of the man¡¯s arms gone now, changed to something better. The big man stares back up at him, all watery eyes and fear, and Ferro feels an honest urge to smile then. Hells, hard for him not to. The char of his face splits into a grin wide enough to crack down the ruined skin of his cheeks, looking down at the being that just a moment before thought itself so powerful. If Ferro had his way, pathetic wastes like Caberlin would all be gone from the Coven. Made them weaker to keep them around, made the story that they were higher beings now ring hollow in his ear. How could this shaking mass of ruined flesh be a higher being than anything? ¡°She...she¡­she won¡¯t¡­you can¡¯t,¡± Caberlin stammers. ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to go and burn down a town, Caberlin,¡± Ferro says, the words rasping from his charred lips. ¡°We¡¯re supposed to be slipping through unnoticed, and you had to go do a fool thing like that. Sigrid didn¡¯t much like that. She thinks you are unpredictable, disobedient, and she¡¯s right. We both know she is. Most importantly, she thinks nine is an unlucky number, thinks it''s best to make the coven back down to eight.¡± ¡°Get away from me!¡± Caberlin kicks at him, but the blows are weak. Ferro has found himself kicked at a lot in the past few months, people screaming those same words at him, but just like then, it doesn¡¯t stop him now. He flicks out with his hand, the barest touch twisting and morphing Caberlin¡¯s one good leg into a new blade. The tip digs deep into the meat of the man¡¯s crotch, and Ferro gives it a good kick to drive it in deeper as he steps forward. ¡°It hurt my feeling a bit when you called me a freak,¡± Ferro admits, though he doubts Caberlin can hear him over his wailing. ¡°We¡¯re supposed to be something like a family, and you go and say that to me. Not very brotherly.¡± ¡°Please!¡± Caberlin screams. ¡°Please! Please! Please!¡± ¡°You¡¯ll be gone in just a second.¡± Ferro bends, reaching out for Caberlin¡¯s chest. The cries climb in pitch, winding so high that they become inaudible, but Ferro is used to that too now. It doesn¡¯t take long. With the final impact of sharp iron on meat, silence comes back over the stable. Ferro stands, stepping away from the gore left on the floor, turning burned eyes about. His gaze falls, at the last, on the woman standing there, holding a saddle between herself and him, rope dangling from her neck. ¡°Please,¡± she starts, but she has no further words waiting. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, darlin¡¯.¡± Ferro gestures to the charred remains of his face, feeling his skin tear with each flex. ¡°Got to fix this up. I¡¯ll make it nice and easy for you. Over real quick, you¡¯ll never even notice.¡± She falls as he takes his first step her way, the saddle thudding heavily to the floor. His shadow passes over her, and she shakes, but he doesn¡¯t lie. She never feels a thing. Chapter 120 - Separation Returns are what I dread. My hopes are so high, the slightest wind could topple them. -Tales of the East A constant buzz echoes through the vault as I bend over the table before me. My crown sits on a platform of copper wire. I might have gone with silver, but we are far from anywhere I could purchase some. Perhaps Jess could smelt some coins into ingots and turn them into wire. Her new forge is impressive, but it is so large that we have to stop the ship to have her set it up. I shake my head, returning my attention to the task at hand. The thaumometer buzzes, the dial holding a constant stream as I run the leads around the inner hoop of the crown, checking that it reads a steady eighteen-point-six thaums over the entire surface. Galea floats at my side, whispering to me the repeated instructions I told her to spew ad nauseum, making certain that I do not skip any steps. Readings taken, I put down the leads to the thaumometer and take up my engraving tools. Under the magnified gaze of several lenses in series, I clear the runes etched in the crown of debris: dirt, general grime, dandruff, and a brown stain that looks like dried blood. The upkeep on such valuable equipment is incredible, but given the value of the item, worth it. I still don¡¯t have the confidence to disassemble the piece. The armor that I looted from that ancient underground cave had been made to be taken apart, made to be able to replace the enchantments inside, but the crown is a piece of art not to be tampered with. More astounding than its benefits, is the fact that it has retained the mana powering it for as long as it has. Finished clearing the runes, I sigh, sitting back in my chair. ¡°How about now?¡± I ask the fey spirit. Galea floats before the crown, taking only a moment to run her magical feelings over it. She turns back to me, shaking her head. ¡°The efficiency has increased, but I can unlock no further functions. I am sorry, mistress.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t be.¡± A stab of magical current shocks through my fingers as I lift the crown from the copper coil. I turn over the polished metal in my hand, the minuscule runes running around the inside of the hoop having vanished out of the aid of the lenses. ¡°What you have unlocked is more than enough.¡± Crown of New Lineage(Mythic): ??? Enhancement: +180 attribute points, able to be distributed at the discretion of the wearer. <+60 Magic><+60 Speed><+60 Recovery><+10% all attributes> Focus: Sharpens the mind of the bearer, helping to prepare them for the challenges of power Shield: Call upon the power of the crown to create a magical barrier to protect the bearer The crown continues to hold its position as my most powerful item and not by an insignificant margin. Placing it back on my head, I feel its power seeping into my mind, sweeping away the dust and debris that I was incapable of seeing before. It is not that my sight sharpens or that I am suddenly able to do complicated mathematical computations that I could not before, but I feel for the first time that I would be able to if I took the time to learn how. Turning to my continuing project, turning my fine coat into a piece of real magical equipment, I feel no need to have Galea stand near me and show me different pages of my enchantment glossaries. The information is easy to recall. Orbs of black sand rearrange my workspace, bringing the coat back to the table in front of me and putting away the equipment I no longer need. Laying loose, it looks like a normal coat, over-priced, a sleek gray with subtle decorations that hint at its expense, and the finest piece of clothing I have ever owned. Opening it up, the undone lining on the inside shows a layer of sturdy cloth I have inserted into the lining, golden and infused stitching connecting constellations of power on the white manacloth inside. The leads of the thaumometer are deposited into my hand by a pinch of black sand, and I take my time testing each mana confluence inside the stitching. On the wall in front of my table, dozens of papers hang stuck to the wall, each an attempt at recreating the genius of my old armor¡¯s inner lining, experiments at puzzling out their meaning, theories about what manas might be required to achieve their desired effects. Running down the length of the wall next to them is a list of affixes that I need to be on the lookout for, ones that I might take some time to hunt down if I ever find the time. That is what stops me from creating my first real expression in the art of enchantment. The leads confirm for the third time that all of the mana running through the infused mediums of the golden thread reads as stable. I need to summon the courage to put down the leads and begin stitching the coat back together into its final form, for now. Enchantment is never complete, you only stop working on it for a time. The stitching complete, I stand, furling out the coat in front of me. With the lining, it is a bit more stiff than it was originally, but there isn¡¯t much to do for that. Two cuts through the back run down the sides of the coat, necessary for me to be able to call upon my wings at will without tearing the piece apart. Wearing backless blouses underneath this coat I have found to be the best way to work around the clothes-shredding aspect of the ability. I toss the coat back onto the mannequin, taking a step back to admire the piece. The fashionability persists, not something I am responsible for, but something I took great pains to maintain. After all, it would be a tragedy for my first big project to turn out to be an ugly rag. Fashionable Coat of Protection(Rare): This item, created by the novice enchanter Charlene Devardem, represents the ideal of not needing to sacrifice looks for function, the dream of many enchanters. The inaugural foray into true enchanting, this garment bears the future hopes of a young enchanter. Enhancement: +20 Defense, +20 Magic Defense Repair: Given a steady supply of mana, this item will repair and clean itself A smile comes to me as I look it over. True, it is nowhere near as powerful as the crown, not even as powerful as many of the items I have, but this is something I made myself. The weeks that I have spent working on this feel worth it in this moment, even if I am not nearly finished with it. The self-repair enchantment is the only aspect that I did not work out myself. As it turns out, the enchantment is fairly common in higher-grade equipment, and I managed to purchase a patch for it before leaving Grim. Very expensive, but if it can help me stop running through new clothing all the time, it will be worth every iron penny. Pulling the coat of the mannequin, I throw it over my shoulders, feeling its weight settle on me. It¡¯s warm. It¡¯s perfect. ¡°We should go outside,¡± I tell Galea. ¡°Don¡¯t want to miss too much time with our friends.¡± ¡°Your friends,¡± Galea says. ¡°They would like you if they knew you existed,¡± I tell her, commanding the black sand to begin putting all of my equipment back in its proper place. I take another look at the list of sought-after affixes that I have up on the wall, making certain that I memorize them all. ¡°It would be best to get out of her before they decide to make fun of me for being a homebody.¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°That is insane,¡± Jess claps her hands, far too excited, leaning forward in the plush chair. The ship cruises comfortably along, following the path of the road far too high in the sky to be noticed by most. I don¡¯t plan to repeat the same mistake that I ran into crossing the border into the empire. Only those that I want to notice us, should. ¡°I know,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, laying back across his chair in the most reclined position he can manage. He makes a show of it, gradually swiveling to the side now and again, almost laying completely across the arms of the chair now. ¡°I feel like I noticed it before, but I never knew how bad it was.¡± My cheeks flush as I stare at the ground. A smattering of coins litter the rug around the legs of my chair and even a crystal glass lays discarded, the remnants of wine clinging to the bottom corner inside. ¡°She is faking it,¡± Dovik protests. He shuffled the deck of cards in his hand, his coat draping the back of his chair. It only really struck me today how seldom I see the man without his coat. He looks better without it, especially with his inclination to wear well-tailored shirts. ¡°She has to be.¡± ¡°Why would she?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks. ¡°Nope. It¡¯s a divine weakness, has to be.¡± ¡°Those are a myth,¡± Dovik says, pointing at the man. ¡°They are a myth created to disparage humanity, and I would have you not repeat it.¡± Jor¡¯Mari just shrugs. ¡°Explain it then.¡± ¡°I thought I already had.¡± Before they can break into a real argument, Jess draws my attention by slowly moving her hand in front of her, a silver coin catching the light rebounding off the cloud tops around our soaring ship. ¡°You aren¡¯t faking, right?¡± she asks me. ¡°I don¡¯t know where this obsession came from,¡± I manage. ¡°This is dumb.¡± Instead of replying, Jess tosses the coin to me, a soft and gentle underhanded throw. I should let it hit me and bounce away, show that I am done with this weird game. Instead, seeing how slow the toss is, so easy, I reach out to catch. The coin plinks off the nail of my index finger as I try to snatch it, spinning away. I grab again, managing to punch the coin this time and send it soaring across the room of the ship to pop against the wall before rattling to the floor. Again, a blush comes to my face. My traitorous hands curl into tight balls. ¡°I have seen you catch an arrow,¡± Dovik says, pointing an accusing finger my way. ¡°You have caught them out of the air, right in front of me. I refuse to believe this is real.¡± ¡°If she can purposefully fail fifteen catches in a row like this and manage to look that embarrassed, I applaud her prowess at acting,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°Don¡¯t be mean,¡± Jess says, looking between them. ¡°Sometimes, people are just bad at certain things.¡± Despite her words, she reaches into the pouch at her side, retrieving another coin. Exeter help me. ¡°We have arrived,¡± Galea says into my ear, giving me an excuse to stand. I hurry back to the throne, stopping the ship and bringing us to descend below the clouds. The world becomes a white shadow for a moment as we drop, green and clear blue sky coming back a moment later as the ground comes into view. Two roads begin to form out of the seemingly endless fields of grass and wheat, becoming wide troughs of packed dirt, no travelers in sight. ¡°We are here,¡± I say, turning back to the rest. The mood changes, joviality falling away. Jor¡¯Mari rolls himself from his chair, standing and looking at the approaching ground. Jess climbs from her chair, setting herself to pick up the coins she threw at me. ¡°This is it?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks. He squints down at the landscape, and I see a spark of recognition come to his eyes. He must be feeling the same thing I do, the pull toward home, a tightness in the chest at feeling like you know this place. ¡°This is it,¡± I confirm. I point along the north road. ¡°Westgrove will be that way.¡± ¡°And Danfalla that,¡± he says, nodding toward the east road. ¡°In less than two days, I¡¯ll be home.¡± ¡°We both will.¡± I try to put on that smirk I so often catch him wearing, but a sudden swell of emotion wets my eye. I turn away, stowing the feeling away, making a show of closing the door to my vault and making it vanish. When I turn back, Dovik is standing beside me. ¡°Are you sure you want to go your way now? It isn¡¯t as if we are in a rush here, we can go to both places,¡± he says. I shake my head, folding the key to the ship in his hand. ¡°We are in a rush. Just because the deadline is more than two years away, doesn¡¯t mean that we can take our time. Almost no one makes it out of the second rank; we need to be different.¡± He huffs, turning over the key in his fingers. ¡°We already are different.¡± ¡°Best we stay that way then. You know how to fly this thing, right?¡± ¡°Of course. Flown it more than you have,¡± he says. He motions over his shoulder. ¡°Go say your goodbyes to them. They are going to miss you.¡± ¡°And you won¡¯t?¡± ¡°Nah.¡± He walks backward, stopping against the arm of the throne in the center of the ship. ¡°I could use the space, farm girl.¡± Jess is on me even before I turn, wrapping me in a hug so tight I fear my arms will snap. I flap my hand uselessly against her side, unable to reach her back. ¡°It will just be a few weeks,¡± I tell her. ¡°I¡¯m not going to take that for granted. You keep yourself safe.¡± She pushes me away, holding me by my shoulders, squeezing them tight. ¡°Don¡¯t do anything dangerous.¡± ¡°What is there to do that is dangerous? There are no powerful monsters around here.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean things can¡¯t be dangerous.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± I peel one of her hands from my shoulders and give it a tight squeeze. ¡°I won¡¯t do anything dangerous. You worry about enjoying Danfalla. I¡¯ve heard that the Mari dutchy¡¯s capital is incredible.¡± ¡°It is,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. Jess just about turns me into him, and I need to stumble aside to avoid colliding with him. She winks at me when I throw her a glare. Jor¡¯Mari stands there, against the invisible barrier that marks the ship¡¯s wall, doing his best to look nonchalant. I think he pulls it off rather well. ¡°Are you ready to see your family again?¡± I ask him. ¡°Are you?¡± he returns. ¡°My mom is going to be a terror. I never told her that I was leaving in person, just sent a note.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound like you,¡± he says. ¡°It was me, not anymore though.¡± I command Galea to turn the dome of the ship, opening the doorway near me. A rectangle of color slides up from the platform of the ship, leading outside. ¡°Two weeks,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°Or three, if you want to spend more time at home,¡± I say. ¡°Two weeks,¡± he says again. I smile at him, and he returns that smirk of his. The moment threatens to roll on into awkwardness as we look at each other. His fingers brush against my own, and for an instant, I feel an urge come over me, one I have ignored many times before but not this time. Before he can react, I step forward, pushing myself onto the tips of my toes, bringing my lips up to meet his. A shudder runs through him, and the smirk on his lips spreads into a real smile. He brings his hands up to grab my shoulders, but I am already away, walking backward toward the square hole in the unseeable wall. ¡°Don¡¯t forget me,¡± I tell him. ¡°Never,¡± he says. Open air meets my heel and I fall back into the air. I allow myself a moment to roll, to fall over myself in the wind, before calling on my magic. Crimson wings unfurl from my sides, turning my tumble into a swooping dive toward the ground. I push mana into my wings, spurring them to carry me faster, and the stalks of grass and grain beneath me blur in color as I race past. The call of home reaches out to me. I am so close now. Chapter 121 - Homecoming How many times? How many times have I warned you from taking this step? You push too far, push me too far. If I don¡¯t do something now, you will doom us all. Forgive me. -Mother Gale is a land of open fields poked with lonely mountains. I skim the ground, feeling stalks of wheat bend as I run my hand over them, giving way like the water might. The wind drags me on, and I move to its tempo. There is no experience quite like flying, the freedom of going any way you might wish, knowing that nothing bars you, feeling the very air push you on faster and faster when you move to dive. On a thought, an hour into my journey home, I landed on a hill overlooking a gentle stream. My shadow cut a figure across the water, a huge form blocking the sun. When I pushed growth mana into my wings, I felt them expand and grow heavier on my back as they stretched away from me. The shadow grew, splitting the pond in half in its shade, spooking the cows that sipped from the pool. The strength I possess is barely enough to hold them as I stand, grown three times larger than normal, stretching out thirty feet to either side of me. Jumping into the air once more, power flooded through me, and after the first beat, I never required another. My glide carried me at a blazing speed over the land, the shadow of my glide a spectacle passing like a cloud below. Galea kept my heading for me, maintaining a window at my side that showed a map of Gale I had purchased, directing me to make the correct turns. The sun sits low in the sky by the time Westgrove begins to peek out of the horizon, and I bank away, shooting for the smaller copse of buildings to the east of the proper town. The miller¡¯s tower is the first sight, followed by a cluster of six buildings built along a narrow road, the general store the largest of the set. Even in the late afternoon, there should be more of a bustle on the road. People should be out seeing to their afternoon duties on the farms, but the fields sit vacant. When I pass a field in which a plow sits half dug into the soil, a long trough of dirt churned behind it, I begin to worry. I spot a man, a lone figure hiking down the road with a bag of flour slung over his shoulder. He pauses for a moment, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt. I recognize him as Dakin, Shet the general store owner¡¯s son even before my eye tells me. No mind is paid to the speed of my approach as I dive from the sky. Dakin glances up as my shadow overtakes him, squinting at the sky as I dive from the air. Just above the ground, I roll forward, spreading my wings wide and arresting my dive. My boots clap hard into the earth of the road, the sound followed a moment later by the thud of Dakin¡¯s flour hitting the road. ¡°Exeter¡¯s ball,¡± Dakin swears, making a sign in front of him to ward off demons. That catches me up for a moment. Seeing the sudden fear in the man¡¯s eyes halts the words in my throat. He averts his eyes, staring at his feet, inclining his head. ¡°If I gave offense to someone somehow, tell ¡®em I¡¯m sorry for it,¡± he says, fumbling at a bow. ¡°You¡¯re not in any kind of trouble,¡± I say. The look of surprise I see when he stares back up hurts my heart. I knew this boy, just a few years younger than me, a good lad. He blinks, daring to look up at me. His eyes flick to the side of my face, and I realize that he is looking to see a hint of my ears. Does he think I am an elf? ¡°Beggin¡¯ your pardon for misunderstanding, my lady.¡± He bows again. I stifle a groan. ¡°Nothing to forgive. Where is everyone, Dakin? I didn¡¯t see anybody from the air.¡± If he is surprised that I know his name, he does a good job not showing it. ¡°I expect most folk are still at the Teffle farm,¡± he says. ¡°Putting folk in the ground is done proper around sunset.¡± ¡°Who died?¡± ¡°All of ¡®em,¡± he says. ¡°Maddy, Edis, and their little one Cansa. Was supposed to be nightcreepers got ¡®em. At least that¡¯s what I heard. Man came around and saw to the creatures before they could get any more folk, and he said it was nightcreeprs, so I¡¯m expecting that to be it.¡± He glances up again. ¡°Unless my lady thinks it might be another way.¡± The news hits me harder than I expect. This little stretch of nowhere had the gall to keep going on even after I left it. The Teffles were good people, made most of their money off tobacco and the odd batch of goat cheese Maddy would make. Cansa had only been four when I left. ¡°If everyone¡¯s at the funeral, why are you out on the road, Dakin?¡± Dakin gestures to the sack of flour collecting dust on the road. ¡°Had an order to pick up from the miller. My pa asked me to see to it before the day was out.¡± ¡°Miller usually leaves orders out for people to collect when he isn¡¯t there?¡± It was a question we both knew the answer to. ¡°Made an exception this day. Given the occasion.¡± ¡°You steal that flour, boy?¡± A shiver runs through him, but instead of a meek apology, he turns hard eyes up at me. ¡°Ain¡¯t stealing if you take back what belongs to you. Everyone knows Jan cheats the numbers when he mills.¡± That was true as well. As far as I knew, there wasn¡¯t a miller in the world who didn¡¯t change the numbers around a little bit to give themselves a bigger share of the product. Jan was a big man, big enough to push anyone calling him a cheat to do so behind his back and not right to his face. Not that anyone said much better about Dakin¡¯s father down at the general store. ¡°Get on then,¡± I say, pointing down the road. ¡°You got some sun left.¡± He doesn¡¯t need more than the suggestion of leaving to push him to snatching up his stolen prize and hustling off down the road. I watch him go on, feeling something a bit nostalgic in catching a boy stealing flour from the mill. It was practically a right of passage. Standing on the road, I inhale the air, tasting the scents of the humid grass, hearing the hum of insects not seen, and smelling the dried dust of the road. I¡¯ve never had a chance before to take in my home with such heightened senses, and it is like a rush of memory. Me and Kendon running down the road, set to work at some errand that would take us the whole day. Walking the roads with his party, my old party, hunting down the weak monsters that called this corner of nowhere home. But those monsters had killed three people. Even weak monsters can kill a man. It is hard to make certain I keep that in mind, but important as well. Leaping back in the air, I set my glide toward the orchard, cutting overland, following the road in my heart. The first line of trees comes into view far sooner than I think it ought to. A row of sweetpears that I know we don¡¯t have on the western side of the orchard. A shack of new and lacquered wood stands between the second and third line of trees, some man I don¡¯t know at work pushing a wheelbarrow of soil out from inside to carry toward the north side of the property. More changes stand out as I soar overhead: a wagon trundling in the gaps between the trees with three seedlings sitting in the bed, two couples having a picnic amid the trees on a red and white checkered blanket, a new barn of hard, brown wood built alongside our old one, three new ponies out exercising in the round. It seems that I am not the only one who has been working hard in my absence. Despite the clear prosperity, I find that I don¡¯t like the changes. My home should be the same as I left it. I alight more gracefully in the dirt just behind the main house. A variety of vegetables show signs of healthy growth in the dark soil around the back of the house. They look far greener than I have ever seen my mother¡¯s plants look before. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°Miss,¡± someone calls. Turning, I see a woman standing amid the garden, a trowel in one hand, a glass of tea in the other. She looks me up and down, spiking the trowel into the dirt at her feet, eyes lingering on the wings sprouting from my back. ¡°Yes?¡± I ask, dismissing the wings to puff away into colorful motes of magic. She lingers for a moment, her eyes following the trails of color as they disappear up into the sky. I take the time to hop up the three steps of the back porch, pulling the screen door wide and walking inside. The smell of baking pie hits me like a slap in the face. In here, at least things are as I remember them, the same walls painted with a pale yellow, the same furniture that has stood exactly where it is for my whole life, the threadbare carpet that my grandmother knitted before I was even born. The glass table in the middle of the common room is new, and my dad¡¯s old leather chair has been replaced with a newer one, but the feel is all the same. I hear a clatter from the archway leading to the kitchen, and before I can stop myself, I am already at the entryway. ¡°Margret, if I turn around and find that you have tracked dirt in here one more time I will have Ylla check your tea for booze. Don¡¯t put me to the¡­¡± Daela turns away from the sink, a dish in one hand and a scrubbing brush in the other. My mother stands there, brown apron cinched tight over the top of her yellow dress, red curls pulled tight into a tail at the back of her head. ¡°Can I help you?¡± The question is like a punch in the gut. She doesn¡¯t recognize me. Daela puts her dish down in the water. She narrows her eyes at me, and I am shocked to see that she has to look up to meet my own. When did I grow taller than her? ¡°Charlie?¡± she asks, a hand moving to her hip. ¡°I¡¯m home,¡± I say, moving fully into the narrow kitchen. The words catch in my throat, and the rational part of my mind groans at my emotionality. Can¡¯t my mouth just work how it is supposed to? ¡°I know I left a little¡­¡± ¡°Piss poor?¡± Daela shakes the scrubber in my hand, sprinkling water on my face and stopping me in my tracks. ¡°Bad enough we got three kids that run off on us, but it has to be my own daughter that couldn¡¯t find any manners in doing it? Send your brother to us with a note.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± I say. ¡°I had to leave in a hurry. We had a long way to go and they weren¡¯t going to wait on me.¡± ¡°Pffah,¡± she scoffs. ¡°A good horse will get you from Westgrove to here and back in a day. Don¡¯t tell me you couldn¡¯t have come to say goodbye in person. Your father seen you yet? Course not, your hide would be tanned if he had.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not a child.¡± ¡°Child of mine. No child that I bore is too old to have a good tanning if they do something foolish. Parent¡¯s job to keep them in line and make sure they know what is proper.¡± She flicks the scrubber again, splashing me with a sprinkling of water. ¡°Don¡¯t know where you abandoned your sense.¡± ¡°If you don¡¯t want me here, then I can leave. I have no shortage of things to be about,¡± I say. Daela rolls her eyes. ¡°Given that this is where you want to be the least, I don¡¯t expect that is true.¡± She motions to the countertop as she turns back to the sink. ¡°There¡¯s some fresh bread I made this morning in there. Cut it up for supper. We have more mouths to feed around here than you are used to, and I need to get the work done before the sun is all the way down.¡± My body seems to act on its own, hopping to the task. The carving knife set out on the countertop is too dull to cut good slices from the bread, and I need to see my way to using one of my spares¨Cnot the poisoned one, of course. ¡°I really am sorry for leaving that way,¡± I say to her, cutting into the loaf, parting it easily like¡­well, a knife through soft bread. ¡°I expect you are,¡± Daela says, working at some stubborn grime on the plate. ¡°But I taught you that sorries later aren¡¯t an excuse for hurt given today. Broke your daddy¡¯s heart reading that note. He was still holding out hope that you would take the farm from him one day.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think I ever wanted the farm,¡± I say. ¡°News to me. You never showed much of what you really wanted. Worked well, but never had your heart in it. I suppose you were just waiting for a good opportunity to come along. Can¡¯t fault you for that. Taking the opportunities you find is important. Next time, we¡¯ll make sure the child knows that this farm is going to them, won¡¯t leave no questions about it.¡± ¡°Next time?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± The tone in her voice pulls me from cutting the bread. I glance over at her, finding her patting her stomach. ¡°Got a new one on the way. You¡¯ll finally get your chance at not being the youngest.¡± The shock on my face sets her to scowling. ¡°You¡¯re pregnant?¡± ¡°What of it? Don¡¯t think I can still pull your da into the bed when I want?¡± ¡°No, it¡¯s just¡­¡± I know the words are so bad, so wrong to voice, but they come anyway. ¡°You¡¯re old.¡± She scoffs, splashing me full in the face with the dirty dishwater. ¡°I¡¯m not even half of the way through forty. Got a body more fine now than when I was half my age, and by all talk it''s only going to get better. I¡¯ll bear myself a full litter if I want to, and you won¡¯t be calling your mum old then.¡± ¡°You know I didn¡¯t mean it that way. I¡¯m just¡­surprised¡­happy is all.¡± My hand comes up to my face, and I feel another rush of tears threatening. She won¡¯t like that. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare.¡± Daela¡¯s hand whips out, not particularly quickly and I decide not to evade her. She pinches my arm, hard. ¡°Ow!¡± ¡°I¡¯ll have no tears in my house. You want to cry over losing your spot as your daddy¡¯s favorite, do it on the road.¡± Daela looks out the window. The sky past the barn has become a brilliant shade of burnt orange, the purple of twilight coming on behind. ¡°Go get your brother. I¡¯m assuming that he¡¯ll be drinking at the miller¡¯s with the rest of the men after the ceremony. You heard that Maddy and her boys woke up dead at the hands of some beasts a few days back, I take it.¡± Halford¡¯s here? That makes a certain sense; Dakin had said that a man came through and killed the nightcreeprs that got the Teffles. ¡°Alright.¡± I do my best to hold back the tears threatening me with the heel of my hand. ¡°I¡¯ll be there and back in a jiffy.¡± ¡°Best be. Got some good pork roasted and I don¡¯t intend for anyone to miss it, make waste of all my work.¡± ¡°Right.¡± I breathe in hard, blinking, and turn to the door. Before I can leave, arms wrap around me from behind, squeezing me tight. ¡°I¡¯m glad you came back, girl,¡± my mother whispers into my back. ¡°Damn glad.¡± Then she is pushing me out the door, and I hurry along, making sure no tears fall inside her house, just like she asked. It¡¯s full dark by the time I make to the Jan¡¯s. The man has a large storehouse out on his property that he uses to serve drinks during the off-months. The big paneled doors stand slightly open as I land outside, and the buzz of conversation from inside tells me just how full it is tonight. I stop, coming around the corner, almost calling a weapon to my hand at the sight of a heavily armed woman standing just outside the storehouse. She sees me the same time I do, violet eyes turning in my direction, a stern expression looking out from a face heavily painted with dark cosmetics framed by straight, black hair. In an instant, I note three daggers on her left hip, a half blade laid across the small of her back, and the hilt of a heavy bastard sword peeking out over her shoulder. She stands in the early night, ringlets of chain draping her and giving off the telltale sign of powerful magic. Janna Kaffeleon, High Secretary of Grise ¡°What is your business?¡± she asks, her head lilting to the side. ¡°I¡¯m looking for someone,¡± I reply, pulling myself to stand straighter. Despite her appearance, my eye tells me that she isn¡¯t a magician; I shouldn¡¯t let her cow me. It is a bit easier given that she is human. Best to practice here before I try with a real noble. ¡°There are plenty of people to find,¡± she says, motioning back to the storeroom behind her. ¡°But men are drinking inside.¡± ¡°So?¡± Her eyes narrow again. She huffs out a breath, moving aside to allow me a way to the door. I keep my attention firmly on her as I pass her by and catch her muttering something about propriety as I make it to the door. Ignoring her incredibly insulting words, I slide open the door, smacking it closed behind me. Hardly anyone notices my entrance, the business of drink having long captured the room. Groups of men crowd about, some sitting at a table and playing at dice, three standing near the wall and throwing darts into a painted sack of unmilled grain. I angle for the largest crowd, a group of at least fifteen standing in a half circle around the long bench that Jan calls his bar. ¡°And the hardest part was finding all the little bastards,¡± I hear a voice ring out from the crowd. I need to shove people aside to make my way into the press. ¡°There¡¯s a reason they call them nightcreepers, fuckers have a tendency to scatter when the sun comes up. Found three over at the fence, gnawing at the Fiddlers¡¯ posts. They would have been there the next night. Piss poor thing Timmian hasn¡¯t kept them out like he is meant to, piss poor thing.¡± A grunt and a bark of protest marks my passage into the middle of the crowd, but what I find makes me pull up short. ¡°Oh, and who is this fine young thing?¡± The man sitting in the middle of the crowd of men asks. Everyone gives him a respectful distance as he spins his tale, letting him sprawl relaxed against the bar as he swirls a glass of amber in his right hand. His left arm is absent, the sleeve of his crimson finery buttoned up short on that side. One eye burning a fiery red looks me up and down in a slow and deliberate leer, a smirk of early drunkenness gracing his beautiful face; the left eye is covered by a black patch. Crimson hair spills from his crown, curling at his shoulders where it is cut, the color perfectly matching his long coat that is accented with gold. Power wells about him, invisible to my eye, but I can feel it like a physical force against me. What sparks my memory, what brings me to recognize him, is the easy confidence that rests on his face. ¡°Corinth?¡± Chapter 122 - Supper All families are a mess of complicated dynamics. Why would we think the gods would be any different? -¡°Ruminations¡± Emperor Garifax I am stunned by a moment, both by finding this man here, leaning back and playing up a coy smile as he sips on his glass of whiskey, and by what he said to me. My eye tries to identify him, but like with the other powerful magicians I have come across, it discovers nothing. The lack of any identity is as much an assurance that this is my long-lost brother in front of me, reclining against Jan¡¯s bar like he hasn¡¯t disappeared for almost twelve years. ¡°Mom wants me to come get you for supper,¡± I say, crossing my arms over my chest. Corinth snorts up his drink, spraying the glass as he looks on the verge of gagging. ¡°Is that little Charlie?¡± David Cal, a fieldhand my father hires on some rare occasions says, turning and looking at me. He steps forward, hesitating for a moment, and I throw my arms around the man, squeezing him hard. ¡°Oh! Not little Charlie anymore.¡± He taps my back, begging to be released. ¡°Not so little anymore,¡± I repeat, smacking the man on the back. ¡°Well, that makes two of the three lost children,¡± Jan says, leaning over his bar, patting Corinth''s back. ¡°Just need the big one to come around to get the whole clan back together.¡± ¡°It could happen,¡± I say. ¡°Best be getting back. Daela hates leaving hot food sitting out.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t want to make that woman roth,¡± Jan agrees. The men part from around me as I take my stroll to the door. I reach the handle, already sliding it open, when I hear the footsteps rushing behind me. ¡°Charlene!¡± Corinth calls, getting a door slapped closed in his face. My smirk is short-lived. By the time I turn away from the door, I find him standing there behind me in the dirt outside the storehouse. Outside, with only the light of a hung lantern and the pale moonlight to illuminate him, I get my first good look at my eldest brother. He is a big man, not in the same way Halford is, but looking like someone kept growing a human a little too long. Corinth stands easily seven and a half feet tall, his frame not bulky with muscle, but athletic and narrow. My eyes cannot help but linger on the rolled-up sleeve of his missing arm. ¡°I thought that you were supposed to be some powerful magician,¡± I say, my gaze flicking from his missing arm to his missing eye. Corinth quirks a brow. ¡°Those are some choice first words for the brother you haven¡¯t seen in a decade.¡± ¡°Better than the ones you had for me,¡± I shoot back. ¡°Ah, well¡­¡± Corinth looks to the side, finding the armored woman standing in the lantern light. ¡°I don¡¯t have much of an excuse.¡± ¡°You were drunk,¡± I say, shrugging. ¡°Makes your mind slow.¡± ¡°With the benefit of hindsight, a random red-headed rank two magician woman walking in should have been enough of a clue. Again, sorry.¡± ¡°You allowed yourself to get drunk?¡± The armored woman, Janna, asks, moving out of the light. ¡°You said that you would not let your guard down.¡± ¡°And I haven¡¯t,¡± he says to her. ¡°Janna, might I introduce you to my sister, Charlene. Charlene, this is Janna. She is, my assistant.¡± Janna looks me over again. ¡°We met briefly. I warned her not to enter.¡± ¡°I wish I had listened.¡± The woman nods in approval. ¡°I can see the resemblance, hopefully, it is only skin-deep.¡± ¡°This doesn¡¯t feel fair,¡± Corinth says, looking between us. He snaps his fingers. ¡°You know what we should do, leave: leave, go eat, enjoy a smoke on the porch after¨Cmuch better than standing about and criticizing me.¡± ¡°If this woman is your assistant, does that mean you rule this Grise place?¡± I ask. Even before I ask the question I know it is in poor taste. Corinth¡¯s face hardens in an instant. He turns his eye on the armored woman. ¡°What did you let slip?¡± ¡°Nothing.¡± Janna falls to a knee, bowing her head before Corinth. He hurriedly kicks her leg. ¡°Get up before someone sees.¡± Corinth holds out his hand and lines of fire burn to life above the palm of his hand. In under a second, an arrangement of runes more complex than I could hope to create in a month of strenuous runework springs to life. Corinth snaps his hand closed around the lines of fire and power floods out into the air around us, snuffing out the light of the lantern with the shock of its birth. I feel as if someone just boxed my ears and need to stretch my jaw before sound pops back into the world. Corinth opens his palm again, a map of fire burning the air above his hand. ¡°The observers are still too distant to have perceived the conversation. Just in case, I have made it so that the sound will have changed before it can have reached them. It will be as if you asked some other question.¡± He looks up at me, and for the first time, I feel the true might that he carries within him. ¡°How did you hear that name?¡± My jaw clicks closed as I stare back at him. ¡°I¡­I saw it. My eye sees the names of people.¡± I point at Janna who is still dusting off her leg. ¡°It says that she is the High Secretary of Grise. You are a rank five magician, you said she was your assistant; it made sense to me.¡± Corinth lets out a long breath, the sternness in his features leaving, replaced with the faux arrogance of a young man. I know it now for the disguise that it is. ¡°Well, that is quite an interesting thing. I will need to investigate. This may cause a momentary discomfort.¡± ¡°What are you going to do?¡± He answers by holding up his hand, a sigil of fire appearing in front of him. Blinding light strikes me in the eye. I stumble away, barely keeping my feet, clutching a hand to my right eye. ¡°Tits and Fucking Honey!¡± I swear, feeling a trickle of a tear wet my hand. Only, when I try to blink away the flash of pain, do I find my hand stained red. ¡°Hit on me and then try to burn my eye out!¡± ¡°You propositioned your sister, lord?¡± Janna asks. ¡°I was given that was not a common practice in Gale.¡± This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Never an easy day,¡± Corinth groans, pinching the bridge of his nose like it was his eye that was almost seared out of his head. ¡°What I wouldn¡¯t give just to relax for once.¡± A lash of dragonfire splashes over a round shield of air in front of his face. Corinth looks up, his eyes tracking the dregs of the fire as it disappears into dying motes in the air. ¡°Interesting.¡± ¡°I was assuming you could take it. You¡¯re a big boy.¡± ¡°You can punch me if you want,¡± he says. ¡°It will probably hurt you more than it does me.¡± My bloody knuckles crack him in the jaw before he can take a breath for his next sentence. The snap as the bones in my hand shatter in the blow echoes down my arm, but the pain is nothing compared to the satisfaction of seeing him stumble back and fall into the dirt. I shake out my hand, feeling my body already diverting its attention to mending the delicate bones. Closing my right eye, I gently probe the skin of my eyelid, feeling the fleshy orb beneath. It still feels mostly intact. I catch Janna looking at me again like she is once more taking my measure. ¡°Is decking your brother in the face not proper?¡± ¡°It is when he has been an ass,¡± she says. ¡°Not that I would ever call my lord as such.¡± ¡°Of course you wouldn¡¯t.¡± Corinth climbs back to his feet. ¡°Is your hand alright?¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± I flex my fingers for him. ¡°Remarkable healing,¡± he notes. ¡°Now that you have gotten your aggression out, can we speak with civility?¡± ¡°If you will tell me why you felt the need to try and burn my eye out.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t try to burn your eye out.¡± Corinth rolls his eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t be so dramatic. I merely needed to conduct a survey of that artifact and make certain that it did not have any tethers that would allow others to see through it.¡± I blink at him. I never even considered that a possibility. ¡°And?¡± ¡°It is fine as far as I can tell. What I am curious about is, how you managed to attain a providence reading device before you fully integrated essentia. Did you meet a friendly djinn or something?¡± ¡°Djinn are real?¡± ¡°Unfortunately.¡± Before I can ask anything else, he holds his hand up. ¡°Yes, a great many things are real and some others aren¡¯t. I will be happy to help you sift them at some other time. Explain the eye, please.¡± ¡°Arabella Willian gave it to me, along with helping me to complete my essentia. You know her, right?¡± He nods, scratching his chest. ¡°Ah, that makes a certain amount of sense. I¡¯m sure that the gifts weren¡¯t free.¡± ¡°I have to make the third rank in the next two and a half years and compete in some kind of trial for the Willian Guild,¡± I say. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t be too difficult,¡± he says, shrugging his one arm. ¡°How did you manage to get through the third rank so quickly?¡± I ask. ¡°That, sister, is a long story, and if you were being truthful about our mother, we do not have time for it now. Later, I promise that I will share with you whatever you want to know, but I believe there was some mention of roast pork before we headed out to the service.¡± ¡°Correct,¡± Janna affirms. ¡°Your mother is quite the cook.¡± ¡°She isn¡¯t Banbo,¡± Corinth says. ¡°But hers is better than you are likely to find anywhere else around.¡± ¡°We should get going then,¡± I say. It is so difficult to shove down all the questions bubbling up in my mind, but he is right. I don¡¯t want to face my mother if we miss her dinner. ¡°Going?¡± Corinth says, holding up his palm again. Fire spirals into the air, crisscrossing in a pattern that floats vertically, expanding above us into an intricate net of interconnected runes. In a flash, the fire slams down around me, and when the sear of its light leaves my eyes, I find that we are standing in the yard in front of my house, a stray dog barking at us from down the drive. ¡°We are already here.¡± The struggle is like a tangible thing, wanting to ask how he brought us here so suddenly, wanting to ask about the runes of fire he makes freeform in the air, wanting to ask why he had such a harsh reaction to me mentioning the name Grise, but I hold my tongue. Corinth is already walking away, hopping up the steps on the new front porch and ducking into the house. Only when I start moving after him do I notice Janna not following. ¡°Are you coming?¡± ¡°No,¡± she says simply, refusing to elaborate. I hesitate a moment longer but eventually realize that it might be best to leave the woman be. The smell of roasted pork greets me as I push inside. The dinner table in the narrow room on the east side of the house is the same as I remember it, a scratched piece of light-brown wood covered with a blue and white checkered sheet, frayed at the edges. The dinnerware set atop it is different, three porcelain plates still shiny with their newness, sterling silverware that we could never afford growing up, and a steel tray in the middle of the table with an actual cloche to trap heat and flavor. My father¡¯s plate is the only exception to the newness. Stalks of steamed broccoli stand out against the chipped wood of his plate, little red flowers painted by his mother dulled to near invisibility by the passage of time. He looks up at me as I come inside, hard eyes showing a momentary softness before looking back down to his plate. The blonde beard he keeps has grown longer in my absence, and his already huge frame has seemed to bulk even more. He might be a match in stature for Halford now. His eyes stay down as Corinth takes the seat on the opposite end of the table from him. ¡°I¡¯m home,¡± I say, coming into the room. ¡°Good to have you back,¡± Father says, pushing a stalk of green around with his fork. ¡°Daela, we¡¯re all here already!¡± he calls out into the house. ¡°I¡¯m coming!¡± my mother yells from the other room. She comes around the corner a moment later, carrying a pie tin in a gloved hand and slipping it onto a cloth already set out on the table. Daela pulls off her apron, hanging it on a peg on the wall before she takes her seat. The last to do so, I sit opposite her at the table. My mother offers me a smile, ignoring the two men at the table who seem content to just stare down at their plates. ¡°Help me serve,¡± she says. She doesn¡¯t need to tell me twice. We move in practiced ease, ladling out food onto the plates, stuffing them full, knowing the appetites of the men in the family. My mother hums as she catches me taking a big portion for myself as well. ¡°I¡¯ve missed your cooking,¡± I say, spooning gravy onto the tender pork. ¡°I keep running out of spices out on the road. There are so many I¡¯ve never heard of before, don¡¯t really know how to use them, but nothing beats my mother¡¯s gravy.¡± ¡°True,¡± Corinth spoons some onto his plate as well. ¡°Nothing really can beat it. I have some cookbooks that I can give you, if you¡¯d like, Charlene. Might help, especially if you¡¯ve already transitioned your diet over.¡± It doesn¡¯t take a genius to understand he is talking about eating monster meat. ¡°I¡¯d like that.¡± ¡°Well isn¡¯t this nice,¡± Daela says. ¡°If we could just drag Halford back from the capital we might get ourselves a proper reunion. I¡¯d like that.¡± At the head of the table, my father grunts, spearing a piece of meat with his fork and chewing it. The sound is like the closing of a book, and silence falls over the table. By the light of candles burning on the middle of the table, the meal proceeds in silence, the scrapping of utensils on plates the only real noise. I find myself keeping my gaze down, focusing on the food, avoiding looking up at my father. I don¡¯t know what I had expected. After Corinth left, the man barely spoke about his firstborn for years. The thought of him giving me the same treatment is like a stab through the heart. How must I have hurt him to make him behave this way? ¡°Better serve the pie before it cools off too much,¡± Daela says, taking the knife set beside the pie and hefting it. Father pushes up from his seat, his big chair scratching against the wooden floors. ¡°Got an early day tomorrow,¡± he says, scooping up his plate in his hand, and stacking his utensils on top. ¡°Best get to bed. Good meal, Daela, always is.¡± The man¡¯s big feet set the boards to creak as he walks down the side of the room. He pauses for a moment behind me, and as I stare at the floor I see his boots. A huge hand falls gently on my shoulder, squeezing it for a moment, before the footfalls continue past, stopping by the kitchen before clomping up the stairs. I let got a breath I didn¡¯t know I was holding. A piece of sweatpear pie is on my plate a few moments later, but I don¡¯t pay it much mind. My attention is too far removed, my relief too palpable. My dad doesn¡¯t hate me after all. Chapter 123 - Answers How can I stop her without destroying her, without destroying us? Stars help me, she can¡¯t be allowed to rise further. - Emperor Kas Van Dialla I find Corinth the next morning as I climb a hill on the east side of the property. Seeing him there, lying in the grass, watching the sun rise over the far line of the horizon catches me a bit off guard. The sketchbook in my hand vanishes, sent back into my inventory. He looks up at me. Corinth¡¯s one eye lacks any clear definition, an orb of solid red in his angular face, but somehow you can tell where he is looking. He smiles, a length of sweetgrass sticking out of his mouth, spiny fronds waving back and forth as the morning breeze blows. ¡°It¡¯s a good spot, isn¡¯t it,¡± he says, propping himself up on his elbows, looking out at the lines of trees. ¡°I come here to think sometimes,¡± I say, taking my seat in the grass. I pat around, delighted when I find a worn stone among the grass. A painted face looks up at me from the flat side of the stone, Mr. Rockbottom. How strange that this should still be here. ¡°I hope so, I didn¡¯t share my secret thinking spot with just anybody,¡± he says, grinning over at me. He blows out a sigh, face falling when he sees the lack of recognition in my eyes. ¡°You don¡¯t remember.¡± I shrug. ¡°I really have been gone a long time,¡± he says, looking up at the clouds. ¡°Time seems to¡­slip past when you aren¡¯t keeping an eye on it. Brotherly wisdom, keep an eye on it.¡± ¡°You have a different relation with time than me,¡± I say. I toss Mr. Rockbottom back into the grass, watching as it disappears among the blades of green. ¡°Time can¡¯t pass fast enough for me.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll miss it,¡± he says. ¡°Promise you that.¡± ¡°You¡¯re one to talk. Don¡¯t you have like ten thousand years of life now, Mr. Fifth Rank Magician?¡± He shrugs, though with one arm the gesture is a bit off. ¡°Who knows? It isn¡¯t as if I can expect natural causes to be the end of me.¡± ¡°What do you mean by that.¡± Corinth keeps his silence, and I join him in it. We sit for a while, watching the workers move out among the trees. There is more work now on the orchard than I remember ever seeing before. The eastern part of the property has expanded out, with signs of new trees being planted everywhere. Before I left, my father had a claim to one of the largest plots in Lord Timmian¡¯s domain, but it looks as if that proved insufficient. ¡°The man would lay claim to the whole county if he could,¡± Corinth says, words echoing my thoughts. ¡°Put down neat rows of trees stretching off into the horizon.¡± ¡°Have you visited Halford?¡± I ask. ¡°You should find him if you can.¡± ¡°I did. He¡¯s in Gallia, working with his team there to climb the ranks in a city where the needs might match his strength. He took up dueling apparently, much to the chagrin of the local nobility.¡± ¡°Humans can duel in the capital?¡± ¡°If you have permission from the duke. No idea how he obtained that. Our reunion didn¡¯t go exactly as planned. He had a lot to say, had a lot to say about you.¡± ¡°Me?¡± Corinth shakes his head. ¡°He was convinced that I ruined your life. Thought that I gave you only a single essentia to make you dependant on me, and when I never sent more, made you prey for the powerful Willian Guild. Said that you were indentured to them now.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not,¡± I say. ¡°Halford can be a bit¡­over-protective.¡± ¡°So, you don¡¯t owe them anything?¡± ¡°Not exactly.¡± With a gesture, I pull the copy of my contract with Arabella from my inventory, handing it to him. Corinth squints against the sun as he holds it up to read. ¡°It¡¯s a bit one-sided,¡± he says. ¡°That¡¯s what I thought too at the time. I couldn¡¯t figure out why they would give me so much, asking so little in return. Now, I know.¡± He sighs, handing the paper back to me, tucking his hand behind his head again. ¡°Sorry about that. If I knew they would try headhunting my family I would have told the guildmaster directly to knock it off. The last thing that I wanted was for all of you to get swept up in my issues.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad you didn¡¯t, for what it''s worth.¡± I catch his attention again. ¡°What would I be doing if Arabella never came to Westgrove, driving ponies around, delivering orders, and helping to plant trees?¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound so bad. Sounds like a good life, a safe one.¡± I shake my head. ¡°I¡¯ve learned a lot over the last couple of months, learned that I don¡¯t know myself nearly as well as I should. One thing I do know though, is that I don¡¯t think a safe life is the place for me.¡± ¡°Charlene.¡± ¡°Did you tell Halford to go home and work on the orchard when you saw him, or is the stay-at-home speech going to just be for me?¡± ¡°As a matter of fact,¡± he says. ¡°That is exactly what I told him. Come to think of it, he hit me in the face too. He throws a better punch by the by.¡± ¡°So, risking your neck, gaining fame and power, that is just for you.¡± ¡°It was supposed to be,¡± he admits. ¡°I knew Halford would end up following my trail. Saw it in his eyes the day I left. Like a fool, I hoped he would at the time. Tried to correct that with the essentia I sent him, thought that he might stick around at home if I sent him and Dad the same set. The boy basically ruined everything by selling them and buying cheaper ones for himself and his little friend. He could have destroyed his whole life by doing that.¡± ¡°Did his life look very ruined when you saw him?¡± ¡°No,¡± he admits. ¡°He was all smile and cheer before he noticed me. It¡¯s probably best I leave him alone for a while.¡± He looks back at me, looking me over. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that I never was able to send you the rest of the set I picked out for you.¡± If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°What did you have in mind? If it is okay for me to ask, given that spies are looking after you.¡± He waves his hand, and for a moment the sky overhead turned a violet-red. The shift only lasts an instant, but I realize then that we sit inside his soul presence, a presence so huge that it stretches past the far horizon. ¡°I bullied my way into claiming this territory for a time. Either the king is fine with it, or he hasn¡¯t gotten around to dispatching someone who can make me stop yet. For the time being, no one will be eavesdropping on our words.¡± A bird flies past, ducking between the trees, oblivious to being in the complete power of this man next to me. ¡°That is incredible,¡± I say, trying to see again the color of his presence in the clear blue of the sky, but not managing to find any clue of it. ¡°An incredible pain in the ass,¡± he says. ¡°The other essentia?¡± ¡°Right. Well, knowing my industrious father, I thought that after he got his hands on the power to do what he wanted to do with the orchard, he would need assistance running the business side. I remembered you being good with numbers, thought I might try to help you along in that way. Gold was not too difficult to find, but the Fortune and Prosperity Essentias were more difficult to get my hands on. Then, some things came up, and I found myself too busy to take the proper time and find them. To be fair to me, I didn¡¯t think you would be able to integrate essentia before you were eighteen, that¡¯s the time most people start being able to.¡± ¡°That is what the lord¡¯s ritualist said too,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m an early bloomer.¡± ¡°Something I should have predicted. Sorry.¡± I shake my head. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I am happy with the ones I ended up with. Magic and Dragon sound better to me than Fortune and Prosperity. You have Magic, don¡¯t you?¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he nods, looking to the sky again. ¡°You aren¡¯t going to ask about the Dragon Essentia? Not going to act shocked that I got my hands on a legendary essentia?¡± ¡°I could tell you had one when we first met,¡± he said. ¡°It is written all over your soul for anyone that knows how to look. If you are going to keep walking down this road, shooting for the third rank, you need to learn how to protect your soul. There are those out there who can attack it directly, and even if they can¡¯t, reading your thoughts and emotions will be easy for them. Trust me; it can lead to bad situations.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t know that you could read souls.¡± He huffs. ¡°Charlene, you are in the second rank, and by now you should be able to see them at least a bit. Right now, you will probably be only able to see them when someone is expressing power through their soul, but by the third rank, you will be able to see them all the time unless an individual is hiding theirs. Have you not noticed how your soul presence flexes and bends when you command it? People can read those kinds of currents. Souls have movements all their own, predictable enough to be a kind of language if you know how to read it.¡± ¡°Is that why my eye tells me nothing about you?¡± I ask, tapping the side of my head. ¡°You are hiding your soul from me?¡± ¡°No.¡± His face grows hard for a moment. ¡°Have you ever heard of providence?¡± ¡°I know the word; it is used a lot in the canon, but I don¡¯t think that¡¯s what you mean. A fey spirit came with the eye, the enchantment in the artifact too complex to be controlled any other way. She spoke about providence once or twice, but refused to explain what it is.¡± ¡°The eye, it¡¯s from Faeth?¡± ¡°Yes,¡± I reply, a bit surprised that he could tell that. ¡°Just like Caranall,¡± he says. ¡°You have to understand, the Faethians are one of the groups at the forefront of enchantment, and their work in understanding and reading providence is inferior to no one. They follow the teachings of the goddess Aminriale, and providence is her domain, much as magic is Exeter¡¯s.¡± ¡°But what is it?¡± ¡°Providence is a record,¡± he says. ¡°Everything leaves an impact on the world. The origins of anything are a byproduct of where it came from, and Aminriale seems to have an obsession with investigating the past. At least, that is what I have gathered from reading her teachings. Because of her interest, a power exists in our world to investigate the past of things in much the same way as she attempts to, to read where something or someone has come from. It is not a well-known natural power, likely because you cannot blow things up with it, but its utility begins to show with the more power you gain.¡± ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Because people¡¯s weaknesses are often found in their pasts,¡± he says. ¡°Your eye cannot read my providence, likely because I am too powerful for it to, but even if it was a higher tier item, I keep my providence shrouded. Don¡¯t want people following my past back to here.¡± He taps the dirt with his hand. ¡°Back to my family.¡± ¡°You have enemies that would do that?¡± ¡°Anyone with power has enemies, Charlene. That is a law as self-evident as gravity.¡± ¡°Right, gravity. I only learned what that was, recently.¡± ¡°Tell me what happened after you left Westgrove,¡± he says, closing his eyes, snuggling back into the grass. ¡°How did my sister¡¯s introduction into the life of a magician go? It must have been difficult to let you reach the second rank in such a short time.¡± I fall back into the grass, looking at the sky as well, and the words spill away from me. I hold nothing back, not even the nightmares or what I did to Coriander. The story can¡¯t stop once I have started it. Some parts are hard to say, my throat choking through the words, like swallowing a stone, but I don¡¯t stop. Corinth lays next to me, never saying a word, nodding now and again at certain points with his eye closed and turned heavenward. Sniffing, I finish my tale, wiping at my eyes despite having kept back all my tears, letting loose a laugh out of sheer embarrassment. ¡°They sound like good friends,¡± are his first words. ¡°I think they are.¡± ¡°Good. Having a real team is the way to do it. Going at this kind of life alone is doable, but it is a lonely experience. You don¡¯t want to follow that path, trust me.¡± The solemnity in his voice makes me trust his words. ¡°I could buy you out from under your contract, allow you to go adventuring with your friends without any expectations put upon you. A fresh start.¡± I shake my head. ¡°No. If I wanted to do that, I think I could manage it on my own. No, despite how terrible the competition went, now that I am away from it, I do still feel like I owe Arabella something. Even if it might have been just a way for her to strengthen ties with you, she took a chance on me, and gave me power that I didn¡¯t deserve. If I reneged on the first deal I made of my own; it just wouldn¡¯t feel right. Besides, it isn¡¯t as if I am locked into anything serious. All the contract stipulates is that I need to reach the third rank in the next two and a half years, and I am already planning to do that. After that, they will examine me for some kind of competition, find out that I am not as powerful as the elites they already have gathered, and I will go my own way.¡± ¡°I think you might be selling yourself a bit short there,¡± he says. ¡°For my sake, I hope you¡¯re wrong.¡± We share a laugh, falling back into a relaxing silence, letting time tick by uncounted. I bring out the lunch I had made before I left this morning, sharing a bit of it with him as we sit on the hill overlooking the family orchard. There are so many new faces down there that it seems almost as if someone else¡¯s family runs this place now. I try to see the rows of trees through Corinth¡¯s eyes. How much has changed for him? ¡°So,¡± he says, chewing a bit of buttered bread. ¡°You probably have questions for me.¡± ¡°A few more, though you have answered the first ones that I thought of already,¡± I say. ¡°And I think I can guess your next,¡± he says, nodding. ¡°Go ahead, ask me it.¡± ¡°Will you teach me how to be a proper mage?¡± I ask. Corinth pauses in the middle of buttering his next piece of bread. ¡°I thought you were going to ask me about Grise.¡± ¡°Maybe later. So, will you?¡± He returns to buttering the bread, deliberately moving slowly. ¡°You said that you would only be here for a few weeks.¡± ¡°Surely, you can teach me something in that time,¡± I say. He blows out a sigh, turning his head this way and that as he thinks about it. ¡°Sure,¡± he says at last. ¡°It might be difficult, but I think I can show you a thing or two. Are you prepared to work hard?¡± ¡°Brother, my goal in life has become to work harder than everyone else.¡± Chapter 124 - Lesson Plan Be careful who you make an enemy of. In this world, anyone might find strength while you laze in comfort. A weakling today might come back to haunt you years later. - Elvish Proverb Corinth had not been exaggerating when he asked if I would work hard. Right now, he is walking around the newer rows of trees, showing off as he carries heavy bundles with his one arm, holding casual conversation with the new workers. I grit my teeth, straining against the impossibility of the task, an impossibility that everyone eventually attempts and grows out of before they are ten years old, trying to move a rock with my mind. As soon as Corinth decided to accept me as a student, a temporary one given that I am only going to be home for a few more weeks, he led me down the hill and toward the newly constructed barn. He gave me a moment to appreciate the nice new equipment¨Cit seems my father¡¯s been on a spending spree recently¨Cbefore dragging me outside to the yard behind. A large circle of dirt was clear, the fence to surround it and turn it into a real rodeo still going up. ¡°Is this enough room?¡± he asked, motioning to the yard around us. ¡°To give me a good idea of what your abilities are, that is.¡± I nodded and started to show off as well as I could, not that I had all that many things to display. I didn¡¯t even bother to show him my disenchantment ability at first, it was a well-understood ability if not all that common. Corinth liked the vault ability, congratulating himself on picking out the Gold Essentia for me when he saw it. My dragonfire was a different thing altogether. While he hadn¡¯t been all that impressed about the initial burst of orange I showed off to him, I caught his attention when started to mix different affixes into it, the color changing to reflect each. So far, dragonfire has been the only ability I possess that will allow me to pour essentially any kind of mana into it. All the abilities gained from my gold essentially reject my attempts to infuse them with different affixes, as does the Eyes of the Dragon. My new wings have allowed the sky affix to work with them, but that is about it. Only dragonfire accepts everything. My brother watched for a long time, asking me to cycle through the different affixes I had accumulated, pouring each into the fire and even mixing them. He had me throw the fire at wooden boards he pulled out of the barn, taking note of the effect each time. He had me try to mix every affix into a single bolt of dragonfire, something I found impossible to do with any kind of consistency. Two was about my limit, three if I really focused and shut out all else. At the end of it, my mana was dangerously low, and he allowed us to move on. I have to explain my next two abilities as Eyes of the Dragon and Emperor¡¯s Prerogative aren¡¯t exactly things that I can show off all that well. Again, he stopped me. ¡°So, I am guessing that you are using your artificial eye to translate your abilities through. Most people can¡¯t do that, you know.¡± I paused. I knew that, it was one of the first things I figured out after having woken up with Galea showing me a window of my various attributes, but I had genuinely forgotten it somewhere along the way. ¡°Do you think the information is flawed somehow?¡± ¡°Not at all,¡± he said, waving it off. ¡°I expect the accuracy is quite advanced. No, what I mean by the comment is that I doubt everyone would understand their passive abilities quite so well as you do. Especially that last one, the one from your conflux. I figure that a lot of trial and error would be needed by someone who developed that before they understood what it was that it did. Everyone has some instinctual understanding of their essentia abilities as they come from our souls, but knowing that you are completely unrestrained in your ability to gain affixes is unique.¡± ¡°I understand that,¡± I say, looking over the window once more. ¡°Finding and gaining new affixes is what has allowed me to get to where I am now. If it weren¡¯t for that, I don¡¯t think I would have made it.¡± ¡°It is good that you at least understand the value, or think that you do. What I was getting at, is that I think that ability describes your strange soul shape.¡± ¡°You are calling me strange? My soul¡­strange.¡± Corinth shrugged. ¡°Unusual. It appears different than most others I have seen. The geometry of it is well-defined, which is uncommon for anyone under rank three. Moreover, it appears complex in its construction, which is also out of the norm.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know how much I like you looking at my soul,¡± I said. ¡°Do better to hide it then.¡± Corinth opened his hand, fire appearing in distinct lines above his palm. The flames cut small lines through the air, and after only a moment, a representation of the concentric geometric shapes that I have studied so often appeared in front of me. He projected my very soul, the affix runes even written upon the corresponding faces.¡±See, odd. If I had to guess, it would be that conflux of your responsible, opening and arranging the shape of your soul to better allow you to integrate affixes. I could conjecture more, but that would do more harm than good.¡± ¡°So, that is not how most souls look?¡± I ask. ¡°Not at all.¡± The flaming wireframe of my soul moved aside, another burning image appearing in the air next to it. This one was an eight-sided shape, very reminiscent of one of the shapes close to the center of my soul. ¡°This is what you might expect to find. Most incorrectly believe souls to be spherical in shape, mostly owing to how brightly they burn when they make the transition from the divine to the material realm, but that is ignorant. Most people have a few affixes innately.¡± As he spoke, runes appeared on the surface of the eight-sided representation of a soul. ¡°There is room to accumulate more, but that space is finite. There is a constraint to just how many affixes one can accumulate, and there is an innate leaning that an individual soul has toward affixes, making some harder and some easier for each individual to gain. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°That is where yours differs. I have never seen a soul with as much space for affix expansion as yours. Perhaps, if you live long enough, you will be able to hunt down and find them all. That could be an interesting goal for you.¡± ¡°Yeah,¡± I said, trying to sound interested. Corinth¡¯s face fell as he looked at me. ¡°You already knew this.¡± ¡°Well, I had figured most of that out,¡± I admitted. ¡°It only took a few times seeing the new runes appear on the surfaces of those soul-shapes whenever I gained a new affix to start putting it all together. I didn¡¯t know that most others don¡¯t have several shapes forming their soul like mine does. That at least was new, and a little sad.¡± He smiles at me. ¡°You don¡¯t know the half of it.¡± The two representations of souls float to the side as a third spins into existence. The fire seeping up from Corinth¡¯s hand creates a sphere, a solid object riven with lines that run all over its surface. ¡°This is what you might see if you looked at my soul. I only have the one side.¡± I couldn¡¯t help but move closer, peering at the slowly rotating orb of fire. ¡°I thought you said souls weren¡¯t spherical.¡± ¡°Correction,¡± he said. ¡°Everyone else¡¯s souls aren¡¯t spherical. I was unfortunate enough to have a spherical one, which came with my only affix already emblazoned upon it.¡± ¡°You only have one affix?¡± I asked. ¡°And you¡¯re rank five?¡± ¡°Affixes aren¡¯t everything, Charlene. You can make it to the heights of power with only one if you work hard enough, are lucky enough to be a magic specialist, manage to escape death over and over again when it should by all accounts have caught you years ago, and have good friends with plenty of healing magic.¡± ¡°Is that all?¡± ¡°Lots of luck,¡± he said, closing his hand, and banishing all of the floating shapes. ¡°For you though, it would be a waste not to exploit your ability to pick up affixes like you were at the market. Keep expanding on your repertoire; pick up everything you can find even if it doesn¡¯t seem like it will come in handy at the time. I only have ever needed to work with a single affix, so I don¡¯t think there is much I can teach you there. Come to think of it, you will have a difficult time trying to find and teacher who can help you out in that regard, which is fine. Being self-reliant is of paramount importance for reaching the higher ranks.¡± After that, he had me continue to show off my abilities. It didn¡¯t take long for him to stop me again, this time when he saw me pull some black sand out of my inventory to begin manipulating. ¡°What is that?¡± he said, walking over and peering at the sphere of sand I held floating over my hand. ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± I admitted, making the ball spin and roil. ¡°The description of my ability simply refers to it as black sand. I managed to make it after disenchanting a few natural treasures, which then became this kind of black dust that I could move around a bit. I combined the dust with gold and now it is like this.¡± ¡°Can you make a sheet of it for me to inspect?¡± he asked. ¡°It doesn¡¯t need to be large.¡± Shrugging, I did as he asked. Corinth stood there, seeming to be lost in thought for several moments, his burning eye staring at the sheet of sand in front of him. Just as I was about to ask what he was looking at, he stepped away, shaking his head. ¡°Did a god bless you or something? It is okay if one did, but you should let me know.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think so,¡± I said, relaxing the sheet of black sand into a ball once more. ¡°What is wrong?¡± ¡°I should have inspected Halford closer,¡± Corinth muttered to himself. ¡°What, is it?¡± He collected himself, pinching the bridge of his nose. ¡°You have good abilities too. Remember that.¡± He turned his eye on me, shaking his head. ¡°I have absolutely no gods'' damned idea what that is. Well, that¡¯s not true. I know what it is, but I have never seen anything like it before.¡± I stared down at the ball floating in front of my face. ¡°It is sand, that¡¯s black¡­and heavy.¡± Corinth took another long breath. ¡°You don¡¯t understand, Charlene. Not that I would expect you to without having accomplished an advanced degree in magical theory and physics.¡± ¡°Well, aren¡¯t you going to tell me? I have been trying to figure out what this stuff is for weeks now.¡± ¡°The explanation would be long and technical,¡± he said, waving me off. ¡°It is better to just think of it as magic sand for now.¡± ¡°So, I¡¯m stupid,¡± I said, crossing my arms. He stared back at me for a moment, but I did not turn away. Eventually, he sighed and jumped into the explanation. ¡°To preface, there are four fundamental forces governing the origin of all particles within the universe: mass, charge, spin, and will. This black dust you spoke of only contains properties of the last two, being nill in regard to both mass and charge, and thereby not interacting with either. The various spin states are mostly irrelevant, but its will state is interesting. The interactions of will states are what we mostly understand to be magic at its most fundamental level, but most particles that have pronounced will states also have mass as well, while what you have there does not. ¡°Additionally, instead of adhering to the nucleus of the atoms that it is attracted to, the natural placement for will particles as they have a fundamental attraction to nuclear forces, that black dust is interacting with the electron shells of the gold atoms you introduced, forming secondary orbitals existing inside of the bounds of the electron orbitals. Thus, they create the black sand.¡± I squint at my brother, not wholly convinced he wasn¡¯t just making up words. After he managed to hold a straight face for a good thirty seconds, I had to sigh and let my hands fall back down to my sides. ¡°You win. I didn¡¯t get any of that.¡± ¡°You will figure it out eventually,¡± he said. ¡°Think of it like this. You make dust from disenchanting items, and the dust is a magic dust, though it is actively inert, not containing any magic or weight. Then, you bonded that dust to gold, very tiny¡­balls of gold, which gave it weight. Because¡­I can¡¯t think of a way to explain orbital bonding in a good metaphor. The little balls of black sand can snap together in certain patterns, forming shapes, and the bonds of them snapping together can be very strong. Gold was a good medium to choose actually, keep using it.¡± ¡°So,¡± I said, rotating the black ball of sand into various shapes that I already felt it could easily change into, the last being the octahedral spear I used to impale some particular magical beasts. ¡°It is magic sand, gotcha.¡± ¡°It is so much more than that, Charlene. I¡¯ll try to think of some ways to figure out how to show that to you, but, like I said, I have never seen particles like that black dust before. This might be another thing for you to figure out on your own.¡± I put the black sand away. ¡°So, you can¡¯t help me with my affixes or my new ability. What exactly can you help me with.¡± He smiled, not put off by my attitude in the least. ¡°With what all rank two magicians need to start learning, how to control their presences to their full potentials.¡± And with that, he put me to task doing what I am now, enveloping a stone with my presence, and trying to lift it with just my will. Sweat trickles down my back, my mana is dangerously low and only dropping as the minutes pass by, a headache pounding away inside my brain. I won¡¯t stop though, won¡¯t give in to his smirking grin. ¡°He is just jealous,¡± I tell myself through gritted teeth. ¡°Jealous that Exeter gave you all the affixes in the world. Poor Corinth just has fire. Can¡¯t make a drink cold with fire. Can¡¯t fly with fire. Can¡¯t¡­¡± The rock jiggles, just a slight movement, but I know I saw it. ¡°Finally.¡± Chapter 125 - Mana and Movement To the stars, we must return. Our home is beyond here, far, far beyond. Return to the origin, remember what we were, and see how this place is but a shadow. ¡°Power doesn¡¯t come from nothing.¡± Those are the words Corinth leaves me with before heading back to the house. My brother had the gall to look exasperated with me as he said it even, throwing his hand up like it should naturally be the most evident thing in the world. I push away thoughts of him, focusing on the small rock in the middle of the dirt patch in front of me. After asking him for instruction, I should be the one embarrassed by actually expecting any to come. Instead of telling me how to do what he asks, he just screws up his face like he is trying to puzzle out how I can be so ignorant. This isn¡¯t going so well. With the sun having fallen past the horizon, I continue sitting at the top of the hill, ignoring my mother as she comes out onto the porch to call me in to eat. She gives up after a minute, throwing up her hands as well, mumbling as she stalks back inside. Corinth must get it from her. A small fire sits on the top of the hill beside me, a light giving flickering illumination to my trial. Sweat has long dried on my clothes, the cool evening breeze made stink of my toil throughout the day. ¡°Corinth,¡± I can¡¯t help but scoff, staring at the rock. ¡°Just wants to impress everyone. Sure, I¡¯ll carry that tree, no need to strain yourself. Look how cool I am. No need to dig, I¡¯ll just wave my hand and the earth will jump out of my way because I am the big impressive man.¡± Even my insults have lost any bite. Today has been shit. I fall back, catching myself on my hands, and stare at the arriving stars for a while. I notice so many more twinkling overhead than I ever did as a child, seeing color painted in the heavens that was absent to me before. These new eyes are a blessing; there is so much to the world that I was never able to notice before. Movement catches my attention, and I see Janna walking out from a new guest house built behind the main property. She wears simple clothes, no armor on her now, a sword slung over her shoulder and a lantern held out to the side. She pauses for a moment as she passes in front of the closed barn door, turning her face to look up at me. Our eyes meet for a moment, the woman offering me a nod before she continues around to behind the barn. I watch her a while longer, seeing her place her lantern down and begin to move through flowing sword-forms. I know almost nothing about weapons. Halford tried to teach me more than once, and I allowed him, finding his enthusiasm for them to be so cute, but nothing about it ever stuck. The issue is how rigid they are. My brother could paint a picture with the blade, but when I see him fight it is so simple, so formulaic. His strength is incredible, but it is not a path for me. My mind returns to the conversation with Corinth, trying to understand what he was talking about. He tends to use flowery, learned, language when he tries to explain things. I should make more of an effort to show that I don¡¯t understand the explanations. The more he talks, the less I want to show him that though. He is like Halford in that way, too caught up in his own words to watch how they land. ¡°People think we call ourselves mages because we throw around magic,¡± he said. ¡°But everyone produces magic if they are a magician. It is not the role that defines the mage, but the mage¡¯s relation to power.¡± He was talking about mana, trying to show me something, but after just having burnt through my entire supply of mana over the course of a few hours, it was difficult to pay him the proper attention. Mana, the fabric of magic, and according to my brother, tiny round objects that are attracted to mass and carry some connection with will. We generate it somehow. No idea how, but that is what he said. I take a few deep breaths, refocusing my mind as I watch Janna down in the yard, practicing her swordswomanship by lantern light. I told Corinth that I would work harder, harder than anyone, so how could I let myself be outdone now? Checking my vital energies, I find my mana almost fully recovered. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. My soul presence rolls off me like a simple breeze. It is harder here to release it, like something is always pushing down on me, a suppressing force that comes from the red-haired magician eating baked turkey in the house. Even struggling, the most I can expand it is ten feet away from myself, but five is enough to fully encompass the stone on the barren ground. I push at it, willing it to move, and nothing happens for a long moment. Eventually, it wiggles a bit, but now I know this to be the false wiggling of my soul presence affecting it. I strain, trying to push my mind into it, but it refuses to budge. I find that I am holding my breath, and all of my concentration evaporates as I pants on top of the hill. With a groan, I fall back into the grass, turning my eyes to the sky once more. Dark clouds overhead obscure the stars, leaving me only the hazy moon to look at. How could this be so difficult? I am able to do so many things with magic, conjure fire, create an entire extra-dimensional space to store things inside of, and create and manipulate the black sand. How can moving a rock be beyond me? Sighing, I pull some of the black sand from my inventory. Within the shroud of my aura, the sand flies, churning in on itself in a ball that hovers over my hand. Not the first time that I have taken the sand out today, I try and study what it is that I do with it. The mechanism for my manipulation of the sand remains hidden even to me. Somehow, I know in my mind that I have control over it, the natural instinct embedded on my soul from the essentia that grants me the power. My fingers play like at piano keys, the sand hopping and rotating in the air, forming patterns at my whim. Corinth said that power doesn¡¯t come from nothing before he stormed off. Staring at the sand, I try to understand what he might have meant. How is it that I can manipulate it? Simply changing its shape, and moving it around, takes some mana from me. Not much, but the drain is noticeable if I use it for a long time. Where does that mana go? How does it go from invigorating my soul and move into the black sand? Suddenly, I must be doing something to make inanimate matter levitate in front of me. Novelty strikes me, and I close the Eye of Volaash as I watch the sand, looking at it with only my dragon''s eye. I focus on it, pushing the ball to rapidly change shape as fast as I can, straining the drain on my mana as harshly as I can. I keep at that for more than thirty minutes, forcing transformation after transformation on the black mass, watching it all the while. At first, I think that what I catch might be a trick of the light, an interplay between the sheen of the sand and the fire that I started in a pit nearby. I run the sand through the transformations again, catching the same reflection. It is only when my one eye starts to drift, the world becoming unfocused and a bit blurry, that I see the gleam. There, extending from my index finger like a fine, gossamer silk, is a strand. I freeze, not daring to move, catching the link in a state of suspended animation. Terrified that I might lose the sight, I still bring my hand closer to my face, keeping my vision unfocused. There are more strands as well, spider silk extending from each of my fingers, extending out toward the mass of dark sand where they split into too many pieces to count. So thin, I can¡¯t see any movement in them, but I know that my mana travels from them and into the sand. Still watching, I attempt a manipulation, gasping as I see the strands roil and jump as if each one is connected to a separate grain of sand. The complexity of the interplay overwhelms me, and I have to drop my hand after only a moment. How can I possibly be doing something like this without seeing it? The forms of the dancing strands are beyond me, their movement far too coordinated to be something that I am doing. And yet, who else is there but me to move them? Hours pass as I stare at the strands, watching them move and writhe as I shift about the sand. This is what Corinth was talking about, I am convinced of that. Power doesn¡¯t come from nowhere, I see that. Picking myself up, I return my attention to the stone on the ground in front of me. I reach out with my free hand, keeping the ball levitating above my other, focusing on the strings of mana to give me inspiration. Nothing happens. The strands of mana never come. For hours I try, I strain, I burn through all of my mana trying to bring the barest hint of connection between me and the stone. Nothing. Corinth arrives after the first cockcrow, finding me defeated at the top of the hill once more, a plate of eggs in his hand. ¡°Any luck?¡± he asks. I look up at him. ¡°I tried all night.¡± ¡°I can tell.¡± He puts the plate on the ground next to me. ¡°And?¡± Looking down at my breakfast, I shake my head. ¡°I can move the rock, but not how you said to do it.¡± My brother studies me for a long while before shrugging. ¡°As long as you are doing it with magic manipulation, I don¡¯t much care for the method. Now, show me.¡± A bit surprised by his reaction, I hold up my hand, and show him. Chapter 126 - The Root of the Problem You impose them upon me. I cannot deny you, but I mark this as my protest. We shall not allow them to fester in our lands. If we are to bear them, they will need to be made servial. That is the concession that the lord¡¯s round has arrived at. -An excerpt from correspondence to Emperor Corilaise II, penned by Drais, King of Gale The stone lifts easily into the air. I feel no strain as I move it around, turning it over this way and that as it floats inside of my soul presence. Corinth watches me, watches the stone, frowning. ¡°I am not sure that I can do anything with this,¡± he says, taking a seat on the hill with me. ¡°Then again, you did accomplish the task.¡± ¡°I did,¡± I agree. I let the stone drop into the grass. At a thought, the black dust I suffused into the stone floats away, rejoining the ball of sand that hovers at my shoulder. Microscopic changes run through the ball, the dust integrating once more with the tiny bits of gold that I tore them away from to transfer to the stone. More and more I am coming closer to understanding the sand. Corinth¡¯s understanding of it is superior, somehow he can see the particles with just his eye, but those particles are connected to me. My understanding grows through intuition. That will only take me so far, I know, but it is a start. He scratches his chin. ¡°It isn¡¯t that the sand is a crutch. A crutch helps you to reach the goal, it is a tool that assists you along the path, but I don¡¯t think you are walking the way I wanted you to.¡± ¡°Then, perhaps you should explain the purpose behind this exercise.¡± I sigh, taking a seat next to him in the grass. He puffs out his cheeks, blowing air. ¡°You have been patient. Alright, by now you should have some ability to sense mana, yes?¡± ¡°I have been able to see it for half a year,¡± I say, tapping the right side of my head, where my reptilian eye stares out from. ¡°Right, you mentioned that eye. Well, that makes the issue all the more puzzling. A magician typically only gains a real sense of mana when they reach the second rank. Most start to be able to see it, but others experience it in other ways as well. What usually happens as a result, is that they make the connection between their new soul pressences and the mana they sense, they attempt to manipulate it, and they begin to find success.¡± ¡°You¡¯re saying that magicians can manipulate any mana they come across?¡± I ask. ¡°In a way. It takes an immense amount of practice, and the mana that you find needs to be absent of intent. Most mana is, accumulations of will-bearance that carries only concept without any intent. That is what affixes are, in a way, mana attaching itself to a concept. The concepts that your soul resonates with allows an easier bridge between you and the mana. But, it merely makes the bridging easier, it is not required.¡± Corinth holds up his hand and suddenly it is as if the sunny hill around us comes to life with magic. Motes of green drift away from the grass, specs of brown soaring up from the earth, and even tiny lights are pulled out of the air, all swirling and forming three balls floating above his palm. I know the brown light to be earth mana immediately, its taste tickling the back of my throat, familiar. The other two are foreign, the green an almost medicinal taste cut with something near mint, the white sweet, almost fluffy. ¡°I thought you only had one affix,¡± I say. ¡°I do.¡± He waves his hand, and the balls of light vanish, disintegrating as they fly upward. ¡°Fire is the only kind of mana I have any true connection with, but I can manipulate the others so long as I am not being opposed. I believe I said this before but will is a fundamental aspect of the universe. Particles bearing a connection to will suffuse every atom of the universe, every part of matter. This is where power comes from. This is where we draw it from. ¡°These particles when congregated tend toward homogenization, they are influenced by concept, and thereby they take on affix. Without a thinking being to manipulate them, they act in accordance with the nature their adopted concept imparts, but we as living beings can claim them with our own will. You told me before that your fey spirit catalogs your mana for you and keeps track of it. What I am trying to tell you, is that count of your mana is a measure of the particles that you have either generated or attracted, the ones that bend to only your will and sit outside of conceptual influence. ¡°Before you have baptized your body in affix and remade yourself in the transformation of the third rank, your mana is unaffixed inside your body. It requires conscious effort and intent to connect it to a concept, an affix, but after the third rank, it won¡¯t. At least, for the ones that you integrate into your very being. Do you follow so far?¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°I think so,¡± I say, taking a moment to work it out. ¡°You are answering a question I never knew that I needed to ask. I always considered mana to be something mystical, unknowable. You are telling me that these particles are responsible for it.¡± I chew on the thought a moment longer. ¡°So, all of your mana is fire affixed.¡± ¡°In it¡¯s natural state,¡± he says. ¡°I can remove the affix and make it into pure mana once more, but there isn¡¯t much need to do so.¡± I nod. ¡°This is all very enlightening. I don¡¯t exactly see what it has to do with the stone though.¡± ¡°It has everything to do with the stone, I¡¯m afraid.¡± He stares off, looking at the morning sun for a minute. ¡°You, I will predict, are going to hit a dead-end in your pursuit of becoming a magician.¡± ¡°What? How can you know something like that?¡± ¡°You seem to have no affinity for manipulating outside mana,¡± he says, gesturing at the stone. ¡°I might not have been outside during the night, but I checked in on occasion. I saw your struggle, was baffled by it. A part of me thought you might be completely talentless, which would have been a shock, considering how much you have done already. No, I think I have just realized how you are broken. You have no ability to influence unclaimed mana. Zero. I am willing to bet, that if it wasn¡¯t for that eye you received before integrating your essentia, you wouldn¡¯t be able to see it despite reaching the second rank.¡± All I can do is stare at him. ¡°That isn¡¯t true,¡± I say. ¡°Ever since breaking the second threshold for magic, I have been able to kind of, taste it. I am not certain, but it is a new ability to sense mana. You are wrong.¡± His eyebrows rise at my mention of breaking the second threshold, but he lets it go. ¡°Can you do that with your eyes closed?¡± He raises his hand again, conjuring a ball of fire in his palm. Immediately, I taste the cinnamon of fire affixed mana as I stare at it. ¡°Taste is not that unusual of a sense for burgeoning mana sense to hijack. Prove me wrong, taste it with your eyes closed.¡± Fear wells in my heart. I have never done what he asks before, never even thought to try. Taking a breath, I close my eyes, and immediately the results are obvious. As soon as I can no longer see the ball of fire he holds, the taste of it vanishes. He could be holding it up to my face, but I know I wouldn¡¯t even have the barest inkling of it. ¡°Nothing,¡± I say. ¡°That is what I thought.¡± When I open my eyes, it is a different ball of magic he holds, the green one again that tastes like mint. Corinth closes his hand, dismissing the magic. ¡°Just when I thought that you might be the only one of us not broken.¡± I stare at my hand. ¡°So, I¡¯m ruined. I¡¯ll never be able to do this thing. I¡¯ll be stunted.¡± ¡°Not at all,¡± he says. He is smiling when I look up. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I¡¯ve shown you my infirmity already,¡± he says. When I glance at his missing arm, he rolls his eyes. ¡°I only have the single affix,¡± he says. ¡°It is, frankly, embarrassing for someone in the fifth rank to only really be able to work with a single concept. I made it here regardless. Did it mean that I had to work harder, that I had to be lucky, that I had to chart a path around challenges that others simply walked through, sure. But at the end of the day, all of those losers kiss the boots of people I talk with as equals. ¡°You would have hit a dead-end. It would have been incredibly painful, you would have grown from figuring out your path around it or you would have crashed and burned. Good thing you have your big brother here to let you skip all of that.¡± ¡°Is it really that important?¡± I ask. ¡°Being able to use mana that comes from outside myself seems like a useful trick, but not vital.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t exactly understand, perhaps that is my fault. I told you before that these will particles suffuse everything. When I asked you to work with your magic, everything seemed to work fine, but when I asked you to connect to mana that didn¡¯t originate in your body, you are incapable, and I think that is the reason.¡± He points up at the ball of black sand. ¡°You said before that the black sand was different.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± he agrees. ¡°I don¡¯t need to explain the difference again, but let me at least say that it is different. The will particles in your black sand do not operate the same as the standard ones that you will find everywhere. I believe that your connection with those has closed off your opportunity to influence the natural world with your intent. ¡°Let me demonstrate the issue.¡± Corinth holds up his hand once more, and the stone flies out of the grass to hover over his palm. ¡°Typically, we as mages are the ones that focus on the manipulation of mana. It is a skill that anyone worth their salt eventually picks up as they walk down the path of magic, but we are meant to focus on it, to get a head start in that direction. What I meant for this exercise with the rock to teach you is to sense and influence the mana that is already located inside the stone. Some will do this by connecting with it, mana strings are a common tactic, the expected crutch. Eventually, you would be able to do away with the strings, imposing your intent directly on the undirected mana already inside the stone, conquering it with your will.¡± The stone begins to heat, the surface turning a dull orange and smoking. Suddenly, it burst into fire, melting, the remnants of the stone vaporizing as it is consumed by fire. ¡°The next step of the training would then be to teach how to seize the mana for your own. Once the mana in the stone is yours, truly yours, you will understand that you can manipulate it. There would be no difference from changing the mana in the stone into dragonfire and conjuring it in your hand.¡± With a flick of his wrist, the tiny ball of fire soars into the sky. ¡°Then, I would attempt to have you do the same with the air. By definition, the air is less dense than a stone, and the mana it contains is more spread out and diluted. Once, you were capable of seizing the mana in the very air, we could finally move on to the real objective.¡± ¡°Which is?¡± He smiles. High overhead, a mountainous explosion thunders through the air. A second sun plums in the sky overhead, the shockwave rolling down sending a wave of pressure over the land around the farm. In the barn, the ponies whiny at the sound. I look up, feeling my ears pop, and seeing a second sun hovering in the air high overhead. ¡°Finally,¡± he says, a smile lighting his face. ¡°We would arrive at the true discipline of the mage, spellwork.¡± Chapter 127 - Mageblade Hard to know when my heart died. Would be nice to tell myself it came with the change, something dying to give me something to live with. Reckon it was before that though, long, long before. -Ferro Seventeen days. A full week past the time that Corinth advised me to give it up, I pushed and strained to achieve what he wanted. Seventeen days of sleepless nights, of sitting in one spot and forcing all of my focus into my fingertips, of trying to pull out the barest hint of potential. Failure. I just can¡¯t do it. The musty smell of the barn spills in from up the stairs, the light inside my vault low, given off by smoldering green spheres floating listlessly about the chamber. Over two weeks of dedicated study, devoting all of my time to puzzle out the nuances of the black sand, to make it fit into the path that I need to walk down, has delivered some revelations. Fighting that first magical beast, Satrix, I remembered the way that some of the black sand had absorbed its attack. At the time, the difference was a curiosity, a small ball that I pulled off the rest of the sand, filled with vital fire mana from taking the brunt of the wolf¡¯s attack. It seems to be a quirk of the black sand, the ability to absorb mana. Corinth explained it, guessing that the particles that make up the sand are absent of concept, even when under my control, making them susceptible to leeching concept from affixed mana. He went on, in his way of telling me exactly what was going on without actually enlightening me. To summarize, the black sand is strong against magical influence, but has a certain threshold against more mundane attacks that will likely break and shatter it. Now, I fully understand the purpose of Corinth¡¯s initial training. He wanted to teach me spellcraft, freeform magic that would open up entire worlds of power to me. Spellcraft is his most prized possession, without it, he never would have been able to come as far as he has with only a single affix to call upon. Corinth can craft even the most complex spells in an instant, creating runic spellframes in the air so intricate that they would shame aged scholars in the craft. As far as I can tell, he can do anything with spells: teleport himself, me, and his assistant from the mill to the farm, turn day to night, and even help the trees around the farm blossom. It is only now that I begin to understand the breadth of my ignorance when it comes to magic. I saw Arabella use spellcraft too, hadn¡¯t I? She used her ice clones to help her create a magnificent spellframe around her entire mansion, a spell that allowed her to fly a house over thousands of miles. Even in the competition, there was a girl who called potions to us by drawing a spellframe in the snow. This is the power of mages, a power that I will never possess. To create spells as Corinth does, as Arabella did, I would need to manipulate ambient mana, using it to create spellframes, to draw networks of runes in the air with magic. Corinth¡¯s guess proved correct, it is as if my soul is entirely unable to touch the ambient mana, as if there is some barrier between it and me that is impossible to overcome. He told me to stop trying a full week before I accepted the futility in it before I stopped trying to find a path. Even without the ambient mana of the world, I had thought that perhaps the black sand might be my answer. It isn¡¯t. Yes, I discovered that it is capable of absorbing mana, but the shapes that it is capable of taking are not unlimited. There is something about the grains, the way they try to stack together, that limits their conformations. They have set geometries, and even the elementary spellframes my brother showed me are impossible to make with them. The runes for spellcraft are often so sleek, gliding lines, and rounded corners, and all my sand can create are harsh and jagged lines. Despite seeing the issue immediately, I persisted, finding myself trying to fit a square peg through a round hole. No, I have to go my own way, and so now I sit, brought back to my enchanting table. The pelts of the magical beasts still lay neatly bundled on the end of the table. There is powerful magic inside of them, not enough to drain for a full affix, but enough to make them quality crafting materials. My problem remains that I do not know how to sow a garment, to create leather armor. Perhaps I could manage a cloak, but that seems so lackluster, not at all what those gracious beasts deserve. Maybe Jess will be able to do something with them when next I see her. Right now, my poisonous knife lays in front of me, held still by iron clamps to the table. It is a pain in the ass to get the thing open, which seems like a good thing in retrospect. The ball of black sand I pull from like a ball of yarn drifts over the knife, a trail of glistening black slowly seeping into the gap between the handle and the blade. A terrible wrenching sound like a crying metal baby scratches through the vault as the grains solidify and expand sideways. Then, with a pop, the ceramic handle of Tickler¡¯s Promise comes apart in two pieces. I sigh, sitting back and admiring the naked blade, undoing the clamps and picking it up to look at in the neon light. It doesn¡¯t matter the color of the light, the blade of the dagger casts a strange rainbow, a thin coat of poisonous oil covering the steel. But it isn¡¯t the edge that I focus upon, I admire the runework inscribed into the grip of the naked steel, the parts covered and protected by the handle before. The patterns are simple, but elegant at the same time. Ribbons of infused bronze look to almost be sewn straight into the steel, the rings of enchantment alight with an assortment of tasty mana. Despite my expectation, the mediums inside do not appear to house corrosive mana, the same mana that I stole from the Bane Crystal, but instead, one that I will classify as poison mana. The forms are only two real forms, one to utilize the stored mana to conjure poison, the oily slickness that always coats the blade. The other is to drain ambient mana from the atmosphere, to keep the enchantments functioning. Before Corinth¡¯s explanation, I merely took these mana-draining formations as routine, a required part of the mechanism to keep enchantments running for any significant length of time. Now, I have a greater understanding and a glimpse into what is going on. As I study the blade, copying the runework into a journal with my right hand, a knocking noise above draws my attention away. A figure darkens the entrance to my vault, the stooping body of a big man. He pays only momentary respect, not waiting for me to invite him in before he steps over the threshold, coming into the light at the top of the stairs. My father whistles, looking around the expanse of the vault. ¡°Well, this is quite something,¡± he says, rapping his knuckles on the thick metal of the door. ¡°Very expensive looking.¡± ¡°Dad.¡± Suddenly, I notice how out of sorts everything is. Leaving my old room untouched, I have been spending my nights in here, and it shows. Clothes lay scattered on the floor or draped over chairs. The big bed that I have set aside in one corner of the room is a mess of violet sheets and far too many pillows. Gold and silver coins lay scattered about, some bent or chewed up as I was using them as fodder for my black sand. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. I jump up from my chair, almost cutting my arm open with the naked blade in my hand. ¡°I¡­come in.¡± ¡°Glad to have the invitation,¡± he says, strolling down the steps, his big boots echoing off the steps. ¡°Although, you did park this thing inside my barn.¡± ¡°Sorry about that,¡± I say, tossing the dagger back onto the table. The gloomy green light strikes me as an immediate problem. The light vanishes for a moment as I pull the mana out of the floating orbs, replaced a second later by the soft orange glow of fire-flavored mana. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to come down here.¡± ¡°No? I¡¯ve passed by this open door of yours three times today. You must be really caught up with what you are working on.¡± He steps up to the table, looking over all of my enchanting materials, the devices and machines, dials, wires, and copper coils. I cringe as he reaches down and picks up the blade that I was working with. ¡°What¡¯s this then?¡± ¡°An enchanted dagger,¡± I say, gingerly taking the steel from him. ¡°It is very poisonous.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t know how I feel about my daughter toying around with poison knives,¡± he says, taking a look at an open book. ¡°I am not toying with anything,¡± I say. ¡°This is difficult work. Work that I am interested in doing.¡± My father turns, looking me up and down. ¡°You are, aren¡¯t you? Never could get you that interested in your chores. Was like trying to get a cat out from under the porch to get you up to work what you needed to.¡± ¡°I did my chores,¡± I say. Even now, the man is like a giant to me. ¡°Aye. I suppose you did.¡± He scratches his beard, looking this way and that. ¡°Well, I just wanted to see what you were up to. I won¡¯t bother you much longer.¡± He turns to leave, but I catch the sleeve of his shirt. ¡°You don¡¯t have to go,¡± I say. ¡°But I do,¡± he says, turning back to me. ¡°Got a delivery that needs delivering. Have to visit Jeb as well, pick up the week¡¯s flour. We¡¯re all busy, I suppose.¡± He looks around the vault again, taking everything in with those eyes of his that seem to see too much. ¡°Looks like you found something to do with yourself. Your mother was worried, thought you would run off and marry some boy, laze your days away at his house barely keeping things in order, whiling your time away doing something inane.¡± ¡°Sounds like something she would think.¡± ¡°Not me,¡± he says. ¡°I always knew that you were looking for something, something to love, something to call your own. Thought that could have been the orchard. Third time I¡¯ve been wrong about that, I suppose. Adventure keeps calling my children away. That siren doesn¡¯t sing to me, I don¡¯t see the appeal, but it isn¡¯t as if I don¡¯t see that you all hear it and want to run that way. A person ought to have something to run toward.¡± The words are almost like a knife. He doesn¡¯t know how much I still search for that thing to run toward. Inertia keeps me moving forward on this magician¡¯s road, and I don¡¯t know if it is much more than that. I¡¯ve already walked this far, and I don¡¯t intend to give anything less than my full effort. Still, I am grasping for some kind of dream, some kind of star to chase like my brothers so evidently do. It has become even more apparent since spending time with Corinth. Every time he speaks about magic, it is like there is a light in his eye, a spark of joy. He loves it, truly loves it. I want so much to love something like that. Maybe if I walk this path far enough, I won¡¯t have any choice but to love it how he does, maybe I will find what I am looking for. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for leaving how I did,¡± I say. He swallows. ¡°Thank you for that, sweetpear. I won¡¯t say it didn¡¯t hurt, but I understand it. Hard to say goodbye, even when you ought to. Just promise me that you won¡¯t leave that same way again.¡± ¡°I promise,¡± I say. He opens his arms to me and I practically jump into them, embarrassing him. His arms are like solid oak around me as he squeezes me tight, and I feel truly safe for the first time in I don¡¯t know how long. After the horror of the trial, I needed this. ¡°Jeb isn¡¯t going to wait on me all day,¡± he says, pulling away. ¡°Right.¡± He leaves the same way he came, ponderously climbing the steps out of the vault. He stops at the door again, rapping his hard knuckles on the steel, chuckling as he steps back out into the natural light of the barn. He takes his warmth with him, but I still feel it lingering for a moment longer. With a sigh, I return to the task at hand, picking up the blade once more. My ball of black sand looms at my shoulder, a spiraling stream of grain forming a crude chisel as I crank down the clamps to hold the blade stationary once more. Another use for the heavy sand I have found is as an etching utensil. My control over the sand has grown so precise that I can wear away almost anything given enough time, creating perfect patterns on the surface of the steel. Using the sand, I etch two more runic frameworks into the steel. Inlaying the infused mediums is difficult, bonding my own set of copper to the steel is something I have only done in practice before. The work takes hours, my hands working slowly to make certain that no mistakes occur. Another device helps to weaken the poison affixed mana in the framework enough that I can push a different flavor into the already set pattern, overwhelming and pushing out the rest of the mana in the enchantment. Finally, I need to reinforce the powering enchantment to be able to support three enchantments instead of just one. All in all, altering the blade takes me four full days of intense labor and more materials than two enchanted daggers would be worth. In the end, far after the sun has begun to set on the fourth day, I reseal the ceramic handle on the blade, binding it into place, and my new creation set out on the table. The profile of the magical aura emanating from the weapon is distinct and different, a mix of soft blue and glowing white. I can¡¯t help but beam as I stare down at my creation, sitting back in my chair and causing it to levitate into the air in front of me. I left a good bit of black sand inside the handle to allow me to control it easily. The blade still glistens in a rainbow pattern, but blue seems to dominate the sheen now. ¡°Galea,¡± I say. ¡°Yes, Mistress,¡± the fey spirit answers, perching on my shoulder. ¡°Show me what I have created.¡± Charlene¡¯s Mageblade(Rare): A blade originally created to deliver slow and painful death, this dagger has been repurposed by the young enchanter Charlene Devardem. The oil created by this weapon yearns for the touch of magic other than its creators, drinking up the magic that it comes in contact with, while the powerful enchantments inside empower the bearer. Enhancement: +15 Magic, +15 Magic Defense Ability: Sever Magic, Mana Storing, Mana Expulsion Maybe spellcraft is out of my reach, but my melancholy at the loss has vanished over the past few days. I will not allow that closing door to stop me. My new mageblade spins before sliding gently back into the sheath on the table, the steel whispering against the leather of the sheath. One day I might find a way to kick in that door. Today, I will content myself with enchantment. There is depth in the craft, something that calls to me, power to be claimed. Chapter 128 - Vacations End Woe comes in the stamp of feet and the slide of scaled claws outside the window. When they march, the earth shakes in their wake. When they sing with a solitary voice, cities crumble. When they find the purpose that they lack, we must be aware, we must pray. Demons rouse the crowd, pray you never see them do so. -Warnings from the Holy Book of Rais I can¡¯t keep the stupid grin off my face. Walking through the backyard with two heavy half-barrels of mulch held on each shoulder, I feel good. The weight of the load is awkward, no one was ever really meant to carry the half-barrels this way, but I find my strength is more than enough to make up for the imbalance. A snicker escapes me as I hop over the fence out back, my boots churning the dirt when I land. I remember the strength I saw Bali show all that time ago, sweating and straining as she cranked us up the side of the mountain. I finally have that, and it feels great. One of the half-barrels cracks as I slap it on the ground, the sound of splintering wood doing more to dispel my good mood than my mother¡¯s voice shouting from inside the house. The second half-barrel is laid much more gently in front of the budding tomatoes in the back garden. Mom beckons me inside. No matter how many hands she has to help on the orchard, every single night she has cooked dinner for us, cooked even for the people staying late. She brings me inside, and I get washed up to help. I¡¯ve never really had any kind of skill for cooking. I can do the simple things, knead dough, chop vegetables, toss things into a pot to stew, but flavor has always escaped me. I never really understood how much I missed family dinners before. I knew I missed them, but it wasn¡¯t something I grasped until I got back home. These are the things I need to savor. I am set to cutting up the thawing pears we pulled out of the icebox in the cellar, the stuffing for the pie we prep tonight. The kitchen knife doesn¡¯t quite cut it; I forgot to pull them out first thing this morning so they¡¯re still a little frozen. My newest creation slides through the frozen fruit like I am cutting water¨Cafter I have wiped off all the mana-conducting oil of course. I go ahead and wash the pieces anyway, best to be sure. The migration in toward the house starts, the two of us watching through the window. Dad has hired six hands to help out with the expansion, good men, hard workers. A table set out in front of the house holds some supper that my mom prepped with dinner, just some cheese, slices of honeyed ham, and bread she baked that morning, one for each of the workers to carry off as they make their way back toward their lodgings. I know at least half will barter the meal for beer at Jeb¡¯s, but I don¡¯t hold it against them. They¡¯re good men, as far as I have been able to tell. Corinth walks in with them. For the last week, he¡¯s left his fancy clothes behind in his room upstairs, taking to the workman¡¯s rough shirt and pants, one sleeve pinned up. Everyone likes him. It has something to do with his ability to do the work of three men, though I¡¯m sure he could take care of all of it himself if he wanted. He doesn¡¯t, doesn¡¯t even use his magic to hurry things along. Before I went on my trip, before the trial, I don¡¯t think I would have gotten it. Now, there is an appeal in using my hands, performing these tasks the way they were meant to be. The house creaks, announcing the big men as they make their way inside, moving right away to my dad¡¯s lounge where they will have a smoke. The sun continues its long arc down and past the horizon, the stars coming out one by one to light up the sky. Warm scents invade the kitchen, mouthwatering temptations roll out of the oven each time my mother opens it to check on the green beans. I knead the dough, roll it, sugar the fruit, and assemble the pie while everything is prepared. Dad helps set the table, the big man smelling of smoke as he strolls into the room and noisily grabs plates and the new silverware, choosing to take a set for himself tonight. There is no prayer given over the food; it¡¯s just something my family has never done, an oddity. It is only now that I start to realize why. How had that girl eating in this house, sleeping in my bed, and walking around town less than a year ago not seen the world for what it is? Where had her mind been? I¡¯m told that my dish is good; Mom let me take care of the mashed potatoes. The compliments are nice, if obviously forced. The men at the table fail to recognize that when they compliment my mother¡¯s cooking, they are specific, and mine are given general favors like, ¡°This is good,¡± ¡°Well done,¡± and ¡°I can tell you worked hard.¡± I don¡¯t mind it. The thought is really in the intention rather than the compliment, though I do note that I should at least get better at making easy dishes. Corinth stops between mouthfuls, not even looking up from his fork ¡°You should get that,¡± he tells me, just moments before there comes a knock at the door. Some kind of a knowing smirk crosses his face as I get up and head over. It only occurs to me that I have no earthly idea what to expect as I open the door, but it certainly wasn¡¯t this. ¡°So, this is the right place,¡± Dovik says. He stands alone on the porch, hands in his pocket, the lamplight from inside barely illuminating him. ¡°Some big men on the road said you lived here, but it seems too nice. I was imagining more of a cottage out in a prairie.¡± I step outside, closing the door behind me with a click. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± I ask. At the barely-veiled offense on the man¡¯s face, I try again. ¡°Not that I¡¯m not happy to see you, but it hasn¡¯t been hardly two weeks.¡± ¡°Almost three really,¡± he says, shrugging. ¡°I don¡¯t think we ever factored in travel time or not. The last month of my life has almost been complete traveling, experiencing the road-weariness of an adventurer with only a flying golden ship to call home.¡± ¡°You brought my ship?¡± ¡°How else was I going to get here?¡± He bends, looking in through the window at the dining room, where my parents peer back out at us. I grab his elbow and drag him aside just as he starts waving into the house. ¡°Rude.¡± ¡°Where are the others?¡± I ask. ¡°Still in Mari,¡± he says with a sigh. ¡°The dutchy, not the man,¡± he clarifies¨Cneedlessly I might add. ¡°I can¡¯t imagine that¡­No, never mind¡­gross. Really though, Charlene, I am pretty tired, and would love a home-cooked meal.¡± ¡°It isn¡¯t that I¡¯m not happy to see you, but things were just starting to feel a little¡­normal.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have come if I didn¡¯t need to,¡± he says, turning serious. ¡°What happened?¡± Terrible thoughts already forming in my imagination, and I can¡¯t help but match his sincerity. ¡°No one is dead or anything,¡± he says, immediately arresting my greatest fears. ¡°No one we know anyway. There are issues in Mari. They will be closing all of the borders soon, putting the Dutchy into lockdown to take care of the threat. So, if we are going to get you there to help, we need to leave soon.¡± ¡°They are going to close the Dutchy? That¡¯s possible?¡± ¡°It is,¡± he says. He smiles, adopting his more arrogant air once more. For some reason, it helps put me at ease. ¡°We will make it with plenty of time to spare, don¡¯t worry about that. Seriously, I¡¯ve only had road rations for the last five days. You should think of installing a stove in your ship or something.¡± ¡°My parents are inside,¡± I tell him, squeezing his arm. Dovik looks down at my hand, smirking. ¡°Then you should be glad that I am the one they are meeting first. Of all your friends, who is more well-mannered?¡± If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Jess probably. At least I know she wouldn¡¯t try anything.¡± ¡°What could I possibly try?¡± I ignore his question, already heading back to the front door. ¡°Take your boots off,¡± I tell him as I step back into the light. I lead him away toward the dining room, offering a brief introduction to my family for the man before walking in and returning to my seat. It is only once I am seated again do I realize that he still stands in the doorway. Dovik lingers there, his eyes glued to my brother. There is a flicker in his eyes as he stares not at my brother¡¯s face, but his chest, like he is trying to look through him. ¡°Yes?¡± Corinth asks, a bit of amusement in his voice. ¡°Pardon,¡± Dovik replies, trying to bow and nod to my brother at the same time, just ending up looking awkward. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to intrude, lord.¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t my house,¡± Corinth says, pointing his thumb back to my father. ¡°Quite right.¡± Dovik delivered a graceful bow to my father. ¡°Mr. Devardem, you have a lovely home. I know you must be a great man by my acquaintance with your daughter.¡± My dad huffs at that, looking the fancily dressed man up and down. ¡°Give us your name son, and find yourself a seat. There¡¯s plenty to eat, and I am interested to find out how you know my daughter.¡± ¡°My manners are atrocious tonight,¡± Dovik says. ¡°And just after I promised Charlene that I would be charming and well-behaved. My name is Dovik Willian, sir. I am a member of your daughter¡¯s adventuring team.¡± Before his lingering in the doorway can become awkward, Dovik folds his coat over his arm and sets it on the back of a chair, taking the empty one next to me. ¡°I thought you said your brother was only second rank,¡± he whispers, masking the words by dragging his chair out. ¡°That is my other brother,¡± I whisper back at him, pulling a plate from the table and handing it over. ¡°This is Corinth. I told you about him.¡± ¡°I thought you were joking.¡± Dovik takes his seat and the plate, looking extremely appreciative as I spoon out some food for him. All the while, Corinth sits across the table from us, smirking away. True to his word, Dovik is a perfect gentleman throughout the meal. He gets the flow of the general flattery, his compliments on my mother¡¯s cooking very precise and heartfelt for all I can tell. He is incredibly respectful when it comes to speaking to my father and brother, my brother especially, and is quite liberal with his praise of me and how I handled myself in the trial without going into specifics. To my immense surprise, the man works his charms and my mother is just about ready to arrange our marriage by the time she brings out the pie. She tells me as much as the men retire back to the smoking lounge and she has me help with cleaning the table. Even though he never bragged about his family, my mother somehow smelled the wealth on him, and more than once she asks my intentions toward the man. I tell her the truth, that he is a friend, and woe to me for my honesty. He finds me eventually back out on the front porch, sitting in a rocker in the dark. The starlight overhead is more than enough for each of us to see the night by. There is a stagger in his step, and I know immediately that my brother had some fun in getting him tipsy before sending him back. Dovik falls into the rocker across from me, a corked and half-drunk bottle of amber brandy in his hand. ¡°You have a good family,¡± he says. ¡°I know. It makes me wonder why I was so determined to leave before. It isn¡¯t as if I had anything I was running toward, but I just found myself running all the same.¡± He shrugs. ¡°Sounds natural to me. I have a nice family too, but here I am, out in the middle of nowhere with a pretty girl on her family farm, thousands of miles from home.¡± ¡°Aw, you think I¡¯m pretty.¡± ¡°Got eyes, don¡¯t I?¡± Dovik fishes a knife out from the coat he has put back on and works at the cork. ¡°Ready to show me around the farm, show me why you wanted to come back here so much?¡± I nod back to the inside of the house. ¡°You already saw that.¡± ¡°Humor me.¡± I huff a laugh, standing from my rocker and snatching the bottle from his hand as I walk past. ¡°Stumble after, but keep up. The orchard is bigger than it used to be.¡± The gravel road out behind the house only extends out to the old barn. The stretch of chewed-up grass and dirt leading over to the new one is still forming into a proper path. I take him around the back of the two looming buildings, wandering out into the trees, naming them off for him as we pass the bottle back and forth. This place has gotten a lot bigger. I show off the small pond that Corinth made a few days ago, just a rough hole in the ground right now with a shallow layer of water down below. I show off my favorite hill, where you used to be able to see the entire orchard, but that isn¡¯t true anymore. I¡¯ll need to find a new favorite perch. We end up back at the barn, and I quietly show off the ponies, not that we can keep silent enough to not wake them up. Dovik is enchanted by the horses, asking hesitant permission to be allowed to pet them. His goofy grin as he runs his hand through Brenda¡¯s mane makes him look his true age for a moment. Despite me telling him that there isn¡¯t anything interesting, he wants to see the hold barn, and so I show him. He pushes himself to justify his curiosity, looking at ordinary tools like they were intricate pieces of enchantment, their purpose needing to be puzzled out. ¡°Do you actually keep hay up there?¡± he asks, pointing to the loft at the end of the barn. ¡°It¡¯s called a hayloft,¡± I reply. I rattle the bottle, just about empty, and go ahead and finish it off. There isn¡¯t even a tingle in my fingers at drinking nearly half a bottle of brandy. Maybe Corinth has something stronger. He should; I can only imagine that this resistance to alcohol far outpaces mine. ¡°I knew it,¡± Dovik says, brushing off a blanket-covered bench and falling onto it. ¡°There¡¯s no hay up there.¡± I can¡¯t help but laugh at the disappointed look on his face. ¡°Again, this is an orchard, not a farm.¡± ¡°Orchard girl doesn¡¯t have the same ring to it.¡± Kicking over a chair of my own, I take a seat across from him. ¡°Is it every bit as rustic and quaint as you hoped?¡± ¡°In some ways,¡± he says. ¡°Other ways, a bit different. I¡¯m glad I came though.¡± ¡°On that topic.¡± I scoot him out of the way, lifting the latch on the bench and rooting around inside. It is a bit surprising to find a bottle of wine deep inside in a rusted tin lockbox. Halford kept little stashes all over the place, thinking that no one else knew about them. I¡¯m fairly certain that everyone does, but for whatever reason no one has cleaned this one up. I hand him the bottle, just a thumb¡¯s width left at the bottom, and fall back into the old chair. ¡°You should tell me why you came.¡± ¡°I did tell you.¡± Dovik stares down into the bottle before sniffing at the opening. ¡°I came to get you.¡± ¡°Right, they¡¯re closing the borders for Mari. You never explained why I should go there, and why we shouldn¡¯t just go somewhere else.¡± ¡°It would be a waste of an opportunity.¡± He takes a sip from the bottle, grimaces, and takes another swallow. ¡°Sounds like a good place to start explaining.¡± ¡°Beast tide,¡± he says. At my evident confusion, or maybe because he just likes the sound of his own voice, he continues. ¡°A lot of monsters started attacking settlements all around the Dutchy. Not just your everyday sort of monsters either, but strong ones, dragged out from whatever lairs they usually keep to themselves in. Tides happen on occasion, but they aren¡¯t all that common. The Duke is going to close down the Dutchy, make certain that none can enter from the outside, that nothing is able to enter really. Then, everyone that is capable of doing so will spend the next few months culling powerful monsters until everything is wiped clean.¡± ¡°I thought beast tides were a myth, something that happened when a demon raises a legion of monsters to wage war on the world.¡± Dovik rolls his eyes. ¡°There¡¯s no such thing as demons. As for the tides, I don¡¯t know much. Sometimes there is an intelligent monster that gathers an army of sorts. Sometimes there is a natural formation that makes everything go crazy. I¡¯ve even heard that there are some natural treasures out there so powerful that every monster for hundreds of miles can¡¯t help but try to get their claws on it. Not sure what we are dealing with here, but what I do know for certain is that there will be a lot of powerful monsters that need to be put down. Can you think of a better way for all of us to push ourselves toward the third rank?¡± ¡°As far as I know, killing monsters is what we need to do.¡± ¡°Exactly.¡± Dovik points the now empty bottle at me. ¡°And we just so happen to have an in with a bonafide member of the Mari family. The Duke will probably kick most unaffiliated magicians and adventurers out of the Dutchy before the counterattack begins, but we have an opportunity to join in. Tell me, orchard girl, doesn¡¯t that sound exactly like what we need right now?¡± I leave him in the silence following his words for a long moment as I mull it over. Following the trial, all I wanted to do was push myself to rank two. After that, I found myself a bit listless, dabbling in all sorts of things, trying to find a path that resonated with me. Enchantment is interesting, and I think that I am beginning to get a handle on what my new abilities are capable of, but Dovik is right; I need something external to push me along. Looking back at him, I nod. ¡°That sounds exactly like what I need. When should we leave?¡± ¡°First light,¡± he says. ¡°We fly from here, right into the belly of the beast.¡± Chapter 129 - Dogs on the Road Paths are a funny thing. By the time that you find yours, you realize that you have already been walking in that direction. It isn¡¯t so much the progress down the path that is important, but the recognition that you are already treading upon it. There is power in knowing your aim, real power. -Proverbs, from the tome of Kadish In the morning, Dovik leads me out to my ship, parked more than a mile down the road in a stretch of shoulder-height grass. We have breakfast at the house first, and I explain why I need to go. No one tries to stop me; I don¡¯t know how to feel about that. My father walks to the ship with us, talking about mundane things, telling me of how he is going to expand the eastern side of the estate and the new agreement he has with Lord Timmian. He carries the basket that my mother packed for our journey, a bundle of food she had ready before I even told her I was leaving. Corinth didn¡¯t leave me with much. Some part of me had been expecting some final words of advice from him, but the man merely gave me some books on spellcraft that he had before I left. I don¡¯t know how much I will use them. I already know that path is a dead end for me. He even said as much. I could tell that my dad didn¡¯t believe the ship actually belonged to me when I showed it off to him. I gave him a tour of the inside, took him up a few dozen feet, and let him see the land roll out beneath us. He seemed unsettled by the entire affair, like I was trying to show him something he desperately didn¡¯t want to see. We hugged, said our goodbyes there, and then we were underway. Dovik has an awesome sense of direction it seems, able to point me straight toward Danfalla, the capital city of the Mari Dutchy. I set the course, flying over-country to save time instead of taking the road. Dovik is out right away, sleeping on a mattress laid off to the side, claiming that he didn¡¯t get a wink of sleep last night. The start of the trip is something I take my measure of enjoyment in. I have a heading, something I need, some place for me to head toward. If only I had a heading inside my heart to pay attention to. We can¡¯t have everything. The border between the kingdom of Gale and Cressfalla is a thick membrane of orange light that I see from miles off. Now that I know to look for them, the signs of the border are distinct. The barrier that separates the dutchies from one another is more difficult; I am barely able to notice our passage into Mari, the membrane of energy at the border a faint lavender that blends into the sky. To my surprise, Dovik somehow feels the transition, snorting awake on the mattress. He lingers there for a time, staring up at the sky passing overhead, before lurching to his feet and joining me at the front of the ship. ¡°We are off course,¡± he tells me. I shake my head, pointing out toward the horizon. ¡°We need to go that way,¡± I tell him. He squints, nodding a moment later. Galea told me about some kind of disturbance ahead, a disturbance near some settlement. I can¡¯t make a thing out with my own eyes; my perception is frankly, abysmal, but she picked it up on the ship¡¯s sensors. Dovik walks back to the mattress he has been sleeping on for days, retrieving his shiny new sword. He has already created a replica off it in his other hand by the time the first of the monsters comes into sight for me. ¡°Is this a beast tide?¡± I ask. Hundreds. A swarm of moving shadows sprints over the landscape, weaving through the open space between the trees like dark water. Galea marks them for me before I need to ask, so many, all similar. Terror Wolf(Level 52) Minor Terror Wolf(Level 43) Just those two kinds, but there are so many of them. A feeling of being here before comes to me, seeing a pack of monsters racing down a road toward some village what feels like so long ago now. Only this time, things aren¡¯t so simple. The rank one terror wolves are like huge dogs, no eyes, their heads little more than two stacked mouths of slavering teeth. Their tails extend like a steel scorpion, bobbing above their heads, ending in a serrated stinger that catches the evening light. The rank two ones are bigger, as big as a bear, each bearing three of the tails, their limbs looking to be made of steel as well. The shadow of the ship races over top of the stampede of monsters. Our passage causes a wave to ripple through the monsters far below. Somehow they know we are here, can sense us, perhaps smell us. The minor terror wolves pay us no mind, sprinting toward the bundle of buildings on the other side of a lazy river, but the rank two wolves do not let our passage go uncontested. The three blades of their tails bend forward, and then we are flying through beams of silvery energy shooting up from below. Dovik and I watch their attack, unimpressed. I doubt that if any landed a blow on our ship, something that does not even come close to doing, it would not do anything. This ship was crashed into a huge tree by a magical wolf, what are these little things going to do? The only thing I will grant them is the sheer number of attacks that scorch into the air. There must be thirty of the rank two wolves down there. ¡°Take this pack,¡± Dovik says. ¡°What do you mean this one?¡± I ask, staring down at the more than a hundred monsters racing through the trees below. He gestures forward, to the opposite side of the settlement ahead. ¡°There is another one on that side. It appears like there are some adventurers here already. Maybe they expected this attack. We should help them anyway.¡± ¡°If other people are here, wouldn¡¯t that be us stealing their commission?¡± Dovik smiles at me. ¡°Are you going to let that stop you?¡± I can¡¯t help but smile back, tossing him the key to the ship. ¡°Try not to crash it again.¡± The door to the ship opens to me, and I fall through the air as I step out. I don¡¯t pour growth mana into my wings as I summon them, the expanded size would likely just make me a target. My staves appear in my hands, balls of burning orange and white manifesting at their ends. Behind me, the golden dome of my ship sails away, leaving me alone in the air. Beams of silvery energy continue to chase after my ship for a time before they eventually turn toward me. Again, the monsters below don¡¯t come close to hitting me as I hover in the air, so strange. Well, it isn¡¯t as if they have eyes. Once Dovik has taken the ship far enough away, I exhale, bracing my mind for the flood of information as I unleash my soul presence. The enormity of my presence¡¯s maximum extent truly hits me as I unveil it in the air, an orb of red and gold energy spreading out from me in all directions for nearly a mile. Allowing myself to drop from the air, the edge of my soul presence washes over the front of the pack. The monsters stumble, their bodies growing heavier, their paws sinking into the earth in front of them. Watching the pile-up that begins as the row behind crashes into the confused first, both rows going over as the next behind crashes into them as well, is amusing. A beam of silvery energy comes right for me, fired from a rank two wolf inside of my aura. Magical senses? The beam is halted as it is met with a wall of black sand, a rounded shield floating in the air in front of me. ¡°You first.¡± Fire scorches the air as the first bolt descends from above. The wash of the heat as it explodes in a bloom of orange and white is warm enough to kiss my face even so high above. The monsters below wail, some writhing amidst the flames, some turned to cinders on impact. A hole appears in the pile-up, a gap of roaring fire that licks at the scrambling paws that climb over scorched carcasses. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. In the center of the explosion, the rank two monster stands, buffeted and knocked about by the swarming pack racing past it while flames spread low across the ground. Its steel limbs stand clean and shining in the sun¡¯s light, the rest of its body pocked and burnt. The head turns up, the points of its tail coming together, energy gathering there. Then a second explosion of flames descends upon it, and it is blown apart. Beams of deadly light fire up from the ground, more than half of the pack inside of my red and gold aura now. They sense me somehow, and I am forced to pull more and more of the black sand from my vault to form shields in front of me. My accumulation is considerable with at least a barrel full of the material now. The shields I form are thin, the majority of the black sand pooling into orbs to float about me. I find my concentration stressed, the main bulk of my focus on moving the three shields I control, intercepting the silvery rays that shoot up from the ground. A minor part of my attention is pushed toward charging more bolts of dragonfire to capacity in my staves, the fully charged bolts easily proving their worth. Another part thinks, tries to see the battlefield, and ponders experimentation. Two more bolts of fully charged dragonfire sail downward, exploding among the stampede, blowing apart the weaker monsters and managing to finish off even some of the larger ones. The stampede is fully within my aura now, and as they come closer to me, they begin to notice the weight pressing down on them increasing. We are still a few miles from the town. I have time to try some things. The rank one monsters try to ignore me, wading through the knee-high grass like it was a bog, trying desperately to move forward. I bring the shields of black sand together in front of me, forming a bulwark that absorbs the silvery lights while I focus on the smaller prey. I push cold mana into my soul presence, just to see if it will have any effect. Nothing. I introduce corrosive mana, my soul presence becomes a roil of red, blue, and green. Again, no discernable change; it continues to only press down on the monster below like a weight. When facing Ghostflame before, there had been an interaction. These creatures lack a soul presence, they have no way to project the power of a soul, and so perhaps my own can¡¯t interact. It is a good limitation to learn. I pull the extra affixes out of the soul presence, reducing the strain on my mana. Projecting a soul presence usually consumes very little mana, but I have found that each aspect I add to it increases that consumption considerably. Another good thing to know. I turn my attention to the three orbs floating around me in a slow orbit. The black sand is connected to me; if I focus, I can see the flow of mana connecting us. As I have done a few times before, I push mana through the bond, and the orbs begin to light with fiery orange light. The amount of mana the black sand can contain is immense, far greater than what I am able to feed it with my current skill. Still, I don¡¯t push my infusion of dragonfire to its limit, giving each of the orbs a half-charge of flame before commanding them to launch. Joining the two fully charged bolts from my staves, a fusillade of fiery death drops from the sky. Five orbs of orange magic strike near simultaneously, blowing apart the landscape beneath me the light of the explosion is enough to turn my vision white for a moment. Interestingly, I never lose sight of the color of mana down on the field below. In that brief instant of blindness, I see below harsh silvery lines competing with blooms of swirling fire. It is beautiful. I drift backward in the air, moving to keep pace with the horde of creatures sprinting forward beneath me, trapping them in the most intense part of my aura. Mana flows out from me in streams of aether, the orbs floating around me firing off dragonfire bolts as soon as they can accumulate the mana. The forest below becomes a hell of explosions and spreading fire, the constant roar punctuated now and then by the conflagration of a fully charged bolt aimed at a rank two terror wolf. The blue line denoting my mana is moved toward the center of my vision, dropping precariously by the second as I burn my mana. The air begins to stink, the smell of charred monster corpses reaching me even so high in the sky overhead. In less than ten minutes, the stampede of creatures is cut in half, most of the rank two monsters blown to bits as my attention turned fully toward them. The slaughter reaches a tipping point, the beasts below splitting out of their cohesive charge, fleeing in every direction they can manage. With far fewer beams racing up toward me, I turn some of the sand that formed my shield into orbs to infuse with more dragonfire. Caught in the weight of my aura, they don¡¯t make it far. Each second of the attempted retreat is peppered with balls of fire falling from the sky like meteors, the strikes only growing more precise as the fodder thins. The fully charged bolts finish the last of the rank two monsters, and I no longer need to protect myself. Seven orbs of fire float about me in the air as I chase the monster down, even the bolts that I fling from my staves reduced to just the barest charge. The countryside becomes a wall of fire, as many of the monsters are done in by the spreading flames as the bolts I rain down from above. Before twenty minutes have passed, the stampede is gone, a smoking ruin smashed into the burning countryside. I check my mana, less than twenty percent remaining. Even so, the pool of energy is restoring itself at a considerable rate thanks to my high recovery. In a few hours, I will be at full power once more, not something many other mages could claim to do. An eighth ball of black sand begins to form at my side, but keeping eight is still too many for me to juggle, requiring that I merge two others. The newest orb glows with a bright silvery light, all of the mana absorbed by the sand while it held off the attacks from the monsters below. The amount is considerable, they had been giving their all to kill me. Unfortunately, for them, I seem to have been a poor matchup. I turn my attention to the orb of silvery light, pushing a modicum of cold affixed mana into the rest of my sand, sending it down in a spiraling wave to snuff out the flames slowly gathering on the ground below before a disaster can begin. There is a taste to the silvery mana that I don¡¯t recognize, something intriguing. The orb of light settles gently in the palm of my hand, thrumming softly. I open myself to the mana, breathing it in, feeling it siphon away from the sand to be absorbed into the index attached to a piece of my soul. A rune collects on one of the empty spaces, and a cursory skim of the affix glossary in my memory identifies it as steel mana. With such a considerable amount, I know that I could immediately integrate the mana into my soul, make the steel affix my own, but I hold myself back. Steel mana is a valuable tool in several enchantments. If I hold onto it for myself and¡­wait a moment. As my sand continues to snuff out the flames below, I pull an uninfused medium from my vault, a rod of silver, cold in my hand. Likely, this is a terrible idea, given how low my mana already is and how I don¡¯t know if Dovik will need my help, but sudden inspiration calls to me. I try to pour mana into the medium, trying to infuse it with fire-affixed mana, my only native affix. As has happened so many times before, nothing comes of it. I never understood it before, but after working with Corinth, I now know the reason that the index has been necessary. I read before that enchanters should be able to infuse their affixed mana into mediums, those with rare native affixes of sufficient strength can make a good bit of money doing that. Before my trip home, I thought the reason that I couldn¡¯t do the same was because I wasn¡¯t strong enough to do so, that it was something for rank three enchanters or something similar. I now know it is because I seem entirely unable to connect directly with the medium, that for whatever reason my soul doesn¡¯t produce the right mana to use in that way, which is why the index has been so invaluable, acting as a place to store the correct kinds of mana I have gotten from breaking down items. The orb of black sand still floats at my side, uninfused now that I have stripped it of the steel-affixed mana. Focusing, the particles of black dust separate from the gold they are bonded to, flowing into the silver rod I hold in my hand. The merger is total, the dust suffusing into the material so completely that I can move the medium about with but a thought. Now, I attempt to pour my burning mana into the rod once more with the black dust as a medium. The rod in my hand begins to buzz faintly, heating up as my mana is forced into it. The resistance is incredible, the metal itself heating up as most of my mana is wasted, turned into heat as I attempt to suffuse the medium. I don¡¯t stop, burning through my already low resources as I push fire into the rod. I am sweating by the time that I stop. My feet touch the ground, and I look about, not having noticed when I started to fall from the sky. Black dust drifts up from the silver medium in my hand, pooling away to rejoin the orb of black sand at my side. A wave of black sand races back toward me, forming a huge orb that floats above my head like a moon as I stare down at the silver rod. A flickering orange light wraps the silver medium resting in my hand. I did it; I infused it with my mana. I didn¡¯t need to harvest it from somewhere else. At once, I understand the implications reach much further than what I can understand, but the most immediate is apparent to me. I don¡¯t need to choose between integrating an affix into my soul or saving it for enchantment. The process will be more difficult, likely many times more difficult, but I can do both. I smile, seeing the road ahead become just a little bit clearer. A window appears in front of me. THRESHOLD FOR SOUL REINFORCEMENT REACHED! I blink at the message, and the fey spirit holding it up for me. Turning my attention to the side, I see all of the messages from me destroying the monster stampede. There is a message among them telling me that I gained a level as well, but this one is different, it didn¡¯t come from killing beasts. So many questions. I push them aside, storing the now-infused medium back in my vault, making certain that I call back every grain of black sand to me as I begin to climb into the air once more. I turn toward the town, not too far distant now, and I see the sparks of magic in the distance, fighting still taking place. Before I get too caught up in myself, I should make sure Dovik is alright. There¡¯s no telling what he might be facing on the other side of the cluster of buildings. Pushing myself forward, I cut through the air, speeding toward where I think my friend might be fighting still, a torrent of pink mist chasing after me as I disenchant every monster corpse within the reach of my soul presence simultaneously. No reason to let their bodies go to waste. Chapter 130 - Cleaning the Field This though. I don¡¯t know about this. Seems the kinda thing that a monster would do, and I thought we were supposed to be better than that, than them. Ain¡¯t saying I won¡¯t do it, just saying that I¡¯ll feel a bit bad about it. Sure you want to destroy this much? -Ferro A dark shadow sails overtop the buildings gathered around a central square. A collection of people stand below, gathered together, a few men and women bearing weapons around the huddled mass. Faces turn up toward me as I stop in the sky above them, the long shadow cast by my wings stretching down the street. I scan the people below, many names, only two magicians among them, and those rank one. Dovik isn¡¯t here. I press on. I pour on speed, pulling my soul presence tightly around my body. It is far easier in the air, the information from spreading the presence muted with so much open space. Pushing my awareness through the town itself is still far too great a challenge. Smoke rises from the buildings toward the eastern end of the town, flames climbing thatched roofs, the volume of gray far exceeding the extent of the blaze. The hiss of steam mixes into the crackling flames by the time I make it over the edge of the town, a woman at ground level straining as she manipulates water from the nearby river to throw over the flames. She is also a first-rank magician. I remember the difficulty Bali had with manipulating just fist-sized globes of water by the time she departed with my brother. I wonder what level she had been then. The woman looks up when she notices me, brown hair sticking to a pale face dirtied with soot. Our eyes meet for a second. Then, she returns to fighting the fires, while I turn my attention toward the enemy. The fields on this side of the town are full of dead terror wolves. More, there are other monsters amidst them, random creatures, few worrying. Six people are out amidst the milling horde of monsters. Dovik fights, his form moving like an arrow in and amongst the churn, his feet never still as he flashes around the snapping beasts. A shroud extends away from him for twenty or so feet, and each time a monster turns its attention to him, he vanishes, reappearing somewhere else inside his aura. The feat is impressive, and I find myself watching it for a time, his ability to teleport within his soul presence is incredible. I can¡¯t even begin to guess at the usefulness of such an ability. A cry of pain pulls me out of my passive watching. Along with Dovik, five others fight the beasts, though their cohesion shows clear teamwork and a reliance on one another that would take a long time to develop. A man and a woman stand at the head of their formation, both wearing heavy armor, both carrying massive shields, all of their attention turned toward pushing back the monsters that try to make their way closer. The silvery light surrounding the man gives him away as being rank two before I even bother to identify him as such¨Cguardian conflux. My heart skips a beat, thinking for a moment that I see Macille standing there, facing the horde. No, this man is human, all of the magicians on the field are except for the dwarven woman fighting side-by-side with him. Behind the two shieldbearers are two other women, one obviously an archer given the powerful and exploding arrows she launches into the press, the other a healer of some sort, an aura of green magic surrounding her¨Crank two that one, Holy Tree conflux. The last among them is a man kneeling on the ground, white robes pulling around him, the flickering light of a spell still lingering on the head of the staff he leans against. Without seeing his abilities, he strikes me as a mage, one suffering from mana exhaustion. All in all, a well-balanced party. If they weren¡¯t facing down more than a hundred enemies with more than a hundred already dead on the field, they would likely be quite successful. The archer below cries out a warning, making the kneeling man look up to find a terror wolf broken away from the pack and racing straight for him. The healer begins to gather power, the green presence around her glowing brighter for a moment, but whatever ability she has coming is slow. Ten paces away from the man still trying to rise from the ground, the terror wolf is smashed into the ground by a spear of the darkest black falling from above. Vines reach up from the ground, wrapping around the corpse of the monster climbing over the spear as well as it slowly begins to dissolve into grains of black sand. I do not doubt that Dovik could handle the rest of this combat on his own. In the dozen or so seconds I have watched him, no monster has landed a blow on the man, nor even come close to it. They are simply too slow, too unorganized. The only chance any would have is to snare him with some strange magic, but given the man¡¯s specialty, I doubt they would have any success with that. He is a scythe moving among the wheat. They might bend away from him and scramble to evade his culling blade, but the farmer bears as much fear of his crops as this man does of monsters of this level. No, were it not for the struggling five below, I don¡¯t think I would interfere. My mana is already fairly exhausted, bringing my magic to bear fully would be dangerous. So, I dispense with the dragonfire, and once more unleash my soul presence to near its maximum extent, encompassing the battlefield but not the town to my back. The horde of monsters seems to almost buckle at once, a sudden pressure pushing down on each of them as the wave of crimson energy washes over them. Grains of dark sand drift up from the terror wolf I killed just before, forming into a dark lance as I bring it up to my side. The floating sphere above my head splits apart, becoming three additional spears that I turn down toward the monsters below. If the sand can form a cutting edge, I still have not managed to figure out how to do it. Knowing that I need to conserve the mana I expend, I limit myself to only attacking with the dark lances. They prove far more effective than I would have guessed when dealing with a horde of enemies. Where Dovik is the cutting scythe, my lances of black sand stab down like a rain of nails. Each strike cripples or kills a low-grade monster, the sheer weight behind the dark spears essentially made from gold enough to crush some of their victims. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. Stray blasts of silvery light fire up through the sky toward me, the few rank two terror wolves among the churning mass sensing me. I dodge in the air, splitting my focus between controlling the falling spears and avoiding the blasts of magic. Even with my speed, the task proves too much, and multiple blasts land. The silvery light cuts, my newly made armor absorbing a decent measure of the magic in the attacks. The gray coat I have fashioned for myself shows its true value as the enchantments I have laid upon it move to redirect the striking magic, pushing the force away from my chest and vital areas, sometimes making them miss completely. Still, errant rays of magic slice through the fabric in places, cutting deep gashes in my arms and legs that only begin to bleed for a moment before scabbing over. My attacks against the terror wolves prove far more lethal. One by one, the monsters able to turn any attention toward the air are snuffed out. I take six of the creatures while Dovik dances through the press and manages to decapitate another four. The final one dies to the archer woman, an arrow cutting into its skull before detonating. With all of the monsters able to offer any resistance to my attack from overhead dispatched, the one-sided battle becomes a true slaughter. A little over half an hour after arriving, the fields and sparse forest surrounding the town finally fall silent. A headache digs at me, my mana having fallen even lower. Closing my eyes, the air passing over me soothes the ache somewhat, the wind playing with my hair. I breathe deeply, calling back all the black sand and secreting it away once more into the vault. Dovik meets me when my feet touch the earth once more, my soul presence already pulled back and vanishing into my skin. ¡°You finished first,¡± he says, the sword in his off-hand disappearing into light. He digs a cloth out of a pocket inside his coat and starts trying to wipe the gore from his blade, finding the monster''s blood sticky and difficult to remove. ¡°It was a good opponent for me,¡± I say. ¡°Not that it looks like you had much trouble.¡± ¡°No,¡± he agrees. Dovik nudges the body of a dead terror wolf with his boot. ¡°Compared to those magical beasts, these were¡­¡± ¡°Easy,¡± I finish for him. ¡°Yeah.¡± We both turn as footsteps approach. The healer woman from earlier stops five or so feet away, offering a small bow before looking between us. ¡°My team would like to offer its gratitude for your assistance. Roger told me that you handled another stampede that came at the town from the southwest. We hadn¡¯t known that would happen. I don¡¯t want to imagine what might have happened if you hadn¡¯t been here to assist, either of you.¡± I nod, looking at her closely once more. Amilise Calmwood(Level 53) Holy Tree Conflux The woman is hardly below my level. Glancing back at her group, I find them all of similar levels, the big fighter at fifty-five and the other three very near the threshold for the second rank. How could these monsters have possibly posed a serious threat to them? ¡°Of course,¡± Dovik says while I am lost in my musings. ¡°We came across this monster stampede by chance on our way to Danfalla. Are you heading that way as well?¡± The woman, Amilise, smiles strangely, almost as if she is embarrassed. ¡°No, my lord. The call to muster was only for silver-rank adventurers and higher I am afraid. Our team is high copper, allowing us to stay in the Dutchy for the purge of the beast tide, but we have been tasked with keeping safe this township. Until the rise of these monsters is put to an end, we will persist here.¡± A man from the group behind her calls for her attention. Amilise turns, nodding back to them as they start hiking back toward the town. ¡°Of course, if my lord and lady should wish to stay the night in Curvedbrook, to take a rest on their way to the capital, room in the inn can be found.¡± Something turns over in my stomach at being referred to as a lady. I know the sentiment merely comes from the crown on my head, but still, it feels¡­wrong. ¡°What do you say, your ladyship?¡± Dovik asks, turning to me. ¡°The day is almost over.¡± ¡°Where is my ship?¡± I sneer at him. Dovik¡¯s eyes glance over toward the river. Squinting, I catch the light of gold reflecting in the afternoon light, the rim of the ship sticking up from a watery ditch that it has been left slightly abandoned inside of. By the time I can look back at Dovik, my temper rising, Amilese has already fled back toward the town at a brisk but desperately trying not to look panicked pace. ¡°You crashed my ship again,¡± I say, doing my utmost to not yell the words at the man. ¡°I didn¡¯t crash it,¡± he says. ¡°I set it down, maybe a little quick, and then the ground gave out beneath it. I don¡¯t think that I can be blamed for that.¡± I groan, rubbing my eyes and trying to message out the building headache. ¡°If any of my furniture is broken, you will have to replace it, again.¡± ¡°You didn¡¯t take my advice and bolt it down? Really, Charlene, doing so would be for the best.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t plan on crashing it repeatedly!¡± I end up yelling. Immediately, the throbbing in my head picks up. The migraine has arrived, a sharp pick digging into the back of my eye. Why don¡¯t we have an alchemist in our group capable of making mana potions so that I never have to deal with this pain? Why hadn¡¯t I bought any when I had been in Grim? The incredible expense of the little potions seems so paltry now that I have to deal with the consequence of their absence. ¡°Let¡¯s just go,¡± I say, gesturing toward the ship. ¡°Go ahead and get it in the air.¡± ¡°What are you going to do?¡± Dovik asks, walking ahead, smartly not bothering to object to my ordering him around. My soul presence expands across the battlefield, the pain in my skull nearly doubling as my senses expand along with it. I can¡¯t imagine the headache the duke must deal with daily if just encompassing a battlefield hurts my head this much. As the wave of red washes out across the field, the bodies of dead monsters begin to fall apart, becoming pink mist that drifts through the air toward me. ¡°I am not going to let any of this go to waste,¡± I tell him. ¡°Not a single one.¡± Chapter 131 - Arrival in Danfalla Why is it called a blood moon? Because the moon is red, moron. - A loving mother to her child I find Dovik righting the furniture inside the ship by the time I make it over. The man looks up at me, a bit sheepishly, as he continues setting the chairs straight. I don¡¯t see any evident signs of anything being scuffed. I make it a point to look over it all later. There is a chance that the man might be guilted into buying me more furniture, and given that we are heading toward the capital city of a dutchy, I might be able to find some expensive furniture. ¡°Here,¡± I say to him, tossing him a pouch of coins. ¡°Your cut.¡± He deftly catches it, pulling open the drawstrings and doing a quick count. ¡°You got all of this for disenchanting the monsters we slayed?¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t pick out who killed what. I took all of the monsters. It will be the payment for us helping out.¡± I take the throne, the key to the ship still lying on one of the armrests, and have Galea seize control of the ship, turning us and pointing us toward Danfalla. It will be well into tomorrow before we arrive. ¡°That¡¯s a bit ruthless,¡± Dovik says, bouncing the pouch in his hand. ¡°They killed at least some of those monsters. Might be fair to give them a cut of the loot.¡± ¡°Do you think they will complain?¡± I ask. The ship begins streaking forward, slightly rising as we speed off, though you can¡¯t feel any acceleration inside. ¡°No,¡± he admits, falling back into one of the chairs. ¡°You just seemed to have reaped a bounty is all.¡± I shrug, looking at my inventory screen out of the corner of my eye. ¡°I don¡¯t work for free.¡± ¡°Harsh.¡± ¡°Responsible.¡± The counter of my funds in the top corner of the window beams back at me, made larger and more satisfied by the day¡¯s work. All of the magicians today killed a little over three hundred monsters, a tenth of those rank twos. Alone, my disenchant ability created more than a hundred gold as I broke down all of the corpses, an insane sum. Moreover, the multiplicity affix that I adhered to the ability triggered several times, boosting the total by another seventy gold. All of that didn¡¯t even take into account that the vast majority of the wealth came in the form of natural treasures, hides, affix-infused meat, a magical dagger, and even a steel essentia. If I were still just the daughter of a farmer, the money I made today could have lasted me more than a decade. Even longer than that if I was smart about it. A jingle of coins pulls my attention away from the new big number that tells me how great of a person I am. Dovik stands next to me, handing back the pouch of coins. ¡°Keep the coin,¡± he says. ¡°I am more interested in the meat. Without those two weirdos here to judge us, we might actually get a good meal.¡± My hand snatches up the coin pouch, secreting it back into the vault, before I realize that I am doing it. I¡¯ve never been one to turn down coin, especially the golden kind. ¡°I¡¯ll add it to your tally,¡± I tell him, pulling out my small brown ledger, opening it to Dovik¡¯s account, and making the adjustment. It is still the same small journal that I began to use in the trial, Dovik¡¯s name is one of the first entries. Flipping the page on a whim, I find Macille¡¯s listing right there. Damn, I still owe the man money. Suddenly, I am very happy to be out of Gale. ¡°You don¡¯t need to keep that,¡± Dovik says with a sigh. ¡°We¡¯re friends, aren¡¯t we?¡± I wave him off, annoyed. ¡°It¡¯s important to keep track of one¡¯s debts.¡± ¡°Whatever.¡± He sits in one of the chairs he has dragged over near my throne. ¡°Show me the goods.¡± ¡°A girl could take that the wrong way,¡± I tell him. ¡°They typically take it in the right way when I say it,¡± he says. I roll my eyes at the man, shuffling through my inventory window, finding all of the meat added in the last hour. The inventory window created by Galea interfacing with my vault ability is similar to the storage ring that I still wear, but different in a very important way. For one, it is not limited by the number of items that I can place inside, the individual entries expanding with each item that I place into the vault. Likely, it can be filled with items, but that issue is far away. Secondly, the items placed in my vault are not suspended in the same way as the items placed in the ring. When I store the meat in my storage ring, it doesn¡¯t rot or go bad. The same cannot be said for the vault. I learned that the hard way. All of this is to say that I need to place the meat into my storage ring anyway to keep it fresh, so Dovik¡¯s rushing me doesn¡¯t bother me all that much. One by one, packages of monster meat, bundled in what can only be described as butcher¡¯s paper, begin to pile on the floor as I pull them from the vault. Initially, I start to sort them by monster, but as I inspect them closer, I find a mix of affixes among them and try to sort them that way. The silvery affix I know, and my eye¡¯s ability to identify objects helps in sorting the rest. All in all, there are four major affixes among the meat I have gathered: steel, which is by far the most abundant, sharpness, power, and fear. The fear affixed meat is a bit surprising until I remember that the monsters were named terror wolves. There are some that I set off to the side, meat taken from the disparate monsters that had joined the stampede of wolves, but the mana contained within isn¡¯t enough in quantity to comment on. Dovik looks over the piles of bundled meat as I explain to him the affixes contained. He squints at the one I set aside, noting the fear affinity it contains. ¡°I don¡¯t think that I have ever been tested for that affinity,¡± he says. Dovik then leans back in his chair and pulls an object out of his storage item. I immediately identify it as a powerful creation of enchantment, but to my more mundane senses, it appears as a huge pearl, nearly the size of a palm, with a wand of steel connected to it through a copper wire. He holds it up, noting my obvious unfamiliarity with the instrument. ¡°Have you ever had your affinities tested?¡± he asks. ¡°I know what they all are,¡± I answer, a perfect nonanswer. He shrugs, letting me keep my secrets, and waves the wand attached to the pearlescent orb over the meat that I set aside. Immediately, the milky whiteness of the orb begins to darken, becoming a purple so deep that it is almost black. I am a bit caught off guard by the sudden rush the orb gives to my magical sense. It all of a sudden contains the same salty and rich taste that I sensed a bit from the fear-tainted meat. Dovik then touches the wand to his chest. Nothing happens for a moment, before suddenly the orb flashes with a vibrant red light, returning to its milky whiteness less than a second later, any trace of the fear-affixed mana contained within having vanished. ¡°No dice,¡± he says. ¡°Jor¡¯Mari probably has the fear affix.¡± ¡°But he will get nothing from the meat,¡± I say. What a waste. ¡°It would still probably be quite tasty for him, even if he can¡¯t absorb the mana inside in such a straightforward and easy way as we can. I bet if the pretty farm girl that granted him a kiss before disappearing back to her orchard cooked it for him, he would enjoy it immensely.¡± I feel a blush come at the mention of that. I had just done that on a whim. I would like to say that it slipped my mind, but I have thought about that kiss several times in the last few weeks, especially when I was out on the grass staring at the stars and when I was trying to get to sleep. ¡°That¡¯s right, that did happen. I had almost forgotten,¡± I lie. ¡°Right.¡± Dovik turns his attention back down to the bundles on the ship floor. ¡°So,¡± I say, trying to adopt the nonchalance that the man beside me is so effortlessly capable of displaying. ¡°How did he take that?¡± ¡°Take what?¡± Dovik glances back at me for just a moment before looking back down. ¡°I have a minor connection with steel affix,¡± he mutters. ¡°It is a good foundation for body tempering I suppose.¡± ¡°The kiss,¡± I say, nodding at Dovik¡¯s muttering like it was a serious thing to consider. ¡°Did he say anything about it after I left?¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°No,¡± Dovik says, tapping the largest pile of bundled meat with his affix detector wand before tapping his chest. This time, the color in the orb sparks a dull green for a moment before turning white once more. ¡°No, he mainly just strutted around like the top rooster for a day or two and then got all quiet and sad for the rest of the time before I left. He will probably be back to his usual self by the time we arrive. Likely, he forgot all about it, same as you.¡± ¡°Yeah. Same as me.¡± I nudge away some of the steel-affixed meat with my foot, getting a dirty look from Dovik. He doesn¡¯t complain though, moving on and looking at the other spoils. Dovik sighs, leaning back in his chair and kicking his legs up on the armrest. ¡°Nothing good for me it seems. All yours, my lady.¡± I sigh as well, pulling a proper footrest from my vault to kick my legs up on. ¡°I don¡¯t like people thinking that I am nobility,¡± I say. ¡°It never even crossed my mind that it would happen in the empire. Don¡¯t those people know that there are no human nobles here?¡± ¡°She obviously thought you were foreign, which you are.¡± ¡°Same empire.¡± ¡°An empire that you didn¡¯t even know the name of just a few months ago.¡± I have to concede that point. ¡°Really though, Charlene, if you don¡¯t want people thinking you are nobility, then you probably shouldn''t walk around wearing a golden crown.¡± ¡°I know,¡± I say, tapping the crown. ¡°It¡¯s just so useful though.¡± ¡°That, I understand. Take the bad with the good. It is a great piece of equipment that just might get you mistaken for someone of importance now and again. Could that lead to you potentially landing yourself in some deep trouble, sure, but good equipment is often worth that risk.¡± ¡°I know you¡¯re joking,¡± I say, ¡°but it really is that good.¡± ¡°Then keep it,¡± he says. ¡°It isn¡¯t as if I need your permission.¡± ¡°Well, I am giving it anyway.¡± I roll my eyes at the man but have to admit that I feel a bit better. Thinking back on that healer whose name I¡¯ve already forgotten, I feel a bit unsettled. ¡°They were¡­weak, weren¡¯t they?¡± ¡°Who?¡± ¡°The other magicians. By the time that I arrived, they looked fairly exhausted. I counted only fifty or so dead monsters, but I am willing to bet that you made up the majority of those. They had a rank two guardian with them, but all that man did was fight defensively. Their mage was obviously out of mana already. Between the five of them, with them either having already reached the second rank or so close to it, how could they have already been at their limit.¡± Dovik looks at me for a time, trying to determine if I am being sincere or not. Evidently deciding that I am, he shakes his head, knocking it back against the head of his seat. ¡°They are low-rank adventurers,¡± he says. ¡°Not in terms of their development as magicians, but as the quality. That woman said that her team was high-copper tier, not very impressive. You can¡¯t blame them, as most fall into that category. They either don¡¯t have the advantage that the truly talented like us do, or they didn¡¯t focus enough on increasing their power to climb higher. It could always be both. Don¡¯t blame them for it. It is what it is.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not blaming them for it,¡± I say. Stopping, I think that over, uncertain if it is true. ¡°I just find it odd. Also, don¡¯t group me in with you. You are the one who is the son of some famously powerful magician, the one who has inherited some kind of crazy legacy, and the one who grew up rich enough to afford all the best tutors and equipment.¡± ¡°True,¡± he says, not put off in the least. ¡°Except for the fact that my niece picked you up out of obscurity and gave you not only an incredibly powerful artifact but also two-thirds of your essentia. Also, you were given entrance into a trial for the rich elites that took place in a hunting ground others would literally kill to be allowed into. Oh, and I might have forgotten to mention, as you certainly forgot to mention it to me, but your brother is also a rank-five magician. More incredible, the man achieved such a feat before the age of forty. I would say that all of these things are powerful advantages that most would lack.¡± Unlike Dovik, I feel an immediate urge to take offense. His words beat against the fragile self-image of being just a country bumpkin that got to where she is off only her hard work and gumption. The fact that I can¡¯t refute what he says makes it all the worse. Still, I take a breath, keeping myself calm. ¡°I take your point. I don¡¯t like it, but I will take it.¡± ¡°Good, because it¡¯s true. Charlene, if I talk about pure magical potency, there are only a handful of people that I have seen who would rival you at having just reached the second rank. More, add those nasty new spears you are chucking around, and you have even covered for enemies that have high magical resistance, something that I am always on the lookout for. I think you know why. As a ranged combatant, there are few who I think would outmatch you in terms of the hurt you can deliver. Couple that with your resilience, the vast depth of your mana pool that I have witnessed personally, and your ability to recover as quickly as you do, face it, you are an elite. ¡°We managed to make silver tier as adventurers without needing to take any formal kind of exam. That is not something done, but it was done for us. Yes, partly because of who I am, but the league isn¡¯t as shallow as that. You placed in the top ten of a trial held by the Willian Guild, a trial where hundreds of young scions participated. You, a girl who had only been a magician for a few weeks before the trial even began, beat out almost all of them. If we had actually gone and been evaluated, I don¡¯t doubt that everyone on our team would be able to score higher than silver. I don¡¯t want you on this team because you are my friend¨Cwell, at least that isn¡¯t the only reason¨CI want you because you are powerful. You are going to have to admit this to yourself, Charlene, you are an elite and a rare talent.¡± I chew on the words. The idea of me calling myself an elite seems so ludicrous that I want to dismiss it immediately. The rational part of my mind tells me not to. I can¡¯t exactly find fault with what he says, again, maddeningly again. If you just looked at the outcome, I had placed high in the trial, though I am well aware that I would have fallen several rankings if the contest continued past the tower. The rank twos in the trail would have just pulled too far ahead for me to catch up to. Despite knowing that he isn¡¯t, Dovik¡¯s words also sound like he is trying to dismiss all of my hard work. I hadn¡¯t understood Halford¡¯s command to work harder than everyone else at first, but after waking up at the bottom of that cliff, barely clinging to life, I threw myself fully into that mindset. My brother was right, as he often is. Most of the other contestants that I had seen throughout the trial had been arrogant and uncaring. I¡¯m fairly certain that they had all been arrogant in their own ways. I still think that I am different from them, but I wouldn¡¯t ever call myself weak. If I was being truly honest with myself, out of our team of four, Dovik is the only one that I don¡¯t think I could beat in a fight. That meant, that despite how lowly my origins, how unimportant I really am, maybe I am some kind of elite magician. The sentiment still feels false. Maybe that is something else to work on. ¡°You just say whatever you think, don¡¯t you?¡± I ask, poking the bundles on the floor with the toe of my boot, storing them away into my ring where they won¡¯t rot. ¡°Ready at any moment to shatter a girl¡¯s ego.¡± ¡°You try to hide it, but I know that ego of yours is as hard as iron and as big as a moon,¡± he says, nudging a bundle of the steel-affixed meat aside. ¡°People with big egos don¡¯t hide them,¡± I inform him. ¡°Have you met yourself?¡± ¡°Thankfully, yes. Let¡¯s stow the topic away. Like any wise sage, I¡¯ll leave you with my words to think on,¡± he says, standing and snatching up the bundle. ¡°Where are you going?¡± ¡°I¡¯m going to cook us dinner,¡± he says over his shoulder, waving the affixed meat. ¡°You know how to cook?¡± ¡°Not at all.¡± All I can do is shake my head and turn back forward on my throne. Galea handles the navigating while I turn my mind to thinking. Thinking of Galea, I recognize again what a powerful artifact the Eye of Volaash has been. Compared to most humans, I am almost a third stronger as the eye counteracts the inefficiency of soul reinforcement that most humans experience. From what I understand, that gap is closed when humans achieve each rank milestone, the extra soul energy they haven¡¯t been able to incorporate being transformed into something almost resembling my free points. No, the gap between me and that healer couldn¡¯t have come from that. Dovik was also right about my being able to access a hunting ground. I had been with my brother¡¯s team for most of the time he was an adventurer. Finding challenges that he thought his group could handle was what occupied most of his time and effort. In the forest of the trial, there had been no challenge in finding monsters to face; the place had been lousy with them. I progressed quickly, perhaps too quickly, but the constant combat had allowed me to specialize in a very narrow way. Likely, any run-of-the-mill magician would have a higher strength, defense, and magic defense than I do, but I doubt that any could match my recovery or magic, and likely only the highly specialized could eclipse my speed. I have never bothered asking anyone if this is a good or bad thing, but I don¡¯t believe it to be. If I had less mana today, I wouldn¡¯t have been able to handle that stampede on my own. No, I think I might be doing this whole magician thing right. The smell of burning meat catches my attention. I am pulled from my throne by the need to snuff out the small fire that Dovik has set in the back of the ship, cooking on some strange stove he has pulled out of nowhere. We share one of the meals my mother packed, staring out at the dark sky as the landscape rolls by unseen below. It¡¯s nice, and time passes by without notice. I occupy myself with reading, having Galea steer us well clear of any of the flying monsters she manages to see with the ship¡¯s instruments. The spirit leaves me alone, Dovik either concerning himself with his studies or with sleeping. For a rank two magician, the man sure sleeps a lot. When Galea informs me that Danfalla has come into view, I find myself too occupied with a passage to look up. By the time I can put the book down, Dovik is already at the front of the ship, looking down and marveling at the city. The first thing that comes to mind as my gaze roams over the brown and black buildings intermingling in a chaos on the two sides of a wide and winding river is that someone has spilled dark pebbles out onto the grass. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to the structure that I can see from the air, nothing like Grim. Hundreds of buildings, maybe so many as a thousand, expand away from the river choked with all manner of skimming craft. There are entire neighborhoods of squat, cheap-looking structures, their depressing closeness broken up by a random clock tower five stories tall straight in their midst. There are entire sections or rigid black-bricked municipal buildings set around wide parks. I can see no pattern to the chaos other than that everywhere seems choked with people. Not just the usual buzz of a city that I have come to know in Grim infests Danfalla, but people sitting out on the streets, small tents erected here and there. Danfalla is stuffed with all sorts of people, so much so that it looks like a nightmare to try and navigate the streets. There is a single district that sets itself apart, the northern part of the city. There, the streets are wide and mostly empty, the white stones peeking up from the road lined with fine black-bricked buildings. These are all high buildings, great expense put into their sloping and flowing architecture. All of the attention in the northern part of the city sweeps away, all roads leading to a single structure, a magnificent castle built on the slopes of a lonely mountain, the Duke¡¯s Castle. ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Now, we get to have fun.¡± Chapter 132 - The Show Not lookin¡¯ to backtalk you, but it just seems a bit more complicated than it needs to be. Just take the damned thing I¡¯d say, no call for everyone to die. Yeah. You¡¯re the boss. I¡¯ll do it. -Ferro To be immediately surrounded by guards and pointed toward a nondescript patch of grass was not how I expected my introduction to Danfalla to begin. To then have the same guards demand papers and forms that I didn¡¯t have from me set my heart beating. It wasn¡¯t just that they wanted the papers identifying me as a human of Gale, a human of the empire, and the document stating that Lord Timmian had given me moving rights, but they also wanted much more. The elven men wearing shining silver armor with green accents wanted things called visas and express permissions by a lord of the state for our entrance, as well as signed documents of invitation. Dovik stood stoically throughout the questioning, handing over some papers that merely identified him, while I kept a good few paces away from the heavily armed men, hoping not to have a heart attack. They didn¡¯t ask us to leave after we failed to supply the required items. They demanded that we didn¡¯t and set four armed men to watch the ship while we were left to sit inside. Which was how I ended up sitting in a golden throne, looking up at a castle of dark stone and pointy spires, while Dovik keeps telling me that things are going to be alright. ¡°Worst comes to worst, and we will just leave,¡± he says, patting my hand. ¡°We can¡¯t leave. They took my papers. Where am I supposed to go without those?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll bring you back to Grim and have someone make you some new papers. A citizen of Grim, how nice would that be?¡± I stare up at the man, causing him to wince. ¡°I¡¯m not helping, am I?¡± ¡°What do you think?¡± A commotion at the end of the courtyard where we have been detained draws my attention. From the open doorway of a vestibule comes running a lizardkin woman wearing a very fine and expensive-looking dress of green. Jess ignores the two guards who try to step in front of her as she dives into the open doorway of the ship, appearing in front of the two of us, smiling with such beaming energy that my worry melts away a bit. ¡°You finally made it!¡± she cries, running over and wrapping me up in an embrace. ¡°I was starting to get worried you wouldn¡¯t make it here in time. Dovik said he could find the way back to your farm, but the man is bad with directions.¡± ¡°It¡¯s good to see you,¡± I say, squeezing her tight. She pats my back a few times before breaking away. ¡°How could I possibly be bad with directions if I found her and brought her?¡± Dovik asks, affecting offense. ¡°Well, I wasn¡¯t exactly thinking of geographic directions,¡± Jess says, causing Dovik to openly scoff. They both turn to look at one of the guards who has poked their head into the ship. The man looks between us all for a moment before sheepishly ducking back out. Jess informs us that Jor¡¯Mari should be on his way soon, and finds a chair to sit in while we catch up. To hear her tell it, they haven¡¯t gotten up to all that much while in Danfalla. Jor¡¯Mari introduced Dovik and her to the duke, there had been some tension between Jor and his family, but things had smoothed over in the last couple of days. She was far more excited to hear about what we had been up to. I decided to tell her, leaving out very little about my time back home, just saying that my brother was a strong mage and that he gave me some instruction when Corinth came up. Dovik at least didn¡¯t immediately contradict me. Keeping Corinth¡¯s rank a secret feels a bit dirty, especially keeping it a secret from my friend, but he had asked me to. I can¡¯t exactly disagree with his decision there. Arabella only approached me in the first place because she knew my brother. Given everything that has come from that, it isn¡¯t difficult to see that having such a powerful man as my older brother might set things in motion that I could regret. Best to stay on the safe side. Jess looks downright jealous when we tell her about putting down the monster stampede. From her telling, she has been cooped up in the city, not allowed to go on any of the expeditionary raids that Danfalla has sent out into the countryside to begin scouting out the extent of the beast tide problem. Only those with significant travel and scouting abilities have been sent so far so that the state of movement across the Duchy can be mapped. There will be a muster of the adventurers in the city in three days to decide the plan of action. That is the time that the duke will close the duchy as well. While sealing off an entire duchy seemed strange to me at first, Dovik puts it in a new light. No one knows as of yet the exact cause of the increase in monster population and aggression, but it has been guessed to be located inside the Mari Duchy. Once the adventurers get to systematically culling the monsters in the duchy to push back the tide, the monsters might attempt to flee. Bad blood could be generated if hundreds of monsters were pushed across the border to ravish villages in the neighboring territories. I think that there would be more to regret than damaged diplomatic relations if that happened, but who cares about my opinion? Jess is getting into the swing of the conversation, talking about the interesting scenes she has found in Danfalla, when movement tugs my attention away. He steps out from the vestibule much the same as Jess had, but Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s swaggering walk is far more sedate. He wears a loose green robe decorated with silver roses, tied loosely around his waist by a thick wrap of purple silk, and strides barefoot across the grass. He dismisses the guards with a few words and a flick of his wrist, stopping at the outside of the ship and rapping on the domed hull. The dome of the hull slides away into the base, sunlight coming in to warm my skin. The courtyard is actually a beautiful garden, all of the plants sporting pretty flowers of purple, white, and pink. Our eyes meet, and I see a genuine smile spread over his face. ¡°Welcome home,¡± he says with a short bow, stopping short. ¡°Or, my home. This is my home; welcome to it.¡± ¡°Aw,¡± Jess says as she stands and pulls me out of my golden chair. ¡°Let¡¯s show you the room we have picked out for you.¡± If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°You already picked a room out for me?¡± I ask Jess, as she pulls me along, past Jor¡¯Mari. It feels like I should be asking him that. ¡°Weeks ago,¡± she confirms. ¡°It¡¯s in the east wing so you can see the sunrise. It was either that or the north wing, and there are no windows there. All of that part is built into the mountain.¡± I move along, caught adrift in the swift tide of her infectious energy. It seems silly all of a sudden to have been so worried before. I have the lord¡¯s son as my teammate; was there ever really anything to worry about? Taking a glance back as I am pulled inside, I see Dovik patting Jor¡¯Mari on the shoulder, shaking his head. Then the boys are gone, and I am led through the winding maze of the duke¡¯s home toward some room. Jess takes me to a room outfitted with enough pink silk that I think a fairy must have exploded inside. The two leather upholstered chairs sitting around the oaken coffee table are pink, the sofa with its back pressed against the foot of the bed is pink, the duvet and all sixteen pillows on top of the four-post bed are pink, the two stone columns set into the far wall are painted pink(though they do clash tastefully with the whiteness of the rest of the wall), and the mural of ballroom dancers at some great feast painted on the ceiling is done in all different shades of pink. To be clear, I do not mind the color, not in the least, but like with anything, it is best enjoyed in moderation. A great relief washes over me as Jess tells me that the pink room is her room. She leads me to a room next to it and informs me that it will be my own. My relief is short-lived as I find this room to be equally as extravagantly furnished, but the predominating color is now a harsh and vibrant green. The pink room would have been better. I can just spend most of my time in my vault to shield myself from the assault of color. We spend time talking, passing the time until the darkening sky announces evening. Jor¡¯Mari appears at my door, inviting us out to see a show that is being held in a theatre. I¡¯ve never been to the theatre before, never even seen a theatre. The only shows I¡¯ve watched before were put on at fairs or in dirty and overcrowded taverns. I am more than eager to accept the invitation on my and Jess¡¯ behalf. Finally, I have a good excuse to wear one of the dresses that I bought back in Grim. Figuring that this is some kind of fancy occasion, I opt for the most expensive, and therefore best looking, of the bunch. I know I chose correctly from the first look the man gives me as he and Dovik come to escort us from the property. I wear black satin, the fabric cool and dyed so darkly that it might as well be made of the night sky, the only hint of color the symbols of golden thread woven throughout to accent it. The symbols mean nothing, complete gibberish trying to mask itself as magical runes. I knew it when I purchased the dress, and I used that knowledge to have the tailor make free adjustments before finalizing the purchase and even managed to haggle him far down from the original asking price. The shoes, dark and tall, were bought specifically to match the dress, I have stitched genuine golden thread into them to bring them more in line with the rest of the theme. Long-sleeve gloves of dark gossamer and an onyx hairpin embedded with monster ivory help to complete the look. All of it together is very expensive, but judging from how Jor¡¯s eyes linger, and where they linger, worth every copper. To my shameful surprise, Jess outfits herself beautifully for the evening as well. She seems to have picked up an interest in clothing since I forced a real wardrobe on her, and with nothing better to do while being stuck in Danfalla, has expanded her wardrobe considerably. I doubt many would pick me out as a farmer¡¯s girl when Jor extends me the crook of his elbow to lead me out of the manor to a carriage he has waiting. My elation lasts for all of sixteen seconds, dying as we pass a pair of elven maids who are all smiles until Jor¡¯Mari is past them, those smiles becoming strained on his back, the daggers in their eyes moving to me. It happens more than once, the staff of the residence smiling to our faces only to scowl at our backs. I am still in the empire, I remind myself. They probably don¡¯t like a human girl hanging onto the arm of their lord¡¯s son. ¡°Don¡¯t mind them,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says as we pass another pair, not even trying to mask his voice to keep them from overhearing. ¡°Those looks are directed at me, not you.¡± I look up at him, finding him with his usual smirk, like the dirty looks at our backs feed him somehow. ¡°Isn¡¯t it grand, to be so important to someone that they can¡¯t help but show their true feelings around you despite the danger of it?¡± ¡°I could do without,¡± I tell him, spotting the carriage ahead as we make our way out and onto the street. ¡°They don¡¯t exactly seem happy.¡± He shrugs. ¡°They¡¯re a miserable lot. Pay them no mind; it is the best revenge.¡± The ride to the theatre is a bumpy one, the wooden wagon wheels clicking over cobblestone. Once we have made it from the safety of the northern district where the streets are kept clear, the carriage is made to constantly start and stop, slowly navigating around the choking crowd of people on the streets. With the sun down, it seems that even more people are out on the street, the cover of night pulling them out of the holes they hide themselves in during the day. Several times the driver barks curses at somebody blocking the horses, threatening to run them over, and once I think he even tried to do just that. Toward the end of the ride, a bottle smashes against the back window of the carriage; the thrower is never found. The ride leaves Jor¡¯Mari burying his face in his hands in embarrassment by the time we pull up outside of a tall building with high and shining windows. A sign above the entrance reads, ¡°Casterly¡¯s Round¡± and a well-dressed man unbars the brass doors for us at our approach. Jor has a private box in the upper reaches of the theatre, or perhaps his family does. I begin to lose the flow of the conversation as we already cracked open some special wine that Jor procured from his father¡¯s collection in the carriage ride over. He noticed in our last few times drinking together that I didn¡¯t get to enjoy the sin as much as the others. High-ranking nobles also share my near-immunity to alcohol to hear him tell it, and so he found some special kind of liquor for me to enjoy all to myself as it would perhaps kill one of my friends if they were to indulge. I can¡¯t question the efficacy, two swigs in and I¡¯m already giggling my ass off at every joke, even the not-funny ones. The show is already underway by the time that we make it into the box. I pester Jor¡¯Mari into explaining what we missed and somewhat keep up with his monologue as he whispers it in my ear. Not that it helps, the entire thing is performed in the elven tongue, and I don¡¯t catch anything outside of a few names. Not that I need to follow the story to appreciate the performance. I find myself leaning against the edge of the balcony, staring down at the beautiful performers moving about on stage in gossamer silks of vibrant pastel colors so transparent that nothing is left to the imagination. They dance across the stage instead of moving, their bodies taut with bound energy and muscular precision. My favorite performer is a short elven woman wearing red silks, the lead of the show. She is approached by several men throughout the show as she travels toward a shining star in the sky. Each man tries to court her, entering into dances with her, but none can match her tempo, none able to even approach her quality. One after another she leaves them behind, panting on the ground, unable to continue. The look of heartbreak on her face each time wrenches my soul. The only one that begins to stand a chance of matching her in the dance is a beast she discovers close to her destination, the one that bars her way. She casts down that beast after a brilliant performance, climbing a lonely peak to stand beneath the light of her star, dancing all alone. I blink as the performance comes to a sudden end, the lights down on the stage winking out altogether. Thunderous applause fills the theatre, and I find myself clapping along, hollering from the high-up booth. Jess is right there beside me, cheering her heart out. Another swig of the wine burns down the back of my throat as I find myself having sobered too much throughout the performance. It feels like no time at all has passed since we arrived. To my delight, Jor leads us up to the top of the theatre where many well-dressed people gather. Beneath the stars, at a table set apart from the rest, we sit and drink for a while. The night is just about perfect, still young but with so much goodness to it already. It doesn¡¯t occur to me that someone bumping into a chair might ruin the entire thing, might start a cascade that will lead to so much going wrong, and will lead to my eternal and ever-lasting nightmare, but it does. The back of Jess¡¯ chair is bumped, her drink splashes and spills on her white dress, and our fate cinches the noose tighter around our necks. Why must I be the way I am? Chapter 133 - A Little Misunderstanding I found in Ben Alder¡¯s tomb a container labeled as containing the will-aspected ions from the forty-second age. Worst of all, this wasn¡¯t even news. How stupid can these fools be to not understand the implications? The damned particles were dated! Not in a timetable of even Ben Alder¡¯s construction, but in one native to them! -From the Journal of Physicist Ra Fil¡¯Aldeen ¡°I don¡¯t blame you for thinking that way,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, waving his chalice filled with a green, sour drink around for emphasis. ¡°You won¡¯t really get it until you have seen it at least two more times.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t get much of it,¡± I say, waving around the bottle of wine he had given me in the carriage on the way over, copying his flamboyant movements. The bottle was still mostly full; I didn¡¯t dare sip from it too often. The deliciously sweet liquid inside burned my throat horribly with every sip and made my head spin like I had been beaten with a mallet. In essence, it was damned good, and the five sips I had that night had me off my ass already. ¡°The whole thing was in this strange language, impossible to understand.¡± Jor¡¯Mari rolls his eyes at the comment. ¡°You will have to forgive her,¡± Dovik cuts in, patting Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s shoulder. ¡°She is but a savage, uneducated about the higher arts.¡± ¡°Like you understood anything,¡± Jess says, coming straight to my defense. ¡°Of course I did,¡± Dovik replies. ¡°All of the best plays are in one elven dialect or another. They have a sense of drama baked right into their being. My mother¡¯s library has entire books that are merely transcripts of various elven courts. The scandal and intrigue contained within rival any work of prose.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sure,¡± I say, turning back to Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°So, why should she have married Kala¡¯whatshisname?¡± ¡°Did you not see the attraction in their dance?¡± Jor¡¯Mari exclaims. ¡°The passion between the two says everything. He was the cool evenness to Asteralla¡¯s fiery passion.¡± ¡°He was the one in blue?¡± Jess asks. ¡°Yes,¡± Dovik confirms, ¡°the one with the pointy crown and the eyebrows.¡± ¡°Those eyebrows.¡± I can¡¯t help but snicker at the memory. ¡°Practically falling off his face.¡± ¡°The actors are a couple,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, putting on the air of whispering without actually lowering his voice. ¡°You can tell when you watch the performance. When I see them dance together, well, it reinterprets the entire piece.¡± ¡°But he couldn¡¯t keep up with her,¡± I say. ¡°That was the whole point wasn¡¯t it, that no man could keep up with her?¡± ¡°Do they need to?¡± Jor¡¯Mari asks, shrugging. ¡°She pushed them all away and in the end had to dance alone. Alone on the top of a mountain with only the cold stars for company. I enjoy tragedies, but comedic tales are by far my preference.¡± I am about to tell him that I thought she looked happy enough as she danced her solo atop the mountain, but my words are preempted by the jarring sound of a chair leg scraping against the ground. Jess slides forward, her knee colliding roughly with the brass rim of the table, her wine sloshing out of her cup and splashing all over her white gown. My hand tightens around the neck of the bottle I¡¯m holding. The blood in my veins just about boils as I see the slight quiver in Jess¡¯ lip as she looks down at her ruined dress. Someone is going to pay for that. ¡°Mind not taking up the whole roof?¡± A high voice behind our table says, earning some laughter. Before I can turn around and find my target, Jor¡¯Mari speaks up, his voice harsh. ¡°Priscilla! You bump into my friend and spill wine all over her! I expect an apology before I find myself in a thoroughly ruined mood.¡± That is when I manage to look back. Three women, all sleek and beautiful elven women with the metallic shine to their hair that tells of their noble heritage. My eyes have difficulty focusing on any of them, the liquid clasped in my numb fingers likely to blame, but the three look as unsteady on their feet as I would be. Priscilla, the onyx-haired one at the front, stares blankly back at Jor¡¯Mari for a moment before her eyes focus, growing wide. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Pris,¡± one of the other girls with her says, tugging on her elbow. ¡°I think Roger is leaving without us.¡± Priscilla slaps her friend¡¯s hand away, giving a slightly deferential nod to Jor¡¯Mari. ¡°Cousin, I didn¡¯t realize it was you there. You¡¯ve been gone for some time, and I didn¡¯t know you were back home. These must be¡­friends of yours.¡± No matter how drunk I am, I would never miss the way she wrinkles her nose as her eyes pass over Dovik and me. ¡°They are my friends,¡± Jor¡¯Mari repeats. ¡°They are staying at my father¡¯s manor, which means they are also his guests.¡± As he speaks, his face darkens. ¡°As a young woman of good breeding, I hardly need to instruct you on what the proper response should be when having wronged someone in polite company.¡± ¡°Wronged, me?¡± Priscilla says, stumbling a step back as she raises her hand to her chest. Behind her, one of the other ladies is waving over four men loitering at the stairwell. Two shrug off her insistent waving, continuing to puff away on their cigars, but the two that shrug and start walking over are dangerous-looking men: armed, dangerous-looking men. ¡°I would never, cousin. You know me better than that.¡± In response, Jor¡¯Mari merely points at Jess who sits meekly in her chair. It is so odd, seeing Jess sit there looking down at her hands. It only makes my blood run hotter. Priscilla gasps, as if seeing Jess for the first time. She picks at the fabric of Jess¡¯ dress for a moment. ¡°I didn¡¯t realize, dear. I am so sorry, please accept my apology. Say that you will. This is such a lovely dress. I am such a lush. Of course, I will have it replaced, all at my expense. Can you see yourself forgiving me? We don¡¯t want any nights to be ruined¡± ¡°It is just a dress,¡± Jess says, stopping the woman from continuing. ¡°It is fine. We can put it behind us.¡± ¡°Brilliant!¡± Priscilla beams, stepping away and snatching the arm of one of her companions up. ¡°I will hold you to that,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says, taking another sip from his glass. He nods up to one of the men who has moved over and stands protectively around the three. ¡°Jallas, I am sure you will see these ladies home safely.¡± This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Of course, my lord.¡± The big man with two ornate hatchets on his left hip replied, bowing. Priscilla offers a final bow to Jor¡¯Mari, getting her companions to do the same before turning to leave. The tension in the air starts to fade as the women sashay away as well as their drunken high-heels can carry them. Priscilla slaps away Jallas¡¯ arm as he tries to lay it across her shoulder. They aren¡¯t even four steps away before one of the painted ladies in the group leans into Priscilla, whispering loudly enough for even me to overhear, and my perception is not that good. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen you wilt like that, Pris,¡± the girl drunkenly whispers. ¡°Bite your tongue,¡± Priscilla whispers back, her voice harsh and cold. ¡°Irritate that man and he will snap your neck. He did it to his own little brother, you know. Killed him just because he was jealous.¡± The giggle following Priscilla¡¯s whispered reply is what puts it over the edge for me. I feel a nasty sneer twist my face as I look across the table, seeing Jor¡¯Mari struggling to keep a neutral expression. ¡°So, who was that bitch?¡± I ask. I didn¡¯t intend for the words to come out so loud, but the liquor is delightfully affecting me. My chair hits the ground in the same moment that Galea attempts to warn me of an attack. I am up, already staring at the woman as she stands barely an inch away from me, a look of utter rage on her face as she stares down at me. I hadn¡¯t noticed just how tall the woman was before; most can¡¯t look down on me these days. Her breath is soaked in alcohol as she puffs in my face. ¡°I don¡¯t care whose guest you are,¡± she snarls. ¡°I will not have a fucking vulture speak about me like that.¡± I am vaguely aware of some men behind each of us protesting weakly, but my full attention is captured by the woman. The way her pearlescent onyx hair hangs in rings around her ears. The look of her orange eyes as she sneers at me like I am just a piece of trash, better ignored than given any sort of dignity. Worst of all, it¡¯s that fucking look in those amber eyes, like the mere thought that I might say an unkind word about her is so unthinkable it is worth tearing the world down over. ¡°You¡¯re always such a stuck-up bitch,¡± I manage through my clenched teeth. ¡°What?¡± The crack as my forehead collides with her nose is so utterly satisfying that I almost don¡¯t regret it. I do regret headbutting the debutant in the face, however, as it feels like I smashed my skull into a stone pillar. I stumble back into the table, my vision completely white. The whine of the table legs scratching against the floor and Priscilla¡¯s screech of pain bleed together in my brain. Blinking, the world swims back into focus. Dovik and Jor¡¯Mari are standing in front of me now, one of the big men across from them holding Priscilla back as she strains against him. She holds her bleeding nose with one hand, trying to march toward me, unintelligible honking coming from her open mouth. The big man looks like he is straining pretty hard to hold her still. Ah, she must be one of those endowed. That would make sense as to how she got over to me so fast, and why headbutting her fragile face felt like getting kicked in the head by a mule. I rub my forehead, finding a stain of blood on my gloves when I pull my hand away. Despite the splitting headache, I don¡¯t seem to be any more sober than a moment ago. This wine really is good stuff. A little late, I identify her with my eye. Priscilla Ca¡¯Mari, Daughter of Baron Radast Ca¡¯Mari ¡°Cheers,¡± I say, holding up the bottle of wine toward Priscilla and taking a sip. For some reason, that only makes her angrier. ¡°Get her out of here!¡± Jor¡¯Mari commands. The other man moves at once to grab her arm, getting an elbow in the face that knocks him out cold. The other two men who had been loitering at the stairwell are sprinting over, the entire commotion thoroughly ruining the atmosphere. ¡°I will be revenged!¡± Priscilla screeches, the first thing I have been able to understand her saying. ¡°Some human whore can¡¯t get away with assaulting me.¡± ¡°Takes one to know one,¡± I call back, no idea where the words are coming from. Looking at the bottle still in my hand, I find the answer to that mystery. Jess is at my side now, trying to shush me in a hushed tone. It is about that time that I notice Priscilla¡¯s eyes are a deep lavender color, not amber at all. In fact, she is starting to look very different from the onyx-haired elven woman I was comparing her to in my head just a moment ago. Maybe I have a problem. ¡°You cannot stop me!¡± she says, pointing a bloody finger at Jor¡¯Mari. The man flinches back. ¡°Your pet has attacked my honor, and I will have blood for it.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t look at him!¡± I call, Jess trying to shut me up even as the words come out. ¡°I¡¯m the one that knocked out that pretty tooth of yours.¡± The anger flees Priscilla¡¯s face for a moment as she somehow flushes even more stark white than she already is. Her hand comes up, prodding her mouth, finding all of her teeth still there. When she looks back at me, all I can do is laugh. ¡°You think that¡¯s funny.¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Remove her!¡± Jor¡¯Mari commands again. With the aid of three of the big men, they finally start to drag her across the floor. ¡°You think you are so funny tramp, hiding behind my cousin like a coward!¡± she calls, digging her expensive heels into the floor to stop her slide. ¡°What did you call me!¡± I explode up from the table, finding Jess grabbing me before I can take more than two steps forward. I can¡¯t say why that insult hit me so deeply, but my heart pounds in my ears. Dovik is there in front of me, shaking his head at me vehemently. ¡°Did that get you, vulture? The truth hurts.¡± ¡°Who¡¯s the one bleeding?¡± ¡°I challenge you, bitch!¡± she screams, already halfway across the floor. ¡°I challenge you to combat right here and now!¡± Dovik lunges forward before I can say anything, his hand clamping down over my mouth. He screams as my teeth sink into the knuckle of his middle finger, ripping his hand away with a curse. ¡°I accept!¡± I yell back. Those two words are like magic. Priscilla stops struggling, and the three men holding onto her slowly release her. Jor¡¯Mari lays his face in his hands, shaking his head, and I find myself falling back onto the table, sitting there. ¡°Fetch my saber and grimoire,¡± Priscilla commands one of the women with her. ¡°I have a mut to kill.¡± ¡°No!¡± Jor¡¯Mari yells, stepping forward. His body grows as he marches across the floor toward her, the woman shrinking away from him as he comes to tower over her. ¡°This foolishness has gone too far. No one is going to fight, here.¡± He removes a handkerchief from the inside pocket of his robe and tosses it to her. ¡°One hour, the northern training yard.¡± Priscilla snatches the cloth from the air, nodding before turning her baleful eyes on me. ¡°You won¡¯t run away, will you.¡± ¡°A challenge made and accepted,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°Now, go. I need to speak with her.¡± The woman looks between me and him for a long moment before nodding and turning away. One of the women with her comes rushing back over with a scabbarded sword only to get shouldered out of the way as Priscilla makes the stairs. The entourage disappears down the stairwell, leaving the people up on the roof at a loss for how to recover the mood of joviality. Jor¡¯Mari turns back to me, his face a mask of anger for a moment before softening into a disbelieving smile. ¡°You probably shouldn¡¯t have done that,¡± he says. I shrug. ¡°I don¡¯t like her.¡± A slap on the back of my head flings strands of hair into my face. ¡°Ow! What in three hells, Dovik!¡± ¡°You bit me,¡± he says, holding up his hand. ¡°I think you drew blood.¡± ¡°Poor baby.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t like you when you drink,¡± he says. ¡°Too aggressive.¡± ¡°I did one thing.¡± Despite my very good point, the bottle slips out of my hand as Jor¡¯Mari takes it away. I look up at him, copying his smirk. ¡°Anything I should know before I kick your cousin¡¯s ass?¡± ¡°She is stronger than you,¡± he says. I rub my forehead. ¡°I figured that one out.¡± ¡°She is a formidable magical artist who has mastered the fundamentals of the Mari family¡¯s magic. She has been raised from birth seeped in the combat of duels and has won three that I am aware of. She is the second daughter of the Baron Cla¡¯Mari and has been endowed with quite a bit of power.¡± ¡°Is that all?¡± I ask, reaching to take the wine back, only for Jor¡¯Mari to take a step away, pulling it out of reach. ¡°That¡¯s it. So, it will be pretty embarrassing if you lose.¡± Chapter 134 - Duel Parfillio failed twice, something unacceptable from one of the divine. He had been allotted the realm of light and fire, but he craved a people. Despite our father¡¯s declaration that they not be made here, he created his original simulacra. They died. True, we put pressure on them, but if they had been worthy they would have survived. Then, despite our father¡¯s clear warnings and dictate, he went to that fetid origin for material to try again. Once they had been revived again, we could not allow him to continue in his meddling. His interpretation of the supreme directive was false. We had to end him for it. They still live now. I don¡¯t know why Exeter allows it, but I am not one to question my father¡¯s wisdom. -Excerpt from ¡°My Talks with Glis¡¯Merinda, Daughter of Exeter¡± Written by Dak of Kell I feel uncomfortably sober as we wind up the paved path cut through the grass an hour later. Gone are my beautiful dress and slightly blood-stained gloves, replaced with bands of steel armor that fit tightly to my extremities and the hand-enchanted coat. The thrum of the magic in the armor washes through me as I assemble my battle equipment, though I keep the staves stored away, my only apparent weapon the mageblade dagger on my hip. Another man accompanies the slightly intoxicated four of us. Jor¡¯Mari stopped before we made it to the training yard to wake an older elven man, his step-brother, or some such. The nobleman has the messiest hair I have ever seen on an elf, platinum blonde curls cut short and sticking in clumps every which way. The bags beneath the man¡¯s eyes and the constant scowl confirm that he is long past these childish and late-night adventures, but hearing that there was going to be a duel, he sighed and put on some boots to join us. He is quite the healer to hear Jor¡¯Mari tell it. The fact that Jor felt the need to wake a healer for this says a lot to me. We come upon the place where the duel is to be held, a big pitch set onto the cleared scalp of a hill. The chalk lines decorating the short-cut grass remind me of the stoneball arena I had seen all those months ago, but it is different in a few ways. Jor¡¯Mari had mentioned something about aristocrats favoring the game. Priscilla and her groupies stand near the center of the field or lounge in large chairs that look completely out of place on the night grass. Honestly, I don¡¯t know any of the people and it is a bit uncharitable to simply call them groupies, but I can¡¯t bring myself to care about that at the moment. The elven woman who is to be my opponent visibly seethes as we crest the hill and start walking out onto the field, grabbing the sleeves of her coat so tight I imagine she might rip them off. There is a white bandage on her face across her nose, hilarious. ¡°With Priscilla?¡± the man Jor¡¯Mari brought along complains, looking at Jor and shaking his head. ¡°Really?¡± ¡°This will be more interesting than any dream you were having,¡± Jor¡¯Mari assures him, patting him on the back. ¡°All you have to do is sit back and make certain that no one dies.¡± The man looks at Jor a little longer before turning his skeptical gaze on me, looking me up and down. ¡°You should know that you will likely lose,¡± the man says. ¡°Priscilla has been taught the sword by her father for years. The man is a champion duelist.¡± I shrug. ¡°I¡¯ve never fought a duel.¡± The man simply sighs, shaking his head, and walking toward the center of the field, not stopping with the rest of us as we form a line opposite Priscilla¡¯s entourage. ¡°Sir Relz,¡± Priscilla says, removing her stare from me long enough to dip a courteous bow to the man, before immediately going back to staring dagger at me. ¡°I thought the young lord might fetch you to referee.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know what happened, but can¡¯t everyone put this matter behind them and go back to whatever it was you were doing? Youthful mistakes are all well and good, but someone could be seriously injured here,¡± he pleads. ¡°I am afraid not, sir. This woman has assaulted me and shown grievous disrespect. Our duel is lawful, and if someone does not teach her proper manners and her place soon, a greater disaster could occur,¡± Priscilla says. The man whose name is Sir Relz, looks over at me, not much hope on his face. I realize that, again, I have forgotten to identify the man as soon as I met him. That coupled with the lingering tingle in my fingers reminds me that I am not exceptionally sober. ¡°She called me a whore,¡± I tell Sir Relz. ¡°I think that a round of place putting is in order.¡± The man shakes his head, looking between us. ¡°If you are set on it then. Clear the field,¡± he commands, sudden authority entering his voice as he looks to the onlookers. As if they were expecting the command, the two groups head in opposite directions toward the sides of the field, Priscilla¡¯s entourage dragging their plush chairs. Sir Relz takes a calming breath, at me. ¡°Can I assume that you were the challenged?¡± ¡°I was,¡± I say. ¡°Then, choice of weapon is up to you,¡± he says. Priscilla stands before me, one hand having moved to the hilt of a scabbard blade that hangs from her hip while her other holds an old-looking brown book. I heard earlier when she originally called for the weapons that she asked for a grimoire. This is my first time seeing one, though I am vaguely familiar with them. They are books of notes employed by those specializing in spellcraft, containing representations of the spells that they need to access quickly as creating the intricate runic patterns from memory in an instant is far beyond the skill of most who specialize in the art. It goes to show just how especially impressive Corinth is, as I never once saw him need to refer to any reference to create a spell in an instant. ¡°Anything goes,¡± I say back to him. He nods, likely expecting the answer. I might not know much about duels, but I can guess a few things. I know that the endowed do not generally express magic outwardly, relying on the power infusing their bodies to push those bodies to limits far beyond what a magician is capable of. They often fight using weapons, dedicating huge stretches of their lives to mastering a single instrument of war. Jor¡¯Mari told me before that the Mari clan has a focus on summoning and controlling demons, which sets them a bit apart. Regardless, as the endowed daughter of a baron, Priscilla¡¯s attributes likely far outpace my own, and entering into a close bout with her will be suicide. Magic must be on the table then, and if we are already going to enter that realm, I may as well allow anything, as I don¡¯t know what these people will consider to be inside or outside of the rules if I try to draw a line. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Despite knowing that the woman is stronger than me in probably every attribute other than recovery, that she has experience in these kinds of fights, and that she is about to employ spellcraft, an art that I have never combatted, I do not feel the least bit fearful as I stare back at her. Maybe it is just the alcohol, but I don¡¯t think so. ¡°Take a moment to prepare yourselves,¡± Sir Relz says, taking a few steps away. Priscilla looks me up and down, sneering. ¡°Do you really think that little kitchen knife will allow you to defeat me? You don¡¯t understand what you are up against.¡± Shrugging, I pull the knife from my waist and turn it over in my hand. ¡°I doubt I will need to use this,¡± I say. If my words reinforce her thinking that I am some kind of knife combatant, so be it. ¡°How does the duel end?¡± I ask Sir Relz. ¡°That is for the issuer of the challenge to decide,¡± he says, nodding at Priscilla. ¡°How does a combat to the death sound to you?¡± she asks. ¡°I didn¡¯t start the night wanting to kill someone,¡± I reply, shrugging. It is only beginning to dawn on me at this moment that I am talking to a real elven noble, a woman who is part of those who have fed me lies my entire life. A part of my mind is screaming for me to apologize, to beg forgiveness, afraid that the powerful arm of the Duchy will be turned on me and my family because of my actions tonight. The greater part of my mind is more indifferent. Perhaps that too is from the drink. If so, I need Jor¡¯Mari to give me more. I hit this woman. Gods, that scared little girl inside of me cringes at the thought of that. Somehow, that moment of rash action has ripped away something that has been plastered over my soul, a vague fear and certainty that to defy these people would mean nothing but tortuous pain and death. But here I am, standing in front of a woman who looks like she wants to kill me, feeling no closer to death than I did sitting in the theatre. What was the threat? ¡°If I kill you, you won¡¯t learn anything,¡± Priscilla answers, standing tall, her voice self-assured, as if she is offering me some incredible favor. ¡°We will go until you yield.¡± ¡°Until yield,¡± Sir Relz says, nodding. ¡°The first to yield or to be rendered incapable of continuing will be declared the loser of the bout. Prepare yourselves.¡± At his command to prepare ourselves, Priscilla opens her grimoire and begins to infuse power into it. I stare in fascination as an intricate rune of hundreds of lines begins to lift off the page, leaving a blank sheet behind inside the book as it floats into the air. I see a swirl of uncolored magic float from her hand and begin to enter the rune, the air around the construction of spellcraft warping as the power builds. ¡°Hasn¡¯t she already begun?¡± I ask Sir Relz. ¡°Lady Cla¡¯Mari has launched no attack against you,¡± he says, shaking his head. Sir Relz pulls the handkerchief from his breast pocket and holds it up. ¡°I shall only allow a few more seconds before I throw the flag to start. When this cloth touches the ground, the duel will have commenced.¡± Turning my attention back to the woman in front of me, I find that the rune she is working with has almost readied itself. It is difficult to say how I know, just that it appears to be nearing its full capacity. A dark fascination with seeing what will come of it infects me. It probably isn¡¯t a good idea to let her complete the spell, but I will anyway. It only occurs to me as Sir Relz throws his handkerchief into the air that I should have spent the last few seconds preparing myself, probably charging a dragonfire bolt to its full capacity and blasting Priscilla to bits before she can react. I¡¯ve been told that the endowed nobility are like attribute specialists but with every attribute, so it is unlikely that a single blast would be enough to kill her. I don¡¯t think that a single blast would even deal all that much damage to Dovik for instance. The urge to ask Dovik about that very thing comes over me before I force myself to focus. Perhaps there is a downside to the intoxication as well. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the handkerchief begin its downward trajectory. I should at least do something. In a flash, a wave of red and gold mana explodes away from me, washing over the field like the water from a broken dam, a pressure settling on everything other than my opponent. I am not looking to cheat after all. Despite not being directly affected by my soul presence erupting across the field, I watch as Priscilla¡¯s concentration slips for a moment, the spellwork hovering in the air in front of her shuddering for a moment. She asserts control over it once again after only the slightest slip, but the mere fact that she was unsettled at all tells me all I need to know about this woman. No, she can¡¯t beat me. The handkerchief lands on the grass, a little splash of lavender among the green. The rune floating in front of Priscilla beats a loud and whining note that cuts through the air, the vibrations around it stilling for a moment as it turns a bright red that almost disappears against the color of my soul. I don¡¯t blink, but I also don¡¯t catch the moment that the huge creature appears in front of me. The first thing that I think, is that it reminds me of Jor¡¯Mari when he has become huge. The creature is humanoid, with two arms and two legs, but at almost eight feet tall, its arms are as thick around as tree trunks and reach well past its knees. Its skin is a muddy red, and a tail with thorny spikes hangs behind it, the slight shiver shaking through it warning me of how dangerous it might be. The forehead of the monster¡¯s face is big and flat, making it not look all that bright, and two beady red eyes stare out from its lop-sided face. Canker Demon(Rank Two) I do end up looking over at Dovik, calling to him. ¡°You said demons weren¡¯t real!¡± ¡°To the right,¡± Galea warns in my head, making me jump back on instinct. The ground where my left foot had been just an instant before sprays into the air as the spiked tail of the Canker Demon crashes down, chewing up the dirt. The demon chases after me, following up the swing of its tail with a slash of its claws that whistle as they cut through the air. The demon might be huge, but it isn¡¯t all that fast or precise with its attacks. Instead of jumping back, I move forward, ducking into its range and stepping past it. The flashing glint of steel nearly impales me as I make it past the demon. Priscilla is there, already following up from the swing of her saber that I sidestep, setting her feet and cutting up toward my face with the edge of the sword. A burning line of pain slices across my cheek as I spring back from her, unleashing a torrent of flames as I put distance between us. My aura crashes down on the woman and the demon simultaneously. The demon¡¯s fist crashes into the ground far ahead of me, the sudden weight pressing down on it making the clumsy swing miss wildly. Priscilla recovers faster than her summoned creature, a wispy white light bleeding off of her skin and shrouding her. She looks up at me, smirking, and stands tall, the effect of my soul presence completely nullified by the field of magic surrounding her. Instead of puzzling that out, I put my energy into summoning my draconic wings, leaping up into the air, soaring a good forty feet upward. Staring down at the two opponents on the field below, I begin to pull black sand from my vault, pooling it into globes of darkness floating around me. I was aware that the endowed could exhibit soul presences of their own, but I am only now beginning to suspect they are different from the ones magicians possess. The presences of magicians overlap when they are brought together, the effects mingling together, but I feel a physical resistance from the light surrounding Priscilla. Some force pushes against my presence, not allowing it to enter that area; it is as if she is wearing a shining shield. ¡°Left,¡± Galea warns. My black sand slides away from its sphere, forming a wall of darkness on my left side in an instant. Instead of the expected slap of magic against the forming shield, a tendril of pink flesh spears through the wall. I only have time to widen my eyes before the spike on the end of the tendril stabs into my gut. Air is forced from my lungs and I feel the barb expand in my stomach, locking the tendril to me. Magic is drawn away from me, flooding out of my body, sucked back through the length of flesh. This is bad. ¡°Oh.¡± That is all I manage to say. Chapter 135 - Duel: Part 2 If someone finds this, do not follow in my footsteps. There are some clients you shouldn¡¯t help, no matter how high the pay. It might seem somewhat obvious, but there are those that take exception to certain secrets being uncovered. -Atherinon, Taker of Secrets The slightest adjustment in the air fires a spike of pain through my entire body. Were it not for the sky affix keeping me aloft, I would plummet as the wings on my back spasm. My hand clenches tight around the tendril stabbing into my stomach, fire pouring out from my fingers. A shrieking wail cuts through the air from the other side of the wall of black sand hovering in front of me. I command the sand to separate as my fire continues to roil over my hand, but a glimpse at the creature on the other side makes me regret the action. Manaphage Eye(Rank 2) The tendril stabbing me leads back along a line of twisting and bloated flesh to an eyeball floating in the air fifteen feet away. Four wings, white, like those of a dove, flap in the air behind the monster, not attached to its body but still holding it aloft somehow. Its body is just an eyeball the size of a prize-winning pumpkin, the sclera an ugly yellow color where it isn¡¯t discolored with brown. Its pupil is an open wound, darkness leading into cut-open flesh, from which the stinger protrudes. The revulsion I feel at seeing the monster pushes me to pour more flames into it. Lacking a mouth, it still manages to screech and thrash in the air, each of its movements jerking the barbed spear in my gut. Despite the evident pain I am causing, my fire seems to make no headway. Desperate, I pour the green power of corrosion into the flames. Something I haven¡¯t seen happen before starts, the fire affix not leaving my dragonfire even as I add the emerald power, the two mixing and combining. My dragonfire grows darker, the brilliant orange taking on a brownish hue as it eats into the flesh of the monster. The length of tendril I hold in my hand grows brittle as I close my fingers, eventually snapping like a dried twig beneath my meager strength. The wings hovering behind the manaphage begin to flap wildly as the part of the tendril collapses completely, separating us. I soar back, putting distance between myself and the monster, fascination stirring me as the brown flames continue to chew on the fleshy cord extending from the eyeball¡¯s pupil. A smell like dry dirt floats on the wind, and looking down at my hand, I find my smeared blood seeping into a handful of ash. The brown fire burning into the monster doesn¡¯t spread like it should, more burrowing into the flesh, bits of ash raining down as it slowly climbs the stalk. At Galea¡¯s prompting, I move in the air once more, a spear of steel shooting up from the ground below. Right, I¡¯m still in the middle of a fight. My moonsilver staff drops into my right hand as I bite my lip, using my left to rip the barb out of the wound in my stomach. The pain is incredible, but not nearly as bad as I expected. Mana is already pouring into the head of the staff, an emerald bead of fire manifesting at the end as I turn it to look down on my enemy. ¡°That wound looks nasty,¡± Priscilla calls, taking a bare second to pull her attention away from the rune she is manifesting from her grimoire. ¡°If you surrender now, your humiliation will not be too bad.¡± She isn¡¯t wrong. The spear of the manaphage had only been in my stomach for a few seconds, but the monster managed to strip nearly two thousand mana from me in those scant few seconds. A lesser mage would be empty on resources. I flick out the barb in my hand, letting it drop to the ground in front of the demon standing next to Priscilla. The dumb beast tracks it, its head bobbing as the barb bounces on the grass in front of it. It reaches forward with a red hand, picking up the barb in two huge fingers and turning it over in front of its face, mesmerized by the bloody appendage. The demon never sees the flash of green that ends its life. A shadow is thrown from the erupting plume of emerald conflagration, Priscilla. She rolls through the grass, bouncing a single time as she hugs her grimoire tightly to her chest before she somersaults to her feet once more, the pages of her grimoire spinning rapidly. I am more captured by the sight of the burning demon engulfed in green flame. It looks like a dark skeleton in the flash of the fire, standing for a moment, staring up at the sky before it starts to crumble. Charging another blast of fire into my staff, I look down, tracking Priscilla as she stops her grimoire on a new page and begins to pull the spellwork from the book. I don¡¯t want to do anything too terrible to her as I level the staff; it isn¡¯t like I am trying to kill this girl. Only now it occurs to me that I don¡¯t exactly understand how to make this woman yield to me without inflicting some horrible kind of pain. Burning someone alive is hardly a way that a duel should end, especially when the duel is just to yield. Irritation nags at me as I watch her speed through her attempt to summon some new spell from her book. The woman didn¡¯t even do me the courtesy of wearing protective equipment. If she is a duelist as she claimed and has fought in duels before, there is no chance she doesn¡¯t have armor or enchantments to protect from magic somewhere. She must have thought me so below her that she wouldn¡¯t require any, and now it is on me not to kill her with a blast of fire. While it is true that I mostly changed into my armor so that my dress wouldn¡¯t be ruined, at least I put some protective equipment on. I grind my teeth, trying to think around the obstacle. Galea, for some reason, fails to warn me at all as the Manaphage Eye swoops at me from the side. With its stinger crumbled to dust, the floating eyeball has no real way of harming me. That is little consolation as its spongy body slaps into my outstretched hand. The slap against my hand mixes with an intense and deep-seated revulsion as the mucus of its diseased eye touches me, and my staff falls from the air as I pull away from it. The eye spins away through the air as I land a solid kick into it before the head of my moonsilver staff even hits the ground, sinking into the soft dirt and sticking straight up. My irritation turns to real anger, and I zoom after the flailing demon eye. Snagging one of its wings, a gout of blue fire erupts from my mouth, bathing the demon in flames of cold. The diseased creature continues to flap for a moment as the mucus covering its eyeball hardens and begins to crack. After a few seconds of flaming baptism, the monster no longer struggles, what feathers it has left on its wings having grown cold and stiff. With a yell, I spike the monster down into the ground below, where it cracks open on collision, shards of frozen demon sticking to the grass. Mocking laughter coming from the ground pulls my attention. I turn, finding Priscilla looking smug as a piece of runework floating over her grimoire shines and disappears. A weight settles upon me, the rattling of chains echoing all around me. I drop a few feet from the air as a conjured chain wraps around my wings, binding them together, and rendering them immobile. It only takes me a moment to arrest the fall, compensating for the additional weight, and righting myself in the air. Priscilla gapes up at me, seeming confused as to why wrapping up the wings didn¡¯t make me plummet from the air. A shadow of a blush comes to her face, and she pulls free the sword, waving it up at me. ¡°Come down here, coward!¡± she yells. ¡°Are you going to fight or not?¡± I can¡¯t help but scoff. She wants me to come and fight her with what, my hands against her magical sword? We both know that she is stronger and likely faster than me. What an idiotic thing to demand. ¡°No.¡± The woman cries out in exasperation, throwing her sword down to stick in the grass near her foot. She begins flipping through her grimoire again, but I have decided that I don¡¯t like her having that. Black sand begins to pour from my vault, forming orbs around me that I pour dragonfire into while I start firing unchanneled bolts from my hands at the woman. Bolts of exploding blue fire streak down from the air; I stick to the cold fire as while it isn¡¯t harmless, it is probably less deadly than the alternatives. She probably has the magical defense to take at least one. Priscilla looks up, starting at the sudden onslaught of multiple magical projectiles screaming down from above. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Priscilla runs, her grimoire slapping closed as she dodges to the side. The woman is fast, though not nearly as fast as I first imagined she might be. More and more projectiles join the fusillade as more globes of black sand are added to my armament one after another. Quickly, the tide of attacks becomes too much for her to dodge completely. The first bolt that connects catches her in the shoulder, spinning her to the side as it explodes. As expected, Priscilla isn¡¯t consumed in blue fire, just a bruise of freezing skin left behind by the momentary contact. If anything, it is Priscilla¡¯s dress that takes the brunt of the blow, freezing and cracking in the spot she is hit. Before she can recover, another hits her in the gut, knocking her over backward in the grass. I refuse to let up, sending bolt after bolt at her while she is prone. My mana drops at an incredible rate, but I see the chance for victory and jump to take it. All at once, the bolts of fire begin to detonate prematurely, a wave of blue flames exploding in the air ahead of their target. I cut off the assault. After a moment, the wash of color begins to vanish, revealing a semi-transparent dome hovering above Priscilla, several cracks running through the barrier of magic as she pants beneath its cover. The smugness is gone from her face as she stares up at me, the sheath of white aura surrounding her having grown more subdued. Patches of frozen fabric and skin stand out in at least five places. ¡°You should surrender,¡± I call down to her. She growls something in reply, but I don¡¯t catch a whisper of it. Her eyes turn down to the grimoire in her hand, a manic look coming to her eye as she begins to flip through the pages. ¡°No, you don¡¯t.¡± The assault of dragonfire bolts picks up once again in earnest as I launch attacks down. The light of the fire colliding with the magical barrier is more brilliant than the light of all the stars in the sky put together, bathing the dueling field in their color. I expect the waves of fire to be enough as I drop from the air, but the barrier continues to hold against me. I angle myself toward the shield as the assault continues, pulling free the mageblade I created just a little while ago. The mageblade fires from my hand, the black sand trapped inside the handle allowing me to fire it forward like an arrow. The blade of the dagger strikes into the shield just a moment ahead of me, the sound of shattering glass quaking the air as the plumes of fire spray in all directions. Priscilla is revealed, a startled look on her face as the dagger passes by her ear to stick into the grass behind her. The half-formed spell is still lifting from the page when I reach her, my outstretched boot descending with all of my frustration at this woman. To be fair to myself, I am no expert in diving from the air and kicking someone, so when my heel collides with her shoulder, I consider that a success. The first thing I notice is my heel shattering inside my boot as my foot collides with the woman, the second thing is a snap in my ankle. A feeling of satisfaction mixes with the sharp pain as Priscilla is knocked away from me, rolling backward through the damp grass as she cries out. Priscilla doesn¡¯t stay down for long, bouncing back to her feet before stumbling a step and grabbing her shoulder. A hand falls to her waist, grasping at the empty air where the hilt of her weapon should be. Her eyes grow big as she sees me standing a dozen or so feet away, holding a leather book in front of me. My triumphant stance is somewhat ruined by the way I have to favor my now incredibly injured leg. ¡°Yield,¡± I demand. The aura surrounding her flickers, now only a few inches from her skin. The woman sneers at me. ¡°I will never lose to a fucking human,¡± she spits. She actually spits into the dirt, very unladylike. My willingness to offer grace to this woman is rapidly dwindling. Fire erupts in my palm, the orange spreading up and over the cover. She screams wordlessly as the dragonfire eats into the book, charring it and rendering it to trash in a scant few seconds. The aura surrounding the woman flares to life again, though still far dimmer than it was before as she lunges forward. A torrent of black sand surrounds her in a swirling hurricane as she charges at me, blocking away any chance she has of noticing me as I drift up a few feet and move out of the way of her charge. As Priscilla moves through the swirling storm of sand, I feel my connection to parts of it disappear when it collides with her waning aura. As expected, like other soul presences, I cannot control my black sand inside her area of influence. I have gotten around that before by infusing my soul presence with affixes to either match or complicate the innate auras of other opponents, but Priscilla¡¯s soul presence is different. I cannot taste a hint of affixed magic upon it, and it pushes my aura away from it like a magical barrier. Using the same tactic that I have before is impossible but also unnecessary. The black sand swirling in a vortex around the woman begins to glow with a haunting blue as I pour cold affixed power into the storm. My mana is growing dangerously low, and I can feel a headache coming on from the depletion, but I continue pouring mana into the storm of sand. Parts of the swirling sand continue to disappear from my ability to sense, while other grains reappear under my control as Priscilla continues to stumble forward. Her movements across the field slow as the storm swirls around her, a tornado of glowing blue sand. She stops, the sand no longer leaving my control. I continue to make the vortex spiral around her for a good half minute before stilling the storm, the glow of the sand evaporating into the air as I pull it back to me in spiraling globes of black. The retreat of the sand reveals a woman kneeling in the grass, shivering. Her onyx hair sticks to her, frozen to her skin. The dress wrapping her lays in tatters as she hugs herself, shivering uncontrollably, puffs of mist spraying from her lips as she takes quick and shallow breaths. I move around in front of her, noting the chapped and blue lips, the way the cosmetics on her face seem to have frozen and cracked. Priscilla looks up at me, staring with hatred in her eyes as she shakes. ¡°Yield,¡± I say. The woman tries to spit at me again, a dribble of drool rolling down her chin before freezing on her skin. I take my eyes off the woman, looking to the side where the man Jor¡¯Mari pulled out of bed stands as a judge for this duel. He looks on, hands folded behind his back, not seeming the least bit perturbed at what is happening. Any anger I might have felt before drifts out of me as I look down at the shivering woman. Well, she won¡¯t surrender. That, in a kind of pitiful way, is a bit admirable. The full force of my soul presence descends upon the woman. I press the power of my soul against the flickering translucence of her presence. The resistance is there, pushing against me, but this has gone on long enough. The aura surrounding Priscilla begins to shrink back, being pushed by my power back into her skin. I grit my teeth, pouring every ounce of my will into the combat between our two souls, slowly pushing her back despite her struggles. A sigh escapes my clenched teeth when I feel the power of my soul presence settles upon her. Priscilla falls sideways as an incredible weight presses down upon her, pushing her into the grass, and indenting her in the soft soil. Still, she continues to stare up at me, defiance in her eyes. She won¡¯t yield, and I am not soft-hearted enough to let her off with anything less. Motes of black dust pull away from globes hovering around me. Priscilla¡¯s eyes snap wide as the black dust pours into her, sinking into her skin and infusing her without any resistance. Even I am surprised at how easily it happens, and the infusion is over in hardly a second. At a gesture, Priscilla is lifted into the air, the black dust bonded to her body entirely under my control. I feel that control slip for a second as Priscilla rallies her soul presence in a moment of panic, but she can¡¯t fight against me for more than a fraction of a second. She stops drifting up at fifteen feet in the air, floating there like a doll held in the hand of a giant. The glare and hatred in the woman¡¯s eyes are enough that I don¡¯t even offer her another chance to yield. I don¡¯t care if she would anymore. With another gesture, Priscilla plummets from the air like a meteor, crashing into the ground with a rattling impact. I lift and slam her into the ground over and over again, less than half a second passing between each impact. A coldness creeps up on me, a morbid feeling of detachment as I watch my opponent crash into the dirt over and over again. It hardly seems like this could be real. A hand grabs my wrist, stopping me dead in my pummeling of Priscilla. I stop cold, turning my eyes to the side to find Sir Relz standing at my side, his grip on my wrist like a vice. Any more pressure and he would be breaking bones. A shiver runs through me as I look at the man, but that feeling of detachment lingers. I can¡¯t seem to summon emotion. ¡°The duel is over,¡± he says. He sounds as if he is barely managing to restrain himself. I look back to my victim, finding her hovering just a few feet in the air. Priscilla¡¯s right arm is twisted horribly, a piece of bone protruding from the skin. Her other limbs look beaten and broken in places, but the woman still lives, shallow breaths confirming. Her eyes are closed, her face caked in mud and damp grass. My hand shakes beneath Sir Relz¡¯s grasp, but not from pain. Priscilla slowly descends to the ground, coming to rest on top of an undamaged part of the grass. My black dust retreats from her as Sir Relz releases my arm, pouring back into the globes of sand hovering around me before disappearing once more into the vault. As soon as I set the woman down, Sir Relz seems to have forgotten all about me, offering a quick recognition that I won the duel before moving over to the broken woman. His hands begin to glow with white light as he bends over Priscilla, hurrying to heal her injuries as quickly as possible. I stumble back another step, looking on at the scene as I hear more footsteps rushing my way through the grass. Two hands clamp down on my shoulders, gently leading me away from the scene, Jess whispering in my ear that we should go. I let myself be pulled away. The tone in her voice is so soft. She is afraid of what I am feeling, afraid to damage me as she leads me off the field. I am afraid of what I am feeling too, because I don¡¯t feel anything. Nothing at all. Chapter 136 - About Time The battle masters of the high plains will say that the eyes are the most vulnerable organ. A king might say that it is the mind, susceptible to attack from foreign thought. The truth is, the heart is the most vulnerable, but that is also its strength. -Proverbs, from the tome of Kadish Danfalla has a beauty all its own in the night. Not that I have ever seen it during the day, but I have always found something special about the night, the cool breeze, the illumination of the stars, the lack of people. Most likely, it was the lack of people. The nastiness with that woman Priscilla finished, Jess worried over me for a time before I assured her that I was alright. She and Dovik were less than convinced, but Jor¡¯Mari took me at my word. Hells, he never seemed worried in the first place. Our plans continued where they had left off before the interruption, Jor showing us the sights of the city that he thought most important to visit. Instead of heading back to the theatre, he led us to a restaurant on the north side of town that still operated in the dark hours. The place specializes in sweets, my favorite being a frozen confection made from cream; cold cream. I do not have the words to adequately describe how incredible it was, but I did demand to be shown the kitchen and purchased a large steel freezer packed with ice and buckets of cold cream for quite a sum. On the way from the confectionery, Jor¡¯Mari saw fit to give me my wine back. He called it a reward for my conquest that day. I didn¡¯t mind, taking a sip before squirreling it away into my vault where it couldn¡¯t be removed again. The final site he had planned for the night was a stroll through a statue garden. Certainly, the statues were interesting and incredibly detailed, but I didn¡¯t find much interest in them until we arrived at a section devoted solely to depicting animals. I hurried forward, pulling Jor¡¯Mari by the arm as I found a statue of a massive chicken rendered from pristine marble, emeralds set into its eyes so that they glowed in the wan light. I didn¡¯t even notice that Dovik and Jess had left us alone, venturing off somewhere else in the garden as I moved between the statues. I stand before one made from a dark stone so deep that it looks as if the rainbow is trapped inside of it. Jor¡¯Mari approaches the dog statue I am staring up at, running his hand along the smooth surface of the stone. The light we stand in is a warm blue glow given off by the budding flowers planted to the sides of the stony path that winds through the garden. The light casts him in its light, turning his robe a deep cerulean, a faint sheen shining from the edges as he moves. A smile, a genuine smile, comes over his face. He turns that joy my way, and I am not so sure that it is the buzz that makes my face grow warm. ¡°This was my father¡¯s dog,¡± he says, patting the paw of the statue. ¡°Baron.¡± I step closer to the statue. My fingers brush the meticulously carved form of the animal¡¯s paw, and it is almost as if I can feel the fur of it under my fingertips. There are scratches in the very nails of the animal, purposeful imperfections that give life to the simulacra of stone. ¡°He must have been a good dog,¡± I say. ¡°Oh, he was terrible, ask any of the staff in the manor about him and they will tell you.¡± Jor¡¯Mari points to the animal¡¯s face where its jowls seem to sag. ¡°A Kilichuk Mastiff, you can tell by just how huge the head is. They were bred to kill monsters, the weak ones at least, out in the rural swamps where there weren¡¯t enough people with magic to handle them. They are fearsome and brave, but also the laziest animals you will ever meet. Apparently, Baron would drive the housekeepers crazy by climbing on top of and eventually crushing various pieces of furniture, if he didn¡¯t just chew them to bits. Still, my father loved that dog.¡± Jor¡¯Mari pats it again, running his hand along its side. I notice then that the iridescence in the cut of the stone is purposeful, the stripes of rainbow color forming a pattern that almost gives life to the fur of the animal. ¡°Do all these statues have stories?¡± I ask. He shrugs, walking up to a depiction of a huge and stripped cat. ¡°Probably. Who would dedicate the time to making something like this without there being some kind of story after all? But if there is one, I don¡¯t know it. I just know about Baron because I like dogs.¡± ¡°I guess that is something else that I get to know about you now. You are arrogant and you like dogs.¡± ¡°Horses too,¡± he says. ¡°I do like horses. Also, don¡¯t forget how handsome and humble I am, can¡¯t forget those.¡± ¡°Certainly not.¡± He turns back to me, quirking an eyebrow and plastering on that smirk of his. ¡°So, you think I am handsome.¡± ¡°I think that you think you are,¡± I say, stopping for a moment when I am through to make sure that makes sense. The wine bottle appears in my hand once again just before I take another sip. Like a striking asp, Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s hand lashes out and steals the wine away. He holds the bottle to his lips. ¡°Dangerous,¡± I warn him. ¡°It is probably too much for you.¡± ¡°I am used to danger,¡± he says. ¡°It has never stopped me from getting what I want before.¡± He takes a swig. I can see him suppressing a groan as the burning liquid slides over his tongue. ¡°It¡¯s good.¡± His voice comes out harsh. ¡°Good.¡± I steal back the bottle. ¡°Well, now I am thoroughly impressed.¡± ¡°That¡¯s also good,¡± he says, coughing into his fist. ¡°Makes it worth it. Gods, you¡¯ve been sipping that all night? It tastes like poison.¡± I shrug as I look down at the bottle, entirely unable to read the flowing elven script that covers the label. ¡°Tastes fine to me. A little sweet even.¡± ¡°I fear for your palate. Let¡¯s stick to Jess doing the cooking for us when we are out in the wild. It might be a good idea to invest in some decent livery before we leave Danfalla. I¡¯ve never taken part in a beast tide before, but I am willing to assume that most of it will happen outside the city.¡± ¡°That was the point,¡± I agree. ¡°Kill the monsters before they get in the city. I don¡¯t think that my particular brand of monster killing would do all that well with buildings and people around.¡± ¡°Fire mages, the bane of civilization,¡± he agrees. He strolls a bit of the way down the path for a moment before turning back to me. ¡°You are going to do well,¡± he says, unprompted. ¡°At what?¡± ¡°The culling of the beast. My family¡¯s reputation and need have attracted some big names for this little occasion, but I already know you are going to perform outstandingly. Maybe you will even do as well as me.¡± ¡°High praise,¡± I say. ¡°Almost as well as the famed Jor¡¯Mari. What more could a girl ask for?¡± ¡°Very little,¡± he says, turning grave. ¡°It is not just women that seek to approach my aptitude but men as well. It is so lonely at the top.¡± I can¡¯t help but snort a laugh as I roll my eyes. ¡°It must be. Maybe I will know what that is like someday.¡± ¡°Hope that you don¡¯t.¡± We wander along for a time, looking at the statues, admiring the craftsmanship put into them. It is nice, a simple night, the events of earlier almost forgotten. But, I can¡¯t forget them. A question that has been nagging at me for hours wells up, like a lump in my throat, and eventually I can¡¯t stop the words. Before I can ask though, Jor¡¯Mari speaks up. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. ¡°I wonder what Jess and Dovik are up to about now,¡± he says. ¡°Probably admiring some historic statues. Dovik strikes me as the kind that likes history, and Jess¡¯ whole mission is to learn about the world.¡± ¡°She has a mission?¡± It occurs to me for a moment that I might be telling, but she never let on that her reason for traveling around was any kind of secret. ¡°She is on a pilgrimage of sorts,¡± I tell him. ¡°At least, that is what she told me. She was sent out to see all she could of the world. On her twenty-second birthday, she will start her trek back home, and likely never leave those lands again.¡± ¡°That explains some things,¡± he says, nodding at the explanation. ¡°She always struck me as the touring kind. So, we are the trip friends while she figures out what the wider world is about.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not all that different from me,¡± I tell him. ¡°I am just traveling around with people I meet too. One day I will probably go home to stick, but I have no idea when that will be. At least she has a date.¡± ¡°There is not much difference between an adventurer and a vagabond,¡± he says. ¡°I never really saw the appeal of that kind of lifestyle. Much better to become a court magician, set yourself up in a prominent noble¡¯s employ, and while your days away dealing with mundane magical affairs while you are showered in coinage.¡± ¡°Is that your plan?¡± ¡°It is my father¡¯s plan, and I think it is good enough for me too. If I become powerful enough and learn enough in the magical arts, he has committed to having my older brother bring me on as his court magician when he takes over for my father. Of course, that could be centuries from now, so there is plenty of time to be a traveling adventurer in the meantime, living off my meager savings and braving the wilds.¡± I laugh. ¡°Yes, flying around in a golden ship is such a hardship.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t have to sleep near Dovik,¡± he says. ¡°That man kicks in his sleep. Not the annoying little kicks either, but full blows that take his foot from his cot and onto your face a good five feet away. The man is a menace.¡± ¡°I thought about purchasing real beds for the ship, but I don¡¯t think it is large enough.¡± Jor¡¯Mari shrugs. ¡°I just hit him back when it happens. Hasn¡¯t helped stop it from happening, but at least it feels good.¡± He pauses a moment, his smirk coming back. ¡°Speaking of cots, that¡¯s where I bet they are.¡± ¡°On the ship?¡± He leans back against a statue of a magnificent bird, staring at me with arms folded like I am the most dense girl in the world. I almost feel the muddled pieces in my brain slowly click into alignment, understanding his meaning with a gasp. Perhaps I should cut back a bit on the drink. ¡°No!¡± ¡°Yes,¡± Jor¡¯Mari nods, his smirk only growing wider. ¡°Oh yes.¡± ¡°Dovik and Jess? Since when?¡± ¡°At least since before you left to go home,¡± he says. ¡°I started to notice it a bit more once you left. Those two think they are subtle, but, well¡­let¡¯s just say that they aren¡¯t.¡± ¡°Shocking.¡± I join him at the statue that must be some kind of hawk, its wings splayed open like it is breaking from a dive. We pass around the bottle as we admire the figure, and I can¡¯t help but hang a hat on its head before we move on. I wouldn¡¯t ever call myself an especially deep thinker, but for the last few hours, my thoughts have run off from me. Glancing to my right, I find Jor¡¯Mari walking along, self-satisfaction peeling off him in waves. I wonder if he has ever been troubled with worry, but then I know he has. He told me as much himself, hadn¡¯t he? ¡°Why am I going to do well?¡± I ask him. ¡°When?¡± ¡°In this beast tide business. You said that I am going to do well. There will be a lot of people there, so why do you think I am going to stand out?¡± He snorts, the sudden slip of his immaculatly mannered front incredibly endearing. ¡°All you do is stand out, why would I think this would be any different?¡± He glances my way, finding me unsatisfied with the answer. ¡°If you want me to be specific, let¡¯s say that you hit far harder than someone at your level should. I can hit above my rank. Dovik can work up to it, and Jess probably can as well despite her focus on defensive fighting, but you seem to be narrowly specialized at unleashing that kind of power. ¡°You are specialized, very much so as far as I have been able to tell. You lean purely into offensive action and don¡¯t seem to have a single defensive ability. That is dangerous for a magician to do, to specialize so massively, but in a group setting it is fine. More than fine, it is good. As long as you have people to cover for you, to make room for you, you will unleash hell on these monsters we are going to need to destroy. Even if you don¡¯t, you stand out when you fight on your own as well. You took Priscilla apart tonight.¡± ¡°I just ran away from her,¡± I say, shrugging. ¡°All anyone has told me about the endowed nobility is that they will be faster, stronger, and more durable than me. I can fly, so that¡¯s what I did.¡± ¡°A good plan. It worked. But let¡¯s not pretend like you didn¡¯t utterly dominate the duel once you began to attack. Like I said, you took her apart. Destroyed her grimoire even.¡± ¡°Did I?¡± I hold up my hand, a brown leather book appearing in my palm. Flipping open the cover, I find a myriad of diagrams and runework littering the pages, all the text written in the secret elven script. ¡°I had a blank journal. I¡¯m surprised she didn¡¯t notice when I switched them.¡± Jor¡¯Mari stares at me for a moment before falling back against the base of a statue, laughing uncontrollably. It takes him a good minute before he can recover. He gestures at me. ¡°Brilliant. I love it. Make sure no one in my family notices that you have that or there could be some real problems. She will get the worst of it for allowing an outsider to snag her grimoire, but it wouldn¡¯t be pleasant for you either.¡± I make the grimoire disappear once more. ¡°You don¡¯t care?¡± ¡°No. She got what was coming to her.¡± He wipes a tear from his eye, shaking his head. ¡°Was she actually supposed to be strong?¡± I ask, moving away toward a statue depicting a school of fish. He joins me, standing close. I can smell the scent of my wine on his breath, almost feel the warm radiation of his body. It¡¯s nice in the cool nighttime air. ¡°Is she strong¡­If you asked me if she was stronger than you, I would say yes. She is faster than you too. While she may not be the favored child of her father, some of his power was still passed to her, putting her squarely at the precipice of the third rank in terms of power. She was schooled in spellcraft from childhood, as well as being trained in the art of the sword. Add to that, she has managed to come out ahead in a few real duels before. It isn¡¯t hard to see why she was so confident in facing you.¡± ¡°She was confident because she didn¡¯t think a human could beat her,¡± I say with a sigh. He moves in front of me, standing close so that I have to look up at him. ¡°That¡¯s true. I doubt that even now she will understand why it is that she lost, but I always knew she would from the beginning. She lost because you have what she lacks, experience. I have seen it all Charlene. I was there when you had your power for less than a day. I saw how you were then, and I see you how you are now, really see you. ¡°You have something special. Despite all of the shit that has happened, you have managed to take it in stride somehow, turning it into your power. There was no chance that a little princess who has only ever been doted on or coddled by her family and tutors could ever compare. You showed her, you showed her hangers-on, and if my guess is right, the entire city will know about it in just a few days. No one in Danfalla is going to underestimate you again, they will know just how dangerous you are. They should be wary.¡± ¡°You make me sound like a monster,¡± I say, still looking up at him. He stares back into my eyes, smiling. ¡°Not a monster. A dangerous woman, an incredibly attractive one at that.¡± ¡°Attractive?¡± ¡°You know you¡¯re beautiful,¡± he says. My hand seems to move on its own, fingers curling into the silk of his robe and pulling him down. Jor¡¯Mari doesn¡¯t resist, bending until our lips meet. The kiss is different than the last time; he pours passion into it, his strong hand wrapping around the back of my head and weaving into my hair. We meet, and I feel the strength running through him; it is both captivating and terrifying. Our bodies shudder as Jor¡¯Mari¡¯s back thuds into the base of a statue. I seem to have pushed him into it. He breaks away for a moment, looking down at me seriously. ¡°Are you sure?¡± he asks. ¡°We¡¯re drunk.¡± ¡°Not too drunk,¡± I say. My desperate hands pull him back to me, pushing our lips harshly together once more. He pulls away again, face sliding down, pointed teeth grazing the skin of my neck. The sensation overwhelms me for a moment. Something comes over me, and I jump onto him, wrapping my legs around his waist as he catches me. I attack him with my lips, and like the fighter he is, Jor¡¯Mari meets me. ¡°Not too drunk,¡± he manages between gasping breaths. Chapter 137 - Muster How was I to know my words would start a war? Should I have been put in charge of foreign diplomacy as the empire began to fall to ruin? No. Could I have refused Takanakan when he gave me the position? Also, no. As you can see, this sentencing is not a very just one, in my own opinion. -Confession of Gabric Tarn, on the eve of his execution My world of dull, aching misery is set on fire by a sunbeam slipping around the curtains and striking my closed eyelid. I groan, my entire body feeling stretched and pained. The smallest shift on the bed hits me with a momentary sense of vertigo before the ground hits me with a sense of cold pain and morning. I squint through the slits of my eyelids, finding a vaguely green world with the occasional hint of orange and gold. A sticky crust keeps my lashes together, leaving me to rub away the night while reaching out for the bedsheet. Memory floods me with speed, but the remembrance only worsens the headache. Groaning, I tug myself to sitting, laying back against the pastel color bed, breathing deeply the vaguely perfumed air accented with dry sweat and the delicious smell of cooked meat. The sun washes my half-naked body through the crack between the drawn curtains. The light is warm, and I drink that in as well as I sit. My focus runs away to the ache in my skull. Power drains away from me as I focus on the hurt, but the pain recedes as well. Like a weight lifting from my shoulders, I sigh out, opening my eyes to the sun with a clear head. Time to get up. My guestroom in the duke¡¯s manor is a mess. Pillows lay scattered all over the ground, one chair is stacked atop the table while another sits turned over next to it. An empty bottle pokes out from beneath the skirt of the bed, a shallow puddle of liquid staining the tile beneath its mouth. My dress lays discarded on a windowsill, looking as if someone spent all of ten seconds placing it nicely before turning to other matters. Then, I remember who that was, and what other matters I had last night. I find myself alone in the room, a literal silver platter of breakfast food sitting on the bed table on the other side of the bed. I snag a top from my vault to cover myself before getting up and picking at the plate. My eyes linger on the left side of the bed, seeing the empty indentation there. I¡¯m not exactly sure how to feel about that. The manor is in full bustle by the time that I leave my room, having woken near noon. Most pay me little mind, but two armored men follow me throughout the halls as I take a trip to the gardens. They don¡¯t speak to me when I approach them, but no matter where I go, they continue to follow. I search for a few hours to find my friends, but end up getting nowhere, retreating to my bedroom to work on my own. They know where I am. Work inside my vault on my ongoing project''s progress, the day slipping past unnoticed. Dovik is the one who finds me near dinner time, showing me the way to the dining hall where we meet up with Jor¡¯Mari and Jess to have the last meal of the day. Jor¡¯Mari is odd, not distant, but refusing to be too friendly either. The thought that last night might have been too forward for him crosses my mind for a moment until I remember the man. He excuses himself as soon as the food is done, claiming that he is busy with family issues. It doesn¡¯t feel right to go out on the town without him that night, so I turn Dovik and Jess down when they invite me out to see the city with them. I could tell that Dovik was hoping to have Jess alone for the evening. The night passes without sleep, and it is far into the next day before Dovik pulls me from my work again. I don¡¯t see Jor¡¯Mari again that entire day, not until we all meet up to head to the Adventurer¡¯s League Hall in the city the next morning. What I wouldn¡¯t give for the rocking of the cobblestones bumping the wheels of the carriage. Instead, the lurch of the carriage stopping and starting over and over again as shouts resound outside. Even more than a few days ago, Danfalla is choked with people, the crowds so bad that they move through the street, stifling the traffic. Trapped inside the carriage, I look across to the men sitting on the opposite bench. Dovik wears his annoyance while Jor¡¯Mari looks out the window at those moving around our carriage like a river. The vehicle lurches forward, axles creaking, only to come to a sudden stop less than ten feet along, the driver on the bench outside yelling a curse. ¡°I think I prefer the city at night,¡± I mutter. ¡°It wasn¡¯t much better last night,¡± Jess says, sighing and laying her head back against the cushion. ¡°We could get there fast on foot,¡± I say. ¡°Well, that wouldn¡¯t be very aristocratic of us,¡± Dovik says. ¡°Aristocratic?¡± Jor¡¯Mari pulls his attention from the window, shaking his head. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to make a statement with the carriage, but when we arrive, we likely want to look presentable.¡± ¡°Will we be arriving today?¡± I ask. He scowls, looking back out of the window. ¡°If Dovik starts waving his sword around we might be able to get this traffic moving.¡± ¡°You can¡¯t do that with your name?¡± Dovik asks. Another lurch and halt of the carriage pushes me past my limit. I stand, needing to crouch inside of the carriage to avoid hitting my head on the porcelain ceiling. ¡°What does the league hall look like?¡± Jor¡¯Mari looks me up and down, rolling his eyes before opening the door of the carriage. A sweltering stink rolls in, the smell almost bad enough to make me reconsider. ¡°It¡¯s a big square building on the east side of the city, past the river. You won¡¯t miss it.¡± A dirt-smeared boy, maybe fourteen, leans his head into the open door, gawking at the inside of the carriage. My hand feels a bit grubby as I shove his face back out of the carriage, starting to take the brass steps down. I turn back, offering my hand to Jess. ¡°Want a ride?¡± She snaps closed the book she is reading, taking my hand and letting me pull her out. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. The feeling of the press all about me vanishes as two huge wings manifest, shoving the stream of traffic to the side. Without a glance back, I haul Jess up into the air with me, a huge flap of my wings taking us clear to roof level before I have to concentrate on the more magical aspects of my flight. Eyes below gawk up as I turn about in the air, trying to locate which direction is east. ¡°That way,¡± Jess says, pointing with her free hand while her other is wrapped tightly around my forearm. The woman¡¯s grip is a vice. ¡°Is that comfortable?¡± I ask her. ¡°Will you carry me like an elven princess if I say no?¡± ¡°I thought you were a princess.¡± She scoffs. ¡°I¡¯ve never had a vehicle this chatty before.¡± If only she knew. I follow her pointing finger eastward, only feeling a slight strain as I carry us over the buildings below. If only I was allowed to use my ship inside of the city, we would never have to deal with any of the traffic. Nowhere in Danfalla is safe from the crowding as we soar above. The bridges that span the river are the only places I can see the cobbles clearly from the air, due only to the guards at either end keeping the traffic across to a minimum. Quick movement below catches my eye. A man runs across the rooftops, racing at an impossible speed in the same direction as we are. ¡°It looks like he wants to make it a race,¡± Jess calls up to me, pointing out Jor¡¯Mari running over the rooftops. ¡°He is competitive in that way.¡± From the air, the trip to the league hall is not overly long. Ten minutes pass as I skim through the air, pulling on every ounce of speed that I have to keep up with the man below. Jor¡¯Mari goes all out, navigating the rooftops in a practiced way, changing his form to grant him more speed. By the time we reach the expansive plaza in front of the guild hall, we are both plenty tired, neither of us winning. ¡°It is about time,¡± Dovik says, sitting on the sill of a large water fountain in the center of the plaza. ¡°I have been here for minutes already. Minutes!¡± ¡°After having cheated, no doubt.¡± Jor¡¯Mari claps him on the shoulder, his form slowly shifting back to its usual shape. There is a clear sheen of perspiration on the celenial¡¯s brow, and as I descend from the air, setting Jess down on the stone, I find myself in little better condition. Perhaps Jor¡¯Mari had a point about arriving presentably. I take my first good look at the large square in front of the rectangular building that can only be the Adventurer''s League Hall. The white stone leading up to the marble steps is kept clear of civilians by a line of guardsmen in ragged uniforms standing at the perimeter. Carts and carriages arrive at the iron gate one after another, offloading dangerous-looking people carrying even more dangerous-looking weapons. Some stop to admire the feature before making their way toward the front of the building, but there is an air of seriousness in those arriving, and the mood begins to infect me as well. I set Galea to identifying everyone and cataloging their names. The vast majority of those arriving are essentia magicians, not one under rank two, but a few noblemen and women are wearing the rugged garb of the adventurer mixed in as well. Odder, for some of those whom I inspect I only get a name, no hint that they might be an endowed nobleman or an essentia magician at all. No one gives off any hint of being weak, and I take note of the odd ones out all the more for my being unable to understand them. Perhaps it is time to expand my understanding of power and how people claim it. We join the movement of people up the steps and toward the open oaken doors leading into the hall itself. Two huge men stop us short at the entrance, only allowing us inside after seeing our silver badges. With The Warehouse back in Westgrove as my only point of comparison, I am surprised by what I find inside the hall. Immediately past the entrance, we enter a stuffed foyer where people are hurriedly ushered to another room for the initial address. The building is fashioned from gray stone, polished to a mirror sheen, but the room we are let into is all of white marble. Silver chandeliers dangle overhead, the crystal hanging from their branches casting rainbow refractions in the light streaming in through the high windows. Tables covered with purple velvet line the room, more than half filled with men and women who for the most part look wildly out of place in the opulence. At the far end of the massive hall, a stage stands ten feet from the floor, covered with a lavender curtain drawn closed. Dovik takes the lead, finding a still-empty table and claiming it for our team. Almost as soon as we have sat down, an elven man in a smart uniform appears from the crowd, taking drink orders from us before disappearing. I look about at the nearly two hundred people crowded into the room, more entering from the open doors at the back by the minute. ¡°This is not what I was expecting,¡± I say, getting a nod of agreement from Jess. ¡°It is a bit small,¡± Dovik comments, and I am entirely unable to tell if he is serious or not. His eyes flick over those on the floor, finally landing on a man several tables over, chatting pleasantly with one of the four women surrounding him while another holds his drink. ¡°There¡¯s one.¡± I don¡¯t even need to ask what he means as my eye lands on him. He is already looking over at us by the time I locate him, winking at Dovik before returning his attention to the women about him. Caster Mattis(Rank Three) Beast Conflux ¡°A rank three,¡± I can¡¯t help but say. ¡°There will be more than a few,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°We already had a good number running around the Duchy before the call went out. My family expects at least a dozen to answer the call. Those are who we are going to have to compete against if we want to do well in the tide.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t count everyone else out,¡± Dovik says, continuing to scan the room. ¡°There are several monsters in our rank as well.¡± I hardly notice the man returning with our drinks and a basket of buttered bread for the table as I focus on the people in the room as well. Several auras stand out from the crowd, but there seems to be some pecking order to the way that people interact with one another by using their auras that I am unfamiliar with. The flare of the magical presence surrounding someone tells quite a bit about them, though I am not very skilled at reading it. Dovik points out more among the mill that he thinks will be strong. It isn¡¯t as if I can disagree with him; I simply can¡¯t see whatever it is that he does. Galea does excellently in cataloging the room, storing away all of the information she can manage as we scan the adventurers filing in. A pair of names stick out to me as they slip inside, names I have seen before. The gangly blonde youth is familiar, but the tall and brawny woman standing next to him bears a name I saw before on an elven man¨Codd. It isn¡¯t as if we are the only ones scoping out the competition. At almost every table, at least one person is looking around the room while trying to appear as if they aren¡¯t. My scan of the room stops short as my eyes meet with one woman in particular. Her skin is a dark brown, deeper than any I have seen before, and her hair hangs in corded and black braids. What arrests me when I see her is her piercing eyes as our gazes meet. More specifically, her right eye is a perfectly black orb with a crossed blue iris. Athemia Craelif(Rank Two) Wargod Conflux I know at once it is the same as my eye. She nods to me across the room, and I nod back. She looks about to stand at the same time I do, but before either of us can get out of our seats, a crack shakes through the air, coming from the stage. Quickly, the curtains begin to pull away. The muster is beginning. Chapter 138 - Outline of the Tide Ah, you must be one of those mad individuals from the Emerson Campus, preaching the divine gospel of homogeneity. Such a bore, such a cad, believing such a thing could exist. Defend yourself, sir, heterogeneity is the only true aspect of reality, and I shall show it to you in your blood on the stone. -¡±Conversations: Eavesdroppings from the Mad City¡± Heads were already turning toward the stage before I even felt the hint of an incredible pressure settling on all of us. Conversations die without even a murmur. Even the crystals hanging from the chandeliers overhead seem to still, the cascade of rainbow light painting the walls becoming an unmoving fixture. The sound of boots clapping against the hardwood of the stage echoes into the vacant space of empty sound before the curtains can be pulled to the side. In the center of the stage stands a man who seems to bleed power. The elven man wears his golden hair pulled into a tail that falls over his left shoulder, draping the white cloth of the uniform he wears. The uniform is military in cut, bearing a conformity to spartan fashion, a pristine white accented by splashes of gold, blue, and red. The golden insignias of a serpent¡¯s head shine brightly in the sunlight from the window. Whatever rank it represents is lost on me but able to impress me all the same. The man is beautiful; all elves I have met seem to be. His high features are sharp, his form lithe but seeming to carry a graceful strength in each of his movements. Despite his graceful features, there is a severity in his blue eyes that steals all authority from the room. Without my thinking it, Galea continues to identify and catalog everyone in the room. ???(???) I get nothing from it. He finishes his approach toward the front of the stage, his eyes turned on all below. For an instant, only the soft sound of breathing is heard in the hall. The man nods, more to himself than to anyone else, and clears his throat. ¡°My name is Prince Sagistan Ramacalla, 47th son of the Emperor. It is both my honor and duty to address those assembled here today as, by Duke Mari¡¯s request and the Emperor¡¯s allowance, I have been placed in charge of this operation. It is unlikely that many of those seated before me have ever taken part in an operation on this scale. As such, allow me to make this clear from the outset. This is no contest. This is not a simple hunt for a powerful monster. I wish to impress upon each and every one of you that a beast tide is a devastating and serious event. ¡°So far, estimated casualties for the attacks that have taken place in the last few weeks have eclipsed eight hundred. Eight hundred men, women, and children, those who look to the powerful to keep them safe from the monsters that scratch at their doors in the night, are dead. We have failed them. Thousands of newly formed monsters rove through the countryside, launching an attack against civilization, and it is our responsibility to put an end to it, to save as many as we possibly can. ¡°I take that responsibility seriously. Dozens of disparate bands of adventures running out into the wilds on their own, dispatching what monsters they can find, will not be adequate. The loss of life that would occur in that meantime is unacceptable. All of us capable of protecting this land, of defeating this foe, will be taken and restructured into legitimate commands. If you find yourself unable to countenance authority, unable to follow the orders of those placed above you, I ask that you leave now. Once this operation begins, disobedience to authority will encounter harsh and swift consequence.¡± With his ultimatum given, the prince steps back and watches the audience. Low conversation starts about the room at once, though no one stands to move toward the doors. Jor¡¯Mari is the first at our table to speak, leaning in conspiratorily. ¡°I think that may actually be Prince Sagistan,¡± he says, pointing back toward the stage. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t he be committing a crime if he wasn¡¯t by saying that he was?¡± Jess asks. ¡°You didn¡¯t know that a prince of the emperor would be here?¡± Dovik says. ¡°No.¡± Jor¡¯Mari looks back up to the stage, shaking his head. ¡°If that man is going to be involved, then this operation should be cleared up quickly. He is known as a pinnacle genius for an essentia magician, having reached the peak of the third rank in less than two decades. I¡¯ve even heard tale that he has slain a hydra without assistance. Just witnessing his skill in battle will be worth putting up with the stuffiness of a formalized command.¡± A pinnacle genius he says. I look back to the stage, watching the prince as he turns his back to the audience and converses with a few more on the stage with him, people who continue to linger toward the back. I can¡¯t help but ignore them for now, my attention captured completely by the man who seems to attract the light in the room in a radiant way. According to the books that I have read on the progression of an essentia magician, reaching the end of the third rank in under two decades is quite the achievement. When first reading that, I was somewhat doubtful. Corinth managed to make it to the fifth rank in only a decade after all. The more I learn about the world, the more my brother¡¯s achievements seem impossible, and I only know a fraction of them. Arabella once told me that there were geniuses in this world capable of ascending the ranks of magic through simple meditation. Perhaps that is what my brother had done to climb so quickly, but I don¡¯t think so. No, there is an air about this prince that tells me the man has seen countless battles. In a way, it reminds me of Corinth. How little I know about my own brother. ¡°That¡¯s Illigar,¡± Dovik says, gesturing to a man speaking with Prince Sagistan on the stage. The human man wears a simple blue robe absent any decoration other than a checkered pattern of green near the hem. His dark hair is cropped short and shot through with a touch of gray, and considering his rank, that would make him very old. Illigar the Sage(Rank Three) Movement Conflux ¡°He is an enforcer for the guild,¡± Dovik goes on. It isn¡¯t as if I need to ask which guild he is talking about. My attention turns to the others on the stage: I count five in total including the prince and this enforcer for the Willian guild. Standing near the prince, doing his best to carry the same air as the man, is another elven man dressed in a similar military uniform to the prince¡¯s. The elven man¡¯s uniform is decorated and flamboyant, detracting from the serious persona he attempts. Fas Cla¡¯Mari, Son of Duke Cla¡¯Mari of the Mari Duchy The fourth man of those on stage is an earthspeaker, his skin marbled like limestone and his shoulders twice as broad as either of the elven men. A black and featureless mask covers the man¡¯s face, and the armor he wears is a dark and coppery color which covers him almost fully. On his back is strapped a two-headed hammer that bleeds evident power in a shimmering haze of green and silver. Torid Yas Falladri(Rank Three) Thundering Conflux The last on stage is a diminutive woman dressed in tight bands of green, scaled leather, more knives tucked into her belts than I have ever seen a single person carry. Dark blonde hair bounces in tight curls around her head as she looks between the men standing in a loose circle around the prince, violet eyes peering out from a thin face. Tattoos are scribbled across her face in a language I can¡¯t even begin to guess at, the green ink standing out against her chestnut complexion. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Maladasica Jane(Rank Three) Cataclysm Conflux ¡°His fourth son,¡± I hear Jor¡¯Mari answer Dovik¡¯s question as I turn back to the table¡¯s conversation. He is talking about his half-brother up on the stage. ¡°He isn¡¯t endowed then?¡± Jess asks, sounding a bit confused. ¡°No,¡± Jor¡¯Mari answers. ¡°Noble endowment is not the only path to power. Fas has a considerable talent, and you would be wrong to underestimate him. You called that old man up on the stage and enforcer, Dovik. Would you think him weak?¡± Dovik chews on the question for a moment. ¡°Some might, but I wouldn¡¯t. His strength is not exactly straightforward. That is all I will say about the matter.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t want to give away a guildmate¡¯s secrets?¡± I ask. ¡°I doubt he would care,¡± Dovik answers. ¡°It is more that my mother would care. She is always lecturing me about being too open with information. If it comes up, I¡¯ll let you know.¡± ¡°Speaking of letting each other know,¡± I say. ¡°We should get down to making sure we understand what each of us can¡­¡± ¡°You have had some time to consider!¡± A voice from the stage calls. Eyes turn back to find Prince Sagistan once more at the front of the stage, holding his hands up to gather attention. ¡°Do any of you wish to leave?¡± The prince allows a few heartbeats to pass before nodding. ¡°Good. While I do wish to stress the importance of this undertaking, do not believe that the empire is hesitant in rewarding those that pay it and its citizens dutiful service. Both the Emperor and Duke Cla¡¯Mari have opened their vaults to this enterprise. Top performers will be rewarded handsomely, of that you can be sure. However, before we can think to such matter, we must turn our attention to what we have discovered about the enemy.¡± At the man¡¯s gesture, lights spring to life on the stage, forming a flat image similar to the windows my eye makes for me. The similarity is so stark that for a moment I think no one else might be able to see them until the prince manipulates the image with his hand. ¡°Any successful operation begins with the dissemination of information,¡± the prince says. The image continues to shift and change at his command until it settles upon a representation of the duchy. ¡°Since it was brought to our attention that a beast tide was underway, we have set ourselves to gathering those with any capacity for scouting. This representation of the Duchy contains the bulk of their observations.¡± At his words, black spots representing towns and cities begin to pulse on the map. A flood of red dots begins to appear one after another, clumping together throughout the Duchy, some moving while others stay in place or congregate. ¡°These are the locations of most of the rabble beasts that we have managed to locate so far. The populations of these monsters currently rest in the thousands, and we do not know as of yet whether that number will continue to climb or level off. The makeup of these monster populations seems to mostly be that of ordinary beast-type monsters, those that gather into packs to show force and strength. For the most part, the monsters range between the first and second ranks, though there have been sightings of several extreme variants in the third rank. ¡°The analysts of the Adventurer¡¯s League have gone over the information collected from our scouting parties and have labeled this as a middle-tier second-rank beast tide, and I concur with their estimation. Further, we believe that a single creature is responsible for the manifestation of this beast tide. To tell you more about that, I will pass the stage to the esteemed Illigar, who some of you might know as Illigar the Sage.¡± As the prince backs away, allowing the middle-aged-looking man forward, I have to admit that I find the tone of the address fascinating. The serious atmosphere is almost oppressive, and I cannot recall a time similar to it. In Westgrove, the few addresses I attended were more akin to a drunken taskmaster yelling at a bunch of misbehaved delinquents. Here, in this grand hall, everyone pays strict attention to the information relayed. Even that man resting among his obvious harem of hangers-on stares up at the stage, intently listening. Now, the serious atmosphere doesn¡¯t keep me from enjoying a delicious buttered roll as Illigar the Sage moves to the front of the stage to begin manipulating the huge image floating in the air. The rolls are delicious after all, and no one asked for any kind of payment. When Illigar begins to speak, his voice is monotone, almost bored sounding. His fingers flex in a precise motion, and several of the dots on the map grow and turn to vibrant blue. ¡°These represent the allocation of third-rank variants that we have discovered so far,¡± he says. He applies further manipulations to the image, with some dots turning white, others orange, and still more yellow. ¡°For those whose relative strength we have been able to establish, these dots represent that strength in the standard rank-graded order. For those unfamiliar, white is early in the rank, yellow is mid-rank, and orange is high-rank. Taking into account merely the disposition of these rank-threes, a pattern emerges.¡± He¡¯s right. Excluding Danfalla, the capital, there are four cities of note represented on the map of the Duchy: Cors, Maidenlake, Black Rock, and Discaith. While the red dots representing the packs of dozens or even hundreds of monsters are scattered throughout the region, the differently-colored dots representing the rank-three monsters are congregated near or around the major cities. More, only a single blue dot resides near each city, only one high third-rank monster is near each city. The only exception to the trend is a grouping of colored dots clustered on the western end of the Dutchy, a cluster of all different colors out in the middle of nowhere. Illigar continues. ¡°What first occurred to me when taking the disposition of the enemy into account, and no doubt is now occurring to the quick-witted among you is that the enemy strength is distributed in far too even a manner. There are several kinds of beast tides. A plethora of magical phenomena appearing in our world can give rise to a sudden increase in the gestation of aberrant creatures from the magisphere, but I believe that this pattern of distribution tells us what we are dealing with. This beast tide was not caused by some flare of the magisphere or some accidental celestial alignment. No, what we are dealing with is an intelligent monster having appeared, and along with it has come the increase in monster spawning.¡± The image displayed on the window focuses on that western area of the map, an open expanse of tributaries intermingling with the occasional forest. ¡°We believe that this intelligent creature resides here and that it somehow possesses the ability to manipulate other monsters. This explains why it has separated the high third-ranks from one another, stopping possible territorial disputes before they could begin. Moreover, while huge herds of monsters have roamed the duchy at will, at least half have come together, creating massive hordes of the creatures. The intermingling of various monster species is unnatural, also leading credence to the thought that a central figure is behind this. This beast tide may be categorized as mid-second-rank, but make no mistake, depending on the capability of the commanding figure, the lethality that it possesses may be far higher than many of you would expect.¡± ¡°Have you spotted this mastermind monster?¡± someone calls from the crowd. Illigar stops on stage, peering out into the crowd, his train of thought seeming to be completely disrupted. ¡°No,¡± the prince says, stepping back to the fore. ¡°While we believe the western waterways to be the location of this mysterious monster, none of our scouts have been able to get close enough to confirm. Divination has proven difficult with so many powerful creatures gathered together. This leads me to the second topic that I wish to address.¡± At a motion from the prince, the window displaying the map vanishes, leaving him standing once more on a naked stage. ¡°Everyone in this hall is at the bare minimum a silver-rank adventurer. I do not doubt the prowess of any individual in this room, but as I said earlier, this operation will not be done by disparate parties but by a centralized command. Before I can properly structure our plan of action, I need to know what talents I have to work with. At this time, I implore all part leaders and solo adventurers to adjourn with me to the neighboring chamber where you will outline the skills and abilities of yourselves and your allies. We have no intention of breaking apart teams, but we still have to allocate ourselves properly.¡± Without anything else to say, Prince Sagistan turns on his heels and walks off the stage, descending a short flight of steps and entering another room. A stunned second passes in the room as the rest of those on stage with him slowly file out. The scape of a nearby chair against the stone floor draws my attention away. Dovik pushes himself to stand, flashing a smile that looks a bit nervous to me. ¡°I guess that I should see about that,¡± he says. Already, more are sliding their chairs back around the room, following after the prince. ¡°Talk us up,¡± Jor¡¯Mari says. ¡°Please do,¡± I agree. ¡°I don¡¯t want us to end up somewhere where there won¡¯t be enough monsters to kill.¡± ¡°I am great at talking people up,¡± Dovik says, already walking away toward the door. ¡°How do you think I convinced all of you to join me.¡± Jor¡¯Mari points out that tables of food have been set out at the back of the room. The staff for the Hall must be truly excellent to set that up during the Prince¡¯s address without my noticing. While Jess and Jor¡¯Mari turn toward discussing the information we were just given, my attention is pulled elsewhere. That same woman from before, the one whose eye looks like a twin to my own, catches my attention, nodding back toward the tables of food. ¡°Excuse me,¡± I say, standing from the table. ¡°There¡¯s someone I need to talk to.¡± Chapter 139 - Portentous Meetings Unfortunately, the word monster has become so entangled with these magical aberrations that we have lost the original meaning. It is dangerous to forget that. -Unattributed The serious atmosphere is gone by the time I make it halfway to the back of the room. Those at the tables scattered around the hall are already busy speaking with one another; some discussing the information given out, others their plans, while others still turn back to the random conversations they had going on before the prince gave his address. A bit of self-consciousness nags at me as I find myself one of the few moving toward the back of the room where the hall staff are setting out food. That feeling soon leaves as the woman I saw before meets me in front of a silver platter bearing freshly breaded and fried pork. ¡°Jae Ava Carbina,¡± Althemia, the woman with the eye so much like my own, says as we meet, offering a demure nod. ¡°What?¡± I ask, expertly articulate as always. Althemia blinks at me for a moment, confusion apparent on her face. ¡°I thought I had the greeting right. Are you not Faethian?¡± ¡°No. I thought you were.¡± She returns the awkward smile that I am no doubt wearing. ¡°And just when I thought that I had finally found one.¡± Her words are stilted and highly accented, making me think that Castinian is not her native tongue. ¡°Am I right to believe that your left eye is of Faethian origins?¡± ¡°As I¡¯m sure yours is as well.¡± I hold my hand out to the woman. ¡°My name is Charlene Devardem, though I think you already know that.¡± The woman takes my hand, squeezing in a way that lets me know her strength is incredibly higher than my own. ¡°Althemia of the Mist Islands. I might have known that would not be from Faeth. Everything I have heard about those people claims that they are isolationists. Have you made it to that land where our eyes originate from?¡± ¡°Not yet,¡± I admit. ¡°It is on my list of things to do.¡± ¡°Mine as well.¡± ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking, how did you come by that eye? When I received this one, I was made to believe that these artifacts are incredibly rare. I didn¡¯t expect anyone outside of Faeth to have one either.¡± The attraction of the delicious food next to me is too much to overcome, and I find myself stacking a good number onto a small plate. Biting in, I find the spiciness of the cooked meat inside worth the social faux pa. The chefs working in the hall are geniuses. They have taken a brilliantly spiced pork sausage and wrapped it in a cooked roll, before frying the entire thing. These little treats coupled with the cold cream I had a few days ago force me to conclude that Danfalla food is truly on another level from what I am used to. ¡°This,¡± Althemia presses a finger to the side of her eye. ¡°I received this as a reward for completing a dungeon in my homeland. The integration was¡­less than pleasant, but who can argue with the results?¡± ¡°You completed a dungeon before integrating your essentia?¡± As far as I am aware, artifacts can only be integrated before a magician fully binds themselves to essentia and creates their conflux. ¡°I have always thought that too much merit is given to monsters,¡± Althemia says. ¡°Those that are referred to as rank zero and rank one monsters on the mainland are not usually handled by wielders of magic on the isles. Warriors use such beasts to hone their skills. The dungeon I completed only possessed such creatures, anyone competent with a weapon and possessing the necessary courage could have done what I did.¡± ¡°Do not forget humility,¡± I say. She shrugs. ¡°Being humble never caused injury. In fact, it often can save one from it. Tell me now, how did you obtain the artifact?¡± ¡°I got it as part of a deal I made,¡± I say. ¡°The price must have been quite high.¡± My hand raises to my face, touching the skin around the eye. The price in gold that Arabella Willian used to lock me into her contract was steep, but I likely would be able to pay it off in full by the time this beast tide was through. No, the real cost had been taken from me in the trial. ¡°More than I knew at the time.¡± Althemia nods. ¡°I won¡¯t ask about specifics, as I likely can guess them.¡± She looks to the side of me, no doubt reading some window that I cannot see. ¡°Quite the conflux you have. Ambitious, you could say.¡± ¡°You¡¯re one to talk.¡± She smiles back at me, and I am sure I wear an equal grin on my face. ¡°Care to make a wager?¡± ¡°Oh, on what?¡± ¡°Why, this operation,¡± she says. ¡°They may have said that this is no contest between adventurers, but I doubt they can or would stop us from competing with one another. Competition is the furnace of excellence after all. Combating this beast tide will be mainly about destroying thousands of monsters. I only wish to see whether you might be capable of keeping up with me as I do so, to see if you are utilizing that artifact as well as I am.¡± ¡°You are higher level,¡± I say. ¡°I did not say that it would be a fair wager for you,¡± Althemia replies. ¡°I tend to engage in contests I am reasonably certain that I will win.¡± ¡°What would be the prize for this wager?¡± I ask. ¡°Honor,¡± she says. ¡°You like sure bets, but I like stakes,¡± I say. ¡°I would wager a hundred and twenty ounces of gold that I can slay more beasts than you.¡± Her eyebrows rise at the sum. In truth, it is a greater sum of gold than I possess at the moment. Not that I think I will lose. If there is one aspect that I excel at, it is churning through hordes of monsters. ¡°You can support that kind of wager?¡± ¡°You saw my conflux.¡± Althemia¡¯s smile becomes predatory. She claps me on the shoulder faster before I can react to her movement. ¡°I love the bravado. You have a deal, Charlene Devardem. Do not fall too far behind, I want you to watch as I outpace you.¡± Stealing the last word and a piece of fried pork from my plate, the woman turns and walks back to the table she was sitting at initially. I watch her go, unable to stop the feeling of excitement coming to me. That is what the address had been missing, something to get my blood pumping. I scan the room for a moment, considering if there might be others who would be willing to make a wager with me, when a man in a sharp black suit steps toward me, coughing into his fist. ¡°Pardon me, Ms. Devardem,¡± he says, offering me a slight bow. ¡°I did not want to intrude on your conversation, but your presence has been requested in the adjoining hall.¡± ¡°Mine has?¡± My hand pauses with a bite of food halfway to my mouth. ¡°Who wants to speak with me?¡± ¡°I was not informed of that,¡± he says. ¡°If you would follow me, miss.¡± Before I can even agree, the man turns and starts toward the hall¡¯s exit. I look between the retreating man, the table where Jess and Jor¡¯Mari are talking, and the plate of food in my hand. Tossing the plate onto the nearest table as I shuffle after the man, I call back to my table. ¡°I have to go meet with someone!¡± The sound of my shout cuts right through the conversation in the hall. ¡°Why!?¡± Jor¡¯Mari yells back, heedless of the attention he attracts. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± I, however, am incredibly aware of all the eyes turning in our direction and cut the yelling back to merely loud speech. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. ¡°Have fun!¡± Jess calls as I slip around the corner of the door, waving to me as I go. The man walking away from me forces me to jog to maintain pace with him as he enters a side hallway. The murmur of conversation mutely echoes through the wall as we walk parallel to the hall. Even the hallways of this league hall are exquisite, paintings of men and women fighting massive beasts stretching between every wooden pillar, weapons and other relics set into locked display cases every few feet or so. My escort stops in front of a wooden door polished so brightly that it shines in the light coming in through the far window. ¡°Here we are, miss.¡± He gestures to the door, stepping back to let me at it. ¡°This feels a bit like a trap,¡± I say, trying to lighten the mood. ¡°I apologize if it feels that way,¡± he says, deciding to not dispute it. Odd man. The man is already retreating by the time I have the door open. The facade of the grand league hall is diminished somewhat by the simple room I find beyond the door, a simple ash table with two chairs being the only adornment, and a rug of incredible patterns giving color to the otherwise plain and beige room. One chair sits occupied with a man I saw for the first time just a few minutes before, Illigar the Sage. ¡°Ms. Devardem,¡± the man says, using the same disinterested monotone he showed on the stage before. ¡°If you would please join me, I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.¡± I feel like a chicken staring at the ax. The situation reminds me so much of how I first met Arabella Willian that I find it difficult to move. The man at the table glances down at an open ledger in front of him, turning a few pages and scanning the contents, not showing any indication that he cares for or notices my indecision. My foot stepping into the room breaks the spell on me. This man is high third-rank, if he wanted to harm me, he could do so easily. ¡°Please close the door behind you,¡± he says, still not looking up. The man takes his time looking through the book in front of him, making small notes with a sharp pen here and there as I close the door and take a seat. Oddly, though the book is right in front of me, something keeps my eyes from focusing on the words within. There must be some kind of magic at work, but my eye cannot detect it. The pen cuts across the page in a harsh scratch before Illigar sets it aside, finally looking up. ¡°Ms. Devardem, thank you for joining me for a moment. I had a brief conversation with your team leader, Dovik Willian, a few minutes ago, asking that he outline the base utility of your team. I had already determined to bring your team under my operation authority during this culling due to Mr. Willian being among you. There is merit to the Prince¡¯s asking to better define the personnel we will be using to enact his plan, but in truth, most of the plan has already been set down. Your team will be joining the loose army that will be put under my command at Maidenlake. The objective will be to break the encirclement of the city before making a general clearing gesture toward the generator of this beast tide. If all goes as planned, this operation will last no longer than a month.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t want to give you any sass,¡± I say when he has stopped speaking and looks ready for a response. ¡°But why are you telling me this?¡± ¡°The information is not a secret,¡± he says. ¡°Before the day is over, you would have learned of it anyway. I tell you it now to give you context for what I require from you. Mr. Willian informed me that you have a wide-range looting ability. I am sure that you are aware that looting abilities are not the most common things, and that they are generally found among support staff. I know of your participation in the trial some weeks ago in Grim, and that you would not be sorted into the role of support. Given that this operation will see potentially thousands of monsters dead at the hands of the force I will lead, I either need to enter into a direct contract with you that outlines the limitations and expectations in the use of your looting ability during this period or I need to secure guarantees that you will not employ it.¡± ¡°You would demand that I don¡¯t use my power?¡± I ask, more curious than angry. ¡°Adventurers take umbrage to the valuable bodies of their slain enemies being stolen by others. If you were to go about pilfering the goods that they create on the battlefield, it would lead to strife that I do not need. So, tell me, are you amenable to entering into a contract for your use of this ability during the operation? Otherwise, I will have to ask you not to employ it at all.¡± Instead of answering immediately, I give myself a moment to think. The man across the table from me seems unbothered by my silence, returning his attention to the book in front of him, making notes that my eyes find impossible to decipher. Truthfully, I have no issues in entering some kind of arrangement for the use of my ability. I spent a long time traveling with my brother simply because I had the ability, and while we never had a written contract, there was an understanding. No, I take the time because I know that it will make my negotiating position better in whatever he will try to make me sign if I look reticent. Despite his saying that he will have me restricted from using the ability if we cannot come to an understanding, my experience tells me that everyone would rather have someone on their side who can easily turn monster corpses into usable materials rather than having to dedicate time and effort to the butchering themselves. ¡°What are the terms you are thinking of?¡± I ask after counting to two hundred. He glances up in a way that might almost convince me he had forgotten I was here. Illigar licks his thumb, turning to a specific page in his book, and turning the entire thing to where I can see it. Strangely, as soon as the book is turned in my direction, the script becomes legible. ¡°Standard fair is that the user of the looting ability is allowed to retain a tenth of the total output. This contract stipulates that all meat, material products, and magical products be turned over to one with an eye for appraisal as soon as the items are retrieved from the bodies. A portion of the total haul will then be dispensed back to you.¡± The contract he points out to me is a simple thing, outlining exactly what he says. It does go more into depth about the material items that my ability creates from the monster corpses: leather, scales, fur, hides, etc. The list itself is the most extensive part of the contract, a purpose given to make certain that nothing is overlooked for me to pocket on my own. I do notice that a very particular item is missing from the contract. It makes no mention of me needing to turn over any coin that my power generates. Good for me. ¡°I would need at least twenty percent of the haul,¡± I say, turning the book back to face him. ¡°It is my ability that easily renders the bodies of the monsters. Without it, you would have to dedicate more time and effort than it is worth to the task.¡± ¡°No,¡± he says simply, shaking his head. ¡°That is true, but we will be slaying potentially thousands of monsters during this operation. Twenty percent is too high of a demand; we will settle upon thirteen and a half percent.¡± ¡°You strike me as a man who wishes to do business in the most efficient manner possible,¡± I tell him. ¡°Dedicating a force to butchering bodies will detract from that. My ability to loot monsters is truly wide-scale, as you say. I doubt anyone in the duchy is as efficient at it as I am. Seventeen percent.¡± Illigar taps the silver ring on his right finger a few times as he stares at me. ¡°I hate haggling,¡± he says. ¡°These games of deception and demand are far too transparent.¡± His hand moves in a blur, making amendments to the contract in less than a second with the pen before he turns it back to me. ¡°You will be fine with fifteen percent.¡± The words are a statement of fact, nothing even approaching a question. ¡°I can be fine with that,¡± I say, wisely not arguing the percentage further. My gut tells me that the man would take that poorly. I give the contract a few more thorough reads, making certain that there are no hidden clauses in the wording before signing. As soon as he has my signature, the man seems to lose all interest in me, dismissing me back to the main hall. I can¡¯t help but feel elated as I leave the room. If what he promised about slaying thousands of monsters in this tide is correct, I will profit incredibly from that contract I just signed. My eyes are so turned to my future riches that I don¡¯t notice a man¡¯s approach as I exit the room. We bounce off each other, the momentary and sudden contact spiking my sense of danger. I turn, ready to summon fire, only to find a lanky teenager with unkempt blonde hair standing in front of me. His dull gray eyes stare at me as if he was looking at paint dry on the wall, with no sense of emotion or recognition in them. ¡°Sorry,¡± I say, pulling myself together. My heart continues to beat loudly in my ears, and I find it difficult to calm myself down completely. ¡°You really startled me there.¡± ¡°I apologize for that ma¡¯am,¡± he says, his voice more unfeeling than even Illigar¡¯s had been. ¡°Just lookin¡¯ around, trying to find my friend.¡± Recognition comes back to me as I check his name with my eye. ¡°I¡¯ve seen you before,¡± I can¡¯t help but say, ¡°at the baron¡¯s fort.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± He tilts his head to the side like a dog might, peering up at my through greasy hair. ¡°I only saw you in passing. You were there with your friend, though they looked like an elven man at the time.¡± ¡°Looked like?¡± A smile begins to spread across his face as emotion finally seeps into his eyes, pure elation. Now that I see it, I wish those gray eyes had stayed dull and uncaring. ¡°You noticed her then, today?¡± he asks. ¡°Seen her enter with me, maybe? Wouldn¡¯t happen to know where she got off to, would you?¡± ¡°I¡­yes, well I mean no. I haven¡¯t seen her since the hall,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯m lookin¡¯ for her, you see.¡± ¡°I hope you find her.¡± ¡°I appreciate that.¡± The instant before I can move to leave, he raises his hand. There is something in the simple gesture that sets my nerves on end, but he merely holds it out to me to shake. ¡°Name¡¯s Ferro,¡± he says. ¡°Might I have your¡¯s back?¡± ¡°Charlene,¡± I say, not bothering to comment on the incongruence between the name he says and the one my eye shows me. Tentatively, I reach for the man¡¯s hand, shaking it. The sense of danger scratching at the back of my mind screams as I touch him, but nothing comes of it. His hand squeezes mine gently, the smile on the young man¡¯s face spreading wider. ¡°Charlene,¡± he repeats. ¡°A pretty name. I won¡¯t forget it.¡± Ferro lets go of my hand, taking a step back. ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll be so kind, I have to find my friend.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± I say, attempting politeness. He is already walking past me, interest and emotion having vanished from his face. His steps echo behind me, bouncing off the stone, disappearing finally around a corner. I linger for a while longer, flexing my hand, trying to stop the shivers running down my spine. Chapter 140 - Invisible Power The floor above groans in the wake of fast footsteps. Sitting in the dark warehouse, discarded crates with their pried open lids scattered all around the floor, Ferro watches the ceiling for hints of movement. He can almost track the concern above by the particles of dust peeling away from the boards to sprinkle down among the refuse about him. He could still smell old filth and urine in the air, the human trash occupying the warehouse having only been vacated a few days ago. Ferro hated smells these days. They were almost always awful, and the pleasant ones inflicted him with emotion. Pondering the emotions was fine; he could do that for hours, but there was only one way to be free of them. Currently, none of the coven were allowed that escape, Sigrid¡¯s orders. He stretches, the lines of the create lid against his back digging little grooves against his spine. It isn¡¯t quite painful, but it is a sensation he can focus on. He finds it a bit odd, seeking comfort in discomfort, and the puzzlement of that lets him chew on the time. Morello sits in a broken chair nearby, the back leg replaced with a stack of books they dug out of an office in the back. The man chews on his lit cigarette, looking down at his hand like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, a scowl-worth fascinating thing. His left hand still holds the slender feminine form he discarded more than half an hour ago, the skin pale like it has never seen the sun, the nails long and polished, the middle one even painted blue. Ferro felt a sudden urge to lunge at him, to see if he could kill Morello before the man could react. The feeling is fleeting, a passing thought that he has sometimes. He knew everyone else had the same thoughts; he saw it in how they behaved when around those who couldn¡¯t threaten them. He¡¯d even seen Sigrid act on that impulse before, an insane smile on her face as she ripped a man apart. The glee lasted only a fraction of a second, but he¡¯d seen it all the same. Afterward, she claimed that she did it because they needed a cart. Still have the cart, parked at the loading door in the back. Before that, Ferro had thought that controlling that sudden impulse had been what made Sigird so strong, what had given her that invisible power of hers. He thought one day he might gain that same power if he never acted on the impulse. Turns out, that¡¯s not how it worked. Still, he never had acted on it, its allure is never all that strong for him. He can¡¯t say why, can¡¯t even guess at it really; that¡¯s just how it is. The slam of a door from the level above pulls him out of his thoughts. Boots start stamping against the stairwell in the room over, Morello hurriedly changing his hand back to normal before Sigrid can arrive. ¡°Reckon she calmed down?¡± Ferro asks as the footfalls grow louder. Morello shoots him a dirty look, knocking away the dead ash of his cigarette as he steels himself. The pounding footfalls grow silent at the big red door leading in, giving the two inside a good few beats before the brass doorknob starts to turn. The first thing Ferro notices is the scowl on Sigrid¡¯s face, her red eyes seeming sinister in the gloom of the darkened hallway beyond. As she joins them in the room, her arms crossed, nails raking the backs of her arms and puffing dead skin into the air, Ferro notices that her heavy boots do not shake the floor, a good sign. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Explain it to me in a way that doesn¡¯t piss me off,¡± she grunts through gritted teeth. ¡°We got found out,¡± Ferro replies. In an instant, a corner of one of the crates he lays upon shatters, splinters of wood flying away and stabbing into a nearby tarp, rending it to pieces. He lifts his head taking a look at the damage. ¡°I did warn you that it would be risky,¡± Morello says. ¡°Wading into a group like that, all sorts of strange magic floating around. All we know for sure is that some girl was able to recognize me from a few weeks ago, despite my looking different.¡± ¡°How is that even possible?¡± Sigrids asks, straining and just managing to hold back an enraged outburst of power. ¡°All of their scouts are supposed to be out in the duchy right now.¡± ¡°She didn¡¯t say,¡± Ferro says, sitting up on the crate and throwing his boots over the side. ¡°She just dropped that she¡¯d seen us before, both of us.¡± He fishes around in the pocket of his jacket for a moment, removing a small bit of silver, and holding up the adventurer¡¯s insignia to inspect. ¡°No one even asked for these. I wouldn¡¯t pay it too much mind.¡± Squinting, he finds a speck of blood on the side of the coin and sets to flicking it away with a nail. ¡°Any hint that we are here, that we even exist, is too much of a risk. This isn¡¯t a headache that I need, not with Iz getting drunk out in the West.¡± ¡°She still isn¡¯t returning messages?¡± Morello asks. ¡°That isn¡¯t like her.¡± ¡°The girl is too far away from me, starting to think that she might be a match just because she has a few dumb animals hopping to her words,¡± Sigrid says, chewing on her thumbnail. ¡°Treacherous.¡± ¡°Need me to have a conversation with her?¡± Ferro asks, feeling a bit of excitement at the prospect. ¡°No, I need you here.¡± ¡°Here, here? I managed to insert us into the Prince¡¯s army, they leave tomorrow.¡± Sigrid shakes her head. ¡°Too dangerous now. The plan needs to be adjusted. The two of you will miss them shipping out. They might look into it, but hopefully, they won¡¯t think anything of two adventurers deciding not to show up.¡± She seems to notice then that she is chewing on her thumb and scowls as she pulls her hand away from her mouth. ¡°Other than being discovered, did you find out their strategy?¡± ¡°Got it all,¡± Morello says. He taps a little book sitting on the arm of his chair. ¡°Weren¡¯t all that complicated. Wrote down everything I noticed.¡± Sigrid turns her eyes to Ferro. ¡°Did you place all of the tags?¡± ¡°Clean out of ¡®em now,¡± he says. ¡°Can search me if you want.¡± ¡°Good. At least some things went right.¡± She nods back to the stairwell. ¡°Dal was asking for you. The boy likes you Ferro, go talk with him and cheer him up a bit. Everyone can use a friendly face when they''re feeling sick.¡± Despite his annoyance at being commanded to spend time with that ugly mess, having to look at his face and wonder if the skin would finally slough all the way off, Ferro gave no sign of emotion as he dropped from his perch. Halfway to the door leading to the stairs, he stops, turning and looking back to Sigrid. ¡°What about the girl that found us out? Should I have a word with her at least?¡± Sigrid¡¯s answer takes a long time to come. ¡°No. Not now. Give it time and she will forget about you two. The fact that no one knows we are here is our biggest asset. We lose that, and we fail.¡± Ferro nods as he turns back toward the stairs. He wouldn¡¯t disobey; the thought of doing so never occurred to him, but he also didn¡¯t think that was the last he would see of that red-headed beauty. ¡°Charlene,¡± he whispers to himself as he slips up the stairs. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to meet you again.¡±