《Unforged》


 Chapter 1: Hammerson

    Chapter 1: Hammerson


    There are many stories told about heroes and villains in the early days of the world, when many Paths were yet untrodden and the gods still believed their place was above all others. Just like in any great era, legends abounded, though most of their stories have been lost and their Paths long since ended.


    Most, but not all.


    This story begins on a morning much like any other, with a sunrise and tired feet slinking out of bed. With the dawn of this new day, one person truly believed that it might be the start of something grander.


    His name was Tristan Hammerson.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan rose that morning with a clarity that gave his every movement purpose.


    Today I will Awaken.


    It was more than any mere feeling. It was a certainty, something felt deeper down than even his bones. It was a brightness that lightened his breaths and made him feel stronger than he¡¯d ever been before. It was like his whole body was priming him to become more. But more what, he couldn¡¯t be sure until he Awakened. Only that he¡¯d be more of whatever he was meant to be.


    He hopped out of bed well before his mother rapped on the door, and stretched before putting on some of his best working clothes. His plan was to spend at least twelve hours in the forge, even up to sixteen if he had to. He would Awaken today, no matter what. And then his Path would finally begin.


    Tristan surprised his mother by opening the door before she even laid her hand to it. He wrapped her up in a huge hug, and swung her out of his way, before practically flying down the hall to the kitchen where he shoveled food into his face as quickly as possible.


    He needed the energy, he knew that. He had a big day ahead of himself. But he also knew that the sooner the meal was finished, the sooner his life could begin.


    Tristan wasn¡¯t certain he¡¯d get blacksmith as his first Class. No one could ever be 100% certain about their Awakening--other than what all the guides (and his father) said:


    ¡°You will be given a choice for your first Class, and the options always align with the type of life you¡¯ve led.¡±


    Tristan had taken those guides to heart and determined that the best way to get the Class he wanted was through sheer force of will and repetition. He had worked hard and put in long hours in his father¡¯s forge. It had always been a part of his life and was where his father spent most of his days. Tristan had fallen asleep to the rhythm of his father¡¯s hammer on the anvil more nights than he could count.


    Now he had nearly perfected his own rhythm.


    If there¡¯s any justice in the world, my Path will start with the blacksmith Class. There should be no chance of getting something obnoxious like bard or alchemist. Although, if he was totally honest with himself, he did hope to someday push himself into a role beyond the forge as well.


    Tristan had originally started his current project days ago with his Awakening in mind, and now it was almost done. He understood that he needed to truly prove himself. He had to show his life where he was and where it would go. He had to open himself up for the whole realm to see.


    That was how he had chosen the perfect project. It had to be something challenging enough that he would have to focus on it with all his being, something that would use all the techniques he¡¯d managed to learn, from his father and from his own experimentation, and something that would be useful along his Path.


    Basically, it was the most important project of his young life, and he wanted it to be his best. And now it was down to the final steps.


    He would finally finish his first real hammer.


    For hours, Tristan pounded the metal on the anvil, desperately trying to keep his excitement from ruining his technique. His rhythm was steady; his arm rose and fell exactly as his father had taught him. He even hummed the same tune.


    Strike, strike, strike, turn.


    He¡¯d learned so much from his father over the years, even before he¡¯d been officially taken on as an apprentice. He¡¯d come a long way from imitating the man using blankets and sticks. By ten he had learned to hold a hammer properly, though back then his arms could barely swing it at all. By twelve he¡¯d been able to recognize proper heating by color. Now at seventeen he could complete most projects, from plan to polish, all on his own.


    Smithing was in his blood, passed down for generations. It was why their name was Hammerson. What better project was there than a hammer to bring about his Awakening?


    Tristan stood a head taller than both his parents, with unkempt dirty blond hair that always seemed a bit too long on the sides. It gave him a childish look that he didn¡¯t love, but he also didn¡¯t care enough to change it. As long as it stayed out of his eyes while he worked, it was fine enough. Physically, he was imposing. He had grown wide over the years, especially in his shoulders and arms. Though both felt like nothing when compared to his father¡¯s. Perhaps that was why Tristan still felt overlooked whenever he went about town. Woodsedge was small, and he was always ¡°Marrik¡¯s boy,¡± or ¡°Young Hammerson.¡±


    Tristan knew that he lived in his father¡¯s shadow, and that would never change until he could make his own progress. It was clearest when he put on his apron, which was just his father¡¯s old apron. He just didn¡¯t fill it as well. Yet.


    Strike, strike, strike, turn.


    Marrik Hammerson was the kind of powerful few could ever reach. The man was in tier 4, after all, which put his level between 40 and 80. Of course, he was also too principled to ever reveal his actual level to someone lower tiered, just like he always suppressed his aura. He¡¯d told Tristan once it was because, ¡°I don¡¯t want to make others feel smaller.¡±


    But everyone was small next to Marrik Hammerson.


    The one time Tristan had asked his mother about his father¡¯s level, she¡¯d smiled and said, ¡°High enough that you shouldn¡¯t worry about it, sweetie.¡± Just as loving and flippant as that. Of course, she¡¯d never risen above tier 2, so she might have legitimately believed her advice was good.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Tristan disagreed.


    In all likelihood, his father held the highest level in town. It could have been such an easy point of pride. But the man never spoke of it; he said his work spoke for itself. While noble and fine for everyone else, that wasn¡¯t enough for Tristan.


    The man wouldn¡¯t even share his actual class! No doubt some Super Smith of Unscratchable Armor or something, Tristan mused. He doesn¡¯t even use tongs anymore, just his bare hands!


    As an armorsmith, Marrik Hammerson was so renowned that even Tristan¡¯s hero, the legendary Hesden Brightshield, had entrusted him personally with the repairs to his blessed armor. Even now the magnificent work lay on his father¡¯s bench, hidden from view by a dull blanket. Tristan didn¡¯t let himself look. He didn¡¯t need the distraction of the pearlescent breastplate, and he¡¯d see it when his father finished mending it in a few days.


    For now, Tristan had to focus. You can¡¯t get to level 80 without reaching level 1. Awaken first. Then live up to your father¡¯s legacy.


    Strike, strike, strike, turn.


    Lately, Tristan had begun to feel the pressure, as some of his friends had already Awakened. It was practically all they talked about anymore. Getting out of Woodsedge, exploring the world, even planning dungeon runs. Honestly, Tristan couldn¡¯t blame them. He knew he wouldn¡¯t be any different in that regard. The world was so big, and he¡¯d barely seen any of it.


    It also bothered him that someone like Aaric Longbloom, who had never had an original thought in his entire blessed life, had Awakened before him. If Tristan hadn¡¯t known better, he¡¯d have thought Aaric had bought his Awakening. But that was impossible. All Awakenings were earned through effort. Except merchants, Tristan thought offhandedly, though I guess they earn it through others¡¯ effort? So maybe that still counts. That Aaric and all his money had gotten there first bothered Tristan. He was determined not to fall behind.


    Tristan was a Hammerson, and Hammersons were as determined as they came. A Hammerson¡¯s job was only ¡°finished¡± when it was the best they could possibly make it.


    This hammer would be no different.


    Tristan had squared each side now, working his way around what would become the head of the hammer. All of his father¡¯s previous critiques, now lessons learned, had helped him get to this point. They¡¯d been getting more nit-picky of late, only reinforcing how close Tristan was. Which was no doubt why he¡¯d been allowed to work alone in the forge today for the first time.


    ¡°If you think you''re ready, then you¡¯re ready,¡± his father had said.


    It was a vote of confidence. It was recognition. Tristan would reward his father¡¯s faith and show that his lessons hadn¡¯t been wasted.


    Tristan wiped his brow on his shirt while keeping his rhythm. He wouldn¡¯t let the steel taste a single salty droplet ever again. Another lesson he¡¯d already learned.


    Each day I work I¡¯m better. Like tempering. Getting stronger!


    Strike, strike, strike, turn. The hammer strokes emphasized each word, forcing the metal into agreement. Repeated and repeated, forging his hammer by feel as much as plan. When completed, it would be massive. Strong. Dwarfing even his father¡¯s fist. And crafted from higher-level materials, so Tristan could use it for years to come. He hadn¡¯t designed any simple shape either. He''d added some complexity, some flair. A hammer not only to craft simple plates, but more sophisticated projects. Real armor. Shields.


    Swords, a part of him whispered.


    If this hammer was to start him on his Path, he wanted to point it in the right direction.


    Once I Awaken into my primary Class I¡¯ll get my stats, skills, and most importantly my Core. There is no Path until then.


    The Core was said to be the person¡¯s center, their ultimate truth, which would lead them down their Path. It all came back to that one, defining moment.


    Tristan continued to work the metal. Two more turns. He lifted it with a grin and evaluated the shape and symmetry. Not bad at all. Dad could do better, but this isn¡¯t his. It¡¯s mine. Focus on myself. My skill. My task.


    Another turn, and it was time to punch the eye that would eventually take the handle. The punch had to be perfect: straight through the head, without any angles. Just a few precise strikes.


    Tristan exhaled. You can do this. Focus, and strike true.


    This would be his hammer. His work. Truly and only his, from first to final stroke.


    For a moment, he could feel his Path subtly guiding his arm, helping his creation come to be. This was it! His journey was about to begin.


    Tristan considered the temperature of the red-pink metal before him. It was cooling, but it didn¡¯t need another heat yet. It was still hot enough if he punched it cleanly. Then maybe one more heat should be enough to finish. The last steps of the craft; the first steps on his Path.


    His blow cleared straight through the metal¡¯s center. It was as close to perfect as he could have hoped. Granted, he¡¯d need a few more strokes to flatten the sides again, but--


    ¡°A little big, but not bad at all,¡± his father said in a low voice, just behind him.


    Tristan hadn¡¯t heard the man enter, but he could now almost feel the nodding behind him. ¡°Just finishing the sides again,¡± he replied.


    His father grunted his approval.


    Tristan chose to ignore the audience. The final steps weren¡¯t easy, and both men knew what was at stake.


    First, he chamfered the hammer¡¯s head: removing the right angles to ease some of the strain on the metal from future strikes. Then he shaped one end into a dome, as a gently rounded face could more easily concentrate force where he wanted it. The traditional flat face followed on the end opposite the dome, since it gave greater control when working metal.


    It was finally time to fit the handle, and what a beauty it was. The best of many prized attempts. Shaped lovingly from sturdy hickory, and sanded for hours until the grip and taper were as smooth as his mother''s best dress. Tristan hadn¡¯t loved working with wood, but for this project, he¡¯d given it his absolute all.


    Now he could feel his Path practically forcing the head and handle together. He once again checked that the handle would fit into the eye. He¡¯d gauged it before, but there was nothing lost in being certain.


    He wouldn¡¯t rush any steps. This was the final stretch.


    The head slid on squarely, and the fit seemed perfect. A few taps on the anvil was all it needed to settle the head fully into position.


    Then came the wood wedge, already saturated in oil. It went into the handle, against the grain, slightly spreading the wood and locking it in place.


    He drove it in slowly. Centered. Steady. With patience, he avoided breaking it. Once it was set, he flipped the whole hammer--for that was what it finally resembled--over and gave a few more blows to let the anvil drive the wedge the last bit home.


    That left the final details--no less important, though far less difficult. A bit of sanding to remove excess, and a second, steel wedge driven crosswise to the first, locking everything together.


    With the final tap, he leaned back, not realizing he¡¯d been holding his breath. He could feel the energy in the room begin to spike. He looked down at the completed hammer--his hammer--on the anvil before him, and a huge smile split his face.


    I¡¯ve done it!


    Without warning, a burst of golden light swirled around him, flooding him with energy, as the darkness receded in fear from the sudden onslaught. His heartbeat rang out louder than any anvil ever struck, thrumming with a tune that connected him to the rest of the world. It flowed from above his head down to his toes. It--no, he--felt electric.


    Then a sound filled him. It reminded him of the purest strike he¡¯d ever heard his father make. Almost like a... ding!


    Something popped up in the corner of his vision, completely startling him. He quickly realized it must be a notification.


    Congratulations! You have reached LEVEL 1!


    Then everything went black.

 Chapter 2: Awakening

    Chapter 2: Awakening


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan awoke in a gray space, surrounded by clouds of flickering red that reminded him of sparks. The floor was smooth and cold, like an anvil. Despite this Tristan felt strangely warm. He knew he had never been in this place before, though he also suspected it might not even be a real place. Regardless of where it was (or wasn¡¯t), he felt safe.


    Suddenly he felt impossibly seen. A blank voice spoke without any kind of tone:


    ¡°Tristan Hammerson, as you have Awakened through your efforts in blacksmithing, all Paths forward will begin there.


    How will you choose to wield your craft?


    For the benefit of all, or for personal profit?


    To protect others, or to arm thyself?


    You have proven your worth, and it is time for your journey to begin.


    Four different Cores await.


    You have a choice.¡±


    Four items appeared floating in the air before Tristan. They were only steps away, but those steps were actually a long journey. Possibly even full Paths. As he looked at each item, he somehow knew it represented the pinnacle of each idea and direction as it might fit him.


    The leftmost was a beautiful golden smith¡¯s hammer. It resembled the hammer that he had just completed only in shape, as its form was pure extravagance. Coins and gemstones of various sizes were worked into all the elements of its design, which showcased materials so fine and well worked that it was clearly made by a master. Inlaid with magical workings like he¡¯d never seen before, Tristan could only imagine the things he could create with this. Buyers would come from across the realm, and he¡¯d be able to amass a fortune, making a household name of the Hammerson reputation. He could supply any and all, possibly becoming the wealthiest blacksmith the realm had ever known. This Path would focus not just on creating fine items, but creating a name known worldwide, and it would be well rewarded.


    His eyes shifted among the remaining three items to the side where a breastplate waited. It was a marvel to behold, with layers of materials integrated seamlessly into the flourishes and adornment, all of which undoubtedly served a purpose. He felt layers of magic and enchantments imbued in the various metals, creating protections the world had never before seen. This was clearly the work of a pinnacle armorsmith, surpassing anything Tristan had ever laid eyes upon. Even the Brightshield¡¯s armor could not compare, though it was clearly a point of inspiration. To create something like this would take intense focus and mastery, which would all be worth it for the harm it would prevent. He got the impression that he could equip anyone with this Path, making light chain mails for the weakest of mages while providing massive plate bulwarks for the divinely strong. He could save lives, preserve Paths, and possibly guard the entire realm. This Path would be a pinnacle craftsman, perfecting piece after piece--but only for others. His own accomplishments would be measured only by reflected successes. A part of him balked at that thought; he needed more than that. He didn¡¯t want his hopes of someday becoming an adventurer to end before they even began.


    The next item lit a different fire within him.


    The sword was thin and razor-sharp, reflecting a different color from every angle. Its blade pulsed with power as unreadable symbols and lines flared into and out of existence along its length with every blink. Tristan saw a weapon able to change with the needs of its wielder, adjusting at a whim or a thought. The perfect weapon for all situations. The sword was large enough for two hands, but he knew it could be made perfectly manageable by one. Even the meticulously detailed crossguard ebbed and flowed into variations. He could only dream of crafting such varied designs. This Path was no less a craftsman than the first two, but it resonated with him differently, almost as if to focus on him alone. His creations would have greater potential, but they would never benefit others, only him. This Path also went beyond crafting, delving deeper into combat abilities. It still cared for the forge, but it was not confined there. It roamed, and it fought, and it flourished.


    That left only the final item: the shield.


    Immaculate in its craftsmanship, it glowed from within, with light emanating a different kind of power. One that created an alloy of his mettle, his drive, and his need to protect others. While not as selfless as the armor, this shield served those who needed it most--especially those who could not protect themselves. And Tristan would wield it. Like the sword, the shield offered a Path that did not stop at merely being a crafter, but stepped beyond it. What¡¯s more, this Path was familiar. He could imagine it inspiring stories, songs, even legends. This shield¡¯s wielder would love and be loved by all.


    Tristan stepped back, fighting the urge to reach out immediately for an item. He needed to consider this moment more carefully. This was his starting point. This was where his Path began.


    He owed it to himself to truly consider his options.


    Luckily, he could already eliminate one: the hammer.


    Tristan had never really cared for the value of things. He didn¡¯t crave wealth and never felt he ¡°needed more¡±. His internal fire didn¡¯t burn to improve his family¡¯s name or earn it more renown, though he did hope it would someday be known. It would be more financially rewarding, sure, but far less personal. As soon as he considered that life and its potential endpoint, Tristan knew it was not for him. He wanted more from his Path than a forge, no matter how gilded. He would never be satisfied locked into that role, even if he excelled in it. This could definitely be a valid Path for others, but it was not his.


    That left the breastplate, the sword, and the shield.


    He now realized why the Path of the shield felt familiar. It was akin to the Path of Hesden Brightshield, the {Beacon of Hope} himself. It was a truly noble and inspiring Path, one that would potentially lead him to follow in his hero¡¯s footsteps. It promised the duality of crafting and combat. A thought that warmed his spirit.


    Yet he found himself turning toward the sword again, too. Its gorgeous colors and varied details felt flexible, much as Tristan himself aimed to be flexible. With a sword, he could defend and attack. Protect and inspire. He realized that this Path could be many things at many different times, but they would all still be him, in the best possible way.


    In comparison, the armor was much more rigid. If the shield had felt like his childhood hero, the armor felt like his father. Tristan loved his father, and he wanted to be like him, but he didn¡¯t want to be him.


    If he took the armor, then every piece that he made would be incredible. But taking this Path would be of great benefit to others. Any that wore his armor would be ironclad and immovable, but would it satisfy him to only make things for others?


    No, he was not his father. While his Path would be similar, he would improve himself with it as well. Compared to both the sword and shield, the armor was too selfless. In the end, it also had to go.


    So, sword or shield?


    The decision was not so simple. On the one hand, he could be like the Brightshield. He could tank any blow, protect anyone. His crafting would serve others. But the sword... maybe it would allow him to fight alongside the Brightshield as his own kind of hero. That thought, while perhaps more dangerous, excited him. He also liked that this Path might be somewhat new, allowing him to forge it as he saw fit, to his own design and desires. Both could lead him to glory. Both were boosted by their own creations. So, for others, or for himself?


    It came down to one not-so simple question: Who was he really, in his deepest and most honest moments?


    Tristan Hammerson made his choice. He reached out toward the only item that he¡¯d ever truly needed.


    As his fingertips met the sword, he could feel its power humming just beyond his control.


    ¡°Are you certain?¡± the blank voice asked.


    Tristan wrapped his whole hand around the grip, and the sword instantly transformed into pure energy that rushed up his arm, infusing his spirit.


    ¡°The choice has been made.¡±


    As the voice faded to nothingness, words began to appear before Tristan¡¯s eyes, not blocking his sight of the world, but adding to it.


    Your Path begins as a Blacksmith.


    As a Blacksmith, you create, repair, and enhance works of metal designed to aid in battle. Protection or destruction, the choice is yours. The stronger the material, and the tougher the challenge, the more you will grow.


    May your Path be long and productive.


    He went back into his interface and reread the notification he¡¯d gotten before coming to this place. And now, he saw, it had expanded with more information.


    Congratulations! You have reached LEVEL 1!


    Welcome to the first tier.


    Starting Statistics:


    Strength: 11 (+2/level)


    Agility: 6 (+1/level)


    Endurance: 10 (+2/level)


    Intelligence: 5 (+0.5/level)


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Wisdom: 7 (+0.5/level)


    Will: 8 (+1/level)


    Skills Earned:


    [Gather Ore] An active ability allowing a user to harvest ore and other useful resources from deposits throughout the world. Refined ore is necessary for metalworking of all types.


    [Smith¡¯s Strength] A passive skill that allows all of your [Craft] abilities to scale their control, quality, and crafting speed based on your Strength.


    [Work Metal] An active ability allowing a user to use a hammer and anvil to shape metal to their will. The foundation upon which all metalworking skills are laid.


    CORE AWAKENED:


    [Self-Forged] Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.


    At first, Tristan couldn''t think of anything to say. Maybe that was due to his lowest stat, which honestly felt a little insulting, but he got over it quickly.


    He felt amazing. Like the energy hadn¡¯t just whisked him away to... wherever that was (or wasn¡¯t), but it had also empowered him.


    He felt strong. Stronger than ever, in fact! Of course, that made sense, too. He had been told that Awakening any stats at 10 or above was incredible. And he had two, which was even more amazing. Almost as good as seeing ¡°blacksmith¡± as his Primary Class.


    But his Core... Tristan read the line several times, but couldn¡¯t make sense of it. What even is ¡®Soulbound¡¯?


    He tried to interact with the term, or to get a description or definition to pop up. Nothing worked. He read the most intriguing line again, more carefully:


    Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.


    So this is why I felt the sword¡¯s path would focus on me alone, he thought. Whatever I make will be only for me.


    His completed hammer suddenly appeared in his hand. Compared to what he¡¯d seen before, it was plain, unadorned, and crude. But it was his. He knew the hammer like he knew his own hand. And here its substantial weight did not bother him. But it wasn¡¯t Soulbound, was it?


    Tristan looked around, trying to engage the voice from before again, though he didn¡¯t see or hear anything.


    ¡°Hello?¡± he called.


    There was neither echo nor reply.


    Whatever had taken his measure was now silent. Even if it was gone, it had given him hope for the future and what he would become.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, probably to no one, but it never hurt to be polite.


    As if in response, the world around him grew brighter, redder, and hotter until it consumed him entirely.


    Tristan reopened his eyes and felt three things. First, he was cold, as he was now lying on the ground. Second, he felt a power pulsing from his right hand, which still held his hammer, exactly as it had been in the gray non-place. Finally, he felt strong arms around him.


    His father.


    The old man''s eyes were closed, cheeks damp, as he whispered something even Tristan couldn''t fully hear. A prayer perhaps? But Tristan had never thought his father religious, and he''d never seen the man so... so happy.


    ¡°Dad, I--" he managed before the man tightened the strongest embrace of Tristan¡¯s life.


    ¡°You did it,¡± the gruff voice said. ¡°I¡¯m so proud of you! My son!¡± His words rose until eventually he was yelling. ¡°Christha! CHRISTHA! Our boy did it!¡±


    Effortlessly, the man hoisted Tristan to his feet. Actually, he picked Tristan up past that, but he set him down in only a blink as he moved toward the main house.


    ¡°What class did you get?¡± his father asked.


    Tristan could see the excitement and raw hope in the man¡¯s eyes.


    He grinned. ¡°Obviously, I''m a Blacksmith.¡± He knew his father would squeeze him tighter, but he also recognized that he was able to handle it better now that he¡¯d Awakened.


    ¡°OF COURSE you¡¯re a blacksmith!¡± Tristan¡¯s father said, picking him up and spinning him around again, as easily as if he weighed nothing at all. Which, to a person with Strength in the hundreds, was probably true.


    Someday, Tristan would know what that was like. The biggest smile of his life lit his face.


    ¡°What¡¯s your Core?¡± his father asked, hefting Tristan¡¯s hammer and appraising it before returning it to him with a smile.


    Tristan¡¯s eyes glazed over briefly as his Status sprang back up before his eyes. He smiled again at seeing his class, but when it came to his Core... for a brief moment he felt hesitant. ¡°Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul...¡± he read aloud, pausing slightly, ¡°and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.¡±


    His father¡¯s grip loosened a hair as a brief confusion crossed his brow. ¡°That¡¯s... definitely interesting. I¡¯ve never heard of anything like that before.¡± Quickly enough, though, his father beamed. ¡°It sounds like you¡¯ll require fewer materials though, which is genuinely great. Just, what does ¡®Soulbound¡¯ mean?¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes widened in surprise. ¡°Wait, you don¡¯t know? How is that possible?¡±


    ¡°Kid, I¡¯m a blacksmith, not a diviner. Can you interact with it in your Core?¡±


    Tristan went back to his Status and tried to interact with the term. ¡°Nothing I do gives any more information. But it feels like it¡¯s going to limit me.¡± He bit his lip a little. ¡°I think it was a result of my Core choice,¡± he added at the end, giving more explanation. ¡°I picked a more selfish option.¡±


    His father scratched his head. ¡°That would make more sense. The property is totally new to me. Though I still hold that it could be good. Reduced crafting costs is one of the best perks for a beginning crafter.¡±


    Tristan was a bit hesitant to add, ¡°So it¡¯s not bad that it has a property even you¡¯ve never heard of?¡±


    ¡°Not necessarily,¡± his father reassured him. ¡°Your Core is all about you, just as your Path is a journey of self-discovery. What lies before you will be shaped by you, after all. So there¡¯s no telling how your Core will grow. Just trust that your Path will try to guide you along the way.¡±


    Tristan nodded along as his father confirmed what he¡¯d suspected and was glad that his father seemed excited for him. Tristan looked down at the hammer in his hand. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see where this takes me.¡±


    ¡°Me too,¡± his old man laughed. ¡°You¡¯ve Awakened! And now..."


    ¡°Yeah, got to get to work!¡± Tristan said, spinning his massive hammer in his hand. ¡°I¡¯ve got levels to grind!¡±


    His father¡¯s laugh deepened as he slapped Tristan¡¯s back. ¡°I understand. The forge is open to you--without me--from now on.¡± Then, catching himself, he added, ¡°But we need to talk materials, even with your Core. I¡¯ll give you whatever you can use, right now, for the next, uh, two hours. Consider it your Awakening gift. After that, you¡¯ll have to gather your own. It¡¯s part of the class for a reason.¡± He beamed at his son.


    Tristan couldn¡¯t believe it. ¡°I can use anything...?¡±


    ¡°Nothing mithril or above,¡± his old man said, winking. ¡°Don¡¯t get crazy. You¡¯re only level 1 after all.¡±


    For now, Tristan thought, feeling the new strength in his arms.


    ¡°Now, where is your mother? She should see you, and--hmm, do you want me to stick around for a little while? Or would you like to experiment in here by yourself?¡±


    Tristan actually thought about it. To have his father watch over his crafting would be... intense. Both good and bad. ¡°I think I¡¯d like a little time to myself. To figure out the new me,¡± he said, flexing.


    His father chuckled. ¡°I totally understand. Very few things greater in this world than the rush of Tiering up.¡±


    Tristan thought he saw the pride in his old man¡¯s eyes. It made him stand that much straighter.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± his father said, nearing the door, ¡°don¡¯t push too hard. Leveling, like good smithing, is a process. Every stroke and step along the way matters. If you try to go too fast, you¡¯ll burn out--or hurt yourself.¡± His tone lightened once more. ¡°You¡¯ve got two hours. Let me know if you need anything at all. And enjoy!¡±


    As his father left the forge, Tristan looked at the hammer in his hand and knew he could do more with it than he¡¯d ever imagined. He¡¯d seen his true potential during his Awakening. So while he was tired--drained in a way he¡¯d never been before--he was also super excited. His father had given him two hours to work. And he¡¯d get every second out of them.


    Before he could commit to anything, he heard a commotion from outside, in the direction of their house.


    Then he felt his father¡¯s aura.


    The full aura.


    Without even a moment¡¯s hesitation, Tristan hurried toward the door.


    Gods pity whoever lit the old man¡¯s fire.


    Yet as soon as Tristan reached the door and opened it, the aura pulled back.


    ¡°I know precisely who your master is,¡± he heard his father on the cusp of yelling, ¡°but I will not work on it today. My son has Awakened too. Besides, as I told you the last time you rode through, it will be ready in a week.¡±


    The man standing opposite Tristan¡¯s father was barely half the blacksmith¡¯s size, which was to say slightly under average. He wore a white cloak trimmed in gold, and every time he moved it caught the light.


    Tristan immediately recognized the flowering rose crest of the Longbloom family. He¡¯d hated that crest ever since Lord Longbloom had hired his father for a full month, with such an insane timeline, that the old man couldn¡¯t afford to train Tristan for even a few hours. Once again, Tristan had been penalized for the sake of Aaric blessed Longbloom.


    The messenger shook his head and threw out his crossed arms, clearly unhappy with what he was hearing.


    ¡°I have been tasked--¡± he began.


    ¡°One. Week.¡± The voice boomed, aura flaring, causing reality to ripple with the truth of it. Tristan felt the house shake a little.


    The smaller man took a step back, putting himself half outside the door. ¡°He won¡¯t be happy to hear--"


    ¡°Aaric will get his armor when I¡¯m done with it,¡± the blacksmith roared, ¡°and he¡¯ll be happy then.¡±


    ¡°What if I come back tomorrow with double your current price?¡±


    ¡°Then you will still have six days to wait.¡± Tristan¡¯s father declared, holding up seven fingers before slowly lowering one. He turned to Tristan. ¡°Is my math really that hard to follow?¡±


    Tristan kept his face rigid, not surprised his father had known he was there. ¡°No, sir,¡± he said.


    The Longbloom messenger turned toward Tristan, barely concealing his contempt. ¡°I hear congratulations are in order, young sir.¡± His words sounded stiff and forced. Tristan could see the man measuring him with a casual [Identify].


    ¡°You may leave now,¡± his father said.


    The cloak twisted, as the lights again danced with its golden accents. For a long moment, the only sound was from Tristan''s father crossing his arms across his leather clad chest.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be on my way, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°One week.¡±


    There was no response save the cloaked man raising his hood and walking out, shutting the door behind himself.


    ¡°I think he got the message,¡± a new voice said, accompanied by forced laughter that somehow eased the tension of the room. Tristan''s mother, Christha, emerged from behind the counter where she¡¯d all but hidden during the altercation.


    ¡°Not likely,¡± Marrik Hammerson said, slightly growling as he looked toward the door. ¡°The Longblooms will always believe their money changes the rules. But quality can''t be rushed, no matter the price.¡± Then he looked at his wife, and a smile replaced his scowl. ¡°But there is some good news!¡±


    ¡°I heard!¡± she replied, skipping over and hugging Tristan. ¡°And I''m incredibly proud! I even made some garlic bread today because I felt today was the day!"


    ¡°You make that every day, Mom,¡± Tristan said, rolling his eyes.


    ¡°Yeah, but it¡¯s made with extra love today,¡± she replied.


    Tristan''s father smiled as he joined their hug. ¡°It doesn''t matter. We are celebrating Tristan today!¡± Marrik slapped his son¡¯s back. ¡°Speaking of which, are you going to make use of the two hours I''ve given you, or what? What are you doing out here, wasting that fresh new Awakening. Get to crafting!¡±


    He even pushed Tristan away, playfully -- but with enough force Tristan couldn''t have resisted even if he wanted to. The proverbial clock was ticking, he supposed.


    He considered his new skills, and how best to level up. Time to go work some metal.


    As he walked back into the forge, he started humming his father''s hammering tune. And for the first time in his life, he added a few notes of his own.


    He knew exactly what he''d make next. His first Awakened craft:


    A sword.

 Chapter 3: Brightshield

    Chapter 3: Brightshield


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan could feel that his time alone in the forge was nearly over. His arm was sore, and his clothes were soaked with sweat. The first part of the day he¡¯d spent learning about his freshly-Awakened Core, which had actually made his new hammer unusable until it was Soulbound, and that had been... tricky. His Core said it replaced a portion of the materials with soul. Figuratively speaking, a large part of himself had already gone into this hammer during its planning and crafting, but his Core was far more literal.


    He¡¯d tried different things, all of which failed, until he went back to the basics. ¡°Items you craft,¡± it read. Somehow, he had to do enough to ¡°craft¡± the hammer again. Since the overall form was done, the only things he could think of to add were flourishes.


    In the end, he added a gold inlay to the handle and his initials to the top of the head. Once all that was finished, the hammer once again felt natural in his hand.


    With it finally Soulbound, Tristan was able to move on to a different project. The lump of metal before him now was roughly sword-shaped, he supposed, but no one would call it one yet. Nor would they for many, many hours.


    That¡¯s not to say it hadn¡¯t come a long way from the patterned-steel billet he¡¯d pulled from his father¡¯s supplies.


    That deceptively simple metal bar had already been an impressive piece of craftsmanship in itself. Perfectly balanced, the length of his arm, and as thick as his thumb. Tristan wondered how long it had taken his father to forge. He could only imagine the hours of folding and balancing, creating layers upon layers of steel. Hundreds of layers, he had no doubt. All to even out impurities, making it stronger with each fold. More beautiful, too. Yes, he could (and probably should) have begun with easier or softer metals, but his father had said he could use any of the supplies below mithril. This was what he wanted; this billet had spoken to him.


    It wanted to be his sword.


    Tristan smiled. The difference in his craft after leveling just once was monumental. He could feel where the process had gotten a little easier. His strikes were a bit more precise, and the metal responded better. Leveling up clearly came with advantages.


    Even making a sword blade, something he¡¯d never tried before, Tristan could feel the progress. Inch by inch. His strikes weren¡¯t guided, per se, but his instincts were better. How to narrow the two edges. How to preserve the point. He could see his own improvement. Even when it felt like he¡¯d spent too much time reheating, he knew it wasn¡¯t true. He quickly learned that this steel had to be yellow hot, not orange or pink, to be worked properly.


    Tristan still made mistakes. He knew that. But the metal was strong, and so was he. Both would be forged until, eventually, they would become what they were meant to be. But even after his Awakening and the introduction of his new Skills, the process required patience. ¡°Good smithing always takes time,¡± his father liked to say.


    The tip might have already made for a great spear point, with some grinding. But that would have been a waste. This was going to be something special.


    Eventually.


    ¡°Not bad for your first session,¡± his father said from behind him. ¡°You chose your materials well.¡±


    Tristan was shocked. He hadn¡¯t heard or felt the man come in, and that had never happened before. Despite the surprise, he quickly replied, ¡°It called to me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d have chosen the same,¡± his father chuckled, leaning toward him and patting him on the shoulder. ¡°But only if I wanted to waste time making weapons instead of the vastly superior armors that stop them!¡±


    ¡°Maybe you just haven¡¯t found strong enough swords.¡±


    The old man nodded. ¡°Perhaps. I sincerely hope one day you¡¯ll be able to show me the error of my ways.¡± He put his arm fully around his son¡¯s shoulders. ¡°But that day is not today. We¡¯ve got to get you cleaned up. Your mother wants to celebrate your achievement, and obviously I do as well. Besides, your time was up an hour ago.¡±


    Tristan blinked. ¡°An hour! Wow, I guess time got away from me a little.¡±


    ¡°It happens. You¡¯ll get faster as you level. Just get inside, clean off, and put on something respectable. I¡¯ll take care of the forge.¡±


    ¡°Right. Thanks, Dad. Just, leave it on my bench?¡±


    The older smith grunted and jerked his head back toward the door.


    Tristan took the hint, though he couldn¡¯t help cycling back to his lost time. How did I spend an entire extra hour? It hardly seems real. He was surprised the old man hadn¡¯t come to get him sooner. Though, maybe he had.


    Twenty minutes later, Tristan walked into the front room wearing the deep green shirt he¡¯d chosen mostly because it was on top of his ¡®clean¡¯ pile.


    Both his parents were waiting for him.


    ¡°I like that color on you,¡± his mother said. ¡°And now that you''ve Awakened, maybe wear more of it. I''m sure you could attract--¡±


    Tristan let out an exasperated sigh. ¡°Mom, it hasn''t even been a day!¡±


    ¡°No time like the present!¡± she replied. She might have continued to pressure him, but Marrik swooped in and asked if they shouldn¡¯t be heading out already.


    Tristan mouthed a quick, Thank you, to which his father winked back. The older smith took his wife''s hand and then led the way into the brisk evening air.


    It only took Tristan three turns to realize where they were going, and his stomach leapt in anticipation. His father never went to the Roadside Inn, mostly because, as the old man was fond of saying, "It¡¯s too dignified for honest folks.¡±


    Located off Woodsedge¡¯s main road, just inside town, the Roadside Inn was the only restaurant for miles able to boast a Tier 3 Chef year round. They also kept everything obsessively tidy, which was what Tristan guessed upset his father the most. He wanted something a little more worn, with more character, like the scars on well-tested armor.


    The Roadside Inn owners clearly felt the opposite, and who was to say they were wrong? Their business had gained a stellar reputation, with costs to match.


    That this was where Marrik was leading told Tristan just how seriously he took this celebration.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Marrik</h2>


    Marrik watched his son--his newly-Awakened-blacksmith son!--with immense pride. Not that he let it show much. He allowed his smile to rise a hair. More would risk his reputation. But, he admitted, the boy had worked hard these past months. His drive and determination had been clear. The hammer he¡¯d made was proof of his growing skills.


    Clearly the boy¡¯s Path had finally agreed.


    He even got a great Core, Marrik thought. Though that Soulbound thing could be troublesome. It all depends on how he grows. He could end up one of the greatest Professionals in the realm!


    He couldn¡¯t wait to work alongside the boy, to see his skills and levels grow. For now, all he could do was beam (internally) and praise his son. While tempering the boy¡¯s talent with constructive criticism, of course.


    No one could really know how the boy would progress, or how his Core would change. It¡¯s possible he would be offered skills to support his ¡°Soulbound thing¡± in later classes, but that didn¡¯t always happen. It¡¯s also possible Tristan would be offered an Inheritor class for being Marrik¡¯s son, but he doubted the boy would accept it even if offered. He knew that everyone walked a different Path and that Core growth varied person by person.


    Marrik would rather work metal and tell it what it would be. He could mold it, shape it, refine it... and then fix things afterward, if such efforts were needed. They often were.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    But with Tristan?


    He could never deny Tristan anything. Except a broader smile. The proud smith had to draw the line somewhere! Appearances mattered.


    Marrik reclined in his chair and grumbled. Now here he was sitting in an overly-padded, narrow chair. The kind that was clearly designed for smaller, softer people. The kind who hired people to do his type of work. His skin always seemed to itch around table cloths and too many forks. His life was fine without the frills and decorations. This entire place felt like it was looking down its nose at him. At the entire town.


    Marrik preferred to just stay home, or, if he had to go out, to find a tavern where they weren¡¯t afraid of a little dirt and grime, where people came to relax after they actually worked a full day.


    But this was a BIG day. He knew what it meant to his son, so it meant a lot to Marrik too. No one could deny now that his son had truly achieved something. And not through mindless hacking and slashing of monsters, but with his own power. Shaping metal, the way it should be!


    He sipped his water to hide his growing smile as his son speared the final bite of what had been a massive steak.


    He hoped coming to the Roadside Inn made his feelings clear. Christa hadn¡¯t even blinked an eye when he¡¯d started walking here. If anything, her smile had crept that little bit wider, pinched just behind her rosy cheeks. She¡¯d known. Of course she¡¯d known. She knew him better even than he knew himself, he felt. Except...


    He ignored the forever-blinking prompt in the corner of his vision and smiled. Family is always worth it, he thought.


    The serving girl returned with the final course: three decadent slices of chocolate cake. But no sooner was Marrik¡¯s placed before him than someone else snuck up behind him and lightly tapped his shoulder.


    ¡°I beg your pardon, Master Hammerson,¡± the man whispered in a tone Marrik was sure only he could hear. ¡°I hate to interrupt, but there¡¯s a certain friend of yours, in the back, that requests your presence immediately. Sir.¡±


    The man had barely caught Marrik¡¯s attention, which spoke to great skill in [Stealth].


    Marrik looked at his son, diving into his second bite already. He loved seeing that boy smile. He saw Christa was watching too, though her smile was even more radiant. She¡¯d always found her greatest joy in serving others, especially their family. She¡¯d never failed to brighten Marrik¡¯s days.


    Clearly neither had noticed this man¡¯s approach.


    ¡°We¡¯re in the middle of something,¡± Marrik said as quietly as his deep voice could allow.


    ¡°Indeed, sir, and again, I do apologize, but...¡± he quieted a bit, especially as Marrik flattened his hands on the table, visibly angered. ¡°You will want to speak with him, sir.¡±


    The man did not look away but instead met Marrik¡¯s eyes. There was a quiet power within. Marrik used [Identify] on the man and was impressed by what he saw.


    [?, human, level 55]


    The man bowed politely, clearly waiting.


    Marrik raised his voice to normal levels. ¡°Excuse me, Christa, Tristan, but I must deal with something.¡± He glared at the messenger and ended with a growling, ¡°and quickly, I hope.¡±


    The messenger bowed again, as if his agreement was obvious. Then he pulled Marik¡¯s chair back smoothly. As soon as the blacksmith stood, the man began leading him in the direction of the building¡¯s rear. Marrik frowned at all the ¡°courtesy¡± he¡¯d been shown. No one should bow that many times in a day. Quickly adding, unless it¡¯s to the gods.


    Marrik flexed his hands, trying not to be too annoyed as the messenger held the door--to the kitchen--open for him. How many eyes had followed his march? They better not bother Christa for details.


    Whoever had interrupted his meal had better have an incredible reason for it.


    He rounded the corner, passing by a server hoisting a tray of steaming soup bowls, and immediately understood.


    Hesden blessed Brightshield.


    The legendary paladin himself stood in the rear corner of a small town inn¡¯s kitchen. Wearing only a common tunic and some leather breeches, none of his normal glimmering white mithril armor was there to steal any of the room¡¯s light. Assumedly his weapons and shield were in storage as well.


    Even without the man¡¯s normal regalia, Marrik knew his friend immediately.


    A full head taller, Hesden always kept his starkly white hair closely cropped, allowing it to outline his face and impossibly-square jaw with unflagging precision. The whiteness was not because of age, Marrik knew. The paladin couldn¡¯t be over 300. But the power and duty that coursed through the man had left their mark upon him. His Path was a difficult one to walk.


    Marrik used [Identify] anyway, just to be sure. He¡¯d never met a mimic good enough to copy a person this well, but the world was growing stranger all the time with the Frontier always expanding.


    [Hesden Brightshield, Human, level 103]


    {{Beacon of Hope}}


    Marrik¡¯s shoulders relaxed slightly. ¡°Trying to blend in?¡± he said with a subtle grunt. What he meant was clear: Why are you here?


    The paladin was slouching against the counter, though he tried to straighten up upon hearing Marrik¡¯s voice. His hands wrapped around the edge, knuckles white with strain.


    Then Marrik noticed why. His shirt stuck to his left side before he plucked it free. Even still, it was discolored slightly. Possibly bleeding, Marrik worried, though it seems too dark. It looked bad enough that any healers in the next room should have felt it. But no one had so much as noticed.


    Marrik caught his friend¡¯s eyes, questioning silently.


    Brightshield did not respond, instead dismissing the messenger by tossing him a heavy-sounding coin pouch. ¡°I must now beg your leave, young sir, but hope these few tokens show my thanks.¡±


    The messenger¡¯s smile was immediate, especially upon hefting the pouch. At least he had enough sense not to count the coins before leaving.


    ¡°Master Hammerson--"


    ¡°Just call me Marrik, Hesden. We¡¯re well past formalities.¡±


    The paladin winced, nodding, and a hand went to his side briefly. ¡°As you say, Marrik. First of all, I beg forgiveness for the abruptness of my summons, and I implore--"


    ¡°You didn¡¯t call on me for pleasantries,¡± Marrik interrupted again, crossing his arms. ¡°What¡¯s happened? Be plain.¡±


    ¡°I, or rather, my party...¡± The paladin leaned his head back slightly and closed his eyes as pain danced across his features. Marrick caught sight of black veins stretching up his neck from his chest.


    ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± Brightshield continued, coughing. ¡°They¡¯re all... I¡¯m all that remains.¡±


    Marrik dropped his arms to his sides. ¡°How is that possible?¡±


    ¡°I know not, only that ¡®tis so.¡±


    Marrik pointed at the man¡¯s clearly-wounded side. ¡°How bad is it?¡±


    The paladin grimaced, removing his hand and lifting his shirt to show the necrotized flesh beneath. ¡°Never have I been so cursed. It fucking hurts all the way into my blessed soul.¡±


    Marrik blinked at the uncharacteristic language. ¡°Took a curse to finally loosen your tongue, eh?¡± He gave a half-hearted chuckle before turning away, looking back toward the doorway, beyond which his wife and son were hopefully still enjoying their stupidly-expensive dinner. ¡°If you can¡¯t handle it, how can my little town? What sort of trouble are you bringing to my doorstep?¡±


    ¡°Such is not my intent,¡± the man began, trying to smile reassuringly, ¡°though I fear I may fail in that endeavor. ¡®Tis why I must be off, and post haste.¡± He leaned forward, voice growing softer. ¡°Have you mended it yet?¡±


    ¡°Not entirely,¡± Marrik admitted. ¡°It¡¯s a magnificent piece of smithing, as I told you before, and the magic coursing through it is powerful, too. I must be careful not to diminish it in any way, certainly not with the rarity of white mithril, but I do believe I could--¡± Marrik caught himself before running on too far into the process he could see his friend cared nothing about. ¡°The thing still needs days, Hesden.¡±


    The paladin sighed. ¡°I haven¡¯t days to give, Marrik. I have hours, if my guess be true. Without Celeste, I thought to ride to Midkeep, as Cleo is all the way in Rockmoor..." he coughed again, interrupting his explanation. ¡°Marrik, I cannot see the future, but I have prayed on mine, and every sign has brought me here.¡±


    Marrik frowned. ¡°It¡¯s my son¡¯s Awakening day.¡±


    ¡°Then I beg for both your forgiveness and my life. I need it mended, or I will assuredly fall. I saw not what took the others, but without my full regalia, I fear I will fare no better.¡± His elbow tucked into his side protectively, as he produced another coin pouch from seemingly nowhere. ¡°Might additional motivation shorten your estimate...?¡±


    Marrik tried not to be insulted by the question. ¡°Hesden, we¡¯re friends, and we¡¯ve already agreed on payment. I won¡¯t take more.¡± Then he sighed. ¡°Even if I must work through the night to help you. And I will, Hesden. For you, I will.¡±


    With tears welling up in the man¡¯s eyes, the coin purse vanished. Then Hesden Brightshield clasped Marrik¡¯s hand with a strength and need that was almost concerning. Marrik feared he would be pulled into an embrace by the paladin¡¯s strength. ¡°Thank you, truly, my friend. You may have just saved my..."


    He trailed off, likely for the same reason Marrik turned his head toward the kitchen door.


    They both felt the approach of the raw energy radiating from his newly-Awakened son.


    ¡°He feels strong,¡± Brightshield whispered to his friend with a smile.


    Then the door opened just a crack, not even making much noise, though clearly neither man relied on that to know the boy had slipped into the shadows just within.


    ¡°I hope so,¡± Marrik replied. He shook his head. ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I¡¯ve got work to do. Some arrogant paladin just put a rush on my queue.¡±


    Hesden pulled him into a long, stoic embrace. ¡°May I call upon you tomorrow then?¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t be done sooner,¡± Marrik said, looking down at his hands. Could I get it done tonight? He genuinely wondered. The blinking icon in the corner of his eye tempted him, but he ruled it out just as quickly. He had been pushing his limits for years. Why stop now?


    Hesden nodded before dipping into a full bow. Then he walked toward the door, where he paused next to where Tristan hid.


    ¡°Congratulations, young Hammerson, and you¡¯ve no need to hide from me. May your future be blessed and your Path as prolific as your father¡¯s.¡±


    Marrik smiled to himself as his friend walked out.

 Chapter 4: Soulbound

    Chapter 4: Soulbound


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Of course he knew I was there, Tristan scolded himself. The Brightshield is an even higher level than Dad.


    He watched as the legendary paladin, Hesden Brightshield, exited the inn. The crazy part was that no one else seemed to realize that he¡¯d even been there. The few that had noticed didn¡¯t seem to recognize him. That felt insane: the man was as big as a house!


    It must be some skill or an item, Tristan considered.


    Brightshield had been adventuring for far longer than Tristan had been alive, though he¡¯d only been called the {Beacon of Hope} for the last fifty years. Through it all, he¡¯d been a pillar of the Light. People sang stories of his exploits and wrote books about every member of his party, like the Untouchable Swordsman Orson, and Celeste the God-healer. There were even stories of people he¡¯d merely saved throughout his journey.


    Tristan himself had a poster of the man hanging over his bed so that every day when he woke up he could see what could be possible for those dedicated enough. He knew he¡¯d never be as righteous as the Brightshield, but Tristan would be no less dedicated to his own Path.


    Most impressive to Tristan was that his father had always counted the man an equal, a rare man worthy of his respect. There were only a handful of people in the world who passed that test.


    Meanwhile, Tristan could hear his father struggling to explain to his wife why he was going to cut dinner short and head back to the forge immediately.


    It was going exactly as well as Tristan expected.


    Like his mother, he didn¡¯t fully understand why his father had to leave. Though it clearly had to do with the Brightshield¡¯s visit. Maybe it was to add something to the brilliant armor in his shop. Maybe Tristan would even be able to help now that he was Awakened!


    ¡°But we¡¯re here to celebrate Tristan¡¯s Awakening!¡± his mother argued. ¡°Tonight is meant to be for him! Why can¡¯t it wait? What¡¯s really going on?¡±


    Tristan heard her, but he also knew his father. If the man said he had to go, Tristan knew it was for a good reason. Which, honestly, only piqued Tristan¡¯s curiosity more.


    Neither of Tristan¡¯s parents seemed to notice their son sneaking toward the door. They should have, as he clearly hadn¡¯t gotten the [Stealth] skill from his Awakening. But they were distracted, so there was nothing stopping him from following his hero out the door.


    It had gotten eerily dark outside. Yes, the sun had set hours ago, but something about the darkness bothered Tristan, before it came to him. Aren¡¯t there normally more torches lit?


    Even in the dim light he could still clearly see the paladin approaching his steed, Pristine. Even without her battle armor, she was unmistakable: a monstrous seventeen hands tall and pure white from crown to tail, with golden sparkles that chased every toss of her mane or stamp of her hoof. It was widely known that Pristine was an astral capable of using potent holy and light magic.


    Brightshield gripped his side hesitantly before attempting to climb into the saddle. A questioning nicker came from Pristine, which was answered by the paladin patting the astral¡¯s flank with his other hand. Which quieted the horse for now.


    He¡¯s hurt, Tristan realized as the man¡¯s hand came away dark, his shirt damp. Perhaps bloody. Anyone that could hurt the Brightshield must be some sort of monster. That must be the reason he needs my father¡¯s help. It was the only explanation that made any sense to Tristan.


    A cool breeze from the street brushed along Tristan¡¯s arm, teasing its way up to the nape of his neck. The darkness had become deeper than before. Almost tangible. Tristan couldn¡¯t explain why, except that goosebumps remained on his arms long after the breeze faded into silence. There was also a hint of an odor, slightly acrid, floating in the air. The wrongness of it bothered him more than uneven sheets of metal in a stack.


    Strangely, it was like all the sound drained from the area as the Brightshield trotted away atop Pristine. In just moments, Tristan couldn¡¯t hear the massive horse¡¯s footfalls at all.


    The absolute silence put the boy on edge.


    That was when Tristan decided to follow his injured hero out into the darkness, alone, on the night of his Awakening.


    - - - - -


    It shouldn¡¯t have surprised Tristan that the Brightshield took the road out of town and into the surrounding woods. He clearly couldn¡¯t stay at the Roadside Inn for the commotion it would cause, but Tristan hadn¡¯t expected him to go into the forest. As he followed the mounted paladin, the songs of crickets were deafeningly absent. No owls inquired who he was. Not even the leaves in the surrounding trees rustled, despite the persistent wind blowing through them. His goosebumps hadn¡¯t relented since he¡¯d left the doorway of the inn. Something profoundly magical was afoot.


    The Brightshield must not be able to sense it, Tristan realized. Some part of his instincts were warning him--in his father¡¯s voice-- to ¡®Turn around, go back home, and mind your own business.¡¯


    He shook his head. Except Dad wouldn¡¯t do that either, if he were here. He¡¯d find a way to help.


    Tristan couldn¡¯t just leave his hero out there alone. That felt wrong, too.


    He¡¯s being hunted, possibly led into an ambush. Tristan pinched himself. And what makes me think I¡¯d realize it before him?


    Tristan kept debating, allowing his legs to lead him deeper and deeper into the dark woods. There were still no sounds, which made Tristan all the more careful. Just because he couldn¡¯t hear didn¡¯t necessarily mean that whatever was causing this silence couldn¡¯t. So he tiptoed around fallen leaves and dodged dried twigs, all while darting behind towering tree trunks.


    The magnificent horse kept a slow, but steady pace. It was just leisurely enough that Tristan could keep pace even with his attempts to hide, while never losing sight of its golden sparkles in the darkness.


    Five minutes outside of Woodsedge, Tristan became surprised when the man literally began to glow. A pure and serene white emanated from him, dimly extending a few feet into the darkness.


    They stopped.


    Immediately Tristan crouched and held his breath, pressing against the nearest tree. His heart was beating too fast. Its usual, steady rhythm was abandoned. He watched his hero look calmly left and right and then left again. The man stared into the forest, almost as if awaiting a challenger in a friendly spar. After a few uneventful moments, he spurred Pristine, and they began trotting deeper into the forest, seemingly unfazed.


    Tristan waited for thirty seconds, afraid to move while the light surrounding the Brightshield drifted farther into the forest. I can¡¯t just stay here, he scolded himself.


    When he could hardly see the light any longer, the sounds all returned. One moment, Tristan had hardly been able to breathe. The next, his skin practically burned with the malicious intent filling the suddenly symphonic forest. It was like emerging from underwater, only to be dunked into acid.


    Gods, that¡¯s an aura!


    Without further thought, Tristan ran toward his hero.


    He no longer tried to hide or be quiet. He rushed straight toward the dim light, immediately grateful for the relief of the paladin¡¯s soothing aura, somehow present even at this distance. As Tristan grew nearer, he even began to shout, ¡°Brightshield!¡± over and over.


    He bolted into a clearing, where he realized his hero had already stopped.


    The man had drawn his sword and shield, though Tristan was certain they¡¯d been nowhere on the man or his horse before now. He knew all high-level adventurers had some access to magical storage, but Tristan had seen precious little of it in his corner of the world. It was another show of power and prestige, and another reason why the boy sprinted as though his life literally depended on it.


    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    Until the Brightshield spun and leveled his sword directly at Tristan.


    Just as quickly, the man¡¯s eyes narrowed, and his sword bobbed, rising slightly. ¡°Young Hammerson?¡± the paladin clearly mouthed, but the sounds failed to reach Tristan through the dark air. The aura of silence pressed in around him again.


    Tristan was panting, but he threw his empty hands up. ¡°It¡¯s an ambush!¡± he tried to say, slowly drawing nearer and pointing to his ears. ¡°There¡¯s an aura--!¡±


    Perhaps his words reached the Brightshield, or perhaps the man finally recognized the oddness. The paladin dismounted in a flash and was at Tristan¡¯s side.


    As soon as Tristan was within the man¡¯s light, his fears and chill melted away, replaced by the deepest sense of warmth and bravery.


    ¡°You mustn¡¯t be here,¡± the Brightshield said.


    And Tristan heard him. It was such a relief, his shoulders lowered slightly. ¡°I had to warn you!¡±


    ¡°And you have,¡± the paladin said, stabbing his sword into the ground so he could place a comforting hand on Tristan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Now you must flee. They aren¡¯t here for you, lad, though if you tarry, they may see fit to eliminate you as a witness.¡±


    Tristan felt the truth in his hero¡¯s words, and for the first time since reaching the light, fear entered his mind. The words of the Brightshield hammered out the flaw in his resolve. But before he moved, his eyes went to the darkened wound beneath the glowing shield. ¡°Will you...?¡± Despite the newfound bravery, he lacked the courage to finish the question.


    ¡°We¡¯ll soon find out,¡± the Brightshield whispered. Then the man thrust his hand into Tristan¡¯s chest, shoving him away--as a blast of solid darkness flew right through the space where he¡¯d been only a moment before.


    But, as Tristan flew back nearly ten feet, he saw that because the Brightshield had shoved him, the paladin himself took the blow fully on his unarmored chest.


    The attack had been cleverly aimed, and deviously precise.


    Tristan skidded across the underbrush, silence belying all pains as twigs and rocks shredded his sleeves and arms. He came to rest at the edge of the clearing, barely able to move. He didn¡¯t understand what had happened. Surprise mingled starkly with his pain. His concern rose as he watched his childhood hero also struggling. The man pulled his sword from the earth slowly, as if it weighed a ton. Then, in a blinding flash, it was ablaze, bathing the entire clearing in white hot intensity. Tristan found himself gasping for breath as something slid down his chest into his lap.


    It was as heavy as a horseshoe, but not made of metal. It glowed like a weak whisper of whatever the Brightshield was currently doing. Tristan got the impression this faintly-golden symbol of light was strong magic, despite not doing seemingly anything for him.


    A notification began blinking in the corner of his vision, but there wasn¡¯t time to check it.


    The symbol started glowing brighter, and warmer.


    Even still, the darkness was closing in all around Tristan, seeping into him, pushing him toward exhaustion.


    The Brightshield¡¯s mouth was moving like he was trying to shout something.


    Tristan yawned. The darkness was creeping up his legs and into his fingers.


    He saw the paladin¡¯s shield come up to deflect another bolt of darkness, only to have it explode on contact.


    Words slammed into his head, simultaneously a booming shout and a kind whisper. It didn¡¯t make sense, but he still heard the words:


    Use the talisman.


    It almost sounded like the Brightshield¡¯s voice.


    Tristan tried, but all he saw was a red notification:


    Unable to use items that are not Soulbound.


    The last thing Tristan saw was a pitch black dome, rapidly expanding toward him. Then all feeling evaporated.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Shadow</h2>


    As the final light faded, and the shield returned to the negligent god that had deigned to bestow it, the man called Shadow smiled.


    A message blinked in the lower corner of his vision.


    [Quest complete: A Legend¡¯s End]


    You have gained the title: {Legendslayer}.


    As soon as he opened the notification, experience flooded into him, enough to push him up three levels when combined with the kills. Triple what he would have gotten even from a Path Quest. The massive experience gain felt good. He hadn¡¯t had a rush like that in... in far too long.


    And a brilliant title to boot? He exhaled slowly, resolving himself to check that later. Control yourself. Assess the situation.


    The astral horse had fallen earlier, so that was no concern, though he made a mental note to tease Redblade about his broken ribs. Getting behind a horse in bloody combat, let alone an astral one! It was probably smarter than him. Amateur.


    He pivoted, taking in the battlefield, and was truly amazed that it had been so contained. Most of the clearing was barren and broken, obviously, but it hadn¡¯t spread beyond that. Weeks of setup and research, and the fight lasted less than an hour. Sometimes the prep work goes a little too well.


    At least he¡¯d gained a new skill that would help him against bruisers in the future, and building up [Insight] as he analyzed his enemies did sound particularly appropriate to his Path.


    His focus shifted to the broken tree at the forest¡¯s edge. He walked toward it, considering with every step the idiot boy whose broken body lay crumpled just beyond.


    ¡°What do we do about him?¡± Curse asked, appearing at his side.


    Shadow studied the scene and considered his answer. He tried to recall the exact terms of their employment, but chose to tap into his [Eidetic Memory], pulling up the document and reading it again very, very carefully.


    The boy hadn¡¯t truly been involved, and he definitely hadn¡¯t seen anything. Honestly, he¡¯d made the fight easier for them, serving as a distraction twice at critical early moments. Still...


    Shadow used [Identify] on him, because a second of gathering information now could be hours saved later. No one knew when a little more could be important. He didn¡¯t like surprises that could be avoided.


    [?, Human, level 1, Blacksmith]


    Only level 1. It¡¯s a miracle he survived at all. He doesn¡¯t need to die if he won¡¯t be a problem.


    He straightened and adjusted the hood, making sure it fully covered his face, though he knew his projected shadow always did.


    ¡°We leave him,¡± he finally said. ¡°If he survives, good for him. But I¡¯m certain he saw nothing. We''ve fulfilled the contract.¡±


    ¡°We could just help him along,¡± said Venom, an apt name by any measure. He was twisting an arrow between his fingers, trying to keep the poison from dripping off the tip. His lascivious sneer was enhanced by the scars that permanently twisted his lips.


    Shadow knew just how much Venom would enjoy killing the boy. He planned to look into whether the man earned more experience the weaker his opponent.


    ¡°No,¡± Shadow said. ¡°The terms are clear: Kill the Brightshield, leaving no witnesses; minimize collateral damage. The kid is innocent.¡± He glanced toward Timetwister as she reappeared. ¡°Assuming he¡¯s still out?¡±


    The mist-clad woman walked up and gave the slightest kick toward the boy, barely touching his leg with her foot. A moment later she nodded. ¡°For at least two more hours, presuming he makes it.¡± She removed her foot. ¡°Looks like he will, but it¡¯s too far out. Either way he¡¯s going to have a nasty scar.¡±


    Shadow walked back toward the center of the whole mess. Redblade was there, arms and chest covered in blood. More than usual. He was kneeling by a chest between the two fallen Legends, clearly sifting through the drops and ignoring the growing pool of blood.


    ¡°Loot?¡± Shadow asked.


    ¡°Just holy shit,¡± the scarred, shirtless fighter said. ¡°A spell scroll, vials of blessed water, several bags of coins, an empty potion vial, and a helmet from his storage. But, that¡¯s it? Who doesn¡¯t carry spare weapons or anything else?¡±


    A pro, Shadow thought, taking all the coin bags and spell scroll into his own storage. ¡°We¡¯ll divide this at the rendezvous. Want the helmet?¡±


    The bleeding man nodded eagerly. ¡°No one else--?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the only one who wears plate, so it¡¯s probably meant for you anyway. Just be careful. Even if it¡¯s a system-made copy, it still looks like the original.¡±


    Looking around, Shadow gauged the others¡¯ responses. ¡°We should move out.¡±


    ¡°The bodies?¡± Redblade asked.


    ¡°They won¡¯t be recognizable for long,¡± Timetwister said, aging the corpses with a touch of her time magic. ¡°What was the scroll?¡±


    Shadow used [Identify] on the spell scroll in his storage. ¡°It¡¯s holy-aligned, but epic. Unload it and split the proceeds?¡±


    Timetwister shrugged. ¡°Works for me.¡±


    Venom began stroking the horse with his free hand, his eyes tracing its curves. ¡°I¡¯m going to test some new--"


    ¡°Leave them,¡± Shadow said curtly. ¡°If one of the gods actually cares enough to stop them from rotting, fine. But we will not actively mutilate Legends.¡±


    He looked around the circle of his party, not putting his daggers away. He made direct eye contact with each of them, lingering on Venom. ¡°We¡¯re done here. Split up, but do not touch that boy.¡± He narrowed his eyes at Venom, seeing the man''s hand reaching for his bow. ¡°And do not go back to that little shithole town. Rendezvous in five days.¡±


    He waited for everyone to nod in agreement. Venom stabbed his arrow into the massive flank of the once-white horse instead and spat something deeply green at the head, both of which quickly began to dissolve. Only then did he acknowledge the order.


    ¡°You know that could lead them back to you,¡± Shadow admonished.


    Venom licked his arrow suggestively. ¡°And I¡¯ll be waiting.¡±


    Shadow noticed in his party interface that Venom was the only one who hadn¡¯t equipped the new title yet, choosing to still wear {Defiler} instead. He gritted his teeth. I¡¯ll have to tail him to be certain he follows protocol. That meant days of wasted time. If only he wasn¡¯t so damn effective, he thought. It was the only reason Shadow had agreed to bring him along. If the contract had been any less airtight, Shadow would have easily killed the monster.


    But he¡¯d risk nothing for five more days. The contract would be over soon enough.


    Without another word, what would now be known as the Legendslayers went their separate ways, obscured by the [Enhanced Darkness] Shadow had created.

 Chapter 5: Lucky to be Alive

    Chapter 5: Lucky to Be Alive


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Aaric</h2>


    Aaric put down his textbook and picked up the newest wand his father had bought for him. He examined it, noting where its form differed from the illustrations in the text. Minor discrepancies shouldn¡¯t change a wand¡¯s use too much, right? He hoped not. Then he¡¯d either need another book or a different wand. And that would likely take days, no matter who he paid.


    He¡¯d been advised countless times that he had to get accustomed to his new interface, his new skills, and his new Class¡¯s expectations. Apparently what most people considered ¡°leveling quickly¡± after Awakening he found simply too slow. He¡¯d been told that his progress was actually fast compared to most people.


    But Aaric Longbloom was not most people.


    Firstly, he had a powerful Core that synergized incredibly well with his Path. Secondly, he had access to (and knew how to spend) his father¡¯s money. Finally--and perhaps most importantly--by all measurable standards he was ridiculously brilliant.


    With every passing day, his brains and his father¡¯s coin made problem after problem disappear, yet he was still only level 3 despite Awakening a week ago! He knew of people reaching level 4 in that time. In his mind, that put him a level behind, not ahead.


    Maybe I shouldn¡¯t have turned down that tutor, Aaric considered. But the very thought of taking lessons from someone dressed like that was intolerable. If he was such a great mage, he should look the part.


    ...Maybe I can lure him back with the promise of a new wardrobe.


    It had never even occurred to Aaric that the man might have put his wealth into other, less-visible expenses. Appearances mattered.


    He picked up the wand and followed the indicated motions. He practiced it until it looked exactly as the book had shown. Then he got to work on the incantations, which were always harder. He tried reading the words as he thought they should be said, based on their spellings, but then he remembered that the book was written decades ago, and he adapted to how the phonemes had changed in that time.


    Of course, he eventually got it. He was just annoyed that it had taken so long. If he could''ve seen it performed once, instead of just reading about it, he would¡¯ve been done days ago. Once he¡¯d seen something done properly, he could always replicate it. That was what his Core was all about.


    Yet even when all of it was put together, his flawless somatic control, his perfect pronunciation, and his amazing Core... it still didn¡¯t work the way he wanted.


    He could cast [Frost Nova] using the wand¡¯s charges, sure, but that wasn¡¯t the same as learning it. He went back to the book, trying to see if there were any flaws in his technique. As he read the paragraphs again and again, he couldn¡¯t find a single one. Despite this he kept practicing, his frustrations only growing with the wand¡¯s depleting charges.


    He soon emptied the wand without a breakthrough.


    Well, shit, he thought, surprising himself with his own crassness. His lack of progress was aggravating. He didn¡¯t want to learn [Nova] first and then upgrade it to [Frost Nova]. With his Core, he should be able to skip the first step entirely. But apparently the only way he had to see [Frost Nova] was with wands, and that clearly wasn¡¯t working for him. I already attuned to frost. What more must I do? And why doesn¡¯t anyone around here know such an important skill?


    He could not afford to fall behind. What if someone else should Awaken and surpass him? Neither the new healer boy nor the hunter girl stood a chance. They didn¡¯t have Aaric¡¯s drive. But he¡¯d heard from the Scout that the Hammerson boy was getting close to Awakening.


    Aaric refused to lose the advantage he¡¯d already built up.


    ¡°Father! I need another wand!¡± he yelled before checking the clock on his desk. Another day with nothing new to show. He needed to learn and then master [Frost Nova] quickly. Integrating a new skill on his own at level 3 would firmly cement him as a prodigy, and everyone knew [Frost Nova] was one of the best entry points to cryomancy. Even more than that, it would help him keep his distance from melee attackers. Yesterday, one of the level 4 boys had almost managed to strike him with a practice blade.


    Aaric shuddered at the thought. He had to get better to become a cryomancer. A melee fighter should never touch a cryomancer. In fact, no one should touch a cryomancer!


    Aaric tossed the now-useless wand into the waste bin by his desk and walked to his wardrobe. He had to consider which shoes would complete his attire for the sparring. Appearances mattered, but so did effects. He quickly settled on the white ones that slightly buffed his movement speed. It didn¡¯t exactly match his pale blue, mana-boosting robes, but it was close enough, and he was due at the practice grounds. He had to train and grind levels.


    More importantly, he needed to make sure his record remained flawless.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan gasped, waking with a start. Something had changed. The world all around him felt different, and not just because he¡¯d Awakened.


    It sent a shiver down his spine.


    He tried to open his eyes but found that he couldn''t. He was surrounded by pressure, like he¡¯d been rolled up in a blanket of magic. It was almost as dark as the explosion that had rushed toward him in the forest, but also very different. While that had been the crushing depths of an ocean, sinking his whole spirit, this was the soft tickle of spiderwebs.


    The last thing he remembered was the incoming rush of darkness. And then...? What happened to the Brightshield?


    Tristan tried to will his arms to rise, but they wouldn''t. He tried to force his eyes open, but they refused. Every inch of him ached. Even his bones shouted out from a misery that was like no pain he¡¯d ever known. His breathing grew ragged and worried. It felt like his body had been switched off somehow.


    A new notification was blinking in the corner of his vision, just like the one before. The one whose words were still burned into his memory.


    Item usage blocked. You may only use Soulbound items.


    It was his Core that had stopped whatever the Brightshield had done to help him. Though, if there was an upside, it was nice to know there had been a notification for him at least. It also proved that tier and level didn¡¯t matter to his Core: he couldn¡¯t use any item unless it was Soulbound.


    But that brought him back to the new notification.


    You have gained the Soulscarred Achievement!


    You have taken near-lethal damage, and you survived. You will forever bear the mark as a reminder to appreciate this day and all the days that follow, as you very well might not have lived to see them.


    You have gained the title: {Soulscarred}.


    Oh gods, he thought, pulling up his Status.


    Name: Tristan Hammerson


    Race: Human


    Level: 1


    Class: Blacksmith


    Statistics,


    Strength: 11 (+2/level)


    Agility: 6 (+1/level)


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Endurance: 10 (+2/level)


    Intelligence: 5 (+0.5/level)


    Wisdom: 7 (+0.5/level)


    Will: 8 (+1/level)


    Core: [Self-Forged] Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.


    Titles: {Awakened}, {Soulscarred}


    Skills: [Gather Ore], [Work Metal]


    And there it was under titles: {Soulscarred}, marking him forever. Where the scar was and what it looked like were both problems for him to worry about later. Just like testing Soulbound further. But that was impossible until he could move again.


    It was also mildly reassuring to see his Class there, again. Further proof I¡¯m not dead, he mused.


    The rest of his Status display looked the same. Which is to say, it looked basic, boring, and clunky. It didn¡¯t really feel like the time to tweak it now, but Tristan had always had a problem with postponing projects that he could easily fix. Since he currently couldn¡¯t move or open his eyes, he decided to embrace his curiosity.


    Maybe just streamline some of the clutter, or, I don¡¯t know, abbreviate the stats...


    The moment he thought it, the display of his Status changed before his eyes, embodying each idea in turn. ¡°Stats¡± replaced ¡°Statistics.¡± The repetitive level gains were also removed. He could always add them back if he wanted to. He then abbreviated each stat to only three letters: STR, AGI, END, INT, WIS. When he got to Will, he paused. If he followed his own pattern, it would be WIL. But did he want the similarity of WIS and WIL, especially side by side? He changed it to WLL instead, then back to WIL. Then WLL again. Back and forth.


    Does it even really matter? No one else will ever know.


    In the end, he decided that he could break whatever rules he wanted. He could even call it WILL. But that ruined the look of the whole display. So WLL it became.


    For a literal second he condensed all the stats into one long horizontal line, letting commas separate them--before immediately reverting to the vertical stat stack.


    Never again, he thought through the pain of revulsion.


    His next thought was to reprioritize the displayed order, specifically for his Core. He wondered if he could move it up, preferably to right below his Class. But try as he might, Tristan could not get his Core to budge. It felt like it was permanently anchored below his stats.


    Other than that, he was generally happy with his tweaked Status display, at least enough to satisfy his craftsman¡¯s pride. That brought him back to the larger problem.


    His body STILL was not moving.


    He tried to focus his mind with a technique his mom had called ¡°finding the pond with no ripples¡±. But that had never really worked for him. Maybe something more my style would, he thought.


    He¡¯d often found peace in working metals, so he began visualizing the next steps in crafting his sword. As he began the rhythmic chorus of hammer meeting metal, he felt calmer and more relaxed. He began working the smooth and lengthy blade in his mind, increasing its sharpness by making it thinner and thinner. It was in that direction he found some focus, which he realized he could redirect to the force binding him. His senses expanded a little, and he began to trace the magical shape enveloping him. What he found didn¡¯t seem malicious.


    So then why won¡¯t it let me move?


    The confining magic actually felt warm and nurturing, almost like his mother¡¯s hugs after exhausting days in the forge.


    Is it helping me heal? He¡¯d never really been trained in magic, and barely knew how to recognize what it was trying to do -- something he immediately resolved to hammer out someday.


    He went back to visualizing the magic surrounding him, tracing the effects¡¯ edges. He almost thought of them as vines or chains suppressing him. Holding him down.


    If only, Tristan thought. I know how to handle chains.


    He took a moment to consider. Well, why not try to deal with these the same way?


    With some effort, he changed his visualization slightly, taking the image of his new hammer and tapping it lightly against the ¡°chains¡± that bound him. Nothing forceful, just testing the material. Feeling it out. Listening to it. Until the sound dulled, and he found the weakest point.


    Surprisingly, it was slightly to the right of his heart. Or maybe that¡¯s my strongest point, he thought with a little pride.


    He began pounding in earnest now, using his will like a hammer synced to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Boom! BOOM! BOOM! It took only a few strikes before he broke through.


    Tristan¡¯s body was released at last. His eyes flew open as his arms finally broke free of their intangible bonds. A deep yell of triumph broke free from his lungs.


    Slivers of daylight filtered into the room through slats of a nearby window.


    A window? Somehow, He wasn''t in the forest, and there were no broken trees or branches underfoot. No scorched grass. Just the small, soft green blanket that he¡¯d thrown to the floor in his excitement.


    In the rising light, Tristan found himself lying on a bed in a small bedroom. Wood walls and rafters, one window, one door. It was sparsely furnished, with just a single bedside table and an armoire across the way. It felt so simple, so normal.


    This wasn¡¯t how he imagined the Brightshield would live. Looking around, reflecting on his situation, he wasn¡¯t sure where he was. The healing spell hadn¡¯t felt like the Brightshield¡¯s light magic, though it certainly had been powerful.


    At first, all he heard was his own wheezing as he struggled to find breath. His hands shook as he raised them to massage the deep pain in his ribs and right side of his shirtless chest. His heart pounded in his ears.


    But quickly those sounds were joined by the patter of feet rushing down the hallway just beyond the door, which swung open immediately.


    A slim woman cloaked in the browns and greens of the forest stepped into the room. The blacksmith in Tristan couldn¡¯t help but notice not an ounce of metal on her. Her attire seemed like simple cloth, yet every crease and shadow appeared deeper and darker. Above it all, her golden eyes were slitted just like a cat¡¯s.


    Tristan felt as though they saw straight into his very soul.


    He had never seen this woman before in his life, yet something about her felt familiar. It was her magic holding me down, he knew immediately. Then where¡¯s the Brightshield?


    The woman regarded him cautiously. Tristan felt like her actions were tight, almost rigid, maybe even nervous.


    ¡°You''re awake,¡± she said with none of the excitement Tristan felt. ¡°I wasn''t sure you''d ever see daylight again. You¡¯re lucky to be alive. You were hovering in the critical range for a while before I found you.¡±


    If Tristan believed anything, it was that he''d been lucky. ¡°Where¡¯s the Brightshield?¡± he asked.


    The catlike eyes regarded him warily while her face gave nothing away. ¡°There was no other life in the area. Not even wildlife. The whole clearing was ruined.¡±


    Tristan shook his head. Somehow, the world felt a little bit darker. His head sank into hands.


    ¡°Your shirt is on the table there; you should cover your scar. Best not to give unkind eyes reasons to pry. And, now that you''re awake, I will need to update your father. He will be glad to know you''ve recovered, and his hands will feel less full from keeping your mother away.¡±


    My scar? He looked down and noticed the blackened patch of skin in the dead center of his chest. Shaped like a starburst and almost as long as his hand, it was proof of his closeness to death. His hand went to it immediately. It felt cool to the touch, but deadened, as though he was touching someone else. He looked back at the woman, whose eyes seemed to catch everything, perhaps even his thoughts. His mouth felt dry as he thought to ask a different question: ¡°You need to update my father?¡±


    The woman¡¯s unblinking gaze was her only reply.


    ¡°...So he already knows...¡±


    The woman was staring into space blankly, which told Tristan she was using her interface. ¡°Of course,¡± she quickly said. ¡°One does not lie to Marrik Hammerson, even by omission.¡± She gave a mischievous smile, ¡°Though he can be made to wait, when his only child¡¯s health is threatened by his own stubbornness.¡±


    Tristan didn''t know what to think of that, except the truth that his father was stubborn. And, apparently, this woman had methods for dealing with him.


    ¡°Thanks..." Tristan began, not sure what else to say. ¡°So, you are a healer?¡±


    ¡°No, and yes,¡± the woman said with a slight uptick to the left side of her lips. ¡°Rarely for the living anyways.¡±


    Tristan gulped. ¡°Are you a necromancer?¡±


    ¡°No, boy, no. Nothing so plain any more.¡± A large, gap-toothed grin spread across her face. ¡°I¡¯m a domain preserver now.¡±


    Tristan had never heard of that Class, but it had to be at least third tier. He tried not to be too intimidated, turning his attention to the side table where he noticed his green shirt was in tatters.


    Mom loved this shirt, he despaired, picking it up.


    Something fell out of it with a thud. Tristan immediately recognized the object as whatever the Brightshield had hurled at him. The man¡¯s last words echoed in Tristan¡¯s memory: ¡°Use the talisman.¡±


    A talisman? Tristan felt the slight warmth of the strangely solid piece of magiccraft. But why is it still here?


    ¡°I figured that was yours,¡± the woman said, walking toward the door. ¡°It¡¯s rare to find a high-tier talisman around here. Your father will no doubt appreciate its return.¡±


    Tristan nodded, reluctant to engage with the accuracy of that as he tried to put his mess of a shirt on. Seeing the woman was about to leave, he asked. ¡°So who are you? Why haven''t I seen you around town?¡±


    The cat-eyed woman wetted her lips and cast her eyes toward a wall, staring briefly as though she could see through it. ¡°Ask your father.¡± Her voice lowered to a growl. ¡°Apparently, he¡¯s already here. Gods, did he somehow learn [Sprint] and use it the whole way?¡±


    She turned and walked out, where Tristan heard her say, ¡°There was no need to--" before Marrik Hammerson barreled past her and appeared in the doorway.


    ¡°You have no idea how lucky you are,¡± the massive man whispered, obviously crying as he pulled Tristan into the fiercest hug he could ever survive.


    Tristan checked his hit points. ¡°Ow, Dad! Are you trying to finish me off?¡±

 Chapter 6: An Eventful Few Days

    Chapter 6: An Eventful Few Days


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan tried to push away from the far-stronger man. ¡°Dad, let go. I¡¯m fine! I¡¯m--ow--fine!¡±


    ¡°Are you now?¡± the cat-eyed woman asked from the doorway. ¡°You¡¯re welcome, then.¡±


    Tristan grimaced, realizing he hadn¡¯t thanked her yet. He caught her eyes, making sure to hold them as best he could. She¡¯d already admitted to being a domain preserver, which was clearly high enough tier to be intimidating. He assumed she was weaker than his father, but there was still something in her eyes that frightened him. He nodded to her. ¡°Thank you, truly.¡±


    Marrik also turned to face their host. ¡°Azura, I know we¡¯ve had our issues, but..."


    Tristan, sat up suddenly on the bed, unable to believe he¡¯d heard that correctly. Azura? Had he really stumbled into the domain of Azura without knowing it? He really was lucky to be alive.


    ¡°He¡¯s your son,¡± she interrupted, ¡°what else could I do? I couldn¡¯t have him die in my domain.¡±


    There was a moment of silence as Marrik rose. He extended his large, calloused hand. ¡°And for that I, Marrik Hammerson, offer you an Oath bound to my Path.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s mouth suddenly went very dry as he watched his father¡¯s hand hanging unanswered in the air. The old woman¡¯s cat-like eyes narrowed slightly.


    An Oath could only be given freely, never under duress and never forced. It also had to be accepted freely. Whatever terms both parties agreed to would be unbreakable. Truly and totally unbreakable.


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to--" she began.


    ¡°I do,¡± the armorsmith interrupted. ¡°By my name and Path, I give my word to assist you once when asked, or to come to your aid once when called.¡±


    The cat-eyed woman stared at the offered hand. ¡°What nature of favor?¡±


    ¡°Anything that wouldn¡¯t harm me, my son, or my wife.¡±


    She hesitated. ¡°That¡¯s... nearly unlimited. That¡¯s--"


    ¡°Powerful. Aye.¡±


    She considered. ¡°I¡¯ll never need it.¡±


    ¡°Then don¡¯t invoke it,¡± Marrik said.


    ¡°Duration?¡±


    He kept his hand out. ¡°Until you invoke it.¡±


    The woman sighed, finally clasping his hand. ¡°I accept.¡±


    A rush of wind swept through the room like a gale, centered on their grip.


    ¡°It is sealed,¡± Marrik said, turning toward his son. ¡°Can you walk?¡±


    Alarmed by what he¡¯d witnessed, Tristan took a moment before he swung his legs off the side of the bed. ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    His father hitched his thumb over his shoulder while maintaining eye contact with the woman. ¡°Then go wait for me outside. I¡¯ll only be a minute.¡±


    Tristan knew better than to argue. He¡¯d already begun to feel the raw weight of guilt weighing down upon him. ¡°Yes sir,¡± he said before forcing his legs to carry him slowly down the hall.


    No sooner was he out of the room than the door slammed shut and an audible humming noise filled the air.


    Clearly whatever was being said within was not for Tristan to know.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Azura</h2>


    As Hammerson¡¯s [Dome of Silence] sealed them in, Azura tried to keep her outward calm. It had been many a year since anyone over tier 2 had dared enter her domain. Yet within the last day, there¡¯d been seven. Eight, if she counted the astral horse. And now a tier 4 with Strength enough to pop her head like a balloon was within striking distance.


    The strain of keeping her domain calm was giving her an intense headache. She had to convince it that this isolating dome was not aggression, and there was no need for any response. Hammerson was, at least temporarily, an ally. He¡¯d given her an Oath, of all things.


    It had been an eventful few days.


    She thought sitting might ease her pounding head, but with only the bed as an option, she would rather blood spurt from her nose. Marrik Hammerson had made very clear how he felt about indecency, especially toward his marriage. She knew better than to try and plant seeds in Hammerson¡¯s garden.


    She settled into a slouch against the armoire and tried to hide how thinly she tolerated his creating a dome in her domain.


    ¡°What is it you don¡¯t want the boy to hear?¡± she asked.


    Even with the dome, Hammerson¡¯s voice was a harsh whisper. ¡°Did you take their souls?¡± He had never been one to mince words. He no doubt had used [Identify] to see the jump in her levels.


    Azura contained the smile that wanted so desperately to spring to her lips. ¡°They died in my domain.¡± They were hers now, to do with as she pleased.


    The smith jutted his chin out a bit, biting back his initial response. ¡°Then they both are truly gone?¡±


    Azura nodded.


    ¡°Do you think...?¡±


    Azura waited, but he didn¡¯t finish the question aloud. ¡°Your son suspects at least, and would know if he wished to,¡± she supplied, peering through the magic dome and wooden walls like the glass of a greenhouse. She could see the boy was torn up about it even now. She saw the pain saturating his heart, the doubt running amok in his mind. The innocence and naivety of youth. She sighed and shook her head. ¡°He blames himself.¡±


    She watched Hammerson¡¯s face crumble briefly as he realized this was something he could not fix. Like a split stalk, the boy would now grow in a different way.


    He let out a deep sigh. But he didn¡¯t drop the dome.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    ¡°What more have we to discuss?¡± she asked, slightly concerned.


    Hammerson¡¯s face hardened with a new resolve. ¡°Do you know who did it?¡±


    She slowly blinked her large, catlike eyes at him, well aware at how disconcerting most people found them. She wondered why it mattered and dug toward his motives. ¡°You¡¯re not a fighter, and you never have been.¡±


    But then she saw his eyes dart toward her front porch.


    She leaned in. ¡°I think you worry about what he will be, once the sprout grows a tougher stalk.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like to keep him safe. That¡¯s all. If someone were to come to my shop looking for him--"


    ¡°If they¡¯d wanted your boy dead, his soul would already be in my garden. I saw what they did. I saw the battlefield--and the remains. The boy wasn¡¯t far removed. There were tracks around him. He is incredibly lucky to only bear a scar.¡±


    The words hung in the air a long while, and then the dome dropped.


    ¡°Thank you again,¡± Hammerson said as he walked out the door.


    In a rare moment of sympathy, Azura actually followed him. ¡°There were five of them, Hammerson. And they somehow hid until the fighting started.¡± Then she added the one admission that frightened her. ¡°They even managed to hide the Brightshield from me.¡±


    The smith didn¡¯t look back, instead putting his huge hand on his son¡¯s shoulder.


    She noticed the boy wasn¡¯t that much smaller than his father, but she wondered how long that would be true. He still had a lot of growing up to do if he was motivated to avenge his hero.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    ¡°But I couldn¡¯t help him,¡± Tristan continued to explain. ¡°I don¡¯t know why I thought I could.¡±


    They had been walking side by side through the forest, and it had been silent most of that way. Then his father had asked, ¡°What were you thinking? Why did you leave without telling anyone?¡± and Tristan¡¯s floodgates had opened.


    Now he¡¯d told his father everything. A strong hand reached out to squeeze the boy¡¯s shoulder gently. ¡°We wouldn¡¯t have left the Roadside Inn without you. You only Awakened three days ago, boy. You¡¯re level one, gods¡¯-sake. What did you expect?¡±


    ¡°I guess I expected him to win,¡± he finally admitted. ¡°He was the Blessed Brightshield, Dad! The Beacon of Hope, the Light of Truth--!¡±


    ¡°And a mortal, just like you. And like me,¡± his father finished. ¡°He was only level 103, Tristan. And I know that seems like a lot to you, but level¡¯s not the only thing that matters when it comes to reaching divinity.¡±


    As if anyone could ever be ¡®only¡¯ level 103. Then he registered something. ¡°Wait, how do you know what his level was?¡±


    His father cleared his throat, dropping the hand from Tristan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I, uh... rather, we... partied together. Once.¡±


    Tristan fully stopped in the middle of the road. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what did you just say? Why did you never tell me you were in a party with the Brightshield? The Legendary--?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± his father cut him off before another dozen titles were listed. ¡°A long time ago. Before you were born, obviously. And only once, as I said. I went through one dungeon with them, just to see what it was like. Honestly, he pretty much carried me. Even then, the man wasn¡¯t just a tank; he could deal damage as well as any fighter I¡¯ve seen. It wasn¡¯t fair how he could just light up that sword of his and..." He caught himself rambling, even if Tristan had been absorbing every word.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t really work out though,¡± the older man continued. ¡°My arms were strong, of course, but my kind of Path just isn¡¯t up for that kind of grinding. All the killing, over and over and over. It¡¯s not how I¡¯m meant to use my hammer. It took a day to wash the blood out of everything.¡± He shook his head. ¡°I had to forge a new hammer to forget.¡± An older, larger hammer Tristan had never seen before appeared in his father¡¯s hand from his magical storage. ¡°This is my scar. It reminds me of what I learned that day: that fighting is not my Path. What have you learned from your scar?¡±


    Tristan was frowning as his father finished. He was more impressed than ever with his old man, which had already been a lot before. But he was stuck on something that he couldn¡¯t quite reconcile.


    ¡°The Brightshield... he never stopped progressing, did he?¡± Tristan asked, feeling unsure of his starting point and worried he might cast a shadow on the memory of the Legend.


    His father laughed. ¡°Hesden blessed Brightshield? The man was divinely incapable of doing less than his best.¡±


    ¡°But even he wasn¡¯t strong enough,¡± Tristan said quietly. ¡°How could he have lost? That woman said it took only five people...¡± Tristan struggled even to say it, though he knew it had happened. ¡°Just... how? Their party must have been obscenely strong.¡±


    ¡°Or incredibly well prepared,¡± his father countered. ¡°It¡¯s true that I¡¯ve never met anyone as individually strong as the Brightshield, but this was definitely planned. The man was gravely injured before he even came to us, and any hunters worth their Path would have known his best skills and brought hard counters to them. You should never underestimate the power of proper preparation. As a smith, you know we always visualize, plan, measure, and remeasure everything before beginning the first heat. High tier combat requires no less effort.¡±


    That all made sense to Tristan, but he still knew that wasn¡¯t why he felt so awful. Was his father ignoring the biggest potential pitfall to spare him? He felt the still-warm talisman in his pocket. ¡°I think he was also distracted. Trying to protect me. If I hadn¡¯t been there...¡±


    His father exhaled softly but didn¡¯t encroach on Tristan¡¯s space. ¡°Honestly, you¡¯re probably right. The man was more selfless than a priest of the Sovereign. There¡¯s no doubt in my mind he was as worried about your safety as his own.¡± He sighed. ¡°Or possibly more. His Path was tricky, as are many. He likely would have had to abandon it to let you come to harm.¡±


    Tristan heard the ring of truth in that. It only slightly eased the guilt he felt. ¡°But if he had let me die, he would have survived.¡±


    The man moved in front of his son and lifted his chin with one finger. ¡°But that is not who he was, so stop blaming yourself. You are not responsible for his fall. You didn¡¯t gain experience from his death. He walked his Path his way, making his own choices the whole blessed time.


    ¡°He saved you, Tristan, and I will always be grateful to him for that. He ended his Path so that yours could truly begin. Do not mope about and ruin his last great gift! Live up to it, and recognize that his sacrifice is a part of your Path now. Take the challenge he¡¯s set before you. Make his sacrifice worth it.¡±


    Then the big, calloused hands wrapped around Tristan and pulled him tight.


    Tristan tried to hold back his tears as his breathing became jagged. He was totally overwhelmed. This was by far the most emotion his father had ever shown him, not tempered with any criticism at all. And it was all so supportive, which had always been his mother¡¯s role. To draw this out of his father... he was blown away. He knew that sounded stupid as he had never questioned his father¡¯s love, but it was one thing to feel it passively and another to see it like this.


    His hand traced the scar on his chest. I am lucky to be alive. I¡¯m still unforged, just a craft in progress, and this was my first heat. It won¡¯t be the last. But if I¡¯m going to forge myself into something better, I¡¯ve got to strike while the metal¡¯s hot.


    His father no doubt understood and was trying to help Tristan shape himself in his own way. ¡°I was an absolute idiot, wasn¡¯t I?¡± Tristan asked, chuckling a little as he pulled away.


    ¡°Wasn¡¯t your brightest moment,¡± his father replied, smiling with a touch of the same reservation that Tristan saw all the time in the forge. He clearly appreciated Tristan¡¯s new attitude, but likely saw other issues too. After another quiet moment, he slapped his son on the back with a laugh. ¡°Now let¡¯s go see if your mother¡¯s going to kill you. Do not show her that scar.¡±


    Tristan laughed with him, knowing the man was only half kidding. He couldn¡¯t imagine how much she must have worried.


    As the first houses of Woodsedge began to peek through the trees, he used his tattered green shirt to dry his face. He didn¡¯t want his mother to see how much he¡¯d been crying, especially now that he had Awakened.


    Other than covering the center of his chest, he tried not to worry over his appearance. If anything, he reckoned coming into town wearing battle-damaged gear might even boost his reputation. It definitely didn¡¯t hurt that his newly-forged abs and arms showed through the tatters.


    As his father moved to shelter Tristan from the gazes of the folks on the streets, Tristan kept his hands at his sides.


    He¡¯d been out of the forge for two full days now, and he had projects queued up in his mind to help push his experience fast. Some, his Class would definitely help him with, but others...


    His fist tightened around the talisman, all that remained of the Brightshield. Tristan would find a way forward. No matter what else his father had said, one bit had stood out above the rest: he had to make the Brightshield¡¯s sacrifice worth it.


    He couldn¡¯t do that as just a tier one blacksmith. What he needed most of all now was to level up.

 Chapter 7: Only a Blacksmith

    Chapter 7: Only a Blacksmith


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan went to work the next day with a plan. With his father¡¯s guidance, he¡¯d undertake more projects than ever, starting with three daggers. He knew blacksmiths didn¡¯t usually learn [Craft (Basic) Weapon] until level 5. He also knew that you often got bonus experience from striving toward something seen as ¡°above your level¡± in difficulty. He hoped crafting these daggers this early would push him to level 2.


    After the third was complete, Tristan knew he¡¯d been correct. A new rush of stats and knowledge flooded into him and he heard that familiar dinging sound again. He was reviewing the new [Craft Tool] skill that he gained, and already felt it would make the next steps in his plan markedly easier.


    [Craft Tool] An active ability allowing a user to turn raw materials into basic tools usable by many crafters and professions.


    His father must have noticed the bright golden light, because he quickly came over to congratulate Tristan and check out what he¡¯d made. ¡°These are really nice,¡± his father said, ¡°especially for a beginning blacksmith. You¡¯ve actually managed to craft a common...¡±


    Tristan pushed away the blinking notification in the corner of his eye for now, instead watching his father appraise one of his blades. Tristan was elated. ¡°It¡¯s really a common? I knew they were well made, but a common rarity already. Not bad for a level 2!¡±


    His father chuckled. ¡°You got that right, but since you made them, you should be able to see that for yourself.¡±


    Tristan was glowing with pride as he looked at the dagger his father had set aside. For the first time in his life, a small textbox overlaid his vision displaying information. It genuinely surprised him, as the assumption was that only Tier 2s could [Identify]. But there it was: a little pop-up giving name, rarity and a property.


    [Simple Dagger (common)]: Soulbound


    There was that word from his Core again. Except, for some reason, it was colored green.


    When he looked at the other two daggers, they were the same, albeit ¡°inferior¡± in rarity.


    His father¡¯s expression shifted. ¡°These are all ¡®Soulbound¡¯. Did you do that purpose, Tristan?¡±


    Tristan grimaced slightly. ¡°It wasn¡¯t exactly on purpose, but, you know, my Core...¡±


    ¡°Yeah... and these daggers, you made them without a skill, right?¡± His father put one down before using [Identify] on another, curiosity knitting his brows. He turned the dagger over in his massive hand before spinning it around and stabbing the air with surprising dexterity. ¡°It feels... odd. Not in the balance, but..."


    Tristan picked up one of the other daggers, feeling it for himself. It resonated with him somehow, a feeling that utterly baffled him because he had no idea where it came from or what it meant. Come to think of it, he¡¯d noticed his hammer had felt similarly different after he¡¯d altered it the other day.


    Tristan was so absorbed in this new mystery that he wasn¡¯t aware of what his father did next until the man¡¯s hand briefly sparked with bright reddish light. The armorsmith looked at Tristan¡¯s dagger with even more concern.


    ¡°I can¡¯t use it,¡± he murmured. ¡°The property is red, and it apparently keeps me from using the item at all. When I try, it says ¡®Not equippable by you.¡¯¡±


    Red? Tristan blinked. Mine is green... He held up one of the two inferior-quality daggers for his father to see. ¡°Here, check this one."


    But as they exchanged daggers, the results were the same as before: red for Marrik, and green for Tristan.


    ¡°So,¡± Tristan began, voicing his theory out loud, ¡°I guess only I can use these--and probably anything else I craft.¡±


    His father rubbed the back of his neck. ¡°Seems so. Such a shame, too. They¡¯d have likely sold easily. They¡¯d be incredible for newly-Awakened kids like you.¡±


    Tristan felt conflicted. On the one hand, he beamed at the compliment, but then he had to recognize that his selfish desire for power and growth really had cut the legs out of his future money-making as a blacksmith. I¡¯ll have to be careful with what I craft if only I can use it. I¡¯ll waste lots of materials leveling up otherwise, even with the discount from my Core.


    His father sighed, shaking his head. ¡°Still, congrats on the level-up. Now get back to work. One finished project does not mean it¡¯s time to slack off.¡±


    Tristan shelved his disappointment for later and hefted his hammer again. His father was right: he had a lot more crafting to do. He was only level 2 after all.


    Unfortunately for his plans, at the end of the workday, two of Tristan¡¯s recently-Awakened friends paid him an unexpected visit. It turned out that Chessa, who was now a hunter, and Opie, her boyfriend and healer, wanted to have some fun and thought Tristan would like to come along.


    ¡°Want to join us for a dungeon run?¡± Chessa asked, nearly bouncing on her toes.


    Tristan was immediately interested. But how to sell it to my parents, he wondered.


    - - - - -


    ¡°I¡¯ve already almost lost you once this week!¡± his mother was pacing back and forth across the kitchen, practically wearing a groove into the wood. ¡°Marrik, tell him why he doesn¡¯t need to go.¡±


    ¡°I need the experience and items,¡± Tristan replied calmly before his dad could.


    He tightened his newly upgraded belt around his waist. He¡¯d merely added a loop for his hammer as well as three little pouches and sheaths for his daggers, but apparently that was enough for the product to end up with the Soulbound property.


    ¡°You¡¯d level faster in the forge!¡± his mother countered. ¡°You¡¯ve got everything you need here. I¡¯m even making garlic bread tonight.¡±


    Tristan, feeling that everything was secured, bent down and picked up the hefty shield he¡¯d finished just the day before. ¡°You make that every night, Mom.¡±


    It had taken a lot of ingenuity without the direct skill, but he¡¯d been able to combine his [Work Metal] skill with a full day of practice to make workable shields. Eventually. He¡¯d finally stopped when he made one that was common rarity, and noted that this one also had the Soulbound affix. He¡¯d gone to his father for confirmation. As expected, they all appeared with a red Soulbound to Marrik.


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    Still, he was making progress. And best of all, that day of crafting had gotten Tristan halfway to level three.


    ¡°Well, what if I don¡¯t make it tomorrow? Hmm? Marrik, help me out here. Tell him why he can¡¯t go!¡± his mother pleaded.


    The armorsmith was calm, his voice very controlled. ¡°I have, Christa. But he¡¯s clearly made up his mind. You know as well as I do that everyone must walk their own Path.¡±


    ¡°But his Path doesn¡¯t have to include risking his life! He nearly died--!¡±


    ¡°Almost a week ago,¡± the armorsmith said softly. ¡°He¡¯s already gained a level since then. Nearly another, if I had to guess.¡±


    Tristan nodded at his father. It wasn¡¯t lost on him that his old man was exaggerating the timeline by completely ignoring the three days Tristan had been unconscious.


    He knew his father was merely repeating all of Tristan¡¯s arguments from the day before, but maybe his old man would have better luck with them. As he said, Tristan had grown, and he had planned for this.


    ¡°But he could get hurt! Again!¡± his mother sobbed. She was treating him like he wasn¡¯t there again. Like it wasn¡¯t his decision to make all along.


    Tristan had heard enough. ¡°Mom, I¡¯m going. It¡¯s just an introductory dungeon, meant for level 1s and 2s. I¡¯ll be fine. And I¡¯m also not doing this alone. I¡¯m going with a hunter, and a healer.¡±


    Stressing that had actually been his father¡¯s idea. One only given after he¡¯d tried to talk Tristan into waiting longer and leveling more. When Tristan had proved that he¡¯d already read up on all the monsters commonly found there and their favored tactics, mostly by passing an impromptu quiz from his father, the old man had seemed impressed. Even more so when Tristan said it was just the three of them going. ¡°Smart. Not a full five, but enough to reduce your strain and downtime. And the healer, too. That¡¯s the only way your mother will agree.¡± He tapped Tristan¡¯s chest, where his scar hid behind his shirt. ¡°No more of those.¡±


    His father had been right.


    ¡°Just... Fine.¡± She practically spit out the resignation. ¡°But remember that a bigger party means all those monsters are going to be harder to kill.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why we¡¯re only taking three,¡± Tristan replied.


    The woman turned to face him and gently pushed his shield aside while taking his face in her hands. ¡°Please, just be careful Tristan. You made a good plan with your friends--and no doubt your father helped, too. But you¡¯re not a combat Class; you won¡¯t get full experience from any kills. You¡¯re only a blacksmith. Please don¡¯t forget that.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s the problem,¡± Tristan replied. ¡°I¡¯m not only a blacksmith.¡± He looked her straight in the eyes and tried to give a reassuring smile, though he knew it came out a bit sad. ¡°Mom, as much as I¡¯m following in his footsteps, I¡¯m not my father. My Path is not his, or yours for that matter. Mine is going to include fighting. That¡¯s a part of the choice I made at Awakening. It¡¯s why everything I make is literally bound to me! Let me walk my Path my way. Please?¡±


    After a couple seconds of silence, his father spoke up. ¡°At least he has a shield. That¡¯s more than I did, and I made armor for gods¡¯-sakes.¡±


    The look his mother shot at his father suggested there would be a long and very pointed discussion about this later. Tristan also recognized that the job was finally done. He tried not to let his relief overtake his sincerity. Only took four heats, he joked as he stepped once again toward the door.


    Tristan once again wondered if his father knew why he¡¯d pushed so hard to create a shield, and why he felt compelled to carry it. It was a pale imitation, he knew, and it didn¡¯t even fit well on his wrist, but it was important to him. The first step of many towards living up to the memory of his hero.


    He could tell from the way his mother¡¯s eyes lingered sadly on the shield, she knew. Or feared, anyways.


    Tristan opened the door, and neither parent tried to stop him this time. He made sure that his hammer was secure in his belt-loop and pulled the straps fastening his shield to his arm tighter.


    ¡°Thank you for caring enough to try to stop me, and loving me enough to let me go anyways,¡± he said. Then he let his cocky grin grow across his face. ¡°I¡¯ll give Chessa and Opie your love, too. Be back tonight.¡±


    As he walked out, he felt almost as eager as he¡¯d been on the day of his Awakening.


    Time to clear a dungeon.


    - - - - -


    ¡°You actually convinced her to let you go?¡± Chessa asked, looking genuinely surprised. She and Opie were sitting on the edge of the fountain, holding hands.


    Tristan shrugged. ¡°Yeah. Sorry it took so long.¡±


    Chessa just shook her head in disbelief. She was decked out in deeply-purple leather, which Tristan knew for a fact she¡¯d had her older brother make and dye. When it came to leatherworking, Pavel Klimenta was the best in town. There would probably be a big celebration when he finally reached level 30 and became one of the most advanced people in Woodsedge.


    Tristan had to admit the purple gear really looked good on her, enhancing the natural color of her nearly pitch black hair. She¡¯d said it also gave her bonus Agility and improved her [Stealth] if the light was dim enough. Strapped across her back were a longbow and quiver, both relatively basic at first glance, though without the [Identify] skill Tristan couldn¡¯t know for sure. The ability that let him see his own crafts did nothing for this. He couldn¡¯t wait to get to level 10 and learn it!


    Despite awakening as a healer, which was increasingly rare everywhere these days, Opie managed to look much less exciting. Rocking back and forth beside Chessa, his shaggy, strawberry-blonde hair was almost always in his face, as if on a quest to cover his freckles. He wore plain white robes, which were a little dirty around the edges. Leaning against his leg was what looked like a tall walking stick. His casting focus, Tristan guessed, but Opie didn¡¯t volunteer anything about his gear.


    ¡°So we¡¯re doing this, then?¡± he asked, lifting his staff and giving it a twirl. It would have looked awesome if he hadn¡¯t fumbled it while trying to twist it around his wrist. It clattered to the ground immediately after. Not for the first time, Tristan was glad his own class gave him any Agility at all.


    Chessa burst into laughter before taking out an arrow and showing that she could twirl it around her wrist, easily. In fact, she spun two arrows at the same time, one around each wrist.


    Tristan smiled; the silliness helped put him at ease. He pulled out his hammer and rapped it on his shield, producing a nice ringing sound. ¡°I¡¯m ready if you are. Though now I¡¯m a bit scared, since you¡¯re the only thing keeping us alive today.¡±


    ¡°Nah, that¡¯ll be my arrows!¡± Chessa cut in. ¡°Enemies can¡¯t hurt us if they¡¯re dead.¡±


    ¡°You had it right the first time,¡± Opie said, winking at Tristan. He promptly received a light tap to the back of his head from Chessa.


    Tristan laughed at the couple, enjoying their playfulness. ¡°You guys have done this dungeon before, right?¡±


    Chessa put an arm around Opie and looked at Tristan. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve done it twice now! I¡¯m practically a professional guide.¡±


    Opie, meanwhile, scoffed. ¡°Professional guide that hasn¡¯t completed the Baby¡¯s First Dungeon quest?¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t my fault and you know it,¡± she countered.


    Opie straightened his robes and put on a straight face. ¡°I¡¯ve only run a dungeon once, and I also didn¡¯t finish the quest, but I¡¯ve read up on all the variations. It¡¯s marked as a beginner dungeon for a reason. Easy layout. Simple monsters. I mean, it¡¯s usually rats or goblins, for crying out loud. Standard way to lose your dungeon-ity. Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Chessa smacked him and said, ¡°Don¡¯t be crude.¡±


    Then a huge invitation window popped up in Tristan¡¯s interface.


    You have been invited to a temporary party by Chessa Klimenta.


    Accept?


    As soon as Tristan thought Yes, he got a new set of information to the side of his vision. It showed all three of their names, their levels, and their health and mana levels. For some reason, that made him feel immediately better about his decision to join their run. He was in a party, heading to a dungeon, with his friends. What more could anyone want?


    The very thought made Tristan smile.


    It would only take them a short walk to get to the cave where the dungeon entrance awaited.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said aloud, ¡°I¡¯m not worried. How bad could it be?¡±


    Opie let out an audible groan. ¡°Noooo! Why did you have to say that? You jinxed it now!¡±

 Chapter 8: Babys First Dungeon

    Chapter 8: Baby¡¯s First Dungeon


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    As it turns out, the dungeon seemed to want to show Tristan just how bad it could be.


    Once through the massive black arch that both marked and housed the entrance portal to the dungeon, the small party found themselves in a long linear series of tall rectangular rooms and hallways. Theoretically that lent itself to controllable battles and easy chokepoints, something perfect for a beginner like Tristan. Even the quest he received seemed to agree.


    [Quest available: Baby¡¯s First Dungeon]


    Complete the dungeon in one attempt, without anyone leaving and returning.


    Rewards: Achievement, Smart Loot


    But Tristan¡¯s group had gotten ¡®lucky,¡¯ and their instance of the dungeon was populated by the hardest set of all possible monster variants.


    Oozes.


    Giant, reeking puddles of semi-viscous, highly-acidic snot that wanted nothing more than to devour everything that moved. And everything that didn¡¯t. Anything they could get their slime on would make them grow larger.


    Tristan quickly grew to hate them.


    The oozes moved with a relentlessness that bordered on insanity, especially given their ability to change shapes. As Tristan quickly realized, oozes didn¡¯t really care about doors, and they hardly bothered with walls. They just went under or around them, or through the tiniest cracks, corroding them as they passed. They were completely unfair to fight in melee, as they attempted to dissolve everything they touched--or that touched them.


    Worse still, because he was not a combat Class, Tristan got diminished experience from killing them, as every notification repeatedly rubbed in his face:


    You have slain [Stinking Gray Ooze, level 1]


    Minimum experience gained due to no combat Class.


    Over and over, he got similar messages. The only variation was in the oozes¡¯ names, which varied mostly by color, never by adjectives. They were literally all Stinking Oozes. Not that Tristan would argue that.


    And they were, apparently, the only monsters in the entire dungeon.


    The only evidence he ever saw of the oversized rats or goblins that usually filled this dungeon were the nearly-pristine skeletons left scattered about throughout the halls. Some of them still clutched their decaying weapons. Bones were clearly the one thing oozes didn¡¯t have a taste for.


    The most common oozes were grayish-green in color, which made them that much more difficult to see in the dimly-lit rooms built entirely of gray stone. So then Tristan thought to use their odor as a way of confirming their presence, but that didn¡¯t work because it was everywhere. It permeated every room as soon as a door opened, no matter how many oozes were within.


    He literally stumbled into three before he started taking new rooms more slowly. In fact, the only one of them who could spot the oozes regularly was Chessa, as enhanced perception was apparently ¡°a Hunter thing.¡± Naturally that led to her becoming the spotter, often walking right beside Tristan.


    ¡°There¡¯s one right in front of that door,¡± she said, nocking an arrow.


    Tristan couldn¡¯t see it at all, which was how it always was with oozes that were completely still before being pulled. At least they¡¯re always alone when they¡¯re hiding like that, Tristan thought, preparing his shield as he moved forward to engage.


    The trio functioned fairly well as a group, which was probably to be expected since beginning dungeons couldn¡¯t really ask too much of starting groups. Chessa did great damage from range, especially when using a skill to enhance her arrows. Tristan even found that his damage wasn¡¯t as awful as he¡¯d feared. With his above average Strength and very high Endurance, he was able to function fairly well as a tank, though he worried that when things got harder, he¡¯d miss having the [Taunt] skill that actual tanks learned. For now, it was fine, since all the enemies died before they got to his friends. Opie barely needed to heal at all, often only throwing out spells because he was full on mana.


    Which, of course, Chessa frequently commented on, ¡°You know, the oozes really aren¡¯t that big a deal if you don¡¯t let them touch you.¡±


    ¡°I can stop tanking if you think it isn¡¯t needed,¡± Tristan shot back.


    Chessa tsked. ¡°If you call that tanking, we might be in trouble with the boss! Though no matter which we get, it¡¯ll all be worth it when we finish this place. A variant this hard is bound to earn a better reward at the boss!¡±


    Once again, he felt the burning on his fingers as his best dagger was sucked deeper into another disgusting ooze. ¡°Hey Opie, can I get another heal when I grab this? They¡¯re dissolving my good dagger again.¡± It was a challenge (and a pain) to pull his dagger out of each squelching gray mass, but his 13 Strength always enabled him to break the suction and pull the blade free eventually.


    Each time it would emerge slimy, more than a little corroded, and smelling like literal crap. It was a good thing Tristan had brought all three, because very early on he¡¯d decided he was not going to risk ruining his hammer for a single dungeon run, and he¡¯d stowed it in his loot pack for safekeeping.


    As they progressed deeper and deeper into the dungeon, Tristan quickly found out that he was not built for dodging, but that he--and more importantly his shield--could take a lot more hits than expected. He ended up taking lots of damage, honestly, but Opie always managed to heal him back up again. Tristan was always astonished when he saw his wounds just closing like that in real time. It felt odd. Especially since there was always another ooze trying to dissolve, devour, or otherwise digest him.


    Needless to say, Opie¡¯s healing spells got quite a workout, and they had to take breaks regularly to replenish his mana with some mana water. Drinking mana water was a slow process, especially when compared to chugging a mana potion. It often took ten minutes just to replenish Opie¡¯s small mana pool. But as fledgling adventurers, mana water offered one huge benefit: it was dirt cheap.


    Opie outright refused to use even inferior-grade potions during their rests for that very reason. He also pointed out that they triggered an hourlong cooldown, and ¡°who knows if I¡¯ll need it more in a battle later?¡±


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Tristan couldn¡¯t argue the point.


    As they progressed, roughly every three or four rooms, they found a chest containing a few pieces of loot or consumables. The first chest had two mana potions and a pair of common cloth gloves that boosted Opie¡¯s Intelligence slightly. Without [Identify], they were only able to figure that out by the subtle shift in stats on his Status display. A common workaround for first tiers.


    The next chest held a pair of black boots that didn''t match Chessa¡¯s color scheme but definitely increased her damage output. She¡¯d said they didn¡¯t feel cursed, but Tristan knew that wasn¡¯t a proper way to tell. Without a proper [Identify], they were going to have to wait until they returned to town to figure out exactly what they did.


    While Tristan wouldn¡¯t be able to wear any gear they found right away, if at all, he did manage to pick up a lot of old and broken weapons. It was an absolute haul for him. There was so much salvageable scrap that he would probably be able to level at least once just off of what he¡¯d found. He wondered if dungeon explorers often let all this stuff just vanish when their run ended, which would genuinely be a huge waste. Maybe at upper tiers having magical storage helped with the need to carry so much, but even now he felt they could afford to take the scrap with them.


    Chessa may have given him an odd look every time he stuffed another dull blade or bracer into their loot bag, but Tristan knew they were valuable.


    True to character, Opie always had something to say about it.


    ¡°You just run around grabbing every hard thing you see, eh?¡±


    Tristan had thought Opie might stop after the third or fourth time Chessa smacked him in the head, but no. If anything, the constant attention just pushed him further.


    The path forward continued to be fairly linear, and the two times it split, the branches quickly merged back together a few rooms later. The first time, Opie had opened the second door accidentally, not realizing a simple touch would do it. He¡¯d just been trying to keep his distance from the first blob of death, only to then find himself nearly swallowed by another.


    While Tristan and Chessa liquified one ooze, Opie actually managed to survive the other by chain-casting heals on himself. When Tristan then tried to pull the additional ooze off Opie, he''d been completely unsuccessful. Clearly this was where [Taunt] would have helped, but would he ever be willing to take a tank Class as his secondary, even down the line? He didn¡¯t know.


    Regardless, the train of thought was interrupted by a ding! as Tristan not only hit level 3 but also earned a new skill:


    [Repair Item] An active ability allowing a user to restore durability, restore charges, remove negative statuses, and return a basic item to its original condition. Item eligibility can be limited by Class level, item rarity, and user experience. Requires materials, which will be consumed in the repair process.


    The skill couldn¡¯t have come at a better time. Tristan had been forced to stop using two of his daggers, including the better, common one, because of the highly corrosive nature of the gods-forsaken oozes.


    Chessa¡¯s sword was also showing a fair bit of wear, despite how little time she spent in melee, as were most of her arrows. Tristan was worried at first about working on her bow; he didn¡¯t want anything she needed to become Soulbound. But he remembered how much he¡¯d had to work his hammer after his Awakening to infuse a bit of himself into it. With some testing on non-essential weapons, he felt confident that [Repair Item] on its own would not count as ¡°crafting¡± for his Core.


    He just had to keep his soul to himself.


    [Repair Item] was a fairly standard crafter¡¯s skill, and it required basic material components to work. That just meant that all those broken weapons he¡¯d looted earlier were put to use sooner than expected. He quickly learned that he could salvage them even midrun with [Shape Metal] and then infuse the simple metals with his new skill. It was kind of a cool process, watching as the old and broken scraps filled in the cracks and dents of the damaged gear. It was like water filling in a fresh basin. He was happy to prove the usefulness of all those ruined pieces of gear sooner than later.


    From that point on, each mana break also became a repair session. Tristen chuckled to himself as his friends also began looking vigilantly for usable materials to feed his skill.


    Once all the blades were back in good condition, Chessa started asking if he could remake some of her salvaged arrows, and much to Tristan¡¯s surprise, he could! He didn¡¯t love working with wood in the middle of a dungeon; he wasn¡¯t great with the medium even at home. But for the party¡¯s sake he pushed through. After that, repair breaks took even longer, and the scrounged salvage took up increasingly more space in their inventory. Tristan truly started to understand why noncombat Classes were brought along on so many high tier expeditions and were mentioned as ¡°essential¡± in exploring the Frontier.


    Opie laughed when Tristan brought it up. ¡°So you¡¯re ¡®essential¡¯ now? Essentially useless maybe. Though I guess you¡¯re giving my healing a full day¡¯s workout in a handful of hours.¡±


    Tristan shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re welcome? We¡¯re all getting better, you know? Just wait until I make some better weapons. Or we fight literally anything besides oozes.¡±


    Chessa scoffed. ¡°If we fight anything else, I¡¯ll just make you look that much worse.¡± She sorted through her arrows, handing a few to Tristan.


    ¡°Not with these dull arrows you won¡¯t!¡± Tristan held the points against his forearm. ¡°Without me, you¡¯d have to go back to town every other room!¡±


    ¡°Yeah well, without me this run would have ended long ago, as you''d both be dead by now. So you both need me,¡± Opie said, wrapping his arms around Chessa.


    Chessa pushed away from Opie, rolling her eyes. ¡°What I need is one of those uncommon quivers that turns mana into arrows,¡± she muttered. ¡°How are you doing with experience, Tristan?¡±


    Tristan checked his Status. ¡°It¡¯s good enough for not being in the forge."


    ¡°It¡¯s more fun though, right?¡± Chessa said with a smile.


    Tristan shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s just different. There are definitely moments in the forge I wouldn¡¯t trade for anything. Where hours of work all come together into a final product you can truly be proud of.¡± He took out his hammer and couldn¡¯t hold back his smile as he gazed at it. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t trade that for anything.¡±


    ¡°The hammer does exist,¡± Opie gasped. ¡°Why haven¡¯t you been using that to fight these freaking oozes?!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not for combat,¡± he declared. ¡°But I am going to try improving one of the other weapons we picked up. It might take a while though, if you guys don¡¯t mind.¡±


    Chessa gestured to the empty room around them. ¡°I¡¯m not planning to pull anything.¡±


    ¡°Well that¡¯s unfortunate,¡± Opie nudged her, winking, ducking preemptively as he knew Chessa¡¯s swing was coming. ¡°But sure, I could do with more time to replenish my mana.¡±


    Tristan proceeded to dig through all their salvage until he found something that might work: a decent shortsword that was covered in rust, not really showing any major damage or decay.


    He got to work, and time melted away.


    As Tristan cleaned off the rust, reshaped the metal, and used [Repair Item] to sharpen the blade again, he considered what Chessa had jokingly asked... and he realized he was actually loving the whole adventuring thing. He loved sharing new experiences with friends. He loved the fun banter. He even loved life and death being on the line. All because he was with his friends, and together they could accomplish far more than he could on his own.


    Before he knew it, Chessa and Opie were both standing behind him, admiring the sword as he held it up.


    [Repaired Rusted Sword (inferior)]: Soulbound


    ¡°That actually looks usable,¡± Opie quipped.


    And it truly was, as the ¡°Soulbound¡± property had finally popped up on his display. He¡¯d had to clean and sharpen the blade, change its length with [Shape Metal], and adjust the handle and grip slightly. Basically, he¡¯d kept shaping and shaping until it was changed and became Soulbound.


    I had to put in more than just a repair. Just as his Core said.


    ¡°Ready to put it to use?¡± Chessa asked.


    Tristan could tell by the way she was fidgeting that she was ready to go. He merely nodded, tapped the sword to his shield, just like he¡¯d done with his hammer before they¡¯d entered, and listened to it ring out.


    They continued through the smelly halls.

 Chapter 9: A Freaking Miniboss

    Chapter 9: A Freaking Miniboss


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Room by room, the oozes were getting more difficult, as his kill notifications kept pointing out. Even the adjectives attached to them started to change.


    You have slain [Vile Ambusher Ooze, level 2]


    Minimum experience gained due to no combat Class.


    You have slain [Reeking Black Ooze, level 3]


    Minimum experience gained due to no combat Class.


    Then they entered a room that smelled exactly like rotten eggs. He crouched down low, letting Chessa come forward to scout the room ahead of them, wondering if the stench was somehow related to the oozes¡¯ strength.


    If so, we might actually be in trouble here.


    The room was filled with wooden barrels in racks of varying sizes. It looked like it had once been modeled after a wine cellar, but the racks no longer sat along the walls. What few weren¡¯t broken in half were strewn haphazardly across the room. The obstacles further limited the dimmed light cast by the guttering torches that were evenly spaced around the room.


    None of the other rooms were this bad. It put him on edge.


    There was a persistent dripping sound, as at least one of the nearby containers was clearly leaking. A muddy liquid slowly seeped into a dark and slowly-expanding puddle.


    ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± Tristan¡¯s voice was barely audible above the steady drips.


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t like it. This room is freaking creepy,¡± Opie replied.


    Chessa nocked an arrow and slightly drew her bowstring. ¡°I don¡¯t see anything, but it feels like a great place to get ambushed.¡±


    Opie sighed. ¡°Or a miniboss room. Did your guide say anything about this kind of room?¡±


    Tristan lifted his shield uncertainly, not loving how its reflected light only added to the shadows of the tomblike room. ¡°No, at least not in the ooze variant.¡±


    ¡°Just our luck,¡± Opie groaned. ¡°Well, I¡¯m pretty full on mana, so... Let¡¯s just go ahead, and try not to die too fast.¡±


    Tristan began to slide into the room one foot at a time. Occasionally he even stabbed into the shadows, despite Chessa not seeing anything in them. He knew something lurked in there somewhere, he could just feel the wrongness of the place.


    As he neared the room¡¯s midway point, he saw that there were multiple dripping barrels. They all seemed to feed into the same central puddle.


    ¡°Is it just me, or is that puddle closer than it was a moment ago?¡± he asked aloud, pointing with his sword as he looked back at his friends.


    ¡°What, you think it likes you?¡± Opie laughed. ¡°Come on, man, even you can do better than a pud--OH GODS! TRISTAN, WATCH OUT!¡±


    Something thumped against Tristan¡¯s shield and grabbed at his sword arm. The familiar sting of an ooze¡¯s touch began burning his wrist and fingers.


    A cloud of pure green energy surrounded Tristan, and he could feel Opie¡¯s spell gradually mending his wounds. He quickly flung the ooze backward with a twist and strong shove of his shield.


    ¡°Fall back!¡± Chessa was shouting as she loosed arrow after arrow. ¡°If you can get back to the door, we can try and create a choke point!¡±


    Tristan didn¡¯t need to be told twice. He held his shield before him, struggling to block the new ooze¡¯s attacks along the way, but the blasted thing was fast. Tristan used his high Strength to pull some of the racks into the way, but the ooze just flowed through the gaps without the slightest hint of slowing. It kept grasping with tentacles and was always slurping toward him.


    Ten steps from the door, it stretched itself thin to surround Tristan, sword, shield and all. A wall of sulfuric foulness quickly rose between him and the door, separating him from his allies and making his eyes water. But seconds before the side walls could completely envelop him, a purple-gloved hand plunged through the ooze and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him through.


    For a moment, Tristan couldn''t breathe. His eyes and nose burned as he surged through the all-consuming blob. Seconds stretched longer, as he couldn¡¯t tell whether the pull would win out against the suction.


    Then he emerged, gasping, right beside the nearly closed door, Chessa¡¯s grip barely pulling him through it. His health had plummeted. It kept dipping and surging within the critical range despite Opie¡¯s constant healing efforts, which actually seemed to get more powerful the lower his health got.


    Tristan barely backpedaled through and blocked the shrinking crack between door and frame.


    The determined ooze slurped against his shield anyway, eager to glide around him.


    But somehow, finally, Tristan pushed the door fully closed.


    Even then Tristan couldn¡¯t rest. Impacts threatened to crack through the wooden door. He wondered how long it could hold. Or if the hinges will break first¡­


    ¡°That¡¯s a freaking miniboss!¡± Opie was shouting. ¡°It was so fast it actually dodged some of Chessa¡¯s arrows!¡±


    Tristan braced the door against the ooze¡¯s pounding. Then he heard something that sounded mysteriously like wood bubbling or boiling.


    Looking down, he saw the ooze dissolving the bottom of the door and squirming beneath it.


    ¡°It¡¯s squeezing under!¡± he shouted, shield-bashing every bit of ooze that squished through.


    ¡°Let some of it through,¡± Chessa replied, sidestepping to a better angle as she let another arrow fly. ¡°Use the choke point.¡±


    When Opie didn''t object, Tristan resigned himself. This is going to hurt.


    And he was right.


    Tristan successfully tanked the miniboss, which is to say he ended up inside it. Repeatedly. Being devoured over and over. But at least then every swing was guaranteed to deal damage, and the ooze stopped chasing his squishier friends.


    When the final arrow landed and they got the kill notification, Tristan¡¯s whole body felt raw.


    You have slain [Quick Ooze {Elite Guardian}, level 4]


    Minimum experience gained due to no combat Class.


    Still, he smiled. They''d killed a miniboss despite being totally ambushed. And a hard variant at that.


    ¡°Mana break! Or just a break in general,¡± Opie demanded, heaving a huge sigh of relief.


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    And though he didn''t even blink when Chessa mentioned loot, he did crack a joke when all she revealed was a pouch full of silver coins. At least they¡¯d agreed at the start to split all coins evenly at the end.


    He¡¯d also noticed a notification offering him the ability to take ¡°Bruiser¡± as a Secondary Class, but even if he went Offensive with his first Secondary, he would want something more focused than a hybrid melee-tank. He dismissed the notification for now. He could worry about Secondaries in tier 2.


    The following rooms and halls were comparatively easygoing. While the oozes were higher levels, with more staying power and more damage potential, it wasn''t as threatening as the Quick miniboss. Tristan also continued improving with his newly-repaired sword, so the increased health of the monsters was balanced by Tristan¡¯s damage output. He was getting better at balancing the dealing and preventing of damage with each battle. Opie wasn¡¯t even pressed to heal as often, so his banter returned stronger than ever.


    Another perk of getting past the midway point the Quick Ooze miniboss represented was that the other oozes¡¯ coloration began changing. Sometimes they got darker with levels; sometimes they swapped to new colors altogether. But every color (other than gray) was easier to see against the floor and walls.


    Yet despite all these positive changes, when they stopped for their third break in an hour, Tristan noticed Opie looking entirely frustrated. Tristan went and sat beside him.


    ¡°Hey man,¡± he began, ¡°how are you doing?¡±


    Opie grunted as he produced a light blue mana potion from his bag. ¡°I¡¯ve gotten nearly a full level,¡± he began, ¡°but I¡¯ve still only found one freaking mana potion. Do you realize I¡¯ve gotten five healing potions? What is the freaking deal?¡±


    Tristan shrugged. ¡°I haven¡¯t found a single mana potion. And, strangely enough, after that miniboss, all my healing potions are gone now, too. Weird.¡±


    Opie faked a laugh at Tristan¡¯s attempt to joke as he stowed the blue potion in his bag. In its place, he produced and tossed a red one to Tristan. ¡°Just don''t burn this one needlessly.¡±


    Tristan uncorked it. ¡°So you said to drink it now?¡± But when Opie only chuckled lightly, Tristan restoppered the potion and put it in his pouch. ¡°Thanks,¡± he said. Both of their eyes drifted up to the bigger door before them.


    ¡°Looks like all we''ve got left is the boss room.¡± Opie raised his voice. ¡°Damn, it would just be AWFUL if I got mana potions to drop. I¡¯d absolutely hate that. It would be the WORST POSSIBLE THING.¡±


    ¡°You know the reverse jinx doesn¡¯t work, right?¡± Chessa said, rolling her eyes yet again.


    ¡°It won¡¯t now that you¡¯ve called attention to it!¡± Opie was silent for a few moments later before muttering, ¡°It¡¯s not like there¡¯s anything left to kill for loot before the boss anyway...¡±


    Tristan rose, laughing a bit, as he swung his repaired sword. ¡°You know you¡¯re an amazing healer. Even without any mana potions. I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re enabling me to tank this place, and against oozes no less.¡±


    Opie chuckled. ¡°Yeah, you are not an easy guy to keep alive. Sometimes it feels like you¡¯re hitting yourself with that sword, your hit points get so low. It¡¯s way better than with the dagger, but, I mean, these oozes..."


    ¡°They¡¯re the actual worst.¡± Chessa inserted. ¡°We got really, really unlucky with our variant dungeon.¡±


    ¡°It does seem really punishing to melee,¡± Tristan began. ¡°The smell alone--¡±


    ¡°Oh, they still smell awful at range,¡± Chessa assured him. ¡°I bet they have passives to increase the range of their stink.¡±


    Opie rolled his head backward, stretching his neck. ¡°It¡¯ll take a week to clean this robe.¡±


    Chessa came over and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. ¡°That¡¯ll be an awful time for your mom, huh?¡±


    Tristan barked out a laugh.


    ¡°I do my own laundry!¡± Opie protested. ¡°You¡¯ve seen me do my own laundry!¡±


    Tristan pretended not to notice the couple quipping back and forth as he walked toward the far end of the room where the biggest door yet waited. His whole body still stung like he¡¯d stood right beside the forge for hours. He felt a strange excitement slowly building within him.


    This is it. Behind these doors, my first real boss monster. It was a little scary, but so were a lot of the situations he¡¯d faced since his Awakening. I can do this. I¡¯m a survivor.


    He turned toward the door and actually inspected it this time.


    There were symbols and inscriptions covering every panel, though Tristan couldn¡¯t read any of the words. Some of the images depicted large armored goblins. Others showed giant balls of rats, which seemed to spawn even more rats. Tristan recognized those as the bosses the guides mentioned most, when the dungeon wasn¡¯t a variant.


    Finally, there was a gigantic blob that seemed to be spouting tendrils outward, like an oozing claw reaching through the gate, surrounded by pools of liquid. The artist even gave it stink lines! That, at least, was amusing.


    With another look back, he decided to wait before he shared his discovery with the couple. What are a few more minutes in the grand scheme of things?


    Eventually, he broke the comfortable silence. ¡°We should plan for the boss.¡±


    The couple rose together, with Chessa giving a solemn sigh. ¡°Yeah, that would be the next step. But it¡¯s the small moments like this that make it all worthwhile.¡±


    Tristan admittedly hadn¡¯t thought about it before, but he agreed.


    Opie just waved her off. He still looked a little tired with bags under his eyes. ¡°Nah, it¡¯s bosses and sweet, sweet loot that make it all worthwhile! Given our variant, we¡¯re probably gonna get the Splitting Ooze. And a harder boss means the loot will be better too, right? Especially with Smart Loot!¡±


    Chessa had her hunting face back on. ¡°Sure. Smart Loot is part of the quest reward, which I¡¯ll be delighted to finally get. As for the boss itself, both other times I was in, the boss fit the theme.¡±


    ¡°Like that giant ball of rats that kept pooping out even more rats!¡± Opie said, a little too excitedly.


    ¡°Couldn''t the odds break for us again and give us the easiest boss instead?¡± Tristan asked.


    Opie chuckled. ¡°Man, how many hits to the head did you take? I mean, I guess it¡¯s possible, but have you seen our luck in here?¡±


    ¡°Maybe it won¡¯t be that bad?¡± Tristan offered.


    Opie groaned. ¡°Gods damn it, Tristan! You just jinxed us a-freaking-gain!?! After we got freaking oozes last time?!¡±


    Chessa shook her head. ¡°Prepare for the worst and hope for the best. If it is the Splitting Ooze, remember it leaves a patch of poison on the ground the one time it splits.¡±


    Tristan nodded. He remembered. His father had quizzed him on all the bosses¡¯ biggest attacks. ¡°Just once, right?¡±


    Chessa was checking the fletching of her arrows. ¡°That¡¯s what the guide said.¡±


    ¡°Wait, which guide?¡± Opie asked.


    ¡°Dungeon Delver Dave,¡± Chessa replied.


    ¡°Oh. My dad said not to use that one.¡±


    Tristan perked up. ¡°Why not?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t really know, but he said it wasn¡¯t worth the paper it was printed on.¡±


    ¡°Well, we have the information we have,¡± Tristan said noncommittally. ¡°The guide was dead on about the awful smell.¡±


    Opie frowned. ¡°Such useful information, that. I could have written that without even going into the dungeon.¡±


    Chessa, meanwhile, cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders. ¡°Well, I¡¯m ready. You guys?¡±


    Opie nodded, raising his staff in one hand while beginning a spell motion with the other. ¡°Hold up. Let me cast my big buff first. It¡¯s a whole ritual thing, so it costs a lot of mana and has a full day cooldown. I¡¯ve been saving it for the boss.¡±


    Tristan and Chessa both nodded, and within a minute a greenish mist surrounded and embraced each of them. It felt like it washed away Tristan¡¯s lingering stings and aches, slowly restoring his health. It even reduced the smell a little, making it nearly bearable.


    Opie looked a little drained, leaning on his staff. ¡°Done,¡± he confirmed.


    ¡°Right then, here we go.¡± Tristan said, placing a hand on the door, which slowly began to grind upward toward the ceiling. Immediately, his eyes began to water and his insides roiled. The stench from the other side was still vile, and so overpowering he truly couldn¡¯t imagine anything in the entire world smelling worse.


    Coughing, he pulled his shirt over his mouth and nose. ¡°Looks like we got the ooze.¡±


    ¡°Hey, Tristan,¡± Chessa said as the gate finally inched high enough for him to pass. ¡°The Splitting Ooze is going to be a race against the growing poison pool; we''ll need more damage output. Think you can stow the shield and try using two weapons instead?¡±


    Tristan looked at the shield on his wrist with both a twinge of regret and a spark of understanding. ¡°You¡¯re the leader. If you think it¡¯ll help, then I''m willing to try.¡±


    Opie groaned. ¡°You''re going to take even more damage?¡±


    Tristan looked at him with snarky disbelief. ¡°Only if I get hit.¡± He set his shield on the ground. I can¡¯t have it weighing me down mid-fight. I¡¯ll just come back for it after the boss.


    ¡°So yes then.¡± Opie shot back. ¡°Well, then let¡¯s hurry. That [Rejuvenation Ritual] only lasts a few minutes.¡±


    Taking battle stances, the trio hurried into the dungeon¡¯s final room, completely aware that the awful smell was about to be the least of their problems.

 Chapter 10: Less Talky, More Dodgy

    Chapter 10: Less Talky, More Dodgy


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Through the door, the gray stone hallway proceeded straight for twenty feet before opening up into a massive arena. Instead of being rectangular, the space he could see was more rounded, possibly even circular. Tristan couldn¡¯t truly tell because it was just too huge. Sitting in what he expected was the exact center was a massive, brown pile of... well, ooze. It was easily taller than the Longbloom manor, the largest building in Woodsedge.


    And, of course, it reeked.


    Tristan definitely thought Chessa was right and the thing had an aura of stench. It was as if rotten eggs and stinky cheeses had been composted in a decaying body after being sprayed by multiple skunks. Actually, it was even worse than that, but Tristan couldn¡¯t conceive of words bad enough to categorize the sensory input.


    Because every blessed ooze just has to reek, Tristan cursed internally, creating a new level of ¡°worst monster¡± in his mind that only oozes would ever occupy.


    Behind him, Opie literally vomited.


    ¡°I was wrong. It did get worse,¡± Chessa managed between gagged breaths.


    Still, they had a dungeon to clear. This monstrous pile of evil was their last hurdle. We can do this, Tristan reassured himself, stepping up to the edge of the massive arena.


    Chessa placed a hand on his shoulder, whispering, ¡°Wait a moment.¡±


    At first Tristan didn¡¯t understand. Chessa was looking up, almost like she had spotted something and was trying to work it out. She picked up a rock from some nearby rubble and tossed it just ahead of them.


    ¡°That didn¡¯t do anything,¡± She said, picking up another rock. This time as she tossed it farther, almost up to the massive ooze in the middle, while still looking above.


    Yet nothing happened, even as the rock skittered off the ground, nearly striking its side.


    She waved Opie forward and pointed upward. ¡°I think there¡¯s a door or gate up there. I¡¯m not sure exactly what triggers it, but it will likely drop once we engage this boss. It wasn¡¯t here the last time I came, though it was obviously a different boss.¡± She looked a bit uncertain.


    Opie spoke up. ¡°Now that you mention it, I do think I see it. How fast do you think it closes? Death by crushing or death by smashing?¡±


    Chessa rolled her eyes. ¡°Who cares? Just avoid it. I vote for the ¡®no death¡¯ option.¡±


    ¡°Was that a joke?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°And why does it even need a door in the first place? I know higher level people have to deal with this, but isn¡¯t it kind of intense for a beginner¡¯s dungeon?¡±


    ¡°Apparently not,¡± Chessa said with a grimace. ¡°I¡¯m guessing it¡¯s just hammering home that the Splitting Ooze is mostly about managing the pool of poison.¡±


    ¡°That means don¡¯t stand in stuff, Tristan,¡± Opie translated. ¡°A door sealing the exit also means there¡¯s no way to cheese the encounter.¡±


    Tristan rubbed his tongue against the backs of his teeth. ¡°I don¡¯t think it should be a problem. Just good to know going in. We¡¯ve just got to use the space wisely. This is only a beginner dungeon. How hard--?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you even fucking say it,¡± Opie cut him off. ¡°We¡¯ve already lost a minute of my big buff, so can we go?¡±


    Chessa, wordlessly, smacked Tristan in the back of the head.


    ¡°Right,¡± Tristan chuckled apologetically. ¡°I¡¯m sure it¡¯ll be awful. Looks like shit, smells like shit, so expect the fight to be double shit?¡±


    Opie merely groaned.


    Chessa raised her bow and nocked the first arrow. Not for the first time, Tristan noticed that its tip seemed to glisten a little. She was imbuing it with a skill, likely [True Arrow] or whatever she called it. ¡°Ready when you are,¡± she said, nodding to Tristan.


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go!¡± Tristan yelled, storming into the cavernous space.


    ¡°You need a better battle cry!¡± Opie shouted after him.


    As soon as he crossed the threshold, Tristan noticed two things change. First, he heard the rumbling of the door behind him as it began to descend. Second, the gigantic ooze started to move.


    Directly toward him.


    Menacingly.


    It elongated its front quarter, which leapt forward along the floor like a slobbering dog finding a dropped bone. Then its rear half was pulled along behind it. It reminded Tristan of an inchworm crossing a log, except with every movement it let out a trumpet-like sound that would have been comical had it not also attacked his nose.


    Behind him, Opie actually started to laugh. ¡°It¡¯s a freaking farting ooze!¡± he began. ¡°No wonder this room smells so much worse!¡±


    Then a giant silver explosion marked the first of Chessa¡¯s arrows beginning to land.


    They were like raindrops hitting a roaring inferno. Everywhere they struck, a little bit of the ooze seemed to melt away. But there was still just so much of it left.


    Tristan was trying to gauge when and how to best engage the monster. He steeled himself as he raised his sword and dagger. Time to carve some of that off myself.


    But he quickly learned that dual wielding was not all it was cracked up to be, especially as he couldn¡¯t really deal much damage with his offhand. The quality may have been upgraded, sure, but it was still just a small dagger being used against an enemy where length meant everything. Opie would have something smart to say about that, he mused.


    As he darted in and out, slicing bits of ooze here and there, the repaired sword¡¯s reach made all the difference. It could cut  deeper, inflicting that much more damage against an enemy like this while making it easier to stay out of sliming range. Overall, it was just a better tool for this job.


    Truly, he liked the feel of the sword more than his dagger, even if it was only a modified repair. And if this is what wielding a shortsword feels like, I can¡¯t wait to try a two hander. He was just so many hours of forging away from that.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Despite the superior reach of the sword, he ended up attacking just as frequently with the dagger, carving off slices of ooze every chance he got. Chessa had said they needed to deal as much damage as possible, and his offhand attacks were far better than the nothing a shield would contribute. Besides, with Opie concentrating solely on healing him, Tristan fully shrugged off the minor burns, and damage taken during his riskier attacks was quickly healed back. All that left was the soul staining smell he would probably suffer through for days to come.


    If we can keep this up, it won¡¯t be so bad at all.


    Then the ooze¡¯s tactics changed. It began to spread itself wider, trying to surround him. Pointy, spear-like projections shot out toward him, connected only by thin threads. He took one hit before realizing a few hits from those could be fatal. A chunk was gouged from his side, and the wound burned as acid corroded the nearby skin. Even with the buff Opie had cast before the fight, the hole was closing painfully slowly.


    ¡°Get out of there!¡± he heard Opie yell as a green-gold beam of healing energy struck him from behind. Immediately, the hole in his side began pulling itself together.


    Tristan desperately wanted to take his friend¡¯s advice, but he found it too hard to do while also focusing on dodging. A second spear nicked his shoulder as he failed to twist fully away from it. Then he barely ducked under a super thin crescent-blade of ooze that nearly took his left hand off. Luckily, he was able to lower his sword just enough, resulting in a massive CLANG of such intense vibrations he nearly lost his grip on the blade.


    I¡¯m too slow to stay in melee if it¡¯s going to keep this up.


    That left one solution: he completely abandoned dodging, turned, and ran. Yes, he took a few more slashes across his legs and back, but he was certain that he didn¡¯t have any other way to get out of the ¡°grasp¡± of the ooze.


    He quickly heard Chessa shouting more. ¡°Opie, don¡¯t just stand there! Move out of its path!¡±


    That was when Tristan recognized that the healer was still standing at the edge of the room, backed up against the now-sealed entrance. His face twisted by strain and determination.


    Tristan tried to adjust course, but the only option was to circle around the ooze in the center of the room. He could practically smell the ooze as it followed. It slurped at the stones just behind his heels.


    Glancing over his shoulder, he was starting to recognize a difference in the ooze¡¯s appearance. It was smaller for sure, but the color had also lightened from the dark brown to merely a light tan. Recognizing the details from what he¡¯d studied, he shouted, ¡°It¡¯s about to split!¡±


    ¡°Just keep damaging it!¡± Chessa shouted back from seemingly across the room.


    Tristan would have loved to do as she said, but every time he stopped to swing a blade, the ooze reared up like a roaring bear or an ocean wave and tried to crash down on him.


    Until it didn¡¯t.


    It suddenly receded, pulling completely back into itself and condensing to almost half its previous size in the shape of a perfectly rounded dome. Its color shifted again, too, from light tan to green. A deep, almost pristine green. The green of emeralds or a spinach field after a heavy rain.


    No sooner had the palette swap finished than the ooze began sliding toward Tristan again.


    Or, rather, half the ooze moved for Tristan. The other half went the other way, clearly aiming toward wherever Chessa was still pelting it with arrows. To make matters worse, the place where it had split apart was left with a green puddle of liquid putrescence that seemed to slowly expand as it dissolved whatever it touched, the stone floor included.


    ¡°Focus on your ooze, Tristan!¡± he heard Chessa shout. ¡°I can kite the other one!¡± He saw more of her arrows strike the second ooze from the corner of his eye, continuing to move it away from him. ¡±But only,¡± she added, leaping over its newly-emerging blade, then sliding under another, ¡°if you¡¯re closer,¡± she shot another gleaming arrow at an appendage only a foot from her face, ¡°to that acid pool! I need room to move!¡±


    Chessa was right, of course. Looking around, Tristan realized now that he¡¯d made a huge mistake by dragging the huge ooze back to the middle of the room before it split, even if it did relieve some pressure from Opie at the time. Now, with the acid pool spreading from the dead center of the room, everyone was severely limited in where they could go. It was doubly hard for Chessa who needed areas for evasion, and all she was left with was a shrinking doughnut around the outside. She had begun to flirt with the poisonous puddle in the center, but Tristan could tell that wasn¡¯t sustainable as the pool only continued to spread.


    Tristan brought up both blades again. He needed to hold his ground better this time. The ooze was half as massive now, after all, which meant it was only about twice his size. He could handle that. He had to handle that.


    As some of the pointed tendrils shot toward him, he recognized that they were slower than before. He was able to dodge slightly and have them just miss him. It was an uphill battle, as more and more tentacles shot toward him. He got better, though, and was eventually able to counter after every attack. Each slice removed goo that would instantly begin evaporating. Even when the gunk fell toward the remaining body, it still dissolved without reintegrating.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t heal!¡± Tristan realized, shouting his discovery to his other teammates. ¡°All our damage permanently whittles it down. We can try to outlast it--"


    ¡°LESS TALKY, MORE DODGY!¡± Opie shouted.


    ¡°Sorry!¡± Tristan called back, immediately leading his ooze back toward the noxious spot from which it had split. He got right up to the expanding edge before beginning the dance of keeping just beyond it. He only needed a little room to dodge, and should he need to dive or dip out of the way, he kept enough room to have actual options.


    And then the greenish buff surrounding him vanished as the buff from Opie¡¯s ritual expired.


    Time to get serious, I guess. Tristan gritted his teeth. Thankfully with the ooze being only half its prior size, it had less speed and range, making each attack a little easier to dodge.


    He began taking risks, moving less but swinging more wildly now that he¡¯d gotten into a better position. He stabbed and slashed over and over as arrows struck the ooze.


    Faster than the first phase, Tristan recognized that his ooze¡¯s green color was nearly as pale as a lime¡¯s rind.


    ¡°It¡¯s working! I think this one¡¯s almost dead!¡± he said as one of Opie¡¯s spells healed him for much more than normal, returning nearly half of his missing health.


    ¡°Was that a crit?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± Opie said between huffs.


    It looked like Opie was getting tired, so Tristan tossed out a reassuring, ¡°At least it won¡¯t split any more!¡±


    As if in response, the ooze pulled into itself.


    ¡°WHAT?! IT¡¯S SPLITTING AGAIN!¡± Chessa shouted.


    ¡°GODS-DAMN IT, TRISTAN!¡± Opie screamed.


    The green turned black with a wheezing release of gas. Then two disgusting little oozes emerged from another pool of putrescence, which also began to eat at their available space.


    ¡°You had to jinx us! You freaking had to!¡± Opie yelled.


    To Tristan¡¯s horror, he realized that neither of the new oozes was even coming for him. They were both heading toward Opie; his massive heal at the split must have caught their attention. Meanwhile, Chessa¡¯s already-limited space was cut completely off by the new pool.


    ¡°Get out of the poison! I can¡¯t heal through that much damage!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s either that or I take hits from the ooze!¡± Chessa countered.


    Tristan heard Opie literally scream. ¡°BY ALL MEANS, HAVE A BATH THEN!¡±


    At that point, Tristan knew the proverbial metal was heated, and it was time for him to strike. He ran directly between the oozes and Opie, trying to take the pressure off from onrushing monsters that didn¡¯t seem to care.


    Besides, there¡¯s no way I¡¯m letting these blessed oozes hurt my friends! If we can deal with these, the rest should just be clean-up.


    Tristan began slashing with both hands as each ooze tried to bypass him. But he was more than just some stone in the path of a stream. He kept slicing, dealing as much damage as possible. He was exhausted and his whole body stung, but he would not let the pain stop him. Pain was nothing new to Tristan. He knew he could take it. He was a Blacksmith, and if there was one thing they could do better than anyone, it was endure.

 Chapter 11: Smart Loot

    Chapter 11: Smart Loot


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    There were only slivers of unpoisoned stones left when what little remained of the tiny oozes released their last gaseous burps.


    You have slain [The Splitting Ooze, level 4]


    {{Boss of the Acrid Crypts}}


    Minimum experience gained due to no combat Class.


    [Quest complete: Baby¡¯s First Dungeon]


    You have gained the Fledgling Dungeon Delver Achievement!


    You have gained the title: {Fledgling Dungeon Delver}.


    Next stage of Achievement revealed:


    Novice Dungeon Delver!


    Requirements: Complete three different dungeon Quests.


    Tristan grinned from ear to ear, especially as he examined the new title he¡¯d earned:


    {Fledgling Dungeon Delver} Gives +1 to your highest stat


    And it worked, even without having to equip the title! His Strength had already increased to 16. He smiled as he looked at the growth his full Status displayed, and he found that he could even tweak the output to show how many stats he gained from bonuses!


    Tristan Hammerson


    Human


    L3


    Blacksmith


    Stats:


    STR 16 (+1)


    AGI 8


    END 14


    INT 6


    WIS 8


    WIL 10


    Core: [Self-Forged] Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.


    Titles: {Awakened}, {Fledgling Dungeon Delver}, {Soulscarred}


    Skills: [Craft Tool], [Gather Ore], [Repair Item], [Work Metal]


    The new addition rested near the bottom of his Status, just below his Core. But he wasn¡¯t going to equip it. It was like the Awakened title he¡¯d earned upon hitting level 1: it felt too small for him. And the third Title... did not feel right. As far as Tristan knew, his father had never equipped a title. Tristan would hold out for something a bit more impressive.


    Tristan was pulled from his reverie by the familiar dinging sound, as both Chessa and Opie were greeted by the golden glow of a level-up.


    ¡°Congrats on level 4!¡± he said.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Chessa beamed.


    Opie added, ¡°I¡¯ll never be tired of the dings.¡±


    Tristan grinned at him. ¡°As hard as you worked in the boss fight, you should be tired.¡±


    ¡°It would have been way easier if we hadn¡¯t talked so much at the start. Maybe then my ritual wouldn¡¯t have run out before the end!¡±


    Tristan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. ¡°Yeah, and it also would have been better if I positioned the boss closer to the walls before the split. But... we won anyway. Honestly, the challenge was kind of exhilarating.¡±


    Looking around, all the poisonous gasses and puddles had started evaporating moments after the final ooze was squished. Now the room showed no signs of acid or poison at all--it hadn¡¯t even eroded the ground permanently. Tristan breathed a sigh of relief, relishing the sweet scent of stench-free air. His whole body felt numb, but that didn¡¯t matter.


    In the middle of the massive domed room, a truly gigantic golden chest had appeared.


    Tristan¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°We got a golden chest!¡±


    Without warning, Opie fell straight backward. His boots thumped loudly as they struck the ground.


    Chessa rolled her eyes, ignoring her boyfriend, before replying to Tristan. ¡°We did get a really tough dungeon variant.¡±


    Tristan, honestly, was a bit confused by her blatant apathy. He didn¡¯t understand what had happened. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what? I thought he fully healed on level up?¡±


    ¡°He did heal,¡± Chessa said dryly. ¡°We both did. Look at the party display.¡± Chessa walked over to the downed healer and kicked him less-than-gently. ¡°He¡¯s just Opie-ing. Anyway, can we open the super-rare chest now?¡±


    Tristan was now even more confused. The party display clearly showed, just as Chessa said, that Opie had leveled up and fully replenished his health and mana. So he had no clue what was wrong with the healer.


    A few seconds later, Opie groaned as he sat upright, his eyes fluttering open. ¡°So, we got a big, awesome box?¡±


    Chessa sighed. ¡°Of course we did, you idiot. You know that variant dungeons always upgrade the chest at the end. Should be even more impressive with the Smart Loot reward from the quest tacked on.¡±


    Opie mock-gasped. ¡°But I can¡¯t open it from all the way down here! Tristan, could you lift me up...?¡±


    ¡°Wait, what? Oh.¡± It took a moment for the realization to dawn on Tristan that his friend had been playing all along. He shook his head and laughed. ¡°Sure, I guess.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only fair, as I¡¯ve been carrying you guys ALL FREAKING DAY!¡±


    Chessa kissed him on the forehead before lightly pushing him backward into the dirt. ¡°I love and hate you so much sometimes.¡±


    ¡°You never hate me!¡± Opie cried indignantly, righting himself again and reaching out to Tristan.


    Tristan made a big show of helping his friend up. ¡°Was that all just for show?¡±


    Opie hopped to his feet. ¡°I think I was so shocked that you survived the boss battle that I fainted.¡±


    ¡°Of course you did,¡± Chessa dismissed. ¡°Let¡¯s go open our reward.¡±


    The chest was three times as wide as Tristan and half as tall, and all of it was impressive. As a blacksmith, Tristan couldn¡¯t help but marvel at how an object made of pure, glittering gold was neither soft nor weak. The lid was cool and sleek. The patterns and lines were impeccably worked into the metal, highlighting and enhancing the beauty of the material. The metal held to curves that any normal smith would have had to reinforce with bands, but somehow this made do without the added strength. If someone had told Tristan this was made by his father--or someone equally skilled--he wouldn¡¯t have doubted it.


    Tristan knew their dungeon quest had promised Smart Loot as its reward. That meant the contents of the final chest had been perfectly tailored to their Paths. Everyone finishing the quest would get something usable. The items wouldn¡¯t necessarily be upgrades, but for a beginning party with basic gear like them, it was practically a guarantee.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    As soon as the lid lifted, music began to play from seemingly nowhere. A trumpeted fanfare that lifted the spirits in congratulatory celebration.


    Tristan couldn¡¯t help but smile. ¡°I guess we did well.¡±


    ¡°Or golden chests always play music,¡± Chessa countered.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t get one last time?¡±


    Opie sighed. ¡°Nope. We had a mage with us who was the sister of the group leader, and she hadn¡¯t prepared properly at all. She was only level 1, so maybe it was forgivable. She was freshly Awakened. It should have been fine because her brother was level 5 and could have carried her on his own.


    ¡°Well, she didn¡¯t know how to ration anything. Mana, time, supplies. Poof! She¡¯d brought a fistful of potions, but they were gone before we even got to the miniboss. And why? Because all she did was chain-cast her best spell,¡± Opie spat sarcastically. ¡°Even if it wrung her dry! At one point, she didn¡¯t move out of a telegraphed explosion and had to be evacuated from the freaking dungeon! That would have been fine, but we didn¡¯t know the leader was going to just let her re-enter until suddenly our quest voided at the damn boss¡¯s door.¡±


    Chessa scoffed loudly. ¡°He means ¡®grayed out.¡¯ He¡¯s just trying to make ¡®voided¡¯ a thing. Anyways, as a result, neither of us got loot we could use. Just something to sell, and enough coins to restock our potions. Never trust a high-level to carry you if you don''t know them.¡±


    Tristan agreed. ¡°That sounds awful. At least this time you¡¯ll get the good loot.¡±


    ¡°So, less talky, more looty?¡± Opie grinned.


    ¡°Yeah, sure,¡± Tristan said with a laugh. Looking into the now-opened chest, he wasn¡¯t exactly sure what all the items were. But one was a brown leather quiver, which he immediately handed to Chessa.


    The moment she touched it, a huge smile lit her face. ¡°This is exactly what I needed!¡± She squinted her eyes, focusing a moment, and an arrow popped into existence within it. Then she literally cheered. ¡°I¡¯ll never run out of arrows again!¡±


    ¡°Well, until you run out of mana,¡± Opie said, nudging her lightly with his arm. Funnily enough, the arrow within the quiver didn¡¯t even move.


    Opie looked at the arrow with interest, taking the quiver from her and fully inverting it. The arrow did not fall out.


    ¡°Well that¡¯s pretty useful,¡± he said.


    Chessa shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s common for magic quivers to lock in arrows, both conjured and crafted. But yeah, super useful. And the conjured ones aren¡¯t really that expensive on mana.¡± With a brief squint of her eyes, four more arrows popped into existence. ¡°I could probably fill this whole thing twice over with just the mana I had left after that fight.¡±


    Tristan was genuinely happy for his friend. The quiver was an incredible starting item--something every archer worth their bow would try to acquire before hitting tier 2. It begged the question of which item to take out next: One seemed to be a gray cloth-looking bag, the other a parchment scroll of some sort.


    He lifted the scroll and unfurled it slightly to examine it. Yet as soon as he laid eyes on the writing, the text instantly faded and was replaced with massive red words:


    Not eligible for quest.


    He held out the scroll to Opie. ¡°I think this is for you.¡±


    Opie¡¯s eyebrows pinched together. ¡°My smart loot is a quest? Great, something else I have to do.¡± Then he touched the parchment, which began to glow faintly purple, and his face completely changed. In a whisper that quickly boiled into a shout, he said: ¡°It¡¯s freaking epic?!¡±


    ¡°What is?¡± Chessa asked, hurrying to read over his shoulder.


    ¡°A staff. An epic staff! All I have to do is collect the materials listed here and perform a... rather intense ritual. I just need someone able to craft it," he looked toward Tristan. ¡°Would you...?¡±


    Tristan held up both hands. ¡°I¡¯d love to, man, but I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? It looks like the ritual will do most of the work. You just need to be the ¡®conduit,¡¯ it says. ¡®The will to work the iron.¡¯¡± He pointed at the page. ¡°The central part of the staff will be iron, so that¡¯s right up your alley, right?¡±


    Tristan still hesitated. ¡°It¡¯s not that. I¡¯m not like the other crafters. They--¡±


    ¡°--They aren¡¯t my friends and would no doubt charge me despite the awesome experience this ritual will definitely yield. I was already gonna ask if you could make me a better staff anyways.¡± He shot Tristan a look. ¡°Not that Chessa complains, mind you, but without any nature spells, I don¡¯t really get the full benefits from this one.¡± He tapped his old walking stick on the ground. ¡°So, you in?¡±


    Tristan wished he could consider it more. Of course he would help his friend--if he could. It would most likely also provide valuable insights into crafting, and tons of experience by producing an epic quality item. ¡°I can¡¯t, Opie--literally can¡¯t--or you won¡¯t be able to use your staff.¡±


    ¡°What does that even mean?¡± Opie asked, throwing his hands wide.


    Tristan lowered his eyes. He didn¡¯t like disappointing his friend. ¡°It¡¯s my Core. I... Anything I make gets bound to me. No one else can use it.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s insane,¡± Opie said. ¡°What about those arrowheads, and Chessa¡¯s blades?¡±


    ¡°Repairs are different,¡± Tristan said, ¡°up to a point, at least. Once I¡¯ve improved it any, it gains a little bit of me and becomes Soulbound. It happens to everything I craft. Here.¡± He held up the [Repaired Rusted Sword]. ¡°See for yourself.¡±


    Opie came closer, but Chessa stayed back, asking, ¡°You know we don¡¯t get [Identify] until level 10, right?¡±


    ¡°The heck does ¡®Soulbound¡¯ mean?¡± Opie asked, proving it didn¡¯t matter.


    Tristan sighed as Chessa now drew nearer. ¡°That¡¯s insane,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s so... limiting. For a blacksmith to not be able to sell or trade away his products is--"


    ¡°Yeah, that part sucks,¡± Tristan cut her off, ¡°but I think it¡¯s worth it.¡±


    Opie¡¯s eyes went back to the scroll. ¡°Sucks for both of us, man. Damn. It¡¯s not like I¡¯ll be ready anytime soon anyways. Some of these materials are rare... It¡¯ll definitely take time to collect them all. Though maybe if we ask Aaric--"


    ¡°Absolutely not,¡± Chessa cut him off.


    ¡°But he¡¯s--"


    ¡°No,¡± Chessa continued to stop each of his rebuttals. ¡°Don¡¯t even. Not happening. Never. Not after all the times he¡¯s bullied us and Tristan.¡±


    ¡°Fine,¡± Opie conceded. ¡°But you¡¯re helping me farm the materials.¡±


    ¡°You know I will,¡± she said.


    This time it was Opie¡¯s turn to roll his eyes as Tristan nodded happily. He had no fondness for Aaric either.


    ¡°Alright then, it¡¯s settled. What¡¯s the final item?¡± Opie quickly changed the subject.


    Tristan turned back to the chest and saw the small gray bag resting against the golden interior. It was about the width of his foot, so when he tried to lift it, he was genuinely surprised.


    ¡°It¡¯s really heavy,¡± he said. Not for the first time he was thankful for a blacksmith¡¯s massively increased Strength. It was definitely the heaviest thing he¡¯d ever held. He opened it, and suddenly everything made sense.


    ¡°Oh gods,¡± he breathed.


    Inside were crafting materials. And not just a few, either. Somehow the small bag contained a space easily nine times too big. Everything in it was sorted by type, from chunks of ore, to the few bars and billets, and most impressively, three ingots of some precious-looking metal that even he couldn¡¯t immediately place. There was so much, he¡¯d need some time to sit down and inventory all of it.


    ¡°It¡¯s magical storage!¡± he said, holding the bag open for the others to see.


    As they all looked on in awe, Tristan got another surprise. A small letterbox appeared by the bag.


    [Crafting Materials Bag (rare)(growth)]: Soulbound


    He blinked in bewilderment. How is this already Soulbound? I thought it only applied to things I crafted.  I mean I guess boss loot works too... Maybe because it was Smart Loot? He shook his head. Rather than think about that, he¡¯d just appreciate how lucky he¡¯d gotten. A growth item at level 3 was nearly unprecedented. It would grow alongside him and be usable as long as he kept it in good repair.


    Chessa was more practical, yet no less excited. She was already unloading the old, rusted weapons from her loot bag. ¡°Does that mean you can take all of this?¡±


    He had to dismantle them first, as he quickly found that only crafting materials would go into the bag, but Tristan gladly took it all. No matter how many of the weapon¡¯s materials were added to the bag, it never got any bigger or, more surprisingly, any heavier. Best of all, everything was instantly sorted by material and type.


    ¡°All of us really are coming out of this with something amazing.¡± He looked at Opie. ¡°Guess I didn¡¯t jinx us after all.¡±


    Opie narrowed his eyes again. ¡°Maaaybe. But all I got was another quest, which is going to be pretty damn expensive...¡± He gasped. ¡°And! I still didn¡¯t get any freaking mana potions! Unless one of you guys knows a rogue who can steal the Longblooms¡¯ bank account, I¡¯m gonna be broke as a joke!¡±


    Tristan could only smile at his friend playing the victim. It had been a good, albeit hard, day¡¯s work. One even his father could respect, given how much growth he¡¯d shown.


    I bet I¡¯ve gotten enough materials to push me all the way to the next tier! Just need some consolidated time in the forge... and maybe some lessons at the training grounds, he admitted to himself. He walked back to the room¡¯s entrance to pick up his discarded shield. He¡¯d definitely preferred the feel of the sword in his hand to a dagger. Now he just had to learn how to use it.

 Chapter 12: Determination

    Chapter 12: Determination


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Aaric</h2>


    Aaric had spent every day of the three weeks since his Awakening training and improving with as much efficiency as was possible. Now he was closing in on level 6, which nearly put him at the pace expected of someone with the title he currently wore: {Ice Prodigy}. It felt good to be recognized.


    It felt right.


    All it had taken was casting [Frost Nova], a tier 2 spell, in tier 1. Of course, that had taken persistence, dozens of worthless wands, and--most importantly--finally watching someone else cast it. His Core did the rest, and everything else clicked into place. His Core had acknowledged his determination and fully aligned with ice, which led to the realization that he would now be able to save even more time since he could duplicate ice spells without needing to learn them. For Aaric, seeing wasn¡¯t just believing, it was mastering.


    Core: [Glacial Mirror] Greatly reduced skill selection. Attuned with ice. You can replicate any ice spell within one tier of you that you see performed.


    His Core allowed him to focus his efforts elsewhere, like perfecting his daily schedule. He began with meditation, collecting every stray insight from the previous night¡¯s dreams. Then breakfast consisted of protein, mana water, and sometimes a natural treasure--if his father¡¯s buyers had gotten lucky. They had all said that any potential boost to Aaric¡¯s growth, no matter how limited it would be in tier 1, was worth the price, especially once Aaric¡¯s father had agreed.


    Natural treasures were rare items that could be absorbed to give a permanent increase in power. They would never give their full effect to lower tiers, but even when diminished, growth was still growth. Even a small increase now would snowball into a larger one later. So while they weren¡¯t cost effective, cost was no object to the Longblooms. Aaric would eat them until his supply was exhausted, even if that only added 1% more mana regeneration. It was a permanent gain.


    Two hours of practical study in his personal library preceded the hardest part of the day: picking through his wardrobe to assemble the most effective outfit for what he expected from the training grounds. Unlike his father, efficiency was not Aaric¡¯s only concern. He had to consider color combinations, enhancements, and overall comfort. While sometimes the last was sacrificed for the former, as with the epic mana regeneration bracers commissioned from Marrik Hammerson, lately his midday sessions had been more of a breeze.


    Little had changed in his morning scouting reports, and he¡¯d quickly learned how best to handle his prospective challengers. Hardly any of the other tier 1s could touch him. Yet he could not allow himself to slack off, because sparring with other combat-oriented Classes was the most efficient way to grind levels by himself, and he was only a single level off from exploring grander options.


    At level 6, he¡¯d get to join the dungeon party his father was selecting for him. Aaric had often wondered why he had to wait so long, especially since there was a genuine beginner dungeon just outside Woodsedge. He suspected it was because his father had booked a more challenging dungeon. In truth, any loot he¡¯d get before level 5 would be inferior to what they¡¯d already bought for him. Thus it was probably a matter of efficiency.


    His father loved nothing more than efficiency. At times, Aaric suspected that even extended to his family.


    Lord Longbloom viewed the whole world through that lens, and Aaric could hardly blame him. He¡¯d been taught from a young age that the world was transactional, and the Longblooms always came out ahead.


    Aaric arrived at the training grounds wearing his matching cerulean tunic and pants. They¡¯d been crafted by the same tailor, who had at least been able to weave in a set bonus that granted a marked increase to mana regeneration. The man¡¯s design had been so bare bones originally that Aaric had nearly refused it. If it was truly going to replace his old level 4 robe, it needed to look the part as well! Appearances mattered, after all, and Aaric would never settle in this regard. He was going to be the best, and look the part. Such was why he had changed over to the straight laced boots; they paired reasonably well with the blues, and he hadn¡¯t really needed movement speed enough to warrant wearing the old, worn shoes. The shoes did not complement his otherwise stellar attire. He returned them in his closet, just in case the situation changed.


    At the corner of the training ground, a blur slowly resolved itself into the form of a man. The scout Aaric¡¯s father had hired only a handful of years ago and, in Aaric¡¯s mind, trusted far too much.


    Aaric sighed as the scout walked over, no doubt with the morning¡¯s report. ¡°Same as always?¡± Aaric asked. ¡°Has the fighter kid at least leveled up to 7 yet?¡±


    The ¡®fighter kid¡¯ was the last boy to have actually landed a blow on Aaric in a spar. But that was days ago. He hadn¡¯t gotten close to touching Aaric since, so his name wasn¡¯t deemed worth learning.


    The reply came in a measured, eerily calm voice from which Aaric could never gleam any insight: ¡°No sir, though there has been a new arrival today.¡±


    Aaric waited for more, but the scout never offered information freely, giving it only once Aaric asked for it. Aaric had long since learned to push down that annoyance.


    ¡°Who is it, and why are they worth mentioning?¡±


    The scout began leading him toward the rear arenas. ¡°Tristan Hammerson, the son of Marrik Hammerson, the blacksmith. And because he has no combat Class, yet he is doing quite well this morning.¡±


    Aaric lifted an eyebrow and touched the cool metal bands at his wrists in recognition. ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°You may see for yourself if you desire, sir. He¡¯s still engaged with Flor.¡±


    ¡°Fine. Show me.¡±


    The scout inclined his head slightly and led Aaric toward where a young but physically-impressive-looking boy seemed to be holding his own against the willowy, green-haired girl that Aaric knew was extremely proficient for her level.


    Aaric held out his hand toward the scout and immediately received the [Monocle of Identify].


    ¡°I thought he Awakened well after me. How is he already level 4? And he¡¯s doing well against a level 6... Is she taking it easy on him?¡± Aaric squinted his eyes, failing to hold the boy¡¯s sword in frame long enough for [Identify] to register it.


    ¡°He Awakened 7 days after you, and I have not seen Flor hold anything back yet. This is their third spar, with the young Hammerson winning both priors.¡±


    ¡°How?¡± Aaric repeated, walking even closer.


    Just then, the Hammerson boy deflected her [Fire Bolt] with his shield, which opened her up for a big hit from a mottled, rusted-looking sword.


    From across the field, Aaric heard Flor say, ¡°Your determination... somehow, it¡¯s even greater than mine!¡± She bowed fully, showing the same respect she usually gave Aaric, making the frost mage bristle. ¡°I concede. I don¡¯t think I can do anything about that shield currently.¡±


    Aaric cringed. I would never admit such weakness aloud. But now he was curious. He wanted to test the boy for himself. ¡°What is his class?¡±


    ¡°Blacksmith, sir, like his father.¡±


    He¡¯s handling Flor as if she were freshly Awakened. It didn¡¯t make any sense. Still, the boy was new to the training grounds. Aaric needed to know just how far above this noncombatant he stood.


    The Hammerson boy smiled back at Flor and somehow said something even dumber: ¡°I¡¯m definitely determined. And I enjoyed the fights. Thanks for the practice.¡±


    They separated, with Flor looking around for someone else to spar. Though, once she spotted Aaric, she moved quickly in a different direction.


    Such was to be expected by now, as Aaric had been beating Flor, and all the other challengers, for days. Her leaving at least allowed him a good look at her opponent, who was finally still enough for the monocle to [Identify] his full equipment. Nearly everything the Hammerson boy was basic: a [Workman¡¯s Shirt (Basic), [Workman¡¯s Pants (Basic)], and [Workman¡¯s shoes (Basic)]. Not a single piece registered as real gear. His sword was literally a [Repaired Rusted Sword]!


    This doesn¡¯t make the slightest bit of sense! How could a blacksmith be winning against actual combat classes?


    The Hammerson boy turned, apparently finally noticing Aaric, and seemed conflicted about calling out to him. But as Aaric drew nearer, the boy hesitated before asking, ¡°Oh, hey Aaric... You didn¡¯t want to spar too, did you?¡±


    Aaric¡¯s smile came easily as he tapped his chin feigning consideration. Really, he was just waiting for the monocle to finally [Identify] the shield.


    [Heartmending Shield (uncommon)]: [Rejuvenation], Soulbound


    A shield forged by a fledgling blacksmith pushing beyond the limits of his abilities.


    Uncommon is impressive. He examined the [Rejuvenation] property out of curiosity.


    [Rejuvenation] Recover a fair amount of health every other second.


    It seemed standard for something of higher rarity. He just didn¡¯t love that the potency of its self-healing was so vague. What exactly is ¡®a fair amount¡¯ in terms of health? It could dramatically change his estimation of the item, which he found more than a bit irksome.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Then he paused. Aaric went to his party interface, where he¡¯d already relabeled the man simply as ¡®Scout,¡¯ because he hated the bloody question marks that showed he didn¡¯t know the man¡¯s real name.


    Aaric: What is the Soulbound property on his shield?


    Scout: I¡¯ve never heard of it before, sir.


    Aaric didn¡¯t allow his displeasure to show. What¡¯s the point of having a tier 4 scout then?


    They were now just across the squared arena from the Hammerson boy, who was clearly still awaiting a response. ¡°Sure,¡± Aaric said. ¡°If you can beat Flor so handily, you might even be able to give me a bit of a workout. Though I should warn you, I¡¯m a frost mage.¡±


    The boy shrugged. ¡°So I¡¯ve heard. Also, you know, your title. Seems impressive.¡±


    ¡°It is, isn¡¯t it? Shall we establish ground rules?¡±


    The Hammerson boy rolled his shoudlers. ¡°I¡¯ve just been doing standard spars this morning. First to surrender or zero-out loses. No lethal damage, obviously.¡±


    ¡°Acceptable,¡± Aaric said. ¡°I¡¯ve always won with the standard rules as easily as with any others. Good luck and all that.¡± He handed the monocle back to the scout, who vanished before finishing his first step.


    The Hammerson boy rolled his eyes, then rolled his shoulders as he raised his shield and tapped it just hard enough with his rust-colored sword to create a resonating sound. ¡°Guess we¡¯ll see.¡±


    And then he charged.


    The opening minutes were spent with Aaric testing the Hammerson boy. Every few steps he¡¯d shoot a quick [Frost Bolt] to check his reflexes and overall defenses. Of course, it also built up chill on his target, slowing him down.


    Yet... his attacks didn¡¯t seem to be as effective as normal.


    First of all, the shield absorbed or deflected far more of his spells than Aaric had expected. Secondly, even when Aaric was sure he¡¯d pushed damage through, it didn¡¯t seem to discomfort the Hammerson boy in the slightest. Sure, it slowed him substantially, allowing Aaric to easily keep his range, but the boy was literally shrugging off the damage.


    A crowd had begun to gather. Not feeling any pressure from the Hammerson boy, Aaric took a moment to see if anyone of consequence was there. Flor had drifted back across the way, as if to be in the Hammerson boy¡¯s corner. She normally wouldn¡¯t have mattered, except that she had apparently brought two level 9s with her. How had she convinced them to stop their sparring, and why were they spending more time watching the Hammerson boy than Aaric?


    I need to put on a better show.


    With each [Frost Bolt] fired, Aaric ensured that the Hammerson boy wasn¡¯t able to get close enough to even consider landing a blow. The rust-colored sword was always held at the ready, but it never so much as swung. Aaric actually approved. The boy is nowhere near me, but he keeps his sword readied just in case the situation changes. There¡¯s no chance I¡¯ll let that happen, but maybe he¡¯s not as dim as I thought.


    Aaric kept applying more and more chill, until eventually the Hammerson boy¡¯s feet were frozen in place.


    It¡¯s time for the big finale.


    Aaric quickly positioned himself directly behind the frozen boy, where the shield couldn¡¯t reach or block the incoming barrage. He knew that while frozen, the boy would also take increased damage from the next hit. Aaric wanted to make it count.


    He had practiced his spells enough to know their strengths and weaknesses. [Frost Bolt] was amazing control, easily countering speedy opponents, but it was slow to cast. [Frost Nova] was a top tier emergency defense, but its cooldown, range requirement, and mana cost were prohibitive. With his opponent totally frozen, mobility and speed weren¡¯t a concern. And since a crowd had gathered, Aaric wanted to provide a bit of a spectacle. That meant he used his newest spell: [Ice Barrage]. It did the most damage--if all of the smaller bolts connected--which made its higher mana cost worthwhile in moments like these.


    But he didn¡¯t just cast it once.


    Aaric¡¯s lip curled as his hands glowed powdery blue, and he unleashed his [Ice Barrage] Barrage!


    From the tips of his fingers, dozens of tiny frozen shards blasted into the Hammerson boy. Ice and frost began to cover him, spreading outward from the impact point, which Aaric kept tight and precise. While each individual shard might be weak, their overwhelming number added up. This was also why he chain cast the spell three times: if his so-called [Ice Barrage] Barrage fully connected, it was death by a thousand cuts. That the later casts also often started restacking the chill debuff only added to its impressiveness.


    Yet as Aaric¡¯s fingers started the second cast, he could already see the cloud of rime fading around the Hammerson boy.


    In fact, the boy had been able to move his feet enough after the first hit that the second set of shards didn¡¯t fully connect. Then up came his shield just as the third cast began to strike! The final [Ice Barrage] was almost entirely blocked. Even though the chill effect clearly still hit, coating the boy¡¯s basic garments with frost again, the Hammerson boy showed no sign that any of it had hurt him!


    For the first time, Aaric began to worry he might not be able to outlast this opponent. He might not win. While previously inconceivable, he now had to consider that he might not be able to outpace the shield¡¯s healing. But I have to win. How do I win?


    Looking at the mostly-impressed surrounding crowd, he had an idea and began hiding his concerns behind his casual public facade. ¡°Are you going to just stand there all day? If I wanted a practice dummy, I¡¯d be using one of the wooden ones.¡±


    In apparent defiance, the Hammerson boy was able to take two slow steps toward him.


    Aaric affected a yawn to mask pulling up his own Status. What he saw was troublesome: his mana pool was well under half capacity. He¡¯d known [Ice Barrage] had a high mana cost, and he¡¯d just chained three of them. But that had always ended whatever fight he¡¯d been in. He¡¯d never needed an ¡®after¡¯ plan before. Stay cool, he thought. You¡¯re still in control. Think through this. He couldn¡¯t allow any concern to show. He was Aaric Longbloom, {Ice Prodigy}.


    He resumed kiting his opponent as he launched [Frost Bolt] three more times. Each cast paired quickly with a step back, compensating for the fact that the Hammerson boy was still coming forward.


    ¡°Stubbornness won¡¯t win you this battle,¡± Aaric said aloud. ¡°I could keep doing this all day.¡± Luckily that lie elicited a few laughs from the gathered crowd--notably from one of the level 9s--so Aaric¡¯s smile was only half forced.


    The Hammerson boy merely tapped his sword against his shield again, which rang out with a piercing clarity.


    ¡°I tried to warn you,¡± Aaric said mockingly. ¡°Now you¡¯re going to have a bad time.¡±


    Shortly thereafter, Aaric completed another full freeze by landing a perfect, max-ranged [Frost Nova]. He contemplated sneaking a potion to pull out all the stops and truly blast the Hammerson boy once again.


    But what if someone notices? This is the blacksmith boy, for crying out loud. I can¡¯t risk it.


    Instead, he decided upon his efficient combo one more time. It was all he could afford without totally emptying his mana pool.


    Besides, there¡¯s no way a level 4 can take that much damage and still be fine!


    Yet once the final spell was cast and the surrounding ice-splosions had settled, two things were quickly obvious to Aaric. First, he was utterly spent; and second, the Hammerson boy, while cold, was otherwise unbothered.


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m bored,¡± Aaric said, trying to hide his abject horror while starting to walk away. ¡°Next time you want a lesson in ice, ask someone else. Assuming you thaw before spring.¡±


    Most of the crowd began to cheer and clap as they parted for Aaric, who walked away with a very controlled wave. They had no idea how close he was to genuinely losing. No, not losing--just not winning. Aaric had only run out of mana. He didn¡¯t take a hit. He didn¡¯t even take damage. He didn¡¯t bother looking back as he left the training grounds. He didn¡¯t want to see that boy again.


    At the edge of the training ground, where no one else could see or hear, the scout appeared at his side. ¡°I assume that didn¡¯t go as you expected,¡± he said, barely hiding his amusement.


    Aaric didn¡¯t even dignify it with a response.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan could only stare as Aaric walked away, and not just because he was frozen. Does he... actually think he won? Based on the cheers of the crowd, he might.


    But in spite of that, Tristan couldn¡¯t contain his smile as he again tapped his shield with his sword.


    He still loved hearing the sweet ringing sound of things hitting the uncommon metal. It was as beautiful now as it had been in the forge when he''d finished it. And that had been punctuated brilliantly, too, with an amazing achievement.


    You have gained the Born Blacksmith Achievement!


    You have crafted three blacksmith items before possessing the associated crafting skills, tempering your ambition and determination.


    Reward: Greatly increase the chance of successfully crafting blacksmith items for which you do not possess the skill.


    All the materials and time he¡¯d sunk into his shield-crafting marathon were worth it, and he had indeed been ambitious. He¡¯d known when he started, that [Craft Shield] was a higher level skill that all blacksmiths would eventually earn, but he had wanted to challenge himself. To craft shields without having the skill made him better--and in more ways than just the levels he¡¯d earned. He was truly mastering his craft. The [Heartmender¡¯s Shield] felt like his Path agreeing and rewarding his ambition. It had shocked him when he¡¯d crafted something uncommon, and all morning he¡¯d been learning how big the jump in power truly was.


    But that final spar had been eye opening. Tristan had just held his own against Aaric, even if the {Ice Prodigy} would never admit it publicly.


    Tristan had known it would be difficult for him. Aaric was a frost mage, and Tristan was still just a blacksmith, with no combat skills to speak of. His latest Class feature hadn¡¯t been very helpful (at least in this situation) either. The passive [Heat & Fire Resistance] was great, especially as it had finally gotten Tristan to reorganize his skills on his Status display. But worthless against someone specializing in cold and ice.


    There had even been a moment, at the start of the fight, when Tristan had felt genuine fear crawling up his back. The chill from those opening spells had sunk all the way to Tristan¡¯s bones. He had no way of fighting without moving. But somehow that helplessness had helped him. He¡¯d let go of the fear, choosing to see an opportunity instead. He¡¯d decided to test his new shield¡¯s limits by not breaking free as quickly as he could. He was curious, after all, just how good his new Rejuvenation would be. And it clearly was far, far better than he¡¯d ever imagined.


    I never even went below half health.


    When Flor came over and tried to console him, he just shrugged. ¡°I¡¯ll get him eventually,¡± he said with a smile. A statement he knew was true.


    ¡°That¡¯s a great attitude! There was that one time I thought you might even hit him. Not that anyone has lately. He¡¯s just too good with all those ice spells.¡±


    Tristan paused, recognizing something. ¡°He does only use one school of magic, doesn¡¯t he? It would be a lot easier if I crafted some gear to resist cold.¡± His thoughts immediately cascaded into near-endless possibilities.


    ¡°Absolutely!¡± Flor said, patting his back. ¡°You should be proud of your performance, especially as a blacksmith! Keep grinding, and I have no doubt you¡¯ll go far.¡±


    Tristan thanked her, ignoring idle comments from the crowd, and began hurrying home. With each step, his smile grew. Thanks to Flor, he¡¯d just had several very interesting ideas.


    Once again, he needed to get to the forge.

 Chapter 13: Hammer, Anvil, and Fire

    Chapter 13: Hammer, Anvil, and Fire


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan had been in the forge for longer than he cared to admit. Long enough that he actually wasn''t sure what day it was any more. It had been... a while since his mother had stopped bothering him to come out for meals. He now realized his father must have put an end to that, which was probably why there was usually a plate or two of food and a tankard of water on the table by the door instead.


    His father understood what was going on. Tristan was walking his Path, and that required space, time, and an endless supply of metal.


    He had had so many ideas after that day at the training ground. The fight against Aaric, especially followed by the talk with Flor, had filled him with endless inspiration. Tristan had nearly run the whole way back to the forge. And he¡¯d been at it ever since.


    More than anything, though, what he''d learned was that some of his ideas were simply too big for his current skill set. His foundation might be solid, but even that wasn¡¯t enough to create experience where there was none. He needed more practice, more levels, and more lessons.


    His hammer held a constant rhythm as he worked the beautiful steel billet. Day by day and week by week, it was becoming more and more the sword he knew it would be. He would not rush it. Crafting this sword would define his Path, and it needed to be his best work so far.


    The dungeon and his sword-crafting marathon had taught him much about his Path, and he¡¯d made some decisions on where it would go. Eventually he¡¯d need to talk to his father about it, but not without the finished sword.


    His workbench was littered with the remains of other projects. Some he¡¯d even dare to call successful.


    A pile of [Simple Ring] variants filled a boot-sized woven basket. He was no jeweler, so basic quality, with one minor affix each, was definitely the limits of his abilities for now. He had eventually worked them enough to give them the [Sturdy] property, granting a bit of maximum health. It was nice, but he''d been trying to boost armor, which he thought would work better with his shield¡¯s Rejuvenation. Despite probably a day of testing, he could only ever push the rings to +1 armor, or he failed outright. There just didn¡¯t seem to be any other defensive alternatives.


    Still, the [Sturdy] property was good, and even if it wasn¡¯t armor, it was always nice to push his health higher. He¡¯d equipped two of the rings immediately and was excited to see that the effects stacked. That was the best he could do with his ring slots for now.


    He''d thought about going a different direction next and working on offensive bonuses. He began attempting to add some sort of sharpness, which he thought might boost his damage output, but that had straight up failed. All he had to show for it were numerous cuts on his fingers and a pile of metal bands that might be better served as caltrops. He¡¯d set them aside to keep, just in case he could use them later. They might find a use as a trap or a projectile some day.


    Hanging off the sides of the bench on a series of rods were his attempts at necklaces and pendants. There were almost as many successes as failures there, though even the ¡®best¡¯ of the lot weren¡¯t truly satisfying.


    His first batch of [Simple Necklace] attempts had ended up exactly like his first rings, just with max health bonuses. But then he¡¯d had a breakthrough and got the coveted [Reinforced] property, granting bonus armor.


    So Tristan continued the grind.


    He''d found that a [Simple Pendant] at least gave him a bit more flexibility in the affixes he could imbue. They weren¡¯t limited to just health or armor, but could instead give weak resistance to a specific damage type depending on how he worked it. He''d made two that had slightly blunted damage from piercing attacks, but they hadn''t helped at all against slashing or bludgeoning damage. There were lots of possibilities he could explore there: different elements, different resistances, even combinations of them. But that would all be for later. At his current level, anything more would require specializing, and he already knew what he wanted to specialize in. Besides, armor as a stat was easier to craft, more reliable, and worked decently enough against everything anyway.


    Then he¡¯d hit level 5 and gained [Craft Weapon]. The rest was a total blur of excitement and experimentation. He¡¯d immediately pivoted to making swords.


    [Craft Weapon] an active ability allowing a user to shape and incorporate metal into weapons of varying power and styles, all serving the same general purpose: to inflict maximum damage with minimal effort.


    There were currently five completed-but-inferior-quality swords jumbled in a basket behind him. Tristan hadn¡¯t even bothered to safely place them, just tossing each once it was finished.


    It was fascinating to see how much his Core had shaped his work on those blades. How it took less metal to make them larger and longer. What surprised him most was just how little material he could use and still end up with a properly sized shortsword. He enjoyed seeing how much excess material was left over, because he knew it would only fuel his future experiments. And as he finished his sixth sword, he knew he¡¯d gotten this one right.


    I might even put a proper crossguard on this one. It¡¯ll definitely be better than the rusted repair job from the dungeon.


    He smiled confidently as he held the sword up, and that smile only grew as he saw the rarity had upgraded to Common.


    The air sang out with the addictive dinging sound as the golden ring of energy surrounded and embraced him, bathing the forge in its glow. For the second time in this crafting marathon, Tristan leveled up.


    Congratulations! You have reached LEVEL 6!


    Skill Earned:


    [Craft Armor] An active ability allowing a user to turn metal and other crafting supplies into protective gear of varying styles and functions.


    For the briefest moment he wondered if it was time to switch to a different crafting goal. But he had so much left to learn, and his ongoing project needed--no, demanded--more from him. It wasn¡¯t long before he fell back into the familiar rhythm of hammer, anvil, and fire.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Sophie</h2>


    Even with Poof snuggled into her lap as the absolute definition of fluffy adorableness, Sophie couldn¡¯t get comfortable. She had grown to hate The Agora. It wasn¡¯t the drunken crowds that bothered her, even if they were usually rude. That was to be expected in such a well-known tavern. As was the suffocating layers of musk, dried blood, and seasoned meats so thick she could practically taste them on the air. No, what Sophie hated most was that every single adventurer she tried to party with had refused her.


    At first she¡¯d thought it might be because of her family. She wouldn¡¯t put it past her parents to somehow extend their influence and prevent her from ever finding a party. It always seemed as if they wanted to keep her locked away in their ivory tower like a perfect little princess, they even had the gall to say she  was the one who needed to see sense!


    The world was too exciting for Sophie to just settle like that without testing herself first. She had her own plans for her life that most certainly did not include stagnating at level 3... Even if that was precisely what had been happening for months.


    Sophie stroked her softest astral again and pulled her tightly and briefly against her cheek.


    Weeks ago she¡¯d stopped giving her real name and blackened her hair in an effort to reduce their involvement. Yet even when she¡¯d begun lying about almost everything, it still hadn¡¯t gotten her a party. The one compromise Sophie would never make was to lie about her astrals, because they were her real family. They were her greatest strengths and the focus of her entire Path. She¡¯d known from the first time she¡¯d ever summoned Mister Biggs that they were critical to her life both on and off her Path. That was why she¡¯d already taken both of her Secondary Classes immediately: summoner and summoner.


    She had lost count of how many times she¡¯d been told that her focus was ¡°foolish¡± and ¡°too limited¡± in the early tiers where astralists were already known to be at their weakest. But Sophie knew better. Her astrals were the best parts of her, and life in general, and would lead her to her greatest successes. In time people would see just how wrong they had been to dismiss her chosen Path without even a consideration.


    Her astrals were very much her best friends and true family.  Their love was not conditional or limited and therefore was all she really needed.


    Other than more experience.


    She automatically replaced the large blue bow Poof had thrown off again. By now it was practically habit to find and position it to maximum adorableness. The bow was their only point of contention because the large puffball didn¡¯t seem to understand just how perfectly it matched her blue eyes. Sophie encouraged Poof to always look her best even if it meant thinking the same way as her mother. She couldn¡¯t help but recognize that Poof¡¯s cuteness made Sophie more approachable. Poof was simply too cute a conversation starter to not utilize.


    Sophie would take every advantage she could get to combat how out of place her youth looked in The Agora. Awakening at 13 hadn¡¯t been as glamorous as she¡¯d expected, and it had been a rough year since. It had practically become a daily occurrence for her to be underestimated due to her age if she wasn¡¯t just dismissed out of hand. She had earned her Awakening just like everybody else, and her astrals were proof of that. That she had more than one--at level 3!--should have spoken volumes.


    It just seemed to be spoken in a language no one else understood.


    Sophie perked up as a haggard-looking trio trudged in. When the woman directed the men to a table before making her way toward the bar alone, Sophie decided to approach her. None of them had a shield or any other gear that suggested tanking was even a consideration. All three of them had thick bags under their eyes that hinted at near-exhaustion. She also spotted actual scars from what were clearly freshly-healed wounds. Those were the types of injuries that were so bad they left marks on your soul.


    They must have been through something truly awful. They¡¯re definitely worth a shot. If they¡¯re really only a party of three, it looks like they need a tank.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    She watched the leader a little longer, intentionally holding back until she saw the woman receive her drinks from the bar. When she only picked up three pints, it confirmed to Sophie that they weren¡¯t expecting others to join them later.


    She figured that if she started across the room now that she might end up just behind the woman. But just as the woman was halfway to her party¡¯s table and Sophie might have drawn even with her, a very drunken patron with an enormous greatsword was pushed over backward by another brute at his table. He toppled into Sophie, who had absolutely no way of avoiding him and instead was shoved directly into the woman¡¯s way.


    The woman barely had time to react, but she was still able to twist just enough that Sophie didn¡¯t end up with a pint of beer down her front.


    Not a great start, Sophie thought as she glanced up at the woman.


    Sophie had learned across her countless attempts that most people in The Agora didn¡¯t respond to pleasantries or kindness. Even the least experienced of adventurers here seemed to have thicker hides. As much as she wanted to fit in, she still avoided the bar¡¯s typical greeting of Watch where you¡¯re going and barely restrained her near-automatic apology.


    As if on cue, Poof gave an adorable, frowning ¡°Meep!¡±


    Sophie took the excuse to focus her attention on the little one, practically cooing, ¡°It¡¯s alright, Poof.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?!¡± the woman began, but quickly her tone softened, probably after recognizing how young Sophie was. ¡°Look, I¡¯m sorry. You just--I didn''t see you. Sorry again.¡±


    Sophie didn¡¯t let the woman¡¯s quick temper bother her and was glad for the change of tone. ¡°At least you didn¡¯t spill anything, which I have to admit means you must have some pretty great reflexes. But maybe be more careful. There are some legitimately crazy people in the Agora. Not everyone is as understanding and cute as we are.¡±


    The woman nodded a touch uncertainly and squinted her eyes. ¡°We? Does your, uh, furry ball talk?¡±


    Sophie heard Poof¡¯s meeps beginning to rise in pitch and knew it was not a good sign. ¡°Does she need to?¡±


    ¡°Oh... No? Sorry, I guess, to both of you. I¡¯m just... It¡¯s... been a rough couple days.¡±


    Sophie openly examined the woman. Her long and tangled hair was unevenly cut on one side, undoubtedly from a battle. The basic rapier she wore at her hip had a splash of blood on the grip.


    ¡°Looks like it,¡± Sophie said before pointing at the pints. ¡°I can¡¯t help but notice you¡¯ve only got three drinks. If you wouldn¡¯t mind some more company then maybe we could help each other out.¡±


    As smoothly as could be afforded, Sophie began trying to attach herself to the woman and her party. The woman turned out to be a level 6 duelist named Isabel. Her two remaining party members were both level 5: a mage trying to specialize in force magic named Miguel, and a scout who pronounced his name ¡°Eh-man-well¡± quite clearly, holding Sophie¡¯s eyes the whole time as he said it. Clearly he cared that it was spoken correctly, and Sophie earned herself an appreciative nod when she repeated it back to him accurately the first time.


    She kept it as casual as she could manage, quickly dubbing the group ¡°the Ells,¡± due to their similar names. While Isabel smiled at that remark, Emanuel outright laughed and offered to pay her for licensing fees if their future members also followed the trend. Sophie took that small in and tried to nudge the conversation toward the group¡¯s exploits. It wasn¡¯t ever hard to get adventurers to talk about themselves or their accomplishments, but given this group¡¯s current makeup, it was clear they¡¯d experienced some big losses. Sophie knew better than to push too hard on a sore subject. She just wanted to learn their capabilities. If she also happened to learn what had gone wrong on their last run, then that would be even better.


    Apparently they had had a tank, but no healer. They¡¯d still thought they could push through a challenging dungeon because of their high damage output. It might have even worked, but the slowing curse the first miniboss placed on the tank persisted even after the boss¡¯s defeat.


    ¡°But rather than turn back...¡± Isabel faded off, letting the rest of their dungeon run sort of hang in the air with a wave of her hand.


    But Miguel wasn¡¯t content to leave it there. ¡°The rogue pushed forward, straight into a roaming patrol. Blighted idiot. It¡¯s really... bah. Got what he deserved. Just sucks for the rest of us." Miguel took two gulps of his drink while his scowl increasingly deepened. It was easy to tell that neither of the others really wanted to talk about it much. Then the tale ended as Miguel knocked over his empty pint. As he stood and wobbled his way to the bar for a refill, the mood lightened slightly.


    ¡°Did you... know them well?¡± Sophie took the chance to ask with him gone.


    ¡°Not really,¡± Isabel admitted, taking a drink herself. ¡°Was just our second run with them. But you know how it is. It¡¯s hard finding reliable party members.¡±


    Sophie appreciated the woman¡¯s calm, and she quickly jumped at the opening Isabel had presented. ¡°Does that mean you are looking for more group members? With my astr--"


    Isabel interrupted her with a raised hand and a considering eye. ¡°We would need reliability, as I said. I don¡¯t even know your level or Class yet.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m an astralist,¡± Sophie said, lifting Poof slightly.


    Emanuel finally spoke up, asking the question he¡¯d obviously been wondering about for a while given how long his eyes had lingered on Poof. ¡°So that¡¯s what the fluffball is! An astral! I thought they were usually more... fearsome. She¡¯s just adorable.¡±


    ¡°Right?¡± Sophie agreed. ¡°This is Poof. She¡¯s my newest and a really awesome battle mage. I just point her at a group of monsters and--"


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Isabel interrupted again. ¡°¡®Newest¡¯? As in, you have multiple astrals?¡±


    ¡°And did she call that furball a mage?¡± Miguel said, returning but already sporting a foamy beer mustache. ¡°I¡¯m a mage. How does it--? Spells require--It doesn¡¯t even have hands!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an astral, it doesn¡¯t need hands,¡± Emanuel groaned at his teammate, rubbing his forehead.


    ¡°It¡¯s just a furry ball,¡± Miguel fired back. ¡°Can it even speak?¡±


    Poof¡¯s blue eyes narrowed as she twisted in Sophie¡¯s lap to face Miguel and gave him a very angry, ¡°Meep!¡±


    Sophie tilted her head at the mage¡¯s apparent misunderstandings. ¡°Poof is a mage. I¡¯ve been working with her on her spellwork, and she¡¯s already learned how to explode a [Mana Bolt], which I know is pretty rare at this tier. I haven¡¯t managed to help her aspect it yet, but we¡¯re hoping--"


    ¡°It uses an unaspected [Mana Bolt],¡± Miguel said, shaking his head. ¡°How is it going to fight anything remotely strong with something so basic? I¡¯m only level 5, but I¡¯ve already learned [Force Bolt], and three other aspects besides. You¡¯re not a mage if you can¡¯t harness multiple elements, and she hasn¡¯t even got one yet!¡± His pint sloshed drunkenly above the table. ¡°We¡¯re supposed to shape the elemental nature of the world with our willpower alone!¡±


    The last two words clearly echoed in his head with more pride than Sophie thought they deserved.


    ¡°If only it were fueled by ego instead of mana...¡± Emanuel said quietly.


    Sophie tried not to laugh by instead recentering the bow that Poof had somehow managed to discard again. ¡°Well, I do have other astrals since you already have a mage. They¡¯re quite capable of filling the other important roles. I have one in particular, Mister Biggs--¡±


    ¡°Mister Biggs?¡± Isabel asked, face unreadable.


    Sophie hoped she had misheard the dismissiveness in the woman¡¯s reply. ¡°Yes. He¡¯s kind of a big bear guy, and he¡¯s a solid tank. He¡¯s actually got a lot of armor despite being covered in fur, so he doesn¡¯t need much healing. He¡¯s also got this lion-esque roar that¡¯s actually an area taunt, which I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware is super rare at this level. He can basically keep any monster¡¯s attention throughout an entire encounter. I¡¯d totally love to show him to you, but given his size I don¡¯t think even the people of The Agora would appreciate his sudden appearance..."


    She realized, perhaps too late, that she¡¯d been rambling.


    All three of the others were just staring at her. Miguel had frozen with his drink midway to his mouth. Then he set it down and exchanged a look with Isabel. Sophie didn¡¯t miss that even Emanuel had essentially done the same.


    Isabel cleared her throat, but Sophie started first. ¡°Look, I know that an astralist isn¡¯t anyone¡¯s ideal party member early on, but we can be stellar at later levels. If you just help me a little now, I¡¯ll owe you a debt that you could collect when I hit that sweet spot later. It could be a great investment for your party.¡± She was careful not to call it an Oath without prompting.


    Isabel sighed and returned to the one question Sophie had really hoped to avoid answering: ¡°What level are you now?¡±


    ¡°Three.¡±


    The duelist¡¯s face took on a sad smile. ¡°That is a long term investment.¡± She shook her head.


    Sophie¡¯s voice grew quieter, and she tried to relieve her stress by petting Poof in earnest again. ¡°It would certainly be shorter with a good group.¡± If she could keep them focused on the future then maybe they would gloss over her low level.


    Her slow progress was only because she had just gotten over the fear of seeing her family getting hurt. She wanted to make sure that she knew enough to guarantee they wouldn¡¯t be unnecessarily hurt when they fought monsters. Mister Biggs truly was a great tank, but he did almost no damage himself. Meanwhile Poof was the exact opposite and able to kill a bunch of things quickly but didn¡¯t have much staying power. Sophie was still holding out hope that she would never see her little scout Sneakers take a hit; he was built purely for stealth and speed.


    ¡°How old are you?¡± the older woman asked with a tone suggesting it was even more important than her level.


    ¡°Fourteen.¡±


    ¡°Isa,¡± Emanuel said with a groan.


    Isabel stared down into her pint. She began to lift it, but then didn¡¯t. Instead, she spoke directly into it, not looking at Sophie at all. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but I just don¡¯t see a way for us to carry someone right now who has no guarantee to hold her own--"


    ¡°Can I try at least?¡± Sophie pleaded, but she wasn¡¯t really expecting much back from them at this point. The rejection was already burning in her ears and through her confidence, but she would hate herself if she didn¡¯t at least do her due diligence.


    ¡°--Let alone lay claim to something as ambitious as a full astralist Path,¡± Isabel continued without slowing. ¡°That ¡®investment¡¯ won¡¯t be returned until mid tier 3, if at all. That could be years, girl.¡±


    Sophie considered a million ways to convey that she knew more about this topic than any other because this was her Path, but she knew that being overbearing wouldn''t help her cause. ¡°That¡¯s because all the guides teach the Single-Astral Focus. Just because my Path is different doesn¡¯t mean it will be worse.¡±


    Miguel scoffed with slurring words. ¡°Great, another freaking first-tier that thinks her untested Path can stand beside the advice of tier-4 astralists.¡±


    ¡°Well there¡¯s only one way to test it,¡± Sophie said, catching his eyes in hopes that he wouldn¡¯t just brush her off.


    Sophie heard the chair sliding out from the table on her other side. ¡°Good luck finding a party, kid,¡± Isabel said.


    Sophie couldn¡¯t stop herself from frowning, but at least the tears stayed back as she looked up at the duelist. ¡°It¡¯s Sophie.¡±


    Miguel and Emanuel also rose from their seats. Miguel dropped his now-emptied pint on the table with an unforgiving thud.


    ¡°Well, it was still nice meeting you, little Sophie,¡± Emanuel said, handing his pint to Miguel. ¡°I hope you survive long enough to grow strong and prove your Path.¡±


    Sophie wanted to thank him but also knew it would be wasted energy. It always ends like this, she thought, hugging Poof tighter to herself. Her limited social energy was better spent on trying to find another party to join--something that was getting harder by the day as she had worked through all the regulars.


    As the crowd continued to churn and drink around her, Sophie tried to put her most recent defeat behind her and instead focus on the one absolute truth that she was certain of and would never give up on:


    Sophira Adrielle would one day be known as the greatest summoner the realm had ever seen.


    ¡°Meep.¡±


    ...And Poof would one day learn to keep that bow on.

 Chapter 14: Subject of Whispers

    Chapter 14: Subject of Whispers


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Shadow</h2>


    It had been two very long weeks since Shadow had slain the Legends and earned his title. Long weeks, but not wholly without amusement.


    The first five days had been the worst, as following Venom around until their contract officially expired had been an exercise in restraint. The {Defiler} had definitely been busy.


    He had followed orders--technically--but the poor orphanage he had ¡°visited¡± had only proven his title. Shadow had tried to scrub most of those sights and sounds from his memory, but doing such things was almost antithetical to his Path with all the skills and passives he had supplementing cognition. Truly, Venom¡¯s Path was a mockery of what advancement should be. That the so-called gods hadn¡¯t noticed or acted was further proof of their failings. They were so caught up in their own games that Shadow wondered how anyone could believe their ¡°Grand Path¡± was anything but apathy. Common people were like sheep, he supposed, and sheep would do anything to avoid becoming a wolf¡¯s dinner. They just didn¡¯t realize the wolves were already their shepherds.


    After that week, Shadow had been glad to go his own way. It gave him time to get used to the stares his new title garnered. By now he¡¯d embraced them. A handful of times things went farther than mere looks, including a few challengers who thought to catch him off guard. They ended up being good practice for his [Shadow Twin]. Two had died before even realizing the Twin wasn¡¯t corporeal. One realized just in time to glimpse two of Shadow¡¯s daggers as they flew straight through his chest. Another two had turned into fun fights. He hadn¡¯t even used as many skills when ambushing the Brightshield. He so rarely went toe-to-toe with anyone any more that it had been good practice, and his daggers had never been so well fed.


    And then a unique opportunity presented itself. He still wasn¡¯t sure how the envelope had appeared on his pillow that day. It was just there one afternoon, as if dropped from the ether, and none of his safeguards had been tripped or even disturbed as best he could tell. Within the envelope had been a smooth black disk marked only with a flourished ¡°C,¡± and a letter. He¡¯d known immediately what it meant, and the disbelief and excitement had nearly taken his breath away.


    Christopher.


    Being contacted by Christopher was a dream scenario, and no doubt another perk of the {Legendslayer} title. He used [Eidetic Memory] to see the letter again, even though he didn¡¯t need to. He had memorized the words immediately, just prior to burning the original paper. Something he still regretted even if it was clearly needed. His focus lingered again on the most intriguing sentence: ¡°I believe it will be as beneficial to you as your previous contract.¡±


    Shadow didn¡¯t know of anything as powerful as the {Legendslayer} Title. But it must exist. It was well known that Christopher was unable to lie, directly at least. It was widely debated whether that inability was because the other half of his famously half-giant lineage might secretly be fae, not human. Shadow had collected no fewer than fifteen sources weighing in on either side.


    Not that it truly mattered. To be directly contacted by Christopher with an offer of a contract was not something he would ever miss.


    So he headed to Rockmoor.


    The city of Rockmoor would have been above average in size in any non-divine territory, but when considering that it was part of the Embrace¡¯s domain, it was actually rather small. Supposedly it was a nice enough place during the day, not that Shadow would know. He always arrived at night, when the city flourished. The city streets were filled with fleeting glimpses of cloaked forms, their perfumes and colognes lingering long after their indecencies were absorbed by the darkness. Purple and blue lights encouraged and illuminated revelers and scammers alike, while domains of deeper darkness hid signs with directions to exactly where Shadow needed to go.


    All in all, he loved the city¡¯s feel.


    Shadow thought nothing of going down back alleys while following the signs for Christopher. In the first one, he¡¯d had to relieve a foolish level 30 pickpocket of his hand. The audacity was respectable, which was why Shadow had left the man slumped against the brick wall, bleeding instead of dead. He didn¡¯t even need to use any stacks of [Insight]. The man would also serve as a lesson: Shadow was new to Rockmore but was not one to be trifled with. He was fairly sure that none of his original stalkers still remained, but his Perception wasn¡¯t flawless, no matter how many skills and passives he had boosting it.


    When they come, they¡¯ll lose more than a hand.


    The daggers hidden all over his body excitedly agreed, eager for more chances to fly and spill blood. Especially the biggest two at his sides. Yet they would need to wait. Shadow would not dare let them play in the domain of someone like Christopher.


    The Agora was one of those places with two faces. One was for the public, where travelers could enjoy a quick bite before being on their way again. Where the bartenders poured stiff drinks to ease your burdens, and your tongue. Where budding adventurers could assemble excitedly before engagements, and then return to celebrate or mourn based on the outcome.


    The Agora¡¯s other face was much darker. Much more secure, though not necessarily hidden. It lurked just beyond curtains that were simply overlooked by anyone below tier 3. It twisted around the common room along a labyrinth of hallways and private rooms. Where brokers and contractors cracked deals rarely seen outside a capital city. Where anything could be bought, acquired, traded, or sold.


    The domain of Christopher.


    Shadow stepped into the bright lights of the bar, but he was bound for the darkness beyond it.


    The common room had all the trappings of an overfilled tavern. Wooden furniture--mostly unbroken--a boisterous crowd, roaring with laughter as the usual savor of nearly-raw but well seasoned meat was served on basic metal plates and trays. Serving girls wearing slightly more than lingerie, usually sheer scarves that tantalized as much as they hid. An old oak bar spanning one whole side of the room was literally packed shoulder to shoulder. People even squeezed between stools, clamoring to catch any of the three bartenders¡¯ attention.


    Yet the instant Shadow raised the black disk with the script ¡°C¡± upon it, he was greeted by a telepathic whisper.


    ¡°{Legendslayer} Shadow, those who called you are waiting in our most luxurious suite. If you¡¯d please follow young Margot, who shall join you momentarily, you will find that all your needs will be met, to whatever satisfaction you may desire. Thank you for visiting The Agora.¡±


    Shadow tried not to flinch at the intrusion. As a man with many skills related to mastering his own mind, he had always hated telepathy, despite its increasingly widespread adoption. He acknowledged its usefulness in facilitating secrecy. But his current lack of understanding about its full capabilities and limits made him wary; he sought to limit his interactions with it. He had long been searching for any item or skill that could diminish its intrusion, societal implications be damned. His [Abyssal Shroud] was the closest he¡¯d gotten thus far.


    He noticed a blonde human girl approaching with just enough eye contact that it was clear she was seeking him. Her appearance was as could be expected of The Agora: young, wide-eyed, curvy in the right places, and a smile that welcomed all. Shadow used [Identify] instinctively, knowing such appearances were malleable.


    [Margot, Human, level 28, Prime Hostess]


    It was a genuine surprise that the establishment had offered anyone below tier 3 the prime hostess Secondary Class. That she wasn¡¯t even level 30 yet, and that she¡¯d managed to replace her Primary Class with it, spoke to her devotion and certainty: this was her Path.


    He took a step toward her and addressed her with quiet certainty. ¡°Margot, I¡¯m supposed to follow you.¡±


    She inclined her head, only flashing surprise for the barest sliver of a moment, but Shadow caught it. Then she smiled like prey delighted to be caught. ¡°Indeed you are, sir. This way, if you will.¡± She held out a pale and delicate hand, which Shadow did not take. Even though she was wearing gloves, he did not trust the touch of a prime hostess. He had read too many accounts of their abilities, and he could not afford to lose even a fraction of his sobriety.


    ¡°Lead the way.¡±


    She gave a playful pout at the dismissal before turning, slowly, as thin strands of lace fell from hidden folds and danced suggestively across her hips with each step. Despite her display and the boisterous nature of the barroom, no heads turned at her passing, and the crowd always parted around her and Shadow.


    She¡¯s already mastered [Polite Passage] at level 28.


    As Margot parted the crimson curtain that blocked sight of the rear hallway from the common room, she turned back with a wicked smile and asked, ¡°Is there anything else I can do for you before we join the others?¡± Her hand lingered near the doorknob of a side room. ¡°The Agora can be quite accommodating to guests as prominent as yourself.¡±


    Shadow did not even entertain her insinuation and ignored it entirely. ¡°How many others are there?¡±


    Again, the pretty lips pouted. ¡°Should you change your mind, the offer remains. As for your question, there are three others, and Christopher, of course.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Shadow said, tamping down his nerves. With three others, the likelihood of knowing one of them was higher, but still unlikely. Another opportunity to network.


    At the far end of the L-shaped hallway, Margot placed her palm upon an unremarkable brick wall, which slid silently to the side long enough to allow their passage. They then ascended a gently curving stair to a wide, clearly soundproofed room. Only once he stepped onto the final landing was Shadow able to hear the conversation within.


    As Margot had said, four people occupied the expansive suite, with auras that filled it entirely. Three sat facing each other around a small table that held an ornate decanter. Within it sloshed a crimson liquid that perfectly matched the color of the grand upholstered chairs.


    The figure facing the door was Christopher, who needed no introduction. His half-giant stature was unmistakable. Yet despite that massive frame, he wore impeccably tailored clothes of what was undoubtedly fashionable. The fabrics were sheer, tight, and clearly expensive. Even completely at ease he was still two heads taller than the other guests.


    To his right sat an older-looking man with strikingly white, shaggy hair. It was pristine, as if no other color dared blemish it. His bushy sideburns and upwardly-curled mustaches left the imitation of a permanent smile. He wore white-and-gold patterned robes with hems and stitchings that glowed, though he left them showcased rather than covered.


    He emanated power in a way that seemed to dull even Christopher¡¯s pervasive presence. It was like being buried beneath leagues of seawater, with no hope of seeing the surface.


    Shadow pushed through his discomfort and was surprised to see that on Christopher¡¯s left sat Timetwister. She looked markedly younger now than when he¡¯d seen her only two weeks ago, but such were the ways of chronomancers, even novices. Shadow was not displeased to see the healer again, as she had definitely been more competent than most of the others on that mission. He merely worried that her presence confirmed the interest of at least one god in whatever would be discussed.


    I just hope her patron won¡¯t attempt to recruit me again.


    The final guest was another unknown to him. At half Shadow¡¯s height, the female gnome with radiantly glowing purple hair stood facing away from all the chairs. She leaned against a railing that Shadow assumed must overlook the common room. Not that he recalled seeing such a space from the other side. But that was fairly normal with powerful magic, like what pervaded The Agora.


    Christopher, Timetwister, and the shaggy man were all holding wine glasses, though only the first two seemed to be drinking. Shadow noticed there were no lip marks on Timetwister¡¯s glass, and, more interestingly, the glass on the railing beside the gnome seemed untouched altogether.


    Cautious even here, Shadow thought approvingly. I can work with people like that.


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    Beside him, Margot cleared her throat. ¡°Master Christopher, and distinguished guests, it is my honor to announce {Legendslayer} Shadow.¡± Without prompting, she turned around and descended the stairs.


    Shadow stood awkwardly for a moment, mildly displeased that all the eyes had now turned to him. He would have liked a few more minutes to observe or at least gauge the tenor of the conversation. At the least, he wished to [Identify] everyone in the room, but he was a professional and would wait until introductions. He suspected all of them would be able to detect the skill anyways, and he wasn¡¯t one to be uncouth.


    His Path wouldn¡¯t allow it anyway. While he always sought to know more, he could also feel when it was better to lie in wait. He lived in the thin margin between preparation and opportunity. These were strong people, and he knew their type well enough. He could fit in with predators.


    He began with confidence, letting the silence stretch and allowing restraint to serve as his true introduction.


    Shadow was surprised when it was the shaggy man, and not Christopher, that broke the silence, as it suggested that he would be the one taking the lead. The man¡¯s voice was soothing, and its higher pitch easily inspired confidence. ¡°Join us, Shadow, if you will.¡± He indicated the empty chairs beside him in the circle. ¡°I promise to make it worth your time.¡±


    Shadow found himself pulled in by the man¡¯s words, but not naturally. He felt the pull of a skill, though his own [Discernment] could not help him identify which. He looked at the others in turn, gauging through their responses whether they¡¯d recognized the manipulation, too. Christopher, their presumed host, maintained a perfectly blank face. He was neither worried nor surprised, which told Shadow the half-giant had known this was coming. Beside him, Timetwister had leaned forward, lifting her glass, yet she still had managed not to let the liquid lick her lips. The gnome had shifted slightly, putting one foot forward like a fencer, suddenly defensive. She clearly disliked the man¡¯s skill as much as Shadow did. Then, with a movement almost too fast for even Shadow to catch, she emptied the contents of her glass over the balcony.


    She¡¯s properly paranoid at least. Still, it begs the question: if we¡¯re in Christopher¡¯s domain, why is he allowing this? Who is this man, and why haven¡¯t I heard anything of him before?


    Shadow suddenly wanted to know exactly what he¡¯d walked into.


    He made his way forward and placed his hand on the back of the chair, not yet willing to join their circle. It wasn¡¯t lost on him that the leather upholstery was the softest he¡¯d ever touched. Everything in the room spoke to luxury. An implied benefit of whatever job they were about to be offered.


    ¡°You have my attention. But I fear you also have me at a slight disadvantage, as you know my name but have not yet given yours.¡±


    ¡°Easily fixed,¡± the shaggy man said, taking a large drink and emptying his glass. ¡°Do you care for wine, Shadow? Master Christopher truly has the best selection I¡¯ve encountered outside of the Divine Capitals.¡± He lifted the decanter, refilling his glass first, then producing another matching glass from his own magical storage before filling it and pushing it toward Shadow.


    Christopher inclined his head and spoke with a low, silky rumble. ¡°The perks of being very selective, and well advised.¡±


    Shadow, strangely, wanted to partake. It would be rude to deny our host, but--Oh. The shaggy man is using his skills again. Shadow tried to clear the shaggy man¡¯s charming effect from his head by grounding himself in concrete details. The plushness of the leather beneath his fingertips. The tight woodgrain of the lacquered table. How his glass was now precisely as full as Timetwister¡¯s and the shaggy man¡¯s own refill.


    That felt like an impressive display of control and finesse. Is every action a show for this man?


    ¡°Indeed,¡± the shaggy man added, gesturing towards Shadow¡¯s glass, ¡°You¡¯ll never taste one finer.¡±


    Shadow again felt himself swayed to take a sip. It would be a shame to let such reportedly phenomenal wine... Wait, no. Shadow managed to tear his eyes away from the drink, as anger began boiling up in his belly. Yet he controlled himself, and he caught the gnomish woman watching him closely. Taking his measure.


    It seems she also recognizes how dangerous he is.


    ¡°Nor will you relax in finer seats,¡± the shaggy man continued. ¡°Come sit, and let us discuss what brings us here today.¡±


    The gnomish woman had moved away from the balcony, leaving her empty glass there, but not any nearer the circle of chairs. She was now standing by a bookcase, though she had yet to read a single title. ¡°Are we all here then?¡± she asked with a voice far deeper than he¡¯d expected. ¡°Can we begin in earnest?¡±


    As if to answer her question, Christopher beckoned her over. Only then did she finally take a chair. ¡°We are indeed. So, allow me the honor of introducing you all, even if I only use your alias.¡± As Christopher spoke, introducing each member of the group in turn, Shadow used [Identify]. He was deeply curious what it would reveal.


    [Christopher, Half-giant, level 118, Clandestine Broker]


    The host was, as Shadow already knew, impressive. He tried not to balk at the half-giant¡¯s level. He¡¯d heard that Christopher was a prime example of a noncombat Path, but he hadn¡¯t expected him to be halfway to tier 6. That made him the strongest mortal Shadow had ever met.


    [Timetwister, Human, level 42, Insightful Seer]


    {{Legendslayer}}


    Thanks to his [Eidetic Memory], he knew that Timetwister had grown the same amount he had from their last job--but she had progressed no further since.


    [Charlotte, Gnome, level 66, Shady Dealer]


    {{Mistress of Plenty}}


    It was initially odd that the woman used a normal name for her alias, but upon seeing her Class, Shadow was no longer surprised. Just as it didn¡¯t bother him that he hadn¡¯t heard of her. He didn¡¯t see a single weapon on her body, but that wouldn¡¯t normally mean anything. Except for her title. The only way to have that title was to get the blessing of the goddess Plenty, and for that she¡¯d have to have never held a weapon. The goddess Plenty wouldn¡¯t stand for it. She might specialize in acquisitions. The more Shadow studied her, the more right that felt.


    Then it was Shadow¡¯s turn. He felt two very different probing styles of [Identify], one that felt nearly textbook, with only a few subtle additions and tweaks. That obviously originated from Charlotte. The other, however, was overwhelmingly more refined and might not have even been [Identify]. He suspected this advanced of a skill would reveal anything he tried to hide, so he didn¡¯t try. This must have come from the shaggy man, whose smile only grew once he was announced.


    [Brightside, ?, level ? , ? ]


    {{Lord}}


    The man of mystery, whose alias was eerily reminiscent to the slain Legend. It had been a while since Shadow¡¯s highly advanced [Identify] had been basically blanked. His fingernails all but dug into his knee as his Path balked at such an outright denial of information. So, the hard way it is.


    Behind the mask of his smile, Shadow began prying into the man¡¯s facade. First, [True Sight] revealed the man¡¯s appearance and aura weren¡¯t bluffs. Power radiated from him in a way that was clearly above tier 4. Unfortunately, the man¡¯s robes glowed with such brilliance at this tier disparity that Shadow had to drop the skill before it blinded him. Next, he used [Pierce the Veil] targeting the man¡¯s Status, specifically the blocks denying outside eyes. But even pumping extra effort and mana into it, all he got was a headache.


    Given Christopher¡¯s deference--in his own domain no less--how strong is this man? He clearly dealt in social skills, mental manipulation, and the like. Was he also capable in combat? Shadow wanted desperately to find out, but he shot down his daggers before they could begin asking to taste his blood.


    The man called Brightside began to swish the wine in his glass. ¡°I must apologize that I reveal so little, even to one with your Path, Shadow, but alas, my secrets are too valuable to just be given out.¡± He took a sip of his wine, smiling vaguely.


    Shadow was not amused and instead went even more on guard. ¡°I don¡¯t like it when someone wants to hide all their cards but deals mine face-up.¡±


    ¡°We are only plausible partners at the moment, my inquisitive assassin. I¡¯ve yet to read our futures together. And it would be foolish not to guard myself in such company.¡±


    Shadow¡¯s gaze turned to Timetwister, as the talk of reading futures sounded like something the woman had said once. She was more than a little obsessed with the idea of destiny, especially mapping out her own. It was no surprise she had moved to the edge of her seat. ¡°Have you skill in prophecy?¡±


    ¡°Not in The Agora.¡±


    The four words boomed out of Christopher with a nearly-divine certainty, diminishing none of their normal silky rumble. Shadow felt the words slide into the truth of their surroundings with an unpleasantness Shadow usually strove to avoid.


    But, genuinely, Shadow didn¡¯t mind this time. To prophesy was to call divine attention, and he didn¡¯t want such attention anywhere near him ever again.


    Brightside¡¯s eyebrows rose playfully as his smile spread. ¡°Of course, Master Christopher. We had not discussed before what skills I would or wouldn¡¯t use. So please forgive my false step; breaking any of your rules was not my intent.¡±


    The half-giant reclined back into his chair, lifting his wine glass again with one hand as a new bottle appeared in the other. He poured calmly, deliberately, still saying nothing as all eyes watched him. Shadow appreciated the growing tension around the table as Christopher kept his face neutral, making a show of reminding everyone that this was his domain.


    As he stopped pouring and the bottle disappeared again, the half-giant inhaled the new wine¡¯s bouquet. ¡°You¡¯re forgiven,¡± he said, sipping delicately. ¡°Please, continue.¡±


    The subtle tension left Brightside¡¯s shoulders immediately, as he returned his attention to the rest of the circle. ¡°I come with an opportunity that may prove as difficult as it will be rewarding. If successful, each of you will acquire more in one year than you¡¯d have earned in ten. This is the kind of growth that could make your entire Path toward divinity swifter.¡±


    ¡°A bold claim,¡± the gnome began, ¡°but how can one reward help all our Paths like that? I¡¯m not a thief, he¡¯s no dealer, and she...¡± She paused as her hand moved from Shadow¡¯s direction toward Timetwister and hung there. ¡°I don¡¯t know what she even is.¡±


    Brightside¡¯s smile did not waver at all. ¡°Firstly, I have employed them before,¡± he said, indicating Shadow and Timetwister, ¡°and as their equipped titles can attest, I provided a substantial boost to their Paths.¡±


    It was all Shadow could do to keep from growling. Brightside had been the mysterious contractor that provided the {Legendslayer} job? Is that why he chose this moniker? He pulled up the previous contract and saw that where the Employer entry had previously just displayed a ¡°?¡±, it now showed ¡°Brightside.¡± The reveal did not make Shadow happy. He¡¯d been tolerant of the nameless, faceless, employer because the promised payout had been ridiculous. But to have the identity revealed this way made his Path scream. Combined with the man¡¯s previous manipulation... if any more barriers went up, it wouldn¡¯t matter what was offered. Shadow hated the way this man did business.


    Yet he did not let himself scowl, and he did not pull his hood tighter over his face. He avoided using [Calm Emotions] considering the company he was in would likely sense it, but still managed to pry his fingers from the pits they¡¯d been digging in his knee. This could still be a profitable contract. Especially with Christopher being involved.


    ¡°Secondly,¡± Brightside continued, ¡°Given your title, I believe you¡¯ll acknowledge that both of your recent, shall we say, connections into the realms of the Divine were facilitated by a much more familiar name. When anagramed.¡±


    The gnomish woman tsked angrily. ¡°Anagrams are bloody childish.¡±


    ¡°And uniquely suited to some of the finer points of our jobs, including infiltration,¡± Brightside said, twirling his mustache auspiciously. ¡°Weren¡¯t those two contracts exceptionally useful to your business?¡±


    Charlotte stared daggers at the man. ¡°And now, what, you think we¡¯ll just overlook your casual misuse of charm skills because of a few pretty words, some past successes, and the promise of a ¡®swifter¡¯ Path?¡±


    Brightside spread his arms wide, as if to encompass all gathered around the circle. ¡°Nothing of the sort! I just thought those assembled here would be a bit more tolerant, a bit less squeamish about such things. At my level, it¡¯s almost harder to turn off the charm than it is to use it. Master Christopher assured me--"


    ¡°Careful,¡± Christopher said.


    Brightside nodded, lifting a hand as his smile never faltered. ¡°I was merely calling your attention to the golden opportunities I presented each of you, that you each brilliantly grasped in the most excellent and proficient ways!¡±


    ¡°So then what is it you offer now?¡± Timetwister asked. ¡°From the moment I entered this room, my [Foresight] has been a hazy blur. Since you began speaking, it has been entirely blackened out, leaving the future unreadable.¡±


    Brightside¡¯s face became starkly serious. ¡°When you deal with the gods, my dear Timetwister, one leaves nothing to chance. One¡¯s plans must be perfect.¡±


    Shadow stood up. ¡°I¡¯m out.¡±


    It was so sudden, all of the others actually showed surprise. Even Christopher.


    ¡°My dear Shadow,¡± the shaggy man tried to rebut, but Shadow cut him off.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already had too many gods in my life. I won¡¯t be involved with them again; I don¡¯t care what you can offer.¡±


    Brightside raised an eyebrow. ¡°Are you sure? It is precisely that caution and animosity that would provide you the biggest gain from this endeavor. Just hear me out before--"


    ¡°Nope,¡± Shadow interrupted again. He had been letting the man talk far too long, and his words had almost sounded good again. ¡°There are some things even I don¡¯t want to know. I wish you success, but in my experience, gods are irrational, spiteful, and vindictive. I¡¯m no doubt offending one just by saying this, especially with her here,¡± he said, pointing at Timetwister, ¡°but I¡¯d likely offend more by going along with you. So I¡¯m bowing out now. Divine shit isn¡¯t in my Path. I will not be squashed like a bug.¡±


    Shadow tuned the man out and, not wanting to seem rude to his actual host, bowed. ¡°Master Christopher, I do apologize. It¡¯s been an honor just being called to your presence.¡± He sighed. ¡°Please, consider me again in the future if anything--anything else--should arise that you believe I¡¯d fit.¡±


    He waited just long enough to see the half-giant¡¯s head nod. Then Shadow leapt over the balcony and disappeared from The Agora.


    He didn¡¯t care what happened to the rest of them. As far as he was concerned, he¡¯d dodged a potentially lethal pitfall. He knew his Path, and he didn¡¯t need any job so badly as to mix with gods. Never again.


    Which was how Shadow found himself removed from the conversation and plans that would become the subject of whispers for centuries.

 Chapter 15: Priorities

    Chapter 15: Priorities


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    It was two full days before Tristan¡¯s mother demanded access to the forge specifically to force Tristan to rest. The budding blacksmith had completely lost all track of time. Once he was forced to stop, he realized that he was exhausted. Apparently even with more than double his level 1 Endurance, he needed to sleep more than once a week.


    That said, he had also made a lot of progress.


    He had slightly overestimated the amount of materials he''d gained from his dungeon run with Chessa and Opie and now knew it wouldn¡¯t quite carry him all the way to tier up. Luckily, with his new growth bag¡¯s auto-sorting perk, he knew exactly how much he had (and how much more he¡¯d need) at all times. All of the scrap iron, copper, and bronze could be melted down and worked anew, given time. And time was the one thing Tristan felt he had in spades.


    After his mother¡¯s reintroduction of sanity to his schedule, Tristan was surprised to find that he was much more productive. It wasn¡¯t a massive change, but his day grew to closely match his father¡¯s: he rose at dawn, ate a healthy breakfast, and went immediately to the forge. He spent all day there, pausing only for what his father called ¡°lunch with a side of reflection.¡± A time in which he should think back to what he¡¯d made in the morning, both his successes and his mistakes, and consider how best to improve on both before resuming in the afternoon. It wasn¡¯t something that came easily or even naturally to Tristan. He struggled, just as he always had, with the ¡°quiet reflection¡± stuff. He¡¯d never been able to do his mother¡¯s ¡°pond without ripples¡± either. But after all that was done, he¡¯d pound the anvil again until it was dinner time. There was now a strictly enforced rule of ¡°no forge after dinner¡±--though Tristan bristled when he found it only applied to him.


    Yet even with those changes, Tristan made impressive progress. He worked and refined and shaped and flattened and bent and molded and scraped and polished and ground and drew out until he had piles of both finished and ongoing projects. The ongoing projects mattered most of all, as they still had the possibility of becoming greater.


    Including the project that mattered more than any other.


    His sword.


    It was far past the planning stages, but he also knew that he needed more experience and practice to ensure that it surpassed his current skills. The sword deserved so much more. So Tristan wouldn¡¯t hurry. He would practice, level, and practice some more, continuing to improve his sword throughout tier 1 and possibly his full Path, until he was sure every line and edge would be as perfect as he could make it.


    One massive improvement brought on by leveling his Class was how much quicker it was to finish many of his projects. His techniques were getting sharper, and Tristan could feel a little bit of a guiding touch from his Path as he swung his hammer. It was like his Class reached out and lifted a small part of the burden from each skill used.


    The list of items he felt comfortable making had also grown substantially. He¡¯d started this marathon with billets, but once he¡¯d turned those into basic swords, he¡¯d wanted to try experimenting with different sword designs. Each project inspired another, and each swing of his hammer brought new ideas. New ways to improve things he hadn''t worked on yet. It was exciting, but also intimidating. Would he ever have enough time to test all his ideas? Maybe if I reach godhood, he chuckled to himself. Maybe.


    As an example, eventually he would need a crossguard and full handle for his sword, and there were so many possibilities! It was honestly overwhelming. He''d even considered if he could enrich the design of the crossguard with the talisman from the Brightshield, but the attached memory was still too raw for him to give the design the proper focus. Maybe when he was closer.


    The one thing he was sure about was that he wanted the blade to be bigger, large enough to require two hands. A greatsword.


    Another week of sword-work flew by, and Tristan had roughly doubled his shortsword crafting speed. Forging each blade no longer took the better part of a day. But, even with so many new weapons, he¡¯d yet to find one he wanted to replace the [Repaired Rusted Sword] with. So he decided to once again branch out into other crafts. He had to acknowledge that currently he could learn more by mastering all the skills available to him instead of just focusing on one.


    At level 6 he had learned [Craft Armor], but he hadn¡¯t really experimented with it yet, ironically spending more time creating rings and amulets from scratch. He started making bracers, as they seemed the easiest type to craft--and was likely why they provided minimal stats. The best he¡¯d made had only given +1 armor. So he moved up a rung in complexity and began making splints that could be turned into mail.


    There, he¡¯d learned two valuable lessons. First, to make splint mail, he¡¯d have to work with non-metal mediums, which he wouldn¡¯t do if he didn''t have to--and since his Core meant he¡¯d only ever work on his own gear, he¡¯d never have to. Second, it would take him months at his current skill level to finish a wearable splint mail chestpiece. If that was the case, wouldn¡¯t it just be better to shift over to a full metal breastplate? Maybe later, he finally decided, putting his splints away and doubting he¡¯d ever return to them.


    Gauntlets, he quickly learned, were also something he didn¡¯t enjoy making. Finger coverings in general were just a nightmare. He had no idea how to make them strong and sturdy and correctly sized! He was starting to think his Path would leave the more diverse skills of armor smithing to others. No, when it came to armor, it would be bracers, or breastplates, or nothing at all. Well, maybe some pants. He wouldn¡¯t want to be running around with just boxers on.


    Maybe I can do something unique with my Path and incorporate defenses into my swords. Then I might not even need traditional armor.


    Days into his newest marathon, he hit level 7, and as always the Ding! filled him with joy. He got his second passive skill, and this one was awesome.


    [Strength Up I] A passive skill that grants the user a 10% increase to Strength. Skills that scale exclusively off of Strength receive double this bonus.


    At his current level, it was basically just a +2 bonus, which definitely felt minor, even if it did bring his total Strength up to 26. But the impact as his stats grew would be immense. He couldn¡¯t tell whether or not it was affected by the bonus from his {Fledgling Dungeon Delver} title. Maybe later, when that +1 crossed a breakpoint, it would be obvious. He also wondered if the percent boost would work with bonuses from gear he might get. That would be exciting. Regardless, with such small stat totals, it was just a small bump, not even a level¡¯s worth. But eventually...


    Tristan continued to lose himself in his work. Even hitting level 8 wasn¡¯t enough to pull him out of the forge. If anything, getting his new skill just gave him more to do.


    [Craft Shield] An active ability allowing a user to polish and shape metal into a one- or two-handed, portable protective barrier of different shapes, sizes, and combat styles.


    It turned out that crafting a shield while using the skill only helped polish what he¡¯d already learned the hard way. His toolbox hadn¡¯t really changed, but it was almost like he¡¯d gotten a few new notes to help deepen his ability and understanding slightly. Of course, none of the shields he produced with it matched his [Heartmender¡¯s Shield]. Crafting just one uncommon-rarity anything was already a huge deal for any tier 1 crafter.


    Tristan was suddenly pulled from his focus by the sounds of yelling outside. He stopped his hammer swings and decided not to reheat the metal breastplate he was currently working on. It could wait. His curiosity could not. ¡°I¡¯ll be right back,¡± he shouted over to his father whose only reply was a grunt as the sound of his perfected hammer swings continued to ring out.


    Tristan hung up his apron and went to the door, skirting the front counter where his mother would no doubt slow him with irrelevant questions about his day. The shouting outside had only grown more intense, and he was dying to know what was going on.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Aaric</h2>


    Standing just behind the manor, near enough to the kitchen that he could smell the feast being prepared for dinner, Aaric was not pleased in the slightest. He also refused to ask his questions aloud, choosing to utilize party chat on the off chance someone happened close enough to overhear.


    Aaric: It still didn''t feel fast enough. How far was I from perfect timing?


    Scout: You were only a combined 1.5 seconds from the optimal casting rotation there, which I must remind you again would be considered incredibly difficult for even a second tier. It counts.


    Aaric: But it¡¯s not perfect. It shouldn¡¯t count.


    Scout: You set the threshold at 2 seconds, sir. Would you like to adjust it?


    Aaric: No, just--What¡¯s the current streak?


    Scout: Eleven successes in a row, sir.


    Aaric: And you¡¯re sure this is my maximum damage output?


    Scout: With your current spell and gear selection, it is.


    Aaric scowled. Part of him would always hate how precisely the scout answered his questions, never offering more than what was asked. But the man was tier 4 and uniquely capable when it came to evaluating abilities. At least unique in this part of the realm anyway. Aaric could not find anyone better at the moment, and he hated that too.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Turning back to the shimmering wooden dummy, Aaric knew he only had two ways to improve. Primarily, he would practice until he was better, even if it took him another month. Even if he had to buy ten more dungeon slots. Even if he caused a snowstorm!


    But there was always the chance that they could find another ice-specialized caster...


    He saw the shadow of movement from within the kitchen¡¯s frosted windows and, glimpsing the sunset briefly, cursed that he¡¯d wasted practice time in reflection. He could not stop yet. There was work to do.


    He focused instead on the practice dummy he¡¯d commissioned. It was a marvelous thing with a shield that moved in unpredictable and unpatterned ways. If anything, it was too good and too skilled to adequately represent... anyone of consequence that happened to also wield a shield. It was a great test for Aaric¡¯s accuracy and precision, while also letting him work on other benchmarks. Like how quickly he could restack chill into a full freeze on a second cycle. He¡¯d managed to get his time to under thirty seconds.


    Scout: Make sure you cast [Frost Bolt] first to shatter the frozen status, and then begin channeling [Ice Barrage]. Frozen only gives one hit of double damage, and you lose too much of that bonus if a tiny barrage shard hits first.


    Aaric cooled his temper by remembering that the scout was, in fact, helping him, just like he¡¯d done when trying to do before that spar. When old Aaric hadn¡¯t listened, and almost lost to a noncombat Class. But he wasn¡¯t like that anymore. Aaric no longer deluded himself into thinking he¡¯d merely not won. For weeks he¡¯d been agonizing over it, replaying it in his mind even as he destroyed every other challenger at the Training Grounds. That single match had soured every other bout in the entire place for him.


    Since then, he¡¯d done two dungeon runs in quick succession. He¡¯d have done a third, but the others in the group had said they¡¯d needed breaks. Despite the fact that he¡¯d offered double the rate. It boggled the mind, especially when their job was markedly easier with Aaric freezing almost every monster solid! How else was he going to get the gear and experience he needed to be an {Ice Prodigy}?


    But just like that group, everything Aaric attempted now seemed inadequate and infuriating. And it all stemmed back to one spar.


    I didn¡¯t lose, but I could have. I would have. He would have outlasted me, an ice mage! An {Ice Prodigy}!


    Even the illusion of such an outcome could never be allowed to happen again. Aaric needed to be perfect.


    He completed the twelfth rotation and sat down, chugging an entire uncommon tier 2 mana potion before tossing it toward the pile of other empty vessels near the kitchen door.


    Scout: Another success.


    Aaric: And my timing?


    Scout: This time you were just over 1 combined second from the optimal freeze combo. Again, well within your stated limit. Again, I offer my previous reply.


    Aaric nodded as the dummy¡¯s shield continued to move. He imagined the sound of a rusted blade tapping it.


    ¡°Again!¡± he said aloud.


    ¡°Actually, that¡¯s enough training for now,¡± the deep and exacting voice of Aaric''s father, Lord Longbloom, called from the kitchen door. It strolled from syllable to syllable at its own pace, always clearly enunciated, as the man would never repeat himself. ¡°Come inside for dinner.¡±


    Aaric repositioned his feet, not quite daring to cast at the dummy again but also not wanting to leave yet. He looked at the scout, but that man had already bowed fully over with one arm across his chest. He appeared as still as a statue, despite replying to Aaric¡¯s messages.


    Aaric: We''re not done.


    Scout: As you like, sir. But after dinner, and with the Lord''s permission, we shall resume.


    Aaric hated that he understood the scout''s reticence--his father could be... terrifying when he wanted to be. It was why Aaric himself would never truly resist his father¡¯s will. Only try to bend it some.


    His father had not stayed after delivering his pronouncement, however. His tall shadow was already fading from the kitchen, no doubt heading to the dining hall. It would not do to keep him waiting. As Aaric entered the kitchen himself, he sent his final, hopeful query to the scout. A question he¡¯d delayed asking on the off chance the answer might change.


    Aaric: The rotation itself is still too inefficient. Have there been any leads on locating someone with [Ice Blast]?


    Scout: Not yet, sir, though I expect my connections will lead to something soon. Patience is the Path of an ice mage.


    Aaric wanted to throw his hands up, but that would have toppled a nearby servant¡¯s tray of steaming chicken skewers. Who was Scout to talk of patience? Aaric was the one walking the Path of a frost mage! He could outlast anyone!


    Nearly anyone, he self-corrected, reminding himself once again that he was supposed to be listening more. He snared a deveined prawn from a chilled bowl that would no doubt be the second course. He popped it into his mouth and wove his way past all servers and chefs, out of the kitchen, and toward the massive oaken table.


    It stretched far enough guests often felt the need to raise their voices when speaking to the man seated at the far end. A grave mistake, to be sure, and one capitalized on all too often by Lord Longbloom. He had designed every facet of the table, from the scrawled legs to its sleek, mirror-like finish. It radiated wealth and authority.


    He saw his father was already seated and sipping slowly at a glass of red wine. His mother sat directly to the Lord¡¯s left. She smiled, as always, a bit too widely. Her face was already flushed red, and a quick check of the pitcher being held by the servant directly behind her goblet-carrying hand appeared to be half empty already.


    Her words ran together as she asked, ¡°Are you done training for the day, Aaric?¡±


    ¡°I haven''t yet decided,¡± he lied.


    She nodded, perhaps half listening as she sloshed her goblet around. ¡°You should rest some before your next outing. When will that be?¡±


    ¡°When Father finds a party capable of running a dungeon with suitable rewards. And finishes getting my gear crafted.¡±


    The man in question popped a prawn into his mouth, unbothered by the mild inaccuracies. He summoned a servant, wiped his fingers on the man¡¯s shirt, and then waved him away as the wine glass returned to his lips.


    ¡°It''s not always easy to find something matching such specific parameters,¡± his father said between slow sips. ¡°And the crafters capable of adding both of those properties to gear have assured me that doing so raises the level requirement of said gear to be too high for you,¡± he glared, almost accusingly. ¡°This once, you might have to settle for something less specific.¡±


    Aaric¡¯s fingernails dug into his palm. I don¡¯t want to settle for less than the best for my Path. But he could never say something to contradict his father. He stared at him for a moment and considered. You wouldn¡¯t settle. So instead he broached the topic with the cool logic his father demanded. ¡°I need both added frost damage and mana efficiency if I¡¯m to stay ahead of the curve. Neither is negotiable.¡± He waved away the skewers that had finally reached him. The servers were all walking rather slowly this evening, he felt.


    His father took a few final bites of the salad that had appeared before them earlier, and which Aaric had yet to touch. ¡°And yet,¡± his father began, ¡°every single day, sacrifices must be made as costs are weighed against other priorities.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t leave much room for time-sensitive opportunities like mine,¡± Aaric countered.


    Beside Lord Longbloom, Aaric¡¯s mother tilted precariously in her chair as another round of servants emerged from the kitchen with dishes covered by silver cloches. ¡°Is that what you¡¯ve been up to today, Aaric dear? Time... things? Tell me about that.¡± She was fully distracted by the steaming soup just revealed.


    ¡°Training such as you¡¯re doing is not time-sensitive,¡± his father let each word drip like honey from his tongue with more deliberate slowness than usual. A sign that he felt dangerously close to repeating himself.


    Aaric pivoted instead to his mother, which felt like safer ground from which to continue his assault. ¡°Yes, mother, I¡¯ve been working on mastering my spell timings. What could be more time-sensitive than the very nature of my foundational skills?¡± Aaric finally allowed himself a bite of the soup, which was (of course) buttery and delicious.


    ¡°It seems this is another example of your priorities needing adjustment, son,¡± Lord Longbloom said with languid certainty. ¡°Time spent with family should be atop all of our lists.¡± He slightly raised his half-empty wine glass, which was instantly topped off by a servant wearing white gloves. ¡°Above business, above growth, above the divine. Family is sacrosanct.¡±


    The final words had been calm and no louder than any of the others, yet they had filled the entire room. Such was the power of Lord Longbloom¡¯s aura. Every person within earshot had felt the force of their truth.


    Aaric bowed his head. ¡°Of course, father.¡±


    The man sipped delicately at his soup. ¡°Have you any new arguments on the subject to make today, or shall yesterday¡¯s judgment continue to hold?¡±


    Aaric was forced to swallow his reply for fear of speaking over his mother, whose glass had once again moved away from her lips. ¡°Well, I want to hear more about your day today. Why were you practicing your timings? Was it for a race of some sort? A time trial?¡± She nodded briefly as the properly blank-faced attendant holding the half-full decanter left her glass totally refilled. She turned fully toward Aaric, beaming. ¡°Did you win?¡±


    Aaric tried not to roll his eyes at the absolute lack of help his mother was offering. Appearances mattered, after all. She could do so much more than her trophy wife Class if she¡¯d just tried, he thought, or merely stay sober. But he couldn¡¯t show any of his disappointment; he could feel his father¡¯s gaze upon him. ¡°No, mother, it¡¯s not perfect yet.¡±


    With the subtlest shift of two of Lord Longbloom¡¯s fingers, the wine bearer stepped away from Lady Longbloom.


    ¡°Perhaps you should aim a little lower,¡± his mother slurred, staining the glass with her lipstick again. ¡°Though I suppose you take after your father...¡±


    ¡°From your beautiful lips to the gods¡¯ ears,¡± Lord Longbloom said, smiling more broadly at her than he ever had at Aaric. ¡°You offer such wisdom, my dear, and it would be a shame should we not all learn from it. Why not tell us more about your day?¡±


    Aaric knew that for the dismissal it was. It was his father¡¯s way of signaling that their discussion had ended, just as the placing of his soup spoon beside his bowl signaled his readiness for the next course.


    Immediately the soup bowls were gone, sharp knives were placed beside each Longbloom¡¯s right hand, and thick red steaks filled the center of their plates. Lord Longbloom loved his steaks rare, which meant Aaric had to suffer the same.


    Aaric seethed. I didn¡¯t even get a chance to answer him.


    But time was wasting.


    In his head, he heard one of his blessed father¡¯s infamously over-quoted sayings in the man¡¯s own voice: ¡°Time is the one resource of which even we can¡¯t buy more.¡±

 Chapter 16: The Sword

    Chapter 16: The Sword


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Outside, a large gathering of townsfolk had surrounded a man at the central crossroads. He was leading a pack mule by what remained of a few torn straps. He looked scared, and his voice cracked as he tried to explain himself.


    ¡°But they came out of nowhere! I couldn¡¯t get an [Identify] level on any of them, so they were clearly higher tier!¡±


    Tristan didn¡¯t recognize the man, but the signs of banditry were beyond question. Whatever the mule had been carrying was long gone. The straps along its back and sides were cut clean, leaving nothing but the man¡¯s loud claims at whatever treasure might have been there before.


    Dennit Copperbeard, the bakery owner, stepped forward. Despite his shorter stature, which was actually quite average for a dwarf, his loud voice commanded attention. So did his immaculate red beard that was so long it touched his boots. ¡°If they threatened you, and they¡¯re higher-level as you say, you need to report it immediately!¡±


    ¡°They didn¡¯t exactly threaten me though,¡± the original man said, shuffling his feet. ¡°They just stopped Bertie here and... well, mostly asked, but..."


    Dinnit shook his head. ¡°But the threat was clear, right?¡±


    An older woman started scolding him. ¡°What you should have done was run! If they didn¡¯t even threaten you properly, then--"


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to risk my life when a whole band of tier 3s just want my wares! I can always tan more hides as long as mine¡¯s intact!¡±


    ¡°How many were there this time, Ronald?¡± a new, worried voice asked. Tristan immediately recognized Chessa¡¯s mother, Sasha, who was wringing her hands.


    Ronald turned toward her, still keeping a hand on his mule¡¯s cut harness. ¡°I counted eight, but I¡¯m sure there were more in the forest. Or at least they acted like there were.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s even more than what stopped Tomas a few days ago,¡± Sasha replied.


    Tristan balked at hearing something similar had happened to Chessa¡¯s father and that he hadn¡¯t known. I guess I haven¡¯t really been available as a friend lately...


    The older woman spoke up again, steaming as she stepped forward. ¡°You have to report it. If these bandits are out there striking down-tier, the Tier Guard will come and clean them off the roads!¡±


    Ronald regarded her with disappointment. ¡°That¡¯s not how it works.¡± He turned toward Chessa¡¯s mother. ¡°Didn¡¯t Tomas report his incident?¡±


    Sasha nodded, voicelessly.


    ¡°And yet here I am, days later, and still nothing¡¯s been done. All I see are more problems.¡±


    There were general grumblings after that, but no one seemed to disagree with the point he hadn¡¯t needed to state.


    Tristan knew the Tier Guard was only truly supposed to respond to the worst cases of higher tiers ¡®striking down¡¯ at lower tiers. Officially, their justice was limited to murder, rape, enslavement, and the like. But sometimes they could be convinced to help with lesser incidents... Sometimes. If the Tier Guard hadn¡¯t responded in days to Tomas¡¯s claim, then that absence of action was pretty telling. With Brightshield and his party gone, there was effectively no other organization policing their region.


    Tristan quietly made his way over to Chessa¡¯s mother. ¡°Hey, is Mister Klimenta all right? I¡¯m sorry I¡¯ve been so busy, but I didn¡¯t know something like this had happened. Ms. Klimenta, if there¡®s anything at all my family or I can do to help, please let me know!¡±


    The woman recognized Tristan immediately and her face brightened slightly, her frown vanishing almost entirely. ¡°Oh, Tristan! Bless you, but no. We¡¯re all fine, thank you.¡± She patted his arm gently. ¡°But it¡¯s sweet of you to offer. From what I¡¯ve heard you¡¯re doing pretty well yourself, eh? Is your father finally letting you out of the forge? Or maybe your mother¡¯s convinced him that you¡¯ve got other skills to level up, too? She was talking prospects just the other day, you know. But gods only know, you can¡¯t get a tan without seeing the sun!¡± She winked at him.


    Tristan decided it would be easier not to correct her, so he just just chuckled uncomfortably. ¡°Yeah, leveling has been a bit of a grind so far, but definitely worth it! I¡¯m making a lot of progress.¡±


    The woman¡¯s eyes unfocused momentarily as she no-doubt used [Identify] on him, and then her smile grew wider. ¡°I can see that! May the gods continue to send you their blessings! Bless you and all the rest of Chessa¡¯s friends! You¡¯re all doing so well I can hardly believe it. The next generation of our little town will be the strongest yet!¡±


    Tristan straightened a little with pride. ¡°What level are they now? I haven¡¯t really... seen anyone in a while.¡± Tristan grimaced at the admission, not entirely sure how long it had been. He had become a bit of a workaholic.


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t I know it!¡± The woman laughed. ¡°But yeah, Chessa and Opie both just hit level 8 recently, so it looks like you¡¯ve actually caught up to them. That should make your next adventure together that much better.¡± She paused, looking back at the slowly dispersing crowd around Ronald. ¡°Assuming we can leave the town anytime soon without being hassled.¡±


    ¡°When did all this start?¡± Tristan asked.


    Sasha sighed, shaking her head. ¡°It¡¯s been building up ever since the Brightshield..." But then she looked away from Tristan, which made him wonder if she somehow knew. ¡°...You know. All those weeks ago. You¡¯d think more people would try to live up to his ideals, but... without any heroes left to deter the more selfish Paths, too many of that type are going unpunished. I hope the rest of the realm isn¡¯t going this mad.¡±


    Tristan swallowed slowly, repeating the words his father had drilled into him all those weeks ago. His death was not my fault. Neither are these events. He turned the conversation toward the dispersing crowd. ¡°Is it just bandits on the road, then? What else is happening? If the Tier Guards aren¡¯t getting involved...¡±


    ¡°Who knows. No one¡¯s been hurt yet, that I¡¯ve heard of at least. I just hope things don¡¯t get any worse.¡±


    Tristan dreaded the thought. If things continued getting worse, it wouldn¡¯t just be supplies getting taken. And if the roads became that unsafe, it would put his plans in jeopardy.


    He bade Chessa¡¯s mother farewell and returned home where he shared his concerns with his own mother. She listened attentively while she prepared a beautiful beef stew for dinner. Accompanying it, as always, was mouth-watering garlic bread.


    ¡°Then it¡¯s a good thing we don¡¯t need to go out,¡± she said once Tristan had finished his telling. ¡°But don¡¯t think that means you can keep spending all your time in that forge! You need to spend some time with us, and your friends, too!¡± She took a moment to check on the bread in the oven. ¡°And maybe even some girls, hmm? You¡¯re becoming quite the eligible young man, you know! That is assuming you don¡¯t get yourself killed in a dungeon.¡±


    Tristan sighed, ¡°Mom, again? I already spend all day with dad, and you¡¯re here any time I want to talk. I know that. But I¡¯m definitely not ready for the whole dating distraction.¡± He quickly added, seeing her lips purse, ¡°At least not until after I tier up.¡±


    ¡°Well, just don¡¯t make it too long after. I don¡¯t want to be sixty before you start dating. Though with as fast as you¡¯ve been leveling since you¡¯ve been home again, maybe I¡¯ll have grandkids before too long.¡±


    Tristan knew better than to engage her further with that delusion, but there was another conversation he knew they needed to have. He looked over his shoulder toward the forge, debating on whether he could wait for his father to emerge. That could end up taking another hour, he worried, or longer.


    ¡°But after I tier up,¡± he began, taking her hand, ¡°you do realize things are going to change, right? I¡¯m planning--eventually--to find more teachers, which means I¡¯ll need to leave for a while.¡±


    His mother looked at him with the same sadness she had shown the last few times something similar had come up. ¡°Of course I know things will change. That¡¯s the only certainty we ever get in life. You¡¯ll just have to excuse me for not being thrilled about watching my only son run off on his own.¡± She sliced off a thick slice of garlic bread, its smell working its magic on Tristan¡¯s stomach, which immediately growled. ¡°I¡¯m not blind; I see you growing up. And I¡¯m as proud of you now, with every level you¡¯ve gained, as I was before you had any. I just... love my little boy, too.¡± She handed the warm slice of bread to him with a smile. ¡°Even if you¡¯re not so little any more.¡±


    Tristan hugged his mother--while obviously making sure that not a single crumb of the mouthwatering bread dropped to the floor. In between bites, he managed to say, ¡°As good as always.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s baked with rare-quality love!¡± she affirmed with her usual affection. ¡°Now, have you thought about what you¡¯re going to say to your father?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve still got a couple levels before--"


    ¡°What do you need to say to me?¡±


    Marrik Hammerson was standing in the doorway, just in from the forge. In spite of his tone, he was sweaty and grinning, which told Tristan the man had made progress on his current project.


    ¡°Oh, Dad!¡± were the words that thankfully escaped his lips, instead of the Oh, shit! that screamed in his head. He hadn¡¯t expected his father to finish in the forge this quickly, and yet there he stood.


    ¡°That¡¯s me. Anyways, what is it you need to tell me?¡±


    Tristan swallowed. He¡¯ll understand. He¡¯s been pushing me as hard as I¡¯ve pushed myself. He cleared his throat. ¡°My plans for the future. After I tier up.¡±


    His old man crossed his arms, still filling the whole doorway. ¡°You¡¯ve decided, then? You only have a couple more levels. That¡¯s what, a couple months at your pace?¡±


    Tristan tried to hide his satisfied smile. It felt good to hear his father acknowledge his hard work. ¡°Hopefully even less than that. Which is why I¡¯ve been thinking about what I want to do.¡±


    There was silence for a moment before his father said, ¡°And? Spit it out. What¡¯s with the sudden anxiety?¡±


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°After I hit level 10 and get to tier 2,¡± Tristan began, growing more nervous than he¡¯d been in ages, ¡°I want to go out on my own a bit. I still want to make things, but...¡± He trailed off, not really sure how to say what needed to be said to his father.


    ¡°You want to make swords,¡± his father finished for him. ¡°While there¡¯s still a few things I can teach you about that, I understand you want more.¡±


    Tristan wasn''t surprised his father had guessed that much. He had been grinding swords on and off for three levels. Tristan sighed. ¡°Yes, but there¡¯s more to it.¡±


    ¡°You want to learn the sword,¡± his father continued. ¡°Go adventuring, delve some dungeons, explore the Frontier, and eventually see the world like Hesden did.¡±


    Tristan stood straighter as he met his old man''s eyes. ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    His father started chuckling. ¡°Then what¡¯s the problem, son? What is it that¡¯s so hard to tell me?¡±


    ¡°I..." He looked at both of them, and he realized they were trying to make this as simple for him as possible. He lowered his eyes, trying to hide the tears that were starting to form. ¡°Nothing, I guess. Other than I love you both,¡± he said. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s mother walked over and embraced him gently, ignoring the way he sniffled slightly in embarrassment. Then his father¡¯s arms encompassed them both.


    ¡°We love you, too, Tristan,¡± his mother said, tousling his hair, ¡°which is why we keep pushing you, so that when you¡¯re on your own we won¡¯t have to worry.¡±


    ¡°No matter where you go or what you choose to do,¡± his father added. ¡°Even if it ends up foolish and dangerous sometimes. If it¡¯s your Path, then we will be here to help you walk it.¡±


    ¡°Thank you both,¡± Tristan repeated in a whisper, not knowing what else to say, just squeezing them tighter.


    ¡°With a grip like that, those monsters aren¡¯t going to stand a chance!¡± his mother said.


    ¡°Pah.¡± His father lifted them off the ground. ¡°He¡¯s still got some work to do!¡±


    As soon as he was set back down and could breathe normally again, Tristan asked his father for one final favor: ¡°I do need one thing, actually. I know I could go get my Secondary myself, but I want to be good at it. Could you help me find a trainer?¡±


    ¡°I know just the dwarf! I assume you want a sword and shield guy?¡±


    Tristan chuckled at his father¡¯s first miscue. ¡°Not really, no. I tried that, and it''s fine for getting into dungeon groups I suppose. So, I wouldn¡¯t hate it, but I want more. I really want to learn to wield my greatsword.¡±


    His father¡¯s eyebrows rose briefly, and he looked at his wife. ¡°That is actually less dangerous,¡± he reassured her, ¡°especially if someone else can tank for you. And I do know a guy that could teach you. He owes me a favor after I replaced that ragged claymore he brought in years ago and upgraded his bracers.¡±


    Despite his initial confusion, Tristan felt his pulse quicken. ¡°Wait, when did you make a sword?¡± He¡¯d been waiting and watching for his father to take on literally any type of weapon craft, but it just hadn¡¯t happened. ¡°And who do you know that¡¯s a greatsword master?¡±


    ¡°It has been a while,¡± his father admitted. ¡°Could have been ten, maybe twenty years ago? Doesn''t matter. You worry about leveling up, and within the month I¡¯ll have his confirmation for you. Only then will I tell you his name.¡±


    ¡°Great! I¡¯ve got some projects to hold me over,¡± Tristan said, rushing straight back to the forge, even before his mother could stop him.


    ¡°But it¡¯s nearly dinner time!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s alright. Let the boy go,¡± the older smith said with overflowing pride. ¡°He¡¯s earned it for tonight. Let him work his heart out.¡±


    - - - - -


    It was almost four weeks later, as they were sitting down to dinner, when Tristan¡¯s father received a letter delivered by courier. Tristan couldn¡¯t help but stare as his father slowly read the correspondence. It was two full pages rolled into a scroll. The outer edges were clearly weathered, and Tristan thought he saw flecks of reddish-brown on one side, which he worried could have been blood. Everyone talked about how much worse the roads were getting after all. It seemed like half the suppliers arrived with reduced stock these days, when they weren¡¯t missing it altogether. Luckily, no one had been killed yet. It was clear the banditry in the countryside was only worsening. Still, this letter had made it through.


    Tristan studied his father¡¯s face, trying to read something from each miniscule twitch, or from how long it took his old man to scan each line. But, honestly, Tristan was completely lacking in skills like that, and his father¡¯s face remained basically blank throughout the entire first page.


    Tristan thought back to their conversation and especially his father''s promise. He had pushed even harder than normal, knowing he had his father''s support, and now he could feel he was on the cusp of level 10. No more than a week or two at this pace and he would break through, getting his tier 2 Class choice.


    With his blistering pace, Tristan knew it would be a monumental achievement, one he should be proud of.


    But if he was going to take his Path the way he planned, Tristan was going to need a teacher. This letter needed to contain good news.


    His old man flipped to the second page, eyebrows tightening slightly. His eyes scanned back and forth, line by line.


    Then they stopped.


    Tristan¡¯s throat got dry. He wanted desperately to ask what the letter said, but he also knew that his father would tell him, when he wanted to.


    His father set the letter down on the table beside his untouched spoon and seemed to stare at nothing. Tristan felt his mother silently take his hand, squeezing gently, below the table. They were both curious but not willing to break the silence of the moment.


    His father cleared his throat. ¡°When you hit level 10,¡± he began, lowering the pages, ¡°Jamal has agreed to take you on.¡±


    To Tristan, the whole world seemed to shift out of focus the moment he heard Jamal¡¯s name. It seemed as if every part of his Path was coming together now. It just felt right. Totally overcome with excitement, he could barely formulate a reply.


    ¡°You got me Jamal, {The Unerring Blade},¡± he whispered, still in a daze. Almost doubting it could be true. ¡°Olson¡¯s actual apprentice.¡±


    His father nodded. ¡°It will fulfill his Oath.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes went wide at the thought of learning from such a renowned swordsman. The man has been the only student of Olson, the swordmaster in Brightshield''s legendary party. It would be an incredible honor to continue that tradition. But Tristan had never heard of the man taking students of his own.


    His mother carefully placed her utensils on her plate. ¡°He made you call in his Oath?¡±


    ¡°In all honesty, I suggested it,¡± his father replied. ¡°The man tries to live in isolation, and this would ruin his whole hermit mystique. For my boy, I had to make sure he¡¯d accept.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s mother tsked. ¡°He has never been a hermit. He¡¯s had more servants than the Longblooms, several of which double as mistresses! Do we really want Tristan around that? The man¡¯s reputation--¡±


    ¡°As a swordsman is unrivaled,¡± his father said sternly, giving a nod in Tristan¡¯s direction, reminding her what they were considering him for in the first place. ¡°He''s a master, and like all masters, he¡¯s earned the right to be eccentric.¡±


    Tristan saw his mother glare at her husband with one eyebrow raised. ¡°You want to surround our son with that?¡±


    Which made Tristan wonder: Just how eccentric is he?


    His father tried to reassure her. ¡°Some leniency is going to be necessary when working with Jamal. But this apprenticeship will be a good thing, Christa. Trust me. There is no one better, and with the Oath involved, no greater certainty.¡±


    The woman looked doubtful, but she held back any further criticism.


    Tristan jumped at the opening in the conversation. ¡°Will it be a true apprenticeship? Will he take me on as his protege?¡±


    His father lifted the letter. ¡°His only student, or so he says. Apparently he wants to continue on with Olson¡¯s method.¡±


    Tristan wondered at what Olson¡¯s method might mean. Will I be his only student ever?


    That suddenly felt like a lot of pressure. ¡°Then I¡¯ll have to work harder than ever to prove I''m good enough.¡±


    His father smiled and moved the paper off of the table. ¡°I¡¯d expect nothing less from you. You''re driven, you''re clever. You¡¯re an excellent student. Just remember: he is a master, so take his word as if it were mine.¡±


    ¡°Doesn''t Jamal live halfway across the Embrace¡¯s realm? How is Tristan supposed to get there with all the bandits about?¡±


    ¡°I have a plan for that, too,¡± Tristan''s father said, throwing on the grin he only used when he knew he needed to overcome his wife''s disapproval.


    - - - - -


    Tristan stood before the grinding block and withdrew the blade. The very passing of it slit the bottom of his apron clean off. He was suddenly even more careful as he set the blade on the anvil.


    He controlled his breathing. One final step.


    He¡¯d really been pushing hard ever since hitting level 9 and gaining [Endurance Up I]. It had seemed perfectly suited to the grind:


    [Endurance Up I] A passive skill that grants the user a 10% increase to Endurance. Skills that scale exclusively off of Endurance receive double this bonus.


    From within his workbench, he removed a small but heavy bundle. Basic, rough cloth wrapped around something far too precious for words. He peeled back one layer at a time, being careful as he exposed the no-longer-warm weight within.


    The talisman from the Brightshield.


    Much of its magic seemed to have faded months ago, if the temperature was any indication, yet it still held its shape and weight. To house such magic, Tristan had used the best material he had available: the brilliant ingots from his dungeon boss loot. He¡¯d shaped them into a cradle of sorts, making a spot for the talisman in the center of his crossguard, where the metal would flow around and embrace it. He hated that he couldn¡¯t use the talisman on its own, but turning it into a component had felt like a way for his Core to potentially allow some of that power through. It would be a shame not to even try. So he had integrated it into the design, where he hoped it would become Soulbound.


    As he placed the talisman in the center of his crossguard, bending the surrounding metal with the utmost care, he breathed a sigh of relief. It fit perfectly. A blink later, his hands began to resonate with the sword. The vibrations spread, as his entire body seemed possessed with a certainty--he knew exactly what to do.


    His Path craved the sword¡¯s completion.


    Tristan had felt something like it before with the creation of his hammer. Now he felt that energy again, but expanded. Flashes of inspiration showed tiny adjustments and improvements that his Core was making automatically in these final moments. The blade was not just extending but improving qualitatively. His smithing had never gone like this before, with every iteration and adjustment happening on their own in front of him, as his soul poured in and mimicked the best effort he¡¯d ever done before. It was his talent made manifest. His confidence only grew in tandem with the certainty of his success.


    He took one last look at what was about to become his greatest creation so far.


    The blade was glorious, longer than his arm, with an edge sharp enough to cut a passing whisper. The balance was so perfect that even his untrained hands could swing it cleanly.


    It was as beautiful as any sword he¡¯d ever seen, too. The patterning and folding of the billet his father had made all those months ago were still there, but somehow they''d been enhanced in color and design. The heating, and reheating, and working had swirled the layers into a pattern of lines and colors that could never be reproduced.


    Now it glinted in the reddish glow of the forge. Beautiful, deadly, and utterly unique.


    His sword.


    Or nearly so. One final touch remained.


    With a focused breath, he placed his hand over the talisman and pushed a bit of himself into the weapon. He didn¡¯t exactly understand what he was doing or why, but he knew it was right.


    A sound like the purest hammer strike he¡¯d ever heard filled the air.


    His sword was done.


    Tristan beamed with pride, even as the familiar Ding! surrounded him with a brilliant golden halo. But that was not the extent of it.


    Once again, he was transported to the gray place that wasn¡¯t a place, where time itself felt malleable and he could practically touch his Path. A blank voice permeated the clouds tinged with the reds of the forge. It may have been the same voice, but he could not be sure, though its message certainly felt familiar.


    ¡°Tristan Hammerson, with your foundation set in the fires of the forge, you stand before a branch in your Path.


    Will you hold firm to the Path you¡¯ve tread, or chase new horizons?


    Will your core focus grow, be refined, or shift?


    It is time for a new Class.


    You have a choice.¡±

 Chapter 17: Tier 2

    Chapter 17: Tier 2


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    ¡°You have a choice.¡±


    Tristan calmed his breathing as the words echoed in the seemingly endless space. He had known this moment was coming, but that didn¡¯t make him any less nervous. As important as his Awakening had been to establishing his Path, the tier 2 choice was more about defining it.


    In Tristan¡¯s mind, the tier 1 choice was like a freshly forged billet, ready to be worked. But good materials could only take him so far. Giving it direction--how he used it--that was the second choice.


    Tristan wasn¡¯t sure what surprises there would be, but he knew for sure it would shape his Path. For some, like his mother, the second tier¡¯s choice was their last.


    But Tristan was not his mother. He knew that his Path would take him farther than just tier 2, or even tier 3.


    Tier 2 was where he would decide how to both expand and limit his Class. However he chose, it would be what he saw in his Status for years to come. Something to live up to. To claim and be proud of. It would be a massive part of his identity. And it would need to pair well with the Secondary Classes he eventually took.


    Tristan, like most people, would take his Secondary Classes in tier 2. He had a rough idea of what he wanted, but he also knew that he had plenty of time before it would be necessary to decide. Focus on one decision at a time, he thought.


    The one thing Tristan absolutely knew about one of his future Secondaries was that it would be a combat Class. He wanted to fight. He¡¯d known ever since the dungeon run with Chessa and Opie. Perhaps even as far back as his Awakening, when the sword had called to him so clearly.


    More than anything, Tristan saw himself as a swordsman. There was no way it wouldn¡¯t mesh well with his Path.


    The other Secondary was less clear. He knew that it needed to somehow synergize with both his other Classes. Everyone liked to stress how important it was that your Path could harmonize. That the pieces needed to add up to a whole that made sense to you. That was what mattered most. Tristan suspected there was a reason behind it, but no one ever answered when he asked about it. Even his father had simply said, ¡°You¡¯ll understand when it¡¯s time.¡±


    It was a lot to think about, which was why there were so many ¡°build guides¡± out in the world. He¡¯d even seen some. But none of those common Paths really spoke to him, especially with the unique direction his Core was leading him. Most crafting Classes stayed noncombat. He wondered how much of that was because of what Classes he would be offered to choose from. He knew he would be offered anywhere from three to five Classes, all expressions of twists and turns his Path had made through the previous tier. All of them would present big changes to his current Path, in one way or another. He just hoped most of the Classes he was offered would continue to advance his crafting.


    No, I can¡¯t worry over things I can¡¯t control. No matter what I get offered, I¡¯ll have another 10 levels to figure my Path out.


    With another deliberate breath, Tristan opened the notification, which immediately began to fill his vision and automatically scroll downward. It felt overwhelming. No doubt that was why his father had been repeating almost verbatim what every guidebook said, which Tristan honestly felt should have been obvious: ¡°consider every option carefully!¡±


    Congratulations! You have reached LEVEL 10!


    This is the second tier milestone!


    New challenges and opportunities will present themselves, as the world begins to shape itself around you.


    With your promotion to tier 2, you have unlocked the ability to choose a new Primary Class, which will further define your Path in the world. You must choose from the curated list below, and your choice will be binding.


    Following your Class choice, you will unlock new abilities and skills granted by your Primary Class.


    Tier 2 Upgrades:


    You may now designate two (2) sets of gear to switch between in combat.


    You now have access to new locations, resources, quests, events, and achievements throughout this realm and beyond.


    You may now accept invitations to join established Guilds and Alliances.


    You may now willingly pledge yourself to the service of a god, taking on all rules associated with such service.


    You are no longer protected from harm and permanent death in [Sanctuary] locations.


    You may now utilize teleportation circles to transition more quickly throughout the realm.


    Skills Gained:


    [Identify] An active ability that lets the user appraise creatures, examine other people¡¯s Status, and ascertain the qualities and affixes of mundane and magical items with greater certainty.


    [Permanent Party] An active ability that lets the user initiate a binding party agreement with at least one other ally. Such agreements must be willingly accepted. Only one [Permanent Party] may be active at a time. Warning: annulment of such an agreement carries lingering consequences.


    Choose Your Class...


    Tristan stopped scrolling as five transparent boxes appeared, floating before him in the gray space. He was glad to see five, even if only getting three wasn''t necessarily bad. He had always preferred having too many options to too few, especially when the outcome really mattered.


    But he wasn¡¯t quite ready to deal with them yet. He was still struggling to parse everything he¡¯d read. He hadn¡¯t expected any of the so-called upgrades, and he wondered why the guides he¡¯d read had never mentioned them. Some of these concepts he¡¯d never even heard of before, like whatever a ¡°[Sanctuary] location¡± was. Clicking the word, out popped the following description:


    [Sanctuary] A ritual protecting a pre-designated space, usually a city or fortress, granting all tier 1 occupants great amounts of armor against other players and immunity to permanent death from unnatural external causes.


    That such an effect existed at all was mind blowing. That was exactly the kind of protection everyone in his hometown had been missing, and not just since the bandits had come around. It seemed like the kind of thing that might have kept Old Dan Cooper from being poisoned, or saved Arthur Tailor when he¡¯d been ¡®accidentally¡¯ pushed off the ladder by his wife. The implications would be far-reaching for sure.


    I wonder how expensive such a ritual would be, and how high-level it is? Not for the first time, he wondered how such information didn¡¯t reach places like Woodsedge.


    Comparatively, both [Identify] and [Permanent Party] he¡¯d known about long before he Awakened. He¡¯d been taught about both from a relatively young age, and he was really excited for how [Identify] would help him with finding interesting materials for his crafting.


    Then there were the notices about Guilds and Alliances, which he¡¯d expected since his father had basically warned him against both. ¡°To the young, joining a Guild seems like a good idea,¡± he¡¯d warned, ¡°but they actually bleed you dry. You¡¯ll owe them your best years of crafting.¡± He¡¯d talked about how any major breakthroughs or techniques he might learn would be credited to the guild. How they might even patent his designs and concepts, so that should he ever try to leave, he might have to relearn his own craft. It sounded to Tristan like a giant, messy trap. One he¡¯d have to scrutinize heavily before ever wading into.


    And then there were the gods. Tristan didn¡¯t want to even begin considering those. Everyone knew they existed, and that anyone who had the strength and dedication to reach past the tier 6 milestone and find divinity could change the entire realm. Tristan didn¡¯t even want to think about interacting with beings that powerful.


    His attention returned to the five display boxes resting in the air directly before him. They floated fully unsupported, and yet perfectly stationary, like gravity was of no concern. He knew these represented the next step on his Path.


    I¡¯m ready. Let¡¯s do this!


    Tristan rubbed his callused hands together before flexing them. Then he allowed the notification to scroll farther, and he came to the Class offerings. As he read each, the words drifted from his Visual Interface into one of the boxes.


    Choose Your Class:


    Advanced Blacksmith.


    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Gear Combatant.


    [Inheritor] Armorsmith.


    Shield Specialist.


    Swordsmith.


    There they were. Immovable options bending reality around themselves, waiting for him to choose his Class.


    He stepped up to the first box and reached out slowly, not surprised in the least as its description expanded before him as he neared.


    Advanced Blacksmith:


    No longer a novice in the art of blacksmithing, this offers the natural continuation of your current Class. New skills and upgrades will help you grow into a generalized expert in all types and styles of smithing.


    Stats gained per level...


    With a conscious thought, Tristan wiped the stats from the description. Maybe he would display them again if his final choices were close, but he would pick a Class based on its substance, not its numbers.


    Tristan stepped back and considered what he read. This, he knew, was the default upgrade offered to all blacksmiths. It was a generalist approach. It didn¡¯t appeal to him much, but he wouldn¡¯t dismiss it out of hand.


    He stepped to the next box.


    Gear Combatant:


    For those seeking to venture beyond the forge, or longing to delve into dungeons and combat beside their allies, this Class offers a more supporting role to traveling parties and groups. New skills and upgrades will help you grow into the perfect mobile outpost, capable of supplying and repairing gear when you¡¯re not disarming, removing, and blocking the gear of your enemies, even in the midst of combat.


    Tristan knew immediately why he¡¯d been offered this option, and he had to admit that his time with Chessa and Opie had been formative. He¡¯d salvaged a fair amount of gear in and after the dungeon run. He¡¯d even dismantled his fair share of armor and weapons. But while this certainly lent itself towards combat, this would mark a complete change of direction for Tristan¡¯s goals for his Path. The last line especially read like he would be encouraged to step back into a more supporting role. To him, the idea of crafting, removing, or blocking gear during combat was less than exciting. He wasn¡¯t even sure how those last two would work. Focusing on the terms, they actually popped out with explanations.


    Removing gear forcibly unequips it and moves it into the previously-equipped person¡¯s inventory.


    Blocking gear disallows it from being equipped for a set duration.


    So it was a much more potent form of disarming, and also not limited to weapons. It was a new type of combat Path to Tristan, and he was glad to know now that such abilities existed, but even if they were powerful, they were definitely not for him.


    He approached the third box.


    [Inheritor] Armorsmith:


    A Path has long stood before you, if you wish to follow in the footsteps of your father. This Class offers a specialization in the protective arts of armor smithing and will be upgraded due to your status as an [Inheritor]. New skills and upgrades will help you grow into a specialized expert in the creation and improving of metal armor.


    A whistle escaped Tristan¡¯s lips. That was a truly impressive offering. He suddenly understood why his father had been pushing him so hard. The man had no doubt known about the [Inheritor] title and its rather amazing benefits.


    [Inheritor] Gain a 25% bonus to all EXP gained by this Class.


    Such a bonus would be a tremendous boost to his speed in tier 2, and he¡¯d be basically guaranteed to get to tier 3. Honestly, with how much slower progressing supposedly became with each progressive tier, it might even shave years off the task.


    But would I enjoy it? he asked himself. With my current Core, choosing this would almost guarantee I¡¯d have to be a tank.


    Tristan couldn¡¯t stop to think about that. He had more Class options to consider, and his own father had stressed that he needed to consider them all.


    Shield Specialist:


    Expanding on the foundation of traditional blacksmithing, this partial-combat Class focuses on the protective arts of shields and barriers. New skills and upgrades will help you grow into a specialized expert in the creation of shields capable of withstanding great blows and weathering damage that would otherwise cripple. You will grow into a living tank, immovable as long as you have a shield on your arm.


    This Class was clearly inspired by his Heartmending Shield, but it also reminded him of aspects of the Brightshield. It would be another type of shift in Tristan¡¯s Path, if he chose it. Tanks were always in high demand, mostly due to the increased danger they were expected to handle and the added responsibilities they were forced to manage. It was a role Tristan had undertaken before, and he thought he had been good at it, even without the actual support skills. But was it something he wanted to do forever? Unlike the Gear Combatant, it was an actual consideration.


    Which brought him to the final offering.


    Swordsmith:


    Expanding on the foundation of traditional blacksmithing, this partial-combat Class offers a focus on the art of sword smithing. New skills and upgrades will help you grow into a specialized expert in the creation and wielding of bladed weapons, specifically swords. You will become as dangerous as the edge of your blades, and flexible enough to deal with any issue you face.


    Tristan felt the familiar pull toward this option as a smile crept across his face. He could almost see the possibilities of his Path unfurling before him. If he took this Class, he would get to keep on smithing while also refining his Path to include swords. And, just like the shield specialist, this Class wouldn¡¯t limit him to just crafting swords either. The final lines definitely suggested it would help when he eventually took up his combat-oriented Secondary.


    With only a little introspection, he had already eliminated two options: Dungeon Supplier didn¡¯t speak to his Path, and he wasn¡¯t really tempted by Advanced Smith either, not when he could specialize in something he enjoyed. [Inherited] Armorsmith, though...


    He wondered whether the perks of the [Inheritor] title would be worth focusing on armor rather than swords. He knew his father would support him whichever way he went, so it really came down to knowing his Path. Which Class felt more true to him?


    It wasn¡¯t even a question, he realized. While the title might make the next tier easier, his goal was much grander than that. For the first time, Tristan seriously considered the end of his Path. He was genuinely excited to see how far he could take this. He wasn¡¯t planning to stop until he hit divinity or died trying. Would he really want to spend eternity crafting armor instead of swords?


    Answering that question sealed the deal. Armorsmithing was not his Path. Truthfully, he¡¯d known that all along. So he stepped forward, put his hands around the Swordsmith box, and selected it. Looks like I won¡¯t need to compare stats after all.


    In response, a blank voice asked him a very familiar question.


    ¡°Are you certain?¡±


    Tristan felt himself smile, and this time he answered aloud as he pulled the box toward him and absorbed it with a burst of warmth that filled him with joy.


    ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°The choice has been made.¡±


    Once again, the voice faded to nothingness, and a resounding quiet settled over the area. A new notification began blinking in Tristan¡¯s interface.


    Your Path continues as a Swordsmith.


    As a Swordsmith, you create, repair, and enhance metal blades designed for battle. Whether slashing, piercing, or protecting, swords are one of the most versatile and dangerous tools in the realm. The better you learn to shape and wield them, and the more your works improve, the stronger you will grow.


    Stats gained (per level): STR +4, AGI +2, END +5, INT +1, WIS +1, WIL +3


    Core Upgraded:


    [Soul-Forged] Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul, are greatly enhanced, and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.


    Skills Gained:


    [Enhance Craft I] A passive skill that grants a minor increase to statistics, properties, and affixes of all items crafted by the user. After you craft an item, there is a 1% chance it will upgrade its current rarity, again (if applicable).


    [Sharpen Blade] An active ability that lets the user enhance the cutting qualities of a blade during crafting, making it slash and pierce more easily. Increases the damage of bladed weapons you craft by 10%.


    May your Path be long and productive.


    This final message was also familiar, as it had concluded his Awakening, too. It was nice and uplifting, even if he also recognized it was likely universal. Sure, everyone saw it, but you know what? He would appreciate it.


    He appreciated the Core upgrade even more. Another bonus to help balance out the Soulbound drawback. Another small boost to help him progress farther along his Path.


    Another notification popped up immediately.


    You have gained the They Grow Up So Fast Achievement!


    You have chosen a tier 2 Class within 1 year of Awakening.


    Reward: Gain a permanent 2% increase in movement speed.


    Tristan hadn''t just earned that Achievement. He had smashed it. He had taken nearly a third of the allotted time! And he could only imagine how useful that reward would be. Two percent didn¡¯t seem like that much, but he knew that it could make a huge difference. He was now permanently faster than everyone who didn¡¯t also get a movement speed increase. That would be immense during battle.


    I wonder how I could add more.


    As the gray world around him began to fade, Tristan couldn¡¯t help but be filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment. He would walk his own Path his own way:


    With a sword in his hand.


    STATUS:


    Tristan Hammerson


    Human


    L10


    Swordsmith


    Stats:


    STR 35 (+4)


    AGI 16


    END 34 (+3)


    INT 10


    WIS 12


    WILL 19


    Core: [Soul-Forged] Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul, are greatly enhanced, and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.


    Titles: {Awakened}, {Fledgling Dungeon Delver}, {Soulscarred}


    Skills: [Craft Armor], [Craft Shield], [Craft Tool], [Craft Weapon], [Gather Ore], [Repair Item], [Sharpen Blade], [Work Metal]


    Passives: [Born Blacksmith], [Endurance Up I], [Enhance Craft I], [Heat & Fire Resistance], [In a Hurry], [Strength Up I]

 Chapter 18: Leaving Home

    Chapter 18: Leaving Home


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan blinked and found himself back in his father¡¯s forge. On the anvil before him was the sword that had ushered him into tier 2. The sword that had pushed his skills to their limits and beyond. He gazed at it with pride, and he realized that he could finally, for the first time in his life, use [Identify] and get a full item description. What item could ever be more fitting for a first use?


    [Hope¡¯s Aspiration (uncommon)]: [Brightshield], Soulbound


    A quality sword forged from patterned steel by a fledgling blacksmith, then further enhanced by integrating a fading talisman from a fallen Legend.


    It was interesting to see all the information that a ¡°full¡± [Identify] provided. Initially, it looked similar to the displays he¡¯d been seeing with Soulbound items. Though now there was also the extra description beneath, which called him a ¡°fledgling blacksmith.¡± He felt he¡¯d passed that level with the creation of a second uncommon item in tier 1. Didn¡¯t that suggest he was getting markedly better? Or maybe the item only upgraded because of the... ¡°fading¡± talisman, as the description called it.


    He paused when he realized that this was the first time one of his crafts had been given a real name. When his eyes caught the first property, the word right before Soulbound, his mouth went dry. There¡¯s no way the name is a coincidence.


    He had long ago processed what the talisman had cost both him and the realm. Still, the typical pride he¡¯d expect from such a creation was tinged with sadness when he expanded the property.


    [Brightshield] (Unique) Gain a temporary shield that negates the next source of damage that would otherwise harm the user. While the skill or shield is active, the user glows with dim white light. The shield cannot be activated again until the light has been replenished.


    That seemed incredibly strong! The ability to completely ignore a powerful attack seemed broken. He¡¯d never seen a unique property before, but it was truly no wonder why this one was. He immediately started thinking about the ability¡¯s undefined parts. How long could the shield go unused before it went away on its own? What would happen if it wasn¡¯t used after being activated? How exactly was he supposed to ¡°replenish¡± the light of the shield? Too many questions, and there didn¡¯t seem to be any way to test anything without using the ability, which he didn¡¯t especially want to do on a whim without knowing how to recharge it.


    All of those concerns could wait for later. For now, he hefted the sword, which was nearly as tall as he was. It felt well balanced with a one-handed grip, though the two-handed grip felt slightly more natural. It was clear his measurements had been spot on. His ¡°fledgling¡± technique had certainly maintained that little bit of skill. He swung the blade and couldn¡¯t believe how light it felt, how easily it moved, how the air itself fled away from the edge.


    Yet when he pulled it back down to the anvil and examined it with his tier 2 eyes, Tristan saw... opportunities. Places where even now he could make improvements. For starters, the cutting edge was begging for his [Sharpen Blade] skill. Beyond that, he thought a slight tweaking of the crossguard around the talisman might strengthen the defensive properties and protect his hands a bit better. He kept mentally picking at the sword, considering new ideas for improvements the longer he looked, until a throat cleared behind him.


    ¡°You finished it,¡± his father said, with warmth filling every syllable that radiated from his proud smile.


    ¡°And hit tier 2,¡± Tristan added. He held the sword up to his eyes. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s pretty good for a tier 1 blade, I think. But I kind of want to improve it. I was thinking of--"


    His father¡¯s deep chuckle cut him off. ¡°That¡¯s the curse of the crafter, son. We learn and improve the more we create, so even our ¡®newest and best¡¯ are already lacking the moment they¡¯re done. The moment we settle is the moment we stagnate.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll never let that happen,¡± Tristan said even as he cataloged even the slightest imperfections in his blade.


    ¡°I know you won¡¯t,¡± his father said, chuckling again as he stood beside his son. ¡°Yet another reason to always be proud of you.¡±


    They stood quietly like that for a while, until Tristan handed the sword to his father. Even in the wider man¡¯s hands it seemed massive. He watched his father go through many of the same tests and motions he himself had. As his father¡¯s smile grew, so did Tristan¡¯s, mirroring the older smith¡¯s pride.


    ¡°Now you¡¯ve made two properties I¡¯ve never heard of before,¡± his father said with a sigh. ¡°At least this one I can properly examine for a definition.¡± And then he whistled. ¡°Gods among us, it¡¯s unique! That¡¯s a boss-fighting ability if I¡¯ve ever seen one!¡±


    Tristan reached out slowly and tapped the talisman in the center of his crossguard. ¡°I didn¡¯t do it on my own. There¡¯s no way I could have without..." He left the rest unsaid.


    His father¡¯s hand once again found his shoulder. ¡°We take what we can, and we do our best with it, son. You should be proud of what you¡¯ve done here.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s beamed at the recognition. ¡°I am.¡±


    ¡°Have you made the sheath for it yet?¡±


    ¡°I sized it up about a week ago, when I was pretty sure the sword¡¯s size would stay the same.¡± That comment got a strange look from his father, to which Tristan merely shrugged. ¡°My Core works differently, as you¡¯ll recall. But I haven¡¯t fitted it since I made it. The moment I finished the sword, I was pulled... elsewhere.¡±


    His father nodded. ¡°Well, make sure the sheath fitting properly is your next task.¡±


    ¡°I definitely planned to do it, but why should it be next?¡± Tristan asked curiously.


    ¡°It is if you¡¯re going to travel with it safely! Like when you set out in a few days.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s heartbeat quickened. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°Well, you told me you were looking to leave soon after tiering up, right? And your mother was so worried about the roads, with all the banditry and monsters getting worse out there. I figured, since I¡¯ve a pretty good gauge of your experience and growth, you were about to hit that mark. Though once again you broke even my expectations. I didn¡¯t have you pegged for tier 2 until next week, even with your ridiculous pace! I half expect you¡¯ve broken some sort of record, or--"


    ¡°I did get an achievement for it actually,¡± Tristan said, grinning broadly, ¡°For hitting tier 2 in under a year.¡±


    His father chuckled. ¡°A year? By the gods, you did it in half that time.¡±


    Tristan thought back for a moment, even counting a bit with his fingers, before saying, ¡°Actually, it only took me about 16 weeks.¡±


    That reply made his father chuckle and nodded. ¡°Yes, I suppose that sounds right. Faster than I ever went.¡±


    Tristan smiled again at the continued praise. ¡°The reward is amazing too. It gives 2% movement speed.¡±


    His father shook his head in disbelief. ¡°That¡¯s hard to come by, especially this early on. I think it took me all the way until level 24 before I saw my first piece of gear with that property. It wasn¡¯t even on boots, like you¡¯d think, but a bloody necklace! I absolutely hated having to replace it, but you know how gear comes and goes. Or you¡¯ll soon know...¡±


    ¡°Dad,¡± Tristan laughed, a touch exasperated. ¡°I appreciate all that, but it feels like you¡¯re telling me I need to be ready to travel so soon. What am I missing?¡±


    ¡°Well, I figured I could do something for you. Use the Hammerson name a bit, you know? It wasn¡¯t quite as easy as I¡¯d thought, and I needed to pull a few strings.¡± He laughed lightheartedly. ¡°But I may have gotten you another present for reaching tier 2. It¡¯s something I¡¯m pretty sure you haven¡¯t considered yet.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s mind raced back over all the conversations he¡¯d had with his family of late, especially about his plans for what he¡¯d do after tiering up. Excitedly, he asked, ¡°Dad, what exactly did you do?¡±


    The older armorsmith clapped his hands and rubbed them together. ¡°You remember, of course, that I arranged for you to be Jamal¡¯s student. Well, I reckoned that since he lived all the way in the Embrace¡¯s domain, that¡¯s going to be a long trip for even a disciplined kid such as yourself. Probably end up being a month or two if you¡¯re forced to go on foot, which is just too long a time for you not to be near a forge. And your mother would doubtless be worrying over whether you¡¯d arrived or not the whole time. To give everyone peace of mind, I got you a ride that guarantees safe passage almost all the way to your destination.¡±


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Tristan crushed the man in as strong a hug as he could muster. ¡°Thanks dad,¡± he said, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude.


    ¡°Well, it was mostly your mother¡¯s idea,¡± he admitted.


    The help with his trip was incredible. His father rarely showed affection or gave such direct support, but when he did, it always had a big impact. Even if he showed it differently, his father cared every bit as much as his mother. ¡°So what kind of ¡®safe passage¡¯ should I expect?¡±


    His father¡¯s smile tightened slightly. ¡°It won¡¯t take you all the way, but it¡¯s a carriage, so at least you¡¯ll be comfortable. If you can tolerate the company.¡±


    ¡°That sounds great, Dad. Though, what company do you mean?¡± Tristan eyed his father. ¡°Who else is going?¡± Tristan asked,


    His father turned slightly away. ¡°Unfortunately, there was only one caravan scheduled to go that way this entire fortnight.¡± He exhaled slowly. ¡°And it¡¯s for Aaric Longbloom.¡±


    Tristan groaned.


    ¡°But I¡¯ve had assurances that his caravan, at least, will be absolutely top tier. You know, speedy and well protected. While he¡¯ll end up dropping you off just inside the Embrace¡¯s domain, you should get there in only a couple weeks, tops. I hate to admit it, but sometimes that much money is darn useful."


    Tristan¡¯s fingers tightened around the grip of his new sword as he recalled his last interaction with Aaric, back at the training grounds. I kind of want a rematch, to see how my sword stacks up against all the gear he¡¯s bought. He sighed and shook that thought away, only for it to be replaced by something worse.


    I¡¯m going to have to spend two weeks in a carriage with bloody Aaric Longbloom. Gods, help me.


    - - - - -


    Somehow the carriage was even more immaculate than Tristan had imagined. It looked to be constructed of high-tier wood and covered with so many flourishes they nearly doubled the surface area. It was large enough to seat twelve people comfortably with its four rows of seats. When he¡¯d asked Aaric how many would be traveling with them, he¡¯d been told, ¡°It was supposed to just be the three of us, but now it¡¯s four. It¡¯s like I¡¯ve become a courier service.¡±


    Tristan just smiled the rudeness away and thanked Aaric as he used [Identify] on him.


    [Aaric Longbloom, Human, level 10]


    {{Ice Prodigy}}


    Tristan had managed to close the level gap between them entirely. He felt like it was practically an achievement on its own, even if it came without a notification. I might not be wearing a prodigy title, but that won¡¯t stop me from pushing past him any way I can.


    No doubt that also explained Aaric¡¯s persistent frown, and his complete lack of willingness to communicate after that first time. There had been no introductions with the other members of the group.  In fact, there was scarcely an interaction between any of them and Tristan at all.


    Aaric had occupied the rear half of the carriage, being sprawled across the rearmost seats while periodically pulling books from the library that was the next row up. The only person he ever seemingly interacted with was in the row behind Tristan.


    [?, Human, level ?]


    The man had stared at Tristan as soon as he¡¯d used [Identify], clearly aware of the skill¡¯s use. His reaction had been so quick, there could have been no other cause, which Tristan found unsettling. Considering further, Tristan thought he¡¯d seen the man before at the training grounds. Since he had nothing else to call the man, Tristan labeled the man as ¡°the trainer¡± in his mind and moved on.


    The other person sharing a row with the trainer was some sort of personal attendant for Aaric. Luckily, Tristan had overheard Aaric call him ¡°Jack¡± shortly after getting to the carriage, so his [Identify] at least gave Tristan that much.


    [Jack, Elf, level ?]


    The elf firmly refused to acknowledge Tristan¡¯s presence at all the first day, other than to correct Tristan¡¯s ¡°gross mispronunciation,¡± as he put it. ¡°My name is ¡®Jah-kuh.¡¯¡±


    Tristan resolved to never trust Aaric¡¯s pronunciations again.


    Prior to departure, while loading Aaric¡¯s baggage into the magical storage compartment on top of the carriage, the elf had turned up his nose with a scowl as Tristan approached. Tristan decided to then load both his bags himself.


    Needless to say, leaving home was not everything Tristan had envisioned.


    It quickly became apparent that no one else in the carriage was interested in talking. Tristan tried a couple different times to spark conversation, but he never got a response. Their eyes still flicked occasionally at things that Tristan couldn¡¯t see, suggesting they were communicating via private or party chat. The fact that none of them ever spoke aloud only seemed to make that even more likely.


    That had led Tristan to trying to talk to the driver, a pudgy dwarf man who sat in a slightly elevated seat on the other side of a little curtain, just outside the front of the carriage. But the dwarf spoke with such a thick lilt that every phrase basically required untangling. At times Tristan wasn¡¯t even sure they were speaking the same language. He kept it up a little while, but it was too mentally exhausting to pursue for long. Besides, the dwarf seemed mostly interested in the astral that was pulling them along.


    The astral was a huge spotted cat, resembling an oversized leopard, whose shoulders were already taller than Tristan--and it was easily twice that in length. Its spots were wildly different sizes, spanning all the colors of the rainbow, with some even layered on top of each other. Tristan thought the way the spots blurred as the astral raced down the road, effortlessly weaving around obstacles, was frankly beautiful.


    Tristan had heard only a little bit about astrals and had thought they were remarkably intelligent creatures. He¡¯d heard they had to be summoned, and then possibly maintained, or taken care of? He wasn¡¯t sure. He¡¯d always assumed that the people who used them, the astralists, were prized and respected. Yet no one else in the carriage seemed the least bit interested in the dwarf or his magnificent astral, even as they bounded across more ground with each stride than the fastest horse Tristan had ever seen. Tristan couldn¡¯t help but wonder if Pristine might have matched its speed.


    The first hour was by far the most intense. The roads just outside of Woodsedge had been crawling with bandits, which the driver had basically plowed right through. They¡¯d caused a little bit of a light show at first, with arrows, spells, and skills striking the nearly invisible wall of force surrounding the carriage. The shimmering had caught Tristan¡¯s attention, so he had pushed back a curtain to watch out the window in amazement. Twice he saw arrows that should have come straight through to him, but they were stopped quite forcibly by the barrier in a flash of lights. The others inside must have either not noticed or cared. Perhaps they thought the bumpiness of the ride was nothing more than bumpy road stones.


    Once it seemed like they were clear of the attackers, Tristan spent the rest of that first hour testing the invisible barrier. Pushing open his window, he could see the realm rolling by just beyond the edge of the road. He ran his fingers over the magical non-surface of the barrier. He found it fascinating because he couldn¡¯t figure out why it could stop attacks but let his fingers through. That was, until he tried to force them aggressively, and found himself stopped. If he had any aggressive intent, he couldn''t push through, no matter how lightly he pressed. Only when he moved calmly could he feel the wind on his fingertips. He was impressed by the quality of enchantments the Longblooms could afford, as caring about intent and not just force seemed much more complicated than a normal barrier.


    He enjoyed watching the colors shift around the movement of his fingers, and considering the qualities of the enchantment. How was it made, how often must it be maintained, and what were the limits of its protection? Luckily, he found himself with lots of time and nothing better to do than unravel the barrier¡¯s mysteries.


    Until the trainer cleared his throat right behind him. ¡°You¡¯ve had enough fun with the window. Curiosity is great when it doesn¡¯t invite danger. Close the curtains. We¡¯re getting closer to our destination and don¡¯t want to needlessly advertise our presence.¡±


    From the rearmost row, Aaric scoffed and rolled his eyes before diving back into his books.


    Tristan did as he was told. Without the tapestry of trees and farms and hills to occupy his mind, he decided to instead return to studying his sword. It was the only weapon he¡¯d kept on him, unless he counted the rings he¡¯d failed to make properly, which were spiky enough that they could only be used as caltrops. The sheath had fit perfectly, thank the gods, so he¡¯d gotten no pushback from bringing the huge object into the carriage with him. He knew he¡¯d been promised safe passage, but he wasn¡¯t foolish enough to travel any distance unarmed. Not even if the blade was just in storage.


    Tristan managed to lose himself in its patterned steel. He ran a small whetstone along the blade, using his newest [Sharpen Blade] skill and enjoying the rhythmic rasping. He completely tuned out everything around him.


    The carriage finally stopped some time later. Looking out the window, Tristan saw the sun beginning to slide below the horizon. Their first day of traveling was coming to a close. The driver barely mumbled some non-words as he hopped down from his perch and disappeared into a small, standalone building. A sign out front simply read, ¡°Jill¡¯s.¡±


    ¡°We''ve scheduled an hour for dinner,¡± the trainer said, the first person to speak to Tristan in hours.


    Aaric¡¯s attendant silently held up a hand as Tristan started to slide out of his seat, until both Aaric and the trainer had exited the carriage.


    Tristan shook his head, but as he stepped down he hid his amusement behind a smile. ¡°Is this place good then? I''ve never really been this far from home before.¡±


    He found the trainer waiting for him on the ground. ¡°Jill''s is the best restaurant for days in any direction, and it¡¯s not even pricey. Since it¡¯s probably the last taste of familiar cooking you''ll find as we head into the Embrace''s domain, let me give you some advice: eat your fill, if you can afford to. Do not try to associate with Master Longbloom once we enter, or honestly any of us for that matter; do not be late back to the carriage. We¡¯ve scheduled this stop for one hour, so watch the light. If you''re not back in the carriage by sundown, it will leave you behind. Do you understand?¡±


    Tristan had barely nodded before the man blurred around the edges and vanished, presumably into the restaurant.


    That guy is intense, Tristan thought. But then he considered what the man had said. And he gulped. He was on his own for the first time in his life.


    Making sure his sword was strapped firmly to his back, Tristan walked into Jill¡¯s.

 Chapter 19: Welcome to Jills

    Chapter 19: Welcome to Jill¡¯s


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Jill¡¯s restaurant was not at all what Tristan expected, given the plain exterior. Perhaps the swinging, wooden, saloon-style doors should have clued him in. Yet he had never been the most observant about things like that. He realized he would need to quickly get over his small town expectations, given where he was headed.


    The moment we walked through the doors, he was greeted by a small, winged girl whose every flutter pulsed a subtle shade of blue. ¡°Welcome to Jill¡¯s! Are you dining alone tonight, or meeting up with others?¡±


    Tristan looked around the mostly full dining room, noting that every square inch of surface, from the floor to the tables and ceiling rafters, was wood. He spotted Aaric with his attendant at a table in the farthest corner. The trainer was nowhere to be seen. For the briefest moment, Tristan considered annoying Aaric by going to sit with him, but after the trainer¡¯s warning, he thought better of it. ¡°No, I¡¯m by myself tonight.¡±


    The fairy girl, who was maybe two feet tall, smiled at him. ¡°Planning to stay that way? A cutie like you would likely earn some attention if we sat you up at the bar.¡±


    Tristan felt flattered, but he didn¡¯t really want any attention tonight--not unless it somehow improved the taste of the food. He wanted to eat in peace. ¡°Oh. That¡¯s really nice of you, but I think I just want a table off to the side, or a booth if I could."


    ¡°You surely can, but remember what I said, as a fairy cannot lie!¡± The fluttering girl spun herself around and started examining a chart she¡¯d pulled from a pocket. ¡°But I understand. There¡¯s nothing wrong with a little quiet time in the main dining room either. If that¡¯s what you¡¯d prefer, Jill is here to help!¡±


    Tristan smiled slightly at the lively host. ¡°You¡¯re Jill? So this is your place?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what people call me, sure as I can fly!¡± the fairy literally glowed brighter as she bobbed up and down. ¡°Here, let¡¯s get you to a quiet little table. But, hmm, that¡¯s a big sword. If you don¡¯t have any other way to store it, we¡¯ll have to put you in Fred¡¯s section. There are item racks, and the booths are decently deep to boot.¡±


    [Jill, Fairy, level 41]


    Tristan appreciated her consideration and used [Identify] on her reflexively. He was actually surprised to see her level, as it was so much higher than his own. It usually required specific [Identify]-boosting skills to see the level of someone higher tier than yourself. Which made him wonder: could he build gear with a similar effect? Or maybe get even more types of information to display too? He had to stop his mind from wandering too far in that direction, at least for now. It was definitely worth exploring someday, though.


    He followed Jill around a small privacy wall to a long, padded booth that hid away from at least some of the prying eyes.


    ¡°Fred¡¯ll be with you in a moment,¡± she said, eyes flitting to things happening elsewhere. ¡°Enjoy the food!¡± she called back as a menu and a cloth napkin full of utensils appeared before him.


    Tristan looked over the menu, which was a full, laminated page with both a front and back. The trainer had been right: the options weren¡¯t overly expensive, and Tristan recognized most of the dishes. He was especially intrigued by the whole ¡°Fairy Faire¡± section on the front¡¯s top right corner. Each item there cost a fair bit more and had an asterisk beside its name, which, when he looked at the notes at the bottom of the page, meant they were ¡°enchanted¡± in some way. One of them was marked with a four-pepper spiciness level, which read ¡°ONLY FOR DRAGONKIN¡± in bright, bold red. The whole enchanted food idea really piqued his interest, though the spiciness absolutely did not. Despite his coin purse being heavier than it had ever been, he also recognized that it wouldn¡¯t remain that way if he got in the habit of dropping gold like a Longbloom.


    Before Tristan could choose between the two ¡°home cooking¡± entrees he was interested in, a small green figure sauntered up to his table. Had Tristan not been sitting, the green man might only have come up to his waist, if that. He had scraggly hair that wrapped all the way down his rounded face into a pointy beard, but no mustache. He was wearing what appeared to be a freshly laundered uniform, with crisp creases and not even a speck of food anywhere to be seen.


    He spoke to Tristan with a high pitched voice that was almost bird-like in its short, broken chirpiness. ¡°Hi! This is Jill¡¯s, and I¡¯m Fred, your serv-er to-night!¡± The way he pronounced the final words, always rising on the second syllable, felt like he¡¯d struggled to adapt to them. ¡°Can I get you a drink to start, or would you like more time to check the op-tions?¡±


    Tristan found himself smiling at the fascinating way the green man, Fred, talked. Yet he didn¡¯t seem bothered in the slightest by him. Tristan couldn¡¯t help but use [Identify] on him.


    [Fred, Goblin, level 8]


    ¡°You¡¯re a goblin!¡± he said, letting his surprise overrule his manners.


    ¡°I am, sir, I am! I¡¯m one of a kind. And please know, sir, that I¡¯ll do my best to serve. It¡¯s my Path, sir!¡±


    Tristan sat back in awe. ¡°Your Path? So you¡¯re Awakened?¡± He¡¯d never heard of an Awakened goblin before. There must be an amazing story there.


    ¡°I¡¯m as ¡®Wake as you or Miss Jill! And now I serve by choice! Can I help you now, sir, or should I come back in a bit? Want a drink? Or have you made up your mind for food?¡±


    Tristan sighed, looking at the options again. ¡°I think some tea would be nice. And..." He paused, trying to recall if goblins liked the same foods as humans, and decided to risk it anyway. ¡°What would you recommend, Fred? I¡¯m considering the meatloaf and the pot roast.¡±


    ¡°Both are great, sir, though I tend to go with the pot roast. I like to sink my teeth in, you know?¡± Then he smiled, and a gnash of pointy yellowed teeth seemed to add credibility to his claim. ¡°Do you want your tea sweet, sir?¡±


    Tristan blanched. ¡°What other kind of tea is there?¡±


    ¡°Hot, sir, which is how some take it in the cap-i-tals.¡± It was clear that the goblin really struggled with that word. ¡°So I¡¯ve been told. But I¡¯m like you and like sweet tea.¡± His grin eased back into a charming, closed-mouthed smile. ¡°If you¡¯re still not sure, I can check back in a bit--"


    ¡°Wait,¡± Tristan said, afraid that if he let the little goblin go, he¡¯d have to wait longer for his meal. A glance across the way showed a waitress was leaving Aaric¡¯s table, too, with a full pad of notes. ¡°I think I¡¯ll take the pot roast, thanks to your recommendation.¡±


    ¡°Good good, sir. With all the greens that come with it? You will find them quite nice, I¡¯m told.¡±


    ¡°Yes, however it¡¯s normally served is fine for me. Do you not eat veggies, Fred?¡±


    The goblin gave a regretful frown. ¡°I find them not for me, sir. Not for me at all. They tend to get caught in my teeth.¡±


    Remembering the scraggly mess of teeth he¡¯d seen before, Tristan could understand that. Yet he wasn¡¯t quite ready to let his server go. ¡°Hey, Fred, you seem really open and kind. If you don¡¯t mind my asking: how¡¯d you end up with the name ¡®Fred¡¯ anyway?¡±


    The goblin seemed genuinely excited to open up, and spoke a little more quickly. ¡°Well, sir, I did not have one ¡®til I ¡®Woke, which was odd, let me tell you. Odd to me, and odd to the big men there with me. And when those big men asked what I was called, one of them said I look¡¯d like I was ¡®fred, I liked it and said it was my name. It was plain but true as it could be, so I took it. I think ¡®Fred¡¯ is a good name. It fits me!¡± His voice rose with scratchy pride. ¡°I¡¯m not big or fast or mean. I¡¯m just Fred. I serve, I smile, and I up-sell!¡± He gave an overly-exaggerated, open-mouthed wink. ¡°Can I get you more to eat, sir, or will you be fine with just the pot roast? We do have quite good pie!¡±


    Tristan found himself grinning right alongside the goblin, and he couldn¡¯t really explain why, but it didn¡¯t feel like a skill. Fred was charming in his own way. ¡°I think I¡¯ll be good for now at least. But feel free to ask again later.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I will, sir. You can bet on that!¡±


    Before the little goblin waiter turned to go, Tristan added. ¡°One day, I¡¯d love to hear your whole story, Fred. I bet it¡¯s fascinating.¡±


    The goblin tapped a finger to the side of his head as he winked again. ¡°You¡¯re right, sir, quite right. As right as you are smart. My tale is a big one! Kind of like that fine sword on your back!¡±


    ¡°Well, this one I actually made, Fred, and I¡¯m really proud of it. It¡¯s called [Hope¡¯s Aspiration].¡±


    ¡°Then it is just like me and my name, sir! Did you know that most gob-lins don¡¯t have names at all? But I do! Quite rare, though I did not make mine, now that I think of it.¡±


    Tristan put a hand on his sword, tracing where the talisman was embraced by the crossguard. ¡°But you¡¯re definitely still rare,¡± he agreed. ¡°Do you know that you¡¯ve brightened my day? I feel kind of lucky to have met you.¡±


    Fred bowed his head slightly. ¡°I have both good luck and good smarts. Hard to say which has done more, but--¡±


    A sudden burst of reddish light nearly blinded Tristan as a shockwave sent shudders through the restaurant. When Tristan regained his vision, he saw no sign of Fred, but instead an inferno had completely engulfed a table across from him before spreading to another right beside it.


    Rubbing his eyes, Tristan tried to rise but accidentally kicked something that grunted under the table. He now knew where Fred had squirmed to. The small goblin had pushed himself all the way to the back wall under the booth, completely still save his eyes, which darted wildly around, glinting in the flickering light of the flames.


    As if reading Tristan¡¯s mind, Fred grabbed onto his leg and shrieked, ¡°Do not go out there, sir! This booth is safe. We must stay right here and hide!¡±


    Tristan nearly laughed at the absurdity. The small, terrified goblin under the table was trying to save him. Just another entry on the list that endeared Tristan to the little server. Still, he couldn¡¯t let that distract him, and he turned to face the room that was filled with screams. All the tables and booths around him were emptying as frightened people rushed toward the door, abandoning food and drinks as though they were nothing.


    The fire had now spread to a third table. But not the floor?


    Something wasn¡¯t adding up. Pushing past his initial fear, Tristan focused on the details of the unnatural flames and immediately noticed several things. For one, when he extended a hand toward the supposedly-roaring fire, he felt nothing.


    A blaze like that should be putting off a scalding heat, but it¡¯s not.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    He also saw that there were two smaller, possibly gnome-shaped shadows only an arm¡¯s length from the blaze, and they didn¡¯t look to be burning either. Even more telling: nothing seemed to be getting charred or blackened by the flames. There wasn¡¯t even any smoke! Whatever this ¡°fire¡± was, it wasn¡¯t real.


    ¡°It¡¯s an illusion,¡± he whispered in awe.


    The excitement was far from over though, as a gigantic, shirtless cyclops punched straight through the fake flames. It shouted something both too piercing and too slurred for Tristan to make out. As it stomped forward, it slashed an arm through the air straight toward the closer of the two shadows. The gnome simply responded by jumping to another table, where he was suddenly holding a weapon. It was a shovel, Tristan realized a bit surprised, which must have been pulled from his magical storage.


    Or maybe he was an illusion, too. Tristan couldn¡¯t really tell. He tried to use [Identify] on the combatants, but the skill wouldn¡¯t give a return for the cyclops, and the shovel gnome was moving around and often hidden behind objects or flames with his small frame. Somehow he¡¯d completely lost sight of the smaller gnome. Were they hidden, or fake as well? He hated not being able to trust his eyes.


    The cyclops stomped forward again with a very noticeable wobble, thumping its chest. It shouted something Tristan could understand this time, if only barely:


    ¡°Don¡¯t make me squash ya, little man. Get outta here, and take that doll with ya!¡±


    Clearly, the shovel gnome didn¡¯t want to back down. He jumped up and swung his shovel right through the belly of the cyclops. ¡°What happened to your real form? You know what, it doesn¡¯t matter. Get as big as you want; I¡¯ll still kick your oversized ass!


    The cyclops only laughed.


    Tristan still didn¡¯t have any idea what was happening, other than the fact that Fred had latched onto his leg with a death grip that seemed to only get stronger with every stomp and bellow. Looking down, Tristan saw that the little goblin had also wrapped his arms around the table¡¯s central support, meaning the only way either of them were going anywhere right now was if the table came too.


    ¡°Fred,¡± he began, trying to keep his voice calm, ¡°could you please let go of my leg? I can get us both out of here if you¡¯ll trust me for a second. A lot of what¡¯s happening over there isn¡¯t real, OK?"


    Maybe Fred would have let go, if things had stayed the same. But of course they hadn¡¯t. The fake flames had spread across even more tables and now seemed perilously close to Tristan and Fred.


    At least the change in the blaze brought more light, in which Tristan could finally see the smaller gnome crawling across the floor toward the next booth over. She was wearing overalls, of all things, with her sleeves rolled back to her elbows. He supposed that would provide extra padding as she crawled along. He knew worrying about her clothes was nonsensical even as he thought about it, but sanity seemed to have gone out the window a while ago. He was happy to find out the girl was real when [Identify] actually came back with something.


    [?, Gnome, level ?]


    Apparently, despite looking like a child, even the smaller gnome was above his tier. Assuming she was in tier 3, he wondered if that put her closer to 20 or 40.


    Meanwhile, the shovel gnome slid under one of the tables, came out the other side with his trusty shovel raised, and charged at the cyclops¡¯s side, yelling, ¡°That¡¯s my daughter, you pickle-livered coward!¡±


    The cyclops turned and slowly swung its massive fist, and though the shovel gnome clearly ducked the blow, somehow the hit landed anyway. It was like an unseen shockwave threw the gnome off the table and into the booth directly beside Tristan and Fred. The resulting impact cracked the dividing wall between the booths.


    Fred¡¯s grip tightened, almost cutting off the circulation to Tristan¡¯s leg.


    That was when Tristan knew he would have to get them out of there the hard way.


    Using all his strength, and as much leverage as his Fred-laden legs would give, he tilted the surprisingly heavy table onto its side as he turned to the goblin still clinging to him.


    ¡°Listen Fred, I need you to be a little brave here, alright? We¡¯re going to use this table like a shield, and we¡¯re going to get out of here.¡±


    Tristan wanted Fred to understand his plan, but the goblin¡¯s only response was a widening of his eyes. That would have to be enough. The exit was just around the privacy wall. If he¡¯d just had a bit higher Strength, he could have simply lifted them all and strolled to the door.


    At some point, the shovel gnome had charged back into the illusory blaze. Tristan saw the gnome¡¯s shadow dancing against the wall as soon as they started scooting their table toward the exit. But two slides of the table later, the gnome smashed right through the side of their would-be shield and thudded to a stop behind them in what remained of Tristan¡¯s booth.


    Tristan found himself holding his breath as he watched the gnome struggle to his feet again, shakily.


    [?, Gnome, level ?]


    Unsurprisingly, he was real too. Though, to be fair, Tristan wasn¡¯t sure what would surprise him in this fight any more.


    ¡°Just take it as a compliment, boyo,¡± the cyclops said with a laugh. ¡°I merely said she was pretty enough to--"


    ¡°You. Will not. Say it. Again!¡± the gnome yelled, picking up his shovel from the floor. With a quick glance beyond the shielding table, he said, ¡°Darlette, stay out of sight!¡± Then he charged, shovel swinging, toward the cyclops.


    Moments later, the small gnome girl in overalls slid around the edge of Tristan¡¯s table and seemed surprised to find anyone else there. Needless to say, Tristan was not the only one mightily confused.


    ¡°Are you Darlette then?¡± he asked.


    The girl nodded silently.


    Do I take her with us? What in all the gods¡¯ names am I supposed to do? Tristan gritted his teeth. ¡°Help me slide this then, and we¡¯ll get out of here.¡±


    The girl nodded silently again and took a position behind the table.


    Following each slide, which was easier now with the gnome girl helping, Tristan was able to see around the broken table briefly. He saw Darlette¡¯s father attack the cyclops again with a shovel swing straight through where the monster¡¯s right arm seemed to be, but it passed straight through without making real contact.


    With the next push, he saw the shovel gnome swing twice more, this time wide swipes, clearly trying to feel out where the real body of his opponent could be.


    After each push, Tristan saw the gnome¡¯s frustration building, until eventually he shouted, ¡°Stop hiding behind your blasted magic and show your true self already!¡±


    Without any other warning, it seemed like all the lights in the restaurant went out. It was as though a patch of pitch blackness was leeching all the light from the room.


    When Tristan looked back up, all the fires were gone, and where the cyclops had been, a giant, illuminated jellyfish now floated. Its stringy purplish tentacles drifted about the space as if it was water. The body and tentacles were the only sources of light within whatever magical zone had surrounded them. Tristan couldn¡¯t see anything else, until he caught glimpses of the shadowy form of the shovel gnome nimbly avoiding every tentacle that tried to touch him.


    From out of the darkness and nowhere in particular, Tristan heard the same, sloppy voice that had been the cyclops say, ¡°I get ya wanna keep dancin¡¯ all night, but I¡¯d rather have your daughter fer a partner. Could ya ask her for me?¡±


    This only emboldened the gnome. As he dodged, he swung his shovel through several tentacles, which didn¡¯t twist or tangle in the least, once again showing that there was nothing actually there.


    The shovel gnome was screaming. ¡°You¡¯re a pervert! She¡¯s only thirty!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fully grown fer a human! Just stand still and let me end this!¡±


    The gnome pulled back all the way to the wall, panting, while holding his shovel defensively. ¡°Or, you come at me. With your real face on. And I¡¯ll end this.¡± He had gotten far enough away that the tentacles couldn¡¯t reach him yet. ¡°I know people like you: all appearance, no substance. You¡¯re too chicken to face anyone fairly!¡±


    ¡°My Path doesn¡¯t give a shit about fair!¡± the sourceless voice countered. ¡°You want fair, go play horseshoes. But ya know what, I¡¯ll give ya another lesson for free, shorty. I¡¯ll show ya a real chicken.¡±


    In the span of one breath, it was as though all the darkness in the room condensed into one massive blob, which quickly grew more and more detailed until it resembled a scaled egg. Cracks began to form between the scales, which pushed outward as it revealed a pitch black claw. Following that came an arm, a shoulder, and a wing. Piece by piece the creature revealed itself, until finally a toothy maw popped out. It was then that Tristan realized what he was seeing.


    It¡¯s a gods¡¯-damned dragon, he thought, hardly able to breathe.


    The twenty-foot-tall embodiment of death barely fit within the confines of the building. It looked as though its scaled neck pressed up against the ceiling. As its long snout turned to the side, a huge slitted eye stared down at the shovel gnome.


    Tristan was fairly sure this one was an illusion too, and with it, a primal terror had gripped him--or at least his legs, courtesy of Fred¡¯s ever-tightening grip.


    Even the shovel gnome had stopped to stare, which caused him to not avoid a tail swipe that sent him hurtling into yet another booth.


    The dragon chuckled, and each bassy heh literally shook the room, sending plates and glasses rattling across the floor.


    Tristan tried to focus and ignore what he hoped was only another illusion. He was only a few feet from the exit door. He could get them all out if he tried. He just had to pull a stupid blessed table... and a scared goblin.


    That¡¯s when he noticed Aaric, his attendant, and the trainer, all still sitting at their table in the far corner. They seemed remarkably calm, though they¡¯d clearly been watching the whole fight. The trainer¡¯s face was expressionless, as usual, while the attendant seemed frustrated, as he looked distractedly toward the kitchen. Aaric, at least, seemed curious, but he was wearing that stupid monocle that somehow made him look even more pretentious than usual.


    The fact that they just sat there doing nothing annoyed Tristan. The trainer was high enough level to have helped, but he¡¯d done nothing. If I had the strength he¡¯s got, I¡¯d put a stop to this. Grabbing Darlette with a free hand, he wrapped the other around the table¡¯s support and pulled with all his might. Even with Fred clinging firmly to his legs, it only took him three pulls to get around the wall. He still didn¡¯t dare allow himself to look back at the dragon.


    Then Jill was suddenly there, floating right by his side and looking quite apologetic. She was able to detach Fred from Tristan¡¯s leg with what amounted to magic words, as best Tristan could tell.


    ¡°The Tier Guard should be here shortly,¡± she reassured them. ¡°I flew out to get them them as soon as that idiot Marco got mouthy with poor Cormick¡¯s girl. That gnome¡¯s got a hair trigger when his daughter is involved.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Tier Guard? Is one of them striking down-tier?¡±


    The little gnome girl, who Tristan now realized was nearly twice his age, answered first. ¡°Well, my dad¡¯s only tier 3...¡±


    Hearing her speak, it was hard to believe that other races could look this young but only be thirty years old, like her dad said. Tristan definitely would have said she looked younger than him.


    ¡°And a farmer!¡± Jill supplied. ¡°Marco there is Tier 4, which is a bit too high for my guys to deal with. Though your father did remarkably well, all things considered.¡± She sighed, producing chairs from her magical storage for them to sit on. ¡°Though he¡¯s only freshly 40, so I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll get off with just a warning.¡± She growled, raising her voice to a powerful, skill-enhanced yell as she rose above the privacy wall. ¡°IN ADDITION TO A BILL FOR ALL THE DAMAGES!¡±


    As if on cue, a group of four armored soldiers and mages barreled through the door. They regarded and apparently dismissed Tristan in only a moment before Jill pointed them to the real disturbance around the corner.


    ¡°Just to the left. You¡¯ll see the giant blessed dragon, no doubt. Amongst all my broken tables!¡±


    With the Tier Guard there, the fight ended almost immediately, and before long the illusionist was marched out the door in anti-magic mage-cuffs.


    Tristan had never seen a higher tier mage fight before, and it had been terrifying. He wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to see another anytime soon--not until he¡¯d learned some way to deal with people capable of such power. But in the back of his mind there was also an itch that suddenly needed scratching. There had been something intriguing about the fight, about the back and forth, the interplay, especially with an illusionist involved.


    While absolutely terrifying at moments, it had also been exhilarating. That a tier 3 farmer stood against a tier 4 illusionist with nothing but a shovel and his determination--it spoke to Tristan. Currently it was only a whisper tickling the back of his mind, but he heard it.


    ...It was almost like his Path was excited by something.


    Magic, Tristan mused. I wonder what I could do with magic.

 Chapter 20: A Fairly Tight Timeline

    Chapter 20: A Fairly Tight Timeline


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    ¡°Thanks for keeping Fred safe,¡± Jill said, turning to Tristan and forcing her otherwise annoyed face into a smile. ¡°It¡¯s not normally like this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sure people would still come even if it was,¡± Tristan joked, though it didn¡¯t seem to land well based on the slight increase in the flutter-rate of the fairy¡¯s wings. Or maybe she was preoccupied with the mess starting to emerge from her kitchen.


    At the far end of the restaurant, servers were beginning to bring out plates of food again, but it was clear that not all the diners were still in their seats. Several servers were looking worriedly from empty seats to the exit in hopes that the missing diners might return now that things had settled.


    Tristan saw Jill¡¯s head turn this way and that, her wings flapping quicker and quicker, before she eventually zipped toward a group of servers that were starting to return the unclaimed meals to the kitchen. ¡°No, no, no! Just give it to them with our deepest apologies!¡± she said, pointing the servers toward several patrons that looked like they were leaving.


    Finally given a chance to breathe without something urgent needing his attention, Tristan noticed several new notifications in the corner of his vision, the most recent of which was:


    [Event Quest complete: Not Dead Fred]


    Experience increased due to bonus objectives completed.


    He¡¯d earned a lot of EXP, too, and upon examining the quest notification, he saw that the bonus objective was preventing Fred from taking any damage. Something he would have done either way.


    He hoped he¡¯d get better at noticing notifications as they came up. It would have been unfortunate to have missed this opportunity if it hadn¡¯t been so natural for him, for example. He remembered from his tier-up that events would be available now, so he should be more prepared for them. He wondered what the crafting events would be like and couldn¡¯t wait to see what kinds of challenges and rewards they¡¯d provide.


    Checking the notification¡¯s timing, he''d been offered the quest just moments after the fight began, which was apparently what started the event. It came along with a slew of other options, ranging from the expected (assisting either the gnome or the illusionist) to the truly distasteful (stealing from or killing Fred). Some had offered more than just experience as rewards, especially if he¡¯d somehow managed to defeat the illusionist. Still, Tristan was glad he had made the choice he had. He wouldn¡¯t sell out his ideals or Path for some fleeting rewards.


    Event quests were not a new concept to Tristan. He¡¯d read about them in several reputable guides, but the prevailing wisdom was that while they weren¡¯t hard to find, they could rarely be forced, and you were never offered any that directly opposed your Path. How he¡¯d stumbled into this one, which wasn¡¯t related to sword smithing seemingly at all, was beyond him. He wasn¡¯t upset about it though, and he figured he could ask Jamal about it eventually.


    All I did was help when someone else needed it. What a great reward for something I would have done anyways.


    It was strange, because ever since he got his Core, he¡¯d thought his Path had been pushing him toward caring more about himself. This had been a purely, instinctually, selfless act. He was glad to see quests still offered him such considerate options.


    Not far from the kitchen were Aaric, the attendant, and the trainer. None of the three had acted during the fight, at least not in any appreciable way. Part of Tristan wondered if the event gave them quests to just sit on their asses. Not only were they completely ignoring the mess, but they were openly talking amongst themselves. He wondered what it was that had made them finally decide to stop using party chat.


    Two servers approached their table with carefully balanced trays of food. Tristan¡¯s stomach rumbled enviously. I wonder if Fred can place my order to go. Or should I maybe ask someone else?


    A glance over at Fred showed that the little goblin was trying to straighten his uniform, but his shaky hands were making the process challenging. Upon noticing Tristan¡¯s attention, he shifted his efforts to pulling a notepad from his pocket, which Tristan recalled he hadn¡¯t needed before.


    ¡°Are you all right, Fred?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir, I am fine. Or I will be fine. Yes, I will be. It was quite good that you were there to help.¡± The goblin¡¯s hands were steadying the more he spoke. ¡°But it¡¯s as I told you, sir: I do have good luck.¡±


    Jill flew over toward them as Fred tapped the pencil to the page. ¡°Sir, I am just a bit out of sorts right now. Can you con-firm that you did pick the pot roast? I beg your par-don, but if you stay I could get you a great des-sert too--"


    ¡°You absolutely must!¡± Jill interrupted, bubbling over with nervous energy, ¡°after helping Fred as you did!¡±


    Tristan nervously shifted the sword on his back, looking at the shadows growing across the porch outside and knowing that his time was limited. ¡°Maybe if I could grab something to go.¡±


    The fairy tapped Fred on the shoulder enthusiastically. ¡°Whatever he chooses, it¡¯s on the house.¡±


    Tristan looked worriedly at the far table. ¡°I¡¯m on a fairly tight timeline; I only had an hour to begin with. Maybe just an appetizer or dessert.¡±


    ¡°No, I insist: whatever you want, order it, and we¡¯ll rush it to the top of the queue.¡± Jill fluttered to within a foot of his face and held his gaze. ¡°Please, I insist. I cannot let such kindness go overlooked.¡±


    There was an urgency in the fairy¡¯s last sentence that felt important. So Tristan nodded. ¡°I just wanted the pot roast, since Fred recommended it. And some sweet tea, please.¡±


    ¡°Then you shall have it!¡± the fairy said, flying straight over to Fred and tearing out the page from the notepad he¡¯d only just finished scribbling on. Then, with it in hand, she zoomed to the kitchen.


    Tristan was left beside the goblin who rubbed his head as he considered where to stow his pencil. ¡°I guess it¡¯s good I wrote it down this time,¡± he said, smiling with slight chagrin. ¡°Miss Jill is quite fast, as you see, sir, so you will have your food that much fast-er.¡± He sighed, looking forsakenly at the room before them, specifically at the section of tables that were in clear disarray. ¡°I don¡¯t know where to seat you, sir. I don¡¯t do that, and I might get it wrong now that my whole sec-tion is... well, sir, we will have to wait for Miss Jill to come back.¡±


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, Fred. I¡¯m sure wherever you sit me will be fine.¡±


    Fred¡¯s mouth twisted with uncertainty. ¡°Yes, sir. You must be right, sir. Miss Jill likes to say the cust-mer is al-ways right. So of course you would be, too!¡± He brightened as he saw the fairy speeding toward them. ¡°Miss Jill! Where shall I seat my new friend?¡±


    Tristan was quickly seated at a new table, still within sight of Aaric''s table and the door. Within only a few minutes, his food was brought out. Fred had been totally correct to recommend the pot roast; it was phenomenal. Almost better than his mother made at home--not that he¡¯d ever tell her that. Had it not been for the looming risk of abandonment causing him to keep glancing at Aaric¡¯s table, it would have been a completely enjoyable meal.


    Right as Fred brought out a delicious looking apple pie, Aaric and the others rose and began meandering toward the door. Tristan began wolfing it down, trying to explain to Fred in between bites that while it was amazing, he really had to go. He hoped the goblin understood. When he asked the goblin how much he should have owed for the meal, he was politely refused.


    ¡°It¡¯s on the house, sir,¡± the goblin reminded him.


    ¡°I''m only asking so that I can leave a suitable tip,¡± he said, hoping that self-interest would get some sort of answer.


    But Fred still, firmly, denied him. ¡°That is quite kind of you, sir, but I will not take a thing from you. You saved my life this day. My life, sir, is the tip. There is no need for more. But I do thank you, sir, for the kind thought.¡±


    Tristan sighed and relented. It had clearly become a point of honor to the goblin


    With Aaric literally walking out the door, Tristan shoveled the final bites into his mouth and rose to leave.


    Fred was at his side immediately. ¡°Is there a thing I may do to help as you leave?¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Fred, but I''m just... Could you point me to the restroom?¡±


    The goblin gave a grand bow and indicated a door near the entrance. ¡°Of course, sir. You have a great rest of the night, sir. Thank you for eat-ing at Jill''s!¡±


    Tristan waited for Fred to leave before dropping two gold pieces in the center of the table and heading toward the door. He guessed it was a bit more than he would have paid for the whole meal, and the goblin deserved every bit of it for his service. Tristan couldn¡¯t help but like the little guy.


    Just before Tristan turned toward the restroom door, Jill appeared at his shoulder again. ¡°How was everything? I do hope that your experience has been superb, beyond the incident.¡±


    Tristan smiled earnestly at her. ¡°The food was as good as I¡¯ve ever had, and Fred¡¯s service was even better. He really went out of his way to make me feel at home.¡±


    The fairy bobbed as her wings flapped enthusiastically. ¡°Good, good. You did good, kid. Unlike that other group you said you weren¡¯t with when you got here. THey were incredibly rude, and no amount of coin can cover that.¡±  She shook her head, looking Tristan up and down. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t get too involved with them.¡±


    ¡°No ma¡¯am. They¡¯re from my town, and I''m catching a ride with them. That¡¯s all.¡±


    ¡°Then be careful you don''t end up a target by association. He¡¯s sure to upset the wrong kind of person sooner or later, by throwing his wealth around like that. On top of that, there¡¯s a new thief about; seems to be able to take gear right off of you. If the reports are true, his Path sounds quite powerful. I wouldn¡¯t want to hang around such opportune targets, or you might lose a lot more than your shirt.¡±


    Tristan bowed slightly, moving slightly toward the restroom door while they talked. ¡°I appreciate the warning.¡±


    The fairy giggled, clearly catching on. ¡°Oh! Well, should your Path ever bring you this way again, know that your next meal is on the house, too.¡±


    Tristan tried to protest, ¡°You¡¯ve already been kind enough. Really, I didn¡¯t do that much.¡±


    ¡°You made a bad situation better without a thought of personal gain,¡± she offered. ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡±


    The fairy extended her hand, and Tristan shook it with two of his fingers.


    ¡°May your Path be long and fruitful,¡± Jill said with a flying curtsy. Then she was gone, back into her restaurant.


    At last Tristan sped through the restroom, and made his way towards where the carriage had stopped, wasting no time. The last vestiges of light barely hung on to the horizon with colors as that reminded Tristan of the stages of cooling steel.


    The voice of the trainer broke his reverie. ¡°I was worried you might not take the itinerary seriously.¡±


    ¡°No, you were quite clear with my rules,¡± Tristan replied, showing more of his annoyance than he meant to.


    ¡°If that¡¯s how you see it.¡± He waited quietly for a moment, but Tristan didn¡¯t respond. ¡°The carriage is about to leave. We will not stop again until the morning, so take care of any needs now.¡±


    ¡°Already done,¡± Tristan replied.


    Together they walked to the carriage, where Tristan sat by himself in the front seat. He had seen Aaric already sprawled out again in the back, perhaps preparing to sleep. Clearly he wasn¡¯t bothered at all by the evening¡¯s events. Tristan sighed and tried to think of anything else. He was so tired after the long day of traveling and the excitement during the meal. Maybe, if he could just stop thinking about Aaric and the others, he could get a good night¡¯s sleep. Dealing with them could be a problem for tomorrow. Or possibly the next day.


    It was a problem for future-Tristan.


    - - - - -


    For two days, Tristan rode in that carriage surrounded more or less by silence. At first it was frustrating, but then he found that the monotonous sounds of the carriage and the roads made good background noise for the type of reflection process his father had tried to teach him. It was still a struggle. One he was about to give up on, when Aaric chose to open his mouth.


    ¡°I asked ¡®what are you doing?¡¯¡± he jabbed while standing in the door of the carriage before another dinner break.


    Tristan, who had intentionally ignored the boy the first time he''d asked, frowned as he opened his eyes. ¡°I''m reflecting. My father says it¡¯s important.¡±


    ¡°Out here? My father tries to sell me on that nonsense all the time, but what¡¯s the use? You can¡¯t even do anything in this carriage. Maybe if you were in a... where do blacksmiths work again?¡±


    Behind Aaric, the attendant cleared his throat, hoping to be let out. But Aaric did not budge.


    Tristan¡¯s brows knitted tightly. ¡°What better use do I have for my time?¡±


    The boy squinted at him and produced a book from an interior pocket. ¡°Reading, practical study. Literally anything. We''re fresh tier 2s; we¡¯ve got lots of ways we can better ourselves. I try to always have something to do. That¡¯s how I became an ice prodigy.¡±


    Tristan had a hard time keeping his eyes from rolling.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad those work for you, but I¡¯m going to keep trying this. Even if it¡¯s a waste of time, it¡¯s my time to waste.¡±


    The ice mage stepped out of the carriage at last. ¡°Fine. Well we¡¯re going to dinner.¡± He scoffed, as the attendant followed directly at his heels.


    Tristan felt a strange calm wash over him as he let the others go, finding himself oddly thankful for the quiet that frustrated him only days before.


    He''d suddenly found a new drive to embrace his father¡¯s advice: he would not be anything like Aaric Longbloom. If his father said something was worth doing, then Tristan owed it to himself to listen and give it his best shot. He wouldn¡¯t let his pride get in the way of doing better, not when it came to his crafting. In that realm, his father succeeded far more often than he failed.


    With as often as his father had talked about reflecting, Tristan suspected it was one of the reasons his old man¡¯s abilities had grown to be so renowned.


    Tristan knew it would take him lots of work, but hard work was something he would never back down from.

 Chapter 21: An Odor of Magnitude

    Chapter 21: An Odor of Magnitude


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    The next three days of traveling were a boring slog for Tristan. They only stopped for dinner, and only late at night. The rest of the time was filled with silence, as no one in the carriage deemed him fit for conversation.


    In between naps Tristan stared out the window, and he saw the countryside roll by. Small towns, fields full of crops, a flock of gryphons drinking at a pond where a spout of water continued into the air endlessly, some upside-down gardens, and even a large fortification (at which he was told they were specifically not allowed to stop) all amounted to mere blips along the side of the road. Things he¡¯d only see in between blinks while the huge leopard-like astral pulled them toward their destination.


    Will I know when we entered the domain of the Embrace? He¡¯d never been in the domain of a god. The only domain that he remembered ever visiting was Azura¡¯s, and that had definitely not been on purpose. Hadn¡¯t the world felt a little different there? Like the touch of the air on his skin had tickled slightly. She was only tier 3, he reminded himself. What must a god¡¯s domain feel like?


    Well, sooner or later, he was going to find out.


    At about midday, Tristan noticed something horrifying through the windows of the carriage. A town that looked to have been the size of Woodsedge was now a blackened, charred ruin. That wasn¡¯t what bothered Tristan most, though. No, he noticed that sections of the ground seemed to move. He wasn¡¯t sure what he was seeing at first, until a hazy glob stretched up and engulfed a wooden doorway.


    Then he knew.


    Tristan barely whispered the words for fear of what they meant, ¡°That¡¯s a lot of oozes,¡± yet somehow they caught the attention of the others in the carriage.


    Aaric was the first to respond. ¡°Oozes? Are you sure they¡¯re oozes and not slimes? They look rather similar. I wouldn¡¯t put it past you to--"


    ¡°They¡¯re oozes,¡± Tristan confirmed, trying not to be too offended. ¡°I fought a whole dungeon¡¯s worth in early tier 1.¡±


    ¡°Wait, are you serious?¡± Aaric asked, his doubts clear on his face.


    Tristan thought he even caught a pointed look from Aaric to the trainer, though nothing was said aloud between them. Tristan chose not to respond; he didn¡¯t feel the need to defend his honesty to Aaric Longbloom of all people.


    By this point, Aaric was also looking out the window. He began working his way to the front of the carriage, where he crowded into Trsitan¡¯s seat and knocked on the back of the driver¡¯s compartment, raising his voice. ¡°Travit, stop the carriage!¡±


    ¡°Whassat now?¡± the dwarf driver muttered, sounding confused, even though Tristan did feel that they seemed to be slowing.


    ¡°Stop the carriage!¡± Aaric repeated, clearly disliking the need to do so. ¡°We¡¯re getting out here. These are an ideal type of mob for me to grind, and it¡¯s been much too long since I¡¯ve cast anything.¡±


    The attendant sniffed loudly as he, too, looked out the window. ¡°It seems highly improbable that the blacksmith, of all people, would have found oozes in an early tier 1 dungeon. They¡¯re known to be mid-tier-1 threats at least. I¡¯ve never heard of one under level 8.¡±


    ¡°Master Aaric is correct that they are the rarest variant of that dungeon,¡± the trainer stated, clearly bored.


    Except Aaric hadn¡¯t said anything like that aloud. It made Tristan wonder what else was being said in private chats that he couldn¡¯t see.


    Tristan chose to ignore that for now. ¡°I definitely agree with that threat level. Oozes are awful. And that dungeon wasn¡¯t easy. I had to tank the whole blessed place. And it reeked! Even with the gold loot box in the end, it barely felt worth it. I hate oozes.¡±


    The way the trainer looked at Tristan, it felt like he was being assessed anew.


    Aaric moved closer to the door and asked, ¡°Wait, so you tanked the rare dungeon variant outside Woodsedge? Your ridiculous shield must have made that so easy.¡±


    The statement hadn¡¯t sounded sarcastic, so Tristan gave an honest reply. ¡°I didn¡¯t have my shield yet, though it would have made the run a lot smoother, for sure. There were only three of us in the dungeon, so the oozes didn¡¯t have fully boosted health, but it still wasn¡¯t fun. Oozes are awful. They¡¯re like living piles of crap that try to spread themselves on you in order to eat you. And they¡¯re not all slow, either. Though they are all disgusting. They¡¯re slimier and nastier than I can possibly explain.¡±


    The attendant chuckled to himself. ¡°Typical ignorant nonsense.¡±


    Aaric cracked his knuckles. ¡°Well everything I read about oozes suggests they should be perfect opponents for me. Weakened by frost, susceptible to freezing, and relatively slow moving.¡±


    ¡°Not all of them,¡± Tristan warned.


    Aaric brushed the concern away as the carriage pulled to a stop. ¡°This will be a piece of cake,¡± he said, flinging the door open.


    The instant he did, Tristan had a visceral reaction to the smell that immediately assaulted them. They all covered their noses.


    ¡°That is vile!¡± Aaric blurted out.


    ¡°What is that stench?¡± the attendant asked.


    Tristan merely looked at the nearest building, which could have once been a small family house. It no longer had a roof or windows, and what walls remained had the color completely melted off. Black ash remained. Though as he watched it, it moved slightly. ¡°The ones in the dungeon were an odor of magnitude worse,¡± he said.


    Aaric was trying to fashion a face covering out of a spare shirt. ¡°Isn¡¯t it an order of magnitude?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Tristan said, shuddering. ¡°Not in this case. Not with oozes. The smell can--and likely will--get worse, as the oozes get stronger.¡± He covered his nose, trying to breathe as little as possible, as he reclined in his seat. ¡°I guess you¡¯ll get to find out soon enough. But don¡¯t say I didn¡¯t warn you.¡±


    With his new face covering in place, Aaric stepped out of the carriage. Tristan was actually glad to hear the crunch of the gravel beneath his feet, as it meant the oozes weren¡¯t all the way to the roadway. Not yet, he thought with dread.


    ¡°Ha¡¯long we plannin¡¯a stop, Massah Longbloom?¡±


    Aaric immediately turned to the trainer and asked, likely loud enough for the driver to hear, ¡°What did he say?¡±


    The trainer¡¯s face remained blank, though Tristan did notice that his eyes did not leave the sight of the ruined town. ¡°He asked how long you were planning to stop here, sir.¡±


    ¡°As long as it takes, obviously.¡± Aaric¡¯s eyes rolled so hard Tristan wondered if ¡®bonus arrogance¡¯ was a perk of his {Ice Prodigy} title. ¡°If I can grind as efficiently here as I expect, then it would be foolish not to. Though the duration will depend entirely upon how quickly I can dispatch these oozes.¡±


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    The man spoke like he had a mouth full of mush that had never been swallowed, and Tristan hardly understood a word of what he said. But he assumed it was along the lines of, ¡°That¡¯s not a proper answer, sir, but do as you like. I¡¯m gonna get some sleep in the meanwhile.¡±


    ¡°Can you close the doors please?¡± Tristan asked, still seated in the carriage.


    ¡°Not with you still in there,¡± the attendant said. ¡°Get out, swordsmith. And accept the Master¡¯s invitation.¡±


    There was a brief look of annoyance between Aaric and the attendant, in which it was clear from the attendant¡¯s sheepish face that something had been said through party chat.


    Then a huge invitation window popped up in Tristan¡¯s interface.


    You have been invited to a temporary party by Aaric Longbloom. Accept?


    ¡°You might as well,¡± the trainer said, perhaps sensing Tristan¡¯s hesitance. ¡°These oozes will provide you the same benefit as Master Longbloom, so working together should be to your mutual benefit.¡±


    Finally convinced, Tristan slid out of his seat and to the ground. He stared at the invitation, and at each of his soon-to-be party members in turn. Aaric was already completely focused and planning his path of attack.


    Tristan shook his head, clearing away his doubts. Fine, he thought, and immediately a new party display appeared at the side of his vision. Aaric was at the top, unsurprisingly the leader of the party, despite only being level 10. It showed that both his health and mana bars were full, but no other information was displayed. Beneath him was the trainer, who was actually labeled ¡°Scout.¡± Is that an official title or just what Aaric calls him? Tristan stopped caring the moment he saw that the man was level 55. That put him in tier 4, just like Tristan¡¯s father. A ridiculously impressive feat. He¡¯s one of the strongest people in Woodsedge, yet he serves the Longblooms? Tristan didn¡¯t fully understand, but that wasn¡¯t really new to him. Beneath the Scout was Aaric¡¯s attendant, whose name was apparently spelled Jacques, at level 22. No wonder I couldn¡¯t [Identify] him, Tristan thought. He¡¯s tier 3.


    Tristan suspected he would show up in their displays the same way, and comparatively he wasn¡¯t nearly as impressive. At least until they see what I can do.


    ¡°What are your classes?¡± he asked the two he didn¡¯t know.


    ¡°I won¡¯t be fighting,¡± the trainer--now Scout--replied.


    ¡°Consider me a healer,¡± Jacques said, somewhat cryptically.


    Tristan shook his head slightly. ¡°Right. So we¡¯re just going to farm some of these oozes?¡±


    ¡°All of them,¡± Aaric corrected, already several steps away and beginning to cast something that was quickly revealed to be a [Frost Bolt] as the blue blast shot toward the nearest ooze. He used [Identify] on it, in part because he¡¯d never gotten to see a monster¡¯s output before.


    [Sated Black Ooze, level 9]


    And apparently it didn¡¯t change much from the death notifications. Tristan was wary of the ooze¡¯s adjective. He felt bad for whatever the ooze had devoured to be ¡°sated.¡± He also immediately worried there were other, hungrier variants around. He watched curiously as Aaric¡¯s spell struck the disgusting pile of evil. It did look like Aaric had been right: his spells quickly began to form a layer of frost over the ooze, slowing it to a crawl. Tristan took that as his cue to move in.


    He drew the massive sword from his back and was surprised to find that he didn¡¯t feel nearly as threatened by this ooze as he expected. This was a level 10 ooze, more than double the level of the strongest ooze he¡¯d faced in the dungeon. But he had grown a lot since that dungeon, too. He might not have been testing himself in battles outside of the one trip to the training grounds, but with each swing of his new greatsword, Tristan could feel that he had grown stronger.


    They quickly found that each [Frost Bolt] that hit an ooze made its reactions slow to a crawl. After only two bolts, Tristan could easily slide around it into a flanking position and smash them to devastating effect.


    Over the next half hour or so, Tristan and Aaric found a comfortable rhythm. They began working their way down what remained of the former town¡¯s main street, with Aaric pulling one ooze at a time, and Tristan charging in with his greatsword to end it just as the second [Frost Bolt] struck. Jacques would occasionally toss out shields, on the rare occasion that either seemed to be about to take damage. He actually tended to give them to Tristan even when he wasn¡¯t in much danger. Tristan blamed it on the elf¡¯s lack of confidence in him.


    The deeper they went into the ruined town, the higher the oozes¡¯ levels seemed to grow. They¡¯d quickly learned that Aaric¡¯s ice magic was great at controlling oozes, but he simply couldn¡¯t push enough damage to kill any over level 12 on his own without achieving a ¡°full freeze combo,¡± as he liked to call it. By level 13, their health regeneration was too great even for that; he needed Tristan to finish them every time.


    As the sun reached its midday pinnacle, Tristan was growing both tired and frustrated. His boots and legs were covered in layers of drying, reeking sludge. He knew he smelled, but he¡¯d started not noticing it a while back. A truly terrifying thought, and not something he wanted to get used to. There was something to be said for destroying scores of the worst monster in the realm. That part was good, even if it wasn¡¯t fun.


    His frustrations mostly came from his so-called party leader, who was growing more impatient with each fight. As the oozes continued to grow higher and higher in level, they took more casts of [Frost Bolt] to slow and more swings of Tristan¡¯s sword to kill. But Aaric clearly wasn¡¯t pleased with the slowing of their pace. Twice in a row he pulled the next ooze before Tristan had finished the one they¡¯d been working on.


    Luckily, Tristan¡¯s sword was proving that his crafting skills were as excellent as he¡¯d thought. Even after all these battles against corrosive oozes, the patterned blade was still as sharp and clean as the moment it left the forge.


    ¡°Aaric,¡± Tristan huffed as he finished yet another ooze, ¡°we need to take a break.¡±


    A handful of feet behind them, Jacques was handing another mana potion to the ice mage.


    ¡°Nonsense,¡± Aaric said. ¡°Our pace has slowed, but it¡¯s still within the acceptable parameters. It¡¯s worth grinding a little longer. I feel like I¡¯m close to leveling up, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Tristan sighed as he scrolled back through the seemingly-endless messages he¡¯d muted long ago.


    You have slain [Hungry Black Ooze, level 13]


    Reduced experience gained due to no full combat Class.


    You have slain [Hungry Black Ooze, level 12]


    Reduced experience gained due to no full combat Class.


    You have slain [Hungry Black Ooze, level 14]


    Reduced experience gained due to no full combat Class.


    Rows and rows of notifications all said the same thing. And apparently the oozes are ¡°hungry¡± now. That was concerning.


    If it hadn¡¯t been so productive--and cathartic--Tristan might have been upset. The overall experience gains had been good, even reduced as they were, though he still wasn¡¯t that close to level 11 yet. Apparently the lack of a full combat Class had burned through the advantage he¡¯d gotten from the Fred quest. Now Aaric was catching up, possibly passing him.


    We¡¯ll fix that when I get to Jamal, Tristan resolved.


    The man called Scout spoke up. ¡°His growth is appreciable, but slower than yours, sir. Regardless, his advice is worth considering.¡± He lifted a hand, as if reminding Aaric in which direction the carriage lay.


    Tristan couldn¡¯t help but notice that the Scout¡¯s feet continued to pivot, as if the man was taking a wider survey of their surroundings. Combined with his suggestion to Aaric, that felt suddenly ominous.


    ¡°In another half hour,¡± Aaric said, already beginning to cast another [Frost Bolt]. ¡°We will return to the carriage when I¡¯m ready. I want to level up first, and these oozes are too perfect an opportunity. Look, this one¡¯s stronger. Maybe it¡¯ll push me over.¡±


    The Scout¡¯s reply was clipped, and Tristan thought he heard the slightest hint of smugness in his words. ¡°As you wish, sir.¡±


    Tristan followed the ice mage¡¯s eyes and could practically trace the path his [Frost Bolt] was going to take. He was aiming at a much bigger ooze than they¡¯d been fighting. One that was also farther away than they¡¯d been pulling, too. Tristan used [Identify] and did not like what he saw.


    [Ravenous Black Ooze, level 15]


    {{Black Ooze Progenitor}}


    It¡¯s got a blessed title?! Tristan¡¯s eyes widened as he recognized the implications. He shouted, ¡°Aaric, that ooze is a gods-damned boss!¡±


    But his warning came too late. A cool blue [Frost Bolt] was streaking away from Aaric¡¯s outstretched hand, which was already starting to glow blue again.


    The whole town around them seemed to come alive.


    At the moment of impact, Tristan heard the sickening slurps of three bigger oozes slinking out of the burned buildings around them, larger than the others that followed.


    Tristan¡¯s eyes widened with actual fear. If we don¡¯t move now, we¡¯re going to get boxed in. ¡°Fall back!¡± he shouted.


    But none of the other three members of his party listened.


    ¡°Excellent,¡± he heard Aaric say, ¡°I¡¯ll level from this for sure.¡±

 Chapter 22: Oozing With Confidence

    Chapter 22: Oozing With Confidence


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan¡¯s head whipped around, trying to grasp just how screwed they were. In addition to the level 15 {{Black Ooze Progenitor}}, there were now three level 14s bearing down on them. Two coming from my right, and another on the left. To make matters worse, behind them, the edges of the ruined road were swept with blackness as smaller oozes began surging their way.


    Tristan lowered his greatsword and grabbed Aaric around the wrist. ¡°We have to go NOW!¡± he yelled just after another [Frost Bolt] flew toward the boss ooze.


    ¡°Unhand him!¡± came the sharp reprimand of the elf attendant.


    Aaric demanded the same with a ¡°Let go of me!¡±


    But Tristan ignored them, instead pulling Aaric along by his wrist, forcing the ice mage to see what he saw. ¡°LOOK AROUND! We can¡¯t stay here!¡± He pointed down the road. ¡°If we don¡¯t run now, we¡¯re DEAD!¡±


    Aaric shrugged. ¡°We won¡¯t die.¡± His cool, unbothered glance found the utterly composed Scout at their side. ¡°Scout can clear these out easily, right?¡±


    ¡°I could,¡± the Scout said, not smiling at all as he crossed his arms, ¡°but I won¡¯t. This is your mess.¡±


    Aaric sputtered as he finally understood their true situation. ¡°But there are, there are..." For a moment he froze, head tilted, staring at the Scout. Then he looked anew at the chaos brewing around them, before staring down at his hands.


    Tristan saw the ice mage¡¯s uncertainty and debated throwing him over his shoulder to carry him away. He dismissed the thought quickly as Aaric¡¯s lordly nature reappeared. ¡°Tactical retreat. Jacques, keep a shield on me at all times! Let¡¯s go! Hurry!¡±


    Tristan wasn¡¯t surprised by the order, even if it was more likely that he would need the shield than the ranged mage. But he didn¡¯t have time to stew on it, as the boss ooze suddenly rose up like a wave of pure black death and crashed itself into the rocky ground. All remnants of frost that had been sticking to it shattered with the impact.


    No longer slowed, it began sliding toward the party along the stones of the road with a disgusting:


    ¡°Sluuurp.¡±


    The oozes began to converge.


    Two of the level 14 oozes on Tristan¡¯s right side lunged first. He slashed at them, trying to cut off the attacking arms, though that merely left blobs of the gelatinous monsters splattered across his arms and chest, burning his bare skin. With another swing, Tristan managed to cut one of them entirely in half, but not before the other began to wrap itself around his boots. Moving his legs became harder than pushing through Aaric¡¯s frost during their duel, and ten times as painful.


    He spun his blade and sliced downward, carving just enough out of the ooze that he managed to free his legs. A moment later a [Frost Bolt] whizzed past his outstretched leg, coating the aggressive ooze in frost before it could lunge at him again.


    Before Tristan could grunt his thanks, a black pseudopod shot toward his head, this time from the left side.


    Tristan began sweeping his blade back and forth in wide arcs, barely aiming, just trying to cover as big an angle as he could while they forced their way backward. Their retreat became a disjointed and stuttering mix of short sprints whenever openings appeared or were made. For the most part, the Scout strolled untouched several steps before them, never bothering to alter his pace. Jacque came next, holding up a shield of bright white light to their rear while also trying to keep a separate shield around Aaric, who flung spell after spell in all directions.


    Aaric was almost always casting, cycling between spells Tristan couldn¡¯t always name. But his most powerful immobilizing tool was still his [Frost Nova], the same spell that had completely frozen Tristan during their spar. He used it so regularly Tristan could anticipate when it came off cooldown, and he wasn¡¯t sure that was a good thing, especially with the mana cost such a skill must have. Still, it was immediately after [Frost Nova] that their party made the most headway.


    Tristan, however, struggled to protect the rear. He backpedaled away from the squirming, squelching, amorphous monsters that continued to spread their black appendages toward him. His footwork was clumsy, despite the fairly flat roadway. It was all he could do to keep up with the constant pressure from the ravenous globs of death creeping in around them.


    No matter where he looked now, there were strangely-shaped black puddles surging toward him. From broken windows and from walls, from under doors, and up from potholes. From out of ditches and from troughs. From everywhere, they came. It felt as though there were no shadows in the world any more, only oozes bearing down on them. At the center of them all was the rising mass of pure darkness that was the {{Black Ooze Progenitor}}, bubbling upward forever toward the sky. It wasn¡¯t following them any longer but could easily be seen over even the tallest building in the ruined town. Undulating at its top was a bulge, almost like a head, except covered in writhing tentacles.


    Tristan felt like it was gloating as it watched them run away. It almost felt like it was calling them back, daring them to return and become food for its spawn.


    That was not going to happen. Not if Tristan could help it.


    As Jacques, Aaric, and Tristan drew even with the final building, they were still completely surrounded by the smaller oozes. ¡°I¡¯m running out of mana,¡± Aaric said, panting.


    Tristan cursed internally. I knew he shouldn¡¯t have been spamming his [Frost Nova] on cooldown! Out loud, he tried to repair the ice mage¡¯s spirits. ¡°Just a little farther. Look, we¡¯re almost there!¡±


    It was true, just over a hundred feet away was the carriage, with Travit the dwarf gawking at them from the front seat. Meanwhile the astral was completely unbothered by any of the oozes, no doubt because of the blackened smear coating the ground near its front paws.


    ¡°There¡¯s too many,¡± Aaric murmured before his voice firmed. ¡°I can handle this. Just... someone carry me.¡± Without further warning, he took out a potion and drank it too quickly for Tristan to [Identify] it.


    An intense icy wave burst out of Aaric faster than the wind, as an enormous [Frost Nova] swept over and somehow managed to freeze every ooze even remotely close to them. The nova had to be three or four times larger than normal.


    For the span of two breaths, the town was silent.


    Did he really just do that? Tristan turned, trying to contain his happiness, only to see something that immediately drained it away.


    There were no obvious wounds on Aaric, but the ice mage was pale and shriveled, as though the life force had been sucked out of him. His eyes were shut as if he was fast asleep, but somehow he was still upright, rocking unsteadily on his feet.


    Then he collapsed.


    ¡°Master Longbloom!¡± Jacques screamed, lunging forward to catch the young man¡¯s body before it could crash all the way to the ground.


    In the time it took for the elf to settle the ice mage¡¯s head on his lap, another ¡°Slurrrrrrp!¡± echoed out across the rooftops of the small town, causing a dim red aura to appear around every single ooze.


    They began to twitch. The Progenitor was somehow undoing the freeze.


    ¡°Can you carry him alone?¡± Tristan asked, lifting his sword again and swinging it at the nearest oozes that were starting to break free. The attendant did not respond immediately, so Tristan yelled, ¡°They¡¯re thawing!¡±


    A full dome of glistening white surrounded them, pushing the thawing oozes outside of its boundaries while fully shattering dozens that were still frozen.


    They¡¯re all around us. Gods-damned oozes! ¡°A big cooldown?¡± Tristan asked, panting. He looked toward the carriage, just a few moments away--maybe one good sprint.


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    ¡°A Daily,¡± Jacques replied with a nod. ¡°Biggest I¡¯ve got.¡±


    Tristan shook his head, looking around. He feared to ask, but he needed to know. ¡°How long?¡±


    The elf looked down at the passed out boy in his arms. ¡°Ten more seconds.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s arms felt heavier than lead, and each swing of the sword had grown harder than the one before. But he couldn¡¯t just let Aaric die here. Not when they were so close. ¡°Give him to me,¡± he ordered, sheathing his sword on his back and reaching down for the limp body of the ice mage. ¡°I¡¯ll carry him.¡±


    No sooner had he picked up Aaric than the dome of light dissipated, and the shadows crashed back in.


    ¡°RUN!¡± Tristan yelled.


    Aaric actually felt heavier than his sword, and now he was all dead weight. Without slashing to fend off the oozes, he focused on footwork, trying to avoid the stinging, stabbing monsters that still surrounded him. He drove his legs forward. He stomped from one ooze to the next, turning the weakest into brackish puddles for long enough to move past and ignore them, just like he was ignoring the blinking notifications in the lower corner of his display.


    Twenty steps from the carriage, he heard Jacque curse, but Aaric¡¯s head bobbed directly into his view, blocking sight of the elf. Two steps later, he recognized that the elf still wasn¡¯t at his side. Fifteen steps from the carriage, the oozes didn¡¯t seem to be hounding Tristan as they had been. He no longer felt them licking at his heels. Ten steps from the carriage, he dodged the last ooze that reached out for him. Three steps away, and finally across the barrier, he looked down, amazed that the ground was clearly just dirt and pavers again. No shadows, no black oozes. He was safe. He had made it.


    Then he looked back.


    He saw the mound of black, tarry oozes engulfing the struggling form of Jacques. His arms were flailing as his open mouth gulped for air but found only ooze. He was pulled down by black, bubbling tendrils. Down to his knees. Down to the ground. Until the struggling stopped, and the oozes covered him entirely.


    A hand found Tristan¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°Put the boy inside, and let¡¯s be off,¡± the Scout said.


    Wordlessly, Tristan complied. He barely even noticed the tears running down his own cheeks.


    That guy was an absolute asshole, he thought, but he didn¡¯t deserve that. Nobody deserves that.


    As the carriage doors swung closed, and he felt the wheels begin to roll, Tristan put his head into his shaking hands and tried desperately to think of anything else at all. Especially not the quest notification he¡¯d just been given.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">The Scout</h2>


    With a light pull from his [Unseen Hand], the doors of the carriage closed. The Scout made sure his face was utterly impassive.


    Not that a bloody tier 2 could glean a damn thing from me, apparently, even when I¡¯m trying to fucking warn them.


    He shook his head. They just weren¡¯t perceptive or experienced enough.


    Though that last bit, that was changing.


    Out the window, the remnants of the town of Sharing Cross were gradually left behind. He wondered which of the boys would be scarred worse by it, the one who failed and fainted, or the one who saw the price of success.


    Probably the swordsmith. Poor kid.


    The Scout actually respected how hard the Hammerson boy had fought, and without a full combat Class. He was definitely still rough around the edges, and he hadn¡¯t gained much skill in combat since that day at the training grounds, but there was definitely quality there. Just like his father. Just like his sword. It was unquestionable that the swordsmith had made it himself, though the Scout still didn¡¯t quite know how. He had dug into every source he could find prior to allowing the swordsmith to join this trip. But seeing the blade in person, seeing it in action, was something else. The swordsmith had a bright, bright future.


    Just like a certain other idiot.


    He sighed. He couldn¡¯t believe the little fucker had run himself totally dry, after all that training, and then resorted to a [Deep Surge Potion]. In trying to be a hero, he¡¯d fainted in the midst of a literally deadly battle. It was the kind of mistake novices only got to make once. The kind of mistake a ¡°prodigy¡± should have known to avoid. The Scout glanced into the back seat where the sprawled body lay recovering from over-exertion. With all the fighting done, the Scout had been forced to shove a healing potion down the boy¡¯s throat. Orders were orders.


    He¡¯s never learned how to deal with losses. It¡¯s going to be yet another shitshow when he wakes up. We¡¯ll see if he¡¯s still oozing with confidence then. Heh.


    Leaving Jacques behind with the black oozes hadn¡¯t been an ideal outcome. No matter how annoying the elf had been, the little prick had also been loyal, and the Scout respected that.


    He knew his Path, and he walked it fucking faithfully. That made him better than most... and he deserved better because of it.


    Thinking back on all their time together, the Scout decided he¡¯d lift a glass to the elf the next time he could. He¡¯d earned nothing less. Someone needed to remember him, and the Longblooms only would until a replacement arrived.


    Would have been much better if the young fucking Master had taken a few hits to actually learn from them. That¡¯s how it should have gone. That damn boy keeps ignoring good intel. But gold is gold, even if he learns nothing.


    The boy had even disregarded the Scout¡¯s initial message about passing by the town. Even though the Scout knew damn near everything about their route. He¡¯d known about the ooze infestation. He¡¯d even known about the fucking Progenitor. He was paid to gather all the relevant intel for every likely circumstance.


    And the boy still didn¡¯t use it, thought he knew better than a tier 4. Well, maybe he¡¯d listen now.


    The Scout wouldn¡¯t bet on it though. He didn¡¯t like losing his money on longshots anymore, not when he had to put up with Aaric fucking Longbloom to earn it.


    In the front seat, the swordsmith pulled his head from his hands. He hadn¡¯t been crying. Instead his eyes looked distant and reflective. Like he¡¯d dealt with something similar before. That was good to know. Maybe the rumors had been true.


    The Scout recognized the moment the swordsmith went into his interface by the glassy, absent look in his eyes.


    I wonder what kind of rewards he¡¯ll get for wading through all that unnecessary shit.


    As if in response, the Scout heard the telltale ding! as a brilliant golden halo encircled the survivor, pushing him to level 11.


    And that, of course, was when the swordsmith finally wept.


    The Scout averted his eyes, again, out of respect. He had a strong feeling that the young man was learning his Path exceptionally well, too.


    In the back seat, Aaric fucking Longbloom groaned.


    Aaric: I hurt all over. Get me another potion.


    The Scout: Which type would you like, sir?


    Aaric: Why are you--?


    The boy¡¯s head lifted, woozily, from the pillow that had protected it from the carriage¡¯s jostling.


    Aaric: Where¡¯s Jacques?


    The Scout: He¡¯s dead, sir.


    There was a moment of silence throughout the carriage before the next line filtered through the party chat.


    Tristan: He got caught in the oozes, Aaric. We couldn¡¯t save him, but we saved you.


    The Scout watched the next moments with great interest and, honestly, even greater respect. The swordsmith hadn¡¯t claimed sole responsibility. Though he had, most definitely, done it all himself.


    Aaric, surprisingly, was beside himself. The Scout couldn¡¯t tell if he reverted to speaking because he was simply overcome with emotion or if it was because the swordsmith could see the party chat. ¡°What in the gods¡¯ names are you talking about? What happened? How did we get back here?¡±


    ¡°You pulled a level 15 ooze boss,¡± the swordsmith said, nearly spitting out the last two words, though he kept his tone impressively flat. He was trying to keep his calm.


    ¡°I know that now,¡± Aaric sputtered. ¡°But how was I--? I couldn¡¯t have known what was going to happen.¡±


    Then he swiveled to face the Scout, eyes widening.


    ¡°But you could have. You probably did! Why didn¡¯t you help us?! With your strength, you could have easily wiped that entire town from the map!¡±


    It was the moment the Scout had been waiting for since the first time the fool had ignored his advice that morning. Of course he¡¯d known. Of course he¡¯d seen the boss and known that they wouldn¡¯t be able to defeat it. It was a fucking Progenitor! But once again, Aaric fucking Longbloom had insisted.


    He kept the smile from his face, kept the anger from his voice, and in his constant outward professionalism simply replied with the facts, knowing that their punch would be just as strong:


    ¡°I¡¯m only paid for assessments and information, sir. Not to help in combat. In fact, your father explicitly paid me not to.¡±


    He hoped the idiot heard the first sentence as much as the last one, but again, he wouldn¡¯t bet on it.


    Proving him right, the spoiled lord turned his glare to the swordsmith. ¡°Then it¡¯s your fault he died! You should have protected him better.¡±


    The Scout watched the control flee from the swordsmith¡¯s grasp. ¡°MY fault?! Wake up, Aaric! This isn¡¯t a dungeon. This is the real world! There aren¡¯t walls out here to guide you all the time. You have to learn to think about all the angles. All the possibilities! You have to learn to think about more than how you look! People die when you act like an idiot, you asshole! If you want to know who to blame for that guy¡¯s death, then go find yourself a blessed MIRROR.¡±


    The Scout reclined in his no-longer-shared seat with a smile on his face, luxuriating in the absolute silence of the carriage.


    It¡¯s a shame the swordsmith could never afford me. I have a feeling I¡¯d love working for him.

 Chapter 23: A New Beginning

    Chapter 23: A New Beginning


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    The four days since Sharing Cross, which was what the Scout had called the ooze-cursed town, had been grating. It was almost like Aaric had been trying to prove himself better than Tristan in any way he could, as if they didn¡¯t walk entirely different Paths.


    Tristan preferred the silent treatment he''d gotten before.


    At least with the Scout, the changes were more limited. He¡¯d watched them a bit more closely, especially the first day. Most of all Aaric. But Tristan was also pretty sure the man had smiled when Tristan had called out the ice mage. He''d definitely been smiling when he''d handed out the wash rags and demanded the pair of them clean themselves.


    ¡°No one¡¯s going to clean up your messes for you out here,¡± he''d said.


    The Scout had never really let much of his true personality bleed through his business-first persona, so the only real change in the man was that he now stretched his legs all the way out across his seat, something impossible before, when he¡¯d had to share the seat.


    It made a sort of sense, in a dark, cynical way. Just like the man¡¯s lack of emotional response. He''s a professional, and it''s not his job to be our friend. He was hired for a reason, and it clearly wasn¡¯t to help us in that fight. If Tristan was even partially right, he hoped he¡¯d never grow to think that way. It felt awfully cold. No matter how high a level he reached, he would still help people.


    On the other end of the emotional spectrum, Aaric wasn¡¯t dealing with the loss well at all. At first he¡¯d stopped leaving the carriage for meals. Then he¡¯d sunk even deeper into his books, studying constantly, flicking papers noisily at a rate that made Tristan wonder if he was actually reading that quickly or just trying to look like he was. He¡¯d returned to only using party chat to have conversations. Even when Tristan began by speaking aloud, the responses only came in chat.


    Two days ago they¡¯d crossed into the Embrace¡¯s domain, and while Tristan had still been reading the honestly frightening notifications, Aaric had started flooding party chat with one full story after another of the god¡¯s history. Tristan at first had wondered if it was just copied and pasted from elsewhere, but sprinkled in between the massive walls of text were references, details, and asides that felt much more personal.


    Tristan had decided to ignore the Aaric¡¯s endless scroll and minimized the chat, switching his focus back to the notifications.


    You have entered the domain of the god known as the Embrace.


    You are now under the effects of the following auras:


    [Safe Passage] -25% damage received from ALL harmful effects.


    [Grow and Flourish] All food and water needs are reduced by 50%.


    [Welcome Home] You are filled with a sense of belonging and safety.


    Of course he''d felt these auras the moment they¡¯d crossed the boundary. He just hadn¡¯t understood exactly what the subtle warmth was, or why it made him feel like he¡¯d just stuffed himself full with a home-cooked meal while relaxing in the sun. It had felt like a welcoming hug from his mother, which made him miss the woman, despite strangely not feeling any homesickness.


    Accompanying the auras, he¡¯d also noticed a visible change in the world outside the carriage. The grass was certainly greener here, and taller, too. All along the road, there were flowers blooming, some lining trails toward trees thicker than he could reach around, and the sky was a cloudless, pristine blue.


    Had Aaric not been constantly pinging him with detailed scientific and historical explanations of ¡°the grandeur of these auras,¡± Tristan would have found the whole experience really pleasant.


    But no, the ice mage had kept spamming the party chat with the names of famous mages that had studied in each city of the domain, and how many dungeons of each tier were in which regions, and how the market for spells was ¡°so much cheaper¡± than home due to taxes or something. It went on and on. It had been like reading an encyclopedia. Tristan had debated turning on the timestamps to see precisely how long it went on. He¡¯d never needed them before, so he¡¯d left them in their default setting: off. To turn them on here would have been childish. And depressing.


    Because somehow Aaric was still going, and it had already been a full thirty minutes.


    Tristan really wished he hadn¡¯t checked.


    Of all the information Tristan had skimmed, his only useful takeaway was that many researchers considered the Embrace''s domain to be the optimal tier 2 grinding spot for this section of the world. So that was good.


    After the info dump finally stopped, Aaric had gone back to his books, only breaking his isolation when Tristan said something. No matter what it was, even a simple question about when they''d stop next, Aaric pounced on every opportunity to answer, still in party chat. It hadn''t mattered who was being addressed, or if the Scout had already answered. Tristan could see Aaric was grasping for something--control perhaps--and while that made sense under these circumstances, he still didn¡¯t enjoy Aaric¡¯s need to have the final word on everything.


    So Tristan had asked if they would just drop him at the gates of Rockmoor.


    ¡°Of course,¡± Aaric had replied in chat.


    Not even a moment later, Tristan had been removed from the party.


    On the positive side of things, Tristan had enjoyed complete silence ever since.


    Tristan spent the rest of the journey reflecting on the battle surrounding Jacques¡¯s death. He had made lots of mistakes, he was sure, but nothing truly stood out. Tristan knew his swordplay had much more room to improve, but he''d also never had a real instructor.


    Soon Jamal would fix all that. Tristan just needed to find his contact in Rockmoor, who would take him to Jamal, who would teach him not only how to earn the swordsman Class but to excel in it. It was a phenomenal plan, and it would be enough. He just had to stop focusing on the past and on the things he couldn¡¯t change any more.


    Getting away from Aaric was going to help that.


    It was almost noon when Tristan stepped out of the carriage at the gates of Rockmoor. He could have ridden into the city with the others, and perhaps he should have for safety, but he¡¯d had more than enough of Aaric Longbloom¡¯s company. There was no way the feelings weren¡¯t mutual.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Stepping beneath the massive gates at the edge of the city, Tristan received another notification that stood out even at first glance. It was presented in a different font, almost as if an actual person had written it. It certainly felt more personal.


    The Embrace welcomes you to Rockmoor.


    This city is a [Sanctuary], so comport yourself appropriately, lest you reap what you sow.


    Have a blessed day.


    He honestly wasn''t sure what to make of that, especially since he¡¯d never seen the word ¡®comport¡¯ before. Still, the whole message had felt like a warning of some sort, though the [Sanctuary] property was interesting. Almost as interesting as seeing the word ¡®blessed¡¯ used not as a curse. He expanded the property just to remind himself what it was.


    [Sanctuary] A ritual protecting a pre-designated space, usually a city or fortress, granting all tier 1 occupants great amounts of armor against other players and immunity to permanent death from unnatural external causes.


    He''d actually forgotten that all the ritual¡¯s protections turned off at tier 2.


    But the rest of the notification is definitely warning others to behave better, right? I¡¯m sure it''ll be fine, he reassured himself. I''ve made it this far. How bad could it be?


    He remembered his mother telling him that Rockmoor was a city many times bigger and richer than Woodsedge. The gates before him gave every indication that she was right. The enormous stone archway was covered in blooming ivy that somehow surrounded but didn¡¯t mar any of the engraved runes Tristan didn¡¯t understand. He wondered if it was natural or arranged.


    Beyond the archway, wide, busy avenues stretched out into the distance. They were shaded by towering trees, whose branches grew together far above and formed a canopy that only managed to darken the city a bit against the glow of magic that was everywhere. Pops of color rustled in the trees, lined the buildings and roads, and adorned the people. To Tristan, it felt like this city belonged in an entirely different world from Woodsedge.


    The thought thrilled him.


    The streets were incredibly crowded, though Tristan found them surprisingly orderly. And while there were more people before him now than he''d met in his entire life, he found that he could usually predict how they¡¯d move through the streets. They¡¯re just everyday people, Tristan had to remind himself, and for them, this is normal.


    Buildings were also crunched together three or four per block. When there were alleys, they seemed barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The city, despite being huge, felt tight and small--like Tristan had before he¡¯d gotten new clothes the year of his growth spurt. So he wasn¡¯t really surprised to see construction crews expanding a couple buildings upward, even ones already six stories high.


    He was in awe of this place, and was genuinely glad that he had gotten to see it in his lifetime. He suddenly felt bad for all the people who¡¯d never seen beyond Woodsedge. This felt like the perfect place for a new beginning.


    Tracing the main road all the way to its end, he saw the biggest building of all. From where he stood, it seemed like the building might have been larger than all of Woodsedge put together. It had multiple layers of walls and gardens and towers. It was somehow both approachable and defensible. Tristan knew this was the center of the city, where all the roads converged: the Grand Temple of the Embrace.


    Even at this distance Tristan could see that the many pillars supporting the grand, terraced design were also sculpted statues. They showed people of different races and ages, wearing clothes of different styles, but they all had the same smile. It looked calming, reassuring. To Tristan, the smile resembled the one his mother always wore (and his father seldom did), but still slightly... off.


    Tristan was glad he didn''t need to go anywhere near there anytime soon.


    He scrolled back up to the last private message the Scout had sent him. The man had seemed surprisingly supportive, glad to give Tristan more detailed directions on how to get where he was supposed to meet his contact. The Scout had highlighted several landmarks along what he called the safest route, and stressed which streets absolutely should be avoided. Tristan had memorized those immediately. He still kept the message up on his interface though, just in case he needed the reminder. The final line still unnerved him:


    ¡°Be careful in The Agora.¡±


    Tristan checked that his sword was still easily accessible on his back. Despite this being a [Sanctuary] city under a literal god¡¯s protection, the Scout had felt the need to warn him.


    What kind of place was he about to walk into?


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Sophie</h2>


    Sophie had just settled into her usual lunch spot at the corner table closest to the entrance when she spotted her first good prospect in what felt like a week. She noticed his incredibly broad shoulders first, since he needed to turn sideways when he entered to accommodate someone else walking out through the double swinging doors. That told her that he was at least a little bit considerate. Based on the way his eyes constantly circled the place she supposed he might also be meeting someone.


    He was clearly several years older than her, certainly taller than her, and wore his dirty blond hair in a shaggy mop above what looked like freshly-cleaned traveling attire. It made her question what was in the big, oddly wide bag that he¡¯d set right beside his foot. He had a huge sheathed sword belted across his back, though Sophie wasn¡¯t actually sure whether that carrying style would make the weapon accessible enough in the event of real trouble. The one advantage to having it openly displayed like that was that it told Sophie that he was probably lower tier. She appreciated such obvious signs since she didn¡¯t have access to [Identify] yet. She knew it was an exceedingly common practice for martial types especially to have magical storage made specifically for their primary weapons. Quick access could literally be the difference between life and death in the later levels.


    She hadn¡¯t really been close enough to those kinds of people to test the validity of such claims. But maybe this time I¡¯ll get to find out.


    As Sophie continued to watch the boy, her estimation of him steadily rose. She appreciated that he hadn¡¯t immediately gone to the bar to order drinks and instead took only a few steps into the room before backing up against a wall and using the relatively secluded spot to survey his surroundings. He even kept his bag out of the way of servers and anyone that passed nearby. Clearly not used to places like The Agora.


    Sophie tore off a small chunk of the bread on her plate and held it in her hand as Poof gobbled it up quickly. The gentle and inquisitive ¡°Meep?¡± from her favorite cuddle buddy gave Sophie a moment¡¯s pause.


    ¡°He does look like a suitable candidate,¡± she agreed in a whisper, ¡°but I don¡¯t know if we¡¯re really looking for only one more person. Besides, with a sword like that he¡¯s probably a damage dealer too. I think I¡¯d still rather find us a tank to keep us all safe.¡± Even after saying that, Sophie wasn¡¯t quite ready to dismiss the boy either. Mr. Biggs was a tank after all, and she¡¯d need to learn to use him effectively eventually.


    She would observe the boy for a few more minutes at least while she and Poof finished their meal. It was a rare day when the chips accompanying the sandwiches weren¡¯t burned a bit, and today¡¯s basket had been the perfect golden color.


    By the time Poof had licked up the final crispy crumb from their shared basket, Sophie had made up her mind. The boy had finally been noticed and cornered by one of the waitresses, who had led him to a table not too far from where Sophie herself sat. He¡¯d been very polite and quite a bit obtuse, if not incredibly naive with her. Sophie had heard some of the things the girl was saying, and several were enough to make even her blush! Still, all the boy ordered was one glass that bubbled instead of foamed, so Sophie guessed it wasn¡¯t alcoholic.


    As he finished a long swallow and set the drink down. Sophie could tell that he was growing increasingly disheartened as he looked around the room again.


    This time Sophie didn¡¯t look away quite quickly enough, and their eyes met. Sophie watched the consideration cross his brow as he no doubt categorized everything about her that he could see.


    I guess there¡¯s no time like the present.


    She put on her brightest smile and once again replaced the pink bow on the center of Poof¡¯s head before standing and walking straight toward him.


    ¡°Good afternoon,¡± she said, extending her free hand to point toward one of the empty chairs around his table. ¡°Do you mind if I sit with you?¡±

 Chapter 24: A Bit of a Mess

    Chapter 24: A Bit of a Mess


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan slowly swirled his glass of sweet tea while trying not to worry about why his contact wasn¡¯t where they were supposed to be. The Agora didn¡¯t give him nearly as nice a vibe as Jill¡¯s, and it was far removed from the Roadside Inn back in Woodsedge. It was worn and well used, but unlike those other places, this one was not as well loved. The bar itself was a good example: he saw places where all the polish had been worn off over time and then never reapplied, leading to lasting damage.


    That¡¯s not to say it was full of awful people. The servers had all been very pleasant, even if his waitress had been a bit... forward. The bartender had actually laughed and given him the first round ¡°half off¡± when Tristan had confirmed that, ¡°No, I don¡¯t want any alcohol in my tea, thank you.¡±


    These are just normal people, he told himself. I shouldn¡¯t judge them after only ten minutes.


    Most of the people in the bar looked to be adventurers. Lots of leather and metal, with most of it clearly higher tier than Tristan. That said, he could still see that a lot of the ¡°armor¡± around him was badly in need of repair--if not outright replacing. He¡¯d always thought that a person¡¯s gear gave insight into their character. So perhaps he shouldn¡¯t have been surprised that every patron around him with gear like that also sported scars. But he also knew better than most that moments so harrowing they scarred the soul didn¡¯t always come from a lack of preparation. In his case, being scarred had lit a fire beneath him and caused him to get better. It seemed these people had made a different choice.


    Lifting the sweet tea to his lips, he caught the little dark-haired girl across the way looking at him again. This had to have been the fifth or sixth time in the last hour. He decided this time he wouldn¡¯t hide that he¡¯d seen her. He held her eyes for a brief moment, forcing her to look away first. But even after breaking eye contact, she looked back. He debated going to talk to her, just on the off chance she was connected to his contact somehow. But how likely was that? He¡¯d been given a physical description, and the first four words were ¡°tall, dark-skinned male.¡± No part of that matched this girl.


    Not that he knew much about her, other than her appearance. All he had to go on was the severely limited information he¡¯d gotten from [Identify].


    [?, Human, level 3]


    Tristan really wanted to work on a way to either upgrade his [Identify] skill or enhance its abilities, and sooner rather than later. Even just getting Class information would be a huge benefit.


    Given how young she looks, she definitely Awakened really early. Could be recently, too, since she¡¯s only level 3.


    Granted, he couldn¡¯t be sure she was as young as she looked. Such outward modifications were supposedly pretty easy the higher level someone got. Still, this girl looked to be somewhere between twelve and fourteen. Not that Tristan was great at guessing ages, but Chessa¡¯s kid sister was about that same age and look. If that was true, the fact that this girl had Awakened already would probably be a huge mark of achievement. As was the fluffy round furball blinking at him from her lap. At roughly the size of an anvil, it was unlike anything Tristan had ever seen. It was also behaving intelligently, sharing the girl¡¯s food to hide the fact that it kept removing the pink bow that she kept trying to place atop its head.


    All of that meant it was most likely an astral. And if she had an astral, that made her an astralist, which was nearly as impressive as Awakening so young.


    The girl smiled at him, raising her hand in an unspoken greeting.


    Tristan, unsure how to respond, lifted his drink to his lips, hoping to buy some time. As he lowered it again, the girl stood up and walked straight toward him. Tristan swallowed. Regardless of whether he wanted to deal with her or not, he was certainly about to.


    ¡°Good afternoon,¡± she said, extending the hand that wasn¡¯t stroking her astral to point at an empty chair at his table. ¡°Do you mind if I sit with you?¡±


    Tristan hesitantly returned her smile, hoping he wasn¡¯t making a mistake. ¡°I don¡¯t mind, though I should warn you that I am expecting someone.¡±


    The girl nodded and pulled out the chair directly opposite him, sitting very primly as she positioned the furball to keep its eyes above the table. The eyes seemed rather large for the size of the creature, and every time they blinked at him it was somehow both intimidating and ridiculously cute.


    ¡°I totally understand,¡± she replied, ¡°and when that other person arrives, I¡¯ll gladly take my leave should you ask it of me. Just know that one of the reasons I came over at all was that you were sitting alone, and I thought we might be able to help each other.¡±


    Tristan scratched at the stubble on his chin before resting his head on his hand. She talks so properly, like a teacher or a mayor, but she¡¯s so young. He could still tell that, like all such people, she clearly wanted something. ¡°Oh yeah? How do you think I can help you?¡±


    The girl smiled at his reframed question. ¡°I think you look like someone who''s seen a bit of action already and might be hungry to see more.¡±


    Tristan, rather than respond, took another sip of his tea, not realizing it would empty the cup. He suddenly worried about what the waitress would think of his choice of company. After all, in Woodsedge, people would gossip about far less.


    The girl continued, ¡°You also don¡¯t look nearly as worn down as most of the others that come through The Agora. I can¡¯t help but think that means you¡¯re pretty capable with that big sword on your back.¡±


    Tristan paused her with an upheld finger that became an open hand. He knew where this was heading. He¡¯d heard many people try to convince his father to rush orders, or any number of other requests that always got declined. He decided to stop her before the metal got too hot. ¡°You¡¯re talking a lot about me, and it¡¯s flattering and everything, but you haven¡¯t answered my question: what can I do for you?¡±


    The girl exhaled quietly as her smile strained briefly wider. ¡°I¡¯m hoping you¡¯ll join my party and help me level up.¡±


    Tristan sat silently for a moment, considering all the different directions he could take this conversation. Assuming she was telling the truth, her incredibly low level made her request a little strange. He would try to come back to that after he learned a bit more--and after he got another drink. He caught his waitress¡¯s attention by lifting his empty glass. Then he returned his attention to the girl. ¡°And how do you think you can help me?¡±


    ¡°I believe that there are many benefits to having a larger party, not the least of which is the additional safety of having someone else to always watch your back. As an astralist, I actually offer more than most in this regard since my astrals are almost like having yet another party member.¡±


    ¡°Your astrals?¡± Tristan asked, checking his [Identify] again just to make sure he¡¯d read her level correctly. Once again, it displayed as 3, not 13 or 23. He had no idea how it was possible for someone in their first tier to have more than one. ¡°You have more than one?¡±


    The girl¡¯s posture straightened as her chin tilted up slightly. This was a clear point of pride for her. ¡°I actually have three.¡±


    She might have said more, but the waitress took that moment to appear at Tristan¡¯s side. She shot the new girl a strange look before asking Tristan, ¡°You sure you want another of the same, sugar, or should I get you something a little stronger? You might want it if she¡¯s pitching you.¡±You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Tristan didn¡¯t let his smile waver. ¡°Just another sweet tea, please.¡± He extended a hand toward the girl. ¡°Would you like to order anything for yourself?¡±


    The waitress let out a single laugh. ¡°You want the usual, Soph?¡±


    The girl stopped stroking her astral briefly. ¡°Yes, thank you Daphne.¡± Then she clearly waited for the waitress to walk away before she turned back to Tristan. ¡°I¡¯m Sophie by the way, and this is Poof.¡±


    ¡°Tristan,¡± he replied, hoping that by saying less he might seem more seasoned and cautious, which of course he was thanks to the not-so-subtle hint his waitress had thrown him. ¡°What kind of astral is Poof, if you don¡¯t mind my asking? And what do your other two offer? If I¡¯m going to even consider partying with you..."


    Sophie brightened immediately at his consideration. ¡°Poof is a battle mage that¡¯s already capable of impressive AOE damage by casting [Mana Bolt] and then exploding it. It¡¯s not a super common technique but we¡¯ve worked on it a lot.¡±


    Tristan just nodded as she continued.


    ¡°I also have Sneakers, and while he might look like a parrot, he¡¯s also an incredibly stealthy scout and has the speed to be a messenger when it¡¯s needed. Then there¡¯s Mister Biggs, who kind of resembles a bear and lion mixed, but he¡¯s also a really solid armor-focused tank. He has this awesome roaring ability that¡¯s actually an area taunt. I¡¯m not sure if you¡¯re aware, but that type of skill is exceptionally rare in tier 1.¡±


    Tristan was still trying to put all the pieces together into something that made sense. She¡¯s a level 3 astralist with three astrals, all of them seemingly capable... but she named her tank Mister Biggs. It was kind of a lot to take in.


    Maybe that was why Sophie had paused: she was expecting him to have questions at this point.


    Rather than play directly into her expectations, Tristan turned the conversation away from her astrals and more toward her. ¡°I¡¯m impressed that you¡¯ve already got three astrals, but I¡¯m also confused. At your level, why do you already need outside help?¡±


    To her credit, if Sophie was surprised by his question, she didn¡¯t let it show. ¡°I¡¯m an astralist, Tristan. It¡¯s widely known that we¡¯re a bit lackluster in the earlier tiers, but that¡¯s because it¡¯s a trade-off for how insanely useful we can become later on. If you want, you could think of it as an investment of sorts. You help me now, and I¡¯ll help you later.¡±


    The waitress returned with Tristan¡¯s new sweet tea, disrupting the flow yet again. Tristan thanked her, and as she left he took a long, slow sip. He was glad to have something to do that could also buy him time to think of a response.


    ¡°I don''t--But why don¡¯t you just summon your astrals and go grind some monsters. Why do you need me?¡±


    ¡°Because I can only have one astral out at a time. If that¡¯s Poof, then I¡¯m risking both of us if she doesn¡¯t immediately kill anything she attacks. She¡¯s super squishy,¡± Sophie said, poking the furball lovingly for show, ¡°in both the best and not-so-best ways.¡±


    ¡°What about your tank?¡±


    ¡°Mister Biggs has enough armor to absorb damage all day. The issue arises because he can¡¯t deal enough damage to kill things at our current level, at least not without taking all day. It¡¯s just not tenable for grinding at any sort of pace.¡±


    Tristan took another sip. She was definitely making a good argument for why she needed his help. Truthfully, he kind of wanted to help her, even without the promise of something later. There was just the problem of timing. For now it seemed it would be less helping her than carrying her, especially with their tier difference. But he could live with that. He wasn¡¯t exactly a prime candidate at the moment either.


    With all those thoughts circulating through his head, he decided to just be open and honest with her. ¡°While I¡¯m not sure it¡¯ll work out as well as you''re suggesting, I do want to help you--Eventually.¡± He had to rush the last word, because she¡¯d already started to swell with excitement. ¡°And that is assuming that you still want my help after I tell you a little bit more about me.¡± He leaned in, lowering his voice. ¡°Look, I can tell you¡¯re a bit desperate, since you¡¯re coming up to me despite knowing nothing about me. Honestly, you should probably ask someone their Class or level before pitching them. Especially since you don¡¯t have a way to [Identify] yet.¡±


    He waited, but Sophie did not immediately respond.


    ¡°I¡¯m a swordsmith,¡± he volunteered, ¡°and I¡¯m level 11. That¡¯s the kind of stuff you should really want to know before asking to party with someone.¡±


    Across from him, Sophie nodded. He noticed that she seemed to be squeezing Poof a little tighter, and she hadn¡¯t replaced the pink bow atop the astral¡¯s head this time. ¡°You¡¯re really not even a full combat Class? I thought for sure you would be with that big sword across your back.¡±


    Tristan relaxed and leaned back. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m saying. At the moment, I can definitely help, but it wouldn¡¯t make everything as easy as you¡¯re thinking.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve lost the luxury of being picky at this point.¡± Sophie looked at him then a little quizzically as she turned a ring on one of her fingers. ¡°So you made that then?¡± she asked, looking more impressed as she considered his sword.


    ¡°It was  what pushed me to tier 2,¡± Tristan said, taking a full swig of his tea. ¡°And I¡¯ve got big plans that could honestly help you if you can wait a little while. I¡¯m taking swordsman as my first Secondary Class. I¡¯ve already got an excellent teacher lined up. I figure after I train with him for a while, I¡¯ll be much more helpful should I swing back this way and find that you still want my help.¡±


    Sophie sat back in her chair, sighing. ¡°Alright then.¡± Her smile returned to the distant look it had before.


    Does she think I¡¯m making an excuse or something?


    She firmly replaced the bow atop Poof¡¯s head before glancing around the room. Perhaps she¡¯d seen that the waitress was returning to their table. ¡°I appreciate you hearing me out and considering my offer.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s brow pinched a little with uncertainty. She¡¯d almost sounded like she was dismissing him. ¡°I¡¯m not lying about this,¡± he attempted to assure her. ¡°I¡¯ll be coming back through Rockmoor fairly often, I imagine, and definitely on my way back home.¡±


    Sophie whispered something to Poof, which earned her a curious ¡°Meep?¡± before returning her attention to him.


    ¡°I believe you mean that, Tristan. But I know that it often takes months to learn and train your first Secondary to a respectable level. Even if you remember to come back and check on me, I hope you can understand that I don¡¯t want to still be here needing the help by then.¡±


    Tristan didn¡¯t have a rebuttal for that.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t lying about what I said either,¡± she said, sliding her chair back and standing up. ¡°I really do appreciate your willingness to help me.¡± She turned her attention briefly to the waitress, who had finally returned to their table. ¡°Daphne, can you put his drinks on my tab too?¡±


    Tristan suddenly felt very confused, not fully understanding why that had happened. He tried to say, ¡°Thank you,¡± but Sophie had already intercepted the waitress and was pulling coins from a pink pouch Tristan hadn¡¯t noticed before.


    Then she was gone.


    As the waitress finally reached Tristan¡¯s table, he asked, ¡°Did she really just cover my drinks?¡±


    ¡°She surely did, which I suppose means you were as nice to her as you¡¯ve been to me. Thanks for that. Sophie¡¯s a bit of a mess, but she¡¯s a sweetheart.¡±


    Tristan just shook his head. ¡°She¡¯s too young to get a good group, isn¡¯t she?¡±


    Meanwhile the waitress had produced a simple white envelope from thin air and seemed to be reading the outside with increasing interest. ¡°Don¡¯t let that bother you, sugar. You said your name was Tristan before, right?¡±


    Tristan nodded, curiosity growing. ¡°Yes..."


    ¡°Great. I just got a message here for you.¡± She removed a folded white card from the envelope and handed it to him while she clutched the envelope itself tightly to her chest. Tristan could see that there was a lot of writing on the envelope, including the name ¡°Daphne¡± in large, flowing script at the top.


    Before Tristan could thank her properly, Daphne turned and practically skipped away with a massive smile on her face.


    While that left Tristan with a thousand questions, he also had a folded white card with his name on the outside. Opening it, he was no longer surprised his contact had stood him up.


    Tristan,


    Sorry about the mix-up. Originally I was going to greet you in person, but once I got to The Agora, other pressing issues arose that needed attention. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve already noticed the girls are quite nice, and it¡¯d honestly just been too long since I¡¯d spent time with them. By the time you read this, I¡¯ll have remedied that.


    Come to my manor as soon as you desire. But maybe not for an hour or three. I¡¯ll have my hands very, very full until then.


    Cheers,


    Jamal


    P.S. This card will lead you here and let you in. Or come with Daphne. She¡¯s been invited too.


    Tristan read the note three more times, hoping he¡¯d misread... something. But he was pretty sure he hadn¡¯t.


    Maybe his mother¡¯s worries about the man hadn¡¯t been misplaced after all.

 Chapter 25: Brilliant

    Chapter 25: Brilliant


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    The card from Jamal had said not to hurry, among the other things Tristan tried not to think about. Since it seemed he had some time to kill, he wanted to spend it doing what he did best and decided to look for an anvil.


    After closing out his tab at The Agora, which ended up being only what he wanted to tip thanks to Sophie, he''d asked Daphne for directions to the nearest smithy and gotten a rather surprising reply.


    ¡°You''ll need to see a Steelblood Guild rep over on Smith''s Row. They control every anvil in Rockmoor.¡±


    It had sounded like an easy exaggeration, but Tristan quickly realized it was true. The directions scribbled on the bartender''s napkin led him to a street that clanged with the familiar sounds of hammers striking metal. Smith''s Row, beyond being well named, was the first place Tristan felt he belonged in days. It was a place where no one looked twice at someone his size, and the street was wide enough that he didn¡¯t have to worry about bumping into anyone, even with his large traveling bag.


    A familiar heat radiated from nearly every building, all marked by wordless signs displaying their wares. The first two blocks were full of shields, bracers, breastplates, and even a few full suits of plate. He felt oddly better about his earlier struggles when he saw only one place showcasing gauntlets.  The one thing they all had in common was the glinting silver droplet roughly the size of a fist in the upper right of each sign.


    The mark of the Steelblood Guild, no doubt. Let¡¯s see if any of them are interesting.


    Tristan kept walking, savoring the sounds and smells he hadn''t realized he''d been missing so much. It had been days since he¡¯d last used his hammer. He¡¯d stowed it away in his bag to make the trip easier, but now his fingers were itching to use it again.


    In the middle of the second block, Tristan stopped at a display where every piece of armor was pitch black. ¡°MidKnight Plate,¡± the sign read. Even more fascinating than the color was what happened when Tristan tried to [Identify] any of the items: the skill returned only one line.


    [Status blocked]


    No matter how many times he tried, he got the same impossible response. He¡¯d never seen a piece of gear block [Identify] before. He used the skill on all five pieces of armor in the shopfront. It was the same result on each.


    None of the other shops are doing this. What is this craftsman doing differently? And how?


    He decided to try a different approach and walked into the shop, looking for a person to ask. There was no counter or desk, just rows and rows of low shelves covered with the same un-[Identify]-able black armor. At least the rows were spread far enough apart that Tristan¡¯s bag didn¡¯t bump into any of the merchandise. As he walked farther, the clanging of hammers grew markedly louder. It sounded like two smiths were actively working in the back.


    ¡°Excuse me,¡± he called out, stopping before crossing through the forge door. The warmth of the room beyond was intense even for Tristan with his [Heat & Fire Resistance], which made him wonder just how hot it truly was. ¡°I have a question about how you make your armor.¡±


    ¡°Oh, fuck off,¡± came a shout from within, as another different voice said, ¡°Be nice, it could be a customer!¡± Then, louder as if yelling specifically to Tristan, ¡°We¡¯re in the back. Just hold on a moment.¡±


    One set of hammer falls ceased as the other continued with its steady rhythm.


    Tristan peeked his head in and saw two nearly-identical dwarves working at side-by-side anvils.  They had the same build and beard and matched in all ways Tristan noticed--except that the one approaching him was clearly female. She was currently putting on a shirt as she said:


    ¡°Oi, if you step in here we aren''t responsible for any burns!¡±


    Tristan averted his eyes by turning fully around. ¡°Sorry, I was just--"


    ¡°Not a customer,¡± the man said, loud enough Tristan heard it clearly. ¡°Lookit ¡®im: those arms, that sword. He''s a smith.¡±


    The woman''s response was too quiet for Tristan to hear clearly, though its tone sounded scolding.


    He took some comfort in the female dwarf being less hostile and tried again. ¡°Anyway, I was really intrigued by--!"


    ¡°The [Identify]-blocker, I bet,¡± the man interrupted with a snort.


    ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± Tristan confirmed, though he didn''t turn back quite yet. He wanted to give the woman a little more time, and he also needed to say something to ease the man¡¯s concerns. ¡°Though as a swordsmith I don''t really make armor, so I wouldn''t be competition or anything.¡±


    ¡°Now that''s true,¡± the woman remarked, now standing right behind him.


    Tristan turned to face her, though she only ended up being about half his height.


    She gave the other dwarf a sidelong glance. ¡°He''s only level 11, and he¡¯s still carrying a bag half the size of our old place. You remember those days? Cut the kid a break.¡±


    The man grumbled, ¡°Course I remember; ¡®twas only a hundred years ago.¡± He gave Tristan a wary side-eye. ¡°Our forges burned half as hot back then, and we had to fight to beat the competition.¡±


    The woman turned her gaze back to Tristan and beckoned him into the forge. ¡°You say you''re a smith. Can you recognize the base material my brother''s working there?¡±


    Tristan stepped carefully around her, moving deeper into the sweltering workshop. ¡°That¡¯s a higher level metal than I''ve ever seen, so I''ll guess obsidian?¡±


    The brother stopped his hammer¡¯s rhythm for just one strike as he rolled his eyes at Tristan. ¡°Lucky guess.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a lot I''ve never seen,¡± Tristan admitted, ¡°but I''ve spent years learning. I¡¯ve just never even heard of armor like you''ve got out front. Not even my father worked on stuff that color, unless it was painted after.¡±


    The woman practically choked. ¡°Painted?¡± She spat out the word as if it offended her. ¡°Where are you from?¡±


    The man chuckled. ¡°His father''s shop.¡±


    Tristan locked his jaw for a moment to avoid responding with anything foolish. He hadn''t gotten their names yet, and he wasn''t sure he wanted to. He only said, ¡°Woodsedge, a couple days ride--¡±


    ¡°Doesn''t matter,¡± the man said, stopping his hammer and pointing it at Tristan. ¡°He''s not guilded, Cor.¡±


    Tristan flinched at the rudeness. ¡°Look, I¡¯m brand new to town and all this guild stuff. But maybe you could help me understand instead of just dismissing me. You just did some things I hadn¡¯t seen before, and I thought I¡¯d ask.¡±


    The man¡¯s hammer struck the metal before him with a sound so skilled that it made him feel like he was in his father¡¯s forge. ¡°Obviously.¡±


    The woman shook her head at her brother and chuckled, ¡°You''ve got good taste, so I''ll level with you. Since you aren''t part of the Guild, we can''t talk shop with you at all. No matter how fresh you are, we can¡¯t tell you a thing.¡±


    Tristan sighed. ¡°So I''d have to join to learn how to do that?¡±


    The woman laughed. ¡°Gods no. We don''t share this secret even with them. It''s still a competition after all. Look at where you are! Think about why you''re in here instead of the next shop down.¡±


    ¡°That makes sense,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°I guess I''m just used to less competitiveness. I''ve only known what it¡¯s like in Woodsedge, which is a small town.¡±This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    The man grunted, clearly unimpressed.


    The woman waved him off. ¡°Then let¡¯s see how well you learned the basics. If your fundamentals are solid, you might pick up a few things. And if not, well, it won¡¯t change anything anyways. I¡¯ll give you a minute--yes, a full minute, Gor!¡± she spoke over her brother¡¯s scoff, ¡°--to watch my brother work. Anything you can learn on your own in that time, well, that¡¯s sound fundamentals. Interested?¡±


    Tristan hesitated slightly. ¡°It¡¯s more than I expected, honestly.¡±


    ¡°And it¡¯s all you¡¯ll get from us,¡± she agreed. ¡°Starting... now!¡±


    Tristan moved yet another step nearer the dwarf and watched him more carefully. The man was incredibly precise with every blow--even more than his own father. What the dwarf did with one swing would have taken Tristan ten just for general shape, and then another dozen or so to make the edges clean. But what caught Tristan¡¯s eye the most was the metal¡¯s color. He spoke to the woman without bothering to look away. ¡°It''s not pitch black yet, so it must be a process, or maybe something added later on.¡± He continued watching. It was alarming to see how this man and his father did the same things so differently. Their techniques, their approach to the metal, even their tools were as unique as the men themselves.


    Right as the dwarf put down his hammer, possibly to manipulate the material in a different way by the look he gave it, he pulled himself back and grunted, ¡°That''s enough.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s brow furrowed. ¡°But--Can I see you start the next step at least?"


    ¡°No way kid, Gorrek''s right,¡± the woman said, placing her hand on his shoulder. ¡°It''s time for you to go. Can''t just give away the techniques we''ve developed over decades.¡±


    Tristan nodded, a bit disappointed, but he perked up at one realization. ¡°So does that mean it is a technique and not a skill?¡±


    ¡°Nah,¡± the man said, now looking at Tristan instead of down at his workspace. ¡°It''s the ore.¡±


    ¡°Gorrek,¡± the woman warned.


    Tristan leaned in closer, despite the woman''s hand. ¡°What¡¯s so special about the ore?¡±


    The man smirked and raised his eyebrows to his sister. ¡°He asked.¡±


    The woman crossed her arms before her chest, face open and smiling. ¡°Fine. He asked.¡±


    The man looked Tristan square in the eye. ¡°It''s ether ore.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of that,¡± Tristan admitted. ¡°What¡¯s it used for? What kind of properties does it have?¡±


    ¡°Oh, you know,¡± the man said, nodding sagely, ¡°this or that.¡±


    ¡°And it''s only the ether ore that turns black like that?¡± Tristan asked, getting a bit excited. ¡°Thank you! I¡¯ve got some reading to do for sure. What are its properties? Is it only used for armor?"


    The man¡¯s stoic facade cracked, and he burst into laughter, practically crying.


    At Tristan¡¯s side, the woman joined him, as though a dam had finally burst that was holding their laughter back. ¡°Time to get lost, kid. Gods among us. We''ve got work to do.¡±


    Tristan tried asking another question, but the woman only pushed him back toward the door, tossing his bag along with him like it weighed nothing at all.


    ¡°And don¡¯t come back until you¡¯re in the Guild,¡± the woman said, waving him away before heading back to the forge, shaking her head. ¡°Blessed ¡®ether ore.¡¯¡±


    Tristan stood at the shop¡¯s entrance completely at a loss as to what had happened. At least they told me about the ether ore, and a little about the Guild. He debated trying another shop for more information, but none of them seemed as interesting as the black armor place. And honestly, he wanted to put a little more distance between that shop and himself. He wasn¡¯t sure how to feel about that experience. It had taught him something, sure enough, but it was also a taxing experience.


    No reason to let two strange dwarves stop me from learning more. Let¡¯s see what else this city has to offer.


    He noticed that the next several blocks were lined with shops whose signs displayed mostly weapons and made his way over. Tristan slowed his pace as he started seeing more and more swords. He examined several, comparing the shapes and styles of the blades, the finesse of various inlays, the forms of the crossguards and the handles, and always keeping an eye out for interesting affixes and enchantments. Each shop presented something different for him to study, but nothing stood out. There were only so many [Sharp] and [Durable] swords he could look at before even he got bored. He felt he was looking for something. He wasn''t exactly sure what, but he would know it if he saw it.


    Tristan kept walking and studying. Until he stopped at the sixth sword maker¡¯s sign. There were four blades of varying lengths bracketed to the metal display, and all of them were very simple in design. None of the usual flourishes or flairs marked the cross guard, hilt, or pommel. That didn''t matter to Tristan though.


    Each blade was inscribed with fascinating symbols that radiated a misty white glow.


    As he tilted his head to the side and drew closer, a scratchy and very deep voice asked, ¡°See something you like, young man?¡±


    Tristan gingerly tapped one of the glowing white symbols on the displayed greatsword, not taking his eyes off the curious design even as he used [Identify] on it.


    [Brilliant Greatsword (uncommon)]: [Minor Rune: Brilliant]


    A sturdy, well-crafted greatsword imbued with enchanted runes to bring light to even the darkest shadows with only a thought.


    When he examined the property itself, he noticed that the first line was mostly the same wording as in the item¡¯s description.


    [Minor Rune: Brilliant] Bring light to even the darkest shadows with only a thought. Emits light of controllable brightness until the blade leaves the user¡¯s grasp.


    ¡°Are all of these symbols runes?¡± he asked, tracing a few with his finger. It almost looked like they were etched into the blade, but that wasn¡¯t quite right. He could feel no difference in the surface of the metal, though it was clear to his eyes that at some point the metal had been removed and something magical had been inlaid instead. And despite the glow they didn''t even change the cool temperature of the steel like he thought they might.


    ¡°Good eye,¡± the gruff voice answered. ¡°Yes, we enchant them directly on our weapons before we sell them, and they''re what make our blades here at Garrow¡¯s so grand!¡±


    The voice belonged to an old man standing just by Tristan¡¯s elbow. He leaned lightly against the metal display sign, looking nearly as thin as the longsword''s handle. The majority of his face was lost to a starkly white beard that must have hung down below his waist, because it currently covered the top blade on the sign completely. The old man smiled contentedly from behind a pair of wiry black eyeglasses.


    Just in that first glance, Tristan knew that this man could never have made these blades. He didn''t have the build needed for working an anvil. Still, a quick [Identify] accomplished nothing other than revealing that the man was human and tier 3 or higher. Tristan decided to ask the old man some questions anyway.


    ¡°Do the runes all work separately, or just in combination?¡±


    The old man shook his head and laughed lightly. ¡°My boy, just because we paid for our independence and don¡¯t have that droplet on our sign, doesn¡¯t mean we¡¯re pushovers. If you want our family secrets, you¡¯ll have to marry into it like everyone else!¡±


    Tristan wanted to back out of that particular conversation point as quickly as possible. He tried to ignore it, turning back to examine the sign instead. Apparently, in his excitement, he¡¯d completely overlooked the absence of the mark of the Steelblood Guild, but somehow he had.


    ¡°I understand,¡± he admitted. ¡°I''m just impressed by these runes. I¡¯ve never seen anything like them before, at least not on swords.¡± He used [Identify] on the other displayed weapons.


    [Brilliant Longsword (uncommon)]: [Minor Rune: Brilliant]


    [Brilliant Shortsword (uncommon)]: [Minor Rune: Brilliant]


    [Brilliant Dagger (uncommon)]: [Minor Rune: Brilliant]


    They all shared the same property, but the strings of runes on them weren''t identical. That was curious. ¡°I''m not familiar with this type of crafting. And if you¡¯re putting a rune on, why this one? Is it purely decorative, or does it also serve a purpose?¡±


    The old man laughed. ¡°You don''t think being decorative is serving a purpose?¡± He chuckled at seeing Tristan¡¯s lips pull to one side. ¡°I guess that''s not so surprising for someone like you.¡±


    Tristan traced the runes on the longsword with his finger before looking over the old man''s shoulder into the shop. ¡°Someone like me?¡±


    ¡°Another craftsman,¡± he said with a grin as he first pointed at Tristan¡¯s bag, then his biceps. ¡°I knew your type before I ever used [Identify]. Though seeing as you¡¯re a fresh swordsmith, it''s not surprising you''re not well versed in the newest developments in blade enchanting.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s brain immediately took a moment to consider what the old man had just revealed. ¡°Wait, does that mean you can use [Identify] to see Classes?¡±


    The old man smiled back at him. ¡°And I see we¡¯re right back to family secrets again.¡±


    Tristan sighed, glancing past the old man and into the shop where he saw other blades with runes glowing in different colors. ¡°So what kind of other properties are there? Could I see more?¡±


    The old man laughed again, stepping out of Tristan''s way and gesturing grandly for him to enter. ¡°Of course, young swordsmith! Though firstly I should tell you that Garrow is the family name. My daughter, the runesmith who enchanted all these fine blades, goes by Temperance. She¡¯s also much too busy today to be able to answer any of your questions. She''s got a big commission, you see.¡±


    Tristan tried to hide his disappointment. ¡°I totally get that. My father always has a long queue himself. But maybe you could tell me more about these runes then?¡±


    ¡°That depends entirely on if you start asking questions I¡¯m allowed to answer! I may not craft them, but I know our wares inside and out.¡± He paused before asking, ¡°How about a tour?¡±


    Tristan nodded and followed the old man into his shop, hoping to somehow learn more about runes than he learned about black armor and ether ore.


    Wait, Tristan finally realized. Was that whole ether ore thing a joke? Did they mean it like... Either or? It was a joke. Gods, I¡¯m brilliant.

 Chapter 26: Chiseled

    Chapter 26: Chiseled


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Garrow¡¯s shop was full of weapons, all glowing with different colors and patterns. The old salesman kept pointing out new runes with interesting or unique properties as Tristan slowly followed him down each aisle. Upon seeing that Tristan was struggling to twist his bag through the tight spaces, the old man asked, ¡°Maybe you¡¯d like to leave your bag up front, or by the counter?¡±


    Tristan wasn¡¯t especially fond of the first idea, but the second seemed fine. He handed the big bag to the old man, who immediately grunted with the weight as he walked away. Meanwhile Tristan studied each string of runes with an investigative eye and found that they were all incredibly intricate. He knew, with his Core, he¡¯d never be able to get them added to his weapon. Yet they were still so fascinating.


    ¡°The number of properties each blade can take depends on the surface materials, the crafter, and the types of runes being added,¡± the salesman said as he returned. ¡°Tempy always tells me that any blade holding more than one major rune should be super expensive. You¡¯ve got to account for both the materials and crafting time, obviously.¡±


    Tristan nodded along, devouring every last thing the old man said about runes. It didn''t matter that the man hadn''t ever made one himself; he clearly knew way more than Tristan.


    ¡°How long does it typically take to enchant a sword like this?¡± he asked, pointing at a longsword with both the [Defender] and [Unbreakable] properties. He wouldn''t have known it had two properties without [Identify], as all the runes were in one long string.


    The old man squinted at the blade. ¡°That project took her a full week, start to finish, but she also made the sword too. And as you can see, it has two rune sets on it, including [Unbreakable], which is our most popular rune for newer adventurers. Then there¡¯s no worry about breaking it, no matter what it hits! Has it caught your interest, son? It''s quite reasonably priced given the craftsmanship involved.¡±


    A full week, Tristan thought, looking around at the hundreds of blades lining the walls and shelves. The shop was filled with decades of work, possibly more than a century. It made him wonder just how long they¡¯d been in business for one person to have made them all. And just how old was the old man if his daughter was the one behind them?


    ¡°What about applying runes to a previously finished sword? Are you able to do that too?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°That would depend on the properties to be added, the quality of the weapon, and several other factors. Why, are you interested in enchanting your current blade? If you take it out of the sheathe, I could give you a quick estimate. Though it wouldn¡¯t be binding, obviously, without a full evaluation.¡±


    There''s no way I could afford it, and I can''t go to Jamal without a sword anyway. ¡°No, I¡¯ve done all the work for this sword myself, and I guess I¡¯d like to keep it that way.¡±


    ¡°Something else in mind then?¡± the salesman asked, glancing at the bag.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± Tristan answered noncommittally. ¡°What kinds of runes can be added to swords?¡±


    The old man sighed. ¡°Terminology, young man. I won¡¯t tell you about the runes, but I can talk about the properties they grant. And though you¡¯ll want the whole catalog of what she can do, I don¡¯t have several days to list them all. So, how about you tell me what sorts of properties you¡¯re interested in, eh?¡±


    Tristan could scarcely contain his eagerness. ¡°Maybe just the highlights for greatswords, like this one.¡±


    One of the most interesting to Tristan was a greatsword displayed within a clear, glass-like case. The salesman explained that it was rigged in such a way that the [Sparking] property triggered repeatedly, and bolts of lightning coursed down the enormous blade''s length. Tristan found it beautiful and fascinating.


    [Minor Rune: Sparking] Your weapon surges with lightning, imbuing all damage with that element and applying a debuff that causes the target to take additional lightning damage on your subsequent strikes.


    The old man continued, ¡°[Sparking], [Flaming], and [Chilling] are your standard elemental-attack runes. They¡¯re really good when you know exactly what you¡¯re going up against. There are more than just those three, mind you, but the others aren¡¯t among my daughter¡¯s specialties, so you¡¯ll not find them in our stock right now. We¡¯d be happy to source them for you if you''re so inclined.¡±


    Tristan wondered at first if [Chilling] built up chilled stacks and caused the frozen condition like Aaric¡¯s spells. A weapon like that might be a huge boon to the idiot. Luckily, Tristan would be saved from that conversation, as [Chilling] was nearly identical to [Sparking] just with ice replacing lightning as its element.


    Throughout the course of his tour, Tristan started recognizing several of the individual runes that were repeated across multiple swords. Surprisingly, the orders and patterns of runes varied even among the swords that [Identify] said had similar properties. Apparently reordering the runes on a sword could dramatically change the enchanted ability. It also looked like the size of the blades mattered too. Some of the longest rune chains were ten symbols long per property. Tristan was not surprised that those were often the most expensive pieces in the shop.


    What did take him by surprise was the notification that popped up near the end of his tour.


    You have the ability to take Enchanter as a Secondary Class. Accept?


    Tristan ended up dismissing the notification for now, but only after thinking on it a while. First of all, he wasn¡¯t sure how enchanting would fit into his Path, and secondly, he had come to Rockmoor to take the swordsman Secondary. He needed to keep his priorities straight. Though it was certainly worth noting that his Path seemed to recognize what he paid close attention to.


    Still, when the salesman showed him the final sword, which was kept in a locked case behind the counter, Tristan was genuinely awed. For a brief moment he looked back at his notifications, seriously reconsidering the offer of the enchanting Secondary.


    In the case was a rare-quality longsword named [Blinking Rush]. It was clearly a display piece, too, as it was the only sword in the entire shop where effort had clearly been put into its appearance. Its design was all about sharp, straight lines and sharper points. The handle and both ends of the crossguard were clearly weapons of their own right, regardless of the patterned blade attached. The blade itself was etched not only with runes but with channels forming angular designs; the combination gave it the following property:


    [Major Rune: Spatial Blink] Once per day, the user may relax the constraints of space temporarily, allowing short-range, self-only teleports for three seconds.


    The runes making up that single property stretched across the entire length of the blade, and when Tristan checked the item tag, it said, ¡°See sales representative for price.¡± He was glad the old man didn''t immediately chime in this time, merely smiling politely. Tristan wasn''t sure he wanted to know how expensive such a ludicrous property would be--but he could imagine himself hunched over one of his own swords, carefully tapping the incredibly complex runes into the blade. His imagination swam with all the trickery such an ability could enable. He shook his head. Those were thoughts for another time. For much later, if ever.


    The old salesman finished by looping back to the entrance.


    ¡°And that''s the shop! I deeply appreciate your curiosity, as it''s allowed me to brush up on our products, but seeing as you''re not going to buy anything today--"


    ¡°What about some forge time?¡± Tristan quickly asked.


    The salesman''s eyes narrowed. ¡°My persistent young swordsmith, as I already explained, my daughter is busy in the forge and simply cannot be disturbed.¡±You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Tristan put his free hand over his heart. ¡°Look, I promise not to ask her a single question, or even speak to her. I just want somewhere to work on a few ideas I''ve had, and I''ll gladly pay for the time to make that happen.¡±


    ¡°Ah. And we''re the only independent shop on the Row,¡± the old man said with a nod. Consideration furrowed his already-wrinkled brow. ¡°Let me check if there''s space first of all, and then we can discuss a proper price.¡±


    The old man walked to the back of the store and through the door labeled ¡°Garrows Only!¡± Tristan, meanwhile, went back to the corner of the shop where the greatswords were displayed. He appreciated that the forms of all the swords were kept simpler than normal. That focused attention on the glowing runes inscribed down the exact center of each blade, and only on the blade. Each line was precise and clean. Each rune pulsed with magic. They almost felt like art to him.


    But how is the magic added? How is any of it actually done? Is it only applied after the weapon is finished?


    ¡°Ten gold,¡± the old man said as soon as he emerged from the back room, interrupting Tristan¡¯s thoughts.


    Tristan coughed at the steep price. He checked his coin pouch. I can afford it, barely. But I won''t have much left over. He''d have to rely on Jamal''s hospitality. He knew the master swordsman had agreed to lodge him, but he did not yet know the exact terms and details. ¡°For how long?¡± he asked.


    ¡°An hour,¡± the old man said with a smile that engaged all his wrinkle lines.


    Tristan¡¯s mouth went dry, but he slowly walked over to the man. ¡°If it¡¯s for an hour, would you be willing to take 8?¡± He gripped his coin pouch tightly.


    ¡°No,¡± the old man replied sternly.


    Tristan exhaled slowly, offering, ¡°Nine?¡± But when the old man shook his head, Tristan dumped most of the contents of his pouch into the old man''s hand. His grip tightened as he tried not to think about the risk he was taking.


    There were only three gold coins left in his pouch.


    The old man closed his hand around Tristan¡¯s former wealth and escorted him toward the forge. At the door, he stopped and whispered, ¡°The agreement is for one hour, which ends immediately if you bother her at all. Are we clear?¡±


    ¡°Yes sir,¡± Tristan whispered back.


    ¡°I hope you brought your own materials,¡± the old man said before opening the door to the warm forge beyond.


    - - - - -


    Tristan wasn''t sure what he¡¯d expected, but it wasn''t to be completely ignored by the Garrow smith while having his every move judged by the old man.


    It took him a little while to get used to the setup of this workstation. Tools weren''t in the same places or even in the same groupings he was used to. The space was also a different shape, with only one forge that was on the opposite side from where Tristan was used to. The anvil was also a bit lower to the ground, requiring him to hunch slightly.


    But once he got into the flow of crafting, he was easily able to ignore the woman working diligently only a few short steps away. All the minor inconveniences melted away, and Tristan found his rhythm and just worked.


    He was glad he always kept his smaller Materials Bag on him, because after seeing all the runes, he¡¯d been inspired to make a set of chisels. Even if he never tried his hand at runes, chisels would be helpful in some advanced smithing techniques anyways. He began by shaping some of his stored iron into simple, hand-length rods. The general shape was easy enough, so he made five in short order. He made each slightly different: a little sharper, or a little longer. A little thicker or a wider tip.


    He was a little surprised when he didn''t have to do anything extra to make them Soulbound. Merely by focusing on his intentions while shaping the metal, his Core added his soul naturally. He was left with what he felt was a great starter chisel set.


    The last step was to stitch a spare scrap of leather into a suitable carrying sleeve. He''d need to pack them up and go, after all. He made sure that each chisel was stored to clearly show its length and tip but also be protected by the covering flap. Then he bound the small pouch with a strip of wrapped leather.


    All in all, Tristan felt his time had been spent productively. He¡¯d made tools that would help him create better gear in the future and he¡¯d scratched his crafting itch. It had almost gotten so bad he would have paid to make something for anyone, even Aaric Longbloom!


    Looking up for the first time in ages, Tristan was surprised to find the old man wasn¡¯t where he¡¯d last seen him. He might even have left the room during that time, for all Tristan knew. But now he stood right beside his daughter. They were huddled together actually, not exactly staring at him but definitely watching him. Tristan hadn''t even noticed when the woman had stopped working.


    ¡°Your time ended a while ago,¡± the old salesman said, ¡°but you were so absorbed with the crafting process that we apparently had to let you finish your work.¡± His disapproval was evident as he tossed his head toward his daughter.


    ¡°I insisted,¡± the woman said. ¡°I wanted to see if you''d screw up the chisels. They look nice, by the way, but if you made them for enchanting, they won¡¯t do what you want them to do.¡± She paused, biting her lip. ¡°What exactly is Soulbound?¡±


    For the first time, Tristan took a good long look at the other smith. She was sitting on top of a table, ignoring all the papers piled beneath her. She wore her brown hair in a short pixie cut, which moved any distractions well away from her sky blue eyes and slightly long nose. Her chin was a bit pointy, but that only added to her heart-shaped face, which Tristan found he enjoyed looking at. And her arms...


    Focus, Tristan. She asked about your Core. How much do I explain? He considered his own father¡¯s reaction, the first time he¡¯d seen something Tristan had crafted after he¡¯d Awakened. She¡¯s never seen the property before and she¡¯s curious. Maybe that¡¯ll impress her.


    He was surprised to find that he really wanted to impress her.


    He found himself once again staring at her arms. She¡¯d crossed them a while back, but that made them stand out even more. They weren''t bulky like Tristan¡¯s or his father''s, but they were extremely toned. Chiseled to perfection.


    As she lifted herself effortlessly off the table, Tristan was amazed by her triceps. He had to pull his attention back to the conversation. He couldn¡¯t remember what they¡¯d been talking about or even what he was supposed to be responding to, other than that both the smith and her father seemed to be waiting for him to speak. He scrambled to recall their conversation. Oh--Soulbound! My Core. ¡°It¡¯s just a property that gets added to things I make. So only I can use it. Though it comes with some perks, too. Thanks for letting me work here. I really appreciate it. Sorry for getting carried away.¡± He paused briefly before adding, ¡°Oh! I also wanted to say that I was really impressed by all the runes. You do good work.¡±


    The woman walked around her bench and spread a blanket over her workspace. ¡°Sure, makes sense. Admittedly, I was kind of distracted once you started working. Your swing and work flow are so different from mine, even on something as simple as chisels. I appreciated seeing the different perspective, so to speak.¡± A wicked grin lit her face. ¡°Do you realize you were humming practically the whole time you were working? How you expected me to get any work done is beyond me,¡± she teased.


    Tristan blushed slightly. ¡°Sorry, that happens sometimes,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°It¡¯s tied to your rhythm, I noticed.¡±


    Tristan liked her smile enough that he didn¡¯t seem to mind her teasing tone. ¡°If you think it¡¯s a problem, I¡¯ll happily take any tips.¡± He tried not to let his own grin get too big.


    ¡°No,¡± the old man cut in, ¡°she''s far too busy for any shop talk! Thank you, young man, but you¡¯ve taken up quite enough of our time.¡± The way he emphasized the word ¡®young¡¯ and glared at the smith made Tristan wonder if he¡¯d missed something.


    ¡°I guess I¡¯ll just be going then,¡± Tristan said, not looking at the old man at all. But as he picked up his chisels and before he headed to the door, he extended his hand to the smith. ¡°I¡¯m Tristan, by the way."


    ¡°Temperance,¡± the smith said, laughing slightly, ¡°Though you can call me Tempy. And don¡¯t worry about my dad. He already overcharged you, so if anything I think we might owe you.¡± She sighed. ¡°But he is right that I¡¯m slammed silly right now. Too many commissions to have time for other projects. If you¡¯re still around in a couple weeks, my queue will have opened up enough by then that we could talk shop. If you¡¯re genuinely interested, I¡¯d enjoy seeing your fresh perspective again.¡±


    This time Tristan¡¯s grin spread as wide as his face. My perspective, he thought. ¡°I¡¯d really like that!¡± Except the idea of planning anything that far out gave him pause. He had no idea what his training with Jamal would be like, including how long it would take and if he¡¯d be allowed breaks. ¡°I¡¯ll definitely try to come back by then. I¡¯m about to begin training for my first Secondary,¡± he tried to explain without telling her it wasn''t crafting.


    The woman waved her hand. ¡°No need for explanation, Tristan. I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll work it out.¡±


    The old man shook his head, standing up straight and smoothing out his shirt. ¡°I''ll escort you out now.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll definitely try to come back when I can,¡± he repeated.


    The woman held his gaze for a long moment, her grin soft, as she took his hand and shook it firmly. ¡°I believe you will,¡± she said.


    As Tristan was led out of the shop by the old man, he didn¡¯t hear a single other thing that was said. All he heard was her name repeating.


    Temperance. Tempy. He wondered what all he could learn from someone like her. I¡¯ll be back as soon as I can, he told himself.

 Chapter 27: The Shapes of Monsters

    Chapter 27: The Shapes of Monsters


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    The most surprising part of the card from Jamal was how simply it worked. Jamal¡¯s note said, ¡°This card will lead you here and let you in,¡± but Tristan didn''t expect it to be so literal. Merely by holding it in his hand and thinking about his destination (even the name Jamal was enough), an arrow appeared in his vision that pointed the direction he needed to go. It was like a magical compass, and apparently it was only visible to him as long as he held the card.


    He¡¯d tried throwing the card away, and learned immediately what a bad idea that was. No sooner had it left his hand than the arrow completely disappeared.


    Yet another new and interesting thing in the bigger city.


    Unfortunately, the arrow didn''t tell him how far away his destination was. His father had told him that Jamal lived in a manor outside of Rockmoor, but Tristan didn''t know if that meant it was right outside, half a day''s march, or even farther. It turned out not to be as far as he¡¯d feared, though it still took him several hours on foot.


    Tristan walked all through the afternoon and into the evening. Amid the seemingly endless rolling plains filled only with waving grasses and his little dirt road, Tristan had found little to occupy his mind. The sun was just barely a sliver hanging on to the horizon as he caught the first glimpse of his destination.


    Even without the arrow flashing brightly as he drew nearer, there was no doubting that this was the correct place.


    It began with stone towers rising from behind what seemed to be a distant hillside. As he neared, he could see that it was actually the lip of a massive sunken valley, with the manor located at its center. With as sprawled out as it clearly was, he wondered if he should instead call it an estate.


    Its spiral design was entirely foreign to Tristan. He knew towns and buildings tended to be rounded when defense was a consideration, but that obviously wasn¡¯t the case here. The outer ring had a massive gap that would allow just about anything, person or creature, to walk right in.


    Stranger still, the gap was on the exact opposite side of the manor from where the dirt road led. If there was a road leading out the other side, Tristan couldn''t see it. But the spiral seemed designed to preserve the path all the way to a more central courtyard that looked to be circular.


    Around it were rounded walls divided by six cylindrical towers. Everything was rounded, as though whoever designed it had wanted there to be no straight walls in the place. Even the outer walls were topped by domes.


    If this is a fortress, it''s the least defensible one I''ve ever heard of.


    But he knew that wasn''t really the case. Unlike a true defensive structure, there was no moat or outer gate. This was, apparently, just a strange man''s palace. It was quite clear Jamal was not afraid of anyone attacking him.


    The road was lined by carefully pruned shrubberies. Some were even sculpted into the shapes of monsters Tristan had read about in stories. The creatures got larger the closer he drew to the mansion. What began as simple dire wolves grew to chimera, to wyverns... and then he finally saw the fiercest creatures in the realm.


    Two massive dragon sculptures--mouths wide open--were positioned as if to guard the porch. They were so lifelike, Tristan was nearly afraid they¡¯d try to take a bite of him should he pass too near. Just in case, he walked right down the middle of the path.


    It wasn¡¯t until he was fully past the fearsome shrubberies that the guiding arrow finally stopped flashing and instead faded away.


    That''s not scary at all, he thought. He wondered if anything would have changed had he not had the card.


    A little farther ahead, Tristan could see the entrance was a wide open porch where lounging chairs were arranged in two different seating areas. It was made of smooth marble and brightly lit in the growing darkness, almost as if the marble itself glowed from within.


    As soon as he took his first step onto the surface, an attractive young woman appeared not ten paces from him. She was sitting on one of the lounge chairs and apparently had been for a while, though he hadn¡¯t seen her. She had bright red hair that perfectly matched the color of her lips. She looked to be only a few years older than him, and her voice was incredibly upbeat and perky as she stood up.


    ¡°Welcome to the manor of Jamal. You must be Tristan! My name is Cherry, and I''ll be one of the personal assistants available during your stay. Would you like me to show you to your suite now, or would you prefer the tour first?¡±


    One of my personal assistants? Tristan frowned. ¡°I don''t think I''ll even need one assistant. And why couldn¡¯t I see you before?¡±


    Cherry just smiled at this, walking right up to him and extending her hand. ¡°Privacy enchantment on the porch. Jamal loves his privacy. And I think you¡¯ll see that ¡®needs¡¯ aren''t really a concern here. Jamal¡¯s also big on personal comfort. Honestly, it''s been a while since we had someone new to entertain. You can imagine several of us jumped at the opportunity!¡±


    Tristan didn''t know what to say to that, but he was slightly worried about how Cherry was expecting to ¡°entertain¡± him. Something to worry about later, he told himself. After using [Identify] on her, he felt even more weird about letting Cherry take his bag.


    [Cherry, Half-elf, level ?]


    She was at least tier 3, and she was going to be one of his assistants? He shook the disbelief from his head. ¡°OK, Cherry, if you¡¯re here to assist me, can you tell me everything I need to know about Jamal?¡±


    The young woman¡¯s smile broadened even more as she lifted his bag as easily as a towel. ¡°It''ll be my absolute pleasure,¡± she said.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Shadow</h2>


    From his perch on the roof of the dockside bar, Shadow could see every single person who entered or left the so-called Oath Broker¡¯s shop, through either door. He¡¯d staked out the building for a full week now, and even on the weekend the only real change to the Broker¡¯s clientele had been the hours they¡¯d kept. There were essentially two types: those already bound by Oaths to the Broker, the people whose faces all showed the same mix of sadness and resignation; and those about to be bound to him.


    People in that group were easy to spot. They tended to be very low level, clearly down on their luck, and visibly nervous. Shadow had recognized the pattern quickly: all these people were prey. So the question that he¡¯d been trying to answer was exactly what kind of predator the Oath Broker was.


    It had all started so innocently, too. Shadow hadn''t been looking for someone connected to Brightside yet. He''d merely been seeking for a good job or two, something to sate his blades while pushing him along his Path, ideally requiring some sleuthing and strategizing. A straightforward assassination, as long as it had proper prep and planning, could also be a perfect palate cleanser. He''d even selected the region at random.


    But his Path had a funny way of bringing him back to the threads that needed to be untangled--and in this case it was a full-fledged knot.


    Shadow was increasingly glad he''d walked out on the meeting if this was the kind of person Brightside used when he needed outside labor.


    Shadow hadn''t slept in days, but he also knew that he could go far longer without needing it, should it prove necessary. Still, he wasn''t going to let this operation drag out long enough to hit those kinds of numbers. The last girl to walk into the shop had made up his mind.


    She was a kid. Barely tier 2, and so fresh she must have gone straight there after her tier up. She¡¯d walked into the Broker''s shop looking bright and excited. She''d had no idea that the man''s contracts were worded carefully, designed to trap and ensnare all but the sharpest of minds.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    But Shadow knew.


    He''d followed the girl in with his most recent upgrade: a fully insubstantial [Shadow Clone]. It now had the ability to perfectly hide in shadows of nearly any size, and he could keep up to six active at a time if he pushed himself. He had to choose which eyes to see through, one of his clones¡¯ or his own--an unforeseen challenge he hoped he could move past with greater mastery. At least they could follow limited orders when he wasn¡¯t watching.


    He¡¯d followed the girl just as he¡¯d had each of the other young, excitable fools that fell for the Broker¡¯s promises. ¡°It¡¯s only a few jobs,¡± the Broker assured them all.


    Not all the jobs were despicable. One boy was merely told to rise in the ranks of the prominent business he was already established in. Another actually got his just desserts when he became a poisoner, not realizing that the task he¡¯d requested--removing his wife--would be the first he¡¯d be assigned himself. But others were more insidious, like the one that got a full set of gear and was immediately hired out as a guard--on the Frontier of all places.


    But the girl had it worse than the others. It was the girl that had finally convinced Shadow to recall all his clones. He''d seen enough.


    She was a sun mage basking in the glow of her fresh rise to tier 2. Yet she¡¯d wanted to progress even faster, which had led her to the smooth-talking Oath Broker. Her first of a dozen tasks was going to send her to work in a mine for five years. Five years, robbing her of the very thing that made her Path what it was. Five years on top of whatever the next task would add, when she should have been walking her Path.


    Shadow didn¡¯t mind that the Broker tempted people off their Paths, but to force them off was something else entirely. And it was clear she was not the first to be sentenced this way.


    The Broker was too smooth, and his Oaths were binding in a way that could have been helpful, useful, honorable. To see Oaths used like this, practically slavery, with lasting and traumatic consequences... Shadow couldn¡¯t suffer people to have their Paths taken away from them.


    It was time to enact his plan.


    By his count, there were currently twelve people in the shop--in addition to the Broker. Shadow had stopped thinking of the Broker as a person roughly two dozen ¡°contracts¡± ago. He had learned too much about the Broker''s methods, and his clientele.


    To Shadow, someone like the Broker was a monster. A devil in elf skin. A creature who only wore his true face in the blackest of nights, where the unliving shadows concealed his real cravings.


    But this Shadow was also a creature of the darkness, and there was no darkness his Path could not pierce. He had caught wind of the Broker''s schemes only because he''d been seeking more information on the man called Brightside. It could have stayed that way, too, but, as he always seemed to, Shadow had learned too much to turn a blind eye any longer.


    He hadn''t received a quest for it yet, but even if he didn''t, the Broker was going to die. Shadow would wipe this stain from the realm. Some evils shouldn¡¯t be allowed to be known.


    As the sun finally fell below the trees on the river¡¯s far bank, and the long talons of night crept across the docks, Shadow slipped silently down to the ground and pulled his two biggest daggers from his sleeves. They felt gleefully aware of his intentions, though they couldn''t have cared less for the reasons. Morality had never mattered to them, only blood. Shadow hoped they would only drink the Broker''s blood this night, but he knew no plan could be perfect. With as many as waited within, there were too many variables, too many unanticipated ways everything could go sideways, even for him.


    Only fools believed in perfect plans.


    He slid across the street and into the side alley where [True Sight] had discovered the hidden exit masked by an illusory wall a few nights before. Shadow took his time, blending in naturally thanks to his [Abyssal Shroud] passive, obscuring him from a pair of dock workers that walked right past him to enter the bar he''d just left. Shadow was practically invisible in this twilight hour. Better even, as nothing so simple as light would reveal him on its own.


    Daggers still in hand, Shadow walked straight through the illusion and into the small alcove where the darkness was congregating, denser than normal. A trap behind the illusion was clever, but expected. It might have stopped someone else in its chilling grasp, but he passed through it like wasn¡¯t even there, entering a narrow passage that was clearly situated between the walls of two rooms. There was an unlit torch near at hand, for people not at home in the dark, Shadow supposed. He already had everything he''d need.


    The passage moved straight for fifteen paces before meeting the backside of what doubled as a bookcase. There was a latching mechanism of some sort, and his fingers found the subtle indentation in the patterning on the right side of the wooden wall that he¡¯d scouted days prior. Instead of pressing it immediately, he summoned just one [Shadow Clone], which he flattened down with a simple thought and sent through the crevice beside the shelf. He let himself see through the clone¡¯s eyes as it emerged on the other side into a study filled with wealth and lit by flickering firelight. Some motion to the clone''s left revealed a padded reading chair near the fireplace. It was occupied by two shapes, one riding the other. The woman was facing the fire and had the same look of abject loathing as all the others. Beneath her, grabbing at the woman''s hair as he licked at her neck from behind, was Shadow¡¯s target.


    And that was when the quest notification finally decided to arrive.


    [Quest available: Break the Broker]


    He opened it immediately and felt incredibly justified.


    Dispose of the Oath Broker, in whatever way you see fit.


    Bonus Objective: Do not allow any of his Oathbound to come to harm.


    Rewards: Bonus XP.


    Shadow gripped his daggers tighter and felt their hungry approval. The only wrinkle in guaranteeing the bonus experience was the kind of puzzle he loved: adding complications and limitations for additional gains. So now he would kill the monster without getting any of the slaves caught in the crossfire. That could prove fun.


    Scanning the room quickly--while ignoring the chair for a moment--he noted that the only potential weapons in the room were two iron pokers by the fireplace, a knife-like letter opener near the chair, and a hand-sized paperweight on the desk. It was also likely the Broker had stashed some on his person or within the bookshelves that lined every wall. He hoped the one he was hidden behind would open silently, especially since the room''s door was wide open and two armed guards were posted just outside it.


    But their armor looked too clean, too polished, and too heavy. Their swords were slung too low around their hips. He suspected they wouldn¡¯t be any challenge for him at all. If only I could [Identify] with my clones. Another goal for a later date. For now, Shadow figured that if he could end the Broker quickly enough, the guards wouldn¡¯t react until well after the monster was dead. Then their Oaths would be voided, and they¡¯d be free. Free enough to not create anymore problems, he hoped.


    He cast [Zone of Silence], pushing its maximum size until it contained the chair and his bookshelf. While it barely missed covering the door, he could still make it work if he was quick enough. He had the rough outline of a plan, depending on how the Broker reacted.


    Shadow switched his vision back to normal and pressed the hidden button. The bookshelf slid noiselessly left... until it audibly clicked into a holding mechanism that was by the door.


    Because of the noise, he shifted to a back-up plan and leapt the other direction, straight to the door, which he threw closed before tipping a bookshelf over in front of it. He¡¯d planned for only thirty seconds; with the guards as inexperienced as he surmised, that was all he¡¯d need.


    His daggers were already in his hands as he rounded on the Broker.


    Not unexpectedly, the man now held the woman tighter against him. One hand was at her neck, holding a knife. ¡°Make another move and she dies,¡± he said with a voice much too calm for his situation.


    Shadow considered just how closely the two bodies were intertwined, how obscured the Broker''s vision might currently be.


    ¡°You think I need to move to kill you?¡± Shadow asked as a second [Shadow Clone] exactly overlaid his current position. ¡°Or that I care about her except as bonus EXP?¡±


    It wasn¡¯t strictly true, but would the Broker be able to tell the difference? Shadow doubted it.


    ¡°So you¡¯re here to kill me. Do you know who I am? I¡¯m no easy quest, boy. Everyone in this building is Oathbound to me, and you¡¯re dead if I so much as raise my voice.¡± The Broker practically whispered the words, teasingly, as he pulled the knife tighter to the woman''s throat. A droplet of blood beaded up on her neck.


    Shadow smiled, because his second clone had slipped into the darkness directly behind the Broker''s chair. During recon and planning, Shadow had decided it was one of the best possible locations for an ambush. He just wished he hadn¡¯t found the man seated there for this reason.


    ¡°Wrong again,¡± Shadow said just before he activated the skill to switch places with the farther clone. With only a flick of his wrists, and choosing not to use his built-up [Insight], his daggers cut straight through both the Broker''s arms as though they were jelly. The bones didn''t even cause the blades to hitch. Then he whispered some final words in the monster''s ears. ¡°Just so you know, I didn¡¯t have the quest when I started all this. I only came here because I was interested in Brightside. But you¡¯re forcing people off their Paths, so you deserve it, quest or no.¡±


    He heard the dull plop of the arms hitting the ground. He heard the beginnings of the monster''s screams, but he knew that [Zone of Silence] would hold until he finished his work in peace. Three more daggers found their way into the beast¡¯s back, and one final stab into its heart--the moment the woman pushed away.


    Shadow watched her then, as she stared at the bleeding body. Her face twisted from one emotion to another, though none was quite so satisfying to Shadow as the relief that washed over her when the abuser was well and truly gone.


    In the few moments he had left before the doorway was cleared, Shadow rushed to the desk, swept the whole thing into his magical storage, and made it back to the bookcase exit.


    Shadow recalled all his daggers, catching each in perfect turn. For the briefest moment, he considered killing the woman too. Bonus XP or not, she was a witness, and witnesses could be made to talk.


    But what can she even say? He had even obscured his race from her [Identify]. He hoped he could let this one slide.


    As he rushed down the hidden passage, Shadow got the quest completion notification--including the bonus EXP.


    The only thing that soured his mood after such a well-executed plan was the doubt of whether Brightside might make him regret his compassion.

 Chapter 28: Swordsman

    Chapter 28: Swordsman


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan waited as Cherry knocked loudly on the Master¡¯s door. She had told him way too much--most of it way too personal--about the man who was to be his teacher. Now they were following one of the most important rules of the house, ¡°Always knock before entering a room you suspect Jamal to be in.¡± She¡¯d had such a serious look on her face when she¡¯d said it that Tristan didn¡¯t doubt her sincerity at all; he just wondered why it was so necessary.


    Still, they waited, and after a little while, a man¡¯s voice called for them to enter.


    Cherry opened the door and stepped aside, allowing Tristan to walk in first.


    Within was a mostly open space cleverly divided into separate sitting areas by the many chairs, couches, lounges, and two enormous beds. Tristan couldn''t imagine a room more devoted to relaxing.


    Resting comfortably on one of the couches, covered with blankets and a girl on either side of him, was a tall, dark-skinned, shirtless, and very muscular man. He raised a hand, beckoning Tristan over, while with his words he asked, ¡°Daphne, will you be a peach and get us some refreshments?¡± When the girl gave a little pout, the man teased, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, I''ll have more time for both of you after.¡±


    Tristan recognized the girl¡¯s name, and sure enough he made the connection the moment she rose from the bed, adjusting the blanket draped around her. She¡¯d been his server from The Agora. She seemed very careful not to make eye contact with him on her way out of the room.


    The man pointed to the nearest chair. ¡°You''re Tristan, right? Soon to be my student--my only student. Well take a seat, man. Tell me more about the son of Marrik freaking Hammerson. Also, how old are you? Can you drink? Do you want to drink? What about food? I''m a shit host most of the time. Just let me know what I can do.¡±


    Tristan tried to unpack all of what the man had said, before opening with, ¡°I''m not... old enough. And no food right now, thanks. But, yes, I¡¯m Tristan. What should I call you, sir?¡±


    His finger spiraled in the air a moment before making its way to his temple. ¡°Oh, yeah alright, introductions. I''m Jamal, probably the greatest of the mortal swordsmen, and in the morning, you¡¯ll start becoming one of the greatest students ever. Hooray. But for tonight, well, tonight I''m already in a very good place, and I''ve got some very nice friends over, as you can see.¡± He turned to the other girl. ¡°This is Margot, by the way, and she''s great. A rising star at The Agora, too. Very discreet, so you can say anything around her. Pretend she''s not even here if you like--though that would be much less fun.¡±


    ¡°We''re going to start tomorrow?¡± Tristan couldn¡¯t help but be excited about how quickly they¡¯d begin. Even if he was still struggling to take in the man''s persona and connect it to the stories he knew.


    ¡°That''s what I said, isn''t it?¡± He looked at the girl, Margot. ¡°I did say that, right?¡±


    She smiled at him. ¡°You did. He''s just very young and probably very intimidated.¡± She tilted her head. ¡°Nice sword though.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not wrong,¡± Jamal said. ¡°Though it¡¯s a bit long, and he''s carrying it across his back. Who even does that these days? And it''s sheathed. It''s totally inaccessible if he needs it quickly, which he always will.¡± He paused, examining the boy further. ¡°He''s got a good build, carries himself well. Only level 11; I can work with that. Well, assuming he tells me something interesting about himself. Right now he''s just a bloke I had to [Identify]. I hate the idea of teaching a stranger, wouldn''t you, Margot?¡±


    The girl laughed as she stretched her legs toward Jamal under the blanket, resting hers on his. ¡°I think you''re good enough to overlook it,¡± she said.


    Jamal sat up slightly and stared at Tristan for a few moments, taking him in, before smiling in acknowledgement at the woman next to him. He lifted the blanket from her bare leg, and began walking his fingers down it. When he got to her knee, he said, ¡°You know, you''re not wrong. I am that good.¡± He lifted her leg and kissed it. ¡°So, Tristan, are you gonna talk or am I going to have Cherry show you to her room so we can both get a good night''s rest before the real shit starts tomorrow?¡±


    Tristan didn''t know what to say. He''d never really been one to talk much about himself--He''d never seen the need. But he had been thinking about it more, reflecting on his plan and his Path.


    ¡°Currently I¡¯m just a swordsmith, but I want to be more than that,¡± he said. ¡°I love crafting. But I also want to use the things I make to make the world a better place. Right now I''m trying to keep both parts of myself happy, but at times it feels like I''m not balanced properly. I need to learn not only how to make something like this,¡± he said, removing the sword from his back, ¡°but how to use it. How to use it well.¡±


    Tristan felt Jamal''s eyes piercing through him. The man hadn''t even blinked the whole time Tristan had been talking. Now, though, he leaned forward.


    ¡°Yeah, I hear all that, but it doesn''t tell me what I need to know. Why me, kid? Why¡¯d your father come to me? Why did your mum, of all people, let him?¡±


    Tristan didn''t know exactly what the swordmaster was asking, but he thought he knew how to answer.


    He set his sword carefully on the ground, and he stripped off his shirt. The scar in the center of his chest was as vibrant and clear as the day it had appeared.


    ¡°I watched the Brightshield die. That''s how I got this.¡± He said, touching the scar. He swallowed, trying to keep his voice firm. ¡°And I want to track down and kill every one of the people responsible.¡±


    No sooner had the words left his mouth than he got a new notification.


    [Path Quest unlocked: Avenge the Brightshield]


    Find and deal with each member of the party that killed Hesden Brightshield. Targets¡¯ locations will be provided when you are in the same zone. Remaining targets:


    Curse


    Red Blade


    Shadow


    Timetwister


    Venom


    As your targets are higher tier than you, you will be shielded from their detection until you reveal yourself or attack.


    Additional objectives may be unlocked.


    Rewards: Achievement, Smart Loot


    Tristan''s mouth went dry at seeing his deepest wish made manifest. It suddenly felt much more attainable. Though it sat beside another quest he still wasn''t ready to even consider. Gods-damned oozes.


    Meanwhile, Jamal leaned back again, resting his head in one hand as he whistled. ¡°Yep, that''d do it. And you just got a quest notification, didn¡¯t you?¡± He grinned at Tristan knowingly. ¡°I saw that glossy look. Was it a good one? How big was it?¡±


    But even as Tristan tried to answer, ¡°It¡¯s a... a Path quest,¡± the shirtless man was already moving on.


    Jamal delicately slid the blanket back over Margot¡¯s leg. His voice grew even more playful as he asked, ¡°Is it weird I got super excited when he took his shirt off and saw that scar? No? Good. Yeah, I think I like this kid. Hope he¡¯s worthy of it.¡±


    Just then, Daphne returned with a tray of tall, clear, and very full glasses.


    ¡°Bring all of those over here,¡± Jamal called, patting the couch beside him. ¡°I need to get wasted tonight to be ready for the shit I''m going to have to do to him tomorrow.¡±


    Tristan, meanwhile, pulled his shirt back on a bit uncomfortably and picked up his sword, though he didn''t bother to sheath it.


    How should I carry it?


    ¡°Cherry,¡± Jamal called, which caused the redheaded girl to step forward. ¡°Take him to his room, please, and..." he paused. ¡°Tristan, do you think you¡¯ll want--? No, who are we kidding. Cherry, you just come back. And with several bottles from the cellar, if you would. Your choice. Anything you want to open.¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Jamal¡¯s attention was pulled away as Daphne sat down right beside him. She leaned in, whispered something to him, kissed him passionately on the lips, and then tilted the contents of one of the glasses into his waiting mouth.


    ¡°Cheers,¡± Tristan heard them both saying.


    Then Cherry''s hand was on his forearm, which she''d somehow repositioned to interlock with hers, and suddenly they were walking out the door at a faster pace than when she''d escorted him in.


    ¡°Your room is this way,¡± she said, and Tristan thought he saw a wicked grin cross her face before she composed herself.


    ¡°Is he always like this?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Gods no. I wish. I think your arrival has riled him up. So thanks for that!¡± She beamed at him. Then she whispered to herself, ¡°I think tonight calls for Aliestra¡¯s Temporally Aged. He''ll never drink it otherwise.¡±


    Tristan, for his part, just followed along until she deposited him in the biggest bedroom he''d ever seen, with a bed made of actual down. She showed him where the shower was, with a gentle, ¡°Use it before getting into bed please.¡± Then she was gone.


    Alone, and totally overwhelmed by the recent events, Tristan decided a hot shower sounded like the perfect way to unwind. Once he''d relaxed some, then maybe he could make some sort of plan for the next day.


    His body had other plans, however, and the moment Tristan hit the bed after the most pleasant shower of his life, he fell instantly asleep.


    - - - - -


    Jamal stood beside Tristan with a wooden sword in one hand and a drink--complete with tiny paper umbrella--in the other. It was nearly noon, which according to Jamal was ¡°bright and early,¡± and the swordmaster was single-handedly holding off Tristan''s every attack, all without spilling a single drop.


    ¡°Have you never used this sword to fight a person before?¡± Jamal was asking, letting out a yawn. ¡°Or even seen people fight with swords before?¡±


    Tristan was struggling just to keep his sword level, since over the course of the last few minutes his arms had become one giant mass of welts. ¡°Well I''ve had a few training bouts, but never any lessons or real fights. Other than oozes,¡± he said, spitting out the word. ¡°I can learn fast though, I promise. I just haven''t been offered swordsman yet.¡±


    ¡°I can tell,¡± Jamal replied, tapping Tristan¡¯s next swing away with seemingly the slightest flick of his wrist. ¡°And don''t you dare accept that Class yet if it''s offered. I need to see where you are now, before you get the skill boosts.¡±


    Tristan came at him again, only to end up with another stinging welt on the back of his hand. ¡°Should I change something up?¡±


    ¡°Obviously, and that¡¯s why you¡¯re here,¡± Jamal said with a sigh. ¡°But sure, try something else. How would you attack me differently? Show me your ¡®change up,¡¯ and I¡¯ll point out where you can improve.¡±


    In the corner of his eye, a new notification popped up. But once he saw that it was the Secondary class offering, he knew to hide it for now. Afterward, Tristan began sweeping his sword side-to-side, like he had against the oozes at Sharing Cross. He kept the blade moving, trying to use the advantage of its longer reach to keep Jamal away.


    ¡°Three glaring issues right off the bat. One, positioning--though interesting stance.¡± The swordmaster raised one finger and began to backpedal, only to then spring forward faster than Tristan could prepare for.


    Tristan winced as another finger popped up on his teacher¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Two, reflexes and reactions.¡± Jamal took another sip of his drink.


    Tristan moved forward, thinking to close the gap, but Jamal always remained just beyond his reach.


    ¡°Three, measure.¡± The swordmaster made a point of not needing to move for either of Tristan''s next two swings, other than to lift a third finger up. ¡°This might work against a crowd but..." He deftly slipped under the blade as it passed, moving back to where the swing had begun, and slammed his wooden sword into Tristan''s shoulder. ¡°You leave yourself ridiculously exposed here.¡±


    The blow hurt so much that Tristan couldn''t keep his grip on his sword, which thudded to the ground. He tried lifting it, but his shoulder screamed, and even the smallest move of his arm made it worse. Tristan refused to give up on the fight. He struggled to raise the massive sword with only his weak hand, before pointing it toward his teacher.


    Jamal took a long, noisy sip from his drink. ¡°By the gods man, don''t do that. Not until you''ve got much higher Strength. Take a break for a second. This fight¡¯s done, alright? We''re going to start you at the very beginning. You''re strong, for level 11, but you know practically nothing of the sword.¡± He exchanged his empty drink for another on the tray another girl, who Jamal had called Lauren, was holding. She was wearing a very well-fitted dress with a neckline so low it hid almost nothing, and she seemed more than a little amused by Tristan looking away whenever she noticed his attention.


    ¡°Alright, so I think it¡¯s time to accept the Class now, and we can get started, yeah? You should have had it offered a bit ago.¡±


    Tristan nodded as he clenched his jaw tightly from the mix of embarrassment and pain. ¡°So, I just accept it...?¡±


    ¡°Unless you want to wait till I finish my drink,¡± Jamal said.


    Tristan went into his notifications and found the one that had popped up the moment Jamal had agreed to offer him real instruction.


    You may now take Swordsman as a Secondary Class. Accept?


    Swordsman:


    This Class provides a foundation upon which the many styles and traditions of sword use can be built. Swords offer the flexibility to focus on offense, defense, or a balance between them. New skills and upgrades will help you grow into an expert in the wielding of swords. Whether you turn them against your foes or use them to protect your allies is up to you.


    Tristan smiled as he mentally answered Yes, and a silver glow pulsed outward from him, not entirely different from the golden level-ups. He even felt a similar rush as when he was granted new knowledge and skills.


    Congratulations! You have taken your first Secondary Class.


    You may only have two Secondary Classes, and they are limited to half the level of your Primary Class.


    You have received your first combat Class. Level this Class by sparring, battling and defeating your foes.


    You may designate an additional set of gear to switch between in combat (now 3). You may designate up to one weapon and one shield at a time to stow into magical storage when not equipped. You have gained magical storage for one unequipped weapon and shield.


    Skills Gained:


    [Cleaving Slash] An attack ability that lets the user make a wide area attack, potentially hitting multiple enemies within range of the blade. Damage scales with Strength. 30 second cooldown.


    [Combat Reflexes] A passive ability that grants the user enhanced perception and other advantages while in battle, based on Agility and Wisdom.


    [Piercing Thrust] An attack ability that lets the user make a focused attack against a single target, dealing extra damage the more heavily armored the target. Damage scales with Strength. 15 second cooldown.


    This was the first time Tristan had gotten actual attack skills. They felt slightly different from all the other active skills he''d learned as a crafter. There was more immediacy and movement in them, and they were governed by cooldowns instead of processes, material costs, and durations.


    These were combat skills; their intent was clear.


    Then there was the upgrade to one of his natural skills, the one that let him change weapons in combat. Not that he''d used it before, but he¡¯d been considering it, since it would make switching between his greatsword and his shield a lot easier. Apparently he could now designate two ¡°sets¡± of gear beyond what he was wearing. His greatsword was already equipped, so it didn¡¯t need marking. But with a thought, he marked his shield and longsword as their own set.


    The moment he''d finished he felt like he got a bit lighter. He took a moment to switch sets, and immediately his greatsword was just gone, replaced by the sword and shield.


    ¡°Oh wow,¡± he said.


    ¡°Right? Take your time and feel it out,¡± Jamal said, sipping his drink.


    Tristan switched back to his greatsword, placing his other weapons just out of reach. They''re in magical storage, he knew, but this one felt radically different from his ore bag. They still felt right at his fingertips. Practically within his grasp. With a thought, they could be.


    Yet as strange as that new sensation was, Tristan felt like he had changed the most with his new passive ability. He could tell that he had gained... He actually wasn''t entirely sure what. Just that the sword in his hand now felt different, and that was somehow very important.


    He took a few swings with his greatsword, and he could already feel that his form had improved.


    ¡°Better, right?¡± Jamal asked, putting another empty glass on Laura''s tray before raising his wooden sword again. ¡°Ready for round two?¡±


    For the first time in Tristan¡¯s life, he actually believed he might be.


    As he pulled up his status and reflected on all he¡¯d just gained, he couldn¡¯t help but smile.


    ¡°Alright, let¡¯s do this!¡±


    STATUS:


    Tristan Hammerson


    Human


    L11 Swordsmith/1 Swordsman


    Stats:


    STR 38 (+3)


    AGI 18


    END 40 (+4)


    INT 11


    WIS 13


    WYL 22


    Core: [Soul-Forged] Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul, are greatly enhanced, and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.


    Titles: {Awakened}, {Fledgling Dungeon Delver}, {Soulscarred}


    Skills: [Craft Armor], [Craft Shield], [Craft Tool], [Craft Weapon], [Gather Ore], [Identify], [Permanent Party], [Repair Item], [Sharpen Blade], [Work Metal]


    Combat Skills: [Cleaving Slash], [Piercing Thrust]


    Passives: [Born Blacksmith], [Combat Reflexes], [Endurance Up I], [Enhance Craft I], [Heat & Fire Resistance], [In a Hurry], [Strength Up I]

 Chapter 29: The Best Student

    Chapter 29: The Best Student


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan had never been more wrong in his life. He''d thought his newfound abilities and Secondary would help him, and while they did, Jamal was something else entirely.


    Somehow, Jamal seemed even less bothered by the second round--if that were possible--though it was far more painful for Tristan. The swordmaster was also more vocal and critical this time around. He pointed out every opening Tristan left before making him pay for it. He gave pointers, but without an immediate change, Tristan felt a new thwack exactly where he''d failed. And of course all of this Jamal did with a drink in hand.


    Just as Tristan thought he might be actually improving, since he¡¯d gone so long without being scolded, the fight changed again.


    ¡°Not awful,¡± Jamal said, ¡°but your attacks lack creativity and are too predictable.¡± His grin turned wolfish. ¡°Let me demonstrate.¡±


    In the time it took Tristan to parse what his teacher had said, the wooden blade had already struck him twice. It seemed Jamal was no longer content to merely deflect Tristan¡¯s attacks and counter. The wooden sword came at him from all angles and without pause, leaving no time for Tristan to mount his own attacks.


    It was a flurry of near successes, embarrassment, and stinging pain. Tristan ended up on his back in the dirt more times than he could count, and had his sword knocked from his hands even more. But each time, he was immediately pressured to stand back up again. ¡°You can quit at any time,¡± his master offered once more, waiting just long enough to see that he did rise again before the sword flicked back to life.


    Tristan had no idea how long the session lasted, but the sun was still high overhead when he was finally left alone.


    Laying on his back, he was utterly exhausted. He could feel the sand sticking to his sweaty, bleeding body. His arms refused to push him up, and his legs wouldn''t have supported him anyway.


    Staring up into the cloudless sky, Tristan struggled to ask, ¡°Am I at least improving?¡±


    He could hear the light steps of his master on the sand nearby. ¡°Sure, kid. You''re the best student I''ve ever had. And you know, you could definitely teach me a thing or two about dropping a sword. You¡¯re the top of the class with a great future ahead of you.¡±


    Tristan lifted his head slightly, looking toward Jamal. The man was sitting in a freaking chair, sipping a drink, with Lauren already sitting across his lap.


    His head thumped back to the sand. Tristan ached all over, but he also knew he couldn¡¯t let that stop him. ¡°I''ll try harder.¡± He forced himself to stand up.


    Jamal tilted his head at his new student. A curious expression crossed his face. ¡°You''re serious. Gods, Tristan, you can''t even..." He extended a hand, flicked his wrist, and suddenly a shadowy version of Jamal appeared at Tristan¡¯s right side and pushed him.


    But because Tristan had already learned to spread his base wide, he kept his feet. ¡°I¡¯m not done. I can keep going. I need to improve.¡±


    Jamal¡¯s Shadow turned to mist and drifted away with a passing breeze. The master swordsman nodded. ¡°Alright, I see you, mate. I love that attitude, though you''re bloody insane. I can work with that.¡± He took Lauren¡¯s drink out of her hand and drank it while she playfully pouted. ¡°But not today. You need healing. You''ve got some internal bleeding going on, and that¡¯s a worse thing than I think you realize. You also need to reflect on, well, all the shit we did today. Focus on those defenses of yours, or you¡¯ll spend more time laying there than in your bed.¡±


    He held up a hand, stopping Tristan from responding.


    ¡°And that is where we''ll begin tomorrow. Defense. Because in a real fight, if you can survive long enough, you should be able to find openings. Then those strong swings of yours might be useful and deal some real damage.¡±


    Jamal brushed the girl off his lap with his empty hand and stood up. He stretched, almost like a cat who''d been still too long.


    ¡°Lauren, be a dear and take him to the sauna. Oh, and send him Cleo. I¡¯m gonna go find something to eat.¡±


    At his dismissal, Tristan slouched under the equal pressures of disappointment and exhaustion. A few moments later, he felt the delicate touch of the woman¡¯s arms around his chest, supporting him. It was more than that, too. While even the slightest contact hurt and caused him to wince, when Lauren ran her hands over him, he hurt just a little bit less. He quickly realized that it was some sort of healing touch, and that it had already removed most of the sting from his ribs.


    ¡°That''s a lot better,¡± Tristan murmured.


    ¡°It''s my pleasure,¡± she responded. ¡°And I''m only a half-healer at that. If you think this is nice, just wait until Cleo gets her hands on you. You¡¯ll be good as new, possibly even better!¡±


    Heck of a  first day, he thought to himself. I¡¯m still unforged. Nowhere to go from here but up.


    - - - - -


    ¡°Now, follow my lead again,¡± the swordmaster said, retaking his stance beside Tristan. Rather than the smaller wooden sword from the day before, today a large golden greatsword was in his hands. Jamal stood perfectly still until Tristan mirrored the master''s stance. They were back in first position.


    The swordmaster made a deliberately slow, sideways move with his lower hand, pulling the handle and crossguard to the right side of his body while the tip and blade leaned left. He still managed to keep his arms spaced apart, thanks in large part to a widened grip, which meant raising his front elbow even with his shoulder. Tristan followed as best he could.


    ¡°This is a better deflection. It will set you up to make many counters, especially when using the crossguard. Hold it.¡± The swordmaster stepped back and examined the form. His nod of approval only emboldened Tristan, and he gripped his sword with renewed determination. ¡°No, not so tense. Good, that''s better.¡± He stepped back in. ¡°You want to catch your opponent''s blade either here or here,¡± he indicated the spots on Tristan¡¯s blade. ¡°On the flat if possible. Going edge-to-edge is relying too heavily on your blade being the better one.¡± He tapped Tristan''s sword with his knuckle. ¡°Maybe that''ll go in your favor. But against stronger, luckier, or wealthier foes? Don''t bet on it.¡±


    It had been like this all day. Jamal demonstrated a technique, and Tristan mirrored it. Jamal evaluated, and Tristan adapted. It was such a welcome change from the day before that his worries disappeared. Tristan knew he wasn''t good at these forms and guards and thrusts and cuts yet, but as he got lost in the instruction, he knew he was getting better.


    ¡°Yeah, like that. Keep the elbow tight, and... right on. Not bad, kid. Here''s the next block, which is better against overhead attacks.¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Tristan followed along, move by move. They all felt very new, and his body wasn¡¯t used to such extended sessions with his sword yet. It felt like it was getting heavier with each new maneuver, but he wasn¡¯t about to ask for a break. He would soak up as much of Jamal¡¯s mastery as he possibly could.


    ¡°Focus, Tristan. Or, actually, you know what, just...¡± He slid in front of Tristan, facing him, and raised his sword.


    Shit, Tristan immediately thought. The only advantage of the swordmaster¡¯s new position was that Tristan could now see the gleam in Jamal¡¯s eyes and the faint twist of a smile on his lips. Tristan knew what was coming next.


    Jamal was preparing to attack.


    ¡°Guard up, kid!¡±


    What followed was an absolute mess of panic and outmatched reflexes. He was trying to keep up with the moves of Jamal¡¯s sword, but he was just a bit too slow. By the time he thought of where the attack was coming from, he couldn¡¯t raise the appropriate guard in time. So instead of seeing the incoming blade where it was, he tried to see where it was going, leaning more on his training and trusting that the right guard would come to him in time. Mostly, it did--still not fast enough, but speed would come in time. In fact, the more he trusted in the moves Jamal had shown him, the better he did.


    ¡°Yeah, your reflexes are getting better, and you¡¯re starting to feel the forms,¡± Jamal noted, his sword flashing out at Tristan''s shoulder again. ¡°But don''t forget to get your elbow up or--"


    The warning came just a moment before the sword passed right over Tristan¡¯s blade, which he hadn¡¯t moved quite wide enough. It sliced cleanly through Tristan¡¯s right tricep.


    It was so clean, in fact, Tristan assumed it had missed the bone.


    Tristan heard the sound of his sword hitting the ground, which was odd since he didn¡¯t feel like he¡¯d let it go.


    ¡°Or that happens,¡± Jamal finished, turning around and flicking the blood off his blade onto the sand. ¡°Cleo, on him.¡± He gestured toward Tristan, before walking away.


    His blood was spurting out, and Tristan started panicking. Even as he tried to wrap his left hand around the wound, he felt himself getting lightheaded. What remained of his arm was dangling by skin and a thin string of muscle.


    My arm. MY ARM! I''m going to lose my arm!


    His last recognition before blacking out was that Jamal hadn''t even turned around to check on him.


    - - - - -


    Tristan woke up in his bed shirtless and without a hint of pain. For a moment he worried he''d lost his arm. He threw his covers off and stared. Nothing was wrong. The arm was there, full, fine, clean, and even unscarred. He could barely wrap his head around it.


    Then again, he thought back to how he''d felt after Cleo had healed him the night before--or had that been two days ago now? How long was I out? How long does healing an arm take? He looked out the window and saw what seemed to be the first rays of sunlight. I hate not knowing what day it is. He''d had that feeling too many times since Awakening.


    He flexed his arm, which didn''t feel different at all. Was this what high-tier healers could do? Was this what lay before Opie on his Path? It was no wonder they were so sought after, never struggling to find a party if they wanted one. Opie had actually been overwhelmed with offers the moment his Class became known, and it had taken nearly an hour to reject them all. Three different Guild parties had come through Woodsedge just offering to boost him to mid-tier 2 by carrying him through early dungeons.


    No wonder Jamal didn''t seem worried.


    Now that Tristan had felt the touch of a good one, it made sense. Woodsedge wasn''t that fancy, or fortunate. They had an herbalist and alchemist. Azura if she counted, and maybe Opie someday. Nothing that came close to what Cleo could do.


    Tristan¡¯s hand ran down the length of his arm. He¡¯d have to thank her when he saw her next--it felt as good as it ever had.


    I''m living in a different world now.


    Would he ever allow himself to grow so callous toward what would have been life-altering wounds in Woodsedge? There were dangers in forgetting the aches and pains that his injuries should have given. No, he would fight off any such habits. He couldn''t risk getting sloppy. He had too much to do.


    After a small amount of time, there was a knock on his door, and Cherry¡¯s voice called, ¡°Are you awake in there at last?¡±


    Tristan tried to sound pleasant but found he needed to cough to not sound like a gravelly old man. ¡°Yeah, just testing out my arm.¡±


    ¡°Great! Then I''m coming in. Have to make sure you¡¯ll be ready for today''s lesson.¡±


    ¡°One moment,¡± Tristan said, pulling himself out of his bed and toward the wardrobe where all his clothes had been arranged. He never made it there before the door swung open anyway.


    Cherry walked straight in, not shy about looking him up and down. ¡°Wow, I can''t even tell which arm it was.¡±


    Tristan didn''t like having her eyes studying him like that. He was in only his underwear, after all, and suddenly he had the realization that someone had helped him get that way--probably her. He quickly opened the wardrobe door, practically hiding behind it.


    Cherry just marched around it and held out a pair of pants. ¡°These are from yesterday. Obviously they''ve been cleaned, but since you didn''t bring many pairs..."


    ¡°Uh, thanks,¡± Tristan squeaked, hating how clearly his embarrassment showed through. He cleared his throat. ¡°So that--my arm--was yesterday?¡±


    One of Cherry¡¯s hands gripped Tristan''s right arm as she nodded thoughtfully. ¡°Good as new, I assume?¡±


    ¡°It seems so,¡± he answered. Part of him wanted to reach into the wardrobe for a shirt, but another part didn¡¯t want to be the first one to move.


    ¡°You could just wear the pants,¡± Cherry offered upon seeing his indecision. ¡°You look good shirtless. Especially with the scar.¡±


    Once again, Tristan fought against the urge to cover himself. Cherry, like seemingly every servant in the manor, always looked good. She was in yet another red-themed ensemble today, though this one was looser fitting.


    She took a step back and nodded. ¡°I¡¯m kind of digging those bigger arms of yours, too. It¡¯s a good thing Cleo is the best. And the Master¡¯s restraint is also impressive. It¡¯s much harder to try and reattach something that¡¯s been completely severed. Almost impossible I¡¯ve heard. Something about losing the connection with your body. Anyways, will you take breakfast now? Seeing as you missed dinner, and of course with the healing, I bet you''re starving.¡±


    Tristan''s nerves were immediately on-edge. He hadn¡¯t even considered that it might not be possible to reattach a body part that was cut off. It was good to know going forward. His stomach rumbled as if to pull him out of his thoughts and back to Cherry¡¯s question. ¡°Yes, breakfast sounds great.¡±


    Cherry walked over to Tristan¡¯s bedside table and a tray of steaming food appeared in her hand. ¡°I thought so. I grabbed this from the kitchen before coming here, just in case. Eat up. Your next lesson¡¯s in just over an hour. I''ll be right outside the door if you need anything.¡±


    Tristan pulled the nearest shirt from the wardrobe before hurrying back to the tray. Whatever food she¡¯d brought smelled divine.


    - - - - -


    Day three of his training began with what he''d come to think of as a Jamal pep talk:


    ¡°You fucked up yesterday, mate. Luckily you did it here. In the real world, you¡¯d be armless at best, undead and enslaved at worst. Not a good look, yeah? See that you pay better attention today, right?¡±


    Tristan knew enough of the world not to argue with someone who¡¯d seen so much more of it. Though being an enslaved undead sounded freaking terrifying. He held up his greatsword and took first position. He¡¯d be ready for whatever the day would bring.


    Day three, as it turned out, was not going to focus as heavily on defensive positions as it would on parrying and then countering attacks. The latter moves were much harder with a sword as big as Tristan''s. However, after Tristan managed to cleanly deflect Jamal¡¯s blade and find openings two attacks in a row, he was surrounded by a golden light as his favorite sound effect rang out.


    ¡°Congratulations,¡± Jamal said.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Tristan replied--immediately regretting it. He''d lowered his guard, thinking the fight was done, and leaned the blade back, resting the crossguard against his shoulder. It was how Jamal had insisted he carry the blade when it wasn¡¯t needed. Of course, he¡¯d also insisted that Tristan never drop his guard when faced with an armed foe. A lesson he clearly hadn¡¯t fully learned yet.


    Jamal''s thrust came with blinding speed, and it skewered him like a kabob.


    Tristan looked down as he felt himself grow weak again. He saw that half of the massive blade was sunk into his belly, and somehow it had missed his lungs and heart.


    ¡°Even if it¡¯s training, you¡¯re still in battle. Next time, don''t get distracted,¡± he heard Jamal say. Then he felt the sword pull free of his body, and the gush of blood followed.


    The last thing Tristan could make sense of before the world went black was someone saying the name ¡°Cleo,¡± and sounding bored about it.

 Chapter 30: Blowing Off Some Steam

    Chapter 30: Blowing Off Some Steam


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    After the first month, Tristan was no longer surprised when he would awaken fully healed in his bed with little memory of how he''d gotten there. Truthfully, he hadn''t spent an evening fully conscious in weeks. The more he¡¯d trained, the more he''d learned, and the harder the sparring at the end of each session had grown. He lost in so many ways, acquiring so many injuries, it was a wonder that he never gave up. He would have died multiple times by now if Jamal didn''t have ¡°the best healer in the realm¡± in Cleo. After a month of her skills patching him up, Tristan found himself agreeing with the man. He had actually lost count of how many times he should have died, a thought that scared him.


    But he¡¯d also made incredible progress. He¡¯d spent most of the time learning about the strengths and weaknesses of his greatsword, and improving on both. But Jamal had also insisted that Tristan practice with the longsword and shield some too, ¡°for the sake of versatility.¡° Jamal had also started giving Tristan surprise ¡°caltrops sessions¡± to further improve his footwork, though mostly they ended up with Tristan mostly unable to walk.


    Thanks to all the training, Tristan had gained another two Secondary levels, making him officially a level 3 swordsman. He¡¯d earned the [Riposte] attack skill, which would allow him to strike back immediately after blocking. That was the theory, at least, but Jamal was always fast enough that the counterstrike never actually hit.


    He¡¯d also gotten a new passive, [Agility Up I], and with it, another permanent 10% stat increase that felt really good. While it only added a few points now, those few points really helped. Even small increases in Agility made a big difference in his Swordsman skills. It improved blade control, damage output, and footwork. It was similar to how smithing relied on Strength and Endurance.


    Yet for all his gains, Tristan had yet to land a blow on his teacher. His levels proved he was growing, but his gains didn¡¯t matter much when faced with the best swordsman alive.


    Perhaps the swordmaster could sense Tristan¡¯s unspoken concerns. He had begun giving his student ¡°pep talks¡± at the start of every training session, though Tristan found them less positive than such a title would suggest. The last few had been focused on how Tristan¡¯s Path would be littered with challenges and problems that Tristan and only Tristan would have to navigate, and often enough those problems would require either a degree of creativity or a lot of preparation.


    Jamal clearly favored the first option.


    Tristan, on the other hand, saw the merits of both approaches. If anything, he preferred to go above and beyond on preparation. He didn¡¯t mind so many sessions spent improving his defensive tactics, as it lay a better foundation to prepare for anything that might come his way.


    ¡°Just don''t get hit, and you can''t lose,¡± Jamal said one lesson in passing, and while it was obviously silly, it stuck in Tristan¡¯s head.


    Tristan knew the truth in that better than anyone. He just needed to improve a lot if he was ever going to get to such a level himself. When considering the targets he was aiming for... his end goal was far beyond his reach. I''ll only get one shot at each of the Legendslayers out in the real world, and Cleo won''t be there to save me if I fail. I have to keep getting better.


    He just had to keep learning from Jamal and grinding out levels.


    They sometimes talked about other things outside of his lessons. Jamal asked him about his Path and how he saw it unfolding, and where he thought it might lead him. Truthfully, it was something Tristan had thought about a lot--ever since the event at Jill''s, when he''d been offered the many different event quests. He might as well ask about it.


    ¡°Back at Jill¡¯s, why was I offered event quests to kill the waiter, among other awful things? Does my Path think that I¡¯m a bad person, or that I could be?¡±


    Jamal had taken the question in stride and even laughed. ¡°Mate, all of us could be bad people. Where''ve you been? Look at the world around you. Every Path is valid, no matter how much other people might hate it. Every path,¡± he stressed.


    Tristan had heard that before, but he¡¯d never really thought about it. ¡°Is that why thieving and banditry aren¡¯t outright illegal?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s only when they strike down-tier that anyone higher tier gets involved.¡±


    Tristan wasn¡¯t sure how he felt about that and didn¡¯t like the idea of his Path heading in darker directions. ¡°I''ve never acted like that though. Why was I given those options at Jill¡¯s?


    The swordmaster gave him a sympathetic smile. ¡°Because options mean you have to choose, and choosing defines your Path more than anything. Even if you¡¯re just a blacksmith, your Path will care about your morality. For what it''s worth, I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve got anything to worry about. At least, not in that regard. Your swordplay? Sure. But Tristan, you don¡¯t seem like a piece of shit--and trust me, I¡¯ve known a lot. The shittiest of the shit, in fact. You''re not like them, mate. Just stay true to yourself, and I don¡¯t think you''ll become like them, yeah?¡± He laughed easily again. ¡°Honestly, I''m just glad you already know about event quests. They can be quite difficult at times, but at least you don¡¯t have to do them. Unlike Path quests.¡±


    Tristan briefly considered his quest log where two quests still lingered. His Path quest, [Avenging the Brightshield], and the other that he¡¯d tried not to think about:


    [Quest: End the Progenitor]


    Avenge your fallen comrade and defeat the Black Ooze Progenitor.


    Reward: Title {Oozebane}


    He didn¡¯t bring either quest up though, and if the swordmaster noticed Tristan¡¯s frown, he didn''t mention it. Instead the man continued his previous thought. ¡°Anyway, it sounds like your Path cares most about you improving yourself, not what you do to get there, or even what you do with your power after.¡±


    Tristan was a bit confused by that. ¡°It doesn''t care if I''m a good or bad person?¡±


    ¡°Apparently not, or at least not yet. Who knows, maybe it will. For now, it just cares that you get stronger.¡±


    ¡°And if I want to be a good person?¡± Tristan asked.


    Jamal laughed. ¡°Then be a good person! Or try to. You do you, kid. Even if your Path is a bit selfish, there''s nothing wrong with that. Gods, look at me! I¡¯m as selfish as they come. I can''t name a single person tier 4 or above whose Path isn''t at least a little bit selfish. Otherwise, you¡¯d stop progressing and just be what you already are. Even the Brightshield wasn¡¯t completely selfless.¡±


    Tristan didn''t know all that many tier 4s, and not even a single tier 5 since the Brightshield. He trusted Jamal¡¯s words and experience wholly. Though whether they were more comforting or disheartening, Tristan couldn¡¯t say.


    Jamal slapped his chest twice twice in quick succession as a gesture of respect before lifting his greatsword and returning to the stance they''d been practicing. ¡°Anyway, you¡¯re actually pretty lucky since it sounds like your Path doesn¡¯t care about the journey OR the destination, just that you¡¯re journey-ing. There''s a lot of flexibility in such a Path. That¡¯s what all those various event quests you were offered tell me.¡±


    Tristan nodded. Even for such a long answer, it made sense. ¡°I just need to keep making my choices align with the Path I want to walk.¡±


    ¡°Precisely,¡± Jamal agreed. ¡°So just keep on not being a dick, walk your Path your way, and maybe let¡¯s get back to the lessons now so your journey can begin a little sooner, eh? We¡¯ve still got loads to improve with your footwork.¡±


    Tristan was constantly surprised at how much he enjoyed the lesson portions of their day. He¡¯d always thought himself more of a ¡°learn by doing¡± sort, but Jamal had a way of cutting through even the most difficult of topics and presenting them in a way that Tristan just understood. Tristan enjoyed how thought-provoking the lessons could get. In their own way, they were just as challenging as the sparring sections. He didn¡¯t fool himself into thinking he was really sparring with the swordmaster. But he had hope that someday he might surprise the man.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    It was the same drive to improve and better himself that he felt toward his smithing. It was what kept him coming back every single day, no matter how bad a beating he¡¯d taken the day before. Even if his injuries kept getting more serious, he was focused. He would improve.


    So when Cherry appeared in the training circle one day instead of Jamal, Tristan was worried.


    Initially he wondered if he¡¯d done something wrong and if Jamal was tired of training him, which made him worry that he was being sent away. It wasn¡¯t a logical fear, but that didn¡¯t stop his mind from going there, however briefly. Pushing those worries aside he asked, ¡°What''s going on, Cherry? Where''s Master Jamal?¡±


    ¡°He had an engagement that he couldn''t miss. Normally he''d schedule such things for the evenings, but today it couldn¡¯t be helped. So, you''re getting the day off.¡±


    A week or two ago Tristan would have loved a day off, but now all he felt was worry about his focus slipping. A day off was time wasted and improvement delayed. You wouldn''t stop a craft mid-heat after all. He stabbed his sword into the dirt in disappointment.


    Cherry interrupted him before he got too broody. ¡°But Master Jamal did arrange a driver for you, to take you back into Rockmoor for the day. He said, and I quote, ¡®Every boy needs time to blow off some steam.¡¯¡±


    Tristan knew what Jamal probably meant. He just didn''t find the same comforts in other people that the swordmaster did. But, he realized, I could go to a forge, and that would scratch the same itch.


    ¡°I''ve already told the driver to take you to The Agora,¡± Cherry was saying, and she held out a tiny pouch. ¡°He also wanted you to have this.¡±


    Tristan took it, both curious and immediately surprised with just how light it felt. He wasn¡¯t sure what it could be or why Jamal had given it to him today. The bag was small enough that he could close his hand around it and leave nothing showing. What could it even hold? With a touch of uncertainty, he looked inside and was amazed.


    The tiny pouch was actually magical storage! The mouth was barely wide enough for his hand to fit through when he narrowed it, but on the inside it was large enough to fit his head--not that he¡¯d try!--and it was full of gold coins. It was more wealth than Tristan had ever held before. He¡¯d only seen its like a few times after his father had finished a commission for a wealthy client.


    Did he earn all this wealth by adventuring?


    Tristan forced himself to focus instead on the more pressing question: How could he best spend all that gold in one day? He looked up at Cherry. ¡°Could he take me to Smith''s Row instead? Garrow¡¯s shop, specifically?¡±


    Cherry smiled pleasantly. ¡°I don''t see why not. I''ll send the messages immediately.¡±


    Messages, plural? Tristan wondered at that, though he didn''t ask. The more he thought about it, the more his fingers were itching to work metal again. His head was flooding with so many ideas he''d put off over the month: concepts he knew he wanted to try, especially since he could now afford better materials. ¡°When can we go?¡±


    ¡°Just give me fifteen minutes to set everything up,¡± she replied. ¡°And maybe you should change into more... real world attire. You''re not going to be training today, so maybe something less... breathable.¡±


    Tristan looked down at his shirt and pants, recognizing for the first time just how shredded they''d become after weeks of training sessions against a master swordsmith. ¡°I don''t really have much else to wear,¡± he admitted. ¡°It¡¯s all kind of like this.¡±


    Cherry shook her head knowingly. ¡°I told him as much. The master said to give you these.¡± Then with a flick of her hand, a full set of clothes appeared on a nearby chair. ¡°They¡¯re not actually gear, so he¡¯s hoping they¡¯ll be usable.¡±


    Tristan had never had an issue with basic clothes before, just gear, so he shrugged her concern off. ¡°Will it fit?¡± he asked. He knew Jamal was a bit more stylish than he was, tending to wear things that were tighter and narrower. Tristan worried that his chest and shoulders were just too much like his father¡¯s.


    Cherry raised one eyebrow. ¡°Try it on and we¡¯ll see.¡±


    Tristan shrugged, admitting defeat, but otherwise only fidgeted slightly. He looked from Cherry to the door.


    Cherry didn¡¯t seem to understand his hesitation until Tristan looked away again. ¡°Would you like me to leave so you can try it on?¡±


    Tristan coughed slightly. ¡°I mean, that¡¯s not--could you just, I don¡¯t know, turn around?¡±


    He saw a smile on the woman¡¯s lips, but she did as he asked.


    Tristan managed to pull on the shirt and pants, both of which were much tighter than anything he¡¯d normally wear. He felt immediately uncomfortable, and even though nothing hindered his movement, it still felt like it could. He also didn¡¯t love how it looked; the outfit reminded him of Aaric.


    Cherry considered the fit and nodded appreciatively, ¡°It''s better than everything else you''ve got, and now you¡¯re representing Jamal, not just yourself. Besides, should they prove too uncomfortable, I could direct you to Jamal¡¯s tailor in Rockmoor.¡±


    Tristan refused politely, since he''d only been cleared to stay out for one day, and he didn¡¯t want to waste a single moment of it.


    ¡°A wise decision,¡± Cherry said. ¡°However, should you change your mind, your driver is on retainer for the full day. As long as you return before midnight, you shouldn¡¯t have any issues.¡±


    Tristan was led outside where he was introduced to his personal driver for the day.


    [Billy, Half-elf, Level 18]


    That the driver was only tier 2 was surprising, as the half-elf man did not look young. Had he been a human, Tristan would have guessed he was in his 30s, but he had no idea what the equivalent would be for a half-elf other than ¡®older.¡¯ The driver was thin, bordering on wiry, and sported a couple days'' hair growth on his jaw. He sat in the front of a wooden wagon behind two horses that seemed to be waiting incredibly patiently.


    With a brief nod, Billy confirmed their destination, ¡°Garrow¡¯s on Smith''s Row?¡± Then they were off.


    The trip that had taken Tristan hours on foot was done in only half of one with the wagon.


    ¡°I''ll be here when you''re done,¡± Billy said, pulling the wagon right up against the side of Garrow''s.


    As soon as Tristan walked in, he was greeted by the old salesman again. ¡°Welcome back, young smith. How can we help you today?¡±


    Tristan pulled out his new coin pouch. ¡°I''d like some time in the back again, please.¡±


    ¡°I thought I recognized the look in your eyes. Tempy¡¯s working in the back again today, so the rate¡¯s the same as last time. Same terms, too: don''t talk to her or your time''s up, even if you''ve got the gold.¡±


    Tristan specifically remembered Temperance saying he''d been overcharged last time, but rather than point it out, he pulled 10 gold coins from his pouch. ¡°I expected no less.¡±


    After depositing the coins in the old man''s hand, Tristan was pointed to the back room. As he opened the door, he could feel the welcoming heat of the room beyond, though he noticed that he didn¡¯t hear any of the sounds of traditional smithing this time. He had only taken a single step through when he heard a jingle from the front. Tristan turned back just in time to see a newcomer enter. He was so tall he had to duck his head.


    ¡°I''m lookin¡¯ for the smith,¡± the enormous man growled. He was at least two heads taller than Tristan. Honestly, he was bigger in seemingly every other way too. Something quickly explained with an [Identify].


    [?, Half-giant, Level 15]


    The half-giant swaggered into the shop as though he owned it. He wore sturdy-looking black leather armor that would easily have taken several cow hides to make. What marked him most as an adventurer in Tristan''s eyes were the two swords he carried, one on either hip. He used [Identify] on both of those as well.


    [¡°Rip¡± (uncommon)]: [Bleeding]


    [¡°Tear¡± (uncommon)]: [Weakening]


    Both weapon properties inflicted negative status effects on targets struck: [Bleeding] adding some periodic damage, and [Weakening] reducing the target¡¯s damage output.


    Seems like a good combination for someone who wants to outlast his opponents, Tristan thought. Given the man¡¯s size, he wondered if he used his reach to hit a few times, then harry his foes from a distance, or possibly with a shield. There were a lot of possibilities.


    While Tristan evaluated the newcomer, the salesman stepped up with a grand smile. ¡°Welcome to Garrow¡¯s, sir. Our smith is currently working in the back, but I believe you''ll find that I can be of service with nearly anything--"


    ¡°I¡¯m only here for the smith,¡± the newcomer said, roughly pushing past the old man and sending him into one of the display shelves. Upon seeing the shock on the old man¡¯s face, the half-giant sneered. ¡°¡®Less you wanna play, too.¡±


    Tristan saw the half-giant''s hands dip slightly toward his swords. His fingertips curled excitedly.


    In a flash, Tristan made a decision that he knew might be foolish, but he didn¡¯t care. He folded his arms across his chest and walked out of the back room. ¡°I''m a smith. How can I help you?¡±


    The half-giant made plain that he was sizing Tristan up. His head went up and down, and his sneer deepened. ¡°Yeah, you look about right.¡± He cracked his knuckles. ¡°I¡¯m here to test your mettle,¡± he said, laughing at his own pun.


    Tristan¡¯s brow wrinkled as he hoped he misinterpreted the man¡¯s words. He decided to give the man the benefit of the doubt. ¡°There are lots of samples around the shop, though the enchanting is really what makes all these weapons--"


    ¡°Shut up! I don¡¯t care about your gods-damned merchandise!¡± The half-giant placed his huge hands on the swords at his hips. ¡°Get over here and fight!¡± In the span of those words, the half-giant had pulled out both his longswords, with Rip currently pointing directly at Tristan¡¯s chest.


    ¡°Not in here,¡± Tristan replied calmly, thinking of the old man. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re doing this, but if you¡¯re insisting, we¡¯re going to take it outside.¡±


    The half-giant scoffed. ¡°Damn right we are, ¡®cause I got a contract with your name on it.¡±


    ¡°From who?¡± Tristan asked, but the half-giant wouldn¡¯t answer.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just get it done with. Inside, outside, won¡¯t make a difference to me. Let¡¯s just go. Now! I¡¯ve got other quests to get to today.¡±


    Tristan sighed. Why does trouble always seem to find me? He walked past the old man, who barely stuttered out a, ¡°Thank you,¡± on his way to the back.


    Then Tristan was outside in the dusty midday sun. There were a lot more people, but they seemed far enough away that they shouldn¡¯t be a concern. The road itself was just dirt, just like the training ring at Jamal¡¯s. But he didn¡¯t really have time to prepare for anything else before the half-giant roared, raised both his swords to the sky, and charged.

 Chapter 31: Todays Lesson

    Chapter 31: Today¡¯s Lesson


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Of all the lessons Tristan had learned from Jamal, the one the swordmaster had drilled into him the most was that composure was critical to winning a sword fight. Without composure, you couldn¡¯t defend properly. Without composure, you couldn¡¯t spot weaknesses to exploit. In short, without composure, you died.


    So when the determined half-giant charged with both swords drawn, Tristan found himself calm and collected. This opponent was nowhere near as fast as Jamal, and if something wasn¡¯t as fast as Jamal, Tristan had time to prepare.


    Tristan drew his greatsword and quickly took up the first stance Jamal had taught him. He wanted to defend until he knew what he was dealing with. It seemed the man''s measure was slightly longer than his, even with shorter swords. The half-giant was also a clear professional, not letting more than a hint of any expression show on his face despite what any earlier outbursts might have implied.


    In the opening seconds, Tristan learned a lot about his opponent. As soon as their steel clashed, he could tell the half-giant favored his right hand--the bleeding sword. He made attacks with both weapons, but his style was more about flitting in and out with his longer reach, clearly working toward the bleeding sword¡¯s advantage. Tristan could see the method working well to frustrate people who might struggle to match it. But Tristan was tall himself, and using a greatsword gave him nearly the same potential range. What¡¯s more, since they were in the middle of Smith''s Row, surrounded by observers, their ability to maneuver or escape would be limited.


    The huge man wasn¡¯t as fast as Jamal, it was true, but he was tricky. He used a right-handed thrust to conceal a lagging left-handed slash. Despite this, Tristan wasn¡¯t fooled and was able to block both. The half-giant followed that up with a barrage of paired swings. Both swords came at Tristan relentlessly, always together but slightly out of sync. Tristan could just barely keep up--until eventually a third attack broke the pattern, and he was not able to parry in time. The sword called Tear grazed Tristan¡¯s thigh.


    You are now weakened.


    The notification was a simple line of text, but with it came a debuff icon and a small countdown bar, starting at 15, on the side of his vision.


    Only 15 seconds, Tristan tried to tell himself. That¡¯s not too bad.


    But the more the half-giant swung his twin blades, the more Tristan recognized that fifteen seconds was an eternity in a real duel. In fifteen seconds, he blocked just as many attacks. It was a near impossible task to block them all.


    One moment, the twin blades spun high, the next low, practically horizontal blurs across Tristan¡¯s vision. But Tristan thought he could feel a pattern in the continuous swipes, and as he backpedaled toward the door of Garrow''s, he managed to parry more and more of the blows. But as the new notification showed, it wasn¡¯t quite all of them.


    You are now bleeding.


    Rip had managed to hit him, too. Warm blood trickled down his right arm, but it was odd because it didn¡¯t hurt enough. Without the notification, he might not have recognized the hit at all. Is it coated in something that numbs pain? Tristan wondered. More trickery.


    The new debuff¡¯s timer had started at 30 seconds instead of 15, which was obviously bad, and he took damage every three seconds it was active. Sure, It wasn''t all that much, but it would still add up. And if it stacks...


    Tristan decided to prioritize defending against Rip, and ending the bleeding debuff, even if it meant being struck again by Tear and remaining weakened.


    It only took two more clashes before Tristan had to make that choice for real--because somehow four attacks came at him in a sudden burst, much faster than before. How that was possible, Tristan didn¡¯t know yet. But he stood by his decision, and he let the weakening blade cut into his side, refreshing its debuff timer all the way back up to 15 seconds. But he¡¯d blocked Rip, and as he eyed the bleeding debuff, which was still taking chunks of his health with every tick, he knew it had been the right call.


    The fight had not started out very well for Tristan; he could admit that. As hard as he tried, he couldn¡¯t string together enough blocks to get rid of either debuff. He couldn¡¯t even get them down halfway.


    Seeking for a positive, during those moments where he was taking more and more damage, he was slowly getting a feel for the half-giant¡¯s attack cadence. As a result, Tristan felt like he was making progress. He was learning, and with a little more understanding, he could start attacking and--


    Four more attacks came at him with nearly Jamal-like speed. Way faster than the half-giant¡¯s regular combinations. They were so much faster, Tristan figured it had to be a skill.


    And Rip, with the fourth and final strike, tagged him again.


    The bleeding debuff not only refreshed to its full 30 second duration, but a big ¡°2¡± appeared on top of it. His fears had been correct.


    The bleed stacked.


    With a sneer, the half-giant backed off for exactly three seconds. Then when Tristan took double the bleeding damage from before, the half-giant lunged again. Tristan wasn''t surprised, just frustrated. The fight was going to be much harder than he''d thought.


    He backed up more and more, trying to stay beyond the half-giant¡¯s reach as much as possible. Attempting to outrun the debuffs. The crowd struggled to make way for him, but the path they gave ended up with him almost pressed against the outer wall of Garrow¡¯s. He couldn¡¯t allow himself to be pinned like that. Before he could get completely cornered, he deflected a blow from Rip and counterattacked with a [Riposte], slashing with so much power his opponent needed both swords to block it. The impact sent vibrations all the way up Tristan''s arms, but it also stopped the half-giant¡¯s momentum, if only for a moment. What started as a passing step quickly became a full spin. By fully extending his blade, he cleared a large space around him. More importantly, it freed him up to move back toward the middle of the street.


    With a little sigh of relief, he looked back at the half-giant, and he smiled at what he saw.


    Apparently his opponent''s block had gone up too slowly. There was now a thin slit in his armor where blood was coming out, straining the surrounding surface red.


    Tristan wanted to cheer at his first real hit, but that honestly might not have been nearly as important as managing to shift away from the wall. Now if he could actually pressure the half-giant some, perhaps he could pull off something clever.


    Neither fighter spoke, but Tristan could sense his opponent''s frustration building. His callous eyes showed the disgust of someone who hadn''t thought he¡¯d take even a single hit in this bout, no doubt due to their level difference. Tristan hoped he could ruin the mercenary¡¯s reputation a little more.


    An instant later the half-giant charged again, opening this time with another flurry of attacks--and Tristan was ready. The four blows felt more manageable now that Tristan knew that they were a skill. They were predictable. This time, not a single hit of the flurry landed.


    Tristan began finding more opportunities to [Riposte]. He couldn¡¯t take them, since each time he thought he might counterattack, another attack followed it too quickly, and he had to defend that instead. He strung together several blocks in a row, only letting Tear hit on the rare occasion.


    ¡°Block and dodge all you want. You can¡¯t avoid them all. This crowd is gonna watch you bleed out eventually.¡±


    Tristan let his gaze flit to the crowd briefly. It had grown thicker around them. There were now so many people that Tristan couldn¡¯t see through them anymore. They were strangely quiet, though. No cheering or betting, as Tristan might have expected. Thinking back, he realized that most of them had just watched, giving space or stepping aside as the clashes of steel demanded.


    Tristan rolled his neck, watching as a few more precious seconds ticked off the debuffs. ¡°If you can keep landing hits, sure. But it seems like you¡¯re starting to struggle.¡±


    With a roar in response, the battle shifted again. The half-giant began feinting in what might have been a near-rhythmic pattern, except that Tristan couldn''t tell the difference between the half-giant¡¯s real attacks and his feints. He had to defend against them all. That meant Tristan was stretching himself too thin, leaving too many openings for the next sword to sweep in and tag him. He was constantly weakened and bleeding. And the bleed debuffs kept stacking, each increasing the periodic damage he took. Currently seven stacks were ticking away, and Tristan¡¯s health was dropping like a stone.


    Tristan needed to take back control of this fight, and quickly, or he was going to lose. His opponent must have come to the same conclusion, since the half-giant seemed content to merely harass Tristan with his swords, only really pressing hard when either debuff got low. Granted, it was working, and Tristan simply couldn¡¯t stop the constant damage ticking away at him. It was brutal in its simplicity, but that reminded him of another of Jamal¡¯s lessons: ¡°Sometimes fights are just simple.¡±


    That same session had also led to one of his all-time favorite Jamal quotes: ¡°As long as you¡¯re still standing, a fight only ends when you win or your creativity dies.¡±


    Tristan loved that quote because he always had ideas. Possibly even now, he could outthink his opponent.


    So what can I do to change things up? He asked himself.


    He was still struggling to keep more bleeds from stacking, but if he somehow managed to stem that, if he could hold out long enough for the stack to fall off, he could swing the momentum back in his favor.


    After only a moment of thought, he saw a way through.


    For the first time ever, Tristan used his [Combat Switch] ability in a fight. He swapped his [Hope¡¯s Aspiration] for the [Repaired Rusty Longsword] and [Heartmender¡¯s Shield] that were in his magical storage. It was odd how cleanly the ability seemed to work, considering how the items exchanged were so different. In less than the blink of an eye, Tristan had shifted into a fully defensive set up, putting his shield front and center, where it immediately blocked both incoming attacks. He also felt the [Rejuvenation] property begin to slowly undo the damage from the bleeds, though it couldn¡¯t quite keep up with the health that was ebbing away.


    The half-giant seemed quick to adapt to Tristan¡¯s shift in tactics, growing more aggressive. Gone were the little stutter steps into and out of range. Instead he closed in, making all his attacks that much harder to avoid. He made combination attacks, one after another, clearly trying to push any damage through. But, ironically, that actually made the pressure more constant, more rhythmic, and more predictable.


    The shield was buying Tristan time to think, and in those little extra moments he started building a real plan. First, he needed to block everything until the bleed fell off. Once that was done, he could start punishing the openings his opponent was leaving.


    For now though, his focus stayed in the present. He blocked, and he blocked, and he blocked. Nothing got past the shield unless it was then deflected by his longsword. No matter how hard the half-giant swung or how he tried to mask his true attacks, nothing made it through. How the shield held out against the constant beating, Tristan didn''t know. He hoped it was a testament to quality craftsmanship.


    Tristan checked the countdown bars for his status effects. The bleeding debuff now sat at ten stacks, and the timer was nearly halfway gone. Just a bit longer!


    He became hyper-focused on Rip. High swings clanged against the shield. Low swings were met with his longsword, when they weren¡¯t outright dodged with footwork. Nothing from Rip was allowed to hit. He could outlast the rest of the damage with the [Rejuvenation], he told himself, and the weakened debuff wouldn¡¯t matter until he started attacking. It didn¡¯t even stack.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Frustration was a patient and dangerous enemy, and Tristan¡¯s opponent was clearly letting himself sink further and further into it. With only ten seconds left on the bleeds, the half-giant grew frenzied. Then came the familiar pattern of four quick thuds off his shield--the skill again. The exact same skill Tristan had been ravaged by earlier. Always the same attack, with the same delay, and the same number of strikes. But now it was predictable.


    And it was on cooldown.


    The half-giant¡¯s technique faded into desperation. His coordinated combos were abandoned in favor of rapidly trying to connect with Rip and only Rip. As the debuff hit five seconds, Tear had become an afterthought.


    As confident as Tristan wanted to be, he couldn¡¯t lose focus. The timer became his true enemy; he wouldn¡¯t miss a single block.


    And he didn¡¯t. He didn¡¯t allow a single attack through.


    The bleed was gone. For the first time in this blessed duel, Tristan was no longer taking constant damage.


    It was clear his opponent also knew the instant the final bleed ticked away, because he immediately snarled. ¡°Bloody turtle! I''ll beat you anyway!¡±


    Tristan wasn''t given the opportunity to reply before the half-giant closed with him and his flurry attack skill. But Tristan was absolutely ready. He''d internalized the cooldown and known it was coming.


    Blocking the first two swings with his shield, Tristan used his own sword to block the third strike of the four-hit combo, which was delivered with Tear, as expected. The blades met, and Tristan immediately activated his [Riposte] skill, finally landing some much needed pressure of his own. And when the fourth attack glanced off his shield, Tristan used [Piercing Thrust] to send his longsword straight toward the half-giant¡¯s middle, aiming to skewer him.


    The half-giant turned just enough at the last moment to take the blade through his side instead of his guts. But the damage had been done. The massive man was clearly bleeding now--sadly, not the debuff--and he disengaged with three massive steps backward to a place where he could see and feel his own wound.


    Tristan would have been happy to let him go at this point. While it was true that he had managed to avoid Rip for over 30 seconds, and the bleed timer had completely ticked down, his health was still dangerously low. Every second they were talking was more time for him to heal. If he could stall long enough, he might actually recover enough to win.


    ¡°You¡¯re just delayin¡¯ what¡¯s comin¡¯,¡± the half-giant said, spitting to the side. ¡°Hide behind that little shield if you want, but you can¡¯t win with it.¡±


    Tristan did not smile. Instead, he rapped his own sword against the shield, just once. He still loved hearing its steel reverberate. He knew his enemy was predictable, and he would use that to the best of his ability. ¡°We¡¯ll see.¡±


    The half-giant scoffed. ¡°So the little smith thinks he¡¯s got it all figured out, huh?¡± He pulled out a vial of some red liquid and downed it in one gulp. ¡°You¡¯re not the only one with tricks up your sleeves.¡±


    Tristan barely had time to wonder what the potion did before the man began to turn a muddy red and grow. Up and up he went, until he was twice the size of Tristan. The hole in his side had completely closed up. And worst of all, his swords had somehow magically grown with him. Each looked to be slightly longer than Tristan¡¯s greatsword.


    Tristan didn¡¯t need the sharp inhale from the spectators all around the ring to know that this was not a good development for him.


    Something in the world seemed to agree, because that was when an event notification popped up.


    Would you like to wager on the outcome of this duel?


    Current odds are 5:1 in favor of Bernhardt.


    With a totally forced laugh, Tristan thought, Might as well, and mentally placed ten gold pieces on himself to win. He saw the prompt acknowledging his bid, and that it also showed that his potential payout would be fifty. With a quick look around the crowd, Tristan could see he wasn¡¯t the only one placing a bet. Too many people had begun staring off blankly only to return to the present and start cheering for either Tristan or the half-giant, who was more like a full giant now, named Bernhardt.


    Bernhardt himself was grinning broader than ever. ¡°The value of this contract just keeps gettin¡¯ better,¡± he said, rolling his two swords around in his now-torso-sized fists. ¡°It¡¯s not every day I get to collect twice on the same job.¡±


    Tristan shrugged, trying to force his shoulders to loosen up a bit. ¡°I hope you didn¡¯t bet it all,¡± he said, trying to make his voice sound calmer than he felt, ¡°or you¡¯ll be really sore tomorrow.¡±


    ¡°Show him what you¡¯ve got, Tristan!¡± came a cheer from the Garrow¡¯s doorway, where apparently Temperance had appeared some time earlier. Several from around the crowd joined in, while others began to cheer on the giant.


    But those brief moments were all the break Tristan got before Bernhardt the giant began attacking again.


    It was quickly clear to Tristan that the potion had boosted Bernhardt in more ways than just size. Every one of the man¡¯s attacks now packed a lot more punch. Even when they hit his shield, Tristan was forced backward. When the flurry came, the first two attacks forced him to brace his shield with his full body weight, the third attack nearly knocked him off his feet, and the fourth attack finished what the third started, nearly wrenching the shield from his grip in the process.


    Tristan tried using his smaller size to outmaneuver the giant. He jumped between his opponent¡¯s trunk-like legs before hacking at the back of his knees. He even made good contact, but his blade was unable to penetrate deeply into the hardened flesh. The monstrous man didn¡¯t seem to feel any pain, and his knees didn¡¯t give out. Instead, he slid his foot backward, catching Tristan with his heel and sending the much smaller smith sprawling across the dirt road.


    Tristan was able once again to raise his shield against two of the vertical slashes that might have cut him in half, but the impact against the shield sent terrible tremors through his arms, inflicting a bit of damage even through the block. To make matters worse, when he tumbled to the ground again, one of the giant¡¯s massive feet landed on top of him in an attempt to grind him into the dirt. It was all Tristan could do to keep from becoming paste, as his health plummeted into critical levels. His vision was suddenly ringed with a red that threatened to suffocate him.


    Summoning all of his strength, Tristan thrust his longsword straight up into the massive boot. The giant recoiled in pain, just enough for Tristan to escape being ground into the dirt. He rolled away as Bertrandt quickly recovered.


    Tristan could see the giant raising his swords again and made up his mind. With another [Combat Switch], the shield and longsword were replaced by his greatsword. He rolled out of the path of the descending blades and watched as they actually buried themselves in the dirt road.


    Tristan could hardly believe the power behind such attacks could come from someone only a few levels above him, with just a single enhancement potion to boost it. That took a little bit of the sting away from his pride, and he resolved to find his own enhancements as soon as he could.


    He knew that the cooldown for the flurry attack was almost up, and that he couldn¡¯t afford to face that attack without his shield. That meant he had to end the fight now, despite being out-leveled, out-statted, and out-experienced.


    But there¡¯s always a way. Just have to be creative. What can I do that this guy won¡¯t expect?


    In the brief moment of calm as the giant exhumed his swords from the ground, Tristan¡¯s eyes fell upon his own sword¡¯s crossguard. He grimaced.


    So be it. No one¡¯s going to expect this.


    For the first time in the fight, Tristan charged straight toward his foe. He began to lift [Hope¡¯s Aspiration] from his side, raising it above his head for one massive downward strike. Even to the untrained masses in the crowd, it was utterly obvious what he was trying to do. There was no question of his intent.


    The giant rounded on him and also saw him coming. A cocky grin dominated Bernhardt¡¯s face as he pushed Rip into a powerful horizontal slice. It was fast and long enough to hit Tristan first.


    ¡°Brightshield!¡±


    The word burst out of Tristan¡¯s mouth with unmistakable power, sending ripples across the ground. He had known he didn¡¯t actually need to say the words, but he wanted to anyways. It just felt right. A flare of white light surrounded Tristan, dimming even the brightness of the midday sun.


    When the giant¡¯s longsword struck the glowing swordsmith¡¯s body, it must have seemed to the rest of the world as though it passed through untouched. Only Tristan knew the truth: that his body would have stood no chance against the empowered blade with as little defense as he was putting up against it. It likely would have cut him in half. It might have even killed him.


    Instead, that deadly force was converted somehow into warmth, and serenity, and love.


    Only by taking the giant¡¯s blow had Tristan gotten close enough to confidently deliver his own strike, aimed at the giant¡¯s other arm. He put everything he had left into that attack, and his sword did not disappoint. Even with the 25% damage reduction from the Embrace¡¯s domain, it still cut straight through the massive biceps like a hot knife through butter.


    The arm landed on the ground not a foot behind where Tristan stopped, dazed, still in critical health but no worse off than he¡¯d been a moment before.


    Suddenly there were cheers and gasps and boos. There were cries to send for help. Tristan took several deep breaths to calm himself from the rush of adrenaline.


    His eyes locked on the huge pool of blood left behind by the disconnected arm.


    And then he heard a very familiar voice rising above the crowd. ¡°That¡¯s enough, Bernhardt.¡±


    Cherry¡¯s voice.


    Tristan blinked, and he recognized that the red-headed young woman, who had probably never seemed smaller in her entire life, was physically holding back Bernhardt, who was back down to half-giant size at last--minus an arm. The murderous look in his eyes was as intense and frightening as anything Tristan had ever seen... aside from the Black Ooze Progenitor.


    Yet Cherry scolded him like a child. ¡°Grab your arm quickly, and go with Amber! We¡¯ve got Cleo set up in a room at Greener Pastures.¡± She actually smacked the half-giant¡¯s blood-spattered face. ¡°¡®Quickly¡¯ means NOW, you idiot! If you want to have that arm reattached, every moment counts!¡±


    That seemed to shake Bernhardt from his rage. He reached down, grabbed his left arm, and clutched it tightly to him as he sprinted behind a young blonde girl.


    The moment Bernhardt left the circle, the fight was fully over. A rush of disbelief, experience, and notifications swept over Tristan. He had won. Despite all the challenges and Bernhardt¡¯s advantages.


    Tristan heard the telltale ding! and was surrounded by the golden glow of a level up. He had reached level 12 at last.


    And that was only the most recent of the notifications that flooded his display. The first had been:


    You have won your duel against: Bernhardt


    Rewards: 50 gold pieces, Bonus EXP


    You have gained the title: {Duelist}.


    Another title he wasn¡¯t sure he wanted to wear. Though at least the other rewards were nice. A small pouch appeared just before him and dropped to the ground with a thud. As he picked it up, its contents clinked in his hand.


    Congratulations! Your Primary Class has reached LEVEL 12!


    You have earned a skill selection.


    Skill Selection:


    You may learn one skill from the options provided. Any skill not selected now will still be available in subsequent level-up skill selections if you so choose.


    Do you wish to proceed now?


    There was another similar notification telling him that his swordsman Secondary Class had also leveled up to 4, but he didn¡¯t get to fully read it (or even see what skill options he had gained) before Cherry was at his side. Her soothing touch was slowly mending some of his wounds, immediately lessening the red border around his vision.


    ¡°Honestly, kid, I wasn¡¯t sure you had it in you,¡± she began, lowering her voice so that only Tristan could hear her. ¡°But the Master knew better, just like always. He said he knew exactly how much you could handle.¡± She paused briefly to check him over, looking at his eyes, lifting his arms, and quickly turning him about. ¡°You look surprisingly OK. How do you feel?¡±


    Tristan thought he might be, but what he said was, ¡°I¡¯m not really sure.¡±


    ¡°First fights can have that effect.¡±


    ¡°That wasn¡¯t my first fight,¡± Tristan replied with a shiver.


    Cherry positioned herself directly before him and pulled his gaze up to her. ¡°You¡¯ve fought against another person before? Alone?¡±


    Tristan looked at the bloody pool, and the trail that led past the dispersing ring of people. ¡°Not alone,¡± he admitted. ¡°That was... scary. But also thrilling. And kind of insane, honestly. I cut off that guy¡¯s arm!¡±


    ¡°And Cleo will mend it for him, assuming he followed Amber at a reasonably brisk pace. No permanent harm done.¡±


    Tristan let that sink in, and it sort of helped. It wasn¡¯t like he had picked the fight, and he¡¯d done what he had to do, using the boon from his sword. At least he hadn¡¯t ended someone¡¯s Path.


    His brain began unraveling something else Cherry had told him, and he felt a surge of anger. ¡°You said Jamal knew how much I could handle. Did he set this whole fight up?¡±


    ¡°Quietly!¡± Cherry scolded as she looked around, perhaps checking if anyone else had heard. Her next words were faint whispers again. ¡°And of course he did. Although, if we¡¯re being technical, I actually arranged the finer details--on his orders, of course. He picked the opponent and the time. You picked the venue, unwittingly or not. I¡¯m so glad you moved outside, though. No real harm done to any of the shops, other than maybe drawing some attention away and blocking off the street.¡± She beamed. ¡°And, no bystanders were injured either! All in all, I¡¯d say today¡¯s lesson was a huge success. He¡¯ll surely be pleased.¡±


    Tristan stared at the massive sword he was still holding. He was afraid to set it down, because he knew that without it his hand would be quaking right now.


    ¡°Today¡¯s lesson,¡± Tristan repeated angrily.


    Cherry patted him on the shoulder. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, you handled yourself really well.¡±


    ¡°It was worth about 50 gold...¡± Tristan muttered, as he remembered there was one more notification he still hadn¡¯t read yet.


    You have earned a strike from the Steelblood Guild.


    Great, he thought, just one more blessed thing I didn¡¯t ask for.

 Chapter 32: The Deepstone Mines

    Chapter 32: The Deepstone Mines


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Sophie</h2>


    In retrospect it had been a rather productive week for Sophie. After the less than stellar month trying to find a party, she¡¯d actually been able to help someone with a messenger quest of all things. Sophie had spotted the poor girl just outside The Agora, and helped her upon seeing that she was very clearly lost.


    Nell had also been level 3, but she was brand new to Rockmoor and thus had been struggling to find any of the people she needed to deliver messages to. Sophie had been all too happy to step in and serve as a guide. Rokmoor still didn¡¯t feel like home, but she''d already taken the time to learn every street and store with The Agora still being her favorite place, even when she wasn''t hunting prospects.


    Guiding Nell had even given her opportunities to use Sneakers to fly overhead and be her ¡°eyes in the sky,¡± gaining her additional experience for using her astral on top of what merely completing the quest would have. When Nell¡¯s final message had been delivered, both she and Sophie had gotten a level up.


    Sophie had struggled to keep her enthusiasm at a normal level for someone only reaching level 4. It had just taken her so long. She¡¯d nearly forgotten just how bright the glorious golden light that encompassed her grew to be. She¡¯d even found that she didn¡¯t hate the accompanying Ding! so much this time.


    Congratulations! You have reached LEVEL 4!


    Skill Earned:


    [Cure Astral] An active ability allowing a user to remove all debuffs from an astral. Also restores health for each debuff removed. Healing scales with Will.


    Sophie had researched summoning classes enough to know it was coming, but she was still overjoyed to gain another skill that would help her support her astrals and better keep them safe. While it was true they hadn¡¯t fought anything that used debuffs yet, she knew for a fact that such skills were much more common on mid-tier monsters and above. Now she would be that much better prepared to handle them. It was another step closer to being able to finally level at a decent pace without outside help.


    For the first time in gods-only-knew how long, Sophie walked into The Agora with a smile on her face. After checking who was working that afternoon, she sat herself in Daphne¡¯s section. Daphne had been the most understanding and nicest to her by far. Usually that amounted to leaving her mostly alone instead of pestering her, which she actually appreciated a lot. It was also obviously helpful that she also pointed out any potential new opportunities that Sophie might not have seen yet.


    On this particular day, Daphne actually congratulated Sophie on her recent level-up and even covered her first drink. To anyone else it might have seemed like such a small and seemingly insignificant gesture, but to Sophie it was the sort of rare kindness that she¡¯d been so hungry for and wouldn¡¯t soon forget.


    Sophie had barely finished that drink when the last person she¡¯d expected to see walked through the doors of The Agora again: Tristan, the swordsmith.


    Sophie could tell from the very first glance that the boy had been through something that was still bothering him. His previous openness and optimism had been replaced with a nearly haunted look. She recognized that he had gained a level as well, though it seemed that he was much less happy about it than she was.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at him,¡± she whispered to Poof, who was sitting on her lap as usual. She was surprised the astral had not yet managed to remove the lilac bow. For once she seemed to actually follow Sophie¡¯s directions to the letter, not that it mattered. Within moments, Sophie heard the distinctive sound of heavy boots thudding toward her. The chair across from her was pulled roughly out before Tristan collapsed with a loud and relieved sigh into it.


    ¡°Meep?¡± Poof asked politely, looking up at Sophie with her giant eyes going extra wide in the hope that she could look at him now.


    ¡°Yes, I suppose we can talk to him now,¡± she conceded, allowing herself to finally face the tall blonde boy. Now that she could fully focus on him, she almost wished she hadn¡¯t. Somehow the boy had managed to get into even better shape over the course of the last month. Some of his bulk had been trimmed away into leaner muscle that no doubt helped with the giant sword he had previously worn on his back. He had also clearly learned enough in that regard to not strap it to his back in the first place. It was currently sheathed and resting on the floor with the crossguard sitting on his shoulder.


    It seemed like one whole side of him had been recently splattered with blood and then hastily wiped clean. It didn¡¯t look to be his own blood though, so that was good. He was staring in her direction but not in a way that felt like he was even seeing her. He was almost staring through her. The sunken look in his eyes spoke volumes.


    Sophie decided that she might as well be the one to begin the conversation properly. ¡°Are you okay, Tristan?¡±


    ¡°I need to clear my head. Do you still want help leveling?¡±


    Sophie could hardly believe her ears. She tried to temper her outward excitement by slowly lifting the last of her drink to her lips. ¡°I¡¯m definitely interested,¡± she eventually replied. ¡°What sort of help are you talking about? It looks like you¡¯ve been busy.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it right now," he began before sighing. ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s just been a shitty day.¡±


    Sophie leaned back in her chair and nodded. Poof somehow used that tiny opening to squirm out of Sophie¡¯s grasp and bounce her way across the floor to where the massive greatsword met the swordsmith¡¯s leg. She began to nuzzle against it.


    For only a moment Tristan looked down in obvious surprise. He gave Poof a tiny head pat before carefully lifting Poof with all the care one might give a baby and tried to hand her back.


    ¡°Meeeep,¡± Poof practically cooed in protest, nuzzling against his chest.


    Sophie had to fight through her momentary loss for words. She¡¯d never seen Poof behave like this with anyone else, and she wasn¡¯t sure how to feel about it. ¡°Sorry about Poof,¡± she said, but given that Tristan had already given in and begun petting the fluffy astral in earnest, the apology felt largely unnecessary. ¡°So let¡¯s get back to that offer of help.¡±


    Tristan was actually smiling as he snuggled the fluffiest astral in the world. ¡°I need to go fight monsters. Today. Now. And since our last chat I¡¯ve managed to do a little research. There¡¯s a dungeon just outside Rockmoor that we could handle just the two of us, especially now that you¡¯re level 4.¡± His eyes locked with hers. ¡°If you¡¯re interested, that is. I¡¯ve checked all the known variants, and while last time Dungeon Delver Dave was off by a lot, he says none of them have oozes.¡±


    Sophie didn¡¯t understand what he meant with the last part, but the offer was certainly enticing. ¡°I¡¯m very interested."


    ¡°Great. I can switch between taking or dealing damage in an instant now, though I don¡¯t have a taunt. So probably best to let me get the enemies¡¯ attention before you do anything too wild if you want me to tank.¡±


    He slid his chair out from the table and took his greatsword in his left hand while his right still held Poof, the little traitor. ¡°Alright, let''s do this.¡±


    You have been invited to a temporary party by Tristan Hammerson. Accept?


    Sophie also stood up, accepting the invitation. ¡°Which dungeon are you talking about, by the way?¡±


    Sophie tried to ignore that Poof had nestled into the crook of Tristan¡¯s arm and was purring as loudly as could be.


    ¡°The Deepstone Mines,¡± the dark-haired swordsmith replied calmly, and it took all of Sophie¡¯s effort not to jump with joy because of all the dungeons in the region, the Deepstone Mines had by far the best possible known drop for an astralist.


    - - - - -


    It took them just over an hour to reach the dungeon¡¯s entrance due to the fact that it was located in a former mine shaft under a mountain outside of Rockmoor. The portal was housed by the standard, massive black arch. To a casual glance it might have felt like it had been carved out of the mountain, but the stone managed to look foreign among its dull gray surroundings.


    To his credit, Tristan at least stopped to check that she was ready once more before just striding right into what was easily one of the more challenging tier 1 dungeons in the area. That it was so challenging was also why it had such good rewards.


    Tristan had eventually handed a very reluctant Poof back to Sophie. The hairy little fluffball¡¯s mood shifted quickly though, and she gave the most excited ¡°Meep meep meep!¡± of joy when she saw the swirling magical portal only a handful of steps away.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been ready for this for months,¡± Sophie said with a grin she no longer bothered to restrain. ¡°How do you want to do this? Would you rather tank or deal damage first?¡±


    Tristan rolled his shoulders as he drew his greatsword. ¡°I¡¯m going to smash a few zombies before we do anything. After that, I¡¯m good with whatever. That cool?¡±


    Sophie nodded. ¡°That works for me. Get that out of your system first.¡± Then she gave the clearly-disappointed Poof a squish before whispering, ¡°Don¡¯t worry, you¡¯ll get to blow bad things up soon enough.¡±


    Poof was dismissed with a darkening spiral that somehow sucked in multi-colored smoke that hadn¡¯t been there before. As soon as the astral was completely obscured by the smoke, it disappeared, and the next part began.


    Summoning Mister Biggs started with a denser smoke that coalesced into some sort of spiraled cocoon. A rainbow explosion of astral rays that seemed like light though they brightened nothing burst from it, revealing the familiar form of a large bear adorned with a mane. She immediately gave the big furry tank a hug.


    All Sophie could think about was that it was finally happening. After months of scrambling, she was finally going into a dungeon! She held her head high and walked determinedly through the first of what she hoped would be many portals.


    The other side greeted her with the rancid smell of what she could only assume was undeath... and a much more welcome notification to help alleviate it.


    [Quest available: Baby¡¯s First Dungeon]


    Complete the dungeon in one attempt, without anyone leaving and returning.


    Rewards: Achievement, Smart Loot


    Mister Biggs lowered his soft furry cheek to hers and smiled before standing as tall as Sophie had ever seen. He looked toward where the narrow mineshaft widened.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    As she followed his gaze, she could see that Tristan had been busy. His greatsword was already coated in dark blood. Several groups of unmoving undead bodies were scattered around the entrance. He was clenching his hand around the greatsword almost as tightly as his jaw. ¡°So it looks like because this dungeon is under my tier I won¡¯t get any EXP.¡±


    Sophie didn¡¯t let herself look away though she definitely felt a bit guilty. She had already known that would be the case and assumed he had as well. ¡°Well, if it¡¯s any consolation, you can have all the gold that drops in here.¡±


    Sophie noticed that instead of responding out loud, Tristan changed the loot rules in the party interface.


    All loot privileges have been granted to you.


    She was surprised at the sweet gesture but wasn¡¯t going to argue. She turned and patted her tank¡¯s furry flank. ¡°Ready Mister Biggs? I know you¡¯ve got all that thick armor, but try not to let them bite you.¡± She glanced at Tristan for a moment before quickly adding, ¡°And keep as much attention off Tristan as you can, OK?¡±


    Mister Biggs responded with a deep rumbling purr that bordered on a growl. His smile broadened enough to show the pointed teeth along his lower jaw.


    ¡°Good hunting,¡± she said as Mister Biggs charged toward the first group of zombies, with Tristan chasing after the moment the bear had aggro.


    She thought it was a little funny how Tristan still didn¡¯t seem to grasp the term and kept calling it ¡°attention.¡± She shook her head at needing to teach a tier 2 the basic terms of dungeon grouping.


    - - - - -


    They¡¯d only gotten a few rooms into the dungeon when they found their first set of traps. It was a series of pressure plates that blended well into the floor and triggered localized cave-ins. Tristan had warned her about the possibility of their presence in the opening halls, but she hadn¡¯t believed that they could be so well hidden. Not until she overlooked one and the side tunnel they were about to explore collapsed. It was all the more frustrating because Mister Biggs had been really excited about pulling the pack of zombies on the other side of the entrance. They were much more bone than skin, and that either angered or appealed to the massive tank. She wasn¡¯t sure which. She took consolation in the fact that their slightly longer route ended up providing a couple iron deposits for Tristan to mine and a small chest that held a decent set of cloth gloves that would provide her some bonus armor, which was rare for cloth gear.


    She still made sure that neither she nor Mister Biggs ever stepped on another pressure plate without running it by Tristan first, and only once she¡¯d convinced him that the collapses might be useful to take out enemies if they could be controlled. Tristan had thought the idea of needing that kind of help silly, but Sophie had argued that running a dungeon properly was important, especially since at higher levels the dungeons were built to require those sorts of built-in mechanics. She insisted they at least consider how best to use all those sorts of tricks while they didn¡¯t need the advantage.


    While Tristan hadn¡¯t taken much convincing, he didn¡¯t look particularly excited either. He¡¯d finally gained some enthusiasm when they neared the halfway mini-boss. Apparently the guidebook he¡¯d read had promised a towering, multi-limbed, patchwork abomination with meat cleavers the size of battleaxes.


    Even though Tristan had already proven to be far stronger than everything else in the dungeon, Sophie still had a slight knot in her stomach when it came to the bosses. He might be high enough level not to be hurt by practically anything in this place, but she and her astrals were definitely not. Her anxieties only worsened when they rounded the corner into the ¡°mad scientist¡¯s lab¡± and she got her first look at the mini-boss (and tried not to think too hard about why there was such a room in a mine network in the first place).


    Luckily Tristan had stayed by her side, and perhaps he was more intuitive than she¡¯d given him credit for. ¡°Want me to take the lead and tank this one?¡±


    Sophie tried not to seem too eager, or to let her nervousness infiltrate her voice. ¡°Only if you want. Poof will be happy to do some damage to a mini-boss.¡±


    Tristan only smiled as he waited patiently for her to switch her astrals. Then he drew his greatsword and charged. He didn¡¯t even bother to switch to his shield set.


    Showoff, Sophie refrained from saying. She couldn¡¯t wait for the day when she would be able to charge recklessly into battle with her astrals and mow down any threat, including bosses, that stood in their way. It might be several tiers away, but with every passing moment that distant dream felt a little bit closer.


    - - - - -


    Sophie had sent Sneakers, the emerald and gold parrot that served as her scout, out into a split in the tunnels while she and Tristan sat around their makeshift camp and ate some of the meal they¡¯d brought with them. She had to admit that so far the dungeon had been going flawlessly, minus the pressure plate incident. All of her astrals had gotten a chance to shine in the dungeon with their dedicated roles, earning Sophie a wealth of experience.


    She wasn¡¯t surprised when she quickly hit level 5 and was already well on her way to 6. She¡¯d gained the [Astrals: Main Stats Up] passive that gave a straight 10% boost to each of her astrals¡¯ two most important stats. It was crazy to see just how much more damage Poof¡¯s [Mana Bolt] did when it exploded. It was now capable of one-shotting entire packs of level 2 zombies. Sophie felt more than ever like she was holding and aiming a literal cannon, as every pack she pointed Poof at was basically vaporized before her.


    She eventually resummoned Mister Biggs whose health had ballooned from the new passive, allowing him to rush claws-first into packs of zombies a full level above him and simply soak the damage. She had enjoyed watching her tank finally get to have some fun. And finally she had resummoned Sneakers again to give him additional chances to scout and stretch his wings. She briefly considered letting him do some fighting too, but his only real combat skill was his [Napnap Gas], and that wouldn¡¯t help a lot unless he was trying to escape. It felt needlessly risky.


    Tristan had gradually opened up to her over the course of those first hours. He wasn¡¯t quite like the simple chests they found throughout the dungeon, because those just popped right open with hardly any effort. It seemed Tristan was more reserved until he¡¯d worked through some of his anger. The chests also only contained minor consumables and a few coins, while Tristan was full of interesting stories. Apparently he¡¯d been in a duel that his master had orchestrated but not warned him about. When he told her about how he¡¯d survived being ambushed by a combat Class with a four level advantage, Sophie was genuinely impressed. It was no wonder the duel had earned him a level in both of his Classes. But apparently he was still struggling with his resulting skill selection.


    ¡°It¡¯s got to be either [Faster Craft] or [Reinforce Craft],¡± he was telling her. He¡¯d been back and forth on the choice for the last three tunnels.


    ¡°Why did you rule out [Swordcraft Efficiency] again?¡± Sophie asked in an attempt to at least get him unstuck from the loop he¡¯d been caught in. ¡°Reducing the material cost of all the swords you craft by twenty percent? That¡¯s huge for a low-tier crafter, especially one without a wealthy backer.¡±


    Tristan nodded noncommittally. ¡°My Core already does something like that,¡± he admitted, ¡°among other things.¡±


    He didn¡¯t elaborate further, so Sophie asked something else. ¡°Have you considered that [Faster Craft] could also mean more EXP in the long run, since you could earn it more quickly?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡± He looked down at the greatsword resting by his side. ¡°I¡¯m not really interested in making things faster though. The process is too important to rush, and I enjoy it.¡±


    Sophie led him a little further. ¡°What about the fact that [Reinforce Craft] offers a bonus to whatever your specialization is? Isn¡¯t that mostly what you want to craft?¡±


    ¡°The bonus only ends up being an extra 5% durability though. Yeah, it would be to bladed weapons, but I wasn¡¯t sure if that was enough of a reason. It all adds up though, I suppose.¡±


    A few seconds later, his eyes glazed over with the clear surge of information that came from a new skill. Apparently he¡¯d made up his mind.


    Sophie smiled at the recent memory of how good that rush had felt for her. ¡°I¡¯ve always found it quite useful to have a sounding board when faced with tough decisions,¡± she said. She had been careful not to overstep or outright sway his decision-making process, even if she had come to the same conclusion he had much more quickly. She was just glad that he¡¯d come to a similar conclusion on his own.


    ¡°You¡¯re good at all the studying and Class-theory stuff aren¡¯t you?¡± he asked in between bites of bread. ¡°Have you already plotted your whole Path?¡±


    She could tell he was teasing a little, so she fired back a playful, ¡°No!¡± with a smile, before continuing on a moment later: ¡°but only because I am trying to get something no one has gotten before. I have the choices all plotted out if I get the normal class choices though.¡±


    Tristan laughed. "I just can''t bring myself to look that far ahead, I guess. I like focusing on the things in front of me. Forging metals, working with my hands, making something out of practically nothing."


    "Isn''t that what leveling is though?" Sophie countered. "Look how much you''ve grown from level 1. You''re making something of yourself. And you can''t tell me you don''t plan ahead, or you wouldn¡¯t have come to Rockmoor in the first place.¡± She tilted her head until Tristan nodded in acquiescence. ¡°By planning out my own Path, I make sure that I make the greatest ¡®something¡¯ possible from my previously ''practically nothing'' self."


    Trisan seemed to mull that over a while. ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought of it that way before,¡± he admitted. ¡°Probably because I don¡¯t enjoy the thinking nearly as much as the doing.¡±


    ¡°And swinging a weapon,¡± Sophie noted with a chuckle. ¡°It¡¯s pretty clear that you already handle your swords well despite Swordsman being a relatively new secondary. Did you have any training before you came to Rockmoor?¡±


    ¡°Only practical stuff,¡± Tristan muttered.


    Sophie could see his jaw clench a little again, so she wouldn¡¯t push him too far. ¡°In dungeons?¡±


    ¡°Among other things.¡±


    Sophie pursed her lips. ¡°You¡¯ve gotten really good in quite a short time then.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, Jamal is supposed to be ¡®the best.¡¯¡±


    Sophie sat back as both her hands fell to her knees. ¡°You¡¯re training with Jamal?¡± When Tristan didn¡¯t say anything, Sophie prodded again. ¡°The same Jamal that was the only student of Olson, who was himself a member of the party with Celeste and the Brightshield?!¡± She hadn¡¯t realized her tone had grown so high until Tristan stared at her with a face as unreadable as stone.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± was all he said.


    ¡°Gods among us, Tristan! I didn¡¯t realize that man even took students! Do you realize how big an honor--?¡±


    She stopped herself when she saw his expression tighten again. Instead she asked, ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    He took another bite of his bread. ¡°I cut off a man¡¯s freaking arm today. I¡¯d rather not talk about it.¡±


    When it became clear he wasn¡¯t going to take the conversation in any other direction either, Sophie redirected things herself. ¡°Well, we¡¯ve been making pretty short work of this place. I expect we¡¯ll be finished well before dinner.¡±


    Tristan chuckled. ¡°I¡¯d be careful saying stuff like that. Trust me, karma has a funny sense of humor. Though I guess I do over-level this dungeon pretty severely.¡±


    ¡°All the more reason why I appreciate your willingness to take the time to help me through it.¡±


    He nodded and seemed about to respond quickly before taking a few extra moments to consider something. ¡°It¡¯s uncommon for an astralist to have multiple astrals at your level, right?¡±


    ¡°It is,¡± Sophie confirmed in as blank a voice as she could manage. He deserved at least that much patience.


    He¡¯s here helping me after all. He won¡¯t be like the rest... Will he?


    ¡°You¡¯re really good with them. You switch them so fluidly, and it¡¯s clear you know when to use one over another. I mean, Mister Biggs was even able to pull monsters off me a couple times when I got... a bit too excited.¡±


    Sophie sighed in relief as she tried not to take his compliments too much to heart. ¡°Thanks,¡± she managed. ¡°Yeah, Mister Biggs is an awesome tank when there¡¯s a damage dealer around to support him.¡±


    ¡°So how come you have to keep directing them out loud? Admittedly I don¡¯t know all that much about astrals, so I hope it¡¯s not rude to ask, but the one that pulled my carriage never needed commands like that. And obviously neither does Sneakers.¡±


    Sophie sighed. ¡°It¡¯s something astralists usually don¡¯t get until Tier 2. Sneakers is a scout-type astral and has a simpler version of the ability, but it¡¯s more limited.¡± She didn¡¯t begin to explain how much she was waiting for the day when she could share such a profound bond with all of her little family. ¡°Besides, it¡¯s not like there¡¯s that much to communicate right now other than attack, defend, or run away.¡±


    It was at that very moment a gust of wind and flapping wings zoomed through the tunnels as a gray streak of feathers sped straight to Sophie¡¯s shoulder.


    Sneakers had returned, and he quickly explained through their psychic bond that his speed was because he had gone a bit farther than Sophie had requested, and perhaps he hadn¡¯t quite gone as unnoticed as usual.


    ¡°How far back are they?¡± Tristan asked while looking at the panicked bird, clearly much more perceptive than she¡¯d given him credit for.


    Sophie listened to Sneakers for a moment before relaying, ¡°It¡¯s not zombies but a... plant of some kind? And it¡¯s apparently way faster than the zombies we¡¯ve been fighting.¡±


    Sneakers cooed in confirmation as it took to the air and began circling Sophie¡¯s head, dipping and diving as he tried to explain the terror that was coming for them.


    ¡°A plant?¡± Tristan asked, immediately taking up his sword. ¡°Did you go all the way to the boss room and pull the freaking Vine Hydra?!¡±


    Almost on cue, Sophie could hear the sounds of hurried scratching, snapping, and slapping vines all the way down the tunnel Sneakers had just exited.


    ¡°Shit,¡± Tristan groaned.

 Chapter 33: The Full Meep

    Chapter 33: The Full Meep


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Sophie</h2>


    As much as Sophie wanted to berate her enthusiastic little scout, the undeniable sounds of the boss monster rushing ever nearer took precedence. We will definitely discuss this later, she promised the astral through their bond before immediately beginning the process of exchanging Sneakers for Mister Biggs. She figured they would need the tank more since she had seen Tristan draw his greatsword.


    She dismissed Sneakers into the typical spiral of astral smoke, and a few moments later the massive lion-maned tank appeared in an explosion of astral rays. He somehow looked even more majestic than usual as he flexed his iron-furred chest and took in his surroundings.


    ¡°Incoming boss,¡± Sophie explained quickly. ¡°Prepare to taunt and then try to keep aggro off of Tristan.¡±


    But the swordsman spoke up immediately. ¡°No, we need Poof for more damage. The faster we trim these vines the better. Even if two will grow back, the boss overall has a limited pool of health. Sneakers dragging the boss all the way back here will have made it a lot stronger, sure, but it can''t gain any additional health.¡±


    ¡°Why would it be so much stronger?¡± Sophie asked, starting to worry about his seriousness.


    ¡°Because it most likely absorbed every blessed zombie on its way here. Get ready to fight!¡±


    Given that Tristan had done all the prep work for this dungeon, Sophie trusted that he knew what he was talking about. It¡¯s just a level 5 dungeon¡¯s boss though. How bad could it possibly be?


    Then she saw it.


    Dozens of thorn-covered vines that were as thick as her legs whipped toward them, splashing what could only be blood all over them and the tunnel wall. It was no wonder Sneakers had fled at full speed. She also knew that it was long past too late to wish he hadn¡¯t scouted so far ahead.


    But how did he get caught in the first place?


    The vines all seemed to be working together as they pulled a mass of green-and-brown foliage behind it. In the wild it might have been mistaken as merely dense or tangled shrubberies. When surrounded by these stone tunnels so narrow its massive body scraped the walls, however, it simply didn''t belong. It seemed to know this itself, as the remaining vines pulled down whole sections of the tunnels in its wake.


    That didn''t deter Tristan in the least from running in to meet it.


    Sophie on the other hand had to push through her shock to get moving again. She didn''t have time to gawk, but something was bothering her all the same. She could see dust beginning to fall from some of the supports around the tunnel. She looked from one pillar to the next in an attempt at analyzing how much damage had already been done and what would happen if they didn''t stop the Hydra soon. She found that Tristan was unfortunately correct: they needed to end this boss as quickly as possible.


    Sophie hurried through the dismissal and summoning of her astrals until Poof finally appeared in front of her. She wrapped the fuzzy mage in a warm hug in spite of the pressing threat and quickly explained to her, ¡°Dungeon boss with lots of vines! Blow it all up as fast as possible. The full meep!¡±


    Poof¡¯s grin was as wide and toothy as Sophie had ever seen. ¡°Meep meep meep!¡± the furry astral promised. A [Mana Bolt] flew out of her and toward the nearest vines a heartbeat later.


    Sophie took several steps back and began turning to always keep Poof pointed at the biggest cluster of vines that she could see. It was just part of their routine that Sophie acted as the squishy astral¡¯s legs when positioning and maneuverability were important. She knew that their arrangement couldn¡¯t last forever, but for now every little bit helped. If a swordsman got to hold their swords, then astralists should get to hold their astrals! In this case, it was what enabled Poof to chain-cast [Mana Bolt], pausing only to explode the projectiles that flew near enough vines to make the AOE damage outshine the single-target bolts.


    Just as Tristan had warned, each time a vine was cut off or exploded, two thinner vines grew from the stem or stalk that remained.


    ¡°Try to keep it in the tunnel!¡± Tristan was shouting. ¡°We can¡¯t let the vines into the bigger room.¡±


    Sophie adjusted her targeting priority to now point Poof at the nearest vines instead of the most bunched. He¡¯s right. It won¡¯t be nearly as threatening if we can keep it in the tight hallway. But she did worry if the ever-expanding size would end up pushing the tunnel wide enough to collapse it.


    Plant parts were exploding into green goo all around them as it seemed Tristan was truly using all his strength for the first time. His blade was constantly spinning around him and slicing through countless vines. Despite wielding a huge greatsword nearly as tall as he was, the swordsmith was jumping around faster than Sophie would have guessed was possible.


    Perhaps that was why he avoided every attack while Sophie could not. As an astralist, Sophie wasn¡¯t as nimble as a front-line melee Class would have been. Even though swordsman was only Tristan¡¯s Secondary, he still had several of the skills and abilities that it granted--and all the stat growth from leveling his primary Class to whatever level he was now. All Sophie could do was try to back up and avoid any attack she could see coming for her. Given that each of Poof''s explosions also tended to clutter the air with chunks of stone, dirt, and dust, what Sophie could see didn¡¯t amount to much.


    That was how she missed the vines that had managed to snake their way behind her. Several snaked around her ankle and sent her sprawling to the stone floor.


    Her first concern was still for Poof, who skidded out of her arms. Luckily the battle mage managed to bounce herself upright almost immediately and had already returned to casting at the vines that had snagged her.


    Sophie pulled herself backward and kicked away dead vines from the wreckage of Poof¡¯s attack as she checked her little astral¡¯s mana pool. As directed, Poof was burning through it at ludicrous speed and only had enough left for a few casts.


    A cute and ferociously yelled ¡°MEEEEEEP!¡± seemed to double as Poof¡¯s war cry and apology for letting the viny boss get too close. The little fluffball then rushed to stand between Sophie and all further threats.


    ¡°Thanks Poof,¡± Sophie said, breathing a bit heavily as she began casting her [Heal Astral] spell. She could see that the poor little astral was bleeding from two separate gashes... and of course had also somehow lost her pink bow.


    Poof fired off a final [Mana Bolt] but didn''t get to explode it before the fight was apparently over. It was jarring in its sudden silence, punctuated only by the flood of notifications and relieved panting as the boss shriveled down like a leaky balloon to barely a third of its prior size.


    She saw Tristan kneeling by the body. ¡°Any loot?¡± she asked.


    He sighed. ¡°Not that I can find. Think it''s because we''re not in the boss room?¡±


    Sophie tapped her chin. ¡°It''s definitely possible.¡° Then she expanded every single notification at once as she became overwhelmed by the  desire to see her entire screen filled with her success.


    You have slain [The Vine Hydra, level 6]


    {{Boss of the Deepstone Mines}}


    [Quest complete: Baby¡¯s First Dungeon]


    You have gained the Fledgling Dungeon Delver Achievement!


    You have gained the title: {Fledgling Dungeon Delver}.


    Next stage of Achievement revealed:


    Novice Dungeon Delver!


    Requirements: Complete three different dungeon Quests.


    Hidden Achievement unlocked:


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.Hardmode Boss Slayer!


    Rewards: When entering a dungeon, you now see the requirements to unlock any hardmode bosses present.


    Congratulations! You have reached LEVEL 6!


    Skills Earned:


    [Swift Summon] A passive skill that grants the user a major decrease (25%) to the cast time of summoning Astrals.


    ¡°I got the notification for completing the quest,¡± Sophie said as she allowed herself to sit down on the floor to read and reread her newest gains. When the squishy astral hopped onto her lap and snuggled into the usual spot between Sophie¡¯s arms, Sophie decided not to berate her for losing her bow for once, even if it had been on purpose.


    Instead she allowed the purring warmth to calm her nerves as she began to really analyze the incredibly useful new passive she''d earned. The wording seemed to make clear that the bonus would apply to all her summon spells and not merely the ones she currently knew, which suggested that some day her little family might grow. A part of her wondered if she would be able to improve upon the bonus somehow with enough experimentation and mastery like some skills could, or if it would only improve through future skill selections.


    She became a bit pensive when she examined the title she¡¯d gotten and only briefly debated whether it was worth equipping.


    {Fledgling Dungeon Delver} Gives +1 to your highest stat


    It wasn¡¯t exactly bad, but it was undoubtedly common. After a little bit of experimenting proved that the stat boost would always apply to whichever stat was her highest even if she didn''t wear the title, her decision was sealed. The title just felt too basic to her and was barely a step above {Awakened}. She had never seen anyone wearing that.


    Tristan walked toward her absolutely covered in green slime. ¡°Congratulations are in order,¡± he said with what appeared to be a genuine smile. ¡°You¡¯ve now completed a dungeon and gotten to level 6. Pretty good for a single day¡¯s work, I¡¯d say. Do you know how far Sneakers pulled the boss? How long of a walk do we have before you get your boss loot?¡±


    Sophie cast [Heal Astral] one more time even if the display showed Poof¡¯s health at full. The poor thing had gotten hurt and deserved to feel good after all her hard work. It was only then that she turned to Tristan and answered him. ¡°I honestly lost track of him a bit there before he accidently pulled the boss, so it could be a ways off. At least the Vine Hydra saved us from having to clear the remaining rooms.¡±


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s true,¡± Tristan admitted with a lopsided grin. ¡°We did practically speed-run this place.¡± Then he frowned. ¡°I wonder if the dungeon will take away some of your smart loot for having a party member that was so over-leveled.¡±


    Sophie knew a lot about how smart loot was supposed to work, but she couldn¡¯t remember any of the stories being about people who were carried like she had been. If it happened then she would still be totally fine with it, as she had gotten the levels she¡¯d come for anyways. That didn¡¯t stop her from hoping that she would still get the astralist loot the place was so well known for.


    After a long and leisurely walk through the empty remains of the dungeon, she was delighted to see a big golden chest in the middle of what would have been the boss''s chamber. The room looked to be modeled off of a mining camp¡¯s central hub, with boardwalks and stairways leading to tons of smaller tunnels across multiple levels. It was clear the viny beast had ended any actual mining operations long ago. Everything was completely overgrown, and now that the boss was dead the greenish-gray slime that remained seemed to be decomposing at an alarming rate and leaving a rancid smell in the air.


    ¡°Still better than oozes,¡± she heard Tristan mutter.


    ¡°Did you know what we did was officially a hardmode?¡±


    Tristan blinked at her. ¡°Is that a good thing? It doesn¡¯t sound like it.¡±


    ¡°It usually gives better loot,¡± Sophie said. And she hesitated a moment, debating with herself about whether to share her newest ability with him before finally deciding to just go ahead with it. ¡°I got an achievement that will allow me to see how to unlock them in the future.¡±


    ¡°Wow, that sounds awesome. I guess I¡¯m glad one of us has it if we¡¯re going to party together again.¡±


    Sophie was glad he¡¯d said it, as she was kind of worried he might hold it against her or something. His attention seemed to be drifting though. He wasn¡¯t even looking at the chest any more, but instead at the tunnels leading out of the boss¡¯s chamber, Sophie asked, ¡°Do you think the dungeon populated those tunnels with any ore deposits? Would it be worth checking?¡±


    His response was hesitant. ¡°There might be some, but I don''t really want to spend the time digging it up right now. Besides, you have this awesome gold chest to open before we get to anything else.¡±


    Sophie smiled as she walked the remaining steps to the golden chest. She took a moment to fully appreciate its glistening splendor since she knew these chests were relatively rare as far as rewards came.


    The moment she placed her hand on the gold chest, the lid lifted to some invisible symphony playing a heroic celebration. Sophie couldn¡¯t help but smile as the music filled and lifted her spirit.


    ¡°I love that music,¡± Tristan whispered.


    What she found inside was a beautiful, rainbow-colored ring of some sort. Luckily Tristan didn¡¯t even hesitate to help when she asked him to [Identify] it. Though he did gasp at first.


    ¡°It¡¯s unique! And it has your name on it!¡±


    She made him read the full description twice just to make sure she heard him correctly.


    [Sophie¡¯s Ring of Exchange (Unique)]


    A ring made of coalesced essence from the Astral Sea.


    Once per combat, you may instantly change astrals.


    Sophie lost herself in the bliss of what she knew was an insanely impressive reward. It was far better than the one she¡¯d heard about and hoped would drop! More than just its power level, the item¡¯s ability felt like recognition in a way that proved the unique choices for her Path were valid. This was the kind of effect that usually only appeared in tier 2 and above, because that was when other astralists got more than one astral.


    Finally something to show for all my hard work, she thought with pride.


    Then she heard Tristan mutter something barely over a whisper that sounded like, ¡°Huh, my ability recharged.¡±


    ¡°What was that?¡± she asked, hoping to have heard him correctly since that would mean that all the time spent in the dungeon with her wouldn¡¯t have been wholly fruitless for him.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s just that the unique ability of my sword recharged, and I¡¯m not entirely sure why...¡±


    Sophie wasn¡¯t exactly sure where to begin questioning that statement, since it seemed to be unusual in several ways. ¡°You made that sword though, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    Tristan nodded. ¡°But I incorporated some magic that was kind of above my ability at the time, and it went way better than I could have expected. I¡¯m still learning the finer points of it though.¡±


    Sophie just nodded along with his non-explanation. ¡°But it¡¯s a good thing that it recharged, right?¡±


    ¡°Definitely,¡± Tristan replied without a moment¡¯s hesitation. ¡°It¡¯s a really powerful ability. It probably saved my life the last time I used it.¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯m glad that you got something for coming out here and helping me after all.¡±


    Tristan shrugged. ¡°I appreciate that. Obviously I would have helped you even if I hadn¡¯t gotten anything from it.¡± His voice quieted as he added, ¡°Maybe that¡¯s actually what did it.¡±


    ¡°Well if you ever want to help me again, I can think of a handful of other dungeons I¡¯d love to run," Sophie half-joked.


    Tristan laughed. ¡°I¡¯m sure you would. I don¡¯t know, maybe in a week or two, once I get a bit more training, we can do something like this again.¡±


    ¡°After more training with Jamal of all people,¡± Sophie added deadpan. ¡°I still can¡¯t believe you¡¯re that lucky.¡± It still blew her mind that this silly swordsmith had somehow managed to secure the best mortal swordsman in the realm as his teacher.


    Tristan waved her off as he looked toward the exit portal that had appeared on the far side of the boss¡¯s chamber. ¡°Yeah, speaking of, I probably should be heading back about now. I kind of blew off Cherry without telling her where I was going.¡± He sighed in a way that didn¡¯t tell Sophie which piece of that statement was bothering him more.


    ¡°Afraid she won¡¯t approve of your decisions?¡±


    ¡°Something like that. She seems to like keeping me on schedule.¡± Luckily Tristan didn¡¯t dwell on it and instead asked, ¡°So are you ready to head back to The Agora now, or what?¡±


    Sophie raised an eyebrow and practically had to hold Poof down, since the little fluffball was clearly delighted at the idea of spending more time with the boy. That wouldn¡¯t do. She didn¡¯t want Poof to get too attached to someone who was going to be gone so often. ¡°Weren¡¯t you just saying you needed to head back to Jamal? That¡¯s not even remotely the same direction as Rockmoor.¡±


    Tristan shrugged. ¡°Thought I¡¯d offer to walk with you. It¡¯s the better part of an hour...¡±


    ¡°Tristan, I¡¯m an astralist with three very capable astrals. We can take care of ourselves.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know. You more than proved that today.¡± He glanced at the exit again. ¡°But alright. I¡¯ll see you in a week or two then?¡±


    Sophie decided to remain sitting on the floor in a deliberate attempt to show that she had no intention of moving until after he was gone. She didn¡¯t want to become too reliant on him and was serious in her desire to prove that she could take care of herself.


    Still, she responded genuinely with the gratitude that had been building for hours. ¡°Of course! This was really fun and I look forward to doing it again.¡± It had been one of those rare days where she could be totally honest about herself and her Path and not be judged for it. It didn¡¯t hurt that she¡¯d also made a lot of progress. She was hoping that it would be enough that they could actually be self-sufficient now.


    ¡°It was,¡± Tristan agreed, adopting a lopsided grin once again as he began walking backward toward the exit while facing her. ¡°And you know, I haven¡¯t thought about how I disarmed that giant in hours! I guess it¡¯s true that there¡¯s nothing quite like a dungeon run with friends to take your mind off your troubles.¡±


    As Sophie watched the tall swordsmith go, she felt an unexpected happiness bubbling up in her. And maybe a bit of regret about not walking back with him. He called us his friends. Perhaps more alarming was that she¡¯d already felt the same way about him. She trusted him now.


    It had been a long, long time since Sophie had felt that way about anyone that wasn¡¯t an astral.

 Chapter 34: The Ride Back

    Chapter 34: The Ride Back


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    There was a moment when Tristan emerged from the dungeon portal where he wasn¡¯t sure which way to go. He¡¯d told Sophie he was going to head back to Jamal¡¯s, and he would, but he never really told her how he¡¯d get there.


    Billy the driver had said he¡¯d stay parked outside Garrow¡¯s until he was needed--at least until midnight. Tristan shouldn¡¯t need half that long, since it was maybe an hour¡¯s walk back to Rockmoor.


    Tristan checked back over his shoulder, just to be sure that Sophie hadn¡¯t emerged from the portal yet. He wasn¡¯t surprised that she hadn¡¯t. He worried that he might have come off a little strong at the end of their conversation. He had seen her wall go up so quickly and was worried he¡¯d offended her. But she had seemed eager to do more dungeon runs together, so maybe it wasn¡¯t as bad as he thought.


    Either way, the message had been clear: she appreciated his help, but she wasn¡¯t going to rely on it.


    Honestly, Tristan respected that.


    Besides, he had a nagging desire to head back to Garrow¡¯s. He wanted to know if they¡¯d experienced any blowback from his duel earlier, among other things. After spending so much time helping someone else, Tristan kind of hoped he could get a bit himself. And another look at the master smith¡¯s arms wouldn¡¯t hurt either, he admitted with a smile.


    I just need to spend some time at an anvil to work out some ideas, he told himself. It wasn¡¯t his fault that Garrow¡¯s was the only unaffiliated shop on the entire Row. He was glad for at least one, as he needed somewhere to work! Though now he worried that he might have caused them trouble. The ominous-sounding ¡°strike¡± he¡¯d gotten from the Steelblood Guild weighed heavily on his mind.


    If anything, the strike put him in a bind and was a reason not to go straight back to Rockmoor. No doubt Jamal or Cherry would be able to tell Tristan just what the strike meant for his current situation. And if not, well, then there was bound to be someone else in the manor who could. He hoped.


    He wondered if he could ask Sophie.


    He dismissed the thought quickly. The astralist already had enough on her plate. For starters, she¡¯d gained a lot from their dungeon run: two whole levels and a great item! That was more than she¡¯d earned in the whole month since he¡¯d first met her. And with those gains, he knew, came the need to learn and master new abilities.


    Tristan smiled, glad to have helped her and certain that he would come back to check on her again. He¡¯d meant it when he¡¯d called her his friend.


    It was kind of fun to think about how she was now one of what he considered a very elite group of people: those who had survived a dungeon run with him. First Opie and Chessa, and now Sophie. And also Mister Biggs, Poof, and Sneakers, too, if we¡¯re counting astrals. He considered it only briefly. And why shouldn''t we?


    If there was one thing he¡¯d learned about astrals today, it was that they were each entirely unique. They had their own personalities, wants, and needs. As Sophie had pointed out several times: despite being their summoner, she couldn¡¯t just control them like tools or swords. She had to work alongside them. Astrals were intelligent beings all on their own.


    Poof had even impressed him during that last boss fight. For having such a fluffy little body, she really packed a punch. If she ever learned to move for herself, instead of relying on Sophie, she could really shape up to be a great damage dealer.


    Tristan laughed at himself as he started walking. He¡¯d also grown a lot earlier today, though luckily the heat he¡¯d initially felt for the set-up duel had mostly cooled. It was a little crazy how much had happened in just one day. And there was still even more he wanted to do! The sooner he got back to Smith¡¯s Row, the better. And if he happened to get back in time for a run-in with Temperance, well that would be a happy coincidence.


    A look at the sun sinking in the sky prompted him to pick up his pace. Tristan didn¡¯t plan to run the whole way, but once he got going he saw it as a way to test his improved Endurance. It was now far and away his best stat with a whopping 41. He hadn¡¯t really put it to the test in a while, and he kind of wanted to. Having a stat roughly four times what it had been at Awakening made him wonder just what he was capable of.


    What he found was that, by setting a steady pace just shy of a full sprint, he could run the entire distance back to Rockmoor without ever needing to take a break. He must have covered the entire distance back to the canopied city in half an hour¡¯s time--way better than he¡¯d originally guessed. Better still, when he arrived at the massive gates of Rockmoor, he wasn¡¯t even sweating. That was really good news, because he didn¡¯t want to show up at Garrow¡¯s a gross, dripping mess.


    Of course, as he headed toward Smith¡¯s Row, he started to sweat anyway. He couldn¡¯t tell if it was paranoia or if the people there (both the proprietors and customers) were watching him more closely. The shop-lined street definitely didn¡¯t have the same comfortable feel he¡¯d enjoyed on both of his earlier trips. Despite what the [Welcome Home] aura of the Embrace¡¯s domain said, it didn¡¯t feel welcoming. He decided a brisker walk might be in order.


    As he neared Garrow¡¯s, he could see Billy¡¯s wooden wagon was still parked right outside, though Billy himself was nowhere to be seen. That didn¡¯t bother Tristan too much, since it gave him yet another reason to go inside.


    As soon as Tristan reached the door, it opened and out walked his driver. Billy cleared his throat before whispering just loudly enough for Tristan to hear it, ¡°They¡¯re asking you not to come in for a while.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s stomach knotted and his jaw went slack. Still, he found the courage to ask the question whose answer he feared: ¡°What¡¯s ¡®a while¡¯ exactly?¡± His eyes lingered on the shop¡¯s closed door.


    ¡°She said a week or two, but the old man said at least a month.¡± Billy reached up to put an arm around Tristan¡¯s shoulders and began walking him toward the wagon. ¡°I¡¯d take the old man¡¯s answer, honestly. You¡¯ve earned a strike from the Steelbloods. Better not to call more attention to your friends there.¡±Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Tristan dragged his feet slightly as the half-elf stopped a few steps away. ¡°I don¡¯t even know what that means,¡± he mumbled numbly.


    Billy effortlessly hopped up into the driver¡¯s seat and beckoned Tristan to join him. ¡°I¡¯m not entirely sure myself, since I''ve obviously never earned one and I pray to the gods that I never run afoul of them. But sure, I can tell you what I¡¯ve heard about them... on the ride back to Jamal¡¯s. Assuming that''s where you want to go.¡±


    Sighing, Tristan nodded and pulled himself up into the wagon.


    ¡°Good,¡± the driver said, ¡°then that means I can give you this. She made me promise not to hand it over until you¡¯d seen sense. Said it would help make the ask a little easier.¡± He actually winked at Tristan as said that, which made Tristan feel even worse. The half-elf driver then reached into thin air and produced an old-looking parchment scroll from what Tristan assumed was magical storage. He held it out to Tristan.


    ¡°She said it was a skill scroll, though it¡¯s not like I¡¯ve ever seen one before. [Identify] says it¡¯s for crafters, and not much else. Though it seems like a mighty nice gift for an acquaintance...¡±


    Tristan was too curious about the scroll to engage with the half-elf¡¯s tone. He used [Identify] as he unfurled the parchment. But while Billy had said [Identify] didn''t give much information, to Tristan it was more than enough.


    [Blueprints: Portable Forge]


    Consumable (Requires: Tier 2 crafting Class).


    Teaches the user how to make a portable forge.


    He inhaled sharply. It was immediately clear how this could be really useful for him along his Path. As his eyes took in each letter and glyph of the scroll, his brain went into overdrive with the possibilities. He quickly felt the familiar rush of gaining a new skill, which was confirmed by the corresponding notification and the parchment beneath his fingers beginning to crumble. It began slowly creeping in at the edges and under his fingertips, until the whole thing quickly became a dust too fine for even the wind to blow away.


    Tristan didn¡¯t let that bother him, though. He now had a new goal. Skimming the materials list, he realized he had everything he¡¯d need back at Jamal''s--except perhaps the two uninterrupted hours of crafting time.


    ¡°I hope you got what you wanted from that,¡± Billy said, looking a bit worried by the sudden disappearance of the scroll.


    Tristan smiled back at him. ¡°You were right about it being a nice gift. I¡¯ve got a gold piece for you if you can get me back to Jamal¡¯s in under an hour.¡±


    The challenge had barely left Tristan¡¯s lips before the wagon jerked forward and they were practically flying through the streets of Rockmoor. Tristan was impressed with how easily the man navigated the lanes, avoiding other vehicles and foot traffic alike.


    Then, almost before Tristan realized it, they were through the enormous gates and rolling down a nearly empty road, having left the bustling capital behind.


    Billy the driver had leaned back into a more relaxed seat as soon as they were free of the crowds, so Tristan thought it was as good a time as any to continue their conversation. ¡°So how bad is a strike from the Steelbloods, anyway?¡±


    Not taking his eyes from the road, Billy chuckled. ¡°Yeah, it¡¯s not great, that¡¯s for sure. For starters, I hope you¡¯ve got deep pockets: you¡¯ll find the prices in all Steelblood-allied shops have gone up about 25%.¡± His voice lowered. ¡°I¡¯m sure you noticed how many craftsmen had their seal when you were there before. Well, it¡¯s much the same with regular shops, too, at least in Rockmoor. Even traveling outside the capital, the Steelbloods have spread themselves all over. It¡¯s not just their bragging, either. I¡¯m not sure exactly how far they go, but everywhere I¡¯ve been in the Embrace¡¯s domain, they were there. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if they¡¯ve got a presence in every major city ¡®til the Frontier.¡±


    Tristan groaned, feeling a headache coming on. Higher prices on materials could end up being a serious problem. He knew from his father that the higher up in tier he went, the more likely he¡¯d be to need to buy materials for his crafts. Even with Tristan¡¯s Core, a 25% increase in costs would prove prohibitive.


    ¡°The Garrows have survived not being allied. I¡¯m sure I can find a way to do the same.¡± But a look at Billy gave him doubts.


    ¡°Yeah, well, it¡¯s not all that easy,¡± Billy said. ¡°There used to be more unallied smithies, but restrictions have tightened around them. Just make sure you¡¯re not foolish enough to get a second strike, alright? I hear things get a lot worse with two strikes.¡±


    Tristan had to fight himself to prevent asking his follow-up immediately. He let the quiet hang for a moment, trying not to sound too anxious. ¡°How much worse does it get?¡±


    ¡°The ¡®tax¡¯ more than doubles, and then there are the contracts...¡± The driver wetted his lips as if afraid to say more.


    ¡°What kind of contracts?¡± Tristan prompted.


    Billy bit his lips and looked uncomfortable. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re new enough to Rockmoor that you don¡¯t see it, kid, but there are a lot of people that walk a lot of different Paths, and not all of them thrive in the bright light of day. This is all unofficial, of course, and I don¡¯t see how it manages to continue in the Embrace¡¯s domain, but you hear things the longer you stick around. Things that make you wonder if maybe the goddess isn¡¯t as caring as she puts on. And the stories about some of those people. They do nasty things in the name of ¡®leveling up.¡¯ Things most sensible people would never do. And I suspect these mercs enjoy it, or they wouldn¡¯t have chosen to take their Paths down those dark roads in the first place.¡±


    ¡°Thieves and assassins?¡± Tristan whispered.


    ¡°Among other things, yeah. And the Steelbloods aren¡¯t too proud to support them either... and even offer them their wares at a discount.¡±


    Tristan leaned back and realized that there were a lot of things that Billy could mean. Nothing he came up with brightened his mood. Eventually he said, ¡°I didn¡¯t even mean to earn that strike. I was challenged to a duel! What was I supposed to do?¡±


    Billy shrugged. ¡°You were put in a bad spot, for sure. I saw it myself. Maybe the Steelbloods think you could have taken the fight out of their territory.¡±


    Tristan sighed. ¡°Or maybe they wanted to punish me for using the one unguilded shop in the Row.¡±


    Billy nodded. ¡°Never said it was a fair system.¡±


    Tristan scratched his head. ¡°Think there¡¯s a way I can get out of this mess?¡±


    ¡°Aside from outright joining them?¡± Billy asked


    Tristan felt his face harden even before the driver looked at him.


    Billy chuckled. ¡°Yeah, I assumed you weren¡¯t going to do that. So it¡¯s kind of hard to say. You do strike me as the type to enjoy working through things the hard way, though. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll think of something. And if you can¡¯t, maybe ask the guy I¡¯m taking you to.¡±


    Tristan rolled his eyes at that. He genuinely wasn¡¯t sure how much Jamal would be willing to help him in these matters, since technically this whole mess could be laid at his master¡¯s feet from the start. ¡°Do you know Jamal well?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Gods, no! Though I wish I did! As well as he pays, I¡¯ll accept every single job he ever sends my way. Also, do you know the reputation he¡¯s got? I mean surely you must understand. You¡¯ve been living with him, right? Is it true that they¡¯re all as attractive as that Cherry woman? What I wouldn¡¯t pay to just see inside his manor for...¡± He trailed off and coughed lightly. ¡°I mean, the man¡¯s just as much a master with the ladies as his own master was. Olson was a gods-be-damned legend!¡±


    Tristan shook his head and tried not to judge the man. He simply agreed, ¡°He was,¡± and left it at that.


    They rode quietly for a while with only the turning of the wheels and the clopping of the horses¡¯ feet to break the silence. Eventually, Billy spoke up again. ¡°Getting back to your problem though, maybe you could do some jobs specifically for the Steelbloods. I¡¯m sure they¡¯ve got open quests. Earn yourself some good will that way. Even if it costs you a little now, it¡¯ll definitely be worth it in the long run. As long as you don¡¯t get that second strike.¡±


    Tristan nodded along. ¡°I hear what you¡¯re saying, but I don¡¯t know if I¡¯ll have that kind of time. Once I finish training here--"


    ¡°There¡¯s always more to do,¡± Billy offered, completing Tristan¡¯s thought with clear understanding. ¡°That¡¯s the grind, for sure. No matter where you¡¯re from, no matter where you go, your Path is always there before you.¡±

 Chapter 35: A Chilling Thought

    Chapter 35: A Chilling Thought


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Aaric</h2>


    Aaric didn¡¯t understand how laundry, something so necessary, was still so laborious. Someone, at some point, must have developed a skill or spell that would do the task more expediently. The basic inefficiency of washing and drying clothes, just for them to get dirty again in a cycle perpetuated infinitely, felt utterly ridiculous. He had better things to do with that hour and a half each week!


    He''d never had to think about it before. But ever since Jacques... ever since Sharing Cross, Aaric had needed to do his own laundry.


    He looked over his shoulder through the door to where the scout stood watching. Now that he thought about it, Aaric had never seen the man enter the washroom, which bothered him. It felt like something that should change.


    ¡°Scout, I think it¡¯s time you came in here and did some of this.¡±


    The scout stared at him and gave him several slow blinks. His eyebrows lifted slightly in what looked to be amusement. Otherwise he remained motionless.


    Aaric opened his mouth to ask again.


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to do that,¡± the scout cut him off. ¡°For now, I can assume I didn¡¯t hear you correctly, and as long as I don¡¯t hear you actually ask me, I can pretend you¡¯re smart enough to know better.¡±


    Aaric¡¯s mouth snapped shut in disbelief. The man had the gall to insult him to his face? No, Aaric had had enough of the constant doubts and pushback from the man who was supposed to be serving his needs. The man was hired help, after all! Enough was enough.


    ¡°Well don¡¯t just stand there and be useless,¡± he said. ¡°What are you even here for if you aren''t going to help me?¡±


    A bitter smile crept across the scout¡¯s face. ¡°I provide intelligence, young master Longbloom. Something you desperately need.¡±


    Aaric¡¯s temper flared. ¡°A second insult in record time. Who do you even think you are? I¡¯m Aaric Longbloom, {Ice Prodigy}! You¡¯ve been hired to help me, and as far as I can tell, you¡¯ve been failing in--!¡±


    Faster than Aaric could see, the scout appeared in front of him and slapped him across the face.


    Aaric¡¯s head jerked to the side. His entire face stung, and his bones suddenly ached. But he had to recognize that the man, several tiers above him, had used but a small fraction of his full power--as was clearly evidenced by his jaw not being broken.


    ¡°You might want to reconsider which of us has been failing lately, sir.¡±


    Aaric rubbed his jaw and spat to the side. ¡°You hit me!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true enough,¡± the scout said with a voice so even it was devoid of emotion. ¡°I wish I¡¯d done it sooner, honestly.¡±


    Aaric stood up straight again, putting himself eye-to-eye with the scout. ¡°Sooner?! I should have fired you weeks ago, after you didn¡¯t lift a finger to help with the oozes.¡±


    The scout chuckled. ¡°You¡¯re not my employer, kid, so you can¡¯t fire me. But it¡¯s funny you mention that little incident; that¡¯s where I should have slapped you. If I had, you might have learned a valuable lesson without getting one of your most loyal supporters needlessly killed.¡±


    The ice mage felt his fingers growing colder, but he managed to control himself. There was nothing gained in trying to attack the scout. The man was so much higher in level that Aaric¡¯s spells would barely feel like a cool breeze. ¡°Jacques didn¡¯t die needlessly. He saved my life, which is more than you¡¯ve ever done!¡±


    The scout rolled his eyes. ¡°Again, you misunderstand both my role and my impact. I scout and provide information. I offer insight into the things you¡¯re going to face--to you, yes, but also to your father. I have saved your life multiple times this year alone. Why do you suppose your father has me constantly at your side? Your arrogance has already been shown to kill one person, and he''s not willing to risk your life too.¡±


    ¡°What happened at Sharing Cross wasn''t my fault!¡±


    ¡°It was, and I''m tired of you not taking responsibility. You fucked up, Aaric, and your father is unwilling to let it happen again. I''m the insurance policy. I¡¯d be more, if you opened your gods-damned ears and listened to some sound advice. But you routinely ignore me even though I¡¯m the closest thing to clairvoyance you could possibly have.¡±


    The scout strode purposefully out of the washroom and resumed leaning against the doorframe. "You''re a blessed horse being led to water but dying of thirst anyway. Your stubbornness leads only to your continued detriment.¡±


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t be thirsty at all if you''d just bring me the water as I asked,¡± Aaric continued the metaphor while also defending himself.


    The scout shook his head again. ¡°Your orders aren''t at the top of my queue, and thank the gods for that. You act like you''re the next to ascend, just because you got a fancy title and your father''s wealth. But what have you done on your own? Who even are you without your family''s money? Being a prodigy doesn''t mean you''re always right,¡± he said, voice firm as each word settled into place. ¡°For you, it means you''re really good at the one thing you''re good at.¡±


    Aaric was shaking with anger.


    ¡°And clearly that doesn¡¯t include laundry,¡± the scout added.


    ¡°GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!¡± Aaric shouted, finally having had enough.


    ¡°And look at that, a command so simple I can fit it in my queue,¡± the scout said with a smile.


    - - - - -


    It had been over a week since Aaric had seen the scout. The man had apparently taken Aaric''s command literally, and honestly Aaric hadn''t minded at first. He didn''t miss the man''s judging looks and cutting words. But things had changed.


    Though it had been months since Aaric had moved to Rockmoor, he hadn''t really been alone before. Not that he really was now, either, as everywhere he went he was surrounded by people and the pressures of the big city threatening to crush him.


    Firstly, he hadn''t realized how rough a neighborhood he''d been living in. He''d never paid it any attention while the scout was at his side, as he¡¯d rarely needed to. The locals had practically avoided him, never speaking to him and hardly even looking his way. They¡¯d all been tier 2s, after all, and there was nothing they could do to him if someone as strong as the scout had chosen to protect him.


    Things had clearly changed. No matter where Aaric went now, he felt like he was being watched. As if there were eyes among the tall canopied trees in addition to all the magical lights.


    Walking back home after picking up some new technical skill manuals from a prestigious vendor in the training quarter, Aaric felt someone bump into him, with more force than usual. Though they offered a carefree apology, the short, fairly dirty-looking girl (or possibly boy with long hair) was trying to slide away much too quickly, and the crowd seemed all too eager to swallow her up. Aaric touched his side where he¡¯d been bumped and realized nearly too late that one of his decoy coin pouches was gone!


    His hand was already frosted over as he reached toward the cutpurse--but the kid was too quick. Clearly discovered and no longer needing to hide the theft, the kid dropped all pretenses and sprinted through the crowd with alarming ease.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    This would make the fifth coin pouch Aaric had lost, and for some reason that number finally felt like too many. So this time, he chose to give chase. He felt that it no longer mattered that the lost pouches were all decoys. He was running low on those, too, and replacing them would be even more of a waste of his time. After his father had warned him that thieves would target him simply for being well-dressed, he had listened, and bought lots of decoy pouches specifically to be stolen. He¡¯d worn one constantly since leaving Woodsedge, but he hadn¡¯t expected to lose so many so quickly.


    Perhaps that was why he¡¯d filled today¡¯s decoy with poisoned copper pieces. He wanted to teach someone a lesson. Yes, it was wasteful--in both the coins and the poison--but Aaric didn¡¯t care. He didn¡¯t like being seen as food when the people around him were starving.


    Aaric Longbloom was nobody¡¯s prey.


    He followed the cutpurse¡¯s bobbing head as best he could, but the kid was short and quick enough that it was truly difficult to keep her in sight for any length of time. And when Aaric turned the corner the cutpurse was nowhere in sight.


    Aaric sighed, beyond frustrated, and took in his surroundings only to realize he didn¡¯t really recognize where he was. He¡¯d wandered well off his normal path home. This street was less crowded than the main thoroughfares, but it was also darker. The buildings lining it rose a little taller but also felt tighter together. They almost reminded him of giants crowding around and inspecting those walking below. Even the glow of the canopy overhead felt dimmer here, obscured perhaps, or neglected.


    No one else seemed to care or even give much thought to Aaric or his evident frustration. That he had been robbed--or even that he¡¯d been running--seemed to garner no particular attention at all.


    He supposed they were just like he himself had been: absorbed in their own lives and problems. He used [Identify] on several of the nearest people and was relieved that all of them were still in tier 1 or 2. Better still, none were peak tier 2 either. Maybe this was a weaker neighborhood.


    Rockmoor, for all its reputation as being a great place to level up, seemed to still have the same issues as everywhere else, and many of its inhabitants lacked either the drive, the wealth, or the ability to level quickly.


    Aaric himself had already gained two levels since arriving in Rockmoor, and that had only been a couple months ago. Granted, he¡¯d gotten a lot of experience on his travels, which led him to leveling almost immediately upon arriving, but he had leveled up twice in Rockmoor. There was no denying that. He¡¯d been working hard, training and studying for hours every single day. He knew that tier 2 was supposed to be a much slower grind than tier 1--everyone had told him so. He just refused to let that slowdown affect him too. Slowdown was for everyone else, not for a cryomancer.


    One of the reasons that Aaric still wore his {Ice Prodigy} title was to push himself: if other people saw it, they¡¯d know he had already achieved something great, so that would raise their expectations of him. Aaric wanted to make sure that he continued to hold himself to that higher standard. He was more than ¡°just one thing!¡±


    Of course, he was quickly realizing that he wasn¡¯t good at navigating this city, and he¡¯d need to stop and think through how to get himself home. He didn¡¯t know Rockmoor very well yet, and these new streets all looked somewhat the same.


    He consulted a small pocket map the scout had given him. It could unfold quite a lot, if Aaric wanted it to, but that would definitely attract too much attention. He only unfolded it once and tried to find his location despite flipping several times. The map was enchanted so that the streets would always be correct, but it still took him a bit of searching to find his location. From there, he quickly decided that backtracking would be much slower than cutting through a few side streets. He was his father¡¯s son, after all, and efficiency was just another reason Longblooms rose to the top. Every minute saved here could be better spent studying his new training manuals at home.


    He rounded the corner to head down the first side street, and it turned out to be a lot narrower than he¡¯d thought it would be. In truth, it was little more than an alley. Darker, and crowded by boxes and crates, there was even a point about halfway down that barely looked wide enough for two people to pass side by side.


    Aaric didn¡¯t allow his misgivings to give him pause. He needed to get home. So rather than turn back, he mentally went through a few of his escape spell combinations and imagined how he might use them should the need arise.


    Wouldn¡¯t you know it, just before he got to the alley¡¯s middle, a shadowy form stepped out from the crates, blocking his way.


    Its voice was surprisingly young: ¡°You¡¯ve gotta be an idiot to follow someone you just poisoned.¡±


    Despite not turning around, Aaric had heard that someone else had stepped into the alleyway behind him too, though that figure currently seemed content to keep its distance. For now.


    Aaric tapped his chin in feigned confusion. ¡°And you¡¯ve got to be an idiot for stealing from someone with my title.¡±


    In front of Aaric, the shadowy figure moved its hand slightly. ¡°You think you¡¯re so clever, but out here all it does is make the target on you that much bigger. Just like that title.¡±


    Aaric turned his head slightly as he heard more shuffling sounds behind him. Two more shadows blocked the way back through the alley, and the one in front had taken a step nearer. Aaric tried to keep them all in sight while focusing on the original cutpurse, whom he was now able to [Identify].


    [?, Human, level 19]


    The kid¡¯s level was concerning--and Aaric quickly realized that if they were that level, they were also much more likely to be wearing an illusion than being an actual kid. Since all the reinforcements were standing behind Aaric, that gave the ice mage a fairly clear route of escape... Assuming he could get past a level 19.


    ¡°Seems I¡¯m more than just a ¡®big target¡¯ if you felt the need to call in so many friends despite the level difference,¡± Aaric said, rolling his neck. ¡°Are you sure you brought enough help?¡±


    The cutpurse took a step nearer, still shaking slightly, though now Aaric thought he could hear that she was wheezing too. A studded bat appeared in her hand. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m more than capable of beating a little mage senseless, but it¡¯s more fun with friends.¡±


    Aaric clenched his hand instead of letting it wander toward his hidden potion belt. He had already considered which boosting potion he could use for maximum effect, and it was currently a tie between [Potion of Invisibility] and [Potion of Haste]. The first would be safer, but the second would feel better; he wanted to teach the cutpurse a lesson in respect.


    ¡°You''re assuming an awful lot,¡± Aaric returned as he cast [Ice Armor], his newest spell, which he¡¯d learned--totally without the scout¡¯s help, it should be noted--by mirroring an ice-based spellsword amongst a group of mercenaries for an entire day. Still, for that one spell, he considered it time well spent. His body was encased in a thin layer of magical, absorptive ice.


    Except for some reason, his knees started wobbling and he began feeling really woozy. Worse, his fingers were numb, which made withdrawing either potion far harder--and uncorking it would be impossible.


    The cutpurse swaggered closer, her face finally finding a beam of light, which showed her growing sneer. ¡°Nah, I''m not assuming anything. Don''t need to, since you didn''t even notice the first [Numb Spirit] I used a while back. And now I can see the second curse starting to take hold. You¡¯ll feel the numbing in your toes first. Then fingers, then nose. By the time it hits your knees, well, you¡¯ll see.¡±


    Aaric¡¯s legs collapsed beneath him, and he fell to the street. He hadn''t felt them weakening at all! Now he was stuck in a situation he¡¯d never considered, so he had nothing prepared. What could he do?


    ¡°See? There ya go, down to your proper position.¡± The cutpurse was only a few steps away now. She spun the club in her grip, tapping it on the ground lightly as she crouched down in front of him. ¡°If you beg now, I might leave you with a few hit points.¡±


    Aaric felt his jaw lock in defiance. No matter how he thought about it, this situation was his fault, but he wouldn¡¯t make it worse than it needed to be. Instead, he scolded himself in a barely-audible whisper, ¡°The scout was right. I should have listened.¡±


    ¡°What was that?¡± the cutpurse snarled. ¡°I didn¡¯t quite hear you. You¡¯ve got a thing or two to learn about begging.¡±


    But then, out of nowhere, the familiar voice of the scout answered her, ¡°While I¡¯d love to see you try to teach this kid, if you lay a single finger on him, you¡¯ll wish you hadn¡¯t.¡±


    The cutpurse and her thugs didn''t back down. ¡°Whoever the fuck you are, this isn''t your concern. This boy poisoned me, and I--"


    ¡°Picked his pocket first. I saw. So leave now and call it a win. You got him twice, counting the humbling, and you''re still alive. I¡¯d call that a good deal.¡±


    Then the scout materialized standing directly between Aaric and the crouching cutpurse, who fell back, startled.


    ¡°Fuck, he''s higher tier!¡± someone behind Aaric said.


    ¡°Still only one guy,¡± the cutpurse said, standing back up and thudding the club against her hand. ¡°And he''s on our turf.¡±


    ¡°You came back,¡± Aaric whispered, honestly shocked and a bit unsure what this development meant for the future.


    The scout turned to him and smiled. ¡°Only because you learned something. Though you¡¯re still not planning ahead, I see.¡±


    Then he cracked his knuckles, flexing his empty hands, and turned back to the thugs as the cutpurse leapt to attack. ¡°I warned you.¡±


    Then he went to work.


    Not that Aaric could even call it that. It was a storm of motion--in barely a moment--before the club the cutpurse held fell to the ground, along with both her arms.


    Aaric couldn¡¯t believe how fast the scout actually was, and how ruthless. He¡¯d never truly seen the man in battle before, but whatever his Path was, seeing him in action was simply incredible. Aaric found himself wondering how he would ever match up against someone like that. How would he defeat someone like that? He¡¯d definitely need better tools to slow or freeze them. He had so much work to do and so many levels to grind.


    I hope I never have to fight him. The thought bubbled up before he even realized it. But some day... Someday I¡¯m going to have to beat a monster like that.


    A chilling thought.

 Chapter 36: The Roving Blade

    Chapter 36: The Roving Blade


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan had never been happier to pay a gold piece in his life. Billy had made the return trip to Jamal¡¯s fly by, and Tristan had gotten a decent night¡¯s sleep as a result.


    When he woke, he was surprised to find he wasn¡¯t even sore, though he did his morning stretches anyway. He¡¯d done them every day since Jamal had taught them to him, and he had to admit that they definitely were helping with his flexibility. He was nearly able to do a full split now, which had become sort of a silly, meaningless, benchmark for his personal growth of late.


    When he actually ate breakfast at the big table in the dining room for once, instead of in his own room, several of the servants were clearly surprised, though they didn¡¯t say a word about it. They explained that they didn¡¯t yet know what his schedule would be for the day or when the Master might rise from his chamber, and they did so with hospitable smiles.


    Concluding that he had the morning to himself, Tristan knew he¡¯d have to seek out Cherry for a very important question. He wanted to go back to his private room and work on building the portable forge, but that would require something outside of his skills.


    Once he found her, it still took him a while to work up the courage to ask her. Despite Jamal¡¯s repeatedly telling him it was her job, it still felt weird to ask Cherry for favors out of the blue. Especially at times like this, when she got annoyed by them.


    ¡°You need a fire mage for two hours?¡±


    Tristan grimaced slightly. ¡°Any heat source should work, honestly, but yeah. Someone--or something, I suppose--that can heat up the metal for me.¡±


    ¡°For two whole hours?¡± she asked, clearly skeptical.


    ¡°I won¡¯t need the flames the whole time,¡± Tristan explained, ¡°but every ten minutes or so, or whenever I need to reheat the metal.¡±


    ¡°So when you say ¡®two hours¡¯...¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s how long the whole process will take. If you can keep everyone else out of my room for that long.¡±


    Cherry sighed and rubbed her forehead. ¡°Alright. I¡¯ll see if Aldra is available. She¡¯s only tier 2, but she should be able to handle that, I think.¡±


    Not long after, Cherry knocked on Tristan¡¯s door, this time accompanied by a short, red-haired dwarven woman. ¡°Tristan, this is Aldra. She can definitely heat up anything you want, especially if it¡¯s tier 2 or below.¡±


    The woman lifted her chin and met his eyes, then gave the deepest bow Tristan had ever seen. ¡°It will be my pleasure to serve the Master¡¯s student,¡± she said as her face nearly touched the floor.


    ¡°That¡¯s... impressive, but totally unnecessary,¡± Tristan found himself saying.


    Cherry just laughed. ¡°She¡¯s kind of new here, Tristan, so do forgive her if she¡¯s still got some unwinding to do. She hasn¡¯t caught the vibe of the manor yet. And she¡¯s a Dwarf of the Petrified Woods, so we cut her some slack. Tradition and respect are kind of a big deal to her people.¡±


    Tristan stiffened. ¡°I apologize if I insulted your culture!¡±


    Aldra returned to standing upright and shook her head. ¡°The Student has not caused any insult, and I bear him no ill will.¡±


    Cherry smiled as she headed toward the doors. ¡°I¡¯ll just leave you two to it. Be good, OK? Have a fun two hours--and don¡¯t worry too much about the rumors this will undoubtedly cause.¡± She laughed on her way out, which made Tristan feel all sorts of uncomfortable.


    Luckily, Aldra was nearly as focused as he was, and she asked the perfect question to kickstart their project: ¡°The Student requires my assistance in making a forge?¡±


    What surprised Tristan most was that for something that would end up being so inherently magical, the portable forge really didn¡¯t require exotic materials. Tristan only needed the fire mage because he¡¯d lost access to the normal forges in Rockmoor. It did take lots of steel, which he still had enough leftover from his earlier dungeon runs, as well as a few rubies to somehow capture the magical fire it would use. The portability of it came from a property that allowed it to shrink and grow, rather than any magical self containment, but Tristan wasn¡¯t really sure how that worked. Just that it would work, once he was done.


    The scroll had given him the tools and confidence he needed to get it just right. It was in that regard the crafting actually felt pretty strange to Tristan: it was the first time he¡¯d known exactly how to make something he¡¯d never attempted before.


    While he didn¡¯t mind, he¡¯d come to realize that he enjoyed the process and the learning that accompanied crafting just as much as the end result. He resolved not to make a habit of it even if scrolls suddenly started dropping out of the sky for him.


    As the two hours quickly came to a close, Aldra was sitting off to the side, watching silently but intently as Tristan finished his work. She had been the perfect assistant, once she¡¯d figured out just how hot the metal needed to be. The only awkwardness had been what Tristan felt for essentially using her like a tool. Still, he couldn¡¯t argue with the results.


    As Tristan felt it all come together in the final moments, he marveled at its deceptively simple box-like design.


    His portable forge was finished.


    [Portable Forge(rare)]: [Shrinking], Soulbound


    A magical forge perfect for crafting when away from home, made by a budding swordsmith.


    It was strange but not unexpected to see the Soulbound property at the end of the item¡¯s description. He wondered just what that meant, and how much it might limit other people from using his forge. Would the heat not work for them, or would only he be able to shrink and grow it when he wanted to use it? It was an interesting problem that Tristan kind of wanted to test but Aldra clearly had no interest in.


    ¡°Since the Student is clearly done,¡± she said with a small bow, ¡°I will be on my way. I have other tasks that require my attention.¡±


    ¡°Thanks--!¡± Tristan had barely said before the dwarf slipped out the door and down the hall. He shrugged. ¡°I guess I¡¯ll just have to find someone else to try another time. For now, I guess, I¡¯ll see how it works.¡±


    But even that didn¡¯t seem to be in the cards, because before he could even remove more metal from his crafting materials bag, Cherry reentered his room.


    ¡°Two hours was a really good estimate,¡± she said smiling. ¡°That¡¯s good, because Jamal is ready to get going. He wants you in the training yard as quickly as possible.¡±


    Tristan sighed, a touch conflicted. Honestly, he wasn¡¯t all that mad about getting more training with his sword. But he¡¯d only just begun to scratch the surface of his crafting itch, and he wasn¡¯t sure how long it would be before he could get back to it. Hopefully the next morning. He wasn¡¯t naive enough to plan on being in any shape to seriously craft immediately after a session with Jamal.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be right there,¡± Tristan said with a forced smile.


    As he changed into training clothes, he also remembered that he was still mad at his teacher. The fight from the previous day, which Cherry had called ¡°the day¡¯s lesson,¡± still really bothered him. What was he supposed to have learned from it? Why had Jamal stepped aside and pretended it was a day off only to put him in harm¡¯s way?


    It just didn¡¯t sit well with Tristan. He trusted his teacher to have his reasons, but until Tristan heard them, all he¡¯d be was frustrated. So he finished dressing, slung his sword across his shoulder, quickly ran through the halls, and emerged into the sunny courtyard at the heart of Jamal¡¯s manor. He saw Jamal sitting cross-legged in the center, right where the spirals of sand came together with perfect geometrical precision.


    ¡°That was faster than I thought,¡± the swordmaster said without bothering to open his eyes. ¡°Feeling a bit angry over yesterday, eh?¡± He opened his eyes but still refused to stand. ¡°Not a fan of the hands-on approach? I knew I should have hired the girl instead.¡± He glanced over his shoulder and spoke with a slightly raised voice, ¡°Cherry, next time remind me to get the girl.¡±


    ¡°Sure thing,¡± Tristan heard Cherry reply, though he couldn¡¯t see her anywhere.


    Jamal returned his attention to his student. ¡°So what did ya learn from all that yesterday? Cherry gave me her notes, but obviously I still want to hear from you.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s hand tightened around the grip of his sword. ¡°No offense, sir, but I didn¡¯t appreciate that ¡®lesson¡¯ at all. I¡¯m not sure I can learn anything when I¡¯m fearing for my life out of nowhere.¡±


    Jamal laughed as he straightened his legs out in front of him, arched his back, and sprang directly to his feet. Even with how he was feeling, Tristan was still envious of how effortless his teacher made the maneuver look.


    ¡°You don¡¯t think you learned anything,¡± Jamal restated with a smirk as he began stalking toward Tristan. ¡°Not a single takeaway... from a fight against a career mercenary two levels above you, with a fighting style you¡¯d never seen before, that you not only survived but won and didn¡¯t require any major healing after? You didn¡¯t learn anything? C¡¯mon mate. You gained a swordsman level and got... What was it back at level 4? [Blade¡¯s Resolve], right? The damage reduction while holding a blade? That will actually help you later.¡±Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Tristan felt himself get heated, especially as he realized all the ways Jamal was right. ¡°I didn¡¯t like it then,¡± he said, trying to hold on to his teacher¡¯s gaze but still looking away too quickly. ¡°I¡¯d have preferred a warning, or real lessons, or--"


    ¡°That absolutely was a real lesson, man. What¡¯s more real than not knowing if you¡¯re going to die? Do you prefer caltrops sessions?¡±


    ¡°No, but--That¡¯s how I feel every time we spar!¡±


    Jamal laughed. ¡°Which is why I knew you needed this. If you honestly can¡¯t tell the difference between fighting in here and what happens out there, Tristan, you need help and you know it. Look, mate, you might not like how it went down, and I get that, but it was good for you. You needed to change things up a bit. Besides, I knew you¡¯d win.¡±


    Jamal was giving Tristan as much of his attention as he ever had. He wasn¡¯t eating or drinking or closing his eyes. He wasn¡¯t entertaining one of his attendants or meditating. He wasn¡¯t even holding a sword, wood or otherwise. It was just him and Tristan and the sand beneath their feet.


    When Tristan didn¡¯t respond for a while, Jamal shrugged. ¡°Would it help if I told you I wouldn¡¯t make it a regular thing? I won¡¯t say it won¡¯t happen ever again, ¡®cause I suspect that would be a lie. But I do hear what you¡¯re telling me, alright?¡±


    Tristan nodded. ¡°That¡¯s a start.¡±


    ¡°Good. And look, man, I promise I won¡¯t ever put you in front of something I don''t personally think you¡¯re ready for. I just see more of your potential than even you do. I don¡¯t think you rightly know how talented you are. And, honestly man, I kind of want to push you as hard as I possibly can, because I think you could win the bloody Tier 3 Tournament in Camille. Like, possibly even freshly tiered-up. Could you imagine: having a level 21 taking down high level 30s? It would be bonkers! The whole realm would lose its mind.¡±


    Despite his teacher¡¯s clear enthusiasm, Tristan clenched his jaw. He still wanted to be angry with Jamal. He felt like he had a right to be, even if the man had been nothing but praising him since they started talking. What¡¯s more, the more he fought against Jamal¡¯s excitement, the more the swordmaster¡¯s idea wormed its way into Tristan¡¯s head. If Jamal actually thought he might be capable of winning The Camille Tier 3 Tournament...


    He begrudgingly let some of that optimism leak through into his mood as he rested his hand on the pommel of his greatsword. Eventually it ate away at what anger remained. He rolled his shoulders. ¡°What¡¯s the next step, then?¡±


    With a wolfish grin, two one-handed, wooden training swords appeared in Jamal¡¯s hands. ¡°I¡¯m so very glad you asked. Today¡¯s lesson is going to be adaptability.¡± And without any other warning, the swordmaster charged.


    Tristan immediately went to block--and was truly surprised when he easily met the swordmaster¡¯s blade every time it came for him. ¡°You¡¯re going easy on me!¡± he realized.


    ¡°I¡¯m going the same speed as your last opponent,¡± Jamal explained, ¡°so you¡¯re not wrong. But, Cherry pointed out an opportunity...¡± The swordmaster allowed his swords to do the rest of the talking.


    The swords suddenly moved faster--though still not as fast as Tristan knew they could move--and made four attacks in quick succession. The pattern and timing were immediately familiar to Tristan, but the fourth swing still managed to sneak up on him. Had he been any slower, it would have undoubtedly left a bruise on his upper arm larger than his head.


    ¡°That was Bernhardt¡¯s flurry attack skill!¡± he said, pulling back. ¡°How did you do that?¡±


    ¡°Because I learned it too,¡± Jamal said flippantly while also disengaging. ¡°Though obviously I¡¯ve upgraded mine a lot, so dialing it back to its basic form was like using a butter knife for a blade. Anyway, the half-giant just had the unupgraded [Blade Flurry]. Four hits, specific timing, as you clearly found out. And Cherry was right: your reflexes have improved a lot, since you basically kept up with all the strikes. But that last one, it still nearly got you. That¡¯s a place where we can improve right now.¡±


    Tristan nodded with understanding. ¡°Could you also teach me [Blade Flurry]?¡±


    ¡°Of course I could,¡± Jamal laughed, ¡°but I won¡¯t! What you need isn¡¯t more skills, man. You¡¯ll get all the skills in the world with time. What you need is technique! It¡¯s all in the technique. The more you know, the more you can adapt. Good technique is the difference between your everyday swordsmen and the best one in the realm. And now that you¡¯ve got a decent handle on the basics, well,¡± the swordmaster tossed his two wooden practice swords to the ground without the slightest concern, ¡°it¡¯s time to teach you a technique I came up with myself. Even Orson didn¡¯t know this one!¡±


    In an instant, Jamal¡¯s steel greatsword appeared and began circling in front of him as if shaping a cone. Tristan had seen him do this a few times before, but he¡¯d never really studied it. It had almost seemed incidental at first, or like it was a transition between positions. But now he was starting to think it might be more than that--something in and of itself.


    ¡°The Roving Blade,¡± Jamal began, ¡°provides a sort of shortcut in finding the next attack or block. Wherever it comes from, wherever the sword needs to be, you can get there more quickly thanks to the momentum that¡¯s already going. It evens the playing field against quick weapons like daggers and rapiers.¡±


    Tristan watched, and he had to admit that it made sense. Jamal wasn¡¯t letting the blade stop moving even as he switched grips. He could weave the blade like a figure 8, or he could just go around in a circle on one side.


    ¡°Does it speed up your attacks, too, or--?¡±


    ¡°Always with the offense,¡± Jamal said, shaking his head. ¡°Trust your teacher, right? Have some faith, and just try this out for yourself. I know how you are. You could watch me do this all week long, but you won¡¯t learn a thing until you do it yourself.¡±


    He isn¡¯t wrong, Tristan admitted, flexing his shoulders. Then he lifted his greatsword from the ground and began trying to move as Jamal had.


    Jamal stopped his own blade, planted it in the ground, and leaned casually against it. ¡°Make sure you work on those hands, man. This is going to require much more strength than normal. If your grip slides like that in real combat, you¡¯ll drop your sword, and we finally got you to stop doing that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m working on it. Also, how does that not dull the blade?¡± Tristan asked, nodding toward the sword jutting into the ground.


    ¡°Once you get better with Tier 2 materials, it really won¡¯t matter. They just stay sharp. Usually.¡±


    The hardest part was changing it from the simple chopping motion he was used to, but once the blade got moving, Tristan actually began to feel comfortable rounding the blade steadily past his right side.


    Jamal prompted, ¡°That¡¯s fine if everything is coming from your right, but now cover both sides.¡±


    So Tristan began weaving the blade back and forth, which surprisingly made the grip a little easier, since he didn¡¯t have to move his hands much. Though it was making the body positioning and footwork much harder.


    ¡°Passing steps are your friend,¡± Jamal advised, reminding Tristan that he didn¡¯t have to stay stationary the whole time. ¡°You should be able to go forward and backward with this. What you¡¯re doing might work against an invalid or--No, man, you¡¯ve got to at least pretend like you need to move about and dodge! Oh, who am I kidding? Come on.¡±


    As Tristan expected, the swordmaster took up his own blade once again. At least it took longer this time, he thought before Jamal came at him. He hoped it was a sign of his improvement.


    Needless to say, Jamal pressured him far harder than Bernhardt ever had. He came in various unpatterned ways, without regular patterns. ¡°The Roving Blade is an effort to react with your sword more quickly,¡± he explained. ¡°You¡¯ve got the basic motions, I guess, but you¡¯re always swinging the same way. You¡¯ve got to be able to change it up. Think about pace, shape, and size. You shouldn¡¯t fight the same way against one person and against twenty, or in an alley versus in a field.¡±


    That was when Jamal unleashed the first [Blade Flurry] Tristan had ever seen made with a greatsword. Honestly, it was both awesome and terrifying.


    He blocked the first and second strikes easily, but when the third one came with the same timing as if it was a longsword, Tristan had to power his sword through three quarters of a rotation to meet it. The resulting clash sent shivers up his arms. But that wasn¡¯t the end, as Tristan well knew. The fourth swing was coming, and quickly. But he thought back to what Jamal had said, and taking a moment to watch the progression of Jamal¡¯s blade... he realized that he could actually meet this swing much more easily by simply slowing down his own blade.


    The resulting clash was much less jarring. He seemed to have absorbed some of the sword¡¯s momentum, and now he wondered how he might use it for his own counterattack.


    As it turned out, Tristan was a fairly quick study with the Roving Blade. He hadn¡¯t realized just how many advantages circling the blade could offer. He¡¯d been right about absorbing the momentum from an opponent¡¯s strike, but he also found that he could both threaten and protect more area simply by slowing or speeding up his blade. He even found that blocking on the upswing and downswing resulted in different arcs for his own blade that he could then use for all sorts of different purposes.


    ¡°Not bad,¡± Jamal said, after what had felt like a fairly long string of parries and counters. When Tristan looked at the swordmaster, the man was genuinely grinning. That should have been the first warning.


    ¡°Now the real fun begins!¡±


    Over the course of the next hour, Jamal sliced and slashed and stabbed and swept and struck at Tristan, pushing him to improve his Roving Blade technique. Tristan found himself struggling most with his hand positions, and each time he thought he¡¯d gotten better at them, Jamal would pick up the speed of his attacks, and Tristan found himself too slow again. It was just so hard to keep his hands steady enough while whipping the massive greatsword around at the speeds needed. To also keep the huge blade under control proved harder still, something only possible due to the increased Strength and Dexterity he¡¯d gained over the past year. He lost count of how many times Jamal seemed to tap his sword just right, sending it flying from his grip.


    But in a strange twist, with each setback the swordmaster would give mostly words of encouragement or advice, such as telling Tristan, ¡°You¡¯ve still gotta change it up, even against the same opponent. The shape I mean. Otherwise a smart fighter will see where they can attack. Stay creative. Don¡¯t get boring.¡±


    Tristan didn¡¯t know what to make of a Jamal that was constantly positive instead of sarcastic and snarky. So it was kind of nice when the old jokes flared up occasionally, the last of which came after Tristan had said, ¡°I can¡¯t keep it up any longer.¡±


    Jamal had shaken his head while looking absolutely morose and said, ¡°Mate, that¡¯s not the kind of thing a partner ever wants to hear.¡± Then the familiar grin came back as he winked right at Tristan. ¡°Should I ask Cherry to help you work on your stamina?¡±


    Tristan actually hadn¡¯t caught his teacher¡¯s meaning immediately, which only heightened his embarrassment when he finally did. That resulted in him fumbling his grip enough that the smallest touch from Jamal was able to send his greatsword thudding to the ground a moment later.


    ¡°Looks like you¡¯re spent,¡± Jamal said with that same playful smile. ¡°Go clean yourself up and we¡¯ll continue this tomorrow.¡± As his greatsword vanished into his magical storage, the swordmaster snapped his fingers, ¡°Oh, but Cherry, you¡¯re with me, if you want. The kid obviously has to learn to handle himself before you can help him out. Have one of the others take him some towels.¡±


    Tristan frowned. He realized this was the first time he¡¯d ended a training session with Jamal and not needed urgent attention from Cleo--or any healing at all, for that matter. He realized Jamal hadn¡¯t landed a single hit on his body.


    ¡°Wait, we¡¯re done? Just like that?¡± he called after Jamal, who was already halfway to the door with Cherry now at his side. ¡°What about other techniques you¡¯ve developed?¡±


    Neither of them slowed at all, though Jamal called, ¡°After you master this one.¡±


    Tristan raised his voice. ¡°What about some extra time to practice?¡±


    ¡°By all means, swordsmith,¡± Jamal responded over Cherry¡¯s shoulder, ¡°but my hands will soon be tied. Have fun playing solo.¡±


    Tristan sighed as the door closed behind Jamal and Cherry. ¡°What am I supposed to do now?¡± he asked the wind.


    But it did not respond.

 Chapter 37: Critical Success

    Chapter 37: Critical Success


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    What had started as a slow walk back to his room had turned into a near sprint once he¡¯d realized that Jamal had called him ¡°swordsmith.¡± Tristan couldn¡¯t wait to spend some time at his new forge. His brain was churning even faster than his legs as he pondered what exactly he would work on first.


    But no matter how he tried, he couldn¡¯t get away from one idea in particular: crafting something to resist or negate debuffs. Perhaps he shouldn¡¯t have been surprised. He¡¯d fought so many enemies that had inflicted them, from the half-giant Bernhardt, to the oozes, to even Aaric himself--though the ice mage was more about slows and freezes than damage over time effects. DoTs, he corrected himself, still struggling to remember all the terms Sophie said he should just know ¡®because that¡¯s what the whole rest of the realm calls it.¡¯


    How could he work that kind of effect into something he could craft? What type of gear would even take that kind of property? He had no way to know other than to test them out, so that¡¯s what he¡¯d do.


    By the time he got back to his room, he¡¯d already worked out a list of things to try. Its order was a combination of ease (which was why rings were first, and gauntlets were last), enjoyment, and likelihood. Swords ended up closer to the top than breastplates, even though it was widely acknowledged that breastplates could take almost any property--other than those that ended up being exclusive to weapons. Those types of properties usually ended up being offensive though, and what he wanted was clearly not for attacking. Still, he liked making swords more than armor, so he¡¯d try them in that order.


    Unsurprisingly, it turned out that rings either wouldn¡¯t work, or he simply didn¡¯t have the right techniques yet. After an hour of cutting and shaping and sizing, he¡¯d gotten several interesting creations, but nothing that would actually help against debuffs or DoTs. His only real success was making [The 1s Ring], which surprised him by being an uncommon item that gave +1 to all his stats. Tristan honestly had kind of neglected his basic gear, and he was slightly embarrassed when he took off his old [Simple Ring] due to how small its bonus to max health now seemed. The new ring gave nearly the same effect while also raising all his other stats.


    While it was a clear upgrade, it still wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d wanted. He wasn¡¯t even sure how he¡¯d made that property either, because he couldn¡¯t reproduce it. So, rather than continue to bash his head against it, he moved on to other types of gear.


    Tristan knew that necklaces were just a small step up in complexity, but he¡¯d been down that path before, and honestly he didn¡¯t love the whole jewelry-making process. So he skipped them and moved down his list to bracers. This was another place where his current equipment was outdated, since it was labeled as ¡°simple¡± with only one property: [Reinforced]. While it added armor, it was only a single point, and that wasn¡¯t what he wanted on his replacement.


    But try as he might, Tristan simply couldn¡¯t get the steel bracers to grasp the concept of debuff resistance. The best he got was a straight upgrade to what he¡¯d been wearing, getting a second point of armor on common rarity [Rough Bracers]. He supposed more armor would help him some, but it definitely wasn¡¯t what he was working toward right now. It was also worth noting that the tier 2 bracers did add a little bit of health innately, which was a nice bonus.


    By this point, Tristan was tired of making little progress. He¡¯d given the other armor types a fair chance, but they¡¯d proven to be disappointments. It was time to get back to his real love and joy. He couldn¡¯t explain how or why he was always drawn to making swords. Perhaps he just had a better feel for what the metal wanted to be when shaping it into a sword. Perhaps his Core gave him extra help as it supplied more of his soul to replace the basic materials. Or perhaps more of his soul just wanted to be in the swords.


    Whatever the reason, Tristan had a much better feeling the moment he started shaping this sword than he had with any of his previous projects. He toiled over the forge, taking his time, and focused his thoughts on what this sword needed to do. He thought about the stinking oozes, and how just being near them seemed to whittle his health down. He remembered the weariness he¡¯d felt while watching Bernhardt¡¯s bleed stack grow, and how hard he¡¯d had to work as it ticked down with agonizing slowness.


    He needed to be able to prevent that from ever happening again. Knowing that he would go after that Progenitor Ooze from Sharing Cross eventually, he would need to be better prepared.


    He worked the steel for two full hours, honing the blade¡¯s edges to the best of his ability. He felt it growing thicker as his Core supplemented the materials he¡¯d put into it. He even put a decent twist on the crossguard, trying to give it a little flair this time.


    In the end, however, after the final heat treatment was done and he looked at the sword with [Identify], it ended up being just a pretty-looking [Greatsword (common)]. It didn¡¯t have a single property to its name, which meant despite the great increase in damage from being a tier 2 weapon, it was totally unusable for Tristan¡¯s purposes. It was a shame, too, because he¡¯d really grown to like the ashen gray color that it had taken on in the end. It was almost matte, reflecting far less of the light than he¡¯d ever seen from any other sword. He would have to reproduce something like it some day, because he just couldn¡¯t justify keeping this one, not with as low on materials as he was starting to be.


    He would have to melt it down and reforge the whole thing.


    He scolded himself in retrospect. I should have gone into those upper passages in the dungeon with Sophie. It was a mine, and I left all that blessed ore behind! It was yet another lesson to take with him going forward: always take an opportunity to gather crafting mats. Because while his growth materials bag was getting bigger with levels, its contents were shrinking much more quickly. Sadly, he could do nothing about it now.


    He spent a minute examining his newest sword, just to see what he could learn before scrapping it. It had a good balance, and the edge was fine, but overall it seemed a bit too plain. The color was the only part of the sword he really enjoyed.


    With no other lessons to learn from the failure, the whole blessed thing went back into the forge.


    It was late by the time he heated and worked it back into a billet. He could tell he was pushing the upward limit of what his Endurance could maintain. Every once in a while his attention slipped a bit. His hammer hit slightly off-target, or too hard, and twice he lost his own rhythm, slowing down the swings too much. He had to admit that maybe he¡¯d pushed himself a little too hard the past couple days, and maybe it was time for rest. And though he hated leaving the project unfinished, at least he¡¯d returned the metal to a decent starting place for next time.If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    He cleaned up his workspace and wondered how many ¡°next times¡± he would have in the future. Not just for this project necessarily, but down the full length of his whole Path. He¡¯d never really thought about it before. How many successes and how many failures would he have? How many successes because of his failures? His father had long since taught him that every mistake is just a learning opportunity.


    This night¡¯s work would be no different, in the end. He might have failed tonight, but at least he¡¯d learned one more thing that wouldn¡¯t work. Tomorrow would be better.


    If there was one thing Tristan was certain about, it was that he wouldn¡¯t stop trying until he could find a way to either minimize or outright prevent some of the damage over time effects that had been so troublesome on his journey so far.


    - - - - -


    It took him a full week of late nights, which were all the more exhausting after long days of training, but eventually, through all of his failures and new insights, Tristan finally had a breakthrough and was able to create the [Oozebane Greatsword]. He¡¯d gotten an amazing notification immediately, truly putting into perspective how great a breakthrough this had been:


    Critical success! You have crafted a (Rare) item.


    Bonus experience gained for all your crafting Classes.


    The notification wasn¡¯t joking either about the bonus experience. He¡¯d earned easily triple what his prior crafts had earned him. Then again, this greatsword had challenged him more than any previous project, too.


    Though his Core might say otherwise, Tristan felt like he¡¯d poured his whole soul into this creation. With each attempt and subsequent failure, he¡¯d felt like he didn¡¯t have the concept quite right. For this most recent attempt, he¡¯d spent time refining a single idea in his head until it was exactly what he wanted. He¡¯d practically relived every interaction he¡¯d ever had with damage-over-time effects, despite the fact that it meant revisiting the memories of some of the vilest oozes he¡¯d ever encountered.... And the death of a comrade.


    He didn¡¯t lie to himself about the impact Jacques¡¯ death had had on him. But in genuinely opening up about what he¡¯d felt and experiencing those moments again, he¡¯d felt a connection form in his sword. He didn¡¯t have any other words to describe it. He¡¯d just known, immediately, that this crafting session would not be a failure.


    Now, as he leaned back and rested his exhausted arms, Tristan let his [Identify] show him his success:


    [Oozebane Greatsword (rare)]: [Incorruptible], [Oozebane], Soulbound


    A sword forged from the steel and memories of a determined blacksmith seeking to learn from past encounters.


    Several pieces stood out there, not the least of which was the fact that this rare greatsword came with two properties in addition to the everpresent Soulbound. Obviously he expanded each, because he had never seen their like before. He could guess by their names, but he wanted to know exactly what he¡¯d managed to make.


    [Incorruptible] While wielding this sword, negate all damage from enemy damage-over-time effects.


    [Oozebane] While wielding this sword, deal increased damage to oozes and reduce damage taken from oozes by 25%


    In combination, the two properties were everything he had hoped for and more. He¡¯d originally hoped for something purely defensive. To that end, the first property would have been way more than enough. But to see the second property... to have created something so perfectly designed to aid in his never-ending battle against the villainous oozes that plagued not just him, but the realm? He was beyond proud. He felt seen. As he raised the huge sword with one hand, he had to admit that it felt good in his grip. It was heavy, sure, but so were all greatswords, and he began to realize just how little that was starting to bother him. It wasn¡¯t just the difference that his training with Jamal had made either. There was something about this sword that just fit him. He could feel its blade, its edge, and its grip as though they were all part of him.


    Taking the sword in both hands, he proceeded to go through several of his training exercises and sword forms. The whole time, the blade flitted and danced through the air with much more control than his [Hope¡¯s Aspiration] ever had. He loved the way it felt in his hands, and honestly, he wondered if using it as his primary weapon wouldn¡¯t be better for him in the long term.


    But then what would he do with [Hope¡¯s Aspiration]? It had been his first real greatsword, and though it might not be as strong as his new tier 2 sword, its unique [Brightshield] property was incredibly powerful and had already won him a fight that he might have lost otherwise. With his quick-swap ability, couldn''t he just use them both interchangeably? That would mean losing instant access to his longsword and shield though. Would it be worth it? He could see benefits for both gear sets, as they were very different in what they offered.


    Maybe, if I can¡¯t decide, I¡¯ll ask Jamal what he thinks.


    The greatsword could put out more damage, and it offered the ability to completely avoid one instance of damage. But the shield could block more damage overall while also allowing him to heal a bit. Admittedly, now that he''d leveled more, the amount it healed didn''t feel quite as impressive as it had back then, but it was still significantly more than nothing. On the other hand, Tristan had done the majority of his training with Jamal using a greatsword, and he knew his skills with it far surpassed what he could do with a simple longsword. Especially with how much they''d been working on the Roving Blade technique, he might actually be better defensively with a greatsword than with the shield.


    I wish I had another open switch slot so I could save all three options, he thought sadly, but that was not yet the case. Tristan pulled his sword and shield from storage and sighed slightly. The sword was only something he¡¯d repaired, and it lacked any of the flourishes he¡¯d grown to love and add to all his crafts. But it was still his, and it had served him well. The shield, on the other hand, he had made, and its creation was still one of his proudest memories. Looking at it now, though, he couldn¡¯t help but see that it had taken a serious beating in the duel and was badly in need of repair. He hadn¡¯t gotten around to it yet because... well, he''d been focusing his attention elsewhere.


    I''ll come back to them eventually, he supposed as he switched the new [Oozebane Greatsword] into the gear set that had held the longsword and shield. In an instant, the beautiful new blade disappeared into the magical storage just beyond his fingertips. Resummoning it immediately, Tristan didn¡¯t regret switching out the set in the slightest. In fact, it gave him still further ideas--about how maybe down the road he could specialize multiple swords to fill different roles, not just tanking. He could move out of shields completely and just have a sword for whatever he felt he might need!


    His excitement died down a bit as he saw the bulky shield and rusty longsword resting on the ground beside him. Of course, now he would have to either carry them on him at all times now or simply go without.


    Maybe I¡¯ll leave them behind just for now. As soon as I get a third gear set, I¡¯ll use them again. Probably.


    Switching back to his newest weapon once again, he admired its form and feel, then slid it into the sheath for safekeeping, set it gently on the table beside his bed, and finally gave in to the tiredness that had been hounding him for days.

 Chapter 38: A Title Worth Equipping

    Chapter 38: A Title Worth Equipping


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    The first time Tristan switched out [Hope¡¯s Aspiration] for the [Oozebane Greatsword] in front of Jamal, his master became a blur. Suddenly the swordmaster was holding Tristan¡¯s blade between his fingers, testing its sharpness.


    ¡°This is actually really well made, man! Did you make this? Just look at the bevel on that edge! Yeah, let go for a second, mate, I want to feel the weight of this monster.¡±


    Tristan didn¡¯t even hesitate. He did notice a sudden wrongness, an incompleteness, with his hand emptied of the blade, but he could deal with that. Especially with how impressed his Master was with his creation.


    The swordmaster took the sword in a proper, two-handed grip. ¡°It¡¯s still crazy to me that I can¡¯t actually equip this, but...¡± he paused as he went through a couple moves, ¡°Yeah, man, this is exceptionally well made for a tier 2 blade. I bet it would flow smoother still, were it not for that Soulbound property blocking me. I bet it lasts you all the way to tier 3.¡±


    Jamal tossed the blade up into the air where it spun half around before he caught it by the blade and offered Tristan the hilt. It was quite possibly the most casual treatment of a greatsword Tristan had ever seen. Still, Tristan accepted his blade back, and the moment the cool metal touched his fingers, he felt whole again.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got quite the talent there, Tristan. Seriously, I¡¯m impressed! And good timing to boot!¡± Jamal leaned against his own sword.


    Tristan wasn¡¯t sure what the swordmaster meant, but he was at least mostly sure that Jamal wasn¡¯t going to spar with him. At least not yet. ¡°Why is it good timing?¡± he asked.


    Jamal produced two chairs from his magical storage, sat in one, and offered the other to Tristan. ¡°I mean, I¡¯m just assuming here, and maybe it¡¯s a little bit late. I don¡¯t rightly know. But isn¡¯t it around your birthday?¡±


    Tristan¡¯s mouth hung open as he accepted the seat and considered his reply. He hadn¡¯t looked at a calendar in... weeks? Months? It probably is, he realized, but that actually begged a different question. ¡°Yeah, but how do you know that?¡±


    Jamal, for the first time since Tristan had known him, looked a bit sheepish. ¡°Well, mostly because I¡¯ve been holding onto this for a while.¡± With a flourish of his fingers, the swordmaster produced a gift basket from his magical storage. It was clearly a present, with a ribbon wrapped all around its handle and a bow on top the size of his head. He also recognized his mother¡¯s beautiful calligraphy on the tag, which was clearly labeled with his name.


    A bit of annoyance bubbled up through Tristan¡¯s curiosity. ¡°And how long have you had that?¡±


    ¡°Only a week or so. Or maybe two? I¡¯m not exactly sure, honestly. You know how time gets around here, with all the training we¡¯ve been doing. You¡¯ve been making quite a bit of progress, nearly mastering the Roving Blade, and I didn¡¯t want to see you get all distracted.¡±


    Distracted? Tristan frowned as he thought about how nice it would have been to get a care package from his parents. To have had some extra, positive reinforcement. Gods, how long had it been since he¡¯d thought of them? But now that he had, he realized he missed them tremendously. Being away from the familiar comfort of them had been quietly eating away at him for so long. It had left an emptiness within him not unlike what he¡¯d felt when Jamal had taken his sword.


    He resolved to write them a letter as soon as he got back to his room. Then he¡¯d have Cherry deliver it--or find someone who could.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± Jamal said, placing the basket on the ground between them, ¡°you should probably have this now. And a very happy birthday, mate! You¡¯ve not only survived another year, but you¡¯ve gotten a lot stronger too!¡±


    Tristan sighed, trying to push his teacher¡¯s poor manners out of his thoughts for the moment. When he went to lift the basket, he found it surprisingly heavy. Then he looked inside. Hidden there beneath the pretty, ruffling paper, were bars and bars of metal. But it wasn¡¯t just any metal, either. It was tier 2 white mithril.


    There were ten billets and ten bars, all expertly made--no doubt by his father--and each of their glittery white exteriors sparkled when they caught the light of the sun. They were, more than anything he¡¯d seen since his father¡¯s shop, beautiful. He didn¡¯t even want to begin to consider how much this much mithril would have normally cost, but his mind was already bursting with ideas of what he could do with it.


    Nestled on top of all that precious metal was also a letter written in his mother¡¯s ornate script. Tristan picked it up and immediately began reading.


    <blockquote>


    Dear Tristan,


    We hope you¡¯re doing well with Jamal, learning as much as you can, and growing into the greatest young man you can be. We know you¡¯ll make an excellent Swordsman, and we wanted to make sure you know that no matter what you do, we believe in you. We hope these gifts will help you along your Path.


    </blockquote>


    And here the handwriting changed to the blockier printing of his father.


    <blockquote>


    In case you can¡¯t tell, the heavy stuff is all white mithril. It¡¯s the payment that Brightshield provided for repairing his breastplate. I don¡¯t feel right keeping it since I didn¡¯t finish the job in time. Instead I¡¯m giving it to you, since he was your hero, and he would want it to protect you. It should go without saying, but this material is extremely valuable and rare, so only use it once you¡¯re ready.


    </blockquote>


    His mother¡¯s flowing script resumed and filled the rest of the page.


    <blockquote>


    I¡¯m also sending you four loaves of garlic bread--baked with extra love! I hope that it will help you remember the joys of the simpler life at home. Your father and I both want you to know that we miss you, Tristan. But we also know that time away is immensely important in this stage of your journey. Please be as safe as you can be, and maybe return home sooner rather than later. We can¡¯t wait to see how much you¡¯ve grown!


    Love,


    Your parents


    </blockquote>


    Tristan had to close his eyes to keep the tears in. He hadn¡¯t realized how much he¡¯d missed his parents if the mere act of reading their words had made him this emotional. He would definitely write back to them and explain why his response was so delayed... once he had time.


    When he finally composed himself, he reread the final paragraph again. His eyebrows pinched together at the mention of garlic bread. Other than a few buttery stains on the page, there were no signs of the four undoubtedly delicious loaves that should have been in the basket.


    He raised his eyes to examine his teacher as he asked, ¡°What happened to the garlic bread?¡±


    For a brief moment, it seemed like Jamal was considering playing it off that he had no idea what Tristan was talking about. But no doubt Tristan¡¯s face showed just how little that would work.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    ¡°I say we put your new sword to the test before talking about any of that stuff,¡± Jamal said, clearly trying to change the subject as he pulled his sword out of the ground.


    But Tristan was having none of it. He stared at his teacher as his voice became a growl. ¡°Jamal. What happened to my mother¡¯s garlic bread?¡±


    The swordmaster shrugged slightly as he leaned back in his chair, trying to look as casual as he ever had. ¡°Mate, you¡¯ve gotta see it from my point of view. The basket arrived a week or whatever ago, right, and I knew that you weren¡¯t quite ready for it. Not yet. Birthday or not, you needed to focus. But I also knew that those loaves of bread would go to waste if they weren¡¯t eaten.¡±


    Tristan stood bolt upright, knocking over his chair. His fist tightened around his sword¡¯s hilt, and he took a fighting stance. ¡°You ate my garlic bread? My mother¡¯s homemade, extra-love-for-my-birthday garlic bread?¡±


    With a twitch of the lips and a half-shrug, Jamal simply replied, ¡°Yeah, man. And in all honesty, I¡¯m not sad about it. It was bloody delicious. My compliments to the baker, you know? Might be the best I¡¯ve had in--"


    But whatever he might have said, Jamal did not get to finish, as Tristan was already charging him with his new [Oozebane Greatsword] fully drawn. The swordmaster was up with his own blade drawn in an instant, and it clashed with Tristan¡¯s with a fierceness and volume that must have rung throughout the entire manor. Tristan wasn¡¯t really sure what he was going to do, but fire had been lit within him, and he would not excuse his teacher¡¯s actions.


    Yet no matter how hard he tried, Jamal¡¯s blade always found a way to meet his own.


    ¡°Tristan,¡± the swordmaster said firmly, ¡°What are you trying to even do here, man? You can¡¯t get it back.¡±


    But Tristan refused to listen. His garlic bread was gone, and his hunger would not be sated by Jamal-isms. ¡°APOLOGIZE!¡± he yelled, far more loudly than he¡¯d expected.


    Meanwhile, his teacher¡¯s blade had begun to rove, circling and meeting his every strike with even smoother fluidity. ¡°Tristan, man, you really need to calm down--¡±


    But if Jamal said more, the younger Swordsman did not hear it. Tristan was seeing red and would not stop. For four more exchanges, he attacked Jamal and seemed to hold his own. It didn¡¯t matter that he hardly knew any attacking moves. He wasn¡¯t using them anyway. He was just trying to find gaps in Jamal¡¯s defenses with his own techniques. He wanted to land a single blow, no matter how quick his teacher was.


    Then there was one word that broke the moment, broke Tristan¡¯s flow, and broke any thought of resistance.


    ¡°Stop.¡±


    The word, steeped in Jamal¡¯s presence, washed over Tristan like a tidal wave. His blade slid to the ground for stability, and even then it was still a struggle for Tristan to keep his feet; the urge to kneel before this superior swordmaster was so great.


    His father had used his presence before, but never on Tristan. Not directly. This was the power of a higher tier, and it was undeniable.


    Jamal sighed loudly. ¡°You¡¯re really going to have to get better about listening, man. I get that you¡¯re mad, but come on. What did you hope to accomplish by attacking me? You said you wanted me to apologize, but how were you supposed to hear me, man, if you kept coming at me like that? Though, by the way, good job on those combinations! I was genuinely impressed with some of that footwork, too. I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d picked all of that up yet!¡±


    Behind him, a second person coughed, and Tristan realized that Cherry had stepped into the sandy ring at some point during his emotional moment. Perhaps to remove the two chairs.


    ¡°Right, back on track,¡± Jamal said with a sheepish grin. ¡°So yeah, I guess I am sorry that you didn¡¯t get to eat any of your mum¡¯s special birthday bread. I¡¯ve got something to kind of make up for it though. Recompense, as it were.¡±


    Tristan rolled that word over in his mouth, hoping it meant Jamal would be adding something more to the apology he¡¯d finally given.


    Before he¡¯d finished the thought, a notification appeared at the bottom of his vision. Tristan¡¯s eyes widened as he read it:


    You have gained the title: {Student of Jamal}.


    He quickly expanded the title to see its full description and benefits, and it was ridiculously impressive. Tristan¡¯s mouth dropped wide open, unsure of what he could possibly say in response.


    {Student of Jamal} +25% to swordsman experience gained while training with Jamal.


    ¡°I had never planned to give this out in my life, man. Never found anyone worthy of it,¡± Jamal said slowly, ¡°but I¡¯ve got to admit you¡¯ve earned it.¡±


    Tristan was still slightly in shock, but at least his voice began working within short order. ¡°This is amazing, Jamal! Thank you. But wouldn¡¯t it have been even more helpful to have gotten this back when we first started? Just thinking about all the experience I¡¯ve lost¨C-¡±


    ¡°No way, man,¡± Jamal cut him off. ¡°Stop that. Firstly, that title¡¯s something you have to earn. And who were you to me back then, eh? The probably-bratty kid of Marrik Hammerson. Just a way for me to finally expunge an Oath I sealed way too long ago and that¡¯s been hanging over my head ever since. Secondly, I was hoping for something a bit better looking, mate.¡± He actually winked at Tristan with that ¡®point,¡¯ which he seemed to find amusing right up until Cherry elbowed him in the ribs. Tristan merely shook his head, not sharing his master¡¯s amusement, which only served to call back to the birthday presents he should have gotten sooner.


    Jamal continued: ¡°Most importantly, though, you can¡¯t rush learning the sword. Everything has to be done the proper way, which truly is the slow way in this case. Trust me. It¡¯s better in the long run. We¡¯ve got to lay the foundation properly. Establish new, better habits. Train your mind and body. All the lessons need to soak in, need to marinate almost, to get through that tough skin of yours. And it¡¯s not like we¡¯re done yet or anything. Not for a while yet! So you will still get a fair amount of benefit from it. Besides, someday, that title might say ¡®Disciple¡¯ instead of ¡®Student¡¯.¡±


    Tristan nodded along. It made sense, in a very Jamal sort of way: it was a compliment but also a bit worrying, especially as Tristan wondered how much longer their training would be. It was equal parts threat and boon.


    So when Jamal pulled him in closer and locked eyes with him in a seriously uncomfortable way, Tristan got slightly worried.


    ¡°Oh, and this is super important, mate, so I need you to listen really carefully to this. Right, you ready?¡± He waited until Tristan actually nodded his head. ¡°Good.¡± Jamal pulled back slightly but gripped both of Tristan¡¯s arms tightly. ¡°Try not to embarrass yourself while you¡¯re wearing my name. You got me?¡±


    Tristan nodded solemnly. ¡°Yes sir.¡±


    The carefree grin found its way back onto Jamal¡¯s face as he released Tristan from his grip. A drink appeared in his hand. ¡°Perfect! Then what are you waiting for? Put the title on! You quite literally have my blessing, man. And that¡¯s something worth celebrating!--Along with your birthday, obviously. So, uh, we¡¯ll put the lessons on hold for today and celebrate properly. That title can get to work tomorrow, yeah? I think by then it¡¯ll be about time for the second Jamal-original technique!¡±


    Tristan¡¯s smile may have been a touch uncertain at first, but as Jamal and Cherry began making detailed plans for the feast that evening, it felt more and more right. He knew that today, whether it was his birthday or not, even whether it was filled with garlic bread or not, would be one of those days he¡¯d never forget.


    He even let his attention slip into his Status again, just for a moment in between Jamal¡¯s questions and grandiose plans. He wanted to look at the title one more time, thrilled that he finally had the respect of a man who¡¯d long had his.


    Then he chose it, putting a second set of brackets around one of his titles for the first time.


    He finally had a title worth equipping.


    STATUS:


    Tristan Hammerson


    Human


    L12 Swordsmith/4 Swordsman


    {{Student of Jamal}}


    Stats:


    STR 44 (+5)


    AGI 23 (+3)


    END 47 (+6)


    INT 13


    WIS 15


    WLL 26


    Core: [Soul-Forged] Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul, are greatly enhanced, and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.


    Titles: {Awakened}, {Fledgling Dungeon Delver}, {Soulscarred}, {{Student of Jamal}}


    Skills: [Craft Armor], [Craft Shield], [Craft Tool], [Craft Weapon], [Create: Portable Forge], [Gather Ore], [Identify], [Permanent Party], [Repair Item], [Sharpen Blade], [Work Metal]


    Attacks: [Cleaving Slash], [Piercing Thrust], [Riposte]


    Passives: [Agility Up I], [Blade¡¯s Resolve], [Born Blacksmith], [Combat Reflexes], [Endurance Up I], [Enhance Craft I], [Heat & Fire Resistance], [In a Hurry], [Strength Up I]

 Chapter 39: The Most Important Lesson

    Chapter 39: The Most Important Lesson


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    The next morning, Tristan rolled over just enough in his messy bed to grab the blanket. His body absolutely refused to move farther than that. He felt like he¡¯d died, gotten chopped up into parts, and then been reassembled before being dragged back to life. His whole body ached.


    Worse, even the tiniest sounds were nearly unbearable. Three quick knocks on the door echoed between his ears, even as he slammed his head under a pillow. Speaking of his head, it felt like it was trapped between his father¡¯s squeezing hands. He could feel his own pulse throbbing behind his eyes, and everything else seemed to fade to the background in comparison.


    Tristan couldn¡¯t remember exactly why he felt this way. He could barely remember anything from the previous night, but he was certain it had been a big celebration. For my birthday, he recalled. There had been all sorts of amazing food and drinks and dancing. He¡¯d had a vague impression of being overwhelmed, but loving it too. Everything felt blurry though, when he went back to it. The only certainty he still had was that he¡¯d had a good time. It was his first time drinking. All of it was free, of course, courtesy of Jamal.


    But now he was paying for it.


    The knocks erupted on his door again, this time more insistently. Or maybe they just cut more sharply into his ears.


    ¡°Go away,¡± he groaned, though the pillow definitely muffled his words. He didn¡¯t care if they heard him. He didn¡¯t care who it was. He pulled the blanket over his head to block out all the little beams of light that were stabbing him. He just wanted to go back to sleep and wake up when everything was back to normal. He prayed that was even possible.


    His visitor refused to quit, though. From under his pillow, Tristan heard the distinct sound of the doorknob turning, the latch lifting, and the door opening. Then there was the ungodly-loud clacking of footsteps coming across the floor. Directly toward him.


    The blanket was ripped away, bringing Tristan¡¯s bare chest into contact with the coldest air he¡¯d ever felt in his life. It also gave the light a chance to creep around his pillow and hands, piercing his eyes with unrelenting brilliance. The light somehow made the throbbing behind his eyes feel even worse.


    ¡°...you want me to help again?¡± someone was saying. It sounded like a woman.


    ¡°I think I¡¯m dying,¡± Tristan whined.


    There was a sound that Tristan knew must be laughter, even if it felt like an attack.


    ¡°I promise you¡¯re not. This is just a hangover.¡±


    Tristan suddenly felt a new sensation like the roiling of the sea but coming from deep within him. ¡°Oh gods,¡± he said, gagging, as he twisted himself out of bed, half-rolling off the side and in the general direction of his bathroom. His feet seemed to carry him faster than he could handle, and the world swam around him. Then everything he¡¯d eaten or drank the night before came back out of him. At least the poison was leaving him.


    At some point, a soft hand had found his back and was gently soothing him.


    ¡°You feel better now, right?¡± the caring voice asked. When he didn¡¯t reply she asked, ¡°Feel like there¡¯s any more to go?¡±


    Tristan shook his head. ¡°I think... I think that¡¯s it.¡±


    There was another gentle laugh. ¡°Good,¡± the voice said. ¡°Since that¡¯s done, I¡¯ll get rid of the rest of it.¡±


    Tristan was kneeling on the cold tile floor, and he still felt miserable, but not quite as bad as before. At least not physically. Because now he recognized the voice of the person who had come to wake him, and he was genuinely embarrassed. He thought back through the healer¡¯s words and then asked, ¡°Wait, do you mean you could have healed me before?¡±


    ¡°Of course. But if I don¡¯t let you feel the hangover, you¡¯ll never learn the most important lesson of all.¡±


    Tristan turned himself around and found Cleo¡¯s scarred face only half an arm¡¯s length from his. She was kneeling on the cold tiles next to him, though now her right hand had moved up to his shoulder, and the warmth he¡¯d come to know as her healing washed over him. It crept up into his chest, and took all the agony away.


    ¡°What¡¯s the most important lesson of all?¡±


    Her soft brown eyes held his with firm reassurance. ¡°That sometimes when you lose control of yourself, even if you survive, you might feel so bad you¡¯ll wish you hadn¡¯t.¡±


    Tristan thought of the starburst on his chest as his eyes flicked to the scar that covered the entire right side of Cleo¡¯s face. A remnant of a burn, she¡¯d said, but only after a long series of conversations that had started the first time she¡¯d seen Tristan¡¯s scar. She had dodged answering how long she¡¯d had it, but Tristan knew that, with her tier, it could have happened as many as a hundred years ago.


    Was that what taught her the most important lesson?


    He¡¯d never once seen her try to hide it or flinch at its mention. If anything, she displayed it proudly. It went all the way up to her hairline where, as usual, the long black locks were all kept in a perfect bun. Not for the first time, Tristan wondered how long it would be if she let it fall freely. Long enough to cover the scar for sure, and probably her whole face.


    ¡°Sit still,¡± Cleo said teasingly as her hand moved up to rest on his temple. It lingered there until all of his aches were merely a memory.


    ¡°I don¡¯t remember much from last night,¡± he admitted. ¡°I didn¡¯t embarrass myself, did I?¡±


    He thought he saw a tiny pout cross Cleo¡¯s face, but it vanished so quickly he wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d seen it at all. ¡°It was a party in your honor,¡± she supplied, ¡°and Jamal kept your cup full, so I¡¯m not wholly surprised you don¡¯t remember anything. I don¡¯t think you did anything too awful.¡±


    Tristan sighed in relief. ¡°I was just worried, because it¡¯s usually me coming to see you. I didn¡¯t expect, I mean, it¡¯s so early and...¡± He paused and his eyes went wide. ¡°Is it early?¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Cleo laughed. ¡°No, it¡¯s an hour ¡®til noon. I¡¯ve been up for ages.¡±


    ¡°Gods, I need to stay away from... whatever he gave me.¡±


    Cleo¡¯s face looked thoughtful, as if considering whether or not to say something before finally giving a reassuring pat. ¡°Or maybe don¡¯t have quite so much of it.¡±


    The moment lengthened as the two sat quietly, and eventually Cleo removed her hand. For some reason, Tristan felt embarrassed. ¡°Sorry,¡± he finally said, trying to fill the quiet.


    Cleo inclined her head slightly, like a little bow, before she rose to her feet. ¡°For?¡±


    Tristan shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. It felt like the right thing to say.¡±


    ¡°Jamal wishes you to dress and be out in the arena within the hour.¡±


    ¡°I shouldn¡¯t take that long,¡± he replied, stretching out his neck and arms. ¡°I really do feel great now. Thanks again, Cleo. You really are the best.¡±


    Cleo scoffed. ¡°Oh, I know it. Try to go longer this time before you need my services again.¡±


    Tristan stood beside her. ¡°I thought I did well this time. It was, what, almost a week?¡±


    Cleo didn¡¯t smile back at him, though she did nod slightly. ¡°My point stands. I wish you an enlightening day.¡±


    As she walked out, Tristan couldn¡¯t help but think about how much less painful the clacking of her heels on the floor was now that she¡¯d cleared his head. He owed her for so much already, but today was the first time she¡¯d really taught him something.


    - - - - -


    Jamal held the blade out before him perfectly upright but with the wide, flat side facing directly toward Tristan.


    ¡°I know you want to learn some offensive skills, but trust me when I say this will serve you better. When you¡¯re in a party, it¡¯ll save your healer mana. When you¡¯re not, it could save your life. I call it the Flat-blade Barrier, but even I can admit it¡¯s a shit name. Maybe you¡¯ll come up with something better some day.¡±


    He showed Tristan the stance in great detail. How the blade needed to be centered directly before the middle of his body. How he needed to keep his body balanced and steady, so that it couldn''t be pushed over. ¡°And always keep the blade at least a foot¡¯s length from your torso, at least to start. When you get hit, the sword needs to have somewhere to go that isn''t through your chest.¡±


    Tristan blinked rapidly. ¡°Hit by what, exactly? What does this block?¡±


    ¡°What doesn¡¯t it block?¡± the master swordsman quipped. ¡°It¡¯s not great at stopping other swords, obviously. You¡¯d be a sitting duck with no recourse or counter options. But when it comes to magic or explosions? Yeah, man, it¡¯s the real deal.¡±


    He patted Tristan on the shoulder, helping guide the broad arm into a narrower tuck.


    ¡°The way I see it is this, man: if you learn to counter all the common things, then people will have to get creative to beat you, right? And I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve really noticed it yet, but most people aren¡¯t that creative. It¡¯s what really sets us apart.¡± He grinned at Tristan as he examined his stance, nodding in approval. ¡°That¡¯s why I won¡¯t ever teach anyone else. It¡¯s just you and me, kid.¡±


    Tristan opened his mouth to say something, but Jamal cut him off.


    ¡°This technique¡¯s more than just the blade position, obviously.¡± He stepped back toward Tristan and placed his hand over both of Tristan¡¯s, where they gripped the blade. The swordmaster¡¯s hands felt strangely warm.


    ¡°This is the secret,¡± he said quietly. ¡°It¡¯s the manipulation of the flow of your own energy.¡± He lifted one of his hands and placed it on Tristan¡¯s chest, right on the starburst, while the other went to his blade. ¡°It goes from here to there. From your heart to your soul.¡±


    For a moment Tristan let his nerves out with a deep exhale, and with it, he felt a rush of energy racing through his arms.


    Jamal stepped away quickly, nodding approvingly. ¡°Wow, man.¡±


    ¡°What was that?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°How did you do that?¡±


    Jamal stepped back further, looking quite smug. ¡°I didn¡¯t, mate. To get it on your first go... I think you¡¯ve actually got a knack for it! You never cease to surprise me. You even exhaled throughout without me telling you to. Like, cheers, man! It took forever for me to realize that was necessary, and longer still to unlock that kind of energy.¡±


    If only I knew what in the gods¡¯ names he meant by that, Tristan admitted. But as he thought about the interaction, the way he¡¯d felt, there definitely had been a rush of warmth that was more than just heat, but... what had it been? And did Jamal actually mean that Tristan had somehow done it all himself, without Jamal¡¯s help?


    ¡°The only other thing you¡¯ve really got to learn, I guess, is how to disperse it across your whole blade. And nothing quite like real pressure to forge that diamond.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t forge diamonds,¡± Tristan shot back.


    ¡°Not yet you can¡¯t,¡± Jamal replied with a wink.


    Tristan saw the man looking him up and down, and though he wanted to hold his position rigidly, he suspected he knew some variation of what was coming.


    ¡°I¡¯m not ready.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you¡¯re about ready,¡± Jamal said at the exact same time. ¡°And if not, I¡¯ve got Cleo nearby, so you¡¯ll be fine. It¡¯s the only way to really learn it, after all. Especially for you, right? Oh, and here''s one last tip: think of it as pushing a bit of yourself into the blade. A bit of your essence, or magic, or mana, or whatever you call that bit of you that interacts with your Path. And yeah, I know you don''t have ¡®Mana¡¯ per se, but that¡¯s not what I¡¯m talking about. You¡¯re alive, so you can do this. Don¡¯t let uncertainties or my lack of terminology stop you. Just trust me. More than that, mate, trust yourself.¡±


    Tristan gripped his sword tighter as his eyes widened. ¡°What does any of that mean?¡±


    ¡°Focus!¡± Jamal said as his smirk broadened into a full grin. ¡°Guard up! It¡¯s one of the absolute basics, man.¡± He lowered his sword and raised his empty hand, which immediately burst into flames.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding me!¡± Tristan said even as he tightened his grip around his sword. Whatever Jamal was doing, it thankfully gave Tristan just enough time to recheck his positioning. He had to make sure it was as close to what Jamal had shown him as he could get it.


    ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Jamal encouraged. ¡°Keep the flat edge toward me.¡± His whole upper arm was now wreathed in bright red flames. ¡°Feel yourself become one with the blade. Let your blade become a shield, reinforced by your will and determination. Anything approaching you will be diverted by the energy coursing through your blade and just flow around you, like you¡¯re the stone in the middle of a river.¡±


    While Tristan might have loved to have asked a few more questions, he didn¡¯t have time. An arc of fire burst from Jamal¡¯s fist, spreading widely as it hissed through the air, licking and singeing the space between them as it raced toward him.


    It¡¯s an area attack, Tristan realized as he caught his breath and braced himself. Then, in what might have been a moment of desperation or blind trust, he tried as hard as he could to embrace exactly what Jamal had said to do: he pushed a part of himself into his blade.


    The wave of fire crashed around him an instant later. He felt the temperature rising all around him. He saw the world turn orange and the sand beside his feet melting to glass. And somehow, miraculously, he did not die.


    But as he held his blade, he also felt the energy coursing from him into his blade, just like Jamal had guided him to do before. Around the edges of his vision, darkness started to creep in, and he knew his health was still dipping. But he managed to hold his ground. For how long, Tristan couldn¡¯t begin to guess. It felt like forever. He forced the air from his lungs and refused to breathe back in, knowing that if he took a single breath with the air that hot, he¡¯d regret it.


    At some point the flames finally passed around his sword, and the world ceased burning, returning to the frigid state that ¡®normal¡¯ had never seemed to be before.


    Tristan still held his position, though he wasn¡¯t sure he could do anything else. It hurt to move. Even to breathe. The air around him chilled his lungs after the inferno he¡¯d just survived.


    His eyes found Jamal, hand still outstretched, but now wearing a look Tristan didn¡¯t recognize. It was something new, something he hadn¡¯t ever seen before on his master¡¯s face. Was he shocked? Was that it? Tristan didn¡¯t know, but that look was the last thing he saw as his body crashed to the ground.


    I think I impressed him, Tristan thought with a smile as the cold world went black.

 Chapter 40: Next Project

    Chapter 40: Next Project


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Cleo</h2>


    The moment the arena cooled down again and Tristan hit the ground, Cleo was at his side. As always, her skills worked at a blistering speed in those first crucial seconds. [Identify], [Assessment], and [Diagnosis] all provided their immediate readouts, making sense of all the contextual information that could potentially prove relevant or useful. In this case that included the ambient temperature, an estimate of the heat he¡¯d survived based on the degree to which the arena had melted around him, and expected damage reports. Those were proving less reliable than normal though, based on the duration of the burn and the fact that Jamal hadn¡¯t used the skill at full power. That was the only reason the normally-lethal [Dragon¡¯s Breath] hadn¡¯t also resulted in a small-scale natural disaster.


    She still worried that he hadn¡¯t held back nearly enough.


    Tristan¡¯s skin was crispy, even charred around the edges, but his clothes were surprisingly intact. Her initial [Assessment] had shown that the situation wasn¡¯t nearly as serious as it had looked. Somehow, despite losing an enormous 75% chunk of his HP in one attack, Tristan¡¯s injuries were almost entirely superficial.


    It could have been so much worse, she thought, especially if he hadn¡¯t been such a quick study. But, as she well knew by now, he was. So why did he pass out?


    [Extract True Status] showed that her [Identify] hadn¡¯t been incorrect in the slightest: it hadn¡¯t been the HP damage that had sent the boy into unconsciousness, as he was still well above 0. In fact, the moment he awoke, his body would be fine. No, he had overtaxed his spirit.


    Jamal should have never taught him that technique in tier 2!


    But he had. He had, and he hadn¡¯t run it past her in advance. At least he¡¯d thought enough of the risk to actually invite her to the training session. In retrospect, perhaps the lack of consultation should have been the first red flag.


    And now this had happened.


    It¡¯s not as bad as it looks, she reminded herself. It¡¯s just a flesh wound.


    Cleo still placed a gentle hand on the center of Tristan¡¯s chest where she knew all too well his scar hid. She cast [Full Heal] despite it being taxing on her mana and knowing it would all essentially be wasteful overhealing. She could live with that, though, as it guaranteed that he was safe.


    They¡¯re a pair of fools. A pair of brilliant, reckless fools.


    She straightened Tristan¡¯s body on the ground, trusting that someone else would come along and take him back to his room.


    Then she spun to face Jamal. She saw him clearly for the first time since he¡¯d raised his hand and cast that ridiculous AoE spell that could have roasted the tier 2 swordsmith alive. A venom she hadn¡¯t expected coated the words she fired Jamal¡¯s way.


    ¡°You should have gone easier on him. That was a twelve-second burn! Were you trying to kill him?!¡±


    Yet despite her uncharacteristic zeal, the playboy alarmingly had a complete lack of reaction. It wasn¡¯t even his usual, affected apathy either. He hadn¡¯t pulled out a drink or even smoothed his hair yet. No, Cleo was now recognizing that the man hadn¡¯t spoken a single word since he¡¯d launched his [Dragon¡¯s Breath]. Instead, he was examining his hand, turning it over in something akin to amazement.


    He was acting strangely, for sure, but that still didn¡¯t excuse him. She activated her [Stoicism] so that none of his charisma would influence what she felt needed to be said. ¡°That was blatant disregard for such a promising pupil¡¯s life. Why did you push for so long?¡±


    ¡°Because he could take it,¡± Jamal replied in a strangely soft voice. ¡°Ever since his first lesson--Do you remember? He got back up, over and over again! Despite me telling him to stay down, the boy just never wanted to quit. So yeah, that¡¯s how I¡¯ve taught him ever since. I¡¯ve pushed him, and I¡¯ve pushed him harder than anyone else would ever be willing to--but only because he can take it. And he bloody well learns from it, Cleo! Look at him. He did take it. Despite it being a twelve-second burn."


    Cleo stood up and closed the gap between them, putting herself directly in front of the idiot¡¯s face. ¡°You may say that, but I still can¡¯t get behind how hard you¡¯ve pushed him these past few days! It¡¯s no wonder you didn¡¯t consult me first; I¡¯d have never allowed it!¡±


    ¡°Cleo,¡± Jamal said, stopping her rant before she could really get started. He was blinking at her then, and a smile had spread across his ridiculously handsome face. ¡°Cleo!¡± he repeated and he put his open arms lightly against her own, ¡°Scan me!¡±


    ¡°What?¡± she asked, clearly doubting that she¡¯d heard him correctly. But when the man merely shook his head slightly and his smile never wavered, she did as he¡¯d asked. She started with her upgraded [Identify] quickly followed by [Assessment], worried that perhaps she¡¯d missed something important... and she clearly had, as the bolded changes on the top line displayed.


    [Marquis Jamal Quicksteel, Human, level 80 [T3/T4(pending)] swordmaster]


    100% HP, 95% Stamina, Status: Normal


    {{The Unerring Blade}}


    ¡°You leveled?¡± she asked in disbelief.


    ¡°Three times,¡± he responded, with his voice full of awe. ¡°I can tier-up at last.¡±


    ¡°You completed your quest,¡± she whispered.


    Jamal nodded.


    ¡°How is that possible?¡±


    It was only then that Cleo saw his eyes had moved beyond her to where the unconscious boy was on the ground. His smile still had not dimmed. ¡°I taught him. And he was genuinely worthy.¡±


    Cleo left him in his reverie. She tried to be happy for her friend, recalling how he¡¯d all but given up hope of ever tiering up. Yet it was still her responsibility to make sure he realized how foolish what he¡¯d done had been. It wasn¡¯t worth risking Tristan¡¯s life, no matter how great he was as a pupil. She would have to make him understand that later because she wasn¡¯t going to ruin this for him now.


    Her hand rose and touched her scarred cheek. Sometimes you¡¯ll wish you hadn¡¯t.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan woke with a start, still remembering the image of Jamal¡¯s shocked face. Of course, the moment he opened his eyes, golden light flooded in as the power that had been building and waiting within him was finally released in the golden glow that surrounded him with an unmistakable ding!


    Congratulations! You have reached LEVEL 13!


    The swordsman Class has reached LEVEL 5!


    Skills Earned:


    [Chosen Foe] An active ability allowing the user to designate up to one target. The selected target deals 15% less damage to you.


    Tristan blinked, reading his newest skill with excitement but also a bit of wry humor. It was another way to reduce incoming damage, which was amazing. If only I¡¯d earned it a day sooner.


    Still, he had survived Jamal¡¯s attack even without being able to mark him as a [Chosen Foe]. Though, the more Tristan thought about it, he really didn¡¯t love that ability name. Thinking about how he¡¯d likely use it going forward, if he was only going to be marking one person at a time, that kind of felt to him like dueling. And his mind couldn¡¯t help but drift back to Bernhardt. Then farther back, to Aaric. This skill would be another tool to help him outlast the frost mage the next time they clashed. And the time after that, because of course there¡¯d be another one.


    Nodding to himself, Tristan pulled up his skills from within his Status. He stared at [Chosen Foe] one last time, then with a conscious effort changed its name.


    [Rivalry] An active ability allowing the user to designate a target. The selected target deals 15% less damage to you.


    Tristan smiled, fully satisfied.


    As much as he loved leveling up, Tristan also knew he had more he needed to deal with. He got out of bed and gave himself a quick once-over in front of the mirror. What he saw wasn¡¯t surprising, because while he¡¯d taken a full AoE blast of fire from his teacher from only a few steps away. Fresh pink skin covered large sections of his body, from where the burns had been healed away. Tristan knew that he¡¯d reduced the attack¡¯s damage as much as he possibly could have.


    He also wasn¡¯t surprised when shortly after he was up and moving around, Cherry came in to check on him, delivering her usual information and, of course, his schedule.


    When he¡¯d asked her how long he¡¯d been out this time, she¡¯d shaken her head and asked, ¡±Do you just take for granted almost dying every lesson?¡±


    ¡°Come on! I wasn¡¯t even close to dead this time,¡± he shot back. ¡°Besides, I got a new skill that should help me not die a lot better in the future!¡±


    Cherry just shook her head. ¡°See, and now I¡¯m worried about your mental health, too. But, to answer your questions, you were only out overnight, which means you¡¯ve still got a handful of hours before Jamal wakes up, and then an hour or so before your session. Enjoy your morning.¡±


    But before she could leave, Tristan called out again. ¡°Wait, Cherry, one more thing!¡± While he could hear the dismissal in her words, he was still full of excitement. When she looked back, he held up his hands in a pleading sort of surrender. ¡°I just need you for a second. There¡¯s something I¡¯ve been wondering about for a while now.¡±


    ¡°Go on,¡± Cherry said, taking two steps back into the room.


    Tristan composed himself and tried to put his thoughts in order. ¡°A while back, I was traveling with a much higher-leveled person, a scout type that was easily tier 3 or 4, and he was telling me that it was possible to... upgrade my [Identify]?¡± He hadn¡¯t meant it to really be a question, so he hurried to add more. ¡°I mean, I know for a fact that it¡¯s possible to upgrade the skill. But I was wondering if there was also gear that can do that, too.¡±


    Cherry blinked rapidly. ¡°Well, that was definitely unexpected. But yes, it is possible, just not easy. What did you have in mind?¡±


    Tristan perked up. ¡°What I¡¯d love to do is add the ability to see Classes to my [Identify], and as knowledgeable as you seem to be about things, I thought I¡¯d ask you.¡±


    Cherry laughed slightly. ¡°You know I¡¯d help you even without the flattery, right?¡±


    Tristan grinned back at her. ¡°I do, but a little kindness goes a long way. Besides, it¡¯s true.¡±


    The woman laughed outright at that. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong. So, how are you hoping to upgrade your [Identify]?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± Tristan began, ¡°could I do it with gear? Does gear like that exist?¡±


    ¡°It does.¡±


    ¡°Then I was hoping you could tell me how others tend to get or make it. Is it a Class skill, or a Quest reward, or what?¡±


    Cherry sighed. ¡°That¡¯s actually something I¡¯m not sure about. I know upgrading [Identify] is possible, but from everything I¡¯ve heard, most of the time those upgrades are simply given to Classes that need it. Healers almost always get it, and quite early to boot.¡±


    ¡°How early?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°Early like in Tier 2?¡±


    ¡°Usually, yes.¡±


    Bolts of inspiration began to race through Tristan¡¯s mind. ¡°OK, then that¡¯s not working against me either. When do items that upgrade it start being seen?¡± He asked, turning his attention back to the assistant.


    ¡°Well, first of all, they¡¯re rather rare. But the earliest I¡¯ve heard of that can add any functionality to [Identify] tend to be tier 3¨C-"


    ¡°Tend to be?¡± Tristan cut in, ¡°so it¡¯s possible they could come sooner? Great, then I¡¯m going to make it happen!" He turned around and literally ran back to where he¡¯d set up his [Portable Forge] and [Crafting Materials Bag], where he began digging through what little he had left. As a growth item, its capacity had continued to grow as he leveled, but the supply of materials seemed to have almost diminished accordingly.


    He barely remembered to say, ¡°Thanks, Cherry! You¡¯re the best!¡± before he pulled out several small scraps of metal and a few gems.


    He didn¡¯t realize that she¡¯d already left by then, having understood all too well what the manic glint in his eyes meant.


    Tristan spent the next four hours planning and preparing for what would undoubtedly be his next big crafting marathon. He knew he didn¡¯t have time for it before his lesson with Jamal, and he absolutely wouldn¡¯t try to rush it. This was too important.


    In the end, he¡¯d settled on bracers for his first serious attempt. Mostly because he didn¡¯t currently have a good pair. Sure, bracers weren¡¯t as nice as a breastplate or pauldrons or the like, but all of those larger pieces would run him out of stock in one craft.


    That was assuming he could figure out how to make such a property on his own in the first place.


    Sure, he could try to upgrade the skill naturally, but he''d never done that before, while he''d done a lot of crafting. He felt far more confident in his ability to succeed this way. And besides, it would give him EXP to craft it, so it just made sense.


    That was why he also made a promise to himself that--no matter what--he would find a way to stay conscious through his session with Jamal today. He would then seek out Cleo not due to injuries but to ask her a few questions, now that he knew about healers getting upgraded [Identify]. She was by far the best healer he¡¯d ever heard of, and certainly better than Opie. Hopefully she would be able to shine some light on the whole upgrading process, so he could rush back to his room and get to work on boosting his own skill once and for all.


    It wasn¡¯t the simplest of plans, and it had a lot of possible flaws, but for some reason Tristan felt really good about it. In truth, he just liked having a clear ¡®next project¡¯ ahead of him now that his sword was complete. What was a crafter, after all, without a good project to occupy his or her mind?


    That was why, when Tristan practically ran out to the arena at the scheduled time, and he saw Jamal standing there not with a practice sword but with another fighter who was holding a very real, very beautiful, blacksteel greatsword, Tristan wanted to curse.


    The other fighter had sharp black scales that seemed to flow up his arms, which were already poised and at the ready. In the exact spot in the arena where Jamal always stood before they began sparring.


    As soon as Jamal saw him, he called out, ¡°A new challenger has appeared!¡± with much too much enthusiasm, pointing directly at Tristan. ¡°Into the ring, young {Student of Jamal}!¡± Then his voice deepened as it was infused with presence:


    ¡°Test your might!¡±


    Shit, Tristan thought. He¡¯s gotta stop making me fight people out of nowhere.

 Chapter 41: The Better Swordsman

    Chapter 41: The Better Swordsman


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    The ¡°new challenger,¡± as Jamal had labeled him, didn¡¯t look nearly as intimidating as Tristan¡¯s last opponent. He wasn¡¯t enormous, for one thing, though Tristan quickly realized that the black scales running up and down his arms and legs went under the man¡¯s padded shirt and armor instead of extending it. That meant they weren¡¯t part of the armor at all but were the man¡¯s natural defenses. An observation that was further confirmed when Tristan used [Identify] on him.


    [Xanax, Scaleborn, level 17]


    {{Spider¡¯s Bane}}


    Tristan regarded the man carefully. ¡°Cool title. How¡¯d you come by it?¡±


    The scaleborn¡¯s eyes narrowed momentarily, almost as if flinching at the memory. But all he said was, ¡°I am here to duel, not make friends.¡±


    Despite the rudeness, Tristan couldn¡¯t help but be intrigued by the man. It wasn¡¯t just the title either. The sword he held looked to be about the same caliber as [Hope¡¯s Aspiration], but Tristan didn¡¯t need to guess, as a quick [Identify] did all the work for him.


    [Blood-bearer¡¯s Blade (rare)]: [Bloodied Strength]


    A blacksteel greatsword that feasts on the pain of its wielder. It¡¯s capable of granting immense strength, but at what cost?


    The description was intriguing, and Tristan expanded the [Bloodied Strength] property to try and understand what made this sword so different.


    [Bloodied Strength] While wielding this sword, your HP maximum is increased by 75%, and every time you take damage, increase the damage done by this sword by 10% against the attacker, stacking up to 40 times. Blocking, parrying, or using active defensive skills removes all stacks.


    Tristan was intrigued by the tradeoff the sword seemed to push toward. He wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d ever want to abandon all his defensive ability, even if it did result in a lot more offensive power and a health boost. What¡¯s the point of being a swordsman if you can¡¯t embrace all the strengths of using a blade?


    Looking up, Tristan could see that his opponent had the same sort of distracted look about him, meaning he was no doubt examining Tristan and his gear too.


    Jamal stepped between them, deliberately blocking their views of each other.


    ¡°Right, so now that all the scouting nonsense is done, let¡¯s get to the real fun. I know you were both doing it, but c¡¯mon, mates, a duel is much more fun if you loosen up and feel it out during the fight.¡±


    Tristan narrowed his eyes. ¡°At least this time you¡¯re not trying to hide that it is a duel.¡±


    The swordmaster shrugged. ¡°What can I say? We all improve with time and experience. Yeah, that even goes for me,¡± he said with a wink. ¡°I know it¡¯s hard to believe, but even I¡¯m not perfect.¡±


    ¡°I thought the next time you said I¡¯d fight a girl,¡± Tristan shot back.


    ¡°Right, well, she wouldn¡¯t have been a challenge for ya. Not with your skills and training, man. Yeah, you¡¯ll just have to trust me. Unless you¡¯re finally interested in a girl for other reasons?¡±


    Tristan sighed, shaking his head. ¡°No, let¡¯s just get on with it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my guy!¡± Jamal motioned for Tristan to take up his traditional spot as the newcomer cleared his throat.


    ¡°Am I to believe this level 13 will be a challenge for me?¡± the scaleborn asked.


    ¡°More than you¡¯d believe,¡± Jamal said nearly beneath his breath. ¡°But that¡¯s for you two to figure out, isn¡¯t it? Speaking of!¡± He stepped back and indicated first one swordsman, then the other. ¡°Allow me to introduce you two! Tristan, my student, this is Xanax, who has agreed to this bout for a hefty sum of gold--on two conditions. First, that no one will be harmed in any permanent or Path-limiting way. And second, that he doesn¡¯t hold anything back.¡± He glanced back at Tristan again. ¡°So you shouldn¡¯t either. You¡¯ve got to learn, and while I totally get why you were frustrated by the last bout, I still hold it was a better training method than just more time between us in this arena. So yeah, are we all ready?¡±


    ¡°I am,¡± Xanax said.


    Tristan nodded. ¡°As am I.¡±


    ¡°Cleo?¡± Jamal asked with a hint of something that felt to Tristan like nervousness.


    As if on cue, the air behind Jamal shimmered and a luxurious leather chair suddenly appeared in the space, with Cleo seated in it. Tristan was certainly surprised that Cleo was going to be directly present for this fight. Often she¡¯d be elsewhere, doing gods only knew what, until some dire injury that only she could handle rushed her to the arena.


    At least I¡¯ll know where to find her after the duel, Tristan thought. Then I can ask her about [Identify].


    Cleo spoke with a voice almost untouched by emotion. ¡°I will personally guarantee the safety of both combatants.¡±


    ¡°Thanks, Cleo,¡± Jamal said with a forced wink. ¡°You¡¯re the best.¡±


    Cleo merely pursed her lips slightly.


    Across the circle, the other swordsman was still standing at ease, though most of his focus seemed to stay on Tristan.


    Jamal reclaimed everyone¡¯s attention. ¡°Well, since we¡¯re all here for the duel, let¡¯s get to it, yeah?¡±


    The scaleborn across the way shifted into a stance Tristan didn¡¯t quite recognize. It looked a bit like a stance he¡¯d seen Jamal use a few times, but there were differences that Tristan couldn¡¯t quite explain. Why his feet were parallel, for example, or his blade was so much higher.


    Uncertainty aside, Tristan did feel a little spike of excitement as he raised his blade and took a defensive stance. This would only be his third opponent since picking up swordsman, and since he¡¯d definitely learned from both Jamal and Bernhardt, he wondered what he¡¯d learn from Xanax.


    Jamal moved mostly out of the way while still holding one hand between them. He took time enough to look both combatants in the eyes. ¡°Right then. Begin!¡± Jamal pulled his hand back, and immediately the scaleborn charged.


    Admittedly, Tristan had begun planning the moment he¡¯d read the property on Xanax¡¯s sword. He¡¯d noticed that it was a potentially potent offensive boost, but it also came with a hefty defensive drawback. One that Tristan hoped to take advantage of and why he went immediately on the defensive. He knew that the more damage he dished out, the stronger Xanax would become. But until he did damage, he would get a strong baseline reading for what this scaleborn could do.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    What was surprising was how easily Tristan was able to block every single attack Xanax made, even without using the Roving Blade. His opponent had a four-level advantage, but unlike with Bernhardt, who had applied constant pressure from two (slightly) smaller swords, Xanax used only a single greatsword, and his attacks were far slower and more predictable. Clearly he didn¡¯t have Jamal teaching him, or he¡¯d know better, Tristan thought.


    Guarding was actually so easy that Tristan went back through his notifications to make sure he¡¯d read the [Identify] output correctly. But he definitely had, and Xanax was absolutely a level 17... even if he currently didn¡¯t feel like it.


    The problem was quickly apparent: Tristan had spent too long training with Jamal, and that was never going to be fair to his opponent. Compared to Jamal, the scaleborn was slow, as his blade never whipped through the air at a speed Tristan couldn¡¯t follow. Compared to Jamal, Xanax made big, telegraphed strikes, and Tristan blocked every one. So Tristan actually chose to let one attack through, just to test a theory.


    He intentionally sat back and left his blade out for half a moment too long after parrying one attack, leaving his side open to a quick slash... and the attack that landed was painful, but it lacked that familiar one-hit-could-sever-an-arm kind of pain.


    Compared to Jamal, the scaleborn was hardly threatening at all.


    He was, however, persistent. Xanax made strike after strike, but Tristan blocked and parried them all. The very things Xanax¡¯s sword discouraged him from doing, Tristan decided to turn against him. With the benefit of each parry triggering [Riposte], Tristan was able to return blow after blow that forced Xanax to choose between either his health or his attack buffs.


    Slowly but surely, and quite methodically, Tristan whittled down his opponent. He never over-extended, in part because he never attacked outright. He merely sat back in defensive stance, blocked, parried, and countered when the opportunities arose.


    It was clearly very frustrating for the scaleborn, who never exactly got vocal about things, but the grunts and yells he made with every strike definitely increased in both pitch and volume, almost in sync with the energy that seemed to radiate more and more from him. Unlike Bernhardt, though, there was no banter. There was no back and forth. Oddly, Tristan found that he missed it some.


    Is there more to this fight than I¡¯m seeing, Tristan wondered? He knew that the scaleborn had strong innate defenses, and extra HP from his sword, but what else was he hiding?


    As it turned out, nothing.


    And after a long, drawn out, and incredibly one-sided fight, the scaleborn fell to a knee and lowered his head. ¡°I yield to the better swordsman.¡±


    Tristan was shocked and didn¡¯t let down his guard until Xanax literally released his sword, which fell to the dirt beside him.


    ¡°That was... Thank you for the duel,¡± Tristan managed to say despite his disbelief that it was already over. He leaned his sword back against his shoulder and checked around, but Cleo had already stepped forward and placed a hand on the scaleborn¡¯s bowed head.


    Jamal walked silently up right beside Tristan. His voice was as quiet as a rasp on soft wood. ¡°Not what you were expecting?¡±


    Tristan looked down at his sword. ¡°No. I thought, with him having those extra levels, it would be harder.¡±


    ¡°So,¡± Jamal began, leading Tristan slightly away from his defeated opponent, ¡°why wasn¡¯t it?¡±


    Tristan chewed on his answer before he gave it, not wanting to seem too eager or certain. ¡°I have better technique, I suppose.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°And a better sword,¡± Tristan added.


    ¡°Only for this situation,¡± Jamal countered. ¡°In a dungeon or a raid, his sword offers a benefit that yours can¡¯t begin to touch. Side by side with him in that kind of setting, where he wasn¡¯t expecting to take regular damage or where he¡¯d have a healer to support him, his damage output would fly far above yours. No sane party would ever take you before him, no matter who would win the duel.¡±


    Tristan nodded. ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought of that.¡±


    ¡°Of course not, mate. That¡¯s why I¡¯m the teacher here. You¡¯ve still got lots to learn, even if you do have tons of potential. I like how quickly you figured out his weakness. That was brilliant, man! And the choice to allow him one hit at the beginning to assess what he could do. That was smart, too.¡±


    Tristan tensed. ¡°Was it so obvious?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think he picked up on it, as it was pretty early on, but yeah, man. You¡¯d never leave a block hanging that long if you weren¡¯t testing his damage output. It was also smart that you did it before he got buffed by taking damage. Had you tried that stunt near the end of the fight, it very well could have taken your head off. He had something like thirty stacks of his damage buff by the end. He might have legitimately one-shotted you. Hence why Cleo was here.¡±


    Tristan swallowed. He actually hadn¡¯t considered that part of his opponent¡¯s build either. How buffed had his opponent been by the end? Was Jamal exaggerating, or had Tristan truly been that close to obliteration? He tried to stop the spiraling of his mind and focus on the right lesson. ¡°There was always a chance I could actually lose then, if I lost control of the situation.¡±


    ¡°Of course, man. You think I¡¯d spend all this valuable time on something less? Especially Cleo¡¯s? Not a chance!¡±


    Remembering he had questions for her, his eyes floated back toward where she was healing the scaleborn. He hoped to catch her before she left.


    Jamal followed his gaze, then it bounced back and forth a few times before he spoke a little louder, clearly coming to his own conclusions. ¡°Hey hey hey, man, wait a second. Have you finally decided to ¡®master your sword¡¯ at long last? Is Cleo the one to awaken that manly instinct in you? The release would do you both a world of good. Honestly I was afraid I¡¯d have to hire a really good, Classed escort before I could let you go, but--¡±


    Tristan, for all his time spent around Jamal, still sputtered as he caught his teacher¡¯s meaning. ¡°What? No! I--I just need to talk with Cleo. She¡¯d never, I mean, it¡¯s not about that! And you were going to hire a WHAT?!¡±


    Jamal gave a hearty belly laugh. ¡°You heard me, cause I know I didn¡¯t stutter. C¡¯mon, mate, you can¡¯t mean to tell me you¡¯re surprised. Though maybe you¡¯re surprised I¡¯d hire outside help, and you might have a fair complaint there. What with all the women here on staff, and all so thoroughly vetted by none other than myself, well, I can guarantee--"


    ¡°And look at that, Cleo¡¯s done with Xanax. Guess I¡¯ll just be going over there to talk with her now.¡±


    Jamal laughed even harder as Tristan walked away.


    ¡°CLEO!¡± Tristan called, trying to block out the misplaced well-wishes of the master swordsman. ¡°Cleo, I¡¯d like to just talk with you if you¡¯ve got a moment to spare.¡±


    The scarred healer looked up, no doubt saw the color in his cheeks, connected it to the hearty laughter of Jamal, and burst into light laughter herself.


    ¡°Sure, I can just talk,¡± she teased, walking over and flicking a wrist toward Jamal in clear dismissal. ¡°But what exactly are we talking about? It didn''t look like you were actually hurt much during that duel.¡±


    Tristan smiled. ¡°Yeah, I only took a single hit this time. But I wanted to ask about how skill upgrades work. Specifically [Identity]. I want to be able to see Classes. Do you have that ability?¡±


    Cleo sighed. ¡°Yes, of course. I got that back in tier 2, as do all healers. And I''ve upgraded a few more since then, too.¡±


    Tristan beamed. ¡°I was hoping that¡¯d be the case! I''m trying to find a way to upgrade my own ability.¡±


    Cleo spoke back to him softly as doubt moved across her face. ¡°It usually takes more control than a tier 2 swordsman would have.¡±


    ¡°But I''m a swordsmith,¡± Tristan fired back. ¡°What if I crafted it somehow? Do you think I could approach it like that?¡±


    She tapped her lips. ¡°Possibly. Actually, that''s likely your best bet. If you can envision the skill as something you''re making, then you could theoretically also shape it, mold it, and direct it. You''d have to see yourself enhancing it like you would a, I don''t know--¡±


    ¡°Like a talisman on a sword?¡± he offered, showing her the crossguard of [Hope''s Aspiration].


    Cleo looked from the sword to his hopeful face. ¡°Maybe, but I worry you''d have to find something connected to the ability in the first place to augment.¡±


    ¡°But it can be done,¡± Tristan said, eyes looking out at nothing in particular. ¡°Even as a crafter, I can do it... if I spend enough time.¡±


    ¡°Oh no,¡± Jamal said, walking up behind the pair. ¡°Cleo, what did you just say to him? I''ve seen that look before. He''s about to find himself deep in a hole, and not the fun kind.¡±


    But whether Cleo answered him or not, Tristan couldn''t be sure. His feet were already taking him back to his room, to his workspace, to his forge, to where he could potentially create the things his mind was pondering.


    I can do it, kept repeating in his head as he took up his hammer once again. I will. It¡¯s currently just unforged.

 Chapter 42: Proper Preparation

    Chapter 42: Proper Preparation


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    For the next two weeks, all Tristan wanted to do was work on bracers. That he only got time to do so in the evenings was frustrating even if it was to be expected.


    Speaking of frustrations, he still hadn¡¯t been graced with one of Jamal¡¯s offensive skills, but at least after asking a few more times, he¡¯d at gotten his master to give him a timeline.


    ¡°When you can block all of my attacks, I¡¯ll teach you one.¡±


    Tristan had seen the trap in his teacher¡¯s demand immediately. He merely needed to block all of Jamal¡¯s strikes in a sparring session. Like that was ever going to happen. Jamal was a brilliant swordsman, the best in the land, and Tristan didn¡¯t doubt that he¡¯d been holding back every time they¡¯d ever sparred. For Tristan to block all his attacks was just as much Jamal¡¯s choice as his own. But it also wasn¡¯t fully impossible. That Jamal had introduced it as a possibility actually gave Tristan something to work toward and strive for during the day, too.


    At night, Tristan took up his hammer and worked until he couldn¡¯t keep his arm going, even with his 52 Endurance. Strike, strike, strike, turn. For a full week, each night after training, the familiar rhythm echoed on his anvil as he pounded metal into bracers. He tried to take what he¡¯d learned from his previous successes, especially the [Oozebane Greatsword]. If he kept his intent focused enough, he figured, he should be able to at least influence the properties granted to his creations. For six of those first seven nights, he made only basic, uninspiring bracers.


    On the seventh night, he finally had his first partial success.


    [Bracers of Detect Enhancement (uncommon)]: [Enhanced Identify: Buffs], Soulbound


    Bracers crafted by a young and gifted smith, seeking to push beyond the usual limits of his tier.


    He expanded the property.


    [Enhanced Identify: Buffs] Allows the wearer to see all buffs and debuffs on a target after using [Identify].


    The property wasn¡¯t exactly what he was aiming for, but at least it proved that [Identify] could be modified by gear, that it could be done at tier 2, and, most importantly, that he was capable of doing it! He just needed to figure out how to interact with Class instead of buffs and debuffs.


    He still had lots of work to do.


    Thankfully, due to being tier 2 gear, these bracers offered enough of a defensive upgrade innately that they were a pretty nice upgrade over his old [Rough Bracers]. He immediately traded them out.


    In the second week he made undeniable progress. First he was able to reproduce the creation of the [Bracers of Detect Enhancement], proving that it hadn¡¯t been a fluke. With the confidence that those successes brought, he tried branching out into other areas. Trying to see Hit Points felt like a reasonable next step--he wasn¡¯t sure why, but he felt like it might be. But when he¡¯d tracked down Cleo on the eighth night and asked her about it, she¡¯d laughed and explained just how absolutely wrong he¡¯d been.


    ¡°Hit points aren¡¯t even close to the same as buffs, Tristan. Even if part of the value might be temporary, it¡¯s also permanent. Or rather, think of it this way: only the current value of HP is temporary, while the max value is set by level, class, gear. All sorts of things! As a result, HP is a much more difficult Status value to see. At least it¡¯s not as bad as trying to see raw stats, though. Gods, not even I can get that invasive.¡±


    While Tristan didn¡¯t love hearing that his original idea wasn¡¯t worth pursuing, he had caught on something else. ¡°What do you mean by ¡®Status value¡¯? Like the Status display? What does that have to do with [Identify]?¡±


    ¡°Where do you think [Identify] pulls its information from?¡± Cleo said with a grin. ¡°You¡¯re just getting some of the top rows of the Status.¡±


    That piece of information set Tristan in an entirely new direction. His experimenting had more than mere optimism to guide him, as he now had the knowledge that he should be able to get more from his [Identify] if he just found the way to focus the ability on the right thing. The skill always showed name, race, and level, even if that last one was limited by tier. Could I remove the  restriction on seeing higher tiers, he wondered in passing before shelving the thought for now. If I¡¯ve already found a way to get to temporary displays, like buffs and debuffs, then either I might have skipped a step, or I could have been looking in the wrong direction.


    Determined to figure it out, he¡¯d worked, and experimented, and ground himself down, night after night.


    Except apparently he hadn¡¯t pushed the thought of revealing levels far enough back on his mental shelves. His next attempt resulted in a different partial success:


    [Bracers of Discernment (uncommon)]: [Enhanced Identify: Level], Soulbound


    Bracers crafted by a young and gifted smith who was able to push beyond the usual limits of his tier.


    He expanded the new property immediately and was excited to see that it allowed him to bypass the tier restrictions on what levels [Identify] could see. He wondered if that worked on a person of any level, or just those one tier above him. It was something he tested the next day on Jamal--with exciting results.


    [Jamal, Human, level 80 (tier 5)]


    {{The Unerring Blade}}


    Seeing that Jamal was tier 5 blew Tristan¡¯s mind. That was stronger than his father! Tier 5 meant that his teacher was in the same range of power as the Brightshield, just a step below the gods themselves! And yet somehow, somehow Tristan kept his wits enough to survive the day¡¯s training. It definitely hadn¡¯t been easy, either, as Jamal had picked up on his new excitement immediately and pushed him all the harder for it. New injuries and an even deeper exhaustion were the results.


    On the fourteenth night, he finally did it. He had decided not to start with raw metal but instead he built off what he hoped was a better foundation: [Bracers of Detect Enhancement]. The idea of enhancing something that detected enhancements also felt kind of funny. Plus, he didn¡¯t have to risk his uncommon [Bracers of Discernment] in case the process wasn¡¯t as similar to upgrading as he hoped.


    He directed all of his efforts into reworking the [Enhanced Identify: Buffs] affix. It took him days, but he was eventually able to get a feel for its magical ¡°shape.¡± By tweaking the affix while focusing his intent on Class, he was at last able to produce something that made him literally shout with joy!


    [Bracers of Discernment (rare)]: [Enhanced Identify: Class], [Enhanced Identify: Level], Soulbound


    Bracers crafted by a determined smith well ahead of the curve.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    He¡¯d far exceeded his expectations. He¡¯d managed to turn the weaker bracers into the better ones, and then make them an even higher rarity due to the additional affix! He¡¯d have been totally fine having two pairs and simply trading out the Level enhancement for Class whenever he needed it, but to have both effects in one piece of gear? Well, he couldn¡¯t have been prouder. He¡¯d slept incredibly well that night.


    To add to his success, the following day, Tristan also managed to block every one of Jamal¡¯s attacks. He¡¯d had to use the Roving Blade the entire length of their sparring session, which had been completely exhausting, but somehow--he still wasn''t sure exactly how--the session ended with him not taking a single hit.


    ¡°You were really in the zone today, mate!¡± Jamal said with a big smile. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you had that in ya.¡±


    Tristan, despite panting, was also beaming. ¡°Neither did I. Does that mean you¡¯ll teach me an attack skill now?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re persistent, I¡¯ll give you that,¡± Jamal said with a laugh. ¡°Seriously, man, you¡¯ve got to give it a break. You¡¯ve already got three attack skills, and you¡¯re creative enough you shouldn¡¯t really need more. Not at tier 2.¡±


    Tristan tried to use the man¡¯s own words against him. ¡°I may be creative, but weren¡¯t you the one who told me that having more options could lead to better outcomes? Imagine what I could do with [Blade Flurry]!¡±


    Jamal groaned. ¡°Yeah, but I also told you to be your own answer to the problems you¡¯re facing. Remember? Techniques over skills. I mean, you¡¯re borderline obsessed with that skill, man. It¡¯s not all that strong unless you upgrade it extensively. It¡¯s literally given at level 1 to some dual-wielding Classes. And you¡¯re going to pick it up at some point in Swordsman tier 1. Might even be your next level.¡±


    Tristan felt a bit sheepish at not knowing that, but it didn¡¯t deter him. ¡°Bernhardt¡¯s [Blade Flurry] left an impression.¡±


    ¡°Oh? And how¡¯d that turn out for him? See, the problem with the default [Blade Flurry] is it locks you into performing the whole attack. No flexibility. Which, I¡¯m sure you remember, is a pretty substantial weakness when an opponent is clever enough.¡± He winked. ¡°Like you were.¡±


    Tristan nodded, not letting his smile fade. ¡°I do remember that, actually. So what are you going to teach me instead?¡±


    ¡°A better tool, with more uses. And yeah, I know you would learn this one later, too, but much later. Like in the next tier of your swordsman Class, which means you¡¯d be at least 30 plus in your Primary. And trust me, man, you don¡¯t want to wait that long. This is the good stuff!¡±


    To say Tristan was interested was a massive understatement. He was practically bursting with excitement, and it took all of his effort to hold still, since he knew trying to rush Jamal was like rushing a cat: rarely successful and intensely painful.


    ¡°It¡¯s called [Blade Echo],¡± Jamal began, raising his sword. And over the course of the next two hours, Tristan learned everything he could about the skill, until eventually the notification arrived:


    Congratulations! You have learned a new skill!


    [Blade Echo] An active ability that buffs the user, duplicating all single-target attacks made with a sword. 10 second duration. 3 minute cooldown.


    The swordmaster let his student continue testing and trying different approaches, attack angles, and techniques long after Tristan learned it. He always provided honest feedback about what was and wasn¡¯t working. The skill itself proved to be a huge damage increase, despite its long cooldown. It shouldn¡¯t have surprised Tristan that creating two identical attacks with one swing of a greatsword was devastating, especially since the attacks were separated just enough that one could be blocked or parried while the other might continue through untouched. Tristan was excited to put it to use in a real fight.


    Jamal seemed to agree. ¡°It looks like you¡¯ve gotten a good start with the skill, so why not take it a step further? We both know that real combat is different--and since you seem opposed to more duels currently, why not try it out in a dungeon?¡±


    Tristan couldn¡¯t have agreed more with the idea, so that night he decided to give crafting a bit of a break and instead switched over to researching the nearby tier 2 dungeons. He¡¯d gone through a similar process weeks before when seeking out the perfect place to take Sophie. This time, however, he would be looking for his own benefit. That made it both a bit easier, since he thought he knew his own abilities pretty well, and a bit harder, since he wasn¡¯t sure how much of a challenge he could really handle on his own.


    His first consideration was level. No matter which dungeon he ended up choosing, he was going to tackle it solo. How low should he aim to still have fun, get decent experience, and possibly get useful loot--assuming the dungeon would give him something Soulbound again? It had happened once, so he was holding out hope that at least the loot from the final boss would be usable. But even if the reward would be great, he didn¡¯t trust himself to tackle anything designed for level 15 yet. While going solo would make the enemies easier, it would also mean that any mistake could potentially be his last.


    Tristan pushed several guides to the side, leaving four options before him that fit what he was looking for. The first, was an underground sewer system, which Tristan ruled out immediately upon seeing that the primary enemy type was oozes. He didn''t care that the dungeon guide said it was ¡°well suited for melee-heavy groups.¡± He also didn''t know how that could be possible with oozes as the dominant enemy! Even with his new sword¡¯s benefits, he wasn¡¯t taking any chances. They were the worst! Dungeon Delver Dave should have known better.


    The second dungeon was a lot more tempting, with absolutely no mention of oozes anywhere. But after he read a bit more about it, he decided he didn''t want to try it either. It was a goblinoid fortress, and ever since meeting Fred back at Jill¡¯s, Tristan wasn''t sure he could just thoughtlessly slaughter a goblin. There were a few notes about a common variant that featured beasts overrunning the same fortress, but Tristan didn''t know how  ¡°common¡± it would be, and the risk of preparing for one dungeon just to get the other left him feeling anxious.


    As he read about the third dungeon, he got the impression that it would be a bit tougher. It was actually a dungeon that had formed after the city of Rockmoor was built, created by what the guide called ¡°an oversaturation of magic infesting a place of immense cultural importance.¡± Whatever that meant. It was also the closest of all his options, located in the Rockmoor cemetery. The main enemy types were said to be skeletons and spirits, which could be really interesting.


    The final dungeon in his range looked to be the hardest of all. It was located higher up in the same mountain as the dungeon he¡¯d taken Sophie through, but apparently this one was a volcano instead of a mine. The whole interior was known to be incredibly hot, with parts of the layout literally just being lakes of lava dotted by stepping stones. The guide said the main enemies here were golems of various materials, mostly mud and stone, but the final boss was made of lava. That would definitely be a challenge for Tristan on his own.


    Of all the options, the Rockmoor Cemetery felt like the best fit for Tristan. Smacking skeletons sounded like a lot of fun, since the guide said these weren¡¯t resistant to slashing damage yet, being only tier 2. And while he wasn¡¯t sure exactly how he was supposed to fight ghosts, he knew that many of their debuffing attacks wouldn¡¯t work on him with his new sword, so he was excited to try. What¡¯s more, the terrain looked like it would offer some interesting tactical choices. The layout was nearly identical to the cemetery it had been back when the dungeon formed, with roughly half of it being an open space dotted with tombstones. The other half contained tombs of all sizes surrounding one larger building. The best note of all was written in the margins by Dungeon Delver Dave himself:


    After extensive testing, compiled by none other than myself, it seems that this may be the only dungeon in the Realm that I have heard of without any variants whatsoever. While this is extremely unusual, I am personally quite confident in this claim! So while this is a fairly challenging dungeon at its level, with proper preparation you can prevent poor performance. In this case, you¡¯ll know exactly what you¡¯re getting into, so you can judge for yourself whether the rewards seem worth the risks!


    The level of certainty Dave had scrawled across the page gave Tristan confidence. Even if Tristan had had a bad experience once with a guide from Dave, back with Opie and Chessa, this was a handwritten note, and the man had put his name on it. Tristan spent the rest of the evening poring over that one guidebook, learning as much as he possibly could about each monster he could expect. What their strengths and weaknesses were. The recommended route through the dungeon, providing the easiest path to where all the chests and best loot were. Even how to handle the final boss, which was apparently a larger skeletal swordsman mounted atop a skeletal steed. The more he read about that fight, the more Tristan was pulled in. It seemed like it would be a great test of his swordsmanship!


    He read through the encounter descriptions again and again, not realizing he¡¯d dozed off until he woke up with his head fully buried in the pages before him.


    Yawning, Tristan had to admit that he was tired. But as he took one last look at the artist¡¯s depiction of The Skeletal Knight, a grin crept across his face. I¡¯ll be coming for you in the morning, he thought, closing the book. He left a note for Cherry to set up a driver for him, starting as early as she could arrange.


    Lying down on his bed, he felt confident that there was nothing the dungeon could throw at him now that he wouldn¡¯t be prepared for.

 Chapter 43: Rockmoor Cemetery

    Chapter 43: Rockmoor Cemetery


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan rose extra early the next morning, well before the sun came up, just as he¡¯d planned to. By his best estimates, which also took into account the guidebook¡¯s extensive data set, running the dungeon alone took most people roughly four hours, including rest breaks. With the early ride to Rockmoor he¡¯d had Cherry arrange, he¡¯d arrive in the cemetery well before most businesses opened their doors. He¡¯d work his way through the dungeon and get back to the manor before Jamal even woke up at midday.


    He ran into Cherry in the dining room. She was alternating between sipping and inhaling a dark drink that looked very much like coffee, but the smell was wholly new to Tristan.


    "Just make sure you''re back in time for dinner tonight," she said, barely opening her eyes.


    "I told you already, it shouldn¡¯t take nearly that long," Tristan replied, trying to reassure both himself and her. He wasn¡¯t feeling much of a vote of confidence from her.


    ¡°Uh huh. I¡¯ll tell Jamal.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t need to,¡± Tristan tried to explain again. ¡°I¡¯ve done tons of research! It¡¯ll be totally fine.¡±


    But it wasn''t fine.


    The moment Tristan set foot into the cemetery and out of the comforting [Welcome Home] aura of the Embrace¡¯s domain, the whole world seemed to shift. The gate squealed closed behind him. The brightening dawn sky rolled itself up into the eerie black of a moonless, starless night. A chill breeze carried fallen leaves that crinkled as they swept around him and crunched beneath his boots. This wasn¡¯t how Dungeon Delver Dave had described this dungeon. Where was the moon illuminating the dancing skeletons on the nearby hilltop? Where was the ghostly dog in the first room that was supposed to be the first encounter of the entire dungeon?


    A new notification popped up, not answering his question but giving him something else to look forward to.


    [Quest available: Lonely Dungeoneer]


    Complete a dungeon on your own.


    Rewards: Achievement, Smart Loot


    Smart loot was admittedly a great reward, especially for something Tristan had already planned on doing. The achievement would just be icing on top of the cake.


    Tristan cautiously made his way forward, crunching leaves with each footfall. He was thankful that his eyes didn¡¯t take too long to adjust, and he was quickly able to see the stone statue that should have been the marker for the pup, who was still nowhere to be seen.


    Something was wrong. He¡¯d clearly jinxed it again. One day he¡¯d learn not to open his big mouth.


    The path ahead of him wound down the same hillside he¡¯d expected to find, but that was about all he could see. A dense fog lay atop everything else, completely obscuring all the lower parts of the cemetery, which formed a kind of natural bowl. According to the guides, since this was a natural dungeon, the layout of the cemetery never changed, which meant that at the deepest point of that bowl should be the Grand Crypt, the biggest building of all. That was where the final boss waited, behind a door with three locks that could only be opened by a full set of keys obtained from each of the zone¡¯s minibosses.


    Tristan should have been able to see that massive building from anywhere in the cemetery. At least the domed roof with the pointed spire should have served as a guiding needle back to the center of the dungeon.


    But the fog covered everything.


    It was as he was considering all of this that he heard the first howl. It was followed shortly after by another, farther away, in a different direction.


    Tristan had lived his whole pre-Awakening life in a small country town, so he knew the calls of wolves when he heard them. These were like those kinds of howls, but they were definitely deeper. And louder. Whatever had made those howls might be related to the wolves he knew, but they weren¡¯t any variety he¡¯d ever encountered before. Worst of all, there hadn¡¯t been a single word about any wolves--ghostly, skeletal, or otherwise--in the guidebook.


    Shit. I got another variant dungeon.


    Tristan¡¯s eyes turned back toward where he vaguely saw the hint of the cemetery gate. He¡¯d only just started, so he could easily turn back and sit outside for half an hour to force this instance of the dungeon to cycle. Then he could reenter into what would doubtless be the normal dungeon. But that would mean a lot of wasted time... and a wasted opportunity.


    No one has ever seen this variant and reported it.


    A part of him was excited about facing the unknown, no matter how much he wished he could have prepared for it. That¡¯s what half the stories about Brightield were: facing the unknown as he rode Pristine into the Frontier day after day. So what if Dungeon Delver Dave was wrong again? How bad could this dungeon variant possibly be?


    Tristan decided to stick with it, hoping some of his preparations would pay off anyway. If nothing else, he knew the layout of the cemetery like the back of his hand. He could use that, somehow. Probably even to deal with the pack of wolves that were clearly meant to be one of the dungeon¡¯s early challenges.


    Another howl echoed through the fog, this time clearly from down in the bowl. It sent chills down his spine.


    Well then, I guess I¡¯ll be staying out of there for a while. He could just follow the ridge and head around to the mausoleum high on the hill in the back. That way, he could stay above the fog and hopefully lure the wolves to where visibility wasn¡¯t an issue. And the mausoleum usually held a miniboss: the skeletal remains of a famous spellcaster.


    Taking two more steps, he walked straight into an enormous spider web that somehow wrapped all the way around him with strands thicker than his hair. It had caught him completely off guard, but at least it prepared him for the oversized spider that came at him next.


    A minute and several well-executed chops later, Tristan shouldered his sword and pulled the last of the webbing off himself. Now that he knew what to look for, he caught the glint of several more webs crossing the path ahead of him. He exhaled slowly and composed himself. He could do this. He was going to do this. Everything would be fine.


    - - - - -


    The mausoleum had definitely held a miniboss, but in this variant it hadn¡¯t just been the spellcaster¡¯s skeleton any more. The miniboss had instead been covered with decaying flesh seemingly held together by more magic than muscle. Tristan hadn¡¯t ever wanted to see what a decaying person might look like, but now he had. Worse still, because it hadn¡¯t been just mindless, reanimated bones, the boss¡¯s powerful spells weren¡¯t nearly as chaotic and unaimed as expected. They¡¯d been focused, and there¡¯d been no one there to target other than Tristan. A fact Tristan had learned the moment he¡¯d stepped foot into the central burial chamber. He¡¯d felt a little gust of wind just before a large tornado of glowing green wind had formed right beside him. Thanks to the color, he¡¯d been able to see it coming and had jumped away quickly enough that his arm hadn¡¯t been sheared clean off. A nearby stone casket and its resident skeleton hadn¡¯t been so lucky.


    The overall fight hadn¡¯t truly been that hard, just a touch gross and fairly time-consuming with all the added dodging. The miniboss had only a few moves, all of them spells with long casting times that made them easily avoidable. This meant that as long as Tristan stopped whatever he was doing and got the heck away from the target areas, he never took any damage. Honestly, it was a pretty good workout.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    Thinking about it, the fight might actually have been harder for him with a party, since being the only person in the dungeon guaranteed that every single attack was centered on him, or where he had been. In a group, it might be harder to track the spells, or lead to people running across each others paths and taking damage


    He was glad when he finally held the first key in his hand, especially as it proved that that part of the dungeon hadn¡¯t changed with this variant.


    The miniboss had also dropped ten small tubes unlike anything that Tristan had ever seen before, though upon reading what [Identify] revealed, he gladly stuffed them into his pack.


    [Signal Flare (uncommon)]: Soulbound


    Consumable item, 2 second cast time. May be placed with a timer of up to 1 hour. After the timer expires, colored smoke will erupt from the flare, drawing the attention of nearby monsters and applying [Taunt] for up to one minute. All hostile targets in combat with you receive [Distracted] for 1 minute.


    Of course, Tristan had to expand the [Distracted] status, too:


    [Distracted] 10% chance to miss with all skills, spells, and attacks. Does not stack with other blinding effects.


    All in all, the flares weren¡¯t something Tristan had ever really thought he¡¯d needed before, but upon seeing them, he could think of several times where one could prove really useful. It was also nice to have his suspicions confirmed, as the Soulbound tag had once again been applied to the dungeon-generated loot.


    It¡¯s good to see I won¡¯t be held back later when I¡¯m running dungeons or raids.


    It was common knowledge that at once you rose to tier 3, some of the coolest gear dropped exclusively in raids. He wondered what gear he might someday get from them as he left the mausoleum.


    Outside, the darkness had not lightened at all, and the fog still flooded the lower areas of the cemetery, where the two remaining keys (and the minibosses that held them) awaited. Propping his [Oozebane Greatsword] over his shoulder again, Tristan resigned himself to going into the fog. There was no other way. He¡¯d have to do it.


    As if to taunt him, he heard a wolf¡¯s howl again from deep within.


    He shrugged off the fear that tried to creep up his back and began the descent, making his way for the mostly open field that the guidebook called ¡°The Recent Burial.¡± Tristan was really hoping this wouldn¡¯t be another decaying monstrosity, but he¡¯d try to be prepared for anything.


    It had only been a few minutes of walking when the first wolf monster crashed into him. He hadn¡¯t heard the blessed thing at all, and in fact it had been over a minute since the last time he¡¯d heard a howl. Normally in a dungeon of this tier, there should have been some indication that a fight was about to begin, but the wolf monster didn¡¯t seem to care.


    It came out of nowhere, and the moment it jumped him, it became one of the scariest things Tristan had ever seen. Almost the size of a horse, it was covered in thick, shaggy black fur that could only be seen as it blocked sight of the fog around them. Its eyes were just as black as its fur, with only its pupils glowing bright red.


    The beast knocked him sideways, with its weight carrying him fully to the ground. It might even have crushed him, had he been any weaker, but he managed to hold it by the muzzle, barely keeping the  fangs from his neck.


    In that momentary stalemate, where the blessed beast¡¯s mouth was salivating on his neck and Tristan hadn¡¯t quite caught his breath from the fear of the ambush, he used his [Identify], hoping that seeing what it actually was could help him handle this monstrous wolf.


    Direwolf, Tristan quickly corrected himself, as he sped through the information his [Identify] spat out.


    But one truth that Tristan had already embraced long ago was that he was strong. Currently he had 43 Strength, and that was so far above average for someone his tier that this direwolf didn¡¯t have a chance at out-muscling him once he knew what was going on. Not by itself anyways. He¡¯d heard that wolves traveled in groups, so he had to be cautious in case there was a full pack of them nearby.


    Tristan took a better grip with both his hands on either side of the beast¡¯s mouth before jerking it away from him. He actually ended up throwing the thing farther than he¡¯d expected, which would have allowed it to melt back into the shadows if it weren¡¯t for its glowing red eyes.


    The eyes that darted just beyond him.


    This time Tristan was ready. He was already turning when the new attacker leapt at him. Tristan merely needed to hold his blade out at the right angle, and the second direwolf impaled itself upon it without any extra effort. Then with a simple twist and shake, Tristan shucked the now-bleeding wolf to the ground. The thing didn¡¯t even whine.


    The notification that instantly popped up in the corner of his vision was a welcome sight, though he didn¡¯t give it more than a quick glance.


    You have slain [Direwolf Prowler, level 12]


    Crouching slightly, Tristan waited, expecting another attack at any moment, but none came. The hungry red eyes of the first direwolf were nowhere to be found.


    Not willing to move on quite yet, or maybe because he couldn¡¯t tell if he was still being watched, Tristan knelt down beside the fallen beast and examined it a little more closely.


    It¡¯s a shame I don¡¯t know how to do anything with all of this fur. I bet it would make a great cloak or cape.


    For a moment he debated trying to skin the beast, thinking perhaps to add its pelt to his materials bag. But that would soak the thing in blood, and did he really want to deal with that? How would he even clean the interior of the bag if it did get dirty? He¡¯d never really thought of that.


    The second the thought came into his mind, he couldn¡¯t help but laugh. Here he was, surrounded by what might have been the scariest dungeon he¡¯d ever read about, and yet he was worried about doing laundry and getting blood stains out of a material bag. His world sure had changed a lot from before his Awakening.


    Continuing through the fog, the only other encounter Tristan had found before reaching his second destination was a circle of twenty or so living dolls, all dressed up in disheveled clothes, with black pits where their eyes and mouths should have been. The dolls were all holding oversized butcher¡¯s knives that looked like the ones his mother might have used in the kitchen. It was intensely bizarre and frightening at the same time, as while none of the dolls proved much of a challenge individually, they all chose to swarm together, and with those kinds of numbers, Tristan couldn¡¯t help but take a few wounds. He just wasn¡¯t used to aiming at such small creatures. He had learned a few sword forms specifically designed to handle overwhelming numbers, but those moves didn¡¯t all adjust well when every attacker was below his knee in height. It was a mess, and Tristan ended up taking more damage from the stupid little dolls than he had from the rest of the dungeon combined. Luckily, he always had health potions with him, and Tristan drank one to avoid having to wait the hour or so it might take for his health to naturally regenerate.


    He arrived at the open field where ¡°The Recent Burial¡± miniboss was supposed to be without any more trouble. The second direwolf still hadn¡¯t shown itself again, and as far as Tristan knew it might have just melted into the night itself. Though it was perhaps more likely that it had gone back to its pack to report the loss of the other prowler, if there even was a pack. He was sure he¡¯d find out sooner or later.


    For the first time in the dungeon, there was actually a light source up ahead. It came from the center of the field, where a simple tent provided shelter to a single casket. Tristan approached it warily. Whatever was in that casket was sure to be the miniboss.


    At least it seems to be human-sized.


    One step at a time, he crept nearer, until eventually he was right beside it. It was empty. Only once he saw that did he get the notification.


    [Dungeon quest available: Your Greatest Fear]


    Lie down in the casket and close the lid for up to one minute. The longer you remain in the casket, the greater your challenge will be, and the greater the reward. When you emerge, your greatest fear will be made manifest.


    Reward: [Key to the Crypt]


    Bonus Reward: Upgraded loot for {Crypt Boss}


    Tristan stood in quiet consideration for far longer than he¡¯d ever admit. He suspected that if he wanted to breeze through this quest, then he could just enter the casket, close the lid, and open it immediately. Whatever miniboss came from that would be at its weakest possible form.


    But what if he stayed in the casket for the full minute? Could he do that? He¡¯d always avoided small and confining spaces whenever possible, and it wasn¡¯t just because he was a big guy. No, he didn¡¯t like feeling enclosed. Feeling trapped. But could he do it for a better reward? Another, more logical part of his mind asked if it would even be smart to attempt such a thing since he was attempting the whole dungeon alone and was wholly unprepared for the variant. Tristan wondered if there would only be one casket for a group, too, allowing them to trivialize the encounter. He doubted he¡¯d come back to test it, and even if he did, the odds of seeing this variant were slim enough he¡¯d likely never know for sure. He could imagine how nice it might be to have a group set up around him, preparing for whatever miniboss might come.


    But Tristan was here now, alone. If Tristan were to attempt this, he¡¯d be totally confined, and blind to whatever was happening, for as long as he stayed in the casket.


    Another thought bothered him, but in a different way: What would be waiting for him once he emerged? What was he truly afraid of, and how would the dungeon interpret that fear and turn it into a miniboss for him to defeat?

 Chapter 44: Greatest Fear

    Chapter 44: Greatest Fear


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    The casket was barely wide enough for Tristan¡¯s shoulders, though thankfully it was long enough that he didn¡¯t have to bend his knees to fit fully into it. The moment he laid down fully on the silky cushions, the lid began to creak closed.


    It moved slowly, with hinges that clearly had never known a drop of oil in their lives. As the lid blocked out more and more of the light, Tristan could feel his heartbeat start to race. He fought against all of his instincts that begged him to get out before the lid fully closed. But He had read the quest, and he knew what he had to do.


    Whatever comes next will be my greatest fear.


    Though in that moment he realized how close ¡°small, confining spaces¡± might actually be to taking that title anyway.


    The lid closed at last, which at least meant the squeaking hinges were finally silent. Unfortunately, he¡¯d traded that annoyance for absolute blackness. His breathing echoed off the wooden walls around him, no matter how much he tried to quiet it. Not that it mattered, as his heartbeat quickly overtook the sound.


    I just have to stay in here for a minute, he told himself. I can do this for one minute. It¡¯s just 60 seconds.


    But try as he might, he could not find even the slightest calm, not with the wooden walls pressed so tightly against him. Not with the lid right in front of his face. Especially not when the scariest doubt of all crept into his mind: What if the lid won¡¯t open?


    His heart was pounding so fast he¡¯d long since lost count of its panicked thumps. How long had he been inside the casket? Part of him needed to get out right away, but another part wondered if it had been long enough yet. A minute felt like a very long time when you needed it to pass.


    He tried to settle back into the cushions and think of something else--anything else--and at last his mind went to his hammer, and his forge. He imagined creating something new again, an item that might help him in this awful situation. Maybe a visor or something that would help him see in the dark.


    A forever later, bright greenish light began to pour around the edges of the lid, bathing his entire world in its eerie hue.


    Thank the gods!


    Tristan took one final, long exhale to try and prepare for whatever might be awaiting him, and then he pushed against the lid. He also might have pushed a little too hard, as rather than lifting gently, it flew open, hinges screaming, until the wood slammed against the side of the casket and broke.


    The shattering sound only served to punctuate the awful sight before Tristan¡¯s eyes.


    The tent was gone. In its place was something he could never forget. Its gooey, imbalanced look. The way its globular, glowing green form stretched toward the sky where it towered over him. The familiar reeking smell that was death and decay and worse all in one. It was locked in his memory, the exact same as it had been when it had taunted him to come back and fight after he and Aaric had fled.


    The Progenitor Ooze.


    A part of Tristan kept repeating, This isn¡¯t real. This isn¡¯t real! This is just the dungeon miniboss! But it was difficult to convince his eyes when they were now staring at something that looked exactly like what he now knew was his greatest fear. It looked just like his darkest nightmares brought to life. Maybe it was.


    But also in that moment, there was a shift within him. Tristan¡¯s fear found itself met unexpectedly by a mix of other emotions that quickly overwhelmed it. Determination, anger, and a thirst for vengeance surged within him, as he pushed himself out of the casket. His body straightened as he set his sights on the monstrosity before him. He also felt a new heat radiating up his arm, all the way from where his hand was squeezing the [Oozebane Greatsword] with white-knuckled intensity.


    [Oozebane] While wielding this sword, deal increased damage to oozes and reduce damage taken from oozes by 25%.


    This time, in this fight, he was ready. This time, he was going to show the Ooze what Tristan Hammerson could do with proper preparation. Tristan¡¯s lips formed a grim smile. Then he raised his sword and charged straight toward his greatest fear.


    The first thing Tristan noticed was how much slower this ooze seemed compared to the one they¡¯d faced in Sharing Cross. Granted, he was now 3 levels higher than he¡¯d been, and he had trained extensively with Jamal on improving his speed and reactions, but after only a couple attacks, Tristan could tell that this miniboss was only a pale imitation of his true nightmare. Like the original, it launched sharp tendrils that were more like gooey harpoons toward Tristan. None of them were close to quick enough to ever touch Tristan though. With only a single sidestep or two, he could get completely clear of every attack. Often it didn¡¯t even take that much effort; he was so much faster now that most of the projectiles ended up landing several steps behind him just from the normal movements of his attacks.


    The next major difference was that this ooze didn¡¯t have an army of smaller oozes attempting to surround and restrict Tristan. This was just a one-on-one fight, which made everything vastly simpler, especially once he activated his new [Rivalry] skill. He darted in and out unimpeded, carving off huge globs of ooze with the sword, which was definitely more lethal with the [Oozebane] property, and took practically no damage after the stacked reduction bonuses of his new skill and blade.


    There was only really one exchange in the fight that proved challenging for Tristan at all, and that was when the miniboss tried to completely surround him with walls made entirely of itself. He hadn¡¯t seen the back side closing in on him until after the top came down, surrounding him in that ghastly green glow and  wretched smell. The ooze had then tried to crush him between those walls--but Tristan¡¯s sword simply worked too well against it. He was able to cut a hole straight through the wall in front of him, also dealing tons of damage. Meanwhile, the stinging pains from touching the ooze wasn¡¯t nearly as bad as what he recalled from the first fight.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    In the end, Tristan finished the ooze in what felt like record time. He¡¯d lost less than a quarter of his health, and he hadn¡¯t needed almost any of his tricks. He¡¯d never needed the Roving Blade at all, for example. He wasn¡¯t even sure that it called for a healing potion. The fight had been as one-sided a victory as he¡¯d ever seen. Surprisingly, though, when the notification came, it didn¡¯t feel anticlimactic at all.


    [Dungeon quest complete: Your Greatest Fear]


    Time in casket: > 1 minute


    Any loot gained from the {Crypt Boss} will be upgraded.


    [Achievement progressed: Novice Dungeon Delver]


    Dungeon Quests completed:  2/3


    While he logically knew that he¡¯d only beaten a weaker imitation of the true Progenitor Ooze, it still felt really good to have beaten it at all. He felt that he had truly faced his fear, and conquered it. The line that promised an upgrade to loot he would get from the last boss of the dungeon was honestly just a bonus at this point.


    And then there was the progress on the Achievement that he¡¯d practically forgotten about. He¡¯d gotten the first dungeon Quest done all the way back with Opie and Chessa, and the title he¡¯d earned from it way back then had given him a permanent +1 bonus to his highest stat. What would he get for completing the second tier of that achievement? He was excited to find out.


    Despite the fog slowly starting to creep back into the space the ooze had cleared, Tristan took his time in walking over to where the second [Key to the Crypt] lay on the grass. He couldn¡¯t help but chuckle to himself as he picked the key up. It was completely clean, not showing any sign that it had ever been held by an ooze. In fact, the whole arena was rapidly returning to exactly how it had been prior to him entering the casket. Even the tent had reappeared. There was no evidence of an ooze having been there at all.


    It wasn¡¯t real. I didn¡¯t kill it. He shook his head. But next time I see that thing, I will.


    Proudly, Tristan rested the [Oozebane Greatsword] on his shoulder and began walking deeper into the bowl of the dungeon. He had one miniboss left, and then the final boss, but something told him that he¡¯d already overcome the hardest challenge the Rockmoor Cemetery had to offer him.


    - - - - -


    Strangely enough, the third miniboss was exactly as the guidebook described it. Same location, same massive skeleton, stirring the same bubbling cauldron. For the first time all day, Tristan felt genuinely glad for Dungeon Delver Dave¡¯s guide. What a new and unexpected feeling that was. It didn¡¯t matter that the guidebook called the boss fight ¡°hectic¡±: he knew what to do. He had to kill the boss before it finished mixing its potion.


    As the book had explained, the boss encounter was divided into five phases, with the second and fourth being ¡°invincibility phases.¡± During those times, Tristan had to kill off a lot of smaller skeletons that rose from bone piles scattered about the tomb. The minions all ran toward the central cauldron, trying to hurl themselves into it, but that meant all Tristan needed to do was stay beside the cauldron and destroy the minions as they ran towards it. Granted, it was a lot of skeletons, and he knew that the boss would be empowered for each one that slipped through, but for once, Tristan had a prepared plan, and it worked perfectly. The little skeletal creatures were fragile enough that each only took a single hit, and he often shattered multiple of them with one attack. Not a single one managed to splash into the bubbling brew.


    It was an exhilarating feeling watching a plan succeed so completely. He picked up the final [Key to the Crypt].


    Now all he had left was the final boss.


    Prior to facing the third miniboss, Tristan had been pretty sure that this variant had changed everything, so he¡¯d had no expectations for what the ominous {Crypt Boss} would be. But now, there was a glimmer of hope. Perhaps it could be what he¡¯d prepared for, and wouldn¡¯t that be nice? There was only one way to know for sure.


    He left the small tomb and headed toward the biggest building in the cemetery, situated at the bottom of the still fog-flooded bowl. On the way, he passed the fenced-off section the guidebook had called ¡°The Quarry.¡± It was a place Tristan definitely wanted to visit later. He knew the black iron fences would hold a few fights, but more importantly it was where crafters were supposed to be able to find a lot of good raw materials. Since his own supplies were getting dangerously close to zero, he wasn¡¯t about to let this opportunity slip by, like he had in the Deepstone Mines with Sophie. Still, these materials weren¡¯t going anywhere and could wait. He had a {Crypt Boss} to deal with first.


    He took the approach with extreme care, so he wouldn¡¯t be surprised by any of the monsters that he found--or monsters he crossed paths with--along the way. By following in the grass alongside the gravel paths instead of on the crunchy rocks, he hoped to minimize any unexpected attacks. Despite this, a pack of floating ghosts snuck up on him anyway. Tristan had noticed the sudden windless chill, but only after the fight ended did he recognize what that meant. Twice he managed to hear groups of zombies dragging their feet through the fog before they were visible, and dispatched many before they even noticed him.


    The Crypt itself looked exactly like the pictures in the guidebook. The massive A-shaped entrance was wrought from stone, with two enormous wooden doors embellished by fine, spiraling metal-works that branched off from the hinges inward, where they surrounded the three oversized keyholes. Tristan had to admit the craftsmanship was impressive. Not quite like seeing the gates at Rockmoor, but still, he wondered if this had been part of the original cemetery, before it had become a dungeon. If so, the person who made it had been truly inspired.


    Above the doors were stained glass windows, though whether they were faded or had always been yellowish gray was hard to say. To him, the patterning almost resembled the flames of oversized candles. The symbolism would make a lot of sense if he was about to fight the normal {Crypt Boss}.


    Normally, It was a fire demon, and the dungeon¡¯s lore and stories told that it had been sealed away centuries before and guarded by three trustworthy champions... who had of course fallen to its corruption, only to become the minibosses in death. But this variant of the dungeon had seemingly changed up that lore in an attempt to make everything scary. Not that Tristan had bothered going down every dead end to look for any of the random books or paintings and sculptures to find out what the new lore was. He just wanted to finish the dungeon, and quickly. So for now, it was time to figure out the answer to a more pressing question.


    What was awaiting him on the other side of the sealed door?


    Each of the three keys fit perfectly into one of the keyholes, and it wasn¡¯t hard to guess which one went where. The locks were surrounded by fine metalwork that rivaled any Tristan had ever seen. When he held up each key, he could match the same patterns on the heads and lengths.


    The moment the third key entered its lock, all three turned by themselves. The door crept open, slowly, with a squeal so loud it was probably heard across the whole cemetery. Whatever was behind this door was certain to know someone was coming now. The moment the metallic squeal ceased, and the door revealed a gaping blackness beyond, a new sound assaulted Tristan¡¯s ears. It was clear and precise, and it frightened Tristan to think about what this sound being here could mean.


    Tristan was no longer quite willing to just step into the darkness of the final tomb, where only the {Crypt Boss} was supposed to be.


    Because he had recognized the sound immediately. How could he ever forget something he¡¯d heard all his life, especially as it now echoed threateningly in the crypt beyond:


    The rhythm of his father¡¯s hammer.

 Chapter 45: Death Whinny

    Chapter 45: Death Whinny


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    The problem was that he wasn''t just hearing the rhythmic pounding of metal on metal. It was also the whistling. The melody of the song was unmistakable.


    His father¡¯s song. His father¡¯s rhythm.


    For a moment, Tristan looked back over his shoulder toward the path that led all the way back to the cemetery gate. He could admit to himself that he was afraid of what might lay ahead in this crypt. He was tackling this dungeon on his own, after all, and it was getting late. If he just went back to mine the Quarry and then left, who would know?


    He shook his head. I would know.


    While it might not matter to others, he would be ashamed to just quit right now. Yes, he¡¯d accomplished a lot already, but could he forgive himself if he didn¡¯t even go inside and look? To just walk away without so much as glimpsing the final boss--? Tristan couldn¡¯t do that.


    Besides, even for himself, he had a title to live up to now. He was a {Student of Jamal}, and a {Student of Jamal} wouldn¡¯t run.


    Bracing himself, he turned forward again, drew his [Oozebane Greatsword] once more, and walked cautiously into the darkness.


    The ringing of an anvil beckoned him down the straight stone hallway, as did the slight reddish light that now peeked out from the far end. Despite the devilish hue it cast across everything, it was familiar, as was the gradual increase in temperature as he approached. These were things he knew intimately, markers that told Tristan that somehow he was walking into a forge and not just a nightmare. Gripping his sword a little bit tighter, he allowed the familiar sensations to calm him as they usually did, regardless of who or what was tending that fire at the end of the hall.


    The hallway ended in a giant stone arch that opened up into a circular room. A massive forge was positioned directly in its center. It would have normally been much too large for anyone to work it alone, but it was not too large for the one tending it now. Even some of his features were horribly familiar.


    A giant, taller than even Bernhardt had been after the potion, loomed beside the forge with his back turned. He was hammering at something on the gargantuan anvil, and the way he was positioned left no way for him to see the archway beside which Tristan stood in shock. The enormous smith was nearly as broad as it was tall, with rippling muscles all across his body that were ill-concealed by a dark apron. It was all too clear who this giant was modeled after: it looked just like his father--only huge.


    ¡°Are you going to stay out there all night, or are you coming in?¡±


    The voice was his father''s too, but deeper and more rumbling. When Tristan didn''t respond immediately, the giant turned around and leveled his massive hammer squarely at Tristan. It was literally dripping blood.


    ¡°You put in an awful lot of work just to stand there and be scared.¡±


    Tristan gripped his sword a little tighter and brought it up before him. ¡°What are you?¡±


    The hammer continued to drip blood on the floor where a pool was slowly forming. ¡°What do I look like?¡± the giant asked.


    ¡°You¡¯re not my father,¡± Tristan said, sliding his front foot forward into a more aggressive stance. He used [Identify] on the giant to see what type of monster he was up against.


    [The Horrible Armorsmith, level 15]


    {{Crypt Boss of the Rockmoor Cemetery}}


    He tried to also scan the hammer, but it didn¡¯t register as anything more than a part of the Horrible Armorsmith.


    The giant tossed his head back and began to make an awful, high pitched sound that almost sounded like a horse¡¯s whinny. If that horse was dying and in agony. Soon after, his jaw unhinged, only further breaking the illusion that this was Marrik Hammerson. But Tristan had already known that. There was no way his father could ever be this monster.


    As the pretender smiled, an elongated, forked tongue remained sticking out from between its teeth. ¡°Are you so sure? Is that why you¡¯re still out there while I¡¯m in here?¡±


    Tristan shook his head. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m sure. First, you don¡¯t know how to hold a hammer properly, so I¡¯m not sure how you even managed to swing it to my father¡¯s tempo. Secondly, my father would never use something that hideous. It¡¯s clearly meant to destroy, not to create. Not his style at all.¡±


    In response, the giant tossed the hammer into the air and caught it with reckless ease as another death whinny split the air.


    Tristan continued by lifting his sword and pointing it at the monster¡¯s throat. ¡°Third, that may be the most unfortunate sound I¡¯ve ever heard anything ever make. And I mean ever. I¡¯ll be doing the whole blessed realm a service when I silence it.¡±


    ¡°My laugh is fantastic! It¡¯s memorable! You¡¯ve gotta have an evil laugh. It would haunt you, but you won¡¯t live--"


    Tristan cut him off as he approached the edge of the archway, feeling fairly sure that as soon as he passed through it, the fight would begin. ¡°Enough! While you look a bit like my father, you¡¯re obviously blind to his greatest strengths, which never came from his body at all. His spirit, his kindness, and his heart are what define him. No matter how much you look like him, you¡¯re nothing but a pale imitation.¡± Tristan stared up into the face that could never have been his father¡¯s at all and locked eyes with the fake. ¡°But I swear, you¡¯re going to regret taking his form.¡±


    The Horrible Armorsmith raised his hammer as he whinnied again. ¡°A man¡¯s gotta do what a man¡¯s gotta do. Come on, little swordsmith. Show me what you¡¯ve learned!¡±


    Tristan finally stepped into the room, and the fight began in earnest.


    The giant began to lumber forward, cocking his hammer arm back, clearly readying for a strike once he got into range. But as Tristan had learned from fighting Bernhardt, giants usually had to make sacrifices for their enormous sizes. The Horrible Armorsmith was no exception. Though he was huge, he was also incredibly slow. Tristan, on the other hand, had worked on his agility and footwork extensively with Jamal. He¡¯d even managed to finish a spar with the swordmaster without being struck. This giant didn¡¯t stand a chance of hitting him with his obviously telegraphed hammer swings.


    Unfortunately for Tristan, the swings weren¡¯t the only danger in this fight. Every time the hammer hit the floor, it left behind splatters of blood. Tristan originally didn¡¯t think anything of them, despite the constant addition of reddish pools filling the space. But he still got cornered once and was forced to roll into one as he dodged, and the instant he touched the blood, it burned his skin with a volcanic, flesh-melting fire. Tristan felt every single crimson droplet as it either burrowed into his shoulder or dripped back to the floor.


    An agonizing moment later, Tristan saw that his shoulder was a raw, bubbling mess. All from the briefest contact with the stuff. Tristan looked around the room with new understanding, his eyes opened to the real danger of this fight: there were already so many puddles of blood all over the place, and the fight had only just begun.


    Tristan realized that this boss was going to be similar to the Splitting Ooze all the way back in his first dungeon: if the fight went too long, Tristan would lose simply because there would be nowhere safe to stand. But unlike the ooze¡¯s pools, these weren¡¯t slowly expanding. They were more disorderly, appearing every single time the giant¡¯s hammer struck, wherever Tristan had just been. And that meant that even the monster¡¯s misses were still dangerous.


    For a brief moment, Tristan considered whether he could control where they were with more strategic positioning, but that felt like a whole new level of difficulty. He wasn¡¯t sure he had the skill to pull off anything significantly better than what he was already doing. Instead, he decided to bank on the boss¡¯s lower health pool from it being a solo dungeon, and he went to work doing as much damage as he could. He had a new skill to test out that could help with just that, after all.


    He wove between two more pools of blood, charging directly for the giant¡¯s legs, and began hacking at them. He was able to deal a lot of damage before the giant started swatting at him with his empty hand ineffectively. The giant tried to backpedal to create space, but Tristan stayed so close that the monster¡¯s only recourse was to move into the blood puddles himself. Based on the lack of any reaction whatsoever, Tristan could tell that the blood didn¡¯t burn the giant like it did him... But it did do something else unexpected.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Where previously the Horrible Armorsmith¡¯s boots had been resting in the burning blood, now there were cloven hooves instead. Above the backward-seeming ankle, the illusion remained unbroken. But apparently the blood could--at least partially--dispel the magic that cloaked this monster in Tristan¡¯s father¡¯s form.


    Tristan took the opportunity to pull back well out of reach, into a part of the crypt where there hadn¡¯t been any fighting yet and thus there were no blood pools. Now that he had a moment to think about it, he realized they were apparently environmental hazards, even though he thought they should be counted as damage over time effects, and thus negated by his sword.


    He had noticed that the monster was trying to keep him at measure, but it was too slow to keep up with Tristan¡¯s more nimble movements. By pulling this far back, he could wait for the giant¡¯s approach, then spring just under its descending attacks and strike freely. To make matters worse for the monster, Tristan was always targeting its legs. The giant was getting slower blow by blow.


    Tristan smiled, seeing a glimmer of hope at last. He activated [Blade Echo] and parried the hammer¡¯s next blow in the hope that [Riposte] would allow him to find an even better striking angle. He forced himself to ignore the splattering blood that burned straight through his clothes and into his flesh. The resulting counterattack, doubled by [Blade Echo], slipped under the giant¡¯s guard and connected with its knee.


    The Armorsmith bellowed with pain and rage. Tristan came at the monster again and his [Piercing Thrust] was also echoed as it drove into the monster¡¯s leg. As he carved another set of echoed attacks into the boss, he saw that his assault hadn¡¯t only splattered himself. Apparently some of the blood had flown back onto the Horrible Armorsmith too. Its face was now a splotchy, bloody mess, more like a ripped mask than a clean illusion. What shone through beneath it looked every bit like the demon that Tristan had read was supposed to be the final boss of this dungeon.


    ¡°Ah, now I see the real you,¡± Tristan said with a grim smile. ¡°Just as ugly as I expected.¡±


    The monster screamed again, jerking its free hand up to its face, and ripped the facade off, revealing a reddish snout complete with a jaw that was much too long, and started way too far down its neck. Contorted with rage and pain, the demonic maw opened wider than should be possible, allowing its serpentine tongue to lash the air.


    Tristan barely cared about the giant¡¯s new appearance, however. If anything, the change removed the last real weapon the monster had held against him. As Tristan dodged and cut, parried and sliced, the giant became more and more demonic in appearance. Any resemblance between the monster and his father rapidly fell away. Now Tristan was free to deal with the boss properly. Without a single hesitation.


    He knew that the burning crimson covered nearly every surface in the room, himself included, but at last, Tristan made a great feint, and the giant took the bait, leaving his right knee wholly exposed. Tristan swung his sword with all his might in a [Cleaving Slash], and watched as the attack cut straight through the thick joint.


    The giant demon immediately collapsed under its own excessive weight. The bloody hammer slammed to the ground right beside it. With another deft stroke, Tristan separated the hand at the wrist. One more thrust of his blade, and the monster was no more.


    Immediately, a golden halo surrounded him, and the sweet sound of a Ding! was accompanied by several triumphant notifications.


    You have slain [The Horrible Armorsmith, level 15]


    {{Crypt Boss of the Rockmoor Cemetery}}


    You have gained the Lonely Dungeoneer Achievement!


    You have gained the title: {Lonely Dungeoneer}.


    Next stage of Achievement revealed:


    Isolated Dungeoneer!


    Requirements: Complete five different dungeons on your own.


    Congratulations! You have reached LEVEL 14!


    You have earned another skill selection.


    Skill Selection:


    You may learn one skill from the options provided. Any skill not selected now will still be available in subsequent level-up skill selections if you so choose.


    Do you wish to proceed now?


    Glancing down, he saw that he¡¯d also gained a level in his swordsman Class, but he¡¯d get to that in a moment. He didn¡¯t want to delay getting something from his Primary Class, since it was always higher level and so usually added more power.


    Not seeing any reason to wait, Tristan thought Yes, and the following options appeared for him.


    [Quality Blades I] A passive skill that increases the minimum rarity of swords you craft to Uncommon.


    [Quicken Blade] A passive skill that grants the user +5% attack speed with swords and +1% movement speed while wielding a sword.


    He also saw both [Faster Craft] and [Swordcraft Efficiency] at the bottom of the list, still left over from his last skill selection at level 12.


    Both of the new skills were promising, but one really stood out to him: [Quicken Blade]. While the first half of the ability was rather boring, as most basic stat increases seemed to be, getting an increase in base movespeed was amazing! He¡¯d already gotten 2% from his [They Grow Up So Fast] achievement, and adding another 1% to it would just be that much better. It was a tremendous boon for any combat Class, but especially those that wanted to stay in melee.


    He recognized how valuable [Quality Blades I] would have been for someone who wanted to sell their work to others, but due to his Core, he couldn¡¯t. He only crafted for himself, by necessity, and typically he needed to craft a lot of items for EXP anyway. Raising the minimum rarity wouldn¡¯t help nearly as much for him as it would others.


    Honestly, it wasn¡¯t a decision at all. He focused his intent on his selection, and a moment later, he has gained the [Quicken Blade] passive.


    Tristan stepped back and sliced the air a few times, wondering if he''d be able to tell the difference, but of course he couldn''t. Instead, he went to see what skill he¡¯d gained from level 6 of swordsman.


    [Blade Flurry] An attack ability that lets the user make four attacks in quick succession. 30 second cooldown.


    Tristan was beside himself. He¡¯d wanted the skill for so long that gaining it almost felt like a right of passage. It was a good thing after all that Jamal hadn¡¯t wasted their time teaching it to him early. It pained him to admit it, but the man had been right yet again. That is, unless skills also got more powerful in the same way passives did when you got more than one instance of it. He¡¯d have to ask Jamal.


    It was kind of strange how, despite all the damage he¡¯d taken and the terrors he¡¯d encountered, Tristan had enjoyed this run. He hadn¡¯t even seen what loot he¡¯d earned yet! There was something about pushing through a difficult challenge that just felt good. It wasn¡¯t quite the same as when he¡¯d finally finished a good craft, but it was close. Had his father not felt the same way after going with the Brightshield into a dungeon all those years ago? He¡¯d have to ask the man some more about it the next time he saw him.


    Tristan watched as the monstrous devil''s body and the surrounding pools of blood evaporated before his eyes. In their place, a golden chest remained, gleaming as though a permanent beam of sunlight shone on it and it alone.


    Smart loot! Tristan cheered internally.


    All things considered, this had never really been a fair fight. There had been plenty of trickery on the boss¡¯s part, but no real challenge. Only its blood had done him any damage at all. Considering that he¡¯d faced the boss all alone, Tristan couldn¡¯t help but smile. He had handled it so easily.


    Clearly, he had grown a lot in his time with Jamal.


    Opening the chest, Tristan was delighted to hear the distinctive, golden chest music again, though his excitement waned slightly when he saw what awaited him within. Nestled down in the exact center of the mostly-empty space was a single, tiny vial of alarmingly purple liquid.


    As Tristan carefully removed the vial from the chest, he used [Identify] to see what he''d earned.


    [Crafter¡¯s Blessing (unique)]: Soulbound


    Applying this oil to any crafting item will permanently increase its rarity by one rank and grant it an additional enchantment. One dose. Consumed upon application.


    Tristan was at a loss for words. The brief disappointment he''d initially felt at seeing such a small reward was immediately replaced with awe--and a touch of shame, for so badly misjudging his loot.


    His mind turned immediately to the question of which item he should upgrade. As he saw it, he had only two options: either his forge or his hammer. Actually, there was a third option. He could hold onto the oil and make something else. A tier 2 hammer, for example. But if he were going to do that, he could just work on replacing parts of his existing hammer until it became tier 2 anyways. Same with the anvil. He¡¯d been using them both basically every single day of late, and upgrading either was bound to be useful in ways he hadn¡¯t yet imagined. A better [Portable Forge] might help speed up his future crafts, if the metals heated faster, for example, or stronger if the materials were made more pure. Though he had to admit that he had no idea what sorts of enchantments a forge could even have!


    Then there was his [Smith¡¯s Hammer]. The craft that had Awakened him. There was no crafting without his hammer. He used it for everything, even more than the forge. If he upgraded the hammer, it could potentially affect other crafting professions down the road too, as long as he took one that used a hammer.


    But it was only a common item, and only tier 1, while the forge was already rare and tier 2. He knew that as items went up in rarity, the increase in power or ability was not linear but exponential. He kind of wanted to see what the next step up to epic would do.


    But he kept thinking about his hammer. He pulled it out of his [Crafting Materials Bag] and really examined it for the first time in a while. The shape and edges that he¡¯d spent so long perfecting. The small flourishes he¡¯d added, even on the wooden handle (which had felt at the time like his nemesis). The way it felt in his hand, felt like an extension of his hand.


    He knew which choice he would make.

 Chapter 46: Better

    Chapter 46: Better


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    When it really came down to it, Tristan knew he wanted to upgrade his hammer. It had been with him from the beginning of his Path, and by the gods it would be with him all the way to the end.


    He would eventually, after upgrading the rarity, find a way to upgrade the materials and craftsmanship to tier 2 as soon as he could. And then tier 3, tier 4, tier 5...


    One step at a time.


    He applied the oil carefully and evenly, until the whole thing was completely covered. Even before he¡¯d finished, his hammer had begun to emit a light blue smoke that subtly hung in the air before dispersing. Even as he moved the hammer around, the bluish, smoky aura followed. He used [Identify] to tell him exactly how it had changed.


    [Smith¡¯s Hammer (uncommon)]: [Crafter¡¯s Blessing], Soulbound


    A hammer forged by a talented blacksmith and has since been magically upgraded.


    The improved rarity had been expected, obviously. But he cared more about the new property. What sort of enchantment had the oil bestowed?


    [Crafter¡¯s Blessing] While crafting with this hammer, gain a +10% bonus to Strength and Endurance.


    Tristan was thrilled. A 10% bonus to even one stat, conditional or not, would have been incredible. To get that same bonus to two stats made it absurd. Currently, a 10% bonus was the equivalent to 10 stat points (5 to each). That was basically like crafting at a whole level higher than he was! And it was a percentile buff, so it was going to grow along with him.


    With a huge smile on his face, Tristan swung his newly upgraded hammer, glad to find that it still felt the same as it had before. He¡¯d admittedly been a little worried that the upgrade might change the hammer¡¯s feel somehow.


    All that was left was to see how much it improved his work.


    That would have to wait, though. He was still in the dungeon, after all, and before he left he wanted to look around for anything else that might be useful. Just a quick search around the Crypt, then he''d head back to the Quarry.


    As could be expected of a final boss¡¯s lair, the space was mostly empty aside from the massive forge and anvil, and of course whatever the giant had supposedly been working on.


    It might have been part of a giant-sized breastplate, given the huge sheet of flattened metal. Tristan could tell that it was now fully cooled and would need another heating before it could be worked again. But eyeballing its thinness, and by testing its resistance to force, Tristan knew it was worth taking. Whatever material it turned out to be, if he could shape it a bit more, it could be turned into something special.


    He wasn''t sure how he could transport it though. It was super wide, making it ridiculously awkward to carry. Added to his burned shoulder and general tiredness from running an entire dungeon solo, he struggled to heave it over his head with both hands. He was only able to walk to the crypt¡¯s door before he had to set it down.


    This isn''t working. If I try to take it outside like this, I won''t be able to carry anything else. I wonder if it¡¯s still considered a crafting material?


    Hoping for the best, Tristan pulled out his [Crafting Materials Bag] and held it near the oversized plate. When the flattened metal began to slowly shrink down and fold over itself as it was rapidly drawn into the bag¡¯s mouth, he was beside himself with glee--and then also worry. Was the folding something that was actually happening, or was that just the magic of his bag? He''d never heard of such a property before. Which naturally led his curiosity to the most important questions: How big an item could he fit into his growth bag? Just how much had the space inside grown?


    He resolved to find out after he got out of this dungeon. But first thing first. Now that his hands were once again free, he had to find all the materials he could in this dungeon and take them with him. He would never have enough materials for the plans he had.


    Luckily, with nothing left to get in his way, he could take his time in the Quarry. After such a hard dungeon, it was going to be nice to have something come easy.


    - - - - -


    Tristan hobbled to the cemetery gate with a leg so badly injured that even the slightest breeze shot fiery pain through his whole body. There was no way it wasn¡¯t broken. He''d found a fair-sized branch from one of the trees to use as a crutch, but every step was still extremely painful and frustrating. It had already slowed him down a lot just getting back to the exit, and he was worried that he¡¯d taken so long that he might need to hire someone to take him back to Jamal¡¯s. One glance at the sun¡¯s sinking position in the sky told him that it was well after noon. There was only a slim chance he¡¯d be getting back before nightfall.


    The injury had come from trying to find every possible ore node in the grounds... and forgetting about the direwolves.


    He¡¯d fought the one that got away, sure. But when he hadn¡¯t encountered it again, he¡¯d practically pushed it from his mind... along with the thought that maybe there¡¯d been a pack. What a painful mistake that had been.


    There were six more, it turned out. Perhaps they''d seen themselves as the true final boss, as they¡¯d stalked him, laying in wait. They''d completely surrounded him as he mined a rich iron node, and then they''d struck all at once.


    While the fully-empowered Greatest Fear miniboss probably should have been the hardest fight in the whole dungeon, the direwolves had done way more damage. A pack of normal mobs, Tristan thought with a grunt as he continued toward one of Rockmoor¡¯s central streets, and all they dropped were a handful of mana potions that weren¡¯t even soulbound. Not that he could use them if they were. He sighed. At least he could give them to Opie... whenever it was that he saw his friend next.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Aaric</h2>


    The moment the [Frost Bolt] left his fingertips, Aaric unleashed his [Ice Barrage], already knowing that the bolt would be enough to completely stack the frost debuff and fully freeze his opponent. This would be the third time this fight, after all, and he had learned this opponent¡¯s capabilities as surely as all the others. She was strong, but ultimately she was a melee Class, and that put her at a huge disadvantage against him.


    Aaric had been steadily improving. That part of the scout¡¯s assessment hadn¡¯t been wrong in the slightest. This last casting, though... He could feel no gap in the flow of magic down his arms, so he knew he¡¯d perfected the timing of the spell combination at last. A slight nod from the scout, who was leaning against the wall outside the duelist¡¯s circle, seemed to verify it.


    Aaric returned his gaze to the spear-wielding woman across the circle from him just in time to see the final shards of [Ice Barrage] tear into her chest, forcing her down to one knee. She tried to lean against her spear to keep herself up, but the damage was just too much. Aaric didn¡¯t even need to fire the next [Frost Bolt] that had been building at his fingertips. She was done.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    As the crowd roared its support, the announcer stepped back into the circle to announce the victory. Aaric raised his chin and tried to act as though it meant as much to him as it should have. He¡¯d joined this dueling league specifically at the scout¡¯s behest, to push himself. He¡¯d been at least a full level lower than all of his opponents from start to finish. And he¡¯d handily won every single bout.


    So why does it feel so hollow?


    Thinking back on the championship duel, Aaric had been able to easily keep his distance the entire time. It had been trivial, honestly, as the woman didn¡¯t seem to have any escape mechanisms or snare breaks in her skillset. It took her so long to get free that Aaric had to wonder if she¡¯d ever trained for that type of opponent. Perhaps she¡¯d just relied too heavily on her magic spear returning to her after she threw it whenever she faced off against ranged foes. But even with her high Strength to hurl it through the air, it would never be fast enough to hit Aaric Longbloom after all the slowing debuffs he¡¯d applied.


    Since he¡¯d seen her throw her spear many times in earlier rounds, the only surprise throughout the whole duel had been just how much health she seemed to have. She¡¯d managed to take three full freezes before she¡¯d gone down. None of his previous opponents had lasted past the second, with one even falling unconscious after the first. But this was the final round; more should be expected of anyone that could make it this far. The spear-wielding woman had certainly tried her best, and that would have been enough had Aaric not been there.


    By the end of the league, victory had felt expected, and it wasn¡¯t interesting. He hadn¡¯t needed to cast [Frost Nova] a single time.


    Once all the fanfare died down, Aaric was presented with the champion¡¯s prize, which also happened to be the biggest reason he¡¯d agreed to enter this league in the first place. It was a certificate signed and sealed by the head of the Steelblood Guild in Rockmoor, stating that the bearer could commission one certified tier 2 item (with an upper cost limit) from any shop on the Row allied with the Guild, and it would be made their top priority.


    He wasn¡¯t entirely sure what he wanted to commission yet. He¡¯d been considering a new staff, for more offensive output, if he could find a craftsman able to match his aesthetic. On the other hand, Aaric also wanted to get something enchanted with cooldown reduction or a cast speed increase. Preferably both, if the costs didn¡¯t exceed the prize. For the first time in his life, Aaric was being constrained by cost, and it felt really strange. Unpleasant. He had no idea how others tolerated it.


    Still, he took his certificate and held it tightly in his hands as spectators and the other competitors came up to congratulate him. Aaric smiled through it all, but he merely tolerated the attention instead of embracing it as he usually would. He¡¯d ended up spending a lot of time with this dueling league, but he didn¡¯t really know any of the other combatants. He hadn¡¯t even bothered to learn a single one of their names.


    When the crowd dispersed, and Aaric walked over to the scout at last, the higher-tier man slowly clapped twice. ¡°Congratulations on your success.¡±


    Aaric rolled his eyes. ¡°How much did you make on the betting side?¡±


    The scout smiled slightly as he tapped a pouch that Aaric knew was actually spatial storage. ¡°Enough that it might be best not to advertise it here.¡±


    Aaric scoffed. ¡°Like anyone here could challenge you.¡±


    The scout merely shrugged. ¡°I¡¯d rather not make the event cleanup harder than it already will be.¡±


    ¡°Why? You won¡¯t have to do it. You¡¯ll be long gone by then.¡±


    ¡°But someone will,¡± was the scout¡¯s reply before redirecting their conversation. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you happier about winning? Didn¡¯t you want to be League Champion?¡±


    Aaric clutched the certificate. ¡°It was too easy,¡± he said quietly.


    ¡°And that¡¯s disappointing to you.¡± The scout hadn¡¯t asked it but merely stated it as a fact.


    ¡°It is,¡± Aaric admitted. ¡°When you told me what the prize was, and that everyone entering was a higher level, well... It was just a lot easier to win than I thought it would be.¡±


    The scout nodded, but otherwise remained silent.


    Aaric found that frustrating. ¡°You think you know something.¡±


    ¡°Well, I always know something.¡±


    ¡°Something about why this was so unfulfilling?¡±


    The scout actually laughed. ¡°Oh, I definitely know that.¡±


    Aaric tried to wait patiently, hoping that his silence would prompt the man to tell him, but the scout was as tight-lipped as always. He wants me to have to say it.


    ¡°Will you tell me, please?¡± Aaric finally asked.


    ¡°Not this time, sir. This one you¡¯ve got to figure out for yourself.¡±


    Aaric threw his hands up. ¡°You¡¯re unbelievable.¡±


    ¡°Yet you¡¯re not actually surprised,¡± the scout pointed out. ¡°How about this: I¡¯ll point you in the general direction. Assuming you¡¯re willing to think, and answer a few questions honestly.¡±


    Aaric ground his teeth slightly, but he knew the scout well enough to see that the man was now playing a game with him. If Aaric wanted to figure out what the man was thinking, he would have to play by the scout¡¯s rules. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, bowing to the man who was supposed to be his servant.


    ¡°Then here¡¯s your first hint. Who was the person you fought in the championship duel? What was her name?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know that,¡± Aaric answered immediately.


    The scout raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why not?¡±


    Aaric paused, considering the question. It was fair, and in all honesty he probably should be able to remember something as simple as her name. The scout had said it countless times during their preparations. So had the announcers, before and after all of her duels. So why didn¡¯t he know it?


    ¡°Because I didn¡¯t care about her,¡± Aaric said.


    The scout led Aaric to two chairs in the front row, now emptied, and indicated for him to sit. ¡°Why not?¡±


    Aaric sank down into the cushioned chair and dug into those two words again. The first answer that surfaced was too easy and reductive: that he didn¡¯t care about anyone in this town. No, there was more to it here, or else the scout wouldn¡¯t have asked. It¡¯s because... ¡°She never really stood a chance to beat me.¡±


    The scout nodded slowly, leaning back a bit in his chair and rubbing his chin slightly.


    ¡°None of them did,¡± Aaric continued, ¡°despite their advantages.¡±


    ¡°Interesting word choice,¡± the scout commented, leaning forward again. ¡°Let¡¯s talk more about advantages. Your own, for example.¡±


    My advantages? Aaric wanted to scoff, but upon doing a quick and honest inventory, he recognized just how many he truly had. ¡°Wealth, obviously.¡±


    ¡°Obviously,¡± the scout said, raising one finger.


    ¡°And training.¡±


    A second finger came up. ¡°Expensive training.¡±


    Aaric bristled at the correction, but kept going. ¡°Good gear.¡±


    The scout lifted an eyebrow, tilted his head, and held up a third finger.


    ¡°And superior focus,¡± Aaric continued, ¡°not to mention persistence, and drive.¡±


    ¡°Finally,¡± the scout mused, clapping his hands, ¡°some advantages that actually come from you.¡±


    Aaric realized that his fists were clenched, even the one holding his certificate. He calmed himself and tried to flatten the paper against his chest. ¡°What¡¯s your point?¡±


    ¡°Not everyone has all your advantages, Aaric. Or at least, not those first few.¡± He paused, perhaps to let the words soak in, before leaning forward even more. ¡°And who could possibly stand a chance against you, Aaric Longbloom the {Ice Prodigy}, without such advantages?¡±


    And there it was. Aaric sighed. There it was. There was someone who had... beaten him already.


    ¡°How did he even do that?¡± Aaric asked aloud.


    ¡°Which part?¡± the scout asked with a smile. ¡°Not drop below 60% health against you, despite being a noncombat Class? Or keep up with your leveling pace, despite Awakening later? Or maybe you mean how he pulled you out of the fire at Sharing Cross?¡±


    ¡°He saved my life,¡± Aaric quietly agreed. He hated admitting it, but it was true. He struggled to say the next part, but he needed to get it out. ¡°So is it bad that... I mean, is it OK that... I want to beat him?¡±


    When Aaric finally glanced up at the scout, he found the man was already staring straight back at him, his face open and not judgemental. ¡°It depends on what you mean by that.¡±


    ¡°When it counted, he was better than I was,¡± Aaric began, struggling through his own thoughts to find the right words. His hands tightened together around the certificate. ¡°How can I be better than him? Show me how to be better.¡±


    The scout held his gaze silently long enough for several heartbeats to thud in Aaric¡¯s chest. ¡°Better than who?¡± he finally asked.


    ¡°Better than..."


    ¡°...The Hammerson boy?¡±


    Aaric shook his head. ¡°Tristan. Better than Tristan.¡±


    The scout reached out a hand and placed it firmly on Aaric¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You¡¯ve still got a ways to go, but this, at least, is the first step on the right path. And you know what, I think I might finally like to see you walk it. You¡¯ve grown, kid.¡±


    Then he smiled, and the warmth of that smile seemed to radiate all the way down his arm and into Aaric¡¯s chest.

 Chapter 47: Solid Equipment

    Chapter 47: Solid Equipment


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    When Tristan emerged from the dungeon, he saw a familiar wagon parked right outside the cemetery. It wasn¡¯t the same one that had driven him there, but that ended up being even better. In the driver''s seat was Billy, the half-elf who had taken him to Garrow¡¯s. It was enough to make Tristan actually grin despite the pain in his leg.


    ¡°Billy, I¡¯m so glad it''s you. Where''s the nearest healer?¡±


    ¡°You look rough,¡± the driver said with a whistle. ¡°How does The Agora sound? It''s not actually the closest, but it''s the one that''s not Steelblood-aligned, so... Yeah. Though I guess we could also go to the Temple of the Embrace.¡±


    ¡°The Agora¡¯s fine, if you trust it,¡± Tristan grunted as he pulled himself into the back of the wagon. It was full of grain for some reason, and Tristan struggled to shape the bags into a comfortable bed while minding his leg. ¡°I thought The Agora was just a bar.¡±


    Billy laughed deeply at that. ¡°Not quite. The Agora is the kind of place that offers a little bit of everything, and then some.¡±


    After a moment''s silence in which the wagon began moving, the driver picked the conversation back up. ¡°Did you tackle that dungeon all alone?¡±


    ¡°And got a variant, of all things,¡± Tristan confirmed.


    Billy shook his head. ¡°Damn. Guess the leg¡¯s not nearly as bad as it could¡¯ve been then. Should only be a few minutes to the healer... You going to be okay?¡±


    Tristan grunted. ¡°I walked out under my own power, didn''t I?¡± But thinking better of his tone  he tried again, ¡°Sorry, yes, and I appreciate the concern. Seriously. It wasn''t easy.¡±


    The wagon jostled violently, perhaps from a pothole, and Tristan yelped. ¡°Don''t feel the need to rush!¡±


    Chuckling, Billy nodded and the wagon''s pace slowed. ¡°Whatever you say, boss.¡±


    Tristan nearly whited out from the pain, even as short as the ride to The Agora was. Billy apologized to him once they''d arrived. Tristan thanked him before slowly lowering himself to the ground. ¡°I''ll be back as quickly as I can.¡±


    ¡°Don''t rush on my account,¡± Billy replied, pulling out a book and reclining on his bench seat.


    Tristan limped into The Agora as another tall woman was walking out, and she all but walked through him, knocking him completely off balance. Tristan collided with the doorframe, sending another shock of pain up his leg. There were harsh guffaws from a table of four nearby, but Tristan chose to ignore them, seeing how tall the stack of empty cups was before them all. He wasn''t sure the laughs were even aimed at him.


    Still, his leg freaking hurt, and Tristan collapsed against the wall. It was all he could do not to howl in pain until one of the waitresses hurried over to him.


    ¡°Welcome to The Agora, sir! I couldn''t help but notice that you seem to be in a rough state. Would you like me to summon one of our healers? I can personally attest to their excellent track records! And in the meantime, can I offer something for the pain?¡±


    Tristan gasped as he nodded. ¡°Yes, but, uh, just the healer! And quickly, even if it costs extra.¡± He coughed. ¡°I mean, if it''s within reason?¡±


    The waitress gave a nervous nod.


    ¡°Can you just,¡± and he pointed toward a chair, which the waitress immediately pulled out for him.


    ¡°Yes of course, sir. I''ll bring Phillip right away. You just stay there and try to rest.¡± She was gone before Tristan got settled properly in his chair.


    No sooner had the waitress vanished into the back when a familiar voice called out, ¡°Tristan? What are you doing he--oh gods, that leg looks bad!¡±


    Tristan tried to smile, recognizing Sophie''s voice. The smile won out over the grimace when he heard the upbeat ¡°Meep. Meep meep!¡± of the fluffiest astral he knew.


    ¡°Yeah, it''s not great,¡± he replied, ¡°but the waitress is sending a healer...¡±


    ¡°Is it Phillip?¡± Sophie asked, her tone unreadable. ¡°It probably is. He''s not the best they''ve got on staff, but that''s why he''s usually available. He¡¯ll also be the least expensive.¡±


    ¡°What does that mean, ¡®least expensive¡¯? How expensive are the others?¡± He hadn''t actually considered before how spoiled he''d been by having Cleo practically on-call for months.


    Sophie sat down across from him, thankfully not jostling the table. ¡°I don''t know; Phillip is reasonable? I should think that in your situation cost wouldn''t be an issue. It''s your leg after all. And he will probably be able to fully heal it.¡±


    She must have seen the worry on Tristan¡¯s face, because she moved the conversation to a different topic. ¡°How are you doing otherwise?¡±


    Tristan laughed, but that ended up hurting so badly that he instantly regretted it. ¡°Great. Just great. I got to spend some quality time alone in a cemetery.¡±


    ¡°Rockmoor Cemetery?¡± Across from him, Sophie seemed to perk up even more. She hadn''t taken a sip of her drink in a while. She was even ignoring that Poof was working her way out of another bow--a cerulean one, this time. ¡°Get any good loot?¡±


    ¡°A few things,¡± Tristan admitted, ¡°including some new toys I can''t wait to experiment with.¡± He pulled out a [Signal Flare] to show her.


    Sophie¡¯s brow crinkled uncertainly, as Tristan recalled that she didn''t have access to [Identify] yet. ¡°That looks... interesting? At least a solo dungeon sounds like fun. I wish we could handle something like that, but maybe in three more levels.¡±


    Only three? With a quick [Identify], Tristan''s surprise was replaced by joy for his friend.


    [Sophie, Human, level 7, Astralist]


    ¡°Hey, you gained another level! Congratulations!¡±


    Sophie smiled but also sighed. ¡°Thank you, but it still took finding another group to get there. We''re just not quite self-reliant yet.¡± She patted Poof¡¯s back gently. ¡°Though it¡¯s only a matter of time now.¡±


    Tristan nodded. ¡°Well, are you still up for some more help? I just finished another round of research, and I think we could do another dungeon in... I don''t know. At least a couple of days. Maybe a week?¡±


    ¡°Phillip will handle your leg today, if that¡¯s your concern.¡±


    Tristan decided it was better not to tell her just how comfortable he¡¯d grown with healers and near-death experiences. ¡°No, or rather, not my only concern. I have a few more important lessons with Jamal, but maybe in a week.¡±


    ¡°How about in ten days?¡± Sophie offered. ¡°I''ve got some family stuff to deal with, too, but I should be done by then.¡±


    She didn¡¯t offer to explain further, so he didn''t ask. But boy did he want to. As far as he could remember, Sophie had never brought up her family before. Not even in passing.


    ¡°Okay,¡± he agreed. ¡°Ten days from now, we''ll run another dungeon. Do you want to come to Jamal''s, or meet here again? I could also go to your--¡±


    Sophie cut him off. ¡°Sure, I can go to you for once. We don''t have to keep meeting here, even if that is kind of it''s whole purpose.¡±


    Tristan raised an eyebrow. ¡°If it¡¯s more convenient, I was about to offer to meet at your place--"


    ¡°I said Jamal''s was fine,¡± she said, standing up.


    Tristan smiled. ¡°You sure did.¡±


    ¡°Anyway, see you then. And good luck with Phillip.¡±


    Tristan pulled out his coin purse and looked within. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure you''re good?¡± Sophie asked.


    When Tristan  didn''t respond immediately, she walked over to him and silently set two platinum pieces on the table beside his hands. She gave him a nod, and walked out without saying anything further.


    Tristan stared at the two platinum coins for far too long. He''d never in his life seen that much wealth just casually handed out, even with Aaric. He swept them off the table and held them in his hand until Phillip himself came to relieve him of them.


    He only got a couple gold in change, too. He¡¯d have to remember to really thank Cleo next time he saw her.


    - - - - -If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The first thing he did when he got time to craft again was fulfill the promise he¡¯d made himself prior to using the [Crafter¡¯s Blessing]: he upgraded his hammer to tier 2. Luckily he had a beautiful stash of white mithril, given to him by his own father. If anyone would appreciate Tristan¡¯s love and attachment to his hammer, it would be his father.


    There were no new affixes gained in the tier-up, but he could tell that his strikes would come easier and be more precise as the hammer naturally applied more guidance to each swing. For his part, Tristan also felt that he was growing closer to the hammer, like it was now a friend--or family.


    With the newly-upgraded hammer in hand, he couldn¡¯t wait to get to work. For Tristan, there were fewer things sweeter than the sound of this hammer striking and shaping metal while the heat of his own personal forge warmed his skin. For the next week, Tristan made time to experience it as much as he could.


    In going back over his performance in the cemetery, he''d realized that several of his injuries and problems might have been lessened if he''d taken the time to finish upgrading his gear beforehand. He''d been tier 2 for a while now, but he still didn''t have a full set of solid equipment. What would his father say?


    He''d definitely scold me for not taking the time to properly prepare myself first, Tristan knew. And he''d be just as mad that it took me this long to realize it. His father had always sworn by his whole ¡°lunch with a side of reflection¡± thing. Which, Tristan supposed, was why he never made the same mistake twice.


    So Tristan made himself a list, and each day he worked to check off one item after another.


    The first two days went to making pants. His father definitely would not have been impressed with what he ended up producing, and it was abundantly clear that Tristan hadn¡¯t practiced that piece of armor nearly enough. But he ended up keeping a decent pair with the [Stalwart] property, since it added both health and armor.


    The next item on his list was a pair of boots, since what he''d been wearing didn''t offer any stats at all. He knew his lack of an upgrade was in part because anything remotely comfortable involved more leatherworking than he felt confident with. He didn¡¯t get many of his usual bonuses when he wasn¡¯t working with metal, for one thing. But he''d also been stalling because he hadn''t wanted to buy leather--and he definitely didn''t want to do any tanning himself. After seeing Sophie and setting the date for their next dungeon run, he decided to go out and buy some good, tier 2 leather. The salesman had tried to tell him what kind of cat monster it had come from, but Tristan hadn''t really listened. It was good stuff, and his feet deserved it after what he¡¯d put them through the last year and a half.


    His very first attempt ended up taking eight hours, all told,and its result might have been a success... for someone other than Tristan.


    [Evasive Boots (common)]: [Minor Evasion], Soulbound


    The big problem was that Tristan didn''t want dodge chance, and that was all the evasion property offered. His style of fighting would gain far more benefit from stacking parry or block. So he decided to unmake them and try again.


    Seven hours later, right as the sun was starting to come up, he got the following notification:


    Critical success! You have crafted a (Rare) item.


    Bonus experience gained for all your crafting Classes.


    Unfortunately, his ecstatic grin turned sour as soon as he used [Identify] on it.


    [Evasive Boots (rare)]: [Major Evasion], Soulbound


    It was practically the same item, just with a higher rarity, and thus a bit more dodge. Well, more than just a bit more. Still not enough that Tristan wanted it, but enough that he didn''t unmake these boots for their materials. He should have enough left over anyway to make one more pair while keeping these, just in case these ended up being better.


    Unfortunately, he had to disrupt his crafting flow and head to the arena, where his lack of sleep did not do him any favors. Jamal made sure he learned the difference between well-rested and tired reflexes.


    When evening rolled around again, Tristan took dinner in his room and went back to work. He might have lost his flow from the night before, but that wasn''t going to stop him. After six hours this time, he created his third pair of boots, which ended up being good enough:


    [Sturdy Sabatons (uncommon)]: [Sturdy], Soulbound


    When he saw that they gave him max health, he slid them onto his feet immediately, unmade all the other boots, and gladly moved on to the next project: a belt!


    The entire rest of the night he devoted to what he''d incorrectly assumed would be a much quicker task. Technically, belts were easier and faster to make... But they all came with really weird and specialized affixes.


    The first he''d ever made had been a simple [Leather Belt] without any properties at all. It was definitely time to replace it. His first new attempt produced something with [Clear-Headed] on it, a property he''d never even heard of before.


    [Clear-Headed] While wearing this, gain resistance to the berserking, terrified, and confused status effects.


    At least that one had a clear usefulness against anything on an affliction style Path. Technically it was an upgrade, since his current one did nothing, so Tristan equipped it. Still, He knew he could do better.


    He made four more belts before he was out of leather, and each came with an equally interesting property.


    [Lucky] While wearing this, increase the chance of finding items of higher rarity by 6%.


    [Eager] While wearing this, reduce the cooldowns of all combat skills by 5%.


    [Screaming] While wearing this, your attacks have a 12% chance (reduced by Will) of causing an enemy to flee in terror when hit.


    [Unwashed] While wearing this, you emit a toxic odor that causes poison damage over time to nearby enemies.


    Making that last belt had made Tristan want to stop crafting for the day. There was no way he was ever going to become a freaking ooze. And while the property might not say anything explicitly about oozes, he could read between the lines. What else stank so badly that it literally damaged those around them?


    After composing himself, Tristan decided that he liked the [Eager] affix best, as it was clearly the most offensively oriented, though he could definitely see each of the others being useful. [Lucky] might even be the better pick overall, if he was thinking long term, so he stowed it in his backpack to ask about later, while putting the [Eager Belt (common)] around his waist. It didn¡¯t matter to him that it would only affect a few of his skills currently. He knew that getting to use his most potent attacks even a little faster would provide a lot of benefit, especially over longer fights.


    That just left a breastplate. He¡¯d saved it for last because... well, because it reminded him of his father. Marrik Hammerson was renowned for his armorsmithing, and breastplates most of all. Tristan knew he wasn¡¯t going to be able to compete with the man, but he still wanted to try to make something his father would be proud of.


    He began by taking out the bars of tier 2 white mithril his father had sent him for his birthday. Once again, he admired how beautifully the metal had been worked. The mythril was known for being remarkably malleable while working it, though incredibly tough once finished. For a moment he considered whether he wanted to waste something so fine on a breastplate instead of a sword. But only for a moment. He still had ten bars of the stuff, and six billets left after his hammer upgrade. He shouldn¡¯t need them all for this. When paired with his Core, Tristan figured a few of the bars would be plenty. That is, unless he ended up having to completely scrap several attempts, and what were the odds of that?


    As it turned out, the odds were pretty high. He ended up totally ruining the first two bars he flattened out because he let them get too hard after the first annealing without realizing it. He kept on working it, creating stress pockets, until eventually he had to use too much strength to find the shape, and the plate cracked. It was probably fixable with enough time and effort, but rather than put that effort in now, he just took out two more bars (and offered a silent apology to his father) before moving on to the next attempt.


    Before he started, he went back over all the steps his father had taught him. He even took out a notepad and wrote himself a checklist. He didn¡¯t want to miss a single step and risk ruining more of that beautiful mythril.


    He flattened the metal down as thin as he felt comfortable, and then he fashioned it into roughly the right size by using one of his shirts as a rough template. He was much more careful this time when annealing the metal, and once he was content that he hadn¡¯t screwed up again, he lightly sketched a few guiding lines onto one side.


    Then came the hours of pounding, mostly with his hammer¡¯s dome face. With how thin it needed to be, he found that the metal kept trying to curl in on him, and he had to constantly stretch it back out, especially around what would eventually fit the upper part of the chest. He knew from countless hours of listening to his father that the work would just take time. Time and stamina and patience, and lots of all three. The material hardened beautifully under his hammer, strengthening until it grew stiff enough to need another annealing. Then the cycle continued, draining him both physically and mentally.


    In the end, what he produced was a thing of beauty. It had crisp, clean lines, perfect musculature, and brilliant symmetry. What¡¯s more, it felt far stronger than anything he¡¯d ever made before. He¡¯d noticed that his Core had been adding extra thickness to the plate as he worked it, but somehow that hadn¡¯t required his hammer to work harder. It was just added defense without extra work, and Tristan was all for it.


    With the metallic form done, all that remained was to turn one of the unwanted belts from earlier into straps that would hold everything in place. It was all going a little too smoothly, he had to admit. So he paused just before taking the final step, before everything was fully finished. He exhaled, slowly, as he double checked his work. Then he affixed the last strap.


    [Enhance Craft] bonus! You have crafted a (Rare) item.


    Bonus experience gained for all your crafting Classes.


    Tristan barely remembered what that bonus even was. [Enhance Craft I] was a skill he¡¯d earned all the way back at level 10! He quickly pulled it up just to make sure he wasn¡¯t misremembering what it offered.


    [Enhance Craft I] A passive skill that grants a minor increase to statistics, properties, and affixes of all items crafted by the user. After you craft an item, there is a 1% chance it will upgrade its current rarity, again (if applicable).


    But sure enough, he¡¯d somehow hit the 1% bonus effect. A one percent chance, Tristan thought, and it had to be on armor instead of a sword. He sighed. He shouldn¡¯t look down upon such a great benefit, so instead he used [Identify] to see what, exactly, he¡¯d made.


    [Armorsmith¡¯s Legacy (rare)]: [Armorsmith¡¯s Boon], [Tempered Spirit (rank 2)], Soulbound


    A breastplate crafted by the talented son of a devoted armorsmith.


    [Armorsmith¡¯s Boon] While wearing this armor, gain +7 armor and reduce the damage of critical hits by 50%.


    [Tempered Spirit (rank 2)] While wearing this armor, every 30 seconds, reduce the damage of the next hit by 50%.


    It was, to put it mildly, an amazing piece of equipment. It offered two strong defensive support affixes, even if they were both conditional. The [Armorsmith¡¯s Boon] specifically felt insane, as it essentially made all critical hits against him into normal hits! He knew his father would be incredibly proud of this creation. Perhaps that was why it had been given its name: [Armorsmith¡¯s Legacy]. Tristan could all but feel the presence of his old man when he looked at it.


    And perhaps, if he was totally honest with himself, he could also see how it was inspired by the breastplate his father had been mending for the Brightshield. The same heroic form. The same color patterns. Just not nearly as fine or detailed.


    Yet, he mentally added. He could already see places where embellishments could go. And for some reason, he kept imagining runes and enchantments going just here or there. What kinds of runes could a breastplate of this quality take? He¡¯d love to ask Tempy, and possibly get her to help him do it.


    As he cleaned up and put all his mats and crafts away, he kept envisioning lining his new breastplate with runes. And his sword. His mind raced with all the possibilities that kind of Path might hold.

 Chapter 48: The Burden of Knowledge

    Chapter 48: The Burden of Knowledge


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Shadow</h2>


    There were few people Shadow wanted to find less than Venom, but there the monster was, ¡°collecting¡± kids from a juvenile work home. The man still wore his {Defiler} title and had grown three whole levels since their last meeting, which just proved that overindulging his vices served Venom far better than proper training. Despite how much Shadow¡¯s Path thrived on knowledge, understanding the monster¡¯s Path wasn¡¯t worth the growth. It was the one thing he wished he didn¡¯t know.


    For a mere moment, as he stood motionless with daggers in-hand, Shadow considered the cost of ending Venom there and then. It would likely be easy, but messy. So messy. And messes could be tracked. He dismissed the thought, scolding himself. It won¡¯t push my Path at all, even if it would feel good. He hadn¡¯t been tracking Venom, after all. No, he¡¯d still been aiming for the man called Brightside, and to get there, he¡¯d followed Timetwister, who for some reason had come to treat with Venom.


    Unsurprisingly, she¡¯d moved on as quickly as possible. Shadow should do the same... but his daggers whispered to him so sweetly. They wanted to end that plague of a life then and there.


    We have more important things to do, he reminded them.


    The task at hand was Timetwister, so he left the monster to his habits. After all, it was risky to let time get away from you when tracking a chronomancer.


    Luckily, he was able to follow her trail easily enough, since he knew what to look for: paths that were slightly out of sync, grasses that continued blowing the wrong way when the wind shifted, flutters of feathers that happened before a bird took to the air, and as he drew nearer there were even leaves frozen mid-fall. He could tell this was her domain beginning to form, being a tier 4, but this was not how Shadow would ever choose to develop his Path. The risk of discovery was simply too great.


    With as quickly as Shadow could move, she couldn¡¯t outrun him if it came to that. Not without manipulating the flow of time more actively. And he didn¡¯t plan on giving her a reason to do that. He was content to follow at a distance that even a skill was unlikely to bridge on its own. It also helped that she¡¯d avoided taking any portals, though they clearly could have hastened her travels. That she was moving the slow way told Shadow that she wanted to leave no trail behind. If Shadow lost her, even he might not be able to find her again.


    He finally caught sight of her just as she crossed the boundary into the Sovereign¡¯s domain. It bothered Shadow that no matter how many times he had been there before, he still received the god¡¯s ridiculous ¡°welcome¡± notification.


    You have entered the domain of the god known as the Sovereign.


    You are now under the effects of the following auras:


    [Encouraged Growth] +25% experience gained from quests and contracts, and -15% material costs when crafting. This bonus is tripled when constructing buildings or roads.


    [Grow and Flourish] All food and water needs are reduced by 50%.


    [Perpetua] The city of growth awaits you, and holds more benefits. If you seek it, you shall be offered the way.


    The thought of returning to ¡®The City That Always Grows¡¯ made his skin crawl. Once, he¡¯d been curious enough to try engaging with that final property, only to see a temporary portal appear immediately before him. That should have been where he drew the line, but he had still needed to know. He remembered standing before that portal, feeling a portion of the god¡¯s attention focused directly onto him. The presence had not wavered until Shadow had stepped through the portal.


    And then, because everything in the Sovereign¡¯s domain led there, he found himself in Perpetua.


    Every portal, every road, practically every thought. Everywhere he¡¯d looked, he¡¯d felt the Sovereign. It had been inescapable--until long after he¡¯d left the ever-expanding walls of the city.


    Shadow had no idea how the god did it, but he was certain of one thing: he had no desire to earn the Sovereign¡¯s enmity. He would rather stay as far from that blasted city as possible.


    But the more he followed Timetwister, the clearer it was that she was heading to Perpetua. Until, at some point before reaching its outward boundaries, she adjusted her course slightly.


    While it was true that Perpetua was called ¡®The City That Always Grows¡¯ for a good and very literal reason, it didn¡¯t grow in all directions equally. Its eastern edge was actually a mountain, which the city had never tried to incorporate or rise above, perhaps due to the vast resources extracted from its many wrinkles and depths. It was toward that mountain that Timetwister¡¯s course shifted.


    Shadow¡¯s curiosity spiked, and it rose higher still as his target circumnavigated the city entirely, not ever reaching the distance where a guard might see her. She slowed her approach to the mountain as well, actually showing signs of caution the nearer she got.


    Not that she had any hope of discovering Shadow trailing her. He had too many skills and abilities at work, even passively, for her to notice without focused consideration.


    She led him into a mine entrance, carefully hidden at the farthest side of the mountain¡¯s reach, where Shadow had to give serious thought to his next steps. As his former teammate approached the mine, she gave a hand signal, clearly marking her authority. Not a minute later, Shadow did the same, while wearing his cowl down low over his face--an act that he knew would obscure not only his appearance but also diminish his presence in their memory.


    Then he was in a cave of interspersed darkness and flickering torches. He felt immediate relief, having feared that the way would be lit far more fully. But no, this was like a playground to him, and he was in his element. He followed the path Timetwister had trod with the ease of a child at recess.


    The first strangeness was how mildly the mineshaft descended. The second was its uncanny width, and that it did not branch. There were still rails, of course, for carts to travel along, but there were two sets. One for carts going forward, and another for carts returning. The latter seemed always to carry dirt and stone. The former seemed to be empty. It was into one of these that Shadow slid himself, only to realize that they, too, were carrying cargo.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    His cart, despite being rather large, held only one small device that was some sort of mix of technology and magic. More curious still, it was wrapped in a stasis field. It wasn¡¯t quite as elegant as something Timetwister herself might have created, but the techniques involved did suggest that she¡¯d helped in designing it. Whatever was inside the magical package, it was being held outside of time. Naturally, Shadow tried to [Identify] it.


    [ ? ]


    It had been years--no, decades--since Shadow¡¯s heavily-upgraded [Identify] had been totally blanked. Even Brightside had returned some information. A part of him wanted to dig into the magical stasis immediately, consequences be damned, but he also knew that there were forces at play here that might notice such an act. He couldn¡¯t risk discovery until he had more answers.


    But I will figure this mystery out too, he promised himself. There seemed to be a steady flow of carts in both directions, and he resolved to snag one of the devices on his way out.


    Riding in the cart didn¡¯t actually increase the speed of his descent into the mine, but it definitely made it easier to slip unnoticed past the dozens of people that were stationed along the way. They were merely guards, and they all held either weapons or spells at the ready. Too few possessed enhanced perceptions, which pinged feebly off of Shadow¡¯s defenses, allowing him to avoid notice with only the occasional exertion.


    Just before the end of the line, Shadow saw a translucent blue magical barrier of some sort covering the full width of the passage. He slipped from the cart so as not to enter it unprepared, and found a deep shadow near an outcropping of unsmoothed stone. From there, he studied the barrier. He found it was much simpler than he¡¯d initially thought, only blocking sound.


    But why would they need that all the way down here?


    As best he could tell, they were directly under the mountain now. It was even possible they¡¯d gone most, if not all, of the way through. It bothered him slightly that he couldn¡¯t be sure. But not nearly as much as it bothered him not knowing why.


    Carefully, he slipped fully through the barrier. He sent a [Shadow Clone] first, to make sure they wouldn¡¯t be discovered or trip any senses. Then he¡¯d simply switched places with it. He¡¯d used that trick a few times before, since the Clones usually weren¡¯t detected as people, and switching places with one meant he didn¡¯t have to personally pass through the barrier.


    As he crept closer to the tunnel¡¯s end, the sounds of a sizable crowd of people talking were drowned out by a massive, echoing explosion that also shook the walls. Immediately he understood the need for the barrier that negated sound. But there was more to explore here. He couldn¡¯t see what had caused the explosion with so many people in the way. The all-too-familiar compulsion drove him to uncover their secrets too. Since he hadn¡¯t seen her double back, he was sure Timetwister was also down this way. Seeking mage or mystery would certainly reveal the other.


    Every three minutes exactly, another explosion shook the tunnel. Shadow couldn¡¯t help but wonder at the precision of the charges. It felt suspiciously like a cooldown, but for what? He could feel the tingling of excitement at his fingertips, as the mystery deepened. They were blasting a path into Perpetua; he was almost certain of it, but almost wasn¡¯t good enough to satisfy a Path like his. He would get the truth!


    Drawing nearer, he could start to make out what people in the crowd were saying. Timetwister was speaking to a dwarf woman that showed every indication of being the supervisor. Together they were directing fifteen others, some of whom were taking a device from the cart like the one he¡¯d ridden in to the end of the tunnel. There, others were huddled briefly around a larger device, using it for... something. Another group was actively lengthening both cart rails while still more were loading dirt and stone into the returning carts on the newly-lengthened rails. It was quite an efficient operation, Shadow had to admit.


    Then the foremost group scurried away, and a general call to attention sounded. Workers all around the tunnel braced themselves.


    The expected explosion erupted right on time. Then the process seemed to begin again, as if nothing unusual had happened. Within only twenty minutes of his arrival, the tunnel had been elongated by twenty or thirty paces.


    So the smaller devices are explosive charges, or something similar.


    That begged the question of what they were being fed into, rather than being used on their own. Shadow couldn¡¯t get a good look at it without revealing himself. Was it merely something to dig faster? How long did the tunnel eventually need to be? Where exactly were they going? It was clear now that their goal was somewhere within Perpetua, entering from below to avoid detection by the Sovereign as long as possible, but to what end?


    A small part of Shadow¡¯s mind wished that he hadn¡¯t walked out on Brightside¡¯s explanation so soon that fateful day. He wondered what plan had been communicated to those that stayed behind.


    But he¡¯d already revisited the event so many times, scanning and rescanning his own records for any hints he might have overlooked. He¡¯d bowed out so quickly that Brightside hadn¡¯t gotten to say much. Only:


    ¡°When you deal with the gods, my dear Timetwister, one leaves nothing to chance. One¡¯s plans must be perfect.¡±


    Shadow still wanted nothing to do with the gods. In his experience, nothing good ever came from messing with the divines. They were too powerful, and often cared nothing for the mortal lives they left behind. They could only be counted on to be entirely self-serving. And now that he knew one of the gods being screwed with was the Sovereign, the god responsible for Perpetua, the ¡®greatest city in the world¡¯? Yeah, he was glad to have bowed out.


    Yet they¡¯re still here, tunneling beneath his immortal life¡¯s work.


    Suddenly the world around the tunnel grew slower, dimmer, as if it wasn¡¯t quite as real as it had been moments before. Shadow had felt this once before, and looking up, he saw that Timetwister¡¯s edges were glowing silver, bathed in dazzling light by the enormous diamond drifting upward from her outstretched hand as it was slowly being consumed.


    Tiemtwister became the axis around which the rest of the tunnel merely revolved. She was real, and the rest faded into background noise. She¡¯d activated [True Augury], one of her most powerful, and most limited, skills. The only time he¡¯d ever seen her use the ability before, she¡¯d sacrificed a diamond the size of his fist, and it had put her on a year cooldown. She¡¯d asked one question, and received one answer.


    That answer had been as brutally precise as expected. It was said that [True Augury] could never actually be inaccurate, merely misinterpreted. As for what she¡¯d asked before? Where to meet the Brightshield to guarantee that he would fall.


    She had been right, then. She would be right again now. So what question did she ask this time?


    As if in response, Timetwister¡¯s voice boomed out into the muted tunnel. Her own words were loud and clear enough that no one could miss a word of her proclamation.


    ¡°We must adjust the angle twenty degrees upward, lest we miss. If you dig and blast on the cooldown, two days hence you shall breach the Vault of Perpetua.¡±


    As the moment passed, the world struggled to catch back up to normal. Timetwister slumped, going down to one knee. ¡°Is that all you needed?¡± she asked, her voice hoarse. If she said more, it was lost to the revitalizing of the workers around her.


    But Shadow no longer cared about what the workers were doing. What he¡¯d heard told more than enough. They were planning to breach the Sovereign¡¯s Vault. Shadow had personally cataloged hundreds of stories about items even suspected to be among the countless treasures hidden somewhere in Perpetua, including whatever had helped the Sovereign ascend to godhood.


    It¡¯s a fucking heist, Shadow thought in dismay, from a gods-damned god!


    And that was the burden of knowledge. It didn¡¯t matter that he liked Timetwister or that he¡¯d enjoyed her company during their contract. Because of who she was serving--because of what they were doing--now that he knew, he had to act.

 Chapter 49: The Notification

    Chapter 49: The Notification


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan had been super excited to show off his new gear the next morning, so he wore it all to his session with Jamal. He found the swordmaster lounging in a recliner in the middle of the training ground, which wasn¡¯t at all unusual anymore, though it was strange that the man didn¡¯t have a drink in his hand. Instead, he was holding an unfurled scroll.


    As Tristan approached, Jamal looked up at him. ¡°What, exactly, did you do to the Steelblood Guild?¡±


    Tristan sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. ¡°Well, someone hired a mercenary to fight me, and I ended up having that big fight in the middle of Smith¡¯s Row.¡±


    Jamal stared at him expectantly. He moved his hand in a small circle. ¡°And? What else? You don¡¯t get a strike for just fighting in front of their shops. Did you get caught stealing from them? Did you insult someone¡¯s work to his face? When I got my first--¡±


    ¡°You got one?!¡± Tristan sputtered, not hearing whatever else his teacher might have said.


    ¡°Well yeah, mate. Obviously. But that hardly matters right now, because I¡¯ve already made my peace with them. But you kicked the hornets¡¯ nest, and now they¡¯re sending me scrolls with bloody demands.¡± With a flick of his wrist, the scroll flew up into the air. An instant later, it was sliced in four pieces by the swordmaster¡¯s greatsword, which hadn¡¯t even been present before. It was also gone again before the quartered paper hit the ground.


    Tristan stood a bit dumbfounded at first. ¡°What... what were they demanding?¡±


    ¡°Nothing I¡¯d give, that¡¯s for sure.¡± He looked Tristan dead in the eye. ¡°They wanted me to hand you over for, and I quote, ¡®a proper airing of grievances.¡¯¡± Jamal laughed loudly. ¡°So I guess I¡¯m just trying to figure out why I¡¯m risking pissing them off again. I should tell you, mate, it wasn¡¯t easy to appease them last time, either. They were right shits about it, all ego and no sense!¡±


    Tristan held his tongue about how Jamal probably shouldn¡¯t be talking about anyone else¡¯s ego.


    ¡°I used an unguilded shop a few times, and then there was the fight.¡± He thought back. ¡°I don¡¯t think I insulted the dwarves in the shop I went to before Garrow¡¯s. One of them even was kind of nice by the end.¡±


    ¡°Which shop?¡± Jamal asked. ¡°Which dwarves?¡±


    Tristan stretched his memory back. ¡°The shop was called MidKnight Plate, and it was run by a brother and sister named--"


    ¡°Cor and Gorrek,¡± Jamal finished for him. ¡°They run a fair business, and I¡¯m pretty sure I know why you walked in. But I didn¡¯t have you pegged for the whole dark and gloomy aesthetic. I need you to understand right now, you are not gonna start wearing all black when you leave here, all right? If you do, and you keep wearing my title, I will make you regret it. And I promise I¡¯ll be creative.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s mouth hung open. He thanked the gods he didn¡¯t actually have any plans of that nature, because he didn¡¯t want to begin thinking about how Jamal might follow up on that kind of threat.


    ¡°So now that that¡¯s cleared up, just let me explain why I¡¯m a bit miffed. See, I was mid-Tier 3 before I pissed off the Steelbloods. You¡¯re not even... wait, you hit level 14! Congrats, man!¡±


    ¡°Thanks?¡± Tristan replied, honestly struggling to keep up with the rapid change of topic. He tried to move the conversation back to his strike. ¡°What did you have to do to smooth things over with the Guild?¡±


    ¡°Honestly? I made an apology, but it was punctuated with a shit load of platinum. I¡¯ll leave you to guess which was more effective.¡±


    ¡°So should I go and talk to them? How bad could a formal grievance thing be?¡±


    Jamal¡¯s face scrunched up in disbelief. ¡°Absolutely not, man. Did you miss my whole symbolic gesture earlier? They¡¯re just  using you as an excuse to throw their weight at me. Why do you think this place is invitation-only, and I rarely leave? Everyone wants a piece of Jamal.¡±


    Tristan was about to say something truly witty in response when the notification came.


    [Quest updated: Avenge the Brightshield]


    ¡°They¡¯re here!¡± Tristan said before holding his breath and expanding the quest, where he found that one of its targets--one of his targets--now had a location listed beside its entry. And, as the quest had warned, it was the same zone he was in.


    Remaining targets:


    Curse


    Red Blade


    Shadow -- in Whiteholme


    Timetwister


    Venom


    Tristan blinked. I have to go.


    He wasn¡¯t sure where Whiteholme was, or even what this Shadow person was capable of, but he was worried that if he didn¡¯t go now, he might never have this kind of chance again.


    That was when he felt someone shaking him by the shoulder.


    ¡°Hey, Tristan! Hey, mate, what¡¯s going on right now?¡±


    ¡°My quest updated,¡± he tried to explain. ¡°My Path quest, with the five people responsible for... Where¡¯s Whiteholme?"


    ¡°Hey, mate, slow down,¡± Jamal began. ¡°Whatever it is can--Did you say it was a Path quest?¡±


    When Tristan nodded in reply, one of Jamal¡¯s hands began to rub his temple. ¡°We¡¯ve been training here for, gods, how many months has it been? I can¡¯t even recall, but why haven¡¯t you told me about this before?"


    Tristan looked a bit sheepish. ¡°I tried to say something the first day, actually, but you were a bit, uh, distracted.¡±


    Jamal scratched his chin. ¡°I don¡¯t remember that at all. Though, to be fair, I was a bit drunk that day. That week. Well, for a while.¡±


    Tristan sighed. ¡°So anyway, I¡¯ve got to go.¡±


    Jamal held out a hand, stopping him. ¡°Not necessarily, Tristan. Chill a second. You need to understand something, alright? No matter how amped up you might be, you don¡¯t have to do this right now. You probably don¡¯t even need to do it this tier. Path quests aren¡¯t required until you¡¯re looking to push into tier 5. So if anything, it¡¯s pretty awesome that you¡¯ve gotten one already, but--¡±


    ¡°But what if it can¡¯t wait?¡± Tristan interrupted. ¡°It says I¡¯ve got to avenge the Brightshield!¡±


    Jamal tried to calm him again. ¡°You¡¯re going to live a long time with your rate of progression, and whether you avenge him now or in twenty years won¡¯t really matter, just as long as it gets done eventually.¡±


    Tristan felt his chest tightening with anxiety, his heart beat doubly hard with fear of Jamal¡¯s reaction. ¡°But this is my Path quest! What if they die before I find them again? Right now, my quest says Shadow is in Whiteholme, but what if I never find them again?¡±


    As Jamal was about to respond, Tristan cut him off. ¡°Stop trying to convince me not to go. I¡¯m going to go. I need you to be okay with that.¡±


    Jamal, for all his counsel of patience, stared at Tristan and bit his lip. ¡°Gods, you¡¯re serious, aren¡¯t you?¡± He sighed, pulled a long, dark brown bottle out of his magical storage, popped the cork out with his fingers, and began drinking straight from the neck. ¡°Whiteholme is only a few towns over. It¡¯s closer to the mountains, but there¡¯s not much else out there. What does the quest say?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s where one of the killers is.¡±


    ¡°Kid, that¡¯s not all it says. You¡¯ve got to read Path quests carefully. If you¡¯re going to do it, you have to do it properly. Read--and do--exactly what it says. They¡¯re bloody specific!¡±


    ¡°It just updated to add ¡®in Whiteholme¡¯ beside Shadow¡¯s name.¡±


    Jamal took another swig from the bottle. ¡°You know we¡¯re not even close to finished with your training, right? Just because you¡¯ve got my title, you think you can run off and, what, kill this person that played a part in slaying Hesden blessed Brightshield? You hear how nutty that sounds, right?¡±


    ¡°I know, but...¡± Tristan began, but he struggled to put his thoughts in order, so he just let them all out. ¡°I know that I may not be totally prepared yet. I know that I have so much more to learn from you. And I know that what I¡¯m thinking about doing may be absolutely stupid.¡± He took a slow breath. ¡°But I also know that I have to take this chance. Whoever this ¡®Shadow¡¯ person is, they¡¯re in Whiteholme right now. They¡¯re close enough that I can--"


    He stopped speaking as a wispy purple arrow appeared in the corner of his vision. An arrow that pointed unerringly in one direction, even as he turned his head side to side. An arrow with a name on it.


    ¡°That I can do something. I¡¯ve got an arrow directing me, with distance and everything.¡±


    ¡°...Of course you did. Gods among us, Tristan. Quest fuckery always gives those sorts of temporary abilities. But--and hear me out--just because you can find this person doesn¡¯t mean you should. You¡¯ve only fought three non-monster opponents before, right? Well, let me remind you about this Shadow person of yours. It¡¯s not just Hesden Brightshield their group killed, but his whole party, too. That includes my master. What are you going to do that all of them couldn¡¯t?¡±


    Tristan stared through his own teacher, through the walls, eyes unfocused on where the purple arrow was pointing.


    ¡°Avenge them.¡±


    Jamal stared silently for an unusually long time, especially for him. ¡°Yeah, well, fuck me then. I guess you¡¯re gonna go.¡±


    Tristan blinked. ¡°Just like that, you¡¯re going to let me--?¡±


    ¡°If I tried to keep you here against your will--and I totally could, obviously--you wouldn¡¯t be focused enough to make any real progress. You¡¯d be like a blessed virgin, unable to focus on anything else. You¡¯re going to have to get this out of your system, one way or another. But more than that, and I need you to hear this, I honestly think that what you¡¯re thinking of doing isn¡¯t a bad idea. It¡¯s just suicidal.¡±


    Tristan clenched his fist. ¡°But it¡¯s my Path.¡±


    ¡°Right. You¡¯ve said that a few times now. Buy a thesaurus, mate. So I¡¯m not going to try to stop you any more. But maybe you could let me help, or at least consider what other preparations you can make right now?¡±


    ¡°You could tell me a little bit about Whiteholme.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s just a tiny little town,¡± Jamal said with a shrug. ¡°Normally the mountain beside it is the attraction. Not some ridiculous grudge quest. There¡¯s not really much else there. Just fields and snow.¡±Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    ¡°Then I¡¯m actually feeling pretty prepared.¡±


    Jamal laughed. ¡°Really, man? In all the realm, you don¡¯t think you need anything else? More gear, perhaps?¡±


    ¡°You know I just upgraded most of mine.¡±


    ¡°Right, but I have better--"


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t use it,¡± Tristan said. ¡°My Core, remember?¡±


    Jamal grunted. ¡°Fuck, yeah, that¡¯s right. Want me to go with you then? Or maybe someone else?¡±


    ¡°I can do this, Jamal. I know this feels impulsive, but--¡±


    ¡°It is impulsive.¡±


    Tristan nodded. ¡°Alright, fair. But I can still do this.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you say that, but when I look at you, you¡¯re still just a little tier 2 talking about going up against a... Gods, I don¡¯t even know what you¡¯re up against. How strong this ¡®Shadow¡¯ person is. And now I¡¯m praying that I won¡¯t have to explain to your blessed parents, posthumously, why I let you go. And you¡¯re wearing my name in your title, so for the sakes of all the gods, don¡¯t fucking die. Really and truly, I don¡¯t want to be put in that situation. I absolutely couldn¡¯t pawn the job off, not even on Cherry. Shit, I¡¯d have to go to... where in the gods¡¯ names are you from again? You told me once. Woodstone? And I¡¯d have to tell Cleo. And who else? How many countless lives have you already touched, man? Are you sure you¡¯re doing this?¡± He sloshed the rest of his bottle into his mouth, then dropped the empty glass container on the ground.


    ¡°It¡¯s Woodsedge,¡± Tristan corrected, ¡°and yeah, I¡¯m sure. There are only a few others, like--oh no. Sophie. She¡¯s going to be coming here in a few days.¡±


    Jamal¡¯s ears perked up. ¡°Sophie, huh? Who¡¯s this now, and why would she especially care? Did you finally get a girl right when you''re about to race off to imminent death?¡±


    ¡°Gods, Jamal, it¡¯s nothing like that. She¡¯s just a young astralist that I met in Rockmoor, and I¡¯ve been helping her level up since summoners are so weak early on. We were going to run a dungeon together.¡±


    Jamal nodded. ¡°Astralists get pretty impressive, eventually. I¡¯m kind of impressed, mate. Sounds like you were thinking long-term for once. You help her now, and maybe if she survives all the way to tier 3 or whatever, she comes back to help out. Is that about right?¡±


    Tristan shrugged. ¡°She just needed help, and I was there to offer a hand.¡± He thought for a moment, while Jamal seemed content to let him. ¡°I¡¯ll just have to make it up to her later, if I can. I gave her my word. But I might never get another chance at this. I have to do this.¡±


    Jamal smiled at him. ¡°Damnit, Tristan. I sometimes forget just how damned good you can be. Yeah, man, I¡¯ll send someone to tell her you got busy training.¡±


    Tristan grimaced slightly. ¡°I, uh, don¡¯t really know her full name, or where she¡¯s staying. Or where she¡¯s from for that matter. And though I met her at The Agora a couple times, she did say she had to go deal with family stuff, so I doubt she¡¯d even be there.¡±


    ¡°Well shit,¡± Jamal said, ¡°I guess I¡¯ll just have to tell the staff to expect her in a few days and adjust the hedgeguard. So it goes. In the meantime, you need anything from me? Or should I send Cherry to help you pack, or Cleo, or...?¡±


    Tristan shook his head. ¡°I¡¯ll handle it. And Jamal, thank you. I¡¯ll be back to finish my training.¡±


    ¡°Sure you will, mate. Sure you will.¡± He sighed, thumping Tristan on the chest. His finger clanged off the new breastplate. ¡°At least you¡¯re finally somewhat properly geared, though I will tell you that this hunk of metal is going to feel a bit restrictive, especially compared to how you¡¯re used to moving.¡±


    For a brief moment Tristan looked down at his new gear. ¡°I guess the timing couldn¡¯t have been much better.¡±


    ¡°Pfft. It could have been in a year! That would have been better! But it is what it is. And for now, well, get on with it, man.¡± He paused, placing his hand on Tristan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°But if you somehow manage to avenge them. If you somehow do this thing, and you¡¯re able to deal with this Shadow person, well, just know that you¡¯d be giving a lot of people peace of mind. There¡¯s nothing I can think of that would live up to the memory of your hero and my mentor more than that.¡±


    Steeling himself, Tristan didn¡¯t allow any of the turmoil he was feeling to show. ¡°Thanks Jamal.¡±


    ¡°Now get back to your room and pack whatever shit you think you¡¯re going to need. Go get ¡®em.¡±


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Sophie</h2>


    It had taken nearly a week before Sophie had been able to properly extricate herself from the situation with her family. She¡¯d been dreading the event from the very first moment, when the courier had handed her the sealed scroll with three silver rings around it. From the calligraphy and decorations on the outside alone, Sophie had known it was going to be a sizable gathering. When she¡¯d opened the scroll, which was really a mandate disguised as an invitation, her stomach had plummeted.


    <blockquote>


    The Lord Alexandre Adrielle II and Lady Soledad


    cordially request the pleasure of


    Sophira Adrielle


    at the Third Tier Ascension of their son,


    Alexadre Adrielle III. . .


    </blockquote>


    On it went for what would have been another page and a half, including a date, location, and rules by which all were expected to abide. Because gods forbid her mother allow a single celebration in which others weren¡¯t constrained to her will. One rule near the bottom in particular frustrated Sophie more than the others, as it felt intentionally aimed at her:


    <blockquote>


    This celebration is intended for adults only, without the accompaniment of:


    small children, pets, or astrals.


    </blockquote>


    While the majority of the rule might have been a standard inclusion in events like this, it was clear that the final forbidding of astrals had been added solely because of Sophie. It felt targeted. But of course her mother had always viewed Sophie¡¯s astrals as pets, or worse. The woman had just never understood. In this instance, her prejudice might even serve to actually inconvenience countless other attendees, yet they¡¯d excluded astrals anyway because it would be torturous to Sophie, who¡¯d have to go hours at a time without the calming presence of Poof, Mister Biggs, or Sneakers.


    She would have expected nothing less from her father; there would never exist an official proclamation from Lord Adrielle that didn¡¯t at least inconvenience all recipients in a handful of ways, the least of which would be the wasting of several minutes of everyone¡¯s time.


    It hadn¡¯t been lost on Sophie that her parents hadn¡¯t bothered to personalize the standard invitation even for their own daughter. The slight had clearly been part of their intent, as it so routinely was. They hadn¡¯t lifted a finger to help Sophie with the Path she chose, but here they were heaping more acknowledgement on her brother. To do so for this event in particular had just added insult to injury. The impression from the invitation was that the affair would be even more extravagant than the celebration they¡¯d hosted for her older sister. Sophie also knew that there wouldn¡¯t be a single acceptable reason she could provide for declining their invitation that they would accept, short of being dead.


    Despite the injustice of the situation and the clear disrespect it demonstrated, Sophie had attended her parents¡¯ little soiree, which of course ended up being the event of the season. The celebration itself had thankfully lasted only a single evening, and Sophie had managed to stay pleasant the entire time, donning the mask of expectation and propriety that was required of the Lady Sophira.


    Beyond the Tier Ascension event, there had been dinners, breakfasts, a formal dance, and all sorts of other ¡®occurrences¡¯ Sophie had to attend. She¡¯d been surrounded by old friends and acquaintances, as well as the people she¡¯d struggled to forget. Once or twice she was at least able to catch up with her sister, but those moments were so brief and far between that they rarely resulted in anything more than surface exchanges. With everyone else, it took all her self-control not to be drawn back into the cycle of thinly-veiled insults and overt machinations that had once been her daily life.


    It helped that she had a lifeline of sorts to focus on and look forward to: her impending dungeon run with Tristan. She¡¯d wondered for days where he would take her. She remembered that he¡¯d talked about doing research, but there was no possible way he¡¯d done as thorough a job as she had. She¡¯d spent a long time in tier 1, after all, and that had given her ample opportunity to dream about where she would like to go both with a group and once she was capable of going solo with either Mister Biggs or Poof.


    As soon as she¡¯d returned to her apartment every night, she¡¯d summoned them each in turn, to just spend time around people she could trust.


    With those thoughts she managed to survive long enough that she was eventually told by a second note, this time delivered very privately by a personal servant, that she was released from her obligations and was free to go.


    She hadn¡¯t needed to be told twice and was headed back to Rockmoor that very night.


    The next morning, she was dressed and out the door of her usual suite in record time. She was even able to keep Sneakers perched on her shoulder until she¡¯d gotten into the carriage she¡¯d hired to take her to Jamal¡¯s manor. It was about an hour¡¯s ride with the two horses pulling them at a steady but unhurried clop. She¡¯d been tempted to pay the driver more to spur the horses a little faster, but she¡¯d seen her brother pull that move a few too many times in the last week. She wasn¡¯t going to be just another Adrielle. She could be patient.


    Sophie contented herself with trying to help Sneakers learn to shift the colors of his outermost feathers. She knew it wasn¡¯t something that a scout-type astral could usually do until at least tier 2, but she was optimistic that her parrot-like friend might be an exception to the standard rules. She¡¯d been working on it with him ever since that incident with the Vine Hydra in the mines, and the most they¡¯d achieved was a slight darkening of the green near his wingtips. But that was still progress!


    Outside the windows, the view of the monotonous open plains was finally broken by several stone towers rising from the center of what eventually turned out to be a sprawling, walled estate. Cresting a hill gave a better view of the expansive building, which was shaped like a spiral and seemed to have hardly a flat wall anywhere. It was odd but not even close to the strangest design Sophie had ever seen. Wealthy people tended to have eccentricities that often manifested in unique architectural choices.


    Now with their destination in sight, Sophie stared out the windows and admired the view. The approach was punctuated by shrubberies resembling monsters of legend. The carriage stopped just before the final two, which were shaped to resemble dragons roaring at any approaching travelers. The message was plenty clear: Jamal was rich, powerful, and didn¡¯t like visitors.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good thing we were invited,¡± she whispered to Sneakers, who bobbed his head in acknowledgement. ¡°Are you as excited to go into another dungeon as I am?¡±


    Sneakers flapped his wings just enough to lift his taloned feet into the air, bobbing up before lowering himself back to Sophie¡¯s shoulder.


    After confirming that the driver would stay a while, just in case Tristan hadn¡¯t already arranged for transportation to the dungeon, Sophie walked slowly toward the towering dragon shrubberies. She patted Sneakers on the top of his head in an attempt at soothing both astral and astralist. ¡°Well, here goes nothing.¡±


    She walked past several tastefully-arranged lounging areas on the wide marble patio and approached the main doors to the estate. She stopped just short of the doors to compose herself, straightening her outfit, and then knocked three times.


    The door opened surprisingly quickly, perhaps even faster than it might have back at her parents¡¯ estate, where they had a doorman on staff whose job was literally just to open and close the primary entrance.


    In this case, it was a pretty woman that Sophie faintly recognized. ¡°Oh, hello!¡± she said with a smile that was either genuine or incredible acting. ¡°You must be Sophie! I¡¯m Cherry, and I¡¯m kind of the liaison around here. We¡¯ve been expecting you!¡± She bowed slightly again, this time toward Sneakers. ¡°And who is this dapper fellow?¡±


    Sophie was only slightly surprised by the woman¡¯s courtesy toward her astral. ¡°This is Sneakers, and we¡¯re just here to see Tristan. We have plans to go to a dungeon together today.¡±


    Cherry¡¯s smile softened with what Sophie interpreted as a touch of sadness, perhaps a little pity, which put Sophie immediately on edge. Has something happened?


    ¡°Yeah, about that,¡± Cherry said, ¡°I¡¯ve been asked to apologize profusely to you, because Tristan¡¯s actually not here right now.¡±


    ¡°I suppose I can wait,¡± Sophie replied, patting Sneakers gently. ¡°When is he expected to return?¡±


    The liaison extended a hand toward the nearest seating arrangement on the patio. ¡°The answer to that¡¯s actually a bit tricky, so why don¡¯t we take a seat first? Can I offer you any refreshments? We¡¯ve got an excellent kitchen, and--¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not hungry or thirsty, and neither is he,¡± she said tapping the tip of Sneakers¡¯s beak with a finger. ¡°We just want to run a dungeon with Tristan, like we¡¯d arranged. And while your apologies are nice, they¡¯re coming from entirely the wrong person. So why isn¡¯t he here?¡±


    ¡°Because he went to Whiteholme,¡± a new, male voice answered, and based solely on the certainty and power projected by its tenor, Sophie knew who it had to be. She turned and saw Jamal--the Jamal--emerging from the main door like some bright-skinned, shirtless god.


    It took Sophie a moment to remember to speak. ¡°And why is he there?¡±


    ¡°Because he¡¯s a man of his word,¡± Jamal continued cryptically, ¡°and while that might seem hypocritical, since he¡¯s kind of standing you up right now, believe me when I say that it¡¯s only because of a preexisting obligation on his part.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±


    Cherry pulled her chair closer to Sophie¡¯s side. ¡°I know. We both do. But... What do you know about Tristan¡¯s past, and why he came out here to train?¡±


    The next half an hour was incredibly informative for Sophie. By the end of it, she strangely felt even more connected to the friendly swordsmith. And while she was definitely impressed by what he¡¯d been through, she was also furious at him. ¡°So he¡¯s throwing his life away on this foolish quest--?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not just any quest; it¡¯s a Path Quest,¡± Jamal said, cutting her off. ¡°And yes, I tried to talk him out of going now. But I saw it in his beautiful green eyes: he wants this more than anything else. It¡¯s a part of who he is and who he¡¯s trying to be. While he may not have to do it now, he would have to break his Path to not do it at all.¡±


    Sophie leaned back. ¡°And if he dies?¡±


    Jamal¡¯s reply was cool but firm. ¡°Then he¡¯ll have died walking his Path, and that¡¯s worth our respect, too.¡±


    Sneakers pecked gently at Sophie¡¯s hand, echoing her uncertainty.


    Frustrated, Sophie stood up. ¡°So why are you both just sitting here? Someone should be going after him, or helping him, or--!¡±


    ¡°I would have arranged for someone to follow him, but he insisted that he was going to do it himself. So I decided to stay here and tell you what was going on.¡±


    ¡°And see what she looked like, I¡¯m sure,¡± Cherry added conspiratorially.


    Sophie fumed at their seemingly cavalier dismissal of her friend¡¯s potential death. It rankled that they were practically doing nothing, and worse that they were suggesting she do the same. Sophie could at least understand why the girl was so agreeable with the man she¡¯d chosen to live with. But Sophie wasn¡¯t going to. She wasn¡¯t just going to listen to Jamal because he was a higher tier.


    Instead of engaging further with the pair, Sophie stalked off the patio and hopped back into the carriage.


    ¡°We¡¯re going to Whiteholme,¡± she yelled to her driver. ¡°And I¡¯ll triple the usual rate if you get us there with [On The Double]!¡±

 Chapter 50: The Boy From Woodsedge

    Chapter 50: The Boy From Woodsedge


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Shadow</h2>


    He awoke lying on his bed in Whiteholme. His [Perfect Clock] skill told him that he¡¯d been asleep for two days. In his hands, he still clutched the larger device that had been at the end of the tunnel. He¡¯d needed to use [Permanent Shade] to teleport out, because things had definitely gone wrong once he¡¯d decided to act. Luckily, or at least as best he could tell, the device didn¡¯t seem to have been affected by their jaunt through the Shadows. He could not say the same for himself.


    He¡¯d lost so much experience, his pool had been emptied, erasing all the progress he¡¯d made in the last three months. More than that, he ached, both in body and mind. He knew before he even pulled up his display what he would find.


    You are now spiritually exhausted.


    As the debuff told him, all his experience gains would be reduced for the next six months. It was the exact same as the last time he¡¯d used his yearly cooldown, unfortunately.


    But at least I''m not dead.


    He knew that the physical lethargy weighing down his body would pass in a few hours now that he¡¯d awakened, possibly faster, since his stats were markedly higher this time around and would aid in the recovery. The feeling was uncomfortable but familiar. He¡¯d made sure to commit the misery to memory, as it was a clear deterrent to relying on [Permanent Shade].


    He left behind his shadow as he stretched and rose to his feet, taking his time before ascending the long, spiraling stairs. Six flights later, he was behind the bookshelf in the bedroom of his childhood home. It was the safest place he knew, mostly because no one would ever suspect to look at a tiny house just past the slum line in Whiteholme. Whiteholme was no one¡¯s destination, after all. People merely passed through while heading elsewhere. The nearest actual point of interest was Snowcap Mountain.


    Shadow sighed as he saw the snowy whitecap looking down at him through the kitchen window. As a very young boy, he¡¯d apparently thought it was a slice of titanic cake dipped in sugar. How much his world had changed since then. Perhaps that was why he hadn¡¯t been back in years. Despite it all, somehow the place still felt like home.


    He sat the device on the kitchen table while he checked all his wards and alarms. Nothing was triggered, broken, or out of place. Only after he was certain the house was still secure did he sit down and scan the device, using every possible tool and skill at his disposal. All he could figure out was that it was some sort of amplifier for the reusable explosives, and that was mostly due to a twistable knob labeled ¡°timer length¡± paired with how he¡¯d seen it used in the tunnel under Perpetua.


    By the time he rose again, his lethargy had fully left him. He¡¯d decided to take the device to an actual expert, to see what a true artificer could make of it. He packed a backpack, carefully placing the device within it instead of his portable storage, and headed out into the chilly, midmorning breeze that filled Whiteholme.


    While normally he would have preferred to stay in the shadows, here in this city, he always felt comfortable enough to walk about with his hood lowered, letting his half-pointed ears breathe. He only had a few streets to go anyway. Whiteholme still had not grown beyond the wooden palisades they¡¯d built in his youth, back when monsters ranged more freely off the mountain.


    First thing is to figure out exactly what this device is, and what else it does. Then decide what to do about it.


    He¡¯d taken the device in an attempt to slow the tunneling process until he could figure out a way to warn the Sovereign without directly contacting the god--or revealing his involvement at all. But how exactly he¡¯d do that, he was still figuring out. He had ideas, but too few of them seemed to end favorably for him, especially since he¡¯d had to use [Permanent Shade]. Its long cooldown was a concern, as it made him much more vulnerable. He could actually die if--


    A suddenly-visible greatsword burst from his chest, close enough to his right shoulder that it almost took off his arm.


    Shock and disbelief warred against his senses as unexpected pain flooded through him. He had been caught off guard? How, and by who?!


    With a deft backward leap, Shadow swiftly slid off the newly visible sword, wondering who in all the realm could be wielding it. But any answer to that question would have to wait because the only piece of them that was visible was the blade with Shadow¡¯s blood dripping off of it.


    Shadow¡¯s quick reactions weren¡¯t quite quick enough though. Already the greatsword was coming for him again, and though he moved away from the first strike, the blade made four swings in quick succession. A [Blade Flurry], he realized too late, and more than that: each swing seemed to be doubled, most likely by a [Blade Echo], which would give his assailant a swordsman-based Class.


    The fourth echoing strike cleaved straight through the device that Shadow hadn¡¯t yet decided how to handle. The metal split smoothly, cleanly, into two hemispheres, leaving one in each of Shadow¡¯s hands. Suddenly, he was beyond furious.


    I risked my gods-damned life for that thing, and now this asshole, whoever they are, might have just fucked the whole of Perpetua to get at me?!


    Shadow shoved the two halves into his magical storage, because why the fuck not at this point, and reflexively rolled out of the way of the next sword swing. Shadow still couldn¡¯t get a read on his opponent, but that no longer mattered. He knew what he had to do: finish the fight fast, hurry to the artificer, and figure out just how screwed the device actually was.


    He summoned his daggers to his hands and easily blocked the next few attacks that all came much slower than the earlier skill. The attacker¡¯s invisibility had retracted enough to show the attacker¡¯s arms, and just like that, Shadow knew he was fighting a man, and he started gathering [Insight].


    His slowly-appearing opponent was already swinging the massive sword again, but this time Shadow could begin to take the man¡¯s measure. After only a few strikes, it was clear the attacker and blade were covering more ground than normal, far larger than any normal daggers should have been able to keep up with. Little did his attacker know.


    Shadow¡¯s daggers were anything but normal.


    Shadow met the blade with both of his, not willing to risk underestimating the swordsman''s strength--which seemed to be lower than he expected from someone capable of surprising him. Despite the ambush, it felt like this fighter was either not a strength-based Class or multiple tiers lower than him.


    Shadow knew what that meant. ¡°Gods-damned quest fuckery!¡± he shouted before chugging a healing potion. ¡°There¡¯s no other way you could sneak up on me.¡± His taunt was basic, but he wanted to know if his opponent would rise to the bait.


    The swordsman refused, wordlessly whipping the huge hunk of--Was that tier 2 metal?--through the air toward Shadow¡¯s chest again. Whoever he was, he was at least smart enough to keep pressing the advantage he''d gained through surprise.


    The invisibility was peeling back around the attacker¡¯s chest, which was clearly very muscled, but as quickly as his sword was flying around, it was hard to pay attention to much else. Shadow actually found himself pressed, and only once the invisibility had faded most of the way down his attacker¡¯s legs was he able to land a proper [Identify], though only on the attacker.


    [?, Human, level 16 [T2], Swordsmith]


    {{Student of Jamal}}


    What he read didn¡¯t make any sense. Firstly, how in the names of all the forsaken gods was a tier 2 putting up this much of a fight against him? Why had the idiot even thought he could? Though perhaps those questions were both answered by his next concern: how had whoever this was earned that title? As far as Shadow knew, Jamal had never taken a student. Except clearly he had, and Shadow knew that anyone capable of convincing that swordmaster to train them--and then to gain that title--that person would be remarkable.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    That he was also being enhanced by some improved invisibility, something that even stumped Shadow¡¯s upgraded detection, was clear quest fuckery. But why had this person gotten a quest to come after Shadow at all?


    There were too many questions rushing through Shadow''s mind as he was forced to keep dodging and blocking his opponent''s enormous, constantly-moving sword.


    That the fight had already begun made roughly half of Shadow¡¯s skills completely useless. But Shadow wasn''t feared only for his perfectly planned assassinations. Even if he wasn¡¯t at his deadliest, he still had some skills that made him feared in normal combat. One tool he had cultivated specifically for fights that proved truly challenging was [Insight]:


    [Insight] A resource that builds in combat with your understanding of an opponent. When at maximum stacks, may be spent to guarantee one Perfect Blow against that opponent.


    With his [Insight] already building, Shadow knew that all he had to do was last long enough, and even this attacker would be brought low. Granted, he didn¡¯t want to have a long fight against this {Student of Jamal}, but his Path was practically begging him to learn more about whoever was behind that title.


    Besides, whoever this man was, he was no fool. He kept mounting more and more pressure against Shadow. If the assassin wasn¡¯t careful, he might legitimately get overwhelmed, and then who would deal with Brightside¡¯s insane scheming?


    It was time for Shadow to fight back.


    Weathering another round of attacks, he activated a [Shadow Clone] and sent it behind his enemy, who was just now becoming fully visible. Shadow switched places with the clone, and with a flick of his wrist sent both daggers flying toward the swordsman''s back as he drifted away.


    But the boy turned, almost too quickly. And Shadow saw that he was a boy, barely old enough to have been Awakened. Yet his greatsword rotated around him with a fluidity and haste that actually deflected both daggers. Immediately he recognized the technique Jamal made famous--proof that the boy''s title had been earned.


    With a showy snap of his fingers, the daggers were back home in Shadow''s palms. The snap wasn¡¯t strictly needed, of course, but style was still important. Besides, the daggers still arrived in time to block the next blow, which was aimed at his chest.


    This time Shadow blocked with only one dagger, while he sent the other flying toward the boy''s shoulder. It sank in all the way to the hilt, delivering its payload. Then Shadow recalled it, not daring to let it stay there, not with the boy''s speed. It returned back to his hand and waited for the next beat.


    Honestly, Shadow was impressed. The boy was talented, especially for a tier 2. But he¡¯s still only tier 2. Just keep chipping away and building [Insight], and he''ll fall, one way or another.


    Except there was the whisper of a memory that flickered past his eyes when the boy looked up. He''d seen that face before. And somewhat recently. He sprinted through the gallery of his [Eidetic Memory], and he finally found the face.


    He recognized the boy at last. Again, Shadow was shocked. But he was only level 1 just over a year ago! The leveling speed was beyond impressive. Shadow would even go so far as to call it prodigious. All this from some kid from practically nowhere.


    ¡°Damn it all. You¡¯re the boy from Woodsedge.¡±


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan saw the recognition at last cross the face of the man called Shadow, only to be replaced by genuine surprise.


    ¡°Damn it all. You¡¯re the boy from Woodsedge.¡±


    Tristan tightened his grip on his greatsword, wincing at the sting in his shoulder from the one dagger he hadn''t been able to block. Even with [Tempered Spirit] blocking some of the attack, and [Rivalry] active, Shadow still hit hard. ¡°So you do remember. That means you know why I¡¯m here.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re here to die, just like all the others who have come for me since that day.¡±


    Tristan balked at how blandly the words rolled off the man¡¯s tongue, without malice or ego or judgment. They were spoken as fact, like there was nothing to it, and the outcome had already been written.


    ¡°But you don¡¯t have to,¡± Shadow continued, voice equally impassive. ¡°You can go back home to Woodsedge and make swords to your heart¡¯s content. You¡¯ve clearly got a gift for it.¡± He nodded toward the [Oozebane Greatsword]. ¡°I collect information, and I¡¯ve seen many weapons. Even amongst the higher tiers, your blade would be impressive. Seems like you¡¯ve got several talents, judging by your title. Would be a shame to waste them here.¡±


    ¡°My name is Tristan Hammerson, and you killed my hero! All those talents have brought me here, to this moment, to fix the world you broke that day!¡±


    Tristan took one quick step forward before swinging his sword horizontally, using [Cleaving Slash] in an attempt to cut straight through his opponent.


    Shadow leapt backward and sighed. ¡°Cliche. But I suppose that tracks. You¡¯re, what, 18? You¡¯re still just a kid. You could have a long life left ahead of you, if you just leave now. I¡¯ll even give you my word: I¡¯ll let you go. I won¡¯t seek you out. Just go. I¡¯ve got shit to do, and it¡¯s far more pressing than ending your Path early.¡±


    Tristan wasn¡¯t even tempted by the man¡¯s offer, and he surely didn¡¯t let the man¡¯s play at peace slow his assault. Tristan reminded himself who this was: a murderer, a monster, and proud enough of it to wear the title for the world to see.


    [Shadow, Half-elf, level 44 (tier 4) enlightened bladeweaver]


    {{Legendslayer}}


    Tristan still had no idea what the enlightened bladeweaver class was, but he was starting to learn its capabilities, which apparently included throwing magical daggers ridiculously hard and then instantly summoning them back to his hands, even from within Tristan¡¯s shoulder! That was an ability Tristan wouldn''t mind trying to unlock for his own swords someday, to protect against disarming if nothing else. It was highly unlikely he would ever throw his greatswords... though now he did kind of wonder if that could be a usable trick.


    At least now he wouldn''t be caught off guard by a man he¡¯d supposedly disarmed.


    Tristan dove deeper into melee with the man, no longer trying to keep him at a good range, instead knowing that if he was close enough, he''d eventually manage to connect with Shadow--ideally before the half-elf¡¯s daggers could carve him up. He knew it would be a complicated dance, and his opponent was very quick. Maybe as quick as Jamal.


    He only realized how fast when the half-elf blocked three swings in a row, drawing closer blow by blow.


    ¡°Does your master even know you¡¯re here?¡± he asked. ¡°Am I really going to have to kill another person he cares for?¡±


    Tristan pushed violently away, filled with rage and renewed purpose. But he needed to compose himself. He was struggling to find the right distance between them, where he could still swing his sword but the half-elf¡¯s daggers couldn¡¯t reach.


    Shadow, for his part, seemed willing to merely dance with him. The bladeweaver flitted backward, somehow managing to stay just out of Tristan¡¯s reach. A terrifying thought shot through Tristan¡¯s mind: Shadow might actually be faster than even Jamal was.


    That didn¡¯t stop Tristan though. He swung his greatsword over and over, determined to land another blow. He refused to give another break in the action, which could allow his opponent time to think of a way out of this. Because at least for the moment, it seemed like Tristan still held the advantage. He was on the offensive. He was pushing Shadow around and controlling the tempo of the fight.


    Shadow¡¯s only recourse so far had been throwing his blessed daggers. But each time he did, Tristan used the Roving Blade to deflect them and keep pressing forward. When Tristan tried to strike back, every attempt was met with Shadow¡¯s own equally frustrating evasion.


    The bladeweaver was always just out of range. Just beyond Tristan''s reach. Like water, he repeatedly slipped through Tristan''s grasp.


    But the half-elf never seemed to attack back. The realization was concerning, even if Tristan wasn''t really being pressured at all. Why wasn¡¯t Shadow fighting harder? Tristan had half expected him to try to close in more, especially since he was using daggers. But he didn¡¯t, and instead he seemed content to stay back and throw his blades. Tristan must have blocked twenty by this point, if not more. Sometimes even six had been flying at him in rapid succession, and the Roving Blade had found them all.


    Just as certainly, there were always two more daggers in Shadow¡¯s hands. And yet he wasn¡¯t pressing harder.


    It was time to change things up.

 Chapter 51: So Much to Learn

    Chapter 51: So Much to Learn


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Trying not to be too predictable, Tristan did try different techniques, like shifting all his momentum into his sword and spinning, trying to get more power behind the swing. But Shadow merely danced away, and his opening strike went high. Tristan kept the blade roving, preserving some of its speed and whipping the blade back low. But even with [Blade Echo] active, every combination of skills missed and missed and missed.


    There were a few times when he thought he was about to strike the bladeweaver, but his opponent seemed to flicker straight through Tristan¡¯s blade. It was almost like Shadow could be in two places at once. Whenever Tristan struck one of them, it turned pitch black and evaporated into nothingness, while the real Shadow reappeared just slightly beyond where he should have been, a mere instant later.


    It was clearly some sort of short-range teleport, though not one Tristan had ever heard of before. And for such a useful mobility skill, it seemed to have an absurdly short cooldown. Higher-tier nonsense that Tristan knew he¡¯d also have some day.


    ¡°I¡¯d really hate to see so much potential wasted,¡± Shadow said, staying in his defensive crouch after Tristan''s latest barrage.


    It might have just been wishful thinking, but Tristan thought he heard the man breathing heavily. ¡°Then stop moving so much, and let me realize it!¡±


    Shadow¡¯s only response to that was to laugh and throw two more daggers Tristan¡¯s way, both easily deflected.


    Tristan kept pushing his opponent and himself. Trying to break free of his own patterned predictability, he opened his next round of attacks with [Piercing Thrust], then followed it immediately with [Blade Flurry]. Normally he¡¯d have preferred [Blade Flurry] as the opener, but he hoped to catch his opponent off guard with the change of pace.


    For once, his strategy seemed to work. Shadow blocked the opening thrust, and he parried both the first and second hits from [Blade Flurry], but the third and fourth actually connected.


    Or they should have.


    Instead, each strike sunk into the man¡¯s cloak, as if its eerie blackness was just vast and empty space. Tristan¡¯s sword met no resistance. In fact, it didn¡¯t feel like it met anything at all. Tristan had no clue how that could be possible.


    The only certainty was that his skill was mostly wasted. At least Shadow had also used his teleport skill to reappear a full ten paces behind Tristan. It was the farthest he¡¯d gone in a single blink so far, and Tristan thought maybe that was a good sign. Maybe he was challenging his opponent after all.


    Or maybe not, since he then had to whip his sword around to block all four daggers Shadow had thrown at his back.


    He missed one, which grazed his cheek. The strange thing was how little the cut stung. When Tristan put a hand up to it, he hardly found any blood at all.


    Tristan didn¡¯t want to think about that yet. He had to continue pressing his opponent while that escape skill was on cooldown. But he wasn¡¯t fast enough. Two more daggers whispered through the air, as fast as anything Tristan had ever seen. So fast they reminded him of Jamal¡¯s attacks. This time, they flew straight toward Tristan¡¯s leading leg. Somehow, Tristan was able to twist his blade just far enough to block one of them, but the other dagger cut into his thigh, causing him to lose balance.


    Tristan wasn¡¯t willing to just stop though. He tumbled and rolled, rising on the far side and maintaining both his and the greatsword¡¯s momentum by circling it around him. He slashed the blade sideways, straight toward Shadow¡¯s belly, as if to split the man in half.


    This time he struck home. He felt resistance against his blade as it pierced Shadow¡¯s side.


    Then black flickered around the bladeweaver¡¯s edges again, and the assassin blinked two steps to the side. Just enough that Tristan¡¯s follow-up completely missed.


    An empty palm struck Tristan¡¯s side, just above his ribs, with enough force that it sent the boy flying sideways and backward, his face sliding across the smooth cobblestone road. Tristan coughed, struggling briefly to catch his breath.


    Tristan cursed. His mobility is fucking ridiculous! He didn¡¯t even have to hit me with a dagger that time!


    The rapidly-forming bruise on his side felt more like an insult than anything. Like his opponent was merely toying with him. Well, maybe if I can slow him down a little, he¡¯ll lose the one big advantage he has. Luckily, Tristan had prepared something not too long ago that might be able to help in that regard.


    Half-pretending to brace himself, Tristan slowly rose. He used the cover of holding his injured ribs to pull a handful of small spiky objects from his [Crafting Materials Bag]. He wasn¡¯t sure why these items still qualified to fit in his growth bag, especially since they¡¯d originally been failed rings, some of his first attempts at making jewelry. But even after he¡¯d reshaped them a bit and given them purpose, the bag still accepted them.


    Now it was their moment. If Tristan didn¡¯t use all the tricks in his arsenal against this opponent, then what was the point? This could easily be his only opportunity to strike down the menace called Shadow.


    Tristan took up his greatsword in one hand, and immediately charged, throwing out first one handful, then another along the way. In the silence of the moment, the broken and jagged rings tinkled against the stones as they landed like children¡¯s jacks, just far more dangerous. He went back into his bag one more time, until every last makeshift caltrop was spread across the ground.


    As failed crafts, Tristan knew that [Identify] couldn¡¯t give any information on the not-quite-rings, and the hope was that Shadow might not recognize exactly what they were before one found his foot. Thanks to a few sessions with Jamal, Tristan had learned that few things in the world were as rage-worthy as unexpectedly stepping on a blessed caltrop. If the tiny, piercing hazards could just slow his opponent now, then perhaps all those sessions would feel worth it.


    Tristan tried to circle around his foe, pushing him into the veritable minefield of metal. For whatever reason, Shadow allowed himself to be pushed according to Tristan¡¯s plans. Perhaps he was distracted by the new, unidentifiable hazards, or perhaps Tristan had actually begun to wear the assassin down.


    Tristan saw that his [Blade Flurry] had come off cooldown again, and he activated it immediately. Four more attacks, moving faster than any tier 2 greatsword should move, flew toward Shadow.


    Only three clanged off his daggers. The fourth found the bladeweaver¡¯s arm.


    But Tristan also grimaced, as one of the daggers had nearly mirrored his own attack and stabbed into his own forearm.


    ¡°Why are we even fighting right now?¡± Shadow asked as he backpedaled. ¡°You¡¯re just a kid.¡±


    Tristan answered instead of immediately advancing. ¡°You may think I¡¯m too young, too eager, too inexperienced, but even with all that, I¡¯m still standing here, and you¡¯re bleeding more than I am! How¡¯s that shoulder of yours?¡± He raised his greatsword and pointed it at the first wound he¡¯d caused with his opening attack. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look good from where I¡¯m standing.¡±


    Rising back to his full height, Shadow shrugged. ¡°Well, you¡¯re missing critical information, kid,¡± Shadow replied, pointing his own daggers at each place on Tristan¡¯s body where he, too, was bleeding. ¡°We might be even in count, but if not for that ridiculous property on your sword, I would have won this fight after my first hit. But here we are, still going. So I¡¯m still learning about you. Once I know enough, then that will be that.¡±


    Tristan frowned slightly at Shadow¡¯s comment, not sure why the half-elf thought this fight could have gone so differently. Then he checked his debuffs and saw a couple new icons there that hadn¡¯t been announced with notifications. That was tricky. Reading them, Tristan realized that they probably should have already ended the fight.


    [Crippling Poison] Each time you take poison damage, you lose 1% attack and movement speed. Stacks. 3 minute duration.


    [Umbral Poison] Take minor poison damage every 6 seconds. While under the effects of Umbral Poison, the application of debuffing effects are concealed. Stacks. 1 minute duration.


    [Shadow¡¯s Length] Your other debuffs cannot expire while this is active. 10 minute duration.


    But Tristan had his [Oozebane Greatsword]. He hadn¡¯t actually taken any poison damage the entire fight, and all three debuffs had apparently been on him for a while.


    Tristan shrugged at his enemy. ¡°I¡¯m doing just fine, and that¡¯s not going to change with a few words. I kind of expected more from someone with a two tier advantage. You¡¯re being awfully passive. Maybe I¡¯m wearing you down.¡± Then Tristan bluffed, trying to goad his foe into attacking him in the danger zone. ¡°I haven¡¯t even pulled out my best attacks yet.¡±


    Shadow shook his head. ¡°Are you truly so eager to die, kid? You¡¯re misunderstanding something really integral here: I¡¯ve got time on my side. The longer this goes--the more we fight--the better I know you. Maybe you¡¯re not experienced enough yet to know why that¡¯s so important, but I¡¯d still wager that you¡¯ve felt something like it before. The tingling of confidence in your bones as a fight wears on, as you can see more and more of an opponent¡¯s weaknesses. Even just a little bit. I¡¯ve got to admit, I love the growing understanding. The little flashes of insight. You get closer and closer to them, until you¡¯re so close that you know exactly how it¡¯ll all end. And then, when that true end comes, when you find that perfect opening, you¡¯re right there with them. Their final witness.¡± Shadow flicked his wrists, and his two daggers seemed to disappear up his sleeves. ¡°Don¡¯t make me be that for you today.¡±


    Tristan still hoped to bait the bladeweaver toward him, despite the man¡¯s seeming desire not to fight. ¡°You can certainly try, but I won''t give up. I won''t ever give up! I''m not a coward. Are you?¡±


    Shadow actually laughed at that. ¡°Kid, you have no idea what I am. I, however, am learning all about you. And right now, you¡¯re missing the forest for the trees.¡± His hands moved closer to his chest. ¡°But you are clever. I¡¯ll grant you that. Clever, talented, and strong. So maybe you¡¯ll take the hint.¡±


    Shadow swept his midnight black cloak back from his body, and for the first time, Tristan saw exactly what he was up against. The bladeweaver had five or six more belts strapped across his body beneath that cloak. Each of them held at least two more of those blessed daggers.


    Shadow¡¯s eyes had turned entirely black save his irises, which glowed intensely white, piercing straight into Tristan¡¯s young, scared soul, as he said: ¡°You see, kid, I haven¡¯t pulled out my best attacks either.¡±


    Tristan tried not to be too intimidated as he quickly counted twelve daggers strapped to Shadow¡¯s body. Suddenly two of them vanished from their scabbards and appeared in the bladeweaver¡¯s hands.


    ¡°For the last time, go home, kid. I¡¯ve got bigger shit to deal with than you.¡±


    Not this time, Tristan decided, draining a health potion in one swig. He only had three left, so he needed to make them count. This was a real fight, and one he had to win. Which meant he couldn¡¯t let his opponent have too long a break either. Tristan was going to push, and push, and push until the bitter end. If there was one thing a swordsmith could do, it was endure.


    Feeling the last bits of healing from the potion taking effect, Tristan raised his greatsword again, yelling, ¡°You¡¯re still not taking me seriously!¡± and sprinted forward.


    At that, Shadow narrowed his eyes. ¡°You¡¯re wrong, little swordsmith. I¡¯m taking you very seriously. This is a matter of life and death.¡±


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Six daggers flew in a near-perfect spread toward Tristan, but even running full speed forward, his Roving Blade found all of them. Six more followed after them, like echoes of the previous blades, but those were stopped, too.


    Tristan arrived in melee range with a clash of blades: his greatsword against two tiny daggers. He was able to push the man backward--right onto a set of caltrops--and then immediately tackled him to the ground onto several more.


    Grunts of surprise and pain came from the half-elf.


    Tristan pulled his elbows in tight to his sides and began pounding on his downed opponent with all his impressive Strength. Tristan used his better position from being on top to land a few body blows, though often as not he ended up hurting his hands by punching higher-tier metal clasps, daggers, or scabbards. A second later, the first dagger slashed his forearm, then a second tinged off one of his bracers. Tristan quickly realized he¡¯d made a horrible mistake, getting this close to a dagger wielder. Suddenly it was Tristan trying to disengage, and Shadow was trying to pin him in place.


    Tristan reached back and grabbed at his greatsword, hoping to create space between them. But of course Shadow, perhaps feeling the attack incoming, simply blinked away, leaving Tristan unopposed, thudding to the ground.


    But where did he go? Tristan immediately wondered. He couldn¡¯t see the bladeweaver anywhere.


    Trusting his gut, Tristan stretched out and rolled to the side, stabbing himself on a few of his caltrops in the process. It was just in time, too, as Shadow descended upon the spot where Tristan had just been. The assassin turned immediately to face him, blades in hand, and came forward with incredible agility. Tristan tried to shove himself backward, only succeeding at getting stabbed by another caltrop before he felt two quick impacts on his brand new breastplate. They nearly took the wind from his lungs as his health plummeted, but the breastplate held, and the two daggers did not punch though.


    Tristan swung his sword again, this time in a huge arc above him, and using its momentum, he rolled to his feet to get away. But I can¡¯t just be glad to get away. I have to do better!


    Trying to go back to the offensive, he swept his blade toward the man¡¯s midsection, hoping to force Shadow back into more caltrops. Instead Shadow leapt clean over it, and tossed two daggers at Tristan mid-dodge. This forced Tristan to cut his sweep short and bring up the blade to block, which apparently gave Shadow the opening he needed. He crossed his arms directly in front of his chest, taking something that looked like a small black orb in one hand, and slammed it down into the ground.


    Then pitch-blackness covered everything around them.


    Tristan was caught totally off guard. His first worry was that it was some sort of attack, but that was quickly shown to be wrong when he wasn¡¯t taking any damage. He just couldn¡¯t see anything, not even his own greatsword in front of his face. He crouched down, making himself a smaller target, listening for any sounds that might indicate where his foe had gone, and trying to sense anything out of the ordinary. He kept his sword ever ready. But no unseen daggers thrust or hurled toward him.


    It was hard to say how long the terrifying, silent darkness covered the street before doubt crept in, and Tristan thought to use his quest interface. Pulling up the little arrow, he couldn¡¯t believe that it was pointing almost due east, away from town, and the distance indicator was increasing rapidly.


    He¡¯s running away?


    Baffled, Tristan immediately took up the chase--and somehow, thankfully, avoided all the caltrops along the way. Where Shadow was going was as much a mystery as why he was running away, but it did give him the opportunity to down another healing potion. He wasn¡¯t going to complain about that.


    There was a moment during the pursuit when the arrow twitched, almost as if it wanted to point two different directions but was confused how to direct him. It only swung back and forth a couple times before it ended up settling on due east, so east Tristan ran.


    He didn¡¯t delude himself into thinking he¡¯d actually been winning their fight. He¡¯d landed a few blows, sure, but he¡¯d done barely enough damage to knock out a tier 2 like Bernhardt and Xanax. And Shadow is a tier 4, Tristan reminded himself. So when he noticed that the distance between him and Shadow was still increasing, despite running as fast as he could with his enhanced movement speed, a knot of worry grew in the pit of his stomach.


    The twinge of doubt darted through his mind--and was suppressed just as fast. He wouldn¡¯t let himself think about if he could do this; he had to do it.


    Outside town at last, Tristan was surprised to find that his foe ran not toward the trees or the foothills, the places where hiding might have been easier, but instead into mostly open fields of waist-high grasses. These weren¡¯t even active crops, just open fields in between rotations.


    Suddenly Tristan began to gain ground rapidly, and he saw at last the dark outline of the enlightened bladeweaver standing still in the center of a vast expanse of swaying grass.


    Shadow was facing toward him with arms extended, though no daggers were in his hands, and despite the half-elf¡¯s eyes being open, Tristan wasn¡¯t sure that the man actually saw his approach. It was as if Shadow¡¯s attention was elsewhere.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know this,¡± Shadow began, still not meeting Tristan¡¯s gaze, ¡°but you really fucked things up with that first skill. The [Blade Flurry].¡± He sighed. ¡°So I appreciate you being slow enough to give me time to handle it.¡±


    ¡°What are you even talking about?¡± Tristan asked, taking up his attack stance again. Had that been when the arrow twitched?


    ¡°Just trying to save a city. Who knows, maybe the realm,¡± Shadow replied, as his eyes refocused on his surroundings, first finding Tristan before gazing off into the grass between them.


    Tristan scoffed. ¡°Like you care about the realm.¡±


    Shadow tilted his head. ¡°And why shouldn¡¯t I? I live here, as do all my friends.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve got friends?¡±


    ¡°And enemies,¡± Shadow added. ¡°Lots of those.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t surprise me at all,¡± Tristan spat.


    ¡°Why? Because I killed your hero and his horse? That was for a Path Quest, kid. The same as what I''m sure sent you here after me.¡± He locked eyes with Tristan then, as if to make his point clear. ¡°You know what the difference is between us?¡± Another beat. ¡°I completed my quest.¡±


    Tristan paused at that. Something about what the bladeweaver had said gnawed at the edge of his mind. He¡¯s not entirely wrong, he hated to admit.


    ¡°Honestly, Tristan, you¡¯ve come closer to killing me than anyone has in a long time. Not that you were remotely close, mind you. Closer. And you should feel proud of that--though I can see that you¡¯ve still got that one-track mind telling you that close isn¡¯t good enough. You¡¯ve got to actually kill me.¡± Two daggers appeared in his hands. ¡°But we¡¯re nothing alike, right?¡±


    Tristan fired back. ¡°I don¡¯t have a bounty on my head! You do, and you deserve it!¡±


    Shadow laughed. ¡°Yeah, I probably do from your point of view. You¡¯re still living in the blessed dream, where the world is all pure. Black and white, evil and good.¡± He shook his head, holding his two hands wide apart. Then he clapped them together. ¡°But that¡¯s not the real world, kid. That¡¯s not how you or I are, let alone the rest of the gods-be-damned realm. You probably still believe in the gods, don¡¯t you?¡±


    Tristan¡¯s brow furrowed, as a familiar chill crept up his spine. Something was wrong. ¡°We¡¯re standing in the Embrace¡¯s domain. How could you not?¡±


    Shadow sighed. ¡°That¡¯s not what I mean at all, kid.¡± The wind around them seemed to blow harder. ¡°You¡¯ve got so much to learn.¡±


    ¡°And let me guess, you¡¯ll be the one to teach me?¡±


    ¡°I honestly wish I could, but something tells me you wouldn¡¯t really listen. Not yet at least. And that¡¯s a shame. I probably know more about this realm than any mortal alive.¡± He smiled. ¡°Which is why I really didn¡¯t mind dragging out this whole encounter, even if you did put me in a serious time crunch before. But now that¡¯s been handled, too.¡±


    Tristan, searching for a snarky reply, took two steps forward before he actively noticed what he¡¯d been seeing before but had dismissed: the breeze blowing the grass was not natural, but coming from Shadow. ¡°What are you doing?¡± he asked. ¡°Why did you lead me all the way out here?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll find that those two questions share an answer. You see...¡± Shadow lifted his hands before him, and now Tristan recognized that they were glowing with black energy. ¡°...I didn¡¯t want this to hit the town.¡±


    The darkness suddenly began increasing in size, sucking in all the light from the surrounding area, turning everything within its range a whitish gray.


    ¡°It¡¯s really too bad,¡± he heard Shadow say. ¡°You put up a damned impressive fight, and there are still so many interesting questions surrounding you.¡±


    Then Shadow thrust his arms wide open, and the whole world started to lose its color.


    Tristan slammed his blade into the ground, flat edge directly in front of him, as a dome of pure blackness pushed out of Shadow. It was exactly like how he remembered that day, the last thing he saw before Brightshield fell. He¡¯d relived it so many times in his nightmares, he couldn¡¯t fail to recognize the same skill. This time there was no Brightshield to hurl protective talismans at him in an attempt to save him. There was no one to save him at all.


    Except himself, and what he¡¯d learned.


    Just before the leading edge of the shadowy dome reached him, Tristan exhaled and pushed his spirit into his blade.


    For the second time in one day, Tristan was surrounded by an inky blackness, but this one felt so much worse. It was death and decay, and its magic pressed in against him, trying to rip off his skin as it passed. That pressure also silenced everything, making his ears want to pop. It was a nova of shadow that devoured both light and sound, and nothing could escape.


    It was hard to say whether it lasted as long as Jamal¡¯s fire breath had. But thanks to those teachings, Tristan endured the blast. Both the sword and Tristan stood tall, until color returned to the world. Or at least the world beyond the circle of withered, greyscale grass that crunched under Shadow¡¯s boots as he drew nearer.


    Tristan¡¯s lungs rejoiced as the air grew light again, but his body and spirit felt drained.


    Shadow stopped only a handful of steps away. ¡°You gods-damned madman,¡± he said, chuckling to himself, ¡°you just tanked my [Shadow Nova]! You really don''t want to die.¡±


    Tristan coughed and made himself stand up again. He wobbled slightly, even using his greatsword as support. ¡°Dad always said I was stubborn.¡±


    Suddenly, Shadow was at his side, bending down and looking at him. ¡°What are you hoping for here, Tristan? You have to know you can''t win. Look at you.¡±


    Tristan spat toward where he thought Shadow was, but missed. He couldn¡¯t help but see the red staining his spittle. ¡°I''m going to avenge the Brightshield.¡±


    ¡°Kid, I have great respect for what you¡¯re trying to do. Truly, I do. But you''re in no condition to keep going. I¡¯d kind of feel bad--¡±


    ¡°Just fight me!¡± Tristan interrupted, lifting his sword as best he could and swinging it madly, wildly at the bladeweaver.


    His opponent merely danced backward, untouched.


    ¡°Fight me!¡± Tristan repeated, screaming, pleading. Something in him couldn¡¯t let this be the end, even as he was beginning to fear the true hopelessness of it all. ¡°You have to fight me. You have to die!¡±


    A soft hand pushed him from behind, squarely in the middle of his back, and he crashed hard to the ground.


    ¡°Kid, you¡¯re falling over already,¡± Shadow said, crouching down before him again. ¡°But here¡¯s the deal I¡¯m willing to cut you. You land one more hit on me, and I¡¯ll answer any question you want and then walk away.¡±


    Tristan, still breathing heavily, pulled out his next-to-last healing potion and downed it. He felt the warmth of its magic as it filled his chest, repairing his frayed edges, lessening his internal injuries. ¡°And then what?¡±


    ¡°I guess we''ll see,¡± Shadow said with a shrug. ¡°I suppose there''s something to be said for stubbornness. But do be aware, I¡¯ve been learning about you this whole time, gathering [Insight]. I¡¯d guess you¡¯ve only got two minutes, if you plan to use them.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Tristan asked, fumbling to his feet. ¡°Why are you even giving me this chance?¡±


    ¡°Come and find out,¡± Shadow said, sinking into the same defensive stance he¡¯d used at the very beginning of their bout. ¡°A minute fifty-five.¡±


    And there was something in the way the half-elf gave that ultimatum that told Tristan it wasn¡¯t arbitrary. He set an internal timer for a few seconds shorter.


    Then he went back on the offensive.


    For the next minute, Shadow only moved when Tristan forced him to, and then Tristan was there, following behind him and attacking, with only the grass swaying in their passing. No longer did the bladeweaver bother throwing his daggers at Tristan. Instead he used them defensively, leaving them hovering in midair to deflect incoming strikes, or to deter Tristan from moving into certain spaces. They never so much as hit the ground before they were resummoned into the bladeweaver¡¯s hands. Once there, they only blocked and deflected, never striking out. Never threatening, though they might.


    Shadow was content to merely defend as time ticked away.


    As Tristan kept pushing, he saw a strange grin crossing his opponent¡¯s face. He¡¯s enjoying this, he realized with horror.


    With under a minute to go on his timer, Tristan began to grow a bit frantic. He couldn¡¯t help but think back to Bernhardt, scrambling to land a blow before his bleeds ticked off. Except now it was Tristan fighting against time. As Shadow blocked and parried and deflected, Tristan¡¯s dread rose.


    Thirty seconds. Then twenty. No longer fearing reprisals, Tristan was all in on attacking. He left horrible openings. He allowed his swings to continue much too long. He even found himself throwing all his weight behind swings, practically jumping toward his foe with each strike, praying that something--anything--would connect.


    Ten seconds. His greatsword actually managed to get past Shadow¡¯s daggers, only to find itself vanishing into the vastness of his cloak again.


    Five seconds. He [Blade Flurry] for what he prayed wouldn¡¯t be the last time. And all four strikes were blocked.


    Shadow went entirely black, and suddenly he was twenty paces farther away.


    Two.


    One.


    Shadow bowed to him. ¡°That was by far the best I¡¯ve ever seen a tier 2 fight. It¡¯s a shame you couldn¡¯t let it go. I can only imagine what you might have become, how this might have gone differently, in even another year or two. You¡¯ve already grown so much.¡± He sighed.


    Tristan, for all the strange swelling of his pride at Shadow¡¯s praise, felt dread crash over him like he¡¯d never known before. The casual air of the bladeweaver was shifting, almost tensing up. Something had changed.


    ¡°So it goes,¡± Shadow said, holding one dagger out between them. Its tip suddenly burst into a light so bright it made even the midday sun feel pale in comparison. ¡°Sorry, kid, I¡¯ve got you figured out now.¡±

 Chapter 52: A Shade of Gray

    Chapter 52: A Shade of Gray


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    ¡°Sorry kid, I¡¯ve figured you out now.¡±


    The moment Tristan heard the words, he knew the big finisher Shadow had mentioned was coming, the one he¡¯d been building toward the whole fight. So when his opponent rushed toward him for the first time in what felt like ages, there was only one real course of action.


    He used [Combat Switch] to exchange his [Oozebane Greatsword] for [Hope¡¯s Aspiration], and right as Shadow closed into melee, he activated [Brightshield].


    [Brightshield] (Unique) Gain a temporary shield that negates the next source of damage that would otherwise harm the user. While the skill or shield is active, the user glows with dim white light. The shield cannot be activated again until the light has been replenished.


    Shadow¡¯s brilliantly glowing dagger plunged straight into Tristan¡¯s now-shining chest with so much power it melted the center of his breastplate as it pierced straight through it.


    Tristan screamed. He still felt the point pierce his flesh, felt the power that should have ended his life even as it dispersed into a familiar warmth that flooded his body. He felt all these things, but his health never so much as twitched.


    He could see from Shadow¡¯s shocked expression, as the man shuffled backward to regain his footing, that this was something even he hadn¡¯t thought was possible. The man who claimed to know more about the realm than any other could still be surprised.


    There was a moment¡¯s hesitation as the glow surrounding both combatants was extinguished. A pause just long enough for Tristan to pull back and set his feet again.


    He¡¯d survived. He felt a surge of confidence.


    ¡°Guess you didn¡¯t know everything after all,¡± he quipped. Then, as [Combat Switch] once again brought his [Oozebane Greatsword] to bear, he began his assault anew.


    Shadow, for his part, snapped out of his shock with Tristan¡¯s words. His eyes widened in wonder, even as they flitted all around, clearly scanning for clues. ¡°How did you do that?¡±


    Greatsword and daggers clashed as Tristan worked hard to overcome his opponent¡¯s speed, but he still could not find an opening anywhere.


    ¡°Was that more quest fuckery? Or was that you? How long is the cooldown on that?¡± Shadow asked, deflecting Tristan¡¯s [Cleaving Slash] with one hand while throwing the dagger in the other.


    Tristan ducked to the side at the last instant. ¡°It¡¯s all me,¡± he answered with pride. Hoping to intimidate his opponent, he added, ¡°No cooldown.¡±


    ¡°So it¡¯s got to be recharged then,¡± Shadow said with a smirk. ¡°Whatever it costs, it¡¯s worth it. But, here¡¯s another little tip, just in case you do survive today: don¡¯t ever tell your opponents your weaknesses.¡±


    Weaknesses? Tristan thought, before he realized that he¡¯d just shared that he wouldn¡¯t have his [Brightshield] up again for this fight. Tristan blocked a few dagger thrusts as he backpedaled. ¡°I won¡¯t need it.¡±


    ¡°Oh, here comes the confidence again. But kid, since I offered you the deal, you still haven¡¯t hit me, have you?¡± Shadow tsked. ¡°So you¡¯re still just treading water--now down your big, cool ability--while I''m rebuilding [Insight].¡±


    Slowly, the two circled each other, crunching the deadened grass beneath them. It was cat and mouse, give and take, and all sorts of other games--but Tristan didn¡¯t feel that he was winning any of them.


    After a near hit, when Tristan¡¯s sword vanished again into the half-elf¡¯s pitch-black cloak, Shadow smiled and immediately used his escape skill to blink back a few feet. ¡°Thanks for the reset,¡± he said.


    Tristan felt the wind begin to pick up against his skin. He could see Shadow¡¯s eyes had grown distant.


    These were the warning signs before his last [Shadow Nova]!


    He remembered how badly that had gone last time, how much health he¡¯d lost. And this was something Shadow could continue to do? Tristan was feeling more and more aware of the tier difference between them. How was he going to end this fight?


    Tristan rushed forward, unsure whether he could cover enough ground to get to the bladeweaver before the blast, but knowing he had to try. Tristan guessed he had mere seconds left, but when the wind increased in intensity again, he knew he wasn¡¯t close enough. He knew if he went for Shadow now, he would take a lethal blast from the darkness before he ever got there.


    He slammed his sword into the ground, flat edge facing Shadow, and he prayed. An instant later, a dome of darkness raced outward, engulfing everything once again.


    But the fact that it was happening again was important. Tristan has seen and survived it once before. He''d learned from it, including one detail he could use, something that has prompted his seemingly futile dash forward.


    He knew how long [Shadow Nova] lasted.


    Moments before the attack would end, while Shadow was still locked into the skill, Tristan used his blade to vault forward. He immediately felt his health begin to plummet. Through the darkness, he stretched out his legs, giving no heed to the blackness eating away at them.


    Until one foot kicked Shadow in the chest.


    Tristan crashed to the ground, in critical health yet again. The roaring wave of darkness receded, until only a light breeze washed over him. His eyes fought to stay open, especially as his whole vision was ringed with red.


    He could see that his sword was no longer stuck in the ground but had been knocked completely over. It now lay much too far from his hands to be any kind of consideration. The fight was all but over.


    ¡°You truly are insane,¡± Shadow said, standing over him. Tristan could see the man following his gaze, before he shook his head. ¡°You can¡¯t even stand, and you¡¯re still thinking of fighting. Jamal must love you.¡±


    Tristan wanted to say something, but his lips didn¡¯t seem to be working properly. None of his body did.


    Shadow knelt down over him. ¡°You hit me, you know. You actually hit me, you absolute maniac.¡± He laughed. Then he pulled out a vial of something from within his cloak and poured its contents into Tristan¡¯s mouth. A new warmth spread throughout Tristan¡¯s body immediately, and the red ring around his vision vanished.


    Tristan heard Shadow''s quiet, patient footfalls as they moved away from him, walking over toward where the fallen greatsword lay.


    ¡°This is now the second time I haven¡¯t killed you.¡±


    Tristan shifted his eyes enough to see Shadow picking up his sword and examining it.


    ¡°There might not be a third. Though, bloody gods, this is fascinating. Who are you?¡±


    Whatever potion Shadow had given him was slowly restoring his health. He couldn¡¯t tell how much he would gain from it, but the 60-minute buff called ¡°Replenishment¡± showed how long it would last. Regardless, it was nice not to have his vision stained red, and his arms were starting to feel mostly whole again. With a sizable effort--and no small amount of pain--he was able to prop himself up. Then he twisted, or rather pulled, around enough that his craned neck could see Shadow: he was worried about what might happen to his sword.


    Shadow must have seen the panic in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not going to take it, kid, calm down. I just--You must really think I¡¯m this evil monster.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± Tristan struggled to ask while rising, but his arms gave out, and he fell back to the ground again. He stared down at his body, realizing just how injured he was. There was blood everywhere, and a few pieces of him were at odd angles, though thankfully still connected.


    He also realized how concerning it was that he still hadn''t really felt all those injuries. There had to be something numbing the pain.


    Shadow shook his head at Tristan before lobbing the sword high into the air. It fell and sank safely into the ground a bit beyond Tristan¡¯s reach. ¡°I don¡¯t just go around killing heroes for no reason.¡± He tossed Tristan the empty vial as if in support of his claim. ¡°See me here, right now, not killing you? Again? I dare say I saved your life today from a quest that should have ended you.¡±


    Tristan scoffed, but with his back lying flat on the ground, he wasn¡¯t sure it sounded right. ¡°Until you get the next quest to kill another one?¡±


    Shadow¡¯s response was immediate and calm. ¡°It¡¯ll depend on the terms. Though I¡¯ve actually refused every offer from that employer since then.¡±


    ¡°THEN WHY DID YOU KILL BRIGHTSHIELD?¡± Tristan screamed, unable to control the outburst.


    ¡°It was my Path, kid. And a damn good contract. Look at your own Path quest. It has you here facing unthinkable odds trying to kill me, right? That''s no different from what mine was like. The amount of preparation and planning that went into finding the first weakness of a true legend? My Path hadn''t been so thankful, so satisfied in... even I can''t remember how long! Then I got to put it all into action, cultivating a perfect strategy for a team that had no business sharing a room, let alone a task so ¡®impossible.¡¯ Three levels, kid. I gained three levels from the quest alone! Do you know how long it takes to level once at my tier? It can take years, decades if you stagnate. When the juice is that worth the squeeze, when your Path is begging you to do it, when you can prove the unimaginable can be done... not just to yourself, but to the whole world? Wouldn''t you do it? I would. It''s my Path.¡±


    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The way he talked about his Path, the way he seemed to embrace it, felt very familiar to Tristan. It was also strange, since their Paths were clearly so very different, but for the first time, Tristan felt like he actually understood Shadow, at least in part. He¡¯d been staring at the half-elf¡¯s name for so long in his quest list, but now... What would Tristan have done if he had been offered an opportunity like that quest?


    Hadn¡¯t he already? Here he was, afterall. Against even the advice of his mentor. And for what?


    Something else occurred to Tristan: it wasn¡¯t impossible to think that Shadow might be important to someone else.


    Tristan hadn''t even considered that either. He''d just been blinded by his own motivations.


    He straightened out his legs, hoping it would help the potion¡¯s rejuvenation heal him faster. After that, however, he finally allowed his fingers to pull toward and touch the edge of his greatsword, which was once again firmly lodged in the ground. ¡°I think I understand. I have my quest, too,¡± he said at last. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t mean I¡¯ll forgive what you did.¡±


    The way Shadow looked at him then was odd, because Tristan could have sworn he saw a hint of sadness in his eyes.


    ¡°You do you, kid. I¡¯m not asking for forgiveness. I don¡¯t have any regrets about what I did. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m running around mass-murdering everyone I come across. I didn¡¯t kill you, and you tried your gods-be-damned hardest to give me reason. If that isn¡¯t enough for you in the future, it should be enough for now, while your life is literally in my hands.¡± He sighed and looked Tristan over again, as if checking something. ¡°You know, we aren¡¯t that different, you and I. We¡¯re dedicated to our Paths in a way that few others are. How else would you be standing here, trying to fight someone two tiers above you?


    ¡°So even if it means you¡¯re going to chase me down again in a few more years, I made you a deal, and I¡¯m going to hold true to it. You hit me, so, bloody gods, I¡¯ll give you one honest answer before I¡¯m going to just walk away. Alright? I¡¯ll leave you here. The potion should keep you alive.¡±


    ¡°But why?¡± Tristan blurted out before thinking better of wasting his opportunity. ¡°Wait, no. What is your Path?¡±


    Shadow smiled at him then. ¡°Usually I¡¯d tell you it¡¯s rude to ask and to mind your own damn business. But you know, I kind of like you. And I did say one answer. So: my Path is about knowledge. Planning. Preparation. To see beyond what might be and know for certain what is.¡±


    Tristan¡¯s eyes felt very heavy. ¡°And you walk this Path by killing people?¡±


    ¡°Sometimes.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Tristan asked, feeling himself on the brink of exhausted sleep. His eyes gazed upward at the clean, clear sky.


    ¡°Because killing cleanly usually takes a lot of investigating and planning. And, I¡¯m really, really good at it. I want to keep advancing, and sometimes that means killing people. Good ones. Bad ones too. I¡¯ve made my choices, Tristan. Every Path is valid.¡±


    Tristan barely turned his head, hating how stiff his neck felt. For the first time, he actually wondered if the potion might also have had a sedative in it. He heard the sounds of Shadow¡¯s boots walking away across the dead grass. Tristan had one last question to ask first though.


    ¡°And if I come back someday?¡±


    The footsteps paused only long enough for the {Legendslayer} to say, ¡°Then that¡¯s on you, kid. I¡¯d probably do the same. You¡¯ve got to walk your own Path.¡±


    Two more steps later, Shadow added. ¡°But if you should choose to continue on, I¡¯d recommend you aim for someone else next, and well, with that sword of yours, I¡¯d go for Venom. He was in Lugarest, last I saw. In a home for troubled teens.¡± Tristan heard the half-elf spit with clear distaste. ¡°And Tristan, just so you know, he¡¯s a {Defiler}. He¡¯s got it coming with or without your quest.¡±


    - - - - -


    Tristan had no idea how long he lay there, other than it was longer than an hour. He fell asleep at some point, and the replenishment buff was gone when he reawakened. His body still ached, but checking his health, he had nearly half of it back.


    ¡°Tristan!¡± came a familiar voice from a short distance away. ¡°Oh, thank the gods you¡¯re awake at last! I was really worried! So was Mister Biggs.¡±


    Sophie¡¯s smiling face came immediately into view as she bent low over him. She had one arm around Mister Bigg¡¯s mane, and the big astral bear¡¯s rumbled whimper proved he shared her concern.


    He just didn¡¯t understand how she was there. ¡°Sophie? But...¡± He lifted his head enough to look around them, and they were clearly still in the center of the bleached grass outside of Whiteholme. ¡°How in the gods¡¯ names did you find me?¡±


    The dark-haired girl offered him a hand, though he only went to a seated position. He could tell it would hurt way too much to try standing so soon.


    ¡°Well, I started by going to Jamal¡¯s house just as we had originally planned, but apparently you had already run off to go on to Whiteholme on some fool¡¯s errand to try and murder someone capable of killing Hesden Brightshield? That¡¯s what {The Unerring Blade} said at least. Luckily, some of the villagers had seen your chase out of town. Why didn¡¯t you just let him go, by the way? What could have possibly possessed you to do something so idiotic?¡±


    Tristan thought back to his decision, and all the considerations he¡¯d made. He didn¡¯t regret what he¡¯d done, though he suspected few others would understand. So he looked up at her and said, simply, ¡°It¡¯s my Path.¡±


    Above them both, Mister Biggs was the first to move, actually nodding his bear-like head in what Tristan chose to interpret as approval, possibly even respect.


    Sophie, on the other hand, just stared at him for a long while. ¡°Gods among us,¡± she finally said, ¡°you¡¯re going to try again, aren¡¯t you? Tristan, you can¡¯t! You¡¯re lucky to be alive!¡±


    For a while, Tristan pondered what she¡¯d said. He knew it was more than just luck that he was still here. Sure, he¡¯d fought his hardest opponent yet, but he''d also trained hard and been at least fairly prepared for... Well, not enough to win, clearly, but a lot. And while luck had certainly helped, he¡¯d also pushed himself harder than ever before. Ultimately, he¡¯d survived. That was what mattered, right?


    As for her question--Would he try again?--he wasn¡¯t sure. Something like it had been drifting through his mind ever since Shadow had given him the potion and spared his life. He''d been outmatched, but then given another chance. How did he want to use it?


    He made a decision. Consequences be damned. ¡°I don¡¯t think I will,¡± he told her.


    ¡°Thank the gods--¡± she breathed.


    Before she could say any more, he cut her off. ¡°I won¡¯t go for him, at least.¡±


    Because somehow, in the moments while he¡¯d been lying near death on the scorched grass, he¡¯d come to understand the enlightened bladeweaver, at least a little. And while Tristan had not quite forgiven Shadow, he now understood that the half-elf hadn¡¯t ever been anything as simple as ¡°evil,¡± despite his name, despite half his attacks being darkness-themed. The half-elf had been a shade of gray all along.


    That realization was accompanied by a sudden swirl of black energy surrounding him. It wasn¡¯t quite like a level-up, but it had a similar tingling feel. This energy converged on him from all around before funneling into a thin string that flowed into the center of his chest. Right into his scar.


    He had a new notification, which he opened immediately:


    [Path Quest updated: Avenge the Brightshield]


    Find and deal with each member of the party that killed Hesden Brightshield. Targets¡¯ locations will only be provided when you are in the same zone. Remaining targets:


    Curse


    Red Blade


    Shadow


    Timetwister


    Venom


    As your targets are higher tier than you, you will be shielded from their detection until you reveal yourself or attack.


    Additional objectives may be unlocked.


    Rewards: Achievement, Smart Loot


    Shadow¡¯s name was grayed out, now barely visible, and struck through. For a moment, Tristan was dumbstruck. He reread the quest text, and at last he understood. ¡°Find and deal with¡± it said. I don¡¯t have to kill them all. I may not have to kill any of them. I just have to come to an understanding.


    Honestly, he appreciated that. His quest, like his Path, didn¡¯t need to spill blood. He wasn¡¯t as similar to Shadow as he feared. There was an opportunity for a different way, and that mattered. Even if he ended up killing the rest of them, he would at least have the choice.


    Sophie was snapping her fingers in front of his face when he finally zoned back into the world around him. ¡°Tristan? Tristan! Gods, I thought you were gone again. What was that? What just happened?¡±


    Tristan managed to rise all the way to his feet at last and smiled down at her as he told her the good news. ¡°My quest updated,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m done with Shadow after all. Only four remain.¡±


    He limped over to his sword and tried to pull it from the ground. It took him multiple attempts, because apparently whatever Shadow had done had wedged it in extremely deeply--or, more likely, he was just really weak at the moment.


    The minute he pulled it out, he got another notification:


    Congratulations! The swordsman Class has reached LEVEL 7!


    Skills Earned:


    [Strength Up I] is already known, upgrading to [Strength Up II]


    [Strength Up II] A passive skill that grants the user a 20% increase to Strength. Skills that scale exclusively off of Strength receive double this bonus.


    It almost felt comical that he gained more Strength after struggling to move his own sword. On the other hand, he would never complain about another stat boost. Strength especially was one of his best stats, used in both crafting and combat. With the 10% bonus increasing to 20%, his Strength was now only a single point shy of his Endurance, which was still his highest stat at 58.


    Standing beside him, Sophie¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°You got another level just from losing a fight?¡± She threw her head back and growled at the sky. ¡°Gods, why does every other Class have it so much easier?!¡±


    Tristan smiled, both at his own growth and his friend¡¯s mock frustration. It was clear she wasn¡¯t truly mad. ¡°Thanks for coming to find me.¡±


    ¡°Save you,¡± Sophie corrected, looking past him to Mister Biggs, who had taken up a spot at Tristan¡¯s elbow, clearly offering his support. ¡°We actually had to fend off a few wild animals while you were out. But beyond even that, what else could I do? Sneakers and Mister Biggs would have missed you if you¡¯d died, and Poof would have never forgiven me.¡±


    Tristan leaned gently into the massive tank¡¯s furry flank, giving a few pats too. ¡°Yeah? Well, then I owe you even more. You put yourself at risk, too, for me. That''s... seriously, thanks.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome, obviously,¡± Sophie replied, running her own hands through Mister Bigg¡¯s flowing mane.


    Then they began the slow, painful (for Tristan) journey back toward civilization. Sophie and Mister Biggs both walked beside him the whole way, supporting him each time he faltered. And though the sun was sinking below the horizon when they finally made it all the way back to Whiteholme, Tristan still counted it a good--no, an unironically blessed--day.


    He was exhausted, both physically and mentally, but he had friends. And a quest.


    Shadow had given him the next name to pursue: Venom. And a direction. The enlightened bladeweaver had all but asked Tristan to kill the man.


    And he said it like he thought I already could.


    With a curious smile, he turned to the younger girl who knew so much more about the world than he did and asked, ¡°So, what can you tell me about the {Defiler} title?¡±

 Chapter 53: The Celestial Conclave

    Chapter 53: The Celestial Conclave


    <h2 style="text-align: center">The Embrace</h2>


    It was into the hidden prison called ¡®Kaia¡¯ that the goddess known as The Embrace descended, hoping she was early enough that she would be second to arrive this time. There was no use trying to arrive first, as this prison was the domain of The Faithless, and he was as ever-present as the air and magic around them. It was only by his will that anyone could enter or, more importantly, exit this place. For a prison it was ideal, though disconcerting to a visitor.


    But Kaia was unlike any ordinary prison. It was a prison with a singular, lofty purpose: a prison made for gods.


    Just as it had the last time she¡¯d ventured into its glassy, iridescent depths, Kaia made The Embrace feel... unpleasant. No, it was more than some vague discomfort. It was an experience she hadn¡¯t known in over a millennium, not since she was a fresh godling. And with it paraded an equally forgotten feeling:


    The Embrace was nervous.


    She hated the sensation, but she refused to let any potential observers see her squirm. Even hurrying was beneath her station. Appearances were a non-trivial consideration when one became a god, and in dealing with other gods especially, they were paramount. Appearances were a large part of belief, after all. To seem and to be were only a short mortal lifetime apart.


    She was The Embrace, and she had a reputation to maintain. The realm bent to her will.


    Concerning appearances, for this meeting she was wearing one of her more regal facades. Flowy blonde hair cascaded midway down her tall, lean back. Proportions that drew the gaze toward points of distraction, with vestments that both emphasized and hid depending on angle and her will. This was perhaps her most statuesque form, and it had been famously painted over fifty times in the last century alone.


    Regardless of her immense impact on the realm, she felt small in her current surroundings. The scale of Kaia was impressive, but then again, so was its scope. The cells within were incalculably strong, impossibly occupied, and as expansive as all the dungeons spread across the realm, like a little collection of worlds beyond number.


    Luckily, its purpose, and its creator¡¯s goals, aligned closely with her own. At least closely enough that it still fit within her Perfect Picture. She hoped never to need to consider how to even begin removing this place from the realm.


    This was only the second time she''d entered Kaia, in large part because she had never known its location until that first invitation arrived those few years past. That she was here again, now, spoke of a haste, an urgency, that she did not share or generally like to indulge. She, Plenty, and a few others had already been conspiring for nigh on a century. Yet the second ¡°official¡± meeting of what they had agreed to call ¡®the Celestial Conclave¡¯ would soon begin, with or without her. Despite the distaste, The Embrace would not miss it for all the worship in the realm.


    She¡¯d decided to arrive early because she knew she would need time to acclimate to the... charms of the place. Passing through the exterior gate brought a chill that bypassed even her own considerable blessings. This was, of course, intended by their ¡®host,¡¯ and since this was his domain, his rules were absolute. One such rule was the blanket of silence that made her steps entirely soundless, despite even her most childish attempts.


    Though really, could anyone as old as I be truly childish?


    This place made her wary, and also curious. She was still not entirely sure if the place could have existed were it not The Faithless¡¯s Truth. It was so alien, and while not exactly ugly, it lacked the sense of style she usually draped around all her machinations.


    What could she expect from a being so ancient his very existence was mostly lost amongst the legends that even her kind had taken to calling ¡®The Old Gods¡¯? The Faithless had been an elder god long before she had been born, and now, per his own admission, ¡°Only a few remain.¡±


    How many of his kind are trapped in here?


    It was a chilling thought, and one that brought with it great caution: If it could happen to them, then why not someone like me?


    Perhaps that was why she¡¯d striven to limit how long she¡¯d spent studying Kaia¡¯s creator. Despite their previous meeting being their first, he¡¯d felt entirely off-putting. The ease with which he became and could remain absolutely still, his deadened eyes, and his thin yet powerful frame all spoke of a being that had weathered countless storms.


    But unlike an ocean cliffside or a mountain, The Faithless had not been eroded.


    The Embrace thought that a necessary quality in an ally for the task ahead. A statement as true now as it was when she had first calculated it before the initial meeting. It was the only reason why she would ever have risked coming to this place.


    Through the long, straight corridor, lined with glass that, while solid, looked as though it could have risen and fallen with the tide, she eventually found the Conclave room. It was cloaked in darkness, with a single candle burning in the exact center of a round, transparent table, which was cool to the touch. Despite appearances, the table was not glass, as she could not scratch it even with the needle normally nestled deep within the flesh of her palm.


    It didn''t matter. With a smile, she noticed that none of the others were yet present, so none noticed as the needle retreated into its hiding place.


    She took the seat directly opposite the door, affording herself the view of all that would approach and the opportunity to study and judge their choices of where to sit.


    ¡°An expected choice,¡± a deep voice resonated from behind her.


    It was all she could do to keep from moving, despite how startling that was. He was not there a moment ago. Yet here, now, how could she actually be certain of that? She did not turn to face her host.


    ¡°My greetings to you, The Faithless. I hope the years since last we were here have served you well.¡±


    ¡°There have been no new gods and no new fallen, so that is well,¡± he responded, walking widely around her and taking the chair directly opposite her: the one with its back to the entrance. His thin form settled into the shadow as if he had always been a part of it, leaving only his gray eyes to shine forth.


    ¡°Indeed,¡± she said, keeping her head and upper body completely still. ¡°I also have had good reports of our progress ensuring that, though I shall await the others before sharing more.¡±


    The Embrace did not enjoy working with the other ¡°gods¡±--and she would barely consider any of them that, other than Plenty. Technically, by tier at least, they were divine, but their pursuits were so limited and simple it was almost alien to her.


    Still, as always, she would do all that was necessary to make the world work out as it should. Her Perfect Picture, her ideal of how the world must work, would come to pass, whatever the cost.


    And though there existed so many mortals to cover the costs these days, sometimes the duty still fell to her to pay.


    Her thoughts were interrupted as The Faithless leaned back subtly, closing off their private correspondence as another arrived soundlessly. It was unnerving that he could sense all that went on in his domain but denied the rest of the Conclave the same.


    It was Plenty herself who next walked into the Conclave Room. She wore another smock-like dress over her ample form and a garden hat atop her head. The hat was a nice touch, seeing as it was constantly in-bloom, with fresh blossoms rising to replace older blooms as they withered away.


    The motherly woman moved without any hesitation at all, keeping her gait absolutely steady, striding all the way around the table and sitting at The Embrace¡¯s immediate left.


    Outwardly, The Embrace smiled. Inwardly, she hoped none of the others misconstrued their placements as The Embrace being anyone¡¯s right hand. She suspected that it was a show of clear alliance, but she had to at least consider the likelihood of the goddess¡¯s action as an intended slight, no matter how slim that possibility may be.


    Aren¡¯t we all supposed to be allies here though? she reminded herself.


    ¡°It is pleasant to see you both,¡± Plenty began, ¡°and I do hope you¡¯ve found plentiful blessings in the time since last we were met.¡±


    Coming from someone that always gave away more to her followers than necessary, it was likely she truly meant her words and that they weren¡¯t merely dressing upon their shared table. But The Embrace had a hard time fully trusting anyone who could have so easily reaped more to advance their godly domain and did not. Altruism, or at least the appearance of altruism, had its place, as long as it was tempered against serving the truly greater good.


    With a half-nod that did not cause her to lower her eyes, The Embrace folded her hands calmly on the not-glass table. ¡°Indeed. Times have been good and prosperous in my domain. I hope they have served you as well.¡±


    Plenty turned her head toward their host. ¡°And how go the endeavors of our fine host?¡±


    A barely-polite smile was the start of his answer. ¡°They are interesting, to say the least. It appears as though we may have an exciting decade yet.¡±


    The Embrace was not sure how to feel about such a reply, and while she might normally have analyzed it promptly, the jarring sounds of others entering the chamber forced her to delay. Suddenly there was boisterous laughter and discourse echoing through the lofted chamber. She stored a recording of The Faithless¡¯s words away for later analysis.


    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Three more had entered the Conclave Room together: The End, The Uncertain, and one more that The Embrace did not immediately recognize.


    ¡°You need worry no longer,¡± The Uncertain said with his usual jovial tone. ¡°I have arrived. And look! I¡¯ve brought a new friend!¡±


    The youngest of them all with barely half a millennium to his divinity, The Uncertain was still a child in The Embrace¡¯s eyes. He played the jester constantly, but she suspected it was more so to test those around him and gauge their reactions.


    Today he appeared to be wearing a form with the height of a gnome and the width of a dwarf. His hair was long, black, and greasy, pulled to both sides in pigtails that then immediately frizzed out in a tangle. Yet what immediately gave away his true identity, the only parts of his current appearance that were familiar at all, were his glistening golden eyes--which shone at all times as if light were reflecting off of them, even when none was present--and his ridiculous smile. He wasn¡¯t always smiling, but it was near enough to the truth that she hated him for it.


    Added to that, bringing someone new to their Conclave was borderline reckless. She caught The End making a nervous glance in the newcomer¡¯s direction, even as they walked in beside them. Given that The End was a god in the domain of time, surprising them was no small feat--and no doubt at least a consideration for why The Uncertain had done it.


    At times The Embrace wondered if The Uncertain hadn¡¯t chosen his name more for others than himself. Having paid careful attention to his mannerisms, The Embrace had come to a realization she believed few others had: His antics were deliberate, needling and prodding others so that he might discern their inner workings. With that information, he adapted, responded, and prepared accordingly.


    The Embrace debated with herself whether he truly could belong in her Perfect Picture or not.


    ¡°You brought someone new?¡± Plenty asked, almost keeping all the strain from her voice. ¡°Well, I suppose any god working toward the cause is a boon.¡±


    The Embrace was not so sure, or so trusting. Yet she recognized that The Faithless had not repositioned at all, and now that she thought of it, there were the correct number of chairs to accommodate their increased numbers. And none are allowed entrance without an invitation. Interesting.


    The Uncertain was the first to sit, and he chose the seat opposite Plenty, beside their host. The newcomer sat immediately beside him, though whether that showed solidarity or decisiveness was hard to say.


    That left The End to take the final seat, between Plenty and their host. He was wearing the same all-concealing cloak as ever. She couldn¡¯t say for sure if it was the exact same cloak, but she did compare the gray-blue hood and its thin, white-lined patterns to the images she¡¯d kept from prior meetings, and they were indistinguishable.


    A hush fell over the table.


    ¡°I take it we are all here,¡± The Embrace said, indicating the filled seats.


    ¡°I¡¯m only half here at any given time,¡± The Uncertain quipped. ¡°Actually, only half at best.¡±


    The Embrace struggled not to roll her eyes. None of the others seemed perturbed either.


    ¡°Tough room,¡± The Uncertain continued. ¡°I¡¯m just trying to liven things up a bit, before we get into all the doom and gloom, and the whole ¡®divine ending¡¯ shtick, ya know?¡±


    ¡°That is quite enough,¡± The Faithless said, raising one thin arm, which then thudded down like thunder. ¡°Let¡¯s begin in earnest, shall we? The sooner we start, the sooner we¡¯ll make meaningful progress.¡±


    Around the table, the others inclined their heads in silent consent. Though The Embrace did notice that Plenty was sliding a slice of something that looked suspiciously like cake toward The Uncertain. No doubt a clever attempt at buying his silence for some time. She only hoped Plenty had brought... enough.


    ¡°I think we should first hear from our newest addition,¡± The End said, ¡°if only to alleviate concerns. Please, explain why you wished to join our Conclave.¡±


    The newcomer shrugged, pushed back their chair, and stood up once again. As if on cue, a bright light shone down on them from directly above. The Ever-Scarred presented as a red-haired human male, relatively young, in peak physical condition--though without so much as an [Identify], The Embrace could see that every muscle was much larger and more powerful than any mortal could ever achieve, to the point of straining the credulity of the form.


    What was most fascinating, however, was what marred that peak physical perfection: the body was nearly covered by scars. By her estimation, 85% of his visible skin was hardened and discolored in some way, and there was a lot of skin visible.


    He was clad in what might have been called leather armor by some, but The Embrace was more inclined to call it all ¡°straps,¡± some even of the kind devoted to pleasure. In fact, with that sort of activity in mind, she thought she could see several marks across the newcomer¡¯s body that looked like they might even belong to such... adventures.


    When The Ever-Scarred finally began to speak, his voice was a smooth baritone. There was almost a hurrying energy from one word to the next, but that was strangely undercut by a calm composure between sentences that suggested each idea was carefully considered before being put forth.


    ¡°I¡¯m called The Ever-Scarred. Pretty obvious why. I expect you¡¯ve heard of me. I live for battle, both by duel and by war. I see this conclave as the best way to find it. Bring on the fight of eternity! Let¡¯s challenge the very nature of gods!¡±


    The End interjected. ¡°It would be more than just ¡®challenging their nature,¡¯ friend.¡±


    ¡°Indeed,¡± The Faithless responded. ¡°We are not here to merely upset, but to end them. No new gods.¡± He looked around the room, clearly measuring, his dark eyes daring each of the others to meet them.


    The Embrace was one of the few who weathered his glare and did not look away.


    Another was The Ever-Scarred. ¡°And I¡¯m getting behind that. I hear you were boxing up gods before most of us were old enough to know what a box was.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely! What a jolly old man,¡± The Uncertain chimed in. ¡°That¡¯s why he runs a prison. Totally normal and lovable, that.¡±


    The Ever-Scarred turned to address them all. ¡°What you all have accomplished already is remarkable. The fall of legends--¡±


    ¡°Remarkable,¡± The Faithless cut in, ¡°yet still not enough.¡±


    ¡°Yes, yes, but we can only take one step at a time,¡± Plenty chimed in. ¡°We can¡¯t just cook the whole pie without first finding the cherries.¡±


    ¡°I could,¡± The Uncertain said with a sly laugh. ¡°And so could you, Plenty! Even when we were mortal. And now? We¡¯re gods. Gods with--¡±


    Plenty tsked. ¡°Gods with a Path, followers, and devotees, excepting, of course, our friend Faithless here. No disrespect intended. We can¡¯t just do whatever we want, whenever we want to! That¡¯s what the others do, The Uncertain. You know better.¡±


    The Embrace finally decided to dip her toes into the conversation. ¡°It¡¯s why there should be no others, as soon as possible. Every time a new one appears, they make the perfect world less possible.¡±


    The Uncertain slapped his knees. ¡°Oh, you¡¯re funny. Not all of them are awful. I mean, just look at our new ally, won¡¯t you? He¡¯s, what, barely into his third century? But at least he has sense enough to agree with us!¡±


    For a moment, The Embrace allowed herself to seethe: if The Uncertain was a child, then this was an infant!


    The Ever-Scarred¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°It¡¯s true that I¡¯m younger than all of you--¡± He paused, staring directly at The Uncertain. ¡°--But I will slaughter every one of your followers I find if you continue to insult me.¡±


    The Faithless set his hands firmly on the table before him and leaned slightly in, an action that somehow brought all attention back to him. ¡°And then I will imprison you, as I have countless others before you.¡±


    A momentary quiet surrounded the table.


    The Embrace took the opportunity to speak up. ¡°As I¡¯m sure even one as short-lived as you must have found, there is an unspoken rule among our kind: we do not interfere in followers.¡±


    ¡°Directly,¡± The Uncertain said. ¡°Usually. Though you surely didn¡¯t have a problem ignoring that when you screwed over The Hope and her champion¡¯s whole team now, did you?¡±


    The smile that The Embrace put on was so practiced it might have even become natural. ¡°We decided upon that action, and I¡¯ll remind you that I did none of the legwork. I¡¯m as innocent as a fresh-hatched chick.¡±


    Beside her, Plenty laughed out loud; to The Embrace it sounded almost like the cluck of a chicken. ¡°Yes, dearie, I¡¯m sure you might even believe that, too. But that Brightside fellow is one of yours, is he not?¡±


    The Embrace chose not to respond.


    ¡°I heard that was a glorious battle,¡± The Ever-Scarred said, catching her eye and thumping a hand against his chest. ¡°I wish I¡¯d been there to witness it.¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t all that,¡± The Uncertain said, stretching an arm over his head. ¡°Over in barely a minute or two, like so many other enjoyable things.¡± He relaxed and smiled broadly again. ¡°But I do wish I¡¯d been in her domain when The Hope found out! I heard she actually leveled a mountain! And can we talk about the irony of having someone named Brightside set up the fall for a dude named Brightshield? What a bright idea!¡±


    ¡°That isn¡¯t irony,¡± The End grumbled.


    ¡°Rather than talk, talk, talk, might we instead return to the actual planning?¡± Across the table from her, The Faithless was once again directing things.


    He turned to The End. ¡°How did the action beneath The Sovereign¡¯s city go?¡±


    The Embrace leaned back and listened, observing each of the others around the table as the conversation developed into an actual plot. She wondered if all of their machinations would be successful, as even the best laid plans often went awry, especially when it came to mortals. Yet there were a few shining moments, not the least of which was her bright pupil. If they could just find a few more of those malleable beings to educate, encourage, and guide through ascension... Well, with the right Truths, the rest of the Conclave¡¯s pieces would easily fall into place.


    Her thoughts drifted a bit as the others reported on some of their prior suggestions. Two more potentials were confirmed, much to the dismay of The Faithless, but no more, yet. His hesitance wasn¡¯t unexpected, and The Embrace allowed her thoughts to drift slightly as the Conclave discussed additional options for people whose Paths could be used for their cause.


    Which kinds of targets they would be would depend on their willingness to play by the Conclave¡¯s rules.


    After what felt to The Embrace to be an inordinately long time, they had agreed to suitable next-steps, with contingencies for the inevitable interference.


    She was curious, though, to know more about whoever had interrupted the tunneling operation. Perhaps a deeper, more personal inquiry of her own, in addition to what the Conclave had decided on, was in order.


    The Faithless rose.


    ¡°You may now go,¡± he said with the subtlest of smiles on his narrow lips. It was the unnecessary reminder that they were all there by invitation, and his permission could conceivably be revoked.


    All the others around the table stood, and The Embrace had no difficulty joining in them. She had no intention of overstaying her welcome.


    She had many plates spinning and more yet to raise.


    But beneath that, with her incredibly well-trained and skill-boosted hearing, as the last goddess out of the room, she heard The Faithless lament, ¡°Two more accursed fucking gods. The Realm will be better when there are none at all.¡±


    Except us, she thought. Or perhaps we can eliminate him after we succeed. Either option was acceptable. Either option would help ensure her Perfect Picture became reality.

 NEW Book 1 Cover!

    In celebration of finishing Book 1 and moving on to Book 2, we commissioned this awesome new cover art for Unforged! It comes straight from the desk (and monitor? Digital art is cool, right?) of the incredibly talented Erin Sexton, who has done a fantastic job of capturing our vision and making it a reality. She was even able to take Sean''s original word art and blend it in flawlessly.


    Believe it or not, this is just the low-res version. We''ve got an even better one coming soon!


    We hope you love it as much as we do!


    And yes, since we''re required by Royal Road to have at least 500 words for a chapter submission, we are going to say a little bit more down here. It''s kind of challenging, because part of me wants to just drop the first 400 words of the next chapter... but that would be getting way too far ahead of ourselves!


    Book 2 will only begin in one week, after all -- on March 14th -- with Chapter 54, which is titled "Toward His Destiny," and that''s really where Tristan is heading. Book 2 is going to be the next step up for our swordsmith. He''s already grown so much in these opening arcs, going from Tier 1 to Tier 2, from a blacksmith to a swordsmith, and we all know and love the LitRPG tendency of "numbers getting bigger!" That definitely isn''t going to let up in the next step of his journey. If anything, he''s got much bigger things to deal with ahead of him...


    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    And I suppose a little bit of a preview for what''s coming next wouldn''t be too awful! Book 2 has some really fun and different arcs coming, with Tristan being tested in ways he might only have imagined in his first 53 chapters.


    There''s Venom, of course, and a big crafting ark--I mean arc--and a raid and--!


    Wait. Was that too much?


    Anyway, our lovable swordsmith is going to have a pretty big change of pace. We don''t want to give away too much, other than maybe to say that all the things Tristan''s been doing has started weighing on him heavily. And maybe he hasn''t been dealing with it in the healthiest way. He''s a young man, after all, and he hasn''t really been processing all of what he''s been through.


    Telling you that he deals with Venom and survives should be enough, right? For what comes after, well, I guess you''ll just have to see.


    We really can''t thank of you enough for your support. We love to read all the comments, ratings, and reviews, and genuinely those last two are the best ways to help us and Unforged grown here on the Royal Road platform. If you haven''t yet, we''d absolutely love it if more people could give their feedback on the story.


    Regardless, we hope you''ve been enjoying reading Unforged. We can''t wait for you all to see what comes next!


    --Sean & Kit

 [B2C1] Chapter 54: Toward His Destiny

    Chapter 54: Toward His Destiny


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    After getting his pride wounded and barely surviving the fight against Shadow, Tristan found journeying with Sophie and her astrals was surprisingly easy. He didn¡¯t love that she kept saying she¡¯d ¡®saved him¡¯ in Whiteholme, but for all the rest, having her and the astrals with him had done him a world of good.


    One of the first things Sophie did was persuade him to head back to Jamal¡¯s Manor. She was reluctant to go in herself, but she insisted that Tristan had to let his master know that he was still alive, after all, so he put the next step of his quest on temporary hold as they backtracked to Rockmoor.


    The look of relief on Jamal¡¯s face, though it was only there for the briefest moment, was priceless. Tristan saw the truth of how his mentor felt, and it warmed his heart.


    Jamal was too excited to move from the entryway, despite Cherry¡¯s insistence. So Tristan went into a full telling of his fight with Shadow. He provided far more detail for Jamal than he had for Sophie, and his teacher devoured it. He immediately crowded the entryway further by summoning chairs for all of them and began leaning in as Tristan went through every brutal detail. It wasn¡¯t until Tristan finished, and Sophie decided to finally come inside to chime in about how she¡¯d ¡°saved him,¡± that Jamal let his usual overconfident grin show again and finally spoke up.


    He started with pointed criticism, mostly about technique (including Tristan¡¯s ¡®subpar¡¯ storytelling), then moved on to glowing praise--with the occasional, expected sarcasm. By the end, it was clear Jamal was quite proud of him and couldn¡¯t wait to tell all who would listen about Tristan¡¯s great victory! ¡°I¡¯ll make sure everyone knows how well I trained you,¡± he said, plucking a cherry from a bowl full of them, ¡°that you went toe-to-toe with a tier 4 and didn¡¯t get utterly obliterated. With apologies to your pa, you¡¯re such a lucky bastard.¡±


    About then, Cherry, who¡¯d gone to get the bowl of cherries during Tristan¡¯s retelling, cleared her throat. ¡°Maybe we could go into a parlor or sitting room now? Or, I don¡¯t know, a dining room? It¡¯s getting late.¡±


    Her question made Tristan shuffle anxiously, and Jamal must have seen it. He looked at Tristan with that glare that seemed to pierce through all his secrets, and he shook his head. ¡°You are staying for dinner, aren¡¯t you? And longer? To finish your training? Right, Tristan? You¡¯re not a complete idiot, looking to run right out toward even more danger despite having so much still to learn, are you?¡±


    Tristan started to apologize, but Jamal looked away in disbelief. He held out his hand, and this time Cherry, wordlessly and without any further prompting, deposited an overfilled wine glass in it.


    Tristan couldn¡¯t help but notice that Sophie had stepped back well behind him, providing no support whatsoever in his moment of need.


    He looked to Cherry, whose face was clearly unimpressed, and then back to Jamal. ¡°Well, actually I discussed this with Sophie, and--"


    ¡°Don¡¯t pretend this was my decision,¡± Sophie butted in.


    The broad-shouldered swordsmith sighed. ¡°No, you¡¯re right. This is on me.¡± He lifted his chin and took Jamal¡¯s glare without faltering. ¡°I want to continue hunting the others.¡±


    First Jamal drained what was left in his glass. Then, as Cherry refilled it, Jamal¡¯s shoulders slumped.


    ¡°Why?¡± he asked. ¡°Why can¡¯t it wait this time? Is this still something you¡¯ve got to do, blah blah blah? Same as it was before?¡±


    ¡°Shadow... gave me a lead.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re just going to trust him?¡±


    For a moment, Tristan considered how to answer that. Why did he trust Shadow, a man he¡¯d just tried to kill? ¡°I think... for this next target, yes. It¡¯s a bit complicated, but I think he wants me to kill Venom, and I think you would too.¡± He said before putting the final piece in place. ¡°He¡¯s a {Defiler}.¡±


    Jamal sputtered wine all over himself, and Cherry actually put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, before releasing.


    Slowly, Jamal stood up. With a snap of his fingers, he completely replaced his shirt with another clean one. ¡°Well, yeah, fuck that guy. His Path... You remember how I said your Path cares more about your growth more than your morality? Well, someone with that title, his Path only cares about being the worst kind of person.¡± Then he reached out and put a hand on Tristan¡¯s shoulder. ¡°But you¡¯re only going after him, right? One more, and then call it good. At least for now. I¡¯ve got way more to teach you, and we¡¯re getting you into that Tier 3 Tournament. You already agreed, so no way you¡¯re backing out after surviving all that!¡±


    A bit choked up, Tristan grimaced slightly. ¡°I don¡¯t know, Jamal. I¡¯d like to, but... I can¡¯t promise that. If I see another one show up, I¡¯m at least going to scout them out. And if I think I can take them...¡±


    Then his mentor, Jamal, the Unerring Blade, pulled him into a tight hug. ¡°Right. Well, do try to stay alive then, regardless of how many you go after, yeah? You¡¯re my best student after all.¡±


    Tristan chuckled nervously as he backed away. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best not to die, and I look forward to those future lessons. I will come back.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s settled then!¡± Jamal answered, sitting back down and finally popping the cherry into his mouth. ¡°Besides, you¡¯ve got lots more to learn. And not just about swordplay.¡± He winked before quietly sticking out his tongue, along with the cherry stem, now tied into a perfect little knot. He offered it to Cherry. While Tristan was impressed by the act, she merely shook her head and rolled her eyes.


    ¡°Now go off and be noble and shit,¡± Jamal continued. ¡°You¡¯re not going to let me stop you. So go on, kill that {Defiler} already. At least you know what you¡¯re in for, this time.¡±


    They left shortly after that, along with some gifts from Jamal: a month''s provisions, which at the time felt like plenty, and two horses. They were fine animals, too, as Sophie assured him each and every day. The horses sped up their travels, which was more important, and not only because their target had a big head start on them. Traveling faster also allowed them to spend time on other things during their journey.


    For example, Sophie convinced Tristan of the necessity of holding daily training breaks. She argued it was essential for her to have time to work with her astrals, and it would be good for his swordsmanship, too. Pushing that training idea further, they decided to stop at an early-tier-2 dungeon they were more or less passing by. It turned out to be a monastery overrun with demons or devils or something. Sophie had explained the difference, but since they both had horns and you fought them the exact same way, Tristan forgot which they actually were pretty quickly. He was just glad to tear through easy enemies again.


    By the end of that run, the young astralist reached level 9, and Tristan had gained a fair amount of experience, just not enough to reach level 15 yet. He¡¯d also learned from his last dungeon experience, and this time he took the extra time to remove all the metal he could find and store it in his [Crafting Materials Bag]. So what if he had to melt down faux-religious candelabras and tons of snake- or dragon-like sculptures? It was all dungeon-created, right? And he¡¯d never even heard of this god named ¡°Szee,¡± or however the dungeon dwellers had pronounced the name of what they¡¯d been worshiping.


    He knew that taking those materials would help him a lot in the long run, and that was what mattered in the end. He had to keep advancing his Path.


    Whenever they weren¡¯t training, Tristan found himself sinking deeper and deeper into understanding and planning for his current target, the {Defiler}. After asking Sophie what the title meant, it was clear why Shadow had suggested this be his next target.


    Venom.


    The name was appropriate, they¡¯d quickly learned, as it reflected his preferred weapon. Week by week, Tristan and Sophie followed his trail, which grew increasingly hard to stomach with what they found along the way. While they¡¯d started with Shadow¡¯s lead, leaving the Embrace¡¯s domain and traveling to Lugarest, they arrived so late that there was no chance for Tristan¡¯s quest to update with his location. That clearly meant that he¡¯d already left the region. So they were forced to track him the old-fashioned way: by word of mouth.


    Each town where the {Defiler} had stopped was either recently recovered or still in mourning. While some towns were too big to offer information other than some kids had gone missing, there was always a trail. Always some pitiful soul who had known, or had heard, or had seen things that they dreaded trying to explain.


    Months passed.


    No matter where they went, Venom left atrocities in his wake. Once they were told why Tristan and Sophie were hunting him, they were all too willing to point out which way the {Defiler} had gone. A few even tried to warn Tristan and Sophie not to follow, since their levels were so much lower.


    That only pushed the pair to train harder while they traveled.


    ¡°It happened just half a week ago,¡± the most recent man, a factory recruiter, said between sobs. And given the carnage they found...


    The bodies weren¡¯t even fully dissolved this time. Or perhaps they were just dissolving more slowly. There were clearer bite marks on some of the victims, but others...  Tristan stepped out before seeing it all, retching. At last he truly understood the title the monster wore, and why Shadow had said the {Defiler} had it coming. Tristan agreed, and he hated Venom for it.


    The title wasn¡¯t one given out without cause, after all. Sophie, Jamal, and Cherry all knew. Yet it still alarmed Tristan to learn just how heinous it caused someone to be, and how rewarding it was when its urges were fed.


    The more remnants of his crimes they came across, the more obvious it was that feeding his title was all Venom was doing. Sophie always took it hard when they stumbled on another horrific scene, but she also stayed, soaking them in with tear-filled eyes. She said she needed to ¡°bear witness,¡± that someone had to. Tristan joined her after she told him that; he acknowledged that someone should be there for these people in their deaths.


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    As the third month of traveling became the fourth, they finally had a breakthrough.


    The {Defiler}¡¯s needs and patterns had made tracking him easy. Once they realized that all the towns where Venom had stopped had orphanages, teen homes, or places where children would be when they had nowhere else to go, that sped their chase considerably. It seemed like all Sophie needed any more was a glance at a map, and she could figure out Venom¡¯s next stop.


    That was what brought them to Tenia, a small town only a day or so¡¯s ride into the Sovereign¡¯s domain. The moment they crossed the invisible border and entered into the god¡¯s domain, Tristan was flooded with notifications, though he immediately dismissed all of the usual scroll in favor of the most important one.


    [Path Quest updated: Avenge the Brightshield]


    Find and deal with each member of the party that killed Hesden Brightshield. Targets¡¯ locations will only be provided when you are in the same zone. Remaining targets:


    Curse


    Red Blade


    Shadow


    Timetwister


    Venom -- in Tenia


    As your targets are higher tier than you, you will be shielded from their detection until you reveal yourself or attack.


    Additional objectives may be unlocked.


    Rewards: Achievement, Smart Loot


    For a few moments, his eyes lingered over Shadow¡¯s faint, struck-through name before moving on. He¡¯d settled that score, though not in the way he¡¯d originally planned.


    Venom would not be so lucky.


    With the quest arrow pointing them toward their next target, and the distance indicator rapidly decreasing as they rode on, Tristan grew more sober. He¡¯d learned quite a bit from his experience ambushing, and then fighting, Shadow. He knew he could get an opening attack before whatever advantage the quest gave him was used up. He had to make that attack count. Though that also meant that Sophie would have to stay back a little while, just to make sure they weren¡¯t given away too quickly.


    Tenia was a quaint little village, Tristan thought to himself, until the realization that it was probably only a bit bigger than Woodsedge grew a pit in his stomach. Whatever might happen here could easily happen in his hometown too. And when had such places started to feel so small?


    Still, it was a nice, little town. There was a cheerful brook and water mill along one side. It had two main roads that led in and met in the town center, which was actually cobblestoned and seemed well maintained. As he walked down the main road, he saw people that might as well have come straight out of Woodsedge, though it seemed this town also had a few more shops to offer. There was a carpenter, a tanner, and a tailor, as well as a dedicated leatherworker. They had docks supporting a few fishermen, two butchers (clearly competing with one another), three taverns, a dedicated trader, and more that Tristan would have loved for Woodsedge to be able to boast about.


    There were even two places of worship--with only one being for the Sovereign, something Tristan found somewhat bold within a god¡¯s domain. Still, it was clearly the nicer of the two, with beautiful stained glass windows on three of the four sides. It was nice to see such things when they weren¡¯t there merely to intimidate and scare like they had been in the Rockmoor Cemetery.


    Yet with every step he took into this cozy town, something bugged him. It felt homey, he thought, but it didn¡¯t feel quite right, and it took an embarrassing amount of time for him to realize what was missing: the echoing sounds of a hammer striking an anvil.


    Tenia, apparently, had no blacksmith.


    Tristan shook his head. This was absolutely the kind of place where he might have set up shop... if he could have made gear for other people. That, of course, would have required him to make a different choice in his Awakening, which would have put him on a different Path. Now, Tenia held little more for him than a target.


    As the distance indicator grew smaller and smaller, Tristan motioned for Sophie to slow down. He indicated with a glance the direction the arrow was pointing. It was holding steady now, pointing toward a rundown-looking building at the far end of the street. It was clear from the overgrown grass and untended hedges that this place wasn¡¯t as loved as the rest of the town was.


    ¡°Shall we scout it out, just to be a bit safer?¡± Sophie offered.


    Tristan nodded. ¡°Sneakers, before I head in?¡±


    ¡°Naturally,¡± she said, leading him toward a bench beside the stone statue at the center of the cobblestone courtyard. With a kiss on Poof¡¯s nose and a swift apology, Sophie dismissed the adorable mage in a swirl of meeps and smoke, and she summoned her gold and green scout.


    Tristan sat down, trying not to stare too hard at anything, especially not the building on the outskirts of town, though that was the direction the bird-like astral immediately began flying. Instead, he tried to distract himself by taking a guidebook from his pack. This one they¡¯d picked up a few towns back, and like all the rest of Dungeon Delver Dave¡¯s guides, it went into great detail about the dungeons in the Sovereign¡¯s domain. The distraction only half worked. He still found himself glancing after the distant bird, and its target, or at the girl beside him who had closed her eyes as if she were sunbathing.


    But he knew what she was really doing.


    It still amazed Tristan just how powerful Sophie¡¯s connection with her astrals was. She didn¡¯t need to speak to communicate with Sneakers, for example. Even more impressive was how she could see through Sneaker¡¯s eyes while he was scouting, all while maintaining a running conversation with Tristan.


    ¡°What do you see?¡± he asked without looking up from the guidebook, unable to hold back his curiosity any longer.


    ¡°It¡¯s an orphanage.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Tristan muttered, internally cursing the {Defiler} again.


    ¡°He¡¯s in there right now, playing a game of some sort. Or that¡¯s what it seems like. He¡¯s got several children around him, and they all seem to be smiling and laughing. Something¡¯s moving...¡±


    ¡°How many kids?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°Nine right now, though there could always be more in another room. Want me to check?¡±


    Tristan ground his teeth. ¡°Yes, but not right now. What else is going on? You said something was moving?¡±


    Sophie sucked in a breath. ¡°There¡¯s a snake, Tristan. It¡¯s freaking huge. It could probably eat Sneakers or Poof whole.¡±


    Thinking back to the most recent scene, he spat with disgust. At least that explains some of the marks, but not all of them. He refocused on the current situation. ¡°Are there any other adults, like someone who should be watching over for these kids?¡±


    ¡°I... don¡¯t see any,¡± Sophie said. ¡°Hang on, Sneakers is moving to a different window.¡±


    Sophie inhaled sharply, causing Tristan to look at her immediately. Tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks. ¡°I found the adults,¡± she whispered. ¡°They¡¯re... in the kitchen.¡±


    Tristan translated what she didn¡¯t want to say: They¡¯re already dead. He shut his book and stowed it back in his pack. ¡°Then we can¡¯t wait. It has to be today. Now.¡±


    ¡°What will we do about the kids?¡±


    ¡°Get a full count as quickly as you can,¡± Tristan shot back, barely containing his rage. He could feel the fire building up in his chest, stoked by the memories of what they¡¯d found in each of the towns they¡¯d left behind. He didn¡¯t want to see that happen to any more children.


    ¡°Tristan, there are nine kids in the room with him right now. What are you planning to do? I can practically hear your mind at work. Talk to me before you just go rushing in there!¡±


    ¡°What kind of building is it?¡±


    ¡°Tristan, are you listening to me?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m talking, aren¡¯t I? Tell me what I¡¯m about to rush into!¡±


    Sophie sighed. ¡°There¡¯s a small vestibule--or entry room,¡± she quickly added, ¡°then it¡¯s mostly a big open space, with toys and... just junk scattered all across the floor. So watch your step. There are tables near the back, a few chairs in sitting circles. Stairs lead up from there. The other rooms on the ground floor are a kitchen and I think a bathroom? I can¡¯t see into it. The upstairs just looks like a big, communal bedroom. Cots with blankets.¡±


    Tristan knew exactly the type of place she was describing. They¡¯d seen too many of them destroyed since they¡¯d started their hunt. ¡°I need you to get all the kids out,¡± he said, ¡°and make sure it¡¯s all of them, okay? Do that first, before you come help. Let me handle Venom.¡±


    He cracked his neck and drew his [Oozebane Greatsword]. Based on what they¡¯d learned from the other stops along his trail, Tristan suspected that he¡¯d be relying on its unique [Incorruptible] property pretty heavily. Then again, maybe that was why he¡¯d crafted it in the first place--his Path had prepared him for this moment.


    [Incorruptible] While wielding this sword, negate all damage from enemy damage-over-time effects.


    Another sigh from Sophie, louder this time. ¡°Of course I¡¯ll prioritize the children. But Tristan, you¡¯ve got to be careful! I can¡¯t tell what level Venom is, and based on everything we¡¯ve seen he¡¯s at least tier 3!"


    ¡°Anything else you think I need to know before I head in there?¡± He already knew the things that she¡¯d been saying. An outsider looking in would think the odds were stacked against him. That was how it had been against Shadow, too, but he¡¯d managed to survive anyway.


    At least he was guaranteed an opening strike with the buff his Path quest gave him. The buff had hidden him from Shadow until he¡¯d struck, and even a little beyond, if the bladeweaver¡¯s reactions had been any indication. Tristan assumed he¡¯d get the same treatment this time too, but even if not, he wouldn¡¯t wait any longer. The {Defiler} had done too much already, enough that Tristan more or less knew what types of attacks to expect from him in a fight. Unlike the complete unknown of what he¡¯d rushed into with Shadow. Honestly, he¡¯d been ready weeks ago.


    It was time the {Defiler}¡¯s Path came to an end.


    Sophie shook her head and said, ¡°Just that I¡¯m worried about you and hope you¡¯re as good as you think you are.¡±


    With an eye roll and a quick thanks, Tristan ran down the street, pushing his legs as fast as they could possibly go, ignoring all the onlookers. He was focused, like a hammer beginning to work a fresh piece of metal. The broad strokes would come first, and then the finer details.


    With Sophie getting the kids out of the way, he would find a way to beat Venom.


    The moment his feet hit the small stones leading up to the orphanage¡¯s front gate, he felt the buff take hold, as the world around him felt a little lighter, a little less real. He saw the icon in the corner of his display and checked it just to make sure it was the same.


    [Avenger¡¯s Stealth] You are undetectable to quest targets above your tier. Upon dealing damage, you will gradually be revealed.


    Word for word, it was the same. Since last time it had not only hidden him from sight but also hearing (and any other ways Shadow might have had to notice him), it had made sneaking up on Shadow trivial. Tristan assumed it would be the same here.


    He opened the building¡¯s front door, raised his greatsword again, and walked toward his destiny.


    STATUS:


    Tristan Hammerson


    Human


    L14 Swordsmith/7 Swordsman


    {{Student of Jamal}}


    Stats:


    STR 57 (+10)


    AGI 27 (+3)


    END 58 (+7)


    INT 15 (+1)


    WIS 17 (+1)


    WiL 32 (+1)


    Core: [Soul-Forged] Items you craft replace a portion of the required materials with soul, are greatly enhanced, and become Soulbound. You may only use Soulbound items.


    Titles: {Awakened}, {Fledgling Dungeon Delver}, {Lonely Dungeoneer}, {Soulscarred}, {{Student of Jamal}}


    Skills: [Blade Echo], [Craft Armor], [Craft Shield], [Craft Tool], [Craft Weapon], [Create: Portable Forge], [Gather Ore], [Identify], [Permanent Party], [Repair Item], [Rivalry], [Sharpen Blade], [Work Metal]


    Attacks: [Blade Flurry], [Cleaving Slash], [Piercing Thrust], [Riposte]


    Passives: [Agility Up I], [Blade¡¯s Resolve], [Born Blacksmith], [Combat Reflexes], [Endurance Up I], [Enhance Craft I], [Heat & Fire Resistance], [In a Hurry], [Strength Up II]

 [B2C2] Chapter 55: Moments of Righteousness

    Chapter 55: Moments of Righteousness


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Inside, the orphanage looked just like so many of the other places Tristan and Sophie had been lately. The most immediately obvious difference was that things here were still unbroken and untainted. Tristan hoped it would stay that way, but he had no illusions about what kind of fight this was going to be.


    Sophie¡¯s previous description of the building¡¯s interior proved spot on. Closing the main door behind himself, Tristan tiptoed through a small room that clearly served as a greeting space. A coat stand in the corner held only one adult-sized jacket. He wondered if it was Venom¡¯s, though it felt too clean, unripped and unstained. Too normal. Hugging one of the walls, he moved on toward the large central room.


    There were nine children within, all gathered around two central figures.


    The taller one was a man wearing a cloak so deeply green it was nearly-black. A bow of twisted wood and a quiver full of arrows were slung across his back, though they never jiggled or rocked, even as the man gestured and spoke excitedly to the children gathered around him. The man¡¯s face was dominated by a hooked nose and a lewd sneer, which deepened as he eyed the children around him. Then there were the scars that permanently twisted the monster¡¯s lips.


    Though it was clear this was Venom, Tristan still used his [Identify] to gauge what he was up against.


    [Venom, Human, level 39 (tier 3) blight spitter]


    {{Defiler}}


    He immediately used [Rivalry] to reduce the damage the {Defiler} would do to him by 15%. Better not to take any chances, he thought.


    Tristan turned his attention next to the other large figure, an enormous snake, which had coiled itself around Venom¡¯s arm and was now slinking down to the man¡¯s hand. Its nose lifted slowly upward toward one of the boys, who couldn¡¯t have been older than six, that was stretching out one hand with a nervous tremble. As the boy¡¯s finger touched the scaly skin, the snake¡¯s tongue flicked out, lightly.


    ¡°Ow!¡± the boy said, yanking his hand back.


    As Tristan drew a little nearer, still hugging the outer wall just to be safe, he could see a green welt on the boy¡¯s hand where the tongue had lashed him. Based on the way the skin was already bubbling slightly, even from such a slight contact, the tongue was clearly poisoned. Tristan used [Identify] on the massive serpent, just to see what it would reveal.


    [Ginnai, Giant Mamba, level 21 (Pet of Venom)]


    ¡°Sorry, my little snack, sorry,¡± Venom cooed, barely holding back the glee he¡¯d clearly felt at the child¡¯s cry. ¡°How about something a little safer then. I brought you a treat, just like I promised!¡±


    Then he produced a large, squirming rat from nowhere--no doubt his magical storage--and held it by the tail before the children. There were equal cries of joy and disgust, but none of the children backed away.


    By this point, Tristan had crept halfway around the room while trying to stay out of the view of the children, who had yet to notice him. Through the nearest window he could now see the tree where Sneakers was perched. He waved silently at the astral--and was surprised when it nodded its head back at him.


    He hoped that meant Sophie was almost in position.


    ¡°Would you like to feed it to my snake?¡± Venom asked, extending his hand (and the struggling rat) toward the nearest girl. ¡°Don¡¯t be scared! I won¡¯t let the mean rat hurt you, and my beautiful Ginnai will be so thankful.¡±


    The girl seemed uncertain, so Venom turned the offer to another boy instead. ¡°This is Ginnai, you see, and she¡¯s oh so hungry. Won¡¯t you take pity on her? You all know how it feels to be hungry, don¡¯t you? Wouldn¡¯t you want someone to feed you this nice, juicy rat--if that was what you wanted? I assure you, to her, this is as good as ice cream!¡± He paused, then threw the rat high up in the air. ¡°Or should I just let it go?¡± he asked, before catching it just a hand¡¯s width from the floor.


    One little girl with dark hair and eyes actually raised her hand. ¡°C-can I feed it... to your snake?¡±


    Venom¡¯s grin was back in full force. ¡°Of course, my dear, sweet child. And don¡¯t be shy now. Take the rodent by the tail. Yes, there you go!¡± He brushed his hand across the girl¡¯s, assumedly making sure her grip was secure, but Tristan saw something more in the gesture. ¡°And don¡¯t worry your sweet head at all. Even if my Ginnai does happen to bite you, you¡¯ll only have to deal with the pain for a very little while! I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯re well taken care of, promise!¡±


    Tristan tightened his grip around his sword.


    Then several things seemed to happen quickly.


    The boy who had been licked by the snake tottered, slumped, and then fell to the floor. The small bubbling on his wrist had now spread up most of his arm, or at least what Tristan could see.


    That caused several of the kids, including the girl holding the rat, to gasp in concern. The rat took the opportunity to squirm out of her grasp. It twisted and fell with a shriek.


    Venom, licking his lips, said, ¡°Oh, our little snack has fallen asleep!¡±


    And the snake, the clearly-poisonous (and likely venomous, considering it¡¯s master), giant mamba, unhinged its jaw, priming its fangs and tongue as it leapt upward... but its eyes weren¡¯t on the rat.


    Tristan lunged forward, swiftly raising his sword over his head to avoid the little ones nearby, then brought it down as hard as he could, activating [Cleaving Slash] in the process, toward the exposed body of the snake.


    He hadn¡¯t really thought about it; he¡¯d just reacted.


    As his massive greatsword sliced straight into the snake, it only managed to carve out a small chunk of the beast before sending it flying backward. Apparently the snake was too tanky for him to kill it in one blow.


    He could also see a 30-second timer for his [Avenger¡¯s Stealth] buff ticking down.


    His element of surprise was gone.


    ¡°What the fuck?!¡± Venom shouted as the huge snake suddenly flew off his arm, spewing blood in his wake. ¡°What the FUCK?!¡± Then Venom slammed something that might have been a vial to the ground at his feet. The container shattered, and a cloud of green smoke billowed outward.


    It was all Tristan could do to hold his breath as he tried to gather and pull the remaining children away. Most of them had begun coughing and were easy enough to find. Tristan grabbed two in each arm, plus the original, bitten boy, and hurried them toward the door. None of the children really resisted, though their coughing certainly slowed things down.


    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Tristan held his breath for as long as he could, but even his high Endurance had limits. By the time he dropped the children at the door, his breath was spent and the smoke had nearly filled the entire area. Tristan covered his mouth with his hands, trying to limit his breathing of the gas, but he clearly didn¡¯t do enough.


    You are now poisoned.


    You are now cursed.


    The notifications came in immediately... but other than a debuff appearing on his display, nothing else seemed to happen.


    [Defiler¡¯s ¡°Special¡± Mix] A lingering mix of afflictions caused by breathing in a Defiler¡¯s highly toxic gas. You take periodic damage, which increases the longer you¡¯re affected.


    Despite what the debuff said, Tristan didn¡¯t feel the least effect from the gas. Thank the gods for my [Oozebane Greatsword], he thought, taking another breath. The moment he did, the debuff timer reset again to its starting 60 seconds, but he still felt nothing.


    From the midst of the smoke, Venom¡¯s voice echoed out. It was tense and dripping with frustration that ramped up by the word.


    ¡°Whoever you are, you¡¯ve ruined our playtime! So I promise, you¡¯re going to die a very slow, verrrrry enjoyable death. For me anyway. You¡¯re going to give back what you¡¯ve taken from me!¡±


    Tristan was torn between doing whatever he could for the children he still heard coughing, or facing the {Defiler} immediately. He went for the children. The fainted boy was right by his foot, and when Tristan hoisted him up onto his shoulder with his free hand, it was like the kid weighed nothing at all. He rushed the boy toward the door, which he kicked open in one blow. The now-cleared exit allowed the first bits of light to start filtering in through the smoke.


    Except there were no more sounds from the other children. No coughing, no crying, no sniffles seeking help.


    He hoped Sophie could rescue the rest.


    For himself, Tristan couldn¡¯t ignore the lewd, taunting voice calling out from the green gas any longer. He turned back and gripped his sword again in both hands, praying he hadn¡¯t lost too much of his advantage in saving that child.


    The moment he stepped back into the smoke, cruel, crazy laughter jerked its way out of the smoke. ¡°They always come for the {Defiler} with such blessed purpose, but they never enjoy what they find! Breathe deeply, whoever you are. I hope you enjoy these last moments of righteousness, because I¡¯ll surely enjoy what follows!¡± Another peel of laughter rocked the room, but as it faded, it was joined by a more subtle sound: the slithering and hissing of the giant snake.


    It was a good reminder that he wasn¡¯t just going up against one monster in this fight, but two. He raised his sword, which gleamed as it caught what little light filtered through from the doorway behind him.


    ¡°You want to know the best part of my gas?¡± Venom taunted again, his whispered words bouncing off the walls of the big, open, smoke-filled room. ¡°It¡¯s not the vomiting, or how it wrings you dry in practically no time at all. No, no no. It¡¯s that I can feel everything that happens in it!¡±


    Not even a second later, something lunged at him from the left. The giant snake. Tristan brought his sword up, catching the fangs and flinging them away, back into the smoke, but then an arrow with a glowing green tip struck Tristan dead center of his chest.


    Suddenly, all the wind was knocked out of him, along with nearly a quarter of his health. The impact lifted him off the ground and sent him flying backward. Paired with that came another notification, telling that his breastplate¡¯s [Tempered Spirit] had triggered.


    [Tempered Spirit (rank 2)] While wearing this armor, every 30 seconds, reduce the damage of the next hit by 50%.


    Tristan groaned as he rolled to the side and popped a health potion. His chest hurt, but he couldn¡¯t use that as an excuse. He had to get his sword moving again: the Roving Blade was by far his best defense against an archer. And if that one arrow was any indication, Tristan needed to block everything. He had no idea what else he could do about the snake. At least it seemed like he¡¯d be able to ignore quite a bit of Venom¡¯s abilities, if the debuff ticking away was any indication.


    Actually, Tristan noticed that there were now two debuffs. A new one had appeared beside the first, labeled as [Decrepifying Arrow], which was supposed to be dealing even more poison damage to him periodically.


    Tristan thanked the gods both above and among them for his [Oozebane Greatsword], once again proving its worth.


    Venom¡¯s laugh crowded the gas-filled room. ¡°Come onnnn,¡± Venom called, drawing out every word as he continued. ¡°You righteous little prick, fight me. Hit me with that big sword of yours! I¡¯ve got so many arrows just waiting to taste your flesh!¡±


    With the cloud of smoke growing thinner, Tristan decided that a frontal attack might not actually be that bad of an idea. He had his greatsword moving fluidly in front of him, and it found the next three arrows Venom fired with ease, especially once Tristan was able to locate where the man had been shooting from: behind a table he¡¯d flipped up on its side in the back of the room. But as soon as he got confident deflecting, the snake came at him from behind. Tristan didn¡¯t hear it coming at all, and it wasn¡¯t until the fangs bit into the back of his calf that he knew it was there at all. It burned, but only at first. The moment he swung his sword into the beast, forcing its fangs to withdraw, the pain stopped. Again, it left a debuff, this time called [Mamba¡¯s Venom]. But just like all the other debuffs, while his sword gave him [Incorruptible], it would do no damage to him.


    Tristan took cover behind a waist-high, wooden dollhouse and checked his leg. He could see exactly where the fangs had punched through his pants, but there was none of the bubbling that he¡¯d seen on the boy earlier. There was also no sign of the snake, which felt pretty unfair given just how big the damned thing was.


    ¡°How are you feeling over there?¡± Venom asked with a cackle. ¡°I¡¯ve got so much more to put inside you, too, if you think you¡¯re man enough to take it.¡±


    Tristan rose up again, trying to draw nearer to the table where Venom was taking shelter. The monster¡¯s comments were obviously implying something. Tristan replied with something he hoped might provoke the man in turn. ¡°I¡¯m doing just fine. Kind of surprised how limp your attacks have all felt.¡±


    ¡°Who the fuck are you, anyway? Most people would be screaming by now.¡±


    Tristan had already learned enough to expect the next arrow as he saw the man rise from his cover. He brought his sword around and lined it up perfectly.


    Then the arrow split into three.


    He could only whip his greatsword through two of them; the third nicked his side just beyond his breastplate. It burned, like all of Venom''s arrows, but it didn¡¯t hit nearly as hard as that first one in the chest had. Tristan also quickly realized the up-front damage wasn¡¯t the point. A fourth damage-over-time debuff had appeared on his display, and all three of the others were refreshed again.


    ¡°Did you like that little gift, boy?¡± Venom crooned. ¡°I saw you only took the tip. There¡¯s more where that came from.¡±


    ¡°Doesn''t matter,¡± Tristan called back, ¡°Your poisons are weak.¡± He tried to advance again, but another charge from the snake forced him to spin his blade in place instead. At least his block led to a [Riposte], which he aimed at the same wound on the creature¡¯s back. The snake recoiled once again, before darting away as quickly as it could. ¡°Your snake has hurt me more than you have. But don''t worry, I''ll end you both.¡±


    Freed temporarily from the annoying snake, Tristan ran forward and swung his greatsword right through the table where Venom had just been hiding behind, but apparently the man had moved on again. Tristan still kicked the split wood away, though more accurately he sent it flying toward the snake, whose follow-up attack he¡¯d still expected.


    The heavy wood carried the snake backward and pinned it against the wall.


    Tristan heard the twang of a bowstring before noticing an arrow planted in the ground beside him. He didn''t give it much thought at first, until black sludge began to bubble up out of the ground where it rested. The tar-like gunk spurted upward, outward, even under his boots, causing them to stick to the floor. As he struggled to break free, he noticed the snake had wrestled itself free of the table and was about to spring at him again.


    Tristan was ready, and despite the reptile¡¯s speed, he managed to pull his sword around in time to barely deflect the blow.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t you just stay still, little swordsman? That big sword looks so heavy, especially for such a young man. Not young enough, sadly but don¡¯t worry--I¡¯ll still have a bit of fun with you, once Ginnai¡¯s had her fill!¡±


    Two more arrows flew at him as he continued to fight off the snake. The way the two coordinated their attacks was unlike anything Tristan had ever dealt with before. He wasn''t sure he could handle both at once. He had to take one of them out, and soon.

 [B2C3] Chapter 56: Man With a Big Snake

    Chapter 56: Man With a Big Snake


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    The first thing Tristan had to do was pull his boots free of the sticky, tar-like goo Venom¡¯s arrow had spewed on the floor. It was trickier than he¡¯d like to admit, especially since he had to dodge another arrow in the process. It nearly doubled him over backward. But after one huge, full strength jump, his feet came free. He immediately began chasing Venom around the room, attempting to get into melee range. Yet the monster used any and every obstacle he could find, from tables to toys, and when there weren''t any, there was the snake, always buying just enough time for the {Defiler} to slip away from Tristan¡¯s sword.


    It was the third time that Tristan nearly closed in on the archer, only for the snake to intercept him, that he decided the snake would die first.


    With the most recent attack, the snake had somehow dropped down onto him from above. Tristan still hadn¡¯t figured that one out. But it didn¡¯t matter how the accursed snake did it, just that it was already starting to coil around him.


    Suddenly Tristan found himself struggling to keep his sword in his grip while also holding off the massive, heavy mamba that was slobbering all over him. The few drops of poison that touched his skin were absorbed almost immediately, and they burned. So Tristan changed his strategy, instead using his significant Strength to hold the oversized reptile tightly to him, which at least also pinned his blade flat between them. It was uncomfortable, and stiff, and more of the creature¡¯s spit fell on him as it began to coil around him. But he endured it. Because even if he was only squeezing it with his bare hands, with the [Incorruptible] property of his sword blocking most of the acid¡¯s effect, he was dealing more damage to the beast than he was taking.


    Perhaps that was why a green mist soon appeared around the snake and began to slowly close its wounds. Venom is healing his pet! At least that meant Tristan wasn¡¯t taking additional arrows with the snake wrapped around him. The fight had actually, for the moment, become one-on-one.


    He quickly found that he didn¡¯t need all of his Strength to resist the snake¡¯s squeezing, so he began rolling around with a purpose, moving toward whatever objects looked strong, or broken, and slamming the snake¡¯s head into them. The wound he¡¯d given it with his first attack hadn¡¯t completely healed yet, and there was a clear gap in the scales, providing him a target to smack against every surface available. It was once Tristan was able to rise all the way to his feet and essentially suplex the monster onto a broken table leg that the snake began trying to get away from him.


    He was only able to hold on briefly. The scales were slippery, especially as they grew damp with the creature¡¯s blood. The instant the snake fully twisted away, Tristan''s sword was no longer pinned to him, and it fell to the floor.


    Tristan gasped. Suddenly he could feel the burn of some of the debuffs. He reached for the handle of his fallen greatsword, and an arrow nearly skewered his hand. Apparently the delay was long enough for a burst of intense pain to wrack him as fully half of his health vanished.


    Screw the arrows; I¡¯ll survive them. I can''t take even one more tick from the debuffs. Gods, I need a potion--but it¡¯ll be useless if I don¡¯t get my sword back.


    He jumped for his sword, taking two more arrows in the process, but that hardly mattered. The second his fingers touched the handle, the majority of his pain evaporated. Then he scrambled to uncork another health potion and drink it as quickly as possible.


    Whipping his blade around him, he sliced through the obstacles in between him and his scaly foe. As he got within striking distance, he could hear Venom saying something. He just tuned it out. Instead, he raised his greatsword above his head and brought it down as hard as he could on the gaping wound atop the snake¡¯s head. The strike cost him another arrow in his arm, but it was worth it.


    There was a scream, or perhaps it was two screams that merged into one, as his sword finished removing the beast¡¯s head from its body.


    No more worrying about being disarmed now.


    The scream deepened into a guttural roar. It was something beyond words, but it embodied loss and pain and, most of all, rage.


    For a brief moment, Tristan stared at the motionless, serpentine body on the floor. Part of him just wanted to be sure it was really done. For those few brief moments, he felt a great weight lifting from him. One monster down, he thought.


    He turned at last toward where the other yell had originated,and he let a small smile grow on his face. One more to go.


    It was immediately clear that the {Defiler} no longer thought of this as some game. He now looked more like a rabid beast than a beast of prey. His face was flushed, veins popped out across his neck, and his eyes were bloodshot. No, Tristan realized, his eyes were bleeding. Red ran down the monster¡¯s cheeks like sickly tears. It was no wonder his arms shook as he fired the next barrage of arrows.


    Tristan got his sword roving again in plenty of time to block them all.


    Keeping his feet mostly still while his blade whirled around him, Tristan spat, ¡°You¡¯re just a sad little man with a big snake,¡± before correcting himself with a brief chuckle. ¡°Sorry, you had a big snake.¡±


    Venom, clearly too angry to reply in words, began firing arrow after arrow, futilely, into Tristan¡¯s roving blade. His fingers blurred as he pulled from his quiver as fast as he could.


    Venom suddenly shouted, ¡°We¡¯re not through yet!¡± And this time when he reached into his quiver, he didn¡¯t pull out an arrow. Instead his hand emerged coated in something dark. He blew on his hand, and a puff of that blackish, powdery dust spread outward, as if caught by some unseen and unfelt wind.


    Some went right toward Tristan, toward his mouth and nose.


    Tristan knew he didn¡¯t want to breathe that in. He jerked backward, hurrying to bury his mouth and nose in his own shoulder, as he pushed himself all the way back to one of the building¡¯s outer walls. He wasn¡¯t sure what he expected next, but he didn¡¯t feel any differently, and no new debuffs appeared on his display.


    Meanwhile, there was a strange, almost-creaking sound coming from the floor across the way. Tristan quickly turned, and saw that Venom had moved to the opposite wall and was actually leaping through one of the rear doorways.


    That didn¡¯t make much sense either. But not one to waste time, he pulled the earlier arrow from his forearm--gasping slightly as it left a gaping, dripping wound--and downed another healing potion.


    For a moment, Tristan tried to remember where Sophie had said those doors had led, but was quickly interrupted by a set of thorny, pitch-black vines that broke through the floorboards in front of him and shot upward. As their petals rose, they also grew together into what looked like little mouths.


    And then those mouths began to spit.


    All around the room, dozens of these things had sprouted, and from all of them thin, bile-colored liquid arced toward him. Thankfully he was out of range of most of them. Most, but not all.


    One of the sprays managed to splash his shoulder, which immediately burned away a chunk of his remaining health pool. With it, another debuff appeared on his display; this one lasting only ten seconds.


    [Toxic Thornspit] Deals poison damage every second. Taking damage from this refreshes the duration of other poison debuffs.


    Tristan couldn¡¯t help but be amazed at the debuff¡¯s lethality. And yet again, he didn¡¯t feel any of the negative effects beyond the opening burn. Still, he didn¡¯t want to get sloppy, as a look at his remaining health made clear that he couldn¡¯t afford to let too much more of the spit hit him.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Given how many of the new plants stood between him and his target, Tristan wasn¡¯t sure how he would manage to close the distance. He just knew that he had to. He couldn¡¯t let Venom get away. Even putting his quest aside, he couldn¡¯t let that monster get free to continue defiling the realm.


    He looked quickly through his pack, seeking anything that might help, and he found the small stack of [Signal Flare]s he¡¯d gotten in the Rockmoor Cemetery.


    [Signal Flare (uncommon)]: Soulbound


    Consumable item, 2 second cast time. May be placed with a timer of up to 1 hour. After the timer expires, colored smoke will erupt from the flare, drawing the attention of nearby monsters and applying [Taunt] for up to one minute. All hostile targets in combat with you receive [Distracted] for 1 minute.


    They would do just fine, he thought.


    Of course, the time it took to cast felt far longer than two seconds, and he had to hold it in one hand, meaning he couldn¡¯t have his sword up and guarding. Luckily, the toxin-spitting thorn monsters didn¡¯t spit his way in that time, which made Tristan wonder if their ability also had a cooldown.


    The moment he tossed the device, all the nearby plants spun to face it--a few even lashing out as it flew past. Within seconds, they also spit at the flare--so he started counting in an attempt to determine the cooldown.


    While one [Signal Flare] seemed to be enough of a distraction, he still pulled out and cast a second, tossing it to the farther side of the room. Only once it activated did he push quickly forward, sweeping his sword through the stalks of the nearest two plants and taking their blossoms clean off. When their twitching stems just regrew quickly, forming new blooms, he almost didn¡¯t know what to do. Except they didn¡¯t even look his way, having instantly focused on the [Signal Flare].


    So Tristan cut his way forward, beheading and dodging between the spitters as best he could.


    An arrow plunged into his left shoulder, triggering [Tempered Spirit] once again.


    Oddly enough, it didn¡¯t hurt all that much initially. But with every new move, a bolt of pain pulsed down his arm. There was nothing to do but break the arrow off. I¡¯m becoming a freaking pincushion!


    The arrow had also refreshed all his debuffs. If it wasn¡¯t for his sword¡¯s [Incorruptible] property, Tristan realized, he would have been dead long ago. Chugging yet another healing potion brought him back up to half health, but he worried how long that would last. He didn¡¯t have an unlimited supply of the things.


    As the plants spat at him again, Tristan growled. I am sick of fighting things that aren¡¯t Venom! I think it¡¯s time to use some skills to get to the monster sooner.


    A big [Cleaving Slash] cleared the plants immediately before him, and he sped toward the doorway where he¡¯d last seen Venom seek cover. He kept his blade always moving, clearing away any plants within striking distance, while also staying ready just in case another arrow came his way. But none did.


    From the rear room, Venom¡¯s voice slithered out. ¡°You know, I finally figured out why you looked so familiar! You¡¯re that little boy I wasn¡¯t allowed to kill all the way back in Woodsedge. Guess I¡¯ll get to finally correct that mistake. And when I¡¯m done with you, maybe I¡¯ll go visit your mother, too. Or do you have any little brothers or sisters?¡±


    Tristan stepped carefully toward the doorway as he pulled out a third [Signal Flare]. He had to focus and would not let the man¡¯s filth shake him.


    It was harder and harder, though, as Venom kept going. ¡°You know, I don¡¯t just defile them while they¡¯re living, right?  I have fun with the corpses, too. That precious little hero,¡± and here he paused as an almost joyful sigh came through the door, ¡°the blessed Brightshield got to experience that.¡±


    ¡°Only because you had help,¡± Tristan shouted back. Then he tossed the third [Signal Flare] through the doorway, following it as quickly as he could, hoping he''d be able to use the distraction to rush into melee range before taking too many more arrows.


    The {Defiler} was against the side wall, nearly as far away from Tristan as the building would allow. And the arrow he had nocked had already left his bowstring, its tip glowing a dangerously bright green.


    ¡°Gotcha!¡± the twisted, scarred lips said as the skill-infused arrow flew through the air.


    Tristan didn¡¯t have time to really wonder whether the [Signal Flare] hadn¡¯t gone off properly, or if Venom might have been immune to its effect. All he could do was stare in horror as the arrow raced straight toward him with a speed greater than even Shadow¡¯s daggers had. He was still raising his sword after coming through the door; he wouldn¡¯t be able to block the arrow in time.


    But something else was faster. A blur of greenish gold flew from his peripherals straight into the arrow¡¯s path, intercepting it maybe a hand¡¯s breadth from Tristan''s face, before plummeting to the ground.


    One glance told Tristan what had saved him: Sneakers! The little bird-like astral was starting to fade around the edges. Venom¡¯s infused shot had done enough damage to break his connection to the realm.


    Tristan had seen it happen once before, in the third dungeon he''d run with Sophie, so he knew she''d be able to resummon Sneakers, eventually. But both astral and astralist would be miserable until then. Tristan wouldn''t let Sneakers¡¯ sacrifice be in vain, even if it was only temporary.


    He charged toward the archer, desperate to reach him before he could reload.


    To his surprise, Venom didn''t even try another arrow. Instead a dagger appeared in the monster¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Come to Daddy,¡± he said.


    In the space of one eye blink, the shape of the battle had changed. Venom got up into his personal space, slashing and cutting. It was almost like fighting Shadow again. Except... Shadow¡¯s daggers had hurt more, when they even hit at all. It quickly became clear that, for all his lack of raw stats compared to the Tier 3, Tristan drastically outskilled Venom. After all, the monster only preyed on the weak and helpless, while Tristan had trained with a master swordsman.


    Tristan also realized that part of the reason Venom¡¯s daggers didn¡¯t do much damage was that they were merely another way to deliver the ¡°Special Mix¡±--which Tristan could ignore, thanks to his sword!


    ¡°You¡¯re barely even tickling me,¡± he said, trying to provoke the monster. ¡°Is that why you have to pick on little kids?¡±


    In response, Venom stabbed more recklessly. His voice shook the room in a way Tristan had only heard a few times before, and only from tier 4s.


    ¡°I¡¯ll wear you down until there¡¯s nothing left!¡±


    As the oily presence of the {Defiler} pressed against him, Tristan actually witnessed the moment when the dagger¡¯s tip began to glow bright green. Its movement left a horrifying trail of power and color, as it sped toward him.


    For the briefest moment, Tristan couldn¡¯t move. The monster¡¯s presence had demanded that he simply submit and crumble into nothingness, and Tristan felt powerless against it.


    But his sword, swinging as it had been, didn¡¯t need to move far. It had momentum. The split second of uncontrolled mobility by a tier 3 didn¡¯t negate all of that.


    The well-honed edge of the [Oozebane Greatsword] met the empowered dagger''s strike, and it split the smaller blade in half.


    With a scream of pure frustration, Venom flipped sideways with such speed and control that it must have been a [Disengage] or similar skill. The man tried to use his newfound space to bring out his bow again.


    Except a purplish-pink bolt of energy flew through the doorway and exploded into him.


    Poof had arrived.


    Venom was blasted backward into the wall with such force his body broke the plaster.


    At long last, Tristan could close the gap with confidence. He brought his blade to bear, activating first [Blade Echo] and then [Blade Flurry], before delivering a [Piercing Thrust]. It was the highest damage combination he¡¯d found, and Tristan executed it with all the fury of a divine avenger. Even so, the monster had so much health from his level advantage that it took several full rotations of strike after echoing strike, with his sword constantly cutting into the {Defiler}. The monster never had another opportunity to strike or [Disengage] before the notification finally came.


    [Path Quest updated: Avenge the Brightshield]


    As Tristan opened the quest, a green wisp of light, or energy perhaps, began to slowly swirl up from the dead body. It encircled Tristan just as the black wisp had after Shadow''s fight. Then it, too, struck the swordsmith directly in the center of his chest. This time, the name was struck through in bright green.


    It also brought with it a Primary Class level-up! He¡¯d reached level 15 with his swordsmith Class at last. Even though it didn¡¯t award any new skills or abilities, a DING! sound was more than reward enough for such an accomplishment. He also relished the understanding that he was now half way through Tier 2. In only a few years, he¡¯d already reached as high as his mom had in her whole life!


    ¡°Holy gods, that was insane,¡± Sophie said, walking into the back room at last. She was petting Poof, who was already working her way out of a pale yellow hair bow. ¡°First the smoke, and then the snake, and those plant things?¡±


    It was a good thing I practically countered his entire skillset just with my sword. He didn¡¯t want to think about how poorly things could have gone otherwise.


    ¡°What about the other kids, the ones I didn''t get out?¡± Tristan asked.


    ¡°I got almost all of them out safely,¡± she said, looking a touch forlornly over her shoulder, ¡°but the first boy, and one other girl..." Her words tapered off.


    Tristan felt a twinge of remorse too, and he wondered briefly if he could have done more somehow. He shook his head. ¡°So we saved seven of them?¡±


    Sophie nodded wordlessly. Then she spit on the {Defiler}¡¯s corpse. ¡°Good fucking riddance. Piece of inhuman garbage.¡±


    Tristan found himself nodding in agreement even as he stared at the list of names in his quest.


    I never want to see his name again, Tristan realized, wondering if he would ever be able to rid himself of the memory of this beast¡¯s atrocities. In response, the green strikethrough of the quest started to smudge, obscuring the letters behind it until they were wholly unreadable. A wave of surprise quickly faded into relief.


    Three names still remained. Though that last line... it suggested the possibility of more.


    Additional objectives may be unlocked.


    He wondered what that might mean. More than that, though, he wondered which name he''d find next.

 [B2C4] Chapter 57: Branding

    Chapter 57: Branding


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Aaric</h2>


    ¡°Aaric Longbloom, I present to you, on behalf of the Steelblood Guild, this custom-crafted staff in congratulations for your victory in the Rockmoor Tier 2 Dueling League. May it not be your last!¡±


    All three of the messengers bowed, but it was the frontmost human, who had by far the highest level according to the scout (and a larger teardrop emblem across his upper chest) that held out a gorgeous blue staff with both hands. His speech was neutral in a way that felt forced, as though his accent had been sanded off, leaving an aggressive plainness.


    [Malcolm, Human, level ?]


    [Norren, Half-dwarf, level ?]


    [Vortrix, Scaleborn, level ?]


    Aaric gazed at the staff in appreciation for several moments before using [Identify] on it. It was stunning. The wood with which it was made had a bluish tint that was further enhanced by the veins of bright blue magic woven through it. They made the entire staff glow the perfect color of blue, and it would easily accentuate any of Aaric¡¯s ensembles. Though honestly, it might steal the show. This staff clearly was not an accessory; it was the main attraction.


    While the wood was not perfectly straight, Aaric could tell from just one touch that it was strong, durable in a way he¡¯d usually feel from cold steel or similar crafts. But this staff was quite pleasing to his touch, and he quickly found that the few knots left twisting amid the otherwise-smooth wood actually offered easier grips and hand placements. The top flared appealingly as it seemed the natural weave of the branch came undone in a gnarled, empty spiral.


    [Staff of the Frostmagus (rare)]: [Core of Frost], [Quick Freeze]


    A staff shaped from high-quality wood and infused with frozen mana by a woodworker at the pinnacle of the craft.


    He immediately expanded the two properties, praying that the Guild had somehow granted him what he requested.


    [Core of Frost] Increases damage dealt and cooldown reduction of ice spells by 5%.


    [Quick Freeze] Increases cast speed for all ice spells by 5%.


    He was not disappointed. With both cooldown reduction and increased cast speed, it was ridiculously powerful for tier 2. Better than that, it was beautiful. He gladly accepted it.


    Holding it in his hands, he further admired the craftsmanship. It was striking enough that Aaric honestly would have accepted it even if it hadn¡¯t been precisely what he wanted. Appearances mattered, after all, and Aaric knew that walking around with this staff would make a statement. He¡¯d seen tier 4s with less-impressive looking weapons!


    In his party chat, the scout was also providing his feedback.


    <blockquote>


    Scout: I actually can¡¯t tell whether they put one of their best crafters on that or merely paired a great woodworker with a skilled enchanter. It¡¯s high quality work. They want you badly.


    </blockquote>


    Aaric was glad his assessment aligned with the more experienced man¡¯s. He also tried to tamp down the pride he felt at the outside acknowledgement of his value. He remembered the scout¡¯s other advice, though, and reined in his reply a touch, trying to find that golden middle ground between too positive and merely polite.


    ¡°This staff surpasses my expectations. Is there any way for me to deliver my compliments to the crafter or crafters? I would also be interested in learning whether they might consider further commissions.¡±


    The front man, Malcolm, inclined his head politely. ¡°I am glad that everything is to your satisfaction, sir, and will deliver your gratitude personally once the crafter returns from their month aloft. But I must tell you that to commission the crafter of this staff normally might strain even the deepest of noble pockets, and that is before considering their quite substantial backlog of work.¡± He bowed almost apologetically. ¡°But the Guild does recognize quality when it sees it, and in this instance, we thought it might be a worthwhile investment to go above what we were obliged to provide.¡±


    <blockquote>


    Scout: Here it comes. This man¡¯s Class is literally ¡®grand recruiter,¡¯ so be wary. He has skills that make his offers more enticing.


    Aaric: Would he really use them on me in recruitment?


    Scout: Probably not actively enough for you to notice. Some are passives, and thus worth the warning. His presence here shows the Guild¡¯s interest is sincere. Know that any deal he offers will be actionable and official.


    Aaric: Don¡¯t worry. I¡¯ll stick to our strategy.


    </blockquote>


    He had long since lost count of the many times the scout had told him not to join a guild. ¡®Definitely not in tier 2, and ideally not ever,¡¯ he¡¯d said repeatedly. So when the grand recruiter began his sales pitch, Aaric was ready.


    ¡°Might I also impose a bit upon your time, sir, and discuss the great opportunity presented by our encounter?¡±


    Aaric smiled politely but instead of looking up at the man, he instead continued examining his new staff, tracing the coursing blue magic along and through the wood. ¡°No matter how grand the gift, as I already told the last Steelblood representative, I¡¯m not interested in being recruited.¡±


    If he was frustrated by Aaric¡¯s lack of attention on him, he did not show it. ¡°Yes, sir, I am well aware. However, the Guild sees a great and promising future ahead of you, and we think a continued relationship of some sort between us would be mutually beneficial. We wish only to assist in making your potentially historic Path just a touch easier to tread.¡±


    Aaric nodded without letting his face show his rising intrigue, though even that he might have played off as being solely about the staff. ¡°What sort of assistance are you authorized to offer? With the understanding that I find full membership too restricting.¡±


    The grand recruiter gestured toward the fine staff. ¡°You see for yourself the skill we bring to the table, and it is with the same pride we craft every item. I am authorized, as you so accurately put it, to extend a rather unique offer to you. It isn¡¯t every day the realm is blessed with a titled Prodigy, such as yourself.¡±


    Aaric set the thinner end of the staff on the ground and leaned his weight against it. It was a comfortable height--a few finger widths shorter than he was--and despite putting most of his weight against it, the enchanted wood didn¡¯t even flex. ¡°I¡¯m well aware, and that¡¯s part of my hesitation. I want to continue building my own name, not someone else¡¯s. And I don¡¯t want to seem to borrow or worse, be overshadowed, by the Steelblood Guild¡¯s name either. People should know of Aaric Longbloom as his own man.¡± And not just for his family name or as his father¡¯s son, he wanted to add but didn¡¯t.


    Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Malcolm was nodding along with him. ¡°We at the Guild agree, and so, as I said, we wish to offer something unique that we feel will only enhance your already stellar growth... while also connecting us as equal partners, not marking either as superior or inferior.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± Aaric admitted. Whether he would accept such a deal or not was a long way from settled, but he was intrigued to learn what kind of offer they were talking about.


    The grand recruiter gave an easy smile. ¡°Of course. My superiors are offering what they¡¯ve termed a ¡®branding deal,¡¯ though it will be nothing like the branding of steers in your hometown, I can assure you. In actuality, what will happen is you will wear our logo, on our top-end gear, at all times. Of course, we will supply the gear to you free of charge.¡±


    ¡°So I¡¯ll essentially be a walking advertisement for your guild.¡±


    ¡°From a certain point of view, yes.¡±


    Aaric asked his next question quickly, before even seeing the scout¡¯s message to get more solid numbers. ¡°How much gear will you be providing, exactly?¡±


    ¡°Enough for your every visible gear slot.¡±


    ¡°So chest, pants, helm, and gloves?¡± Aaric asked, leaving off a few to test the deal¡¯s limits.


    The grand negotiator was not fooled. ¡°As well as necklace, both rings, belt, and boots, yes.¡±


    That was potentially an incredible amount of coin saved, but he wondered if he could get more from them. ¡°Replaced once, or--?¡±


    ¡°Multiple times throughout the life of your endorsement.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s be specific. How many upgrades, and how often?¡±


    ¡°The whole set, once per tier.¡±


    ¡°Twice,¡± Aaric countered immediately, nearly cutting into the man¡¯s final words.


    He watched Malcolm¡¯s jaw tighten, his mind working on something. ¡°Twice in tier 3, with the second set coming no later than level 37.¡±


    ¡°And even then, this will be absolutely awful at tier 4. You¡¯re basically telling me your interest is only for the near future.¡±


    ¡°If you make it into tier 4. We will add a clause to renegotiate at that point.¡±


    I¡¯ll definitely need to cut ties with them by then.


    ¡°And they¡¯ll all be of this quality?¡± he asked, lifting his staff and tapping it on the floor.


    ¡°Well, not exactly,¡± the man replied, clearly trying to let his smile cover his unease. ¡°As I previously mentioned, your staff was made by one of our pinnacle crafters, who also happens to be one of our charter members, and their time is incredibly valuable. However, per the terms of your deal, the Guild will always provide top-end gear.¡±


    ¡°What if I find something better in a dungeon?¡±


    The man visibly fidgeted, shifting his weight from one foot to another. ¡°The Guild will be willing to discuss that at such a time as such an unlikely event occurs.¡±


    ¡°And it will require me to wear that ridiculous teardrop all the time?¡±


    Malcolm did not take the bait and maintained a face of utmost professionalism. ¡°When out in public, yes.¡±


    Aaric raised a finger. ¡°The gear will have to look good.¡± He flicked his glance at the two rear messengers behind Malcolm and gave a slight grimace. ¡°Not like that.¡±


    The other two guild members both looked shocked, with the lowest leveled scaleborn actually flaring his nostrils and inhaling sharply.


    Yet the grand recruiter merely smiled. ¡°Guildmade gear does look good, especially given its function and, more importantly, its extremely high quality. You will find that no challenge at your tier will your gear keep you from handling.¡±


    Aaric appreciated the subtle return jab. ¡°Clearly your aesthetic and mine are not the same... tier.¡±


    ¡°We will arrange for a stylist to consult with you about your desired appearance, thus allowing us to tailor your gear to meet your demands--prior to your first full delivery, of course. We will want to make sure that everything meets your approval.¡±


    <blockquote>


    Scout: Don¡¯t get too caught up in appearances, Aaric. I know how you are. This sounds like a decent deal so far, though I will remind you that the more you keep him talking, the more you can negotiate and hold them to later. Specifics are good.


    </blockquote>


    Aaric nodded silently, still not looking toward the scout. ¡°Then this all sounds like a good starting point to me. I just wonder what else this arrangement will entail. I want to be sure I understand exactly what the Steelblood Guild hopes to gain from being associated with me.¡±


    ¡°Well, since your star is rising so quickly and shining so brightly,¡± the man began, embellishing on Aaric¡¯s words in a clear attempt to build him up, ¡°we would encourage you to make a rather public splash in the near future. In a similar vein to how you essentially sleep-walked through what should have been a stacked field of talent in the recent Rockmoor Dueling League, we thought you might be interested in entering... the Tier 3 Tournament in Camille.¡±


    Aaric was interested. In fact, it was something he and the scout had discussed in great length already. But he did not look toward his advisor. He didn¡¯t want to overplay their hand. ¡°I¡¯ve given it some thought.¡±


    ¡°Of course you have. But had you considered going as early as level 21?¡±


    Aaric looked away so as to not show the smile that immediately crept across his face. Vindicated! Precisely when he would enter the tournament had been something he and the scout had discussed at such length and with such passion that some might have called it a fight.


    The scout insisted that they should wait, dismissing Aaric¡¯s concerns by saying they were doing well enough financially that they didn¡¯t need to push to the tournament quite so soon.


    But Aaric also remembered what the man had said before: that everything he had was thanks to his parents. And Aaric hated that that was true. Tournament winnings would remedy that.


    And going to the Tier 3 Tournament in Camille early...! Aaric knew it would be the best way to challenge himself and his Path. No matter how much he wanted it, he wasn¡¯t going to just let these guild people see his aspirations. He was a better negotiator than that. ¡°That¡¯s a dangerous proposition.¡±


    ¡°We could make it less so,¡± the grand recruiter offered, taking a seat opposite Aaric. The two others followed suit, having clearly waited until Malcolm did so first.


    The scout, however, did not sit. He didn¡¯t move at all from his perch against the wall. If anything, he probably preferred his view now that he was off to the side and not directly in the three men¡¯s line of sight.


    In an attempt to not seem overeager, Aaric began channeling mana through his new staff, generating some frost slightly quicker than usual on his other hand. ¡°How could you do that, exactly?¡± He didn¡¯t like the way the man had said it. ¡°I¡¯m a prodigy; I don¡¯t have to cheat to win, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re implying.¡±


    ¡°We would never interfere with the sanctity of the Tournament itself,¡± Malcolm quickly said, sounding genuinely insulted. ¡°What I was suggesting was that, if you enter as our representative, we could provide you with even further enhanced gear that would give you a greater edge than you already have. Higher-level affixes and properties, stuffed down into early-tier gear. It could easily level the playing field, especially since you¡¯ll likely find yourself matched against a few level 39 opponents.¡±


    At that, Aaric finally, openly smiled. ¡°I¡¯d be very interested to see what your crafters could offer to help even that kind of playing field.¡±


    <blockquote>


    Scout: I¡¯m impressed. That was well negotiated.


    </blockquote>


    Aaric finally allowed himself a glance back toward the scout, and they shared a nod.


    He ran a bit more of his mana through his staff, causing it to flare briefly. Then he extended his hand to the grand recruiter. ¡°With all of this spoken aloud and witnessed by both sides, I believe we¡¯ve got ourselves a deal.¡±

 [B2C5] Chapter 58: First

    Chapter 58: First


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    ¡°No, you need to take a break,¡± Sophie was saying.


    ¡°That''s what we''re doing,¡± Tristan replied. They had finally stopped their horses and dismounted, setting up camp about an hour¡¯s ride outside of Tenia. Though that still wasn¡¯t far enough away from that fight for Tristan. He wouldn¡¯t have minded putting another day or two between them and the town. Or just going home entirely.


    Honestly, anywhere would be better than being in Tenia, and the thought of home reminded him of much better food than what they¡¯d had on this gods-pitied hunt. But here they were.


    Sophie shook her head. ¡°That''s not what I mean, and you know it. What we just went through wasn¡¯t normal.¡± She began unpacking a few pots and setting them around the campfire Tristan had just started with his [Portable Forge]. ¡°It¡¯s the kind of experience that will turn into trauma even if you''re too close to realize it yet. You need to trust me on this, and not just brush it off like it¡¯s nothing!¡±


    ¡°Sophie, I¡¯m fine,¡± Tristan repeated for what felt like the tenth time.


    ¡°You¡¯ve nearly died--!¡±


    ¡°But I didn''t--¡±


    ¡°--Twice!¡± she continued, setting one of the pots down a bit too firmly.


    The clatter roused Poof, who had still been resting in the saddle of Sophie''s horse. The astral meeped until Sophie came over and set her on the ground.


    ¡°I didn''t nearly die against the second guy,¡± Tristan corrected. ¡°Besides, all I¡¯m talking about is maybe doing a bit of scouting, seeing if people recognize any of these remaining names. Maybe riding through a few more regions to see if my quest updates. We could also try to listen for stories along the way. Anyone wearing the {Legendslayer} title is bound to attract attention.¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t die against Venom because Sneakers sacrificed himself for you!¡± she practically hissed at him. ¡°Why do you possibly need to go and scout for them so soon? No, you need to slow down first. Besides, Venom wasn¡¯t even wearing that title,¡± Sophie pointed out. At her feet, Poof was eying the bag hanging around Sophie¡¯s shoulder, where she had stored their rations.


    Tristan shuddered at hearing the monster¡¯s name again. ¡°We both know why.¡±


    Sophie shrugged, setting the first pot over the fire, where it warmed quickly. By the smell of it, and the happy cooing meeps, she was preparing the last of their stew. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean the others won¡¯t do similarly,¡± she continued, ¡°if they have other, equally powerful or impressive titles, too.¡±


    Tristan didn¡¯t want to think about that possibility. Titles like {Legendslayer} were in a league most people wouldn¡¯t ever reach. To have earned even one was a major deal... and Venom had two. Just how many innocent lives must he have fed to that accursed title to make it better than {Legendslayer}? He stopped himself before he thought on it too long. He refused to give the monster any more of his time.


    ¡°And how likely is that?¡± he asked.


    ¡°About as likely as me giving up on you taking a break,¡± Sophie challenged, rising up to her full height again and pushing one finger into the front of Tristan¡¯s shirt. ¡°You are taking a break, Tristan. You need some downtime.¡±


    Behind her, Poof had drawn almost all the way up to the pot and was sniffing, eyes half-slitted with excitement.


    ¡°For how long?¡± Tristan asked. ¡°Weren¡¯t you just saying how close you were to leveling up again? We can¡¯t just stop completely!¡±


    ¡°For the sake of our mental health we can,¡± Sophie shot back. She moved back to Poof, picked her up, and began to stroke her after replacing the bow on her head. Poof immediately started squirming as if trying to escape the astralist¡¯s arms.


    Sophie didn''t seem to mind. ¡°And don¡¯t try to make this about me. There¡¯s no reason for you to push yourself this hard. You¡¯re a bit too focused right now. By the gods, you haven¡¯t even chosen your final Secondary Class yet, and you¡¯re midway through second tier! Most people do that immediately in tier 2.¡± She sighed. ¡°I also know that you¡¯re not most people. I get that you¡¯re excited to make more progress on your big quest--"


    ¡°It¡¯s a Path quest.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know, Tristan. Those words aren¡¯t going to make me just bend over like they did with Jamal. I care about more than just your reputation,¡± Sophie scolded. ¡°But it can wait, Tristan. It needs to wait.¡± She caught and held his eyes, the hint of a quiver in her voice. ¡°I might have only been in the room at the very end, but what I saw... What I witnessed through Sneakers¡¯ eyes? What we found while we were chasing him? We need time to process!¡±


    Poof finally squirmed out of Sophie¡¯s arms and onto the ground at last, immediately running to nuzzle at Tristan¡¯s leg.


    Tristan sighed, picking up the adorable fuzzball. He didn¡¯t have the energy to fight Sophie on this. She might even be right, he thought, as much as it pained him to admit it. He had been through some things he¡¯d rather forget. And he hadn¡¯t really thought about what his final secondary Class would be in... well, it had been too long.


    Poof, now firmly in his arms, nipped at his fingers slightly, almost in warning, like he¡¯d been pressing too hard. He frowned when he realized it was true and gave Poof a quick pet in apology.


    ¡°Fine. Whatever. So how do you suggest we do that then? Let me guess: you have something in mind already.¡±


    ¡°As a matter of fact I do.¡± Sophie smiled at him consolingly, ¡°And I know that wasn¡¯t an easy choice, so I appreciate you trusting me.¡± Somehow, that made Tristan let go, just a little bit, of his concern. ¡°Now let me frame it properly, and maybe you¡¯ll also appreciate how amazing I am as a party member. Ready?¡±


    She waited for his nod before continuing.


    ¡°What would you say would be your ideal get-away? If you could go anywhere and do anything, what would you do?¡±


    ¡°Meep. Meep-meep,¡± Poof quickly answered, rocking rhythmically in Tristan¡¯s arms.


    Sophie pulled out the group¡¯s soup bowls and laughed, making Tristan wonder just how well she could understand the little mage. He knew Sophie had actual telepathy with her scout--and he winced at the memory of recent events--but he didn¡¯t think she shared that with Poof. Did that mean he could learn Poof¡¯s... language?


    ¡°But really, Tristan, what would you do?¡± she asked again with a tone that made him wonder if he hadn¡¯t missed her asking something else, too.


    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Find a good anvil, and then make better and better swords. Or at least find someone that could teach me some new techniques. I¡¯d just want to improve my crafting for a while.¡±


    Sophie nodded as if she¡¯d expected that answer all the time. She lifted the lid to check on the stew, but replaced it without ladling any out. Then she turned to face him directly again. ¡°So what if I told you that I could pull a few strings and make that exact scenario happen for you.¡±


    ¡°How...?¡± he asked, letting his wariness draw out the word.


    Poof leaned into his hands a bit more, moving one of her usually-hidden ears under his fingertips.


    Sophie rolled her eyes, but her smile didn¡¯t waver at all. ¡°Well, it would take a little doing--I¡¯ll have to call in a personal favor--but since it would essentially be a nice vacation for me as well, I think it would be a great opportunity for all of us.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not exactly answering my question.¡±


    Sophie¡¯s lips quirked in mild amusement. ¡°That¡¯s true. I¡¯m intentionally leaving the best for last. I want you to really appreciate the opportunity I¡¯m providing here. Think of it as a ¡®thank you¡¯ for helping me get here. To Tier 2, I mean.¡±


    Tristan cocked his head. ¡°But you¡¯re not even there yet... Wait, just how close are you right now?¡±


    Sophie lifted the pot lid again, this time stirring the contents a little with her wooden spoon. ¡°Honestly, probably only one or two decent-level monsters. Close enough that it can wait. Focus, Tristan!" Her smile broadened as she sat in the lengthening silence. Eventually, she stopped stirring the stew and asked, ¡°Have you ever heard of the Crafting Ark?¡±


    Tristan blinked several times. Of course he had. Every crafter in the realm had heard of the blessed Crafting Ark! It was just as mythical and legendary to crafters as Brightshield had been for the downtrodden. It was a place every crafter dreamed of going and spending time, where they could gain boosted experience from the very best teachers, with supposedly endless materials sold at insane discounts. He wasn¡¯t sure how much of what he knew was just stories and how much was true, but he 100% knew that he wanted to find out.


    ¡°You can get us onto the Crafting Ark?¡±


    Sophie¡¯s smile was so big her face could barely contain it. ¡°I can. One of the enchanters that performs maintenance whenever it lands happens to be a good friend, and on top of that he owes me a favor. I didn¡¯t mention it before, because I didn¡¯t know if we¡¯d finish with your... hunt in time, but yes.¡±


    ¡°That would be absolutely incredible.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be even more incredible once we¡¯re on it!¡± Sophie said with a smile.


    - - - - -


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Sophie</h2>


    Just as she''d thought, it only took a few more monsters to earn enough experience for Sophie to feel the rush of energy she''d sought for so long. The moment the fight ended, the golden halo descended around her accompanied by the realm¡¯s favorite sound: Ding!


    Then the greatest notification Sophie had ever seen in her life popped up.


    Are you ready to advance to Tier 2?


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    There weren¡¯t enough words in all of her vocabulary to explain just how eager she was for this moment, and mentally shouted YES! without a thought.


    Then the world around her was gone.


    She found herself back in the pink place that reminded her so much of her old bedroom despite its wide open space. She¡¯d read many different opinions on what this place was. Most tended to agree that it was more of a between than an actual place, so it was easier for you and your Path to actually communicate. She sort of understood why many might feel that way, though she still wasn¡¯t quite sure if she believed that or any of the other theories she¡¯d read. She just knew that this place was the next step toward knowing herself better.


    She found herself thinking about how she would never know which of the furry bugbears in the second pack had earned her that final burst of XP. She hadn¡¯t even looked to see Poof¡¯s expression at the time. She shook her head, knowing full well that none of those trivial details truly mattered. All that mattered were the choices placed before her. She needed to stop being ridiculous and overthinking the minor quibbles of this moment when the world around her was completely changing.


    I can spend time thinking about all that later on, she told herself. For now, let''s see what I''m offered.


    All around her, the pink place still had the exact same heart-shaped clouds her older sister had once described to her and Sophie had been so pleased to see in her Awakening all that time ago. She¡¯d been worried about finding the dark grays her brother had once described to her. Luckily even families didn¡¯t share this place, which meant hers was warm and comforting with the soft lilac scent of her favorite perfume wafting through the air. The major difference this time was that all three of her astrals were present behind her, even Sneakers who she couldn¡¯t use the ritual to summon yet for a few more days. That was unexpected and delightful.


    She turned around to try and interact with them but quickly found that she could not. They were semi-transparent, almost ghost-like, and when she called to them they only barely reacted. It sadly didn¡¯t surprise her at all that she couldn¡¯t physically touch them. She didn¡¯t even mind that she could more or less see straight through them. She was simply glad that they were there.


    A calming and effeminate voice whispered through the clouds like a breeze through a spring meadow. Whether it was the same voice she¡¯d heard at her Awakening she couldn¡¯t really tell, as it had been so long ago. Still, hearing it gave her comfort, and not just for what it said.


    ¡°Sophira Adrielle, with your foundation set in the bonds to your astral allies, you stand before a branch in your Path.


    Will you hold firm to the Path you¡¯ve tread, or chase new horizons?


    Will your core focus grow, be refined, or shift?


    It is time for a new Class.


    You have a choice.¡±


    She knew what was coming. She¡¯d done an excessive amount of reading on the subject of tier-ups, and more than a little bit of dreaming besides. The scroll of notifications went on for what felt like longer than her journey to reach here.


    Congratulations! You''ve reached LEVEL 10!


    This is the second tier milestone!


    New challenges and opportunities will present themselves, as the world begins to shape itself around you.


    These were words Sophie had waited literal years to see. Her eyes skimmed over the text that informed her of all the upgrades and new abilities she received simply from rising beyond tier 1. She had known all of these things were coming. The only one she spent any time reviewing was [Identify], which she considered to be perhaps the most important quality-of-life skill in the realm. It was another step toward independence and not relying on others.


    ¡°Consider every choice carefully,¡± Sophie told herself aloud, repeating the advice of every single guidebook she¡¯d ever read. While she wouldn¡¯t follow every choice the guidebooks suggested, in this case it would be a bit silly of her not to follow its advice.


    The final prompt waited before her eyes.


    Choose Your Class...


    The moment she gave the prompt her attention, five transparent boxes were suddenly floating before her in the pink air. She was thrilled to see that there were five, granting her the most possible options for both her future and the future of her astrals, who were still standing behind her.


    Choose Your Class:


    Advanced Astralist.


    Collector.


    {First} Pure Astralist.


    Summoner General.


    Symbiote.


    For the briefest of moments, Sophie couldn¡¯t believe what she was seeing. Of the five options floating before her was one with a title. And it wasn¡¯t just any title either.


    {First}! She practically yelled the thought. To be the actual first to ever walk a Path and in tier two of all places...!


    Rather than walk straight to it, though, she instead stepped up to the box on the far left. She reached out her hand and read the description as it quickly expanded before her.


    Advanced Astralist:


    No longer a novice in the art of summoning and utilizing your astrals, this offers the natural continuation of your current Class. New skills and upgrades will help you empower your allies to become paragons in their designated roles.


    Stats gained per level: 17.


    She was glad to see that the changes she¡¯d made previously to how the stats were displayed had persisted to this visit. Whatever stats were offered would always make sense for the Class, and it wasn¡¯t like she had to worry about how they would affect her identical secondaries. The only real influencing factor for her was then how many were earned. Besides, she could always examine them later if the choice was a close one.


    As for the Class itself, it had slightly accelerated stat growth for tier 2 and was what most guides recommended astralists take. It would eventually offer a fair number of buffs not only for her astrals but also to other party members. This was when the Class became strong enough for inclusion in some groups without being considered dead weight, and it fared far better in raids. They would still be slightly below the power curve, but in tier 3 they would surpass it.


    Sophie sighed. The Class was a safety net of sorts. It was good to know the option was there if nothing else truly was better. She simply hoped that the other options would not disappoint her enough to need to consider it. She quickly moved on to the next.


    Collector:


    For those seeking to travel across strange lands and be the very best, this Class offers a unique opportunity to discover the power that¡¯s inside all astrals. This partial combat Class cares more for research than battle, preferring to expand their knowledge of all astrals equally rather than developing the few. New skills and upgrades will help you locate and bond with new allies, discover their unique strengths, and always have an answer for any situation.


    Stats gained per level: 19.


    Sophie thought about the class and catalogued its strengths and weaknesses. Offering near-perfect stat growth for tier 2 was obviously good, and the two extra points per level would definitely add up. However, she¡¯d done enough research to know that this advantage was only for this tier and most of the documented follow-up Classes at tier 3 dropped off precipitously. She also didn¡¯t love the idea of stepping away from combat and becoming more of a researcher. If this Class was wanting to build a large stable of astrals, it wouldn¡¯t focus as much on any of them individually. One thing Sophie was absolutely sure of was that Poof, Mister Biggs, and Sneakers were integral to her Path. Her Core even said so!


    Core: [Family First] The bond you maintain with your astrals will influence the strength of their abilities. The greater this bond grows, the greater they are enhanced.


    She would not let any of her three beloved astrals become ¡®just another¡¯ in some ridiculous collection.


    That brought her to the third box.


    {First} Pure Astralist...


    It glittered before her like a polished diamond, but Sophie hesitated. ¡°I need to consider every choice carefully,¡± she reminded herself, and the words she¡¯d heard too many times to ignore helped push her onward. At least for now, she moved on to the fourth box. She would come back soon enough.


    Summoner General:


    For those seeking to broaden their abilities and direct many astrals at a time, this Class offers unmatched versatility and becomes an entire party unto itself. If one astral is great, then commanding a small army of them must clearly be greater. New skills and upgrades will help you maintain and support a small group of astrals at once.


    Stats gained per level: 18.


    This class was a bit more intriguing to Sophie. She knew it wasn¡¯t the typical follow-up to her starter Class, but that was because the traditional wisdom was to focus on empowering one astral at a time. Summoner general was on the entirely opposite side of that spectrum. As the text said, these astralists were able to summon multiple allies at a time. Already in tier 2 they could get as many as five, but she had read that by tier 4 they could have several dozen active at once. As with collector, this was a cool Class, but it did not fit well with her Core.


    Thinking about it, she was wondering if it wasn¡¯t about time to tell Tristan about her Core. He¡¯d told her what his was all the way back in the Deepstone Mines. Maybe someday soon.


    Symbiote:


    For those seeking to become even closer with their astrals, not only to train and empower them but to open their bonds and allow for temporary merging. New skills and upgrades will help you maximize the potential of your astrals, enriching the connection to allow for the melding of strengths and the sharing of abilities.


    Stats gained per level: 17.


    Sophie had already read all about this Class, but from all her experiences and encounters, she had grown to think of symbiotes as a ¡°warning sign.¡± She couldn¡¯t imagine how selfish someone would have to be to siphon power off of their own family. It was vile. It reminded her far too much of her mother.


    That just brought Sophie back to the fifth Class. The one she¡¯d never even heard of before. Of course not, she scolded herself, looking at its attached modifier. I¡¯d be the First.


    {First} Pure Astalist:


    Walking a Path that has never been trod before can be daunting, yet you have dedicated all of your Path to the art of summoning astrals anyway. Always focusing on their improvement, your astrals are more than allies, and your life is inextricably linked with theirs. Your personal strength will wane and instead accelerate that of your astrals, pushing each to the pinnacle and possibly beyond. New skills and upgrades will deepen your connection to them, nurturing and guiding them at the exclusion of all others.


    You will be the {First} if you choose this Path.


    Stats gained per level: 14.


    Sophie stood slack jawed for a moment as she took in the description. It was honestly a bit cryptic, but it still spoke to her in a way that none of the others did. It also felt like it saw and recognized her. Her situation was unique.


    While she¡¯d read accounts of how people in ages past had earned the {First} title, none of them had ever shared what it did. Eagerly she expanded the {First} title, beaming at what she saw. It¡¯s a straight 10% bonus to the Class¡¯s top two stats!


    That would actually turn into a huge amount of Intelligence and Wisdom if she went this route, and she didn¡¯t even have to wear the title to keep the stat boosts if she didn¡¯t want to. A 10% boost to her best stats was more than enough to allow her to overlook this Class¡¯s lackluster stat gains. She also kind of wondered if she would even need better stats with what the Class description said about her astrals¡¯ growth and if the title¡¯s stats also transfer to her astrals.


    Looks like I¡¯ll finally be ahead of those traditional astralists after all. In fact, I¡¯ll be {First}.


    She shook her head, trying to resist the overwhelming excitement that was rushing through her. She looked back at her astrals and smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve got to consider every choice carefully,¡± she said aloud again. For their sakes as much as my own, she added silently.


    Through sheer force of will, she made herself slow down and review all her options. She knew there was no need to rush in this space, and more than anything, her Path depended on the choice she was about to make. She had to do it properly.


    In the end, there wasn¡¯t really a reason why Sophie of all people wouldn¡¯t embrace the recognition that her Path had given her and become the {First} Pure Astralist. She selected the box and began the next part of her journey without any further hesitation.


    The new title was already equipped before the room faded. She could always take it off later if she needed to.

 [B2C6] Chapter 59: Welcome to the Crafting Ark

    Chapter 59: Welcome to the Crafting Ark


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan watched as the girl and her astral both reappeared, and he could tell from the grin on Sophie¡¯s face that something amazing had happened during her tier-up. But rather than just [Identify] her immediately and ruin her surprise, he decided to ask her about it.


    ¡°So, how did it go?¡± he asked, the excitement clear in his voice.


    ¡°I¡¯m a {First}!¡± she yelled louder and louder until she was practically screaming. ¡°I¡¯m a {First}! I¡¯m actually a {First}!¡±


    Tristan watched her hug and shake Poof joyfully. ¡°Congratulations,¡± he replied. ¡°Is that as good as it sounds? Obviously you¡¯re excited, but--¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s even better!¡± Sophie interrupted. ¡°I got five choices, which isn¡¯t even close to guaranteed when you do something as focused as I did, but that didn¡¯t matter because I got offered one Class that hadn¡¯t ever been chosen before.¡± She finally loosened her death grip on Poof and held the fluffy little astral out in front of her. ¡°I¡¯m the first ever pure astralist!¡±


    Tristan found himself smiling with her. ¡°That sounds like exactly what you were looking for! But what does it do? What are its perks?¡± He indicated Poof. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind sharing, of course.¡±


    ¡°Not at all!¡± Sophie replied, clearly excited to talk about it. ¡°I finally have the ability to talk to all of them telepathically, not just Sneakers. And they can talk back too! So that¡¯s pretty awesome. It even has unlimited range.¡± She quietly smiled at Poof for a moment, before blinking back in astonishment. ¡°Well that was a bit rude, Poof,¡± she said, turning back to Tristan with a shake of her head. ¡°We¡¯ll definitely have to work on that.¡±


    Tristan suppressed a laugh. It didn¡¯t really surprise him that Poof would have a bit of an attitude on her. Though he did kind of wonder what the puffball might have said. He guessed that it had to do with all the bows Sophie kept forcing on her.


    ¡°That does sound super useful. Especially the range thing.¡±


    ¡°Each of them also got a new Major Skill, which I can¡¯t wait to test out! And a few other things, too..."


    As her words faded away and her eyes somewhat glossed over, it was clear that she was getting lost in her interface. Tristan would have been content to just smile and wait patiently, understanding how the tier-up process could be a bit overwhelming, but after only a few seconds Poof let out an annoyed meep and began squirming. She actually managed to worm her way out of Sophie¡¯s grip and started to fall--until Tristan caught her.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry little one,¡± he told the astral mage, ¡°she¡¯ll pop out of it soon enough. For now, you¡¯ve got me. Hope that¡¯s alright.¡± He stroked her fur delicately, earning himself a rare coo.


    About a minute later, Sophie blinked rapidly and said, ¡°Sorry about that. I just had to clean up some of the options, rearrange the display, you get it I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Tristan shrugged. ¡°Yeah, I guess. Every so often I pop into my Status and change the abbreviation for Will. It¡¯s kind of fun.¡±


    Sophie scrunched her face up like she¡¯d bitten into something sour. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, you do what?¡±


    ¡°You know, just a fun little tweak to how the Will stat is displayed. I went with 3-letter abbreviations for all the stats--"


    ¡°Obviously,¡± Sophie added, ¡°but--"


    ¡°--But when it came to Will, well, I just switch it up periodically.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make any sense.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, it¡¯s not your Status. I¡¯m thinking next time I might even do M-C-T.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Sophie blanched. ¡°For ¡®Will¡¯? Why?!¡±


    ¡°For Mental Control.¡±


    This time it looked like Sophie tasted something bitter. ¡°I know that¡¯s what the stat does, but as an abbreviation, that¡¯s awful. Please, just promise me you¡¯ll at least never tell anyone else about this.¡±


    Tristan laughed. ¡°No guarantees. What do you use for Will, anyway?¡±


    ¡°W-I-L.¡±


    ¡°But then it looks too much like WIS, which is Wisdom,¡± Tristan said, raising an eyebrow as a sly grin crept across his features.


    Sophie stared at him, then looked down at Poof nestled cozily in his arms. ¡°This is who you choose over me? This?¡± She sighed, in what Tristan hoped was mock agitation. ¡°Anyway, now that that¡¯s done and we¡¯re both Tier 2..."


    ¡°The Crafting Ark?¡± Tristan suggested hopefully.


    ¡°Yep! It¡¯s time for the Crafting Ark,¡± Sophie confirmed. ¡°Though obviously I haven¡¯t had the opportunity to ask my friend yet. I¡¯m sure it won¡¯t be a problem! Let¡¯s go!¡±


    - - - - -


    A week later, they were standing beside what Tristan knew was technically a dock, but it was unlike any dock he¡¯d ever seen before. First and foremost, this one didn¡¯t go into water. No, this dock went up, and up, and up. It went so high into the sky he could only barely make out the landing, or mooring, or whatever it was supposed to be called. And then there was also the ship docked up there, just hanging midair, mocking the laws of gravity.


    The Crafting Ark.


    Even all the way down on the ground, just seeing the ship of legends, he could barely contain his excitement. His hands were covered in sweat, no matter how often he wiped them on his pants. At least he could see he wasn¡¯t alone in his feelings. The only reason he didn¡¯t spend more time studying the long line of people waiting to ascend the stairs was because he was one of them. He also wasn¡¯t exactly in line yet, but Sophie had said she¡¯d have that fixed momentarily, so he let his eyes wander--which was great, because Tristan couldn¡¯t keep his gaze off the amazing airship. How many of the innovations of the realm had happened within its decks? How many crafters had found an Inspiration (or more!) that changed their profession forever?


    Hearing Sophie stomp her foot brought his attention back to the ground. Apparently she¡¯d hit a little snag with her friendly connection.


    ¡°What are you talking about, Willis? You can¡¯t just dance around the fact that you owe me a favor.¡± Her voice went into a low but syrupy sweet growl. ¡°By the gods, I will tell your parents--or maybe even your betrothed--about the assistance you begged me for not six months ago! Do you really want that? Do you really want that secret to come out?¡±


    The young gnomish man ran a shaky hand through his tangled, strikingly blue hair. ¡°Sophie, it''s not that I don¡¯t want to, but--"


    ¡°But when the shoe is on the other foot you suddenly seem to care a lot about the rules, is that what I''m hearing?¡± Sophie didn''t so much as blink as she stared down at the gnome. ¡°I''m not even asking for much, just putting our names on one list!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t think that¡¯s--? Look at the line! This flight has been booked up for months, Soph!¡± He lowered his voice. ¡°There are rumors that Inspiration Jack is about to tier up, and no one knows what that will mean for those aboard.¡±


    Tristan''s ears perked up. Luckily Sophie gave voice to what he''d been thinking, and better than he would have.


    ¡°All the more reason to get us up there, Willis! And you are going to find us adjoining cabins, or so help me, the next time you or your friends find yourselves in legal trouble, you¡¯ll have better luck finding the Sovereign making a second city than me. Is that what you--?¡±


    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.


    Before Sophie had even finished the question, the gnome hurried off, muttering about needing to ¡°talk to some people.¡± Within five minutes, he was back with two tickets in-hand. The moment one of them touched Tristan¡¯s hand, he got a new notification:


    Tristan Hammerson, you have been granted access to the Crafting Ark. May your crafting dreams soar as loftily as this vessel. Watch your step!


    A surge of electric excitement ran down his spine at seeing his name on that line. It was quite literally a dream coming true. Filled with pride, he and Sophie stepped into the line that slowly climbed the long, winding stairway and went all the way up to the Crafting Ark.


    Willis practically hissed at Sophie, ¡°That¡¯s it. We''re all square now!¡±


    ¡°Of course we are, Willis. And thank you.¡±


    Tristan thanked the little blue-haired gnome, too. Then he was gone, letting them stand in line. Tristan didn¡¯t even mind the wait. He just kept staring up until, eventually, up they went.


    And it was a long way up.


    What was more impressive to Tristan, however, was just how big the ship was quickly becoming above him as they approached. He''d seen descriptions and pictures of the Ark, of course, but no description could have ever captured just how massive this ship really was.


    The higher they rose, the harder it was to keep the whole ship in view. He could probably count on one hand the number of things he''d ever seen that were actually larger than the Ark, and that included both the Embrace''s temple and the enchanted canopy in Rockmoor.


    But the Crafting Ark wasn''t even half as old as either of those landmarks. At most it was a hundred years old, according to the stories, and supposedly built from scratch by Inspiration Jack all by himself. Well, that last part Tristan was beginning to have serious trouble believing. Just imagining the magic needed to make any ship fly was beyond his understanding. But this ship was the essence of grandeur. For the whole ship to have been made by one person alone, well, that felt impossible. Especially since it was well known that the man was still a mortal. Surely such an undertaking would have taken one man a whole lifetime.


    As Tristan took his first step off the railed ramp and onto the enormous vessel, he received a surprising notification:


    You have been invited to the Crafting Ark raid. Accept?


    From the look on Sophie''s face, she''s received the same invitation. This is a dream come true. Why would anyone ever refuse? He shook his head in amusement before responding with the easiest Yes of his life.


    Immediately his entire display shifted, shrank, and reorganized, making room for a huge new interface. His vision was suddenly flooded with tons of names and bars, some of which he easily recognized as health and mana. But there were dozens more, some including symbols and timers and more that simply overwhelmed him. There had to be hundreds of people in all, with the number only continuing to grow. It was honestly a cluttered mess, and more than a little daunting.


    He tried to move some of the elements around, and after a few initial hiccups, he actually found it quite easy to do. He was able to filter and organize groups, minimizing several and outright hiding others. It only took a minute to fully return his display to mostly normal.


    ¡°Well, that was a mess,¡± Sophie said beside him. She was stroking Poof in clear agitation.


    Tristan only smiled. He''d found something exciting buried in the raid¡¯s group-member list. Hidden in what must have been the oldest group of all, as it was beneath all the other icons and bars, he''d spotted a name without any other identifiers, and it was marked simply ¡°I.J.¡±


    He''s here somewhere, Tristan thought, genuinely excited. I hope I can find him.


    One look around him, though, put some serious doubt into the ease of such a thing. From where Tristan was standing, he couldn''t see either the ship''s bow or stern end, not that he knew which was which. He also wasn''t entirely sure how many decks were above or below them, mostly because of all the rooms and suites lining the long, seemingly-endless corridors.


    What he did see were lots and lots of people. Some of the other new arrivals were gawking, just like he and Sophie were, but there were even more moving with purpose, carrying or pulling large bags or carts behind them. Each and every one of them wore a similar, determined look on their face, and not a single one held a weapon.


    Everyone here seemed to be a crafter, and they were all clearly hungry for the next leg of their journeys.


    With his own voice barely above a whisper, Tristan directed a question toward Sophie: ¡°What do you think the odds of us meeting Inspiration Jack are?¡±


    ¡°That depends,¡± a nearby elf said, shuffling closer after having clearly overheard Tristan''s question. ¡°How likely are you to have an Inspiration?¡±


    This elf might have had the longest pointed ears Tristan had ever seen. They towered easily a full hand''s length above the elf''s long, braided gray hair. Then again, the man''s beard also nearly touched the floor, despite the man being as tall as Tristan was! He used [Identify] out of habit.


    [Status blocked]


    It was a whole bunch of nothing. It reminded Tristan of the shop in Rockmoor, MidKnight Plate, except this was a person.


    Who is this guy? he wondered.


    ¡°Well, I''m not a crafter,¡± Sophie was saying.


    ¡°And I''ve never had one,¡± Tristan added, ¡°though my father did once. It was while making the [Ossified Darksteel Leg Plates] that eventually Erathor the Wall would buy.¡±


    The old elf clicked his tongue. ¡°I saw those pants once, just before the Wall went to fight the dragon whose foot would flatten him. They seemed well made, though even they couldn¡¯t save him.¡±


    ¡°That wasn''t my father''s fault.¡±


    ¡°Obviously not, young Hammerson. Though, do send your father and mother my best when next you see them. I haven''t had the pleasure of Marrik¡¯s company in over twenty years.¡±


    Tristan blinked back his surprise. ¡°You knew my father? Who are you?¡±


    Sophie elbowed Tristan lightly, whispering, ¡°Don''t be rude.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s perfectly fine, young Adrielle,¡± the elf countered. ¡°I haven''t yet introduced myself, and as you¡¯ve likely noticed, [Identify] is blocked on the Ark.¡±


    That comment sent Tristan into a scanning frenzy, but no matter who or what he tried to [Identify], it all came back the same.


    [Status blocked]


    The elf was still saying something to Sophie about her parents or family, which seemed to be a sensitive subject. Tristan only got pulled firmly back in when the stranger gestured to him. ¡°I actually attended Marrik and Christha''s wedding, after all.¡±


    If the elf¡¯s declaration was true, that would make him one of Marrik Hammerson¡¯s oldest friends, but Tristan had never heard a single word about him. Granted, his father was notoriously tight-lipped about his past, but still!


    ¡°Yet now, having said that,¡± the old elf continued, looking straight into Tristan''s face, ¡°I can see Christha¡¯s eyes in you. Paired with your father''s build, I should have recognized you immediately.¡±


    Tristan felt a little flattered, and his posture straightened a bit, as though to live up to the comparison. ¡°So whose regards shall I send along?¡± he asked.


    At that point, Poof chimed in with an adorable, ¡°Me-meep?¡± and bounded clear out of Sophie''s arms and into the elf''s.


    The old elf''s fingers immediately began to scratch right beside the astral¡¯s oversized eyes, a place Tristan had only recently found that Poof loved. ¡°Spiro,¡± the old elf replied. ¡°Please send my warmest regards.¡±


    ¡°I definitely will,¡± Tristan said, happy to meet someone close to his father.


    ¡°Wonderful! As I once told your father, ¡®May your hammer ever strike true, young Hammerson.¡¯ To you, my budding astralist, I offer my congratulations on your great accomplishment and title. I''m sure I will soon hear of the pride your parents will show once they learn of your increasingly-rare accomplishment.¡±


    Strangely enough, though he carefully handed Poof back to Sophie, his comment seemed to leave her even more tense. Her fingers barely moved across the soft astral¡¯s back, as she only responded with a restrained, ¡°Thanks.¡±


    The old man seemed to already be looking beyond them.


    ¡°Now if you¡¯ll excuse me, there are many other people to meet. If you¡¯re fortunate, maybe we¡¯ll see each other again later. It has been a pleasure meeting the three of you. Welcome to the Crafting Ark.¡±


    ¡°You as well!¡± Tristan replied. ¡°And good luck in your crafting on this voyage!¡±


    Spiro bowed deeply. With a few serene steps, he was off and engaging with another set of new arrivals.


    Tristan found himself bowing in return before he turned back to Sophie and Poof. ¡°He seemed nice.¡±


    ¡°Dangerous,¡± Sophie replied, offering her word as a replacement. ¡°I don''t know who he is, but he knows a lot about both of us considering he can¡¯t [Identify], and he implied even more.¡±


    Tristan watched the elf, Spiro, interacting with the next group of four. ¡°Huh. He just looks like an old elf to me.¡±


    Sophie, standing right beside Tristan, shivered. ¡°He knows my parents... Just do me a favor and be careful anyway.¡± She clearly shook her head, and the chill seemed to descend through her body. ¡°Anyway, want to get to our rooms and unpack a bit before you inevitably get to crafting?¡±


    Tristan nodded. ¡°I don''t have much, but..."


    He broke off mid-thought, completely caught off guard by one of the newest arrivals to the ship.


    ¡°Tempy,¡± he whispered.


    Standing there, not ten paces away, wearing a plain but sleeveless white shirt, was Temperance Harrow.


    She looked up, having just been greeted by the old elf, and for a brief moment Tristan saw her eyes slide right past the elongated ears. To him.


    Their eyes caught.


    And she smiled at him.


    He smiled back, only catching the tail end of what Sophie was asking. ¡°...Know her then?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he managed. ¡°How long is this trip again?¡± He still hadn''t looked away, though she had. She was currently laughing at something the elf had said.


    ¡°A month,¡± Sophie answered, ¡°as it travels almost to Camille. You¡¯ll be able to see The Champion¡¯s Arena before we land.¡±


    Plenty of time, he thought. He shook his head free of his thoughts and looked down at Sophie who was practically rolling her eyes. ¡°Sorry,¡± he began. ¡°Yeah, let''s head to our rooms.¡±


    And then they were walking away. Sophie explained, ¡°I got us each maps,¡± and told all about the ship and their coming ¡®vacation,¡¯ but Tristan only heard pieces of it.


    Plenty of time, he thought with a smile.

 [B2C7] Chapter 60: Orientation

    Chapter 60: Orientation


    <h2 style="text-align: center">Tristan</h2>


    Tristan had barely gotten to his cabin and set down his bag before a knock came on the door from the adjoining room.


    ¡°Tristan, just set your stuff down so we can catch the next introductory assembly in the Grand Theater. The next one starts in about ten minutes, but after that we¡¯d have to wait another hour.¡±


    Tristan looked at the bag he''d packed with all his clothes. Yeah, they can wait.


    He opened the door and Sophie swooped in, followed by the plodding majesty of Mister Biggs. ¡°By the map, we''re only a few halls over and three decks down. We''ll be there in no time.¡± She glanced around. ¡°I see your room is as small as mine. Oh well, at least we got an adjoining suite.¡±


    Glancing around his quarters, Tristan was mildly put off by Sophie¡¯s comment. This room was actually quite a bit larger than, well, every bedroom in their house back in Woodsedge. Yes, it was smaller than the place he¡¯d had at Jamal¡¯s estate, but what wasn¡¯t? There was a large bed, a dresser, two chairs around a table, and even a separate ¡®crafting nook¡¯ in the corner. It was not a small room.


    He just shrugged it off and patted Mister Biggs. ¡°I thought it was Poof¡¯s turn? Not that I mind seeing you, big guy.¡±


    Sophie smiled at him. ¡°We¡¯ve got to move quickly, and this place is packed. You¡¯ll see.¡± Then she was at the door and waving him through it.


    The corridors were all fairly packed, and immediately Tristan understood why Sophie had exchanged Poof for Mister Biggs. The massive bear-lion was roughly the same height as Tristan, but much stouter, and with him leading the way, everyone moved aside. As long as Sophie and Tristan followed closely behind, their path forward was simple and easy. In fact, it only took a few minutes before they walked through a pair of tall double doors into a wide-open meeting place that Tristan guessed was in the center of the ship. Dozens of people were already there, sitting in terraced rows all around a central, circular stage.


    On that stage were four figures, each so unique that his mother might even call the group eclectic.


    The first from left to right might have been the shortest non-faerie person Tristan had ever seen, but he couldn¡¯t even be sure they weren¡¯t one. The stranger honestly looked more like an arrangement of baggy clothing than a person, with no skin showing at all. Between their large, clearly-telescoping goggles, turban-esque headscarf, and mask that covered both nose and mouth, there was nothing even remotely identifiable about the person.


    The next person was the exact opposite: a hardly-dressed, very fit, emerald-skinned man with long flowing hair down to his pecs. He wore a leather loincloth, leather bracers, leather boots, and a toothy smile. He was the one positioned closest to the center of the stage, and Tristan couldn¡¯t help but notice a substantial gap on both sides of him. It was almost as if the two beside him wanted to avoid getting too close.


    The third person looked exactly like the stereotypical wizard Tristan had often read books about. This was a human with a long white beard that practically blended into his flowy white robes. Beneath his bushy eyebrows, a pair of half-moon spectacles rested atop a rather pointy nose. There was even a pointed hat atop his head, which somehow made Tristan want to laugh. Of course, when he tried to [Identify] it to see whether it was for stats or fashion, its status was blocked.


    The fourth and final person was a dwarven woman who literally glowed from the halo floating above her head all the way down to the sandals on her feet. She had tanned, almost copper skin, and wore her pitch black hair in elaborate braids, punctuated by rings of gold, glowing gems, and other ornaments.


    There was a general buzz about the room, as most of the people in the audience were talking amongst themselves. Tristan looked questioningly at Sophie, not really knowing what to say, but she seemed to still be intently studying the four central figures on stage. Mister Biggs was sitting quite contentedly on her other side, looking almost like a monarch seated on a throne.


    A big, furry, majestic monarch, Tristan thought.


    ¡°It¡¯s almost time,¡± Sophie began, ¡°I wonder if they¡¯ll--"


    A loud but crystal-clear voice suddenly filled the entire room, cutting Sophie off. ¡°Good morning everyone! It is time to begin, and since time here on the Crafting Ark is our most precious resource, I won¡¯t waste it!¡±


    Tristan shifted to look once again at the central stage, where the green-skinned and shirtless man had begun to circle around the chairs and his fellows, taking in everyone present with his sweeping gaze.


    ¡°My name is Bobby, and I¡¯ll be the Ark Director for this voyage. What that basically means for all of you (the ones smart enough to come to our orientation meeting),¡± he said with a wink, ¡°is that if you have any questions throughout the course of our trip, you can come and ask me directly. I promise that there are no bad questions here, and I¡¯ll gladly answer any that don¡¯t specifically break the rules of the Ark.¡±


    At Tristan¡¯s side, Sophie had begun to lean forward. He wasn¡¯t sure if she was interested in Bobby or the rules or what, but she was clearly paying careful attention.


    ¡°As for those rules, well, we¡¯ll get to them in a moment. Before that, I¡¯d like to introduce our most esteemed--which does not equate to highest tier--staff first,¡± he said, indicating all three people behind him before returning to the one that was fully covered. ¡°This enigma to my left here is Selendyr, and they will serve as our emergency responder--as well as our enforcer--should either need arise. There¡¯s practically nothing their potions and creations can¡¯t handle.¡±


    The bundled up, goggled person in the first chair stood briefly on their chair and waved around to the audience. Even so doing, they were so short that their hand barely managed to pass the top of the chair.


    From habit, Tristan tried to [Identify] the bundle of clothes, but all he got was the increasingly-familiar Status Blocked message.


    ¡°Next up we have Vernon, our chief engineer,¡± Bobby said, pointing toward what Tristan had thought was just a normal-looking old, wizardly man. ¡°And though he may look older than the realm itself, that¡¯s mostly because he is! Luckily for all of us, thanks to all that experience, he¡¯s basically able to fix anything! He¡¯s also got far more tricks up his robe than you¡¯d ever believe.¡±


    The old, white-clad man merely raised one hand while giving Bobby a thoroughly unimpressed look. ¡°I go by Vern.¡±


    ¡°Sure you do, Vernon. Sure you do,¡± Bobby continued. ¡°And last, but certainly not the least in any gathering, is our enchanter extraordinaire, Kimmeck, but I would not recommend you ever call her Kimmy, unless you want to be completely disenchanted!¡±


    The dwarven woman clearly rolled her eyes. She also held up a piece of paper, which immediately started to hover in front of her before it caught fire, burning so thoroughly nothing was left... except for the magical script that somehow floated in the air above her in bright white lettering: ¡°Strike 1, Bobby.¡±


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°She¡¯s such a jokester,¡± Bobby added, but his new laughter felt nervous to Tristan. He rather believed the severity that entered his next warning. ¡°Seriously, no one should call her that. Another thing we shall not joke about is how incredibly talented she is with all sorts of enchantments, scrolls, and--rarest of all, what you just witnessed--talismans!¡±


    This time, the woman stood and took a slight curtsey before briefly turning to acknowledge all assembled and gracefully lowering herself back into her seat.


    ¡°She¡¯s also the only person this voyage certified to handle the portals to and from the Ark, so if something drastic or dreadful happens, and you find that you absolutely must leave this floating paradise, she¡¯s your dwarf!¡±


    Bobby turned to each of the seated individuals once again and gave them a general applause, which was quickly picked up by the audience, Tristan and Sophie included.


    ¡°But now that introductions are done, it¡¯s time to talk about the good stuff! What I like to call our ¡®Ark Expectations.¡¯¡± He lowered his voice to a near whisper, which Tristan thought was ridiculous since his every sound was still clearly broadcast throughout the room. ¡°Even if everyone else might call them ¡®rules,¡¯ I¡¯ve always thought rules were made to be broken. So yeah, expectations: Heeeeere they are!¡±


    Bobby snapped his fingers, and a notification suddenly appeared in Tristan¡¯s display. Tristan clearly wasn¡¯t the only one surprised, as a collective gasp went around the theater.


    <blockquote>


    Crafting Ark Expectations


    1. Absolutely no fighting or dueling. Anywhere.


    2. [Identify] is totally blocked, except for judges.


    </blockquote>


    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t recommend trying to break or even bend any of these rules, either,¡± Bobby said after a suitable amount of time for everyone present to read. ¡°It¡¯s a long way down to the ground.¡±


    Others around the audience chuckled at that, but Tristan couldn¡¯t help but notice that Bobby did not. Not even a little bit. The green man¡¯s handsome face was solid and still, and for the first time he wasn¡¯t even smiling. It gave Tristan a little shiver--the man¡¯s threat had been literal.


    ¡°No doubt you¡¯ll have already brushed up against our second rule there,¡± Bobby continued, ¡°but I¡¯m here to tell you that it¡¯s specifically to protect everyone¡¯s crafting secrets.¡± He nodded knowingly, and he even pointed playfully at a few people in the audience, as if he could see they had something to hide. ¡°It¡¯s also what allows everyone aboard to craft out in the open--if they so choose. Of course we do offer more reclusive workshops for those of you that might have techniques, skills, or Cores you don¡¯t want others to see, so please don¡¯t think you have to do all your crafting in your quarters. Seriously, all of our established workspaces are designed and supplied to assist you in whatever you might need. We¡¯ve spared no cost, as you¡¯ll quickly learn. Just another perk of being aboard the Crafting Ark! So don¡¯t worry about whether you¡¯re a first-time flyer or weathered wings, we welcome any and all crafters--or at least those capable of paying for a ticket, am I right?¡±


    He waited a little as the audience gave him a fresh round of applause and cheers. ¡°I thought as much. No shame in that at all! In fact, raise your hand if you¡¯re a first-time passenger on our magnificent Ark!¡±


    Tristan raised his hand hesitantly, looking around the room to see that only about half of those present also had their hands up. Why are the returners here too?


    ¡°Wow, look at all those beautiful, lucky people! You¡¯re all joining a very elite group, and I am proud to say WELCOME!¡± He walked around the stage, facing all the different angles as he applauded the newcomers.


    ¡°If you check your maps--which you should have picked up at boarding--you¡¯ll see that the ship¡¯s upper decks are all broken up into areas for different crafting types. There¡¯s also the central market, which isn¡¯t just for salesmen and vendors to ply their trades. No, sirs and madams, it¡¯s also where you can try to acquire some of the greatest crafting materials in the realm for a fraction of what they¡¯d go for anywhere else! So, study that map, and figure out where to best spend the majority of your time here. The Crafting Ark literally has it all!¡±


    There was another round of applause, but Bobby quieted it after a few seconds.


    ¡°And now that we all understand what¡¯s at stake, let¡¯s just review why everyone is here in the first place! The Crafting Ark is the most unique establishment in all the realm. It¡¯s a place made for crafters by crafters, and while your ticket gets you on the ship, you¡¯re only allowed the multitude of perks if you maintain a positive standing. Ultimately, you all are here--as I¡¯m sure you¡¯re aware--by invitation only. You are guests here of our great benefactor, Inspiration Jack!¡± Bobby hurried the next bit, saying it nearly out of the side of his mouth. ¡°Though don¡¯t expect to see much of him, as he¡¯s always exceptionally busy!¡± His smile beamed out toward the crowd, showcasing pristine white teeth--and two clearly larger fangs.


    ¡°As for what he¡¯s doing, well, granting us all the amazing boon that should be going online in the next few hours or so. By the end of the day for sure. Trust me, you¡¯ll know once it¡¯s up! The party will really start then. But Jack, being ever the considerate man he is, wants to afford the opportunity for his guests to acclimate to their new surroundings and (as you smart folks have) attend one of these wonderful introductory meetings! Good on all of you for being here so quickly!¡±


    Bobby winked at the crowd as he continued to parade around the stage. Tristan couldn¡¯t help but notice that he kept striking clearly-practiced poses that all showed off either his arms, abs, or a combination of more muscle groups.


    ¡°And yes, the boon truly is as great as you¡¯ve all heard: it¡¯s a full 30 percent boost to experience gained in ANY crafting Class!¡±


    A new round of applause swept the room, and Tristan got swept up in it once again. That kind of experience boost was going to be extremely helpful! At his side, Sophie actually looked a little dejected, and it took Tristan a moment to realize why.


    Looking his way at last, she shrugged. ¡°And here I am with no crafting Class.¡± She sighed. ¡°So it goes. It will be amazing for you though!¡±


    Tristan appreciated the smile she put on quickly, but before he could really respond, the applause died out and Bobby¡¯s enhanced voice was heard again.


    ¡°That¡¯s not all, my fine crafting friends! We¡¯ve got all sorts of activities and events scheduled for you this month. The most impressive--and famous--of all being our Cruise-Crafted Contests! That¡¯s right, we¡¯re keeping the tradition alive, and we¡¯ll be holding contests for all crafters, all tiers, of both secondary and primary Classes! Anything that you make exclusively on this voyage can be entered, with the deadlines for secondary Class crafts being in 3 weeks, and the most challenging contest of all, for primary Class crafts, being held on the final two days! It¡¯s a lot to take in, I know, but as I¡¯ve said, my name is Bobby, and I am here to help you out and answer your questions! So, once again, I welcome you all to the Crafting Ark! Now let¡¯s see what you¡¯re made of!¡±


    The green man thrust both his hands into the air, and music began to play as confetti started raining down all over the room. But even with all that happening, Tristan was again surprised to see another notification pop up in his display.


    [Quest unlocked: All Play and No Work]


    Complete all the community tasks put forward by the founder of the Crafting Ark. Required tasks:


    Attend an orientation meeting


    Explore 2 or more different crafting zones


    Eat a meal in High Dining


    Buy something in the Central Market


    Attend a lesson


    Make something worthy


    Attend an event during the Finale Celebration


    Complete a voyage


    Rewards: Title, Bonus XP


    Laughter bubbled forth from his chest as he turned to look at Sophie. She, too, was smiling now, and it wasn¡¯t just the forced one she¡¯d donned for his benefit.


    ¡°It¡¯s as good as they said it was,¡± she said, turning to look at Tristan at last. ¡°None of these requirements are even that hard. They¡¯re just things to do. This is going to be fun!¡±