Max_51
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Chapter 77
🕑 Added 2023-04-05 04:10:49 +0000 UTC-0-0-0-0-0-
The Guardian's Throne Room, The Sixth Floor, The Dungeon
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Jerrad looked down at the remains of the Guardian, and despite the fact he should be triumphant at their success, he felt a little cheated. Oh, sure, the fight was brutal.
The Guardian was a fearsome foe and not one liable to go down quickly or easily. But at the same time...
"That was not the same Elemental," he stated quietly, staring at the gradually cooling metal remains. "It looked nothing like the being we saw." His blindfolded wife nodded.
"The Elemental we saw looked like fire in the shape of a woman, mimicking long hair and a dress. This one was a floating ball of fire and molten metal, which used tentacles to attack." The woman looked at Ducan and Harald, then at the rest of the raid, who had finished defeating the Guardian's attendants. "So, knowing it now has at least two elementals... So where is the other one?"
"There's only one answer to that," Ducan answered uneasily, the archer looking troubled. "Down. The dungeon moved it closer to its core. Perhaps to have it benefit from a higher mana density? It must have been moved before the dungeon's... transformation or whatever it's doing. Who knows how strong it is now." The four shared serious looks as the other two parties joined them.
"Is it just me, or was that too easy?" Haythem commented, sheathing his blade. The mace-wielding paladin Bertram stood to his right and the crossbow-wielding Flasa to his left. They seemed to share his unease. Jerrad nodded at the young man solemnly.
"Good instincts, Haythem," he complimented, and the younger man swelled with pride. "You're right; it was. This Delve has been smoother than any we've been on before, which we can only attribute to the dungeon's interference. It's been more involved in hindering our delves than I'd thought. But beyond that, this isn't the fight we were anticipating." He looked to his wife, who took over swiftly.
"The Elemental we were expecting to fight wasn't here, which means it's been moved deeper. How long ago, we have no idea. Either way, beyond this point, is a tunnel system. Be prepared for close-quarters fighting with limited mobility." Isid looked at each guilder as she spoke. Jerrad couldn't help but love her competence and decisiveness. Others had asked him why he let his wife run their party, and all they needed was a single raid with her to understand.
She was a force of nature. A natural leader. She'd have been earmarked for a leadership position in the guild years ago. However, she'd grown up with a Guildmaster for a father and knew intimately what the job entailed. She wanted none of it.
His wife had a lust for battle, and, he had to admit, so did he. Neither of them would be content to settle into a desk job for anything.
"All right, everyone ready?" Isid asked, to nods and various 'Ayes.' "Good. Let's go. Heads on swivels. Ears open. We're going into unknown territory."
With that, the raid moved through the doorway behind the throne. There were a few dozen yards of passages and a few empty rooms. Eventually, the reddish rock transitioned to slate grey. From tunnels more resembling lava tubes to something that bore signs of obvious tooling, regardless of the wooden supports every few yards.
"Mines, huh? I remember this dungeon that formed at the bottom of a mine," Ducan idly commented. The archer ran a hand down a wooden support. "It was a small thing. Drove the miners out with its mutants. By the way, this wood is almost identical to the stuff I've seen the builders use on the surface. It must come from trees on the Third or perhaps further into the dungeon."
"So, who are the miners, then?" Jessikar, the lightning mage, asked. No one answered. They moved on quickly. After passing the entrance chamber and navigating through a few tunnels, they found their answer.
A group of lizardmen of the same species as Mushu emerged from around a corner with weapons lowered but not sheathed and stances open. On seeing the group of guilders, they stopped but kept their weapons lowered. Three bore picks with axe heads on the reverse side. Two wielded loaded crossbows. One wore an intricately sewn robe with half a dozen seemingly-magical artifacts. Jerrad shared a quick look with his wife.
Friendlies? He asked in sign.
Potentially. Guard up. Isid replied.
"Hail, denizens of the dungeon," Isid called aloud, stopping a dozen yards from the monsters. The guilders assumed a similar stance, weapons out but lowered. "I assume you wish to talk, given you're not attempting to kill us?" The blindfolded woman asked, her tone slightly joking in what Jerrad assumed was an attempt to lighten the mood.
"Correct, guilder." The mage-monster stated. As always, Jerrad marveled at their command of Phenocian. There wasn't even the hint of a hiss in the monster's tone. "I am Ozone, the lightning shaman of the Drake-Kin Shaman Council. Tear himself has empowered me to represent all Children of The Creator on this floor."
"I am Isid Losat, Platinum-rank Guilder of the Medea Island Dungeon. As the aunt of the Guildmistress of the Medea Island Guildmistress, Layla Losat, I have been similarly empowered to act for the Guild, but not the Nobility, of Medea Island." Isid responded with all seriousness. "What business does your Shaman Council have with us?"
"To begin, I am here to explain the rules of this floor. Every monster that you kill here, you will face again in a gauntlet until you reach Tear. This does not reset after leaving the floor or dungeon. As you are known to us as reasonable and capable, it was decided this would be explained to you. Feel free to share this information with your Guild. Death is a disorienting experience I would rather not experience again."
Jerrad was troubled at this revelation. They'd known some monsters could cheat death somehow and return to fight again. They'd thought it was restricted to the Guardian and other key monsters, but for all the monsters on a floor to be granted that same ability...
"Secondly, we know you have open trade with the Capriccio of the Sixth. They've shared their experience with us, and we would be open to a similar deal. We can exchange various metals or tools for something of equal value." Isid was silent for a moment, and Jerrad could understand why.
Trading for the wool was significant. A material they could easily fashion into equipment practically necessary for this dungeon? Lifesaving. Establishing a source of metal and tools, they would otherwise have to obtain from the mainland? Almost certainly priceless.
"Would the mana-conductive metal the manabeings use as physical bodies be included in this deal?" Isid asked. Ozone narrowed his eyes at her and slowly nodded.
"Not in a raw form, and we would need a binding agreement that the weapons we trade you would not be used against The Creator or any monster in these halls. That metal which you take from the bodies of the manabeings of the Courts is free for you to use, but we will not be responsible for handing you the weapons you would turn on us and The Creator. Perhaps a rune that would glow only in high-mana environments, like the dungeon, which would mark the weapons as made by our smiths. Guilders found carrying these weapons in the dungeon..." Ozone let his words hang in the air. "But that is for another time. We have more pressing business to deal with.
"I assume you know the four powerful guilders who've delved into our Creator's halls?" The monster asked.
"We are," Isid responded, her tone even. "They entered without our knowledge, bribing guards to do so, and stole valuable information. One of our tasks here is to return them to the surface to pass judgment and recover the stolen information." Isid replied. Ozone smiled.
"You will find it hard to pass judgment on the dead," the monster bragged. "I've recently been informed that two have fallen on the Eighth. Of the two remaining, one delivers herself to us, and the other pushes deeper to his doom."
"What do you mean by, 'Delivers herself to us'?" Isid asked, seemingly off-balance. Jerrad knew he was. Two of Them were dead? Which survived, and which was mad enough to continue on alone?
"Yes. The robed woman Auora, by all appearances, had a falling out with the other two members after the fourth perished. Hallmark, the angry armored one, foolishly continues to delve. If you accompany me back to the Sixth, Auora will pass through shortly." The monster clarified, waving his hand back down the hallway the guilders had approached from.
Jerrad did not like the idea of monsters at their backs, even if they were professing friendship. His wife seemed to share his apprehension.
"Why did the Third's Guardian not inform us of this? He is capable of it, is he not?" She asked pointedly. It had occurred to Jerrad that said Guardian could have passed them the information... and the Capriccio, too, for that matter.
"Lord Mushu is... too rigid," Ozone shook his head, the monster seeming sad to admit it. "He's very set in his ways. He was given a duty by The Creator to give no quarter to guilders attempting to pass through and to just... let them pass? He would not do it." The monster tilted his head to the side.
"If you wish to capture the woman, she is coming through soon. We should go to the entrance, lest she passes us by completely." The monster insisted.
"By all means, after you." Isid agreed, flourishing her hand to the side while the other behind her back made some quick signs. Move side tunnel. Wary, but not first attack.
Jerrad and the other guilders pressed themselves against the side of the wall, leaving enough room for the monsters to pass them by and lead the way. Ozone seemed... amused and chuckled slightly.
"Of course, of course. I should have expected such caution from ones who have survived The Creator's Dungeon for so long..." The monster said, seemingly to himself.
The group of Drake-kin passed by the tense and wary guilders... but nothing happened. It wasn't a trap, at the very least, and Jerrad breathed a sigh of relief. He shared another look with his beautiful wife, and they followed the group of friendly monsters.
Just another weird thing he'd never thought he'd be doing before this dungeon had been discovered.
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The Second Peak, The Eighth Floor, The Dungeon
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Hallmark was filled with an unceasing, relentless Rage.
Chana had been struck down in an ambush. In an attempt to punish the monsters responsible, Hallmark had trapped himself in a deep crevasse. It'd taken almost twenty hours before Xerat and Auora had found him and pulled him out. In the wake of his Xerat forgetting who they were speaking in front of, he'd been forced to explain the actual plan to the woman.
Auora hadn't taken it well and decided to try her luck in leaving the dungeon on her own. Xerat had almost gone with her, but Hallmark had called in a few dozen favors owed, and the furious and resigned water mage remained with him.
And all that led him to this. Hallmark pulled himself up the final plank and finally reached the ledge the thrice-damned rope bridge attached to. With a heave, he pulled himself up and rolled over the edge. He lay there a moment, shuddering. He wasn't shivering. No, he wasn't cold. He was trembling with an all-consuming rage that'd been slowly building since the Seventh's Guardian had thrown him down those stairs.
"GgrrrrrrraaaAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH" Hallmark released his rage in a scream that echoed off the mountains. He heard at least three echoes before they finally faded away.
He pushed himself to his feet, his shoulders heaving with rage as he exhaled huge clouds of mist. As he did, he winced and placed a hand against his chest. Another remnant of that fight on the Seventh, one he was becoming increasingly concerned by.
The thrice-damned bird shrieked again, and Hallmark twisted to snarl at the monster as it flew by in the distance, then disappeared behind the mountain he'd just left, leaving him staring at the enormous gap, and the half-bridge resting against the cliff on the other side.
It was mocking him, he knew. He'd kill that bird, Hallmark swore to himself, and on all the gods he could name. He'd kill that bird and turn its wings into a trophy, then burn it to ashes and DANCE ON THEM.
Hallmark took another shuddering breath, then took a step. Then he took another. He didn't run. He walked. Each step pushed him further to his goal, regardless of whether they came quickly or not. He crossed another snowfield, and this time when the snow collapsed beneath him, he jumped backward, narrowly avoiding falling into yet another crevasse.
Unlike the last time, he would have had no hope of rescue, only a long slow death. Or a quick one if the monsters found him first.
Hallmark strode relentlessly across the snowfield and up the mountain's ridgeline. He crossed narrow ledges that crumbled under his feet, through thin passes where rocks collapsed above him as he wound his way through them. After hours of climbing, he found himself at the summit of the second peak.
And from there, he saw his next goal.
The third peak was the largest, but from the summit of the second, Hallmark could spot the Guardian's Nest on the far side of the mountain. He could spot two ways to reach it. The first was to go the long way around the mountain, with shallower inclines and broader paths. The second was a treacherous-looking ledge which he could barely describe as a goat track. He could see tiny indentations in sections of bare walls as if one were intended to climb the wall itself.
Hallmark... choose the first path.
He may be using his seemingly limitless Rage to push himself forward, despite the twinging in his foot and the growing ache in his chest, but he wasn't stupid.
The bird had thrown lightning at him twice. It would certainly do so again if he took the objectively faster and more challenging path. Frankly, he expected it to attack him no matter which way he chose to take. He liked his odds better on the longer track.
Next, he identified a way down the other side of the mountain and resumed his even, relentless walk.
When night fell and Hallmark spotted the signs of another storm brewing, he stopped and found a cave to shelter in within a few minutes. Deciding he wouldn't be sleeping tonight, he pulled one of his wideawake potions from his potion pouch and took only one mouthful. Hallmark had taken one before the fight the night before last, and there had been a night since he last took it. Even still, it wasn't advised that one take these multiple nights in a row, but he didn't see another choice here.
He placed a few wardstones at the entrance to the small ice cave, setting up an aversion and alarm ward. It'd dissuade anyone who passed by from checking out the cave and alert him if any had entered despite it. Hallmark then sat in the middle, eyes focused on the back of the cave.
He'd long wondered where exactly the monsters in this dungeon came from. A few nights ago, he'd concluded there were hidden passages they used to get around. He had no idea if this cave held the entrance to one such passage.
He sat there as the blizzard raged outside, eyes darting between the cave's end and its beginning.
The next day, he'd push onward to the third peak. And he wouldn't let anything stop him.
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The Merchant Ship Good Tidings, Port Medea, Medea Island
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Captain Eli Hart was bounding down the gangplank as soon as it'd been laid and secured. The sun had crested the waves hours ago, and there wasn't a moment to waste.
"Gresh, my good man, you know the drill!" The captain ordered as he did so, nodding to the bewildered dockworker who'd laid said gangplank.
"This isn't my job, Hart!" The beleaguered navigator called out, with all the exhaustion of one who had long protested but one who would do as asked anyway.
"Nonsense," he shouted over his shoulder. "You do a fine job. Now hop to it! I have errands to run!" His piece said Eli dove into the thronging masses of the busy port. It hadn't been that long since his last visit, but he couldn't help but marvel at how much the little island changed every time he did.
Sturdy-looking walls surrounded the town's center, extending outward to form a small harbor, finally giving docked ships shelter from rough seas during storms. Long overdue, but not something that could be done quickly. The buildings in the town itself had changed little from Eli's memory, which aided his navigation.
Three gates allowed passage through the walls. One led east toward the cleared area the farmers used, the lumber mills, and the forest beyond. The second gate led towards the Lord's manse, which looked majestic in its fully completed glory. It sported a fortified wall containing the mansion and tower he'd seen being constructed on his last visit.
The final gate let west, toward the guild building, the dungeon, and the path that led to the lighthouse on the cliff above it.
This is the gate Eli made a beeline for.
He doubted the Lord of the island would grant an audience to some random captain, especially on short notice. The Guildmistress, however, was far more accessible. He would inform her of Bahrain's invasion, and she could take that to Lord Medean. He would be far more likely to take the information seriously coming from her.
As he passed through the gate, he first noticed the beach. At some point, someone had created a sign proclaiming "Obsidian Beach: Where the Stupid Come to Die."
Eli could only assume it was a nod to how deadly this dungeon had turned out to be.
The black sands were dominated by the line of guilders that snaked down the beach's edge. Parties of guilders not in the line relaxed on comfortable-looking benches on the small grassy hill beyond the sand line, under sunshades slung between palm trees. The line ran beneath a series of sunshades, and one intrepid merchant was hawking wares at the guilders. Some kind of roasted meat on a stick.
Eli turned his attention from the beach and onto the Guild building. It looked as it had last time; a three-story building built of black stones on the first floor and wood on the stories above.
He entered the guild hall far more confidently than the one he'd visited only a few months ago. The receptionist here possessed a sunny disposition.
"Welcome to the Medea Island Guild Hall. How can I help you?" she asked with a sunny smile.
"I need to see your Guildmistress as soon as possible. I bring dire news."
"She has an open spot on her agenda for this afternoon." After quickly checking the papers on her desk, the receptionist politely informed him. "Who is she meeting with?
Eli sighed, but it would have to do.
"Captain Eli Hart of the Merchant Ship Good Tidings."
The receptionist brightened, as if such a thing was possible.
"Ah, The discoverer of our fair island! If your information concerns unseasonal fish or fish found near the island, typically from other regions, I can assure you the Guildmistress is well aware of the issue." Huh?
"While that is concerning... my information is unrelated to fish," Eli answered slightly dryly. The receptionist pinked in embarrassment.
"Ah. Either way, you're booked in for just after lunch. If you're peckish, our in-house tavern is stocked with the finest ingredients we can procure. You can wait there, and I will retrieve you at the appointed time?" Eli could smell the food from here, and the quiet din of a mildly-busy tavern beyond the door sounded pleasant.
"You know, that sounds delightful! Thank you, my dear." Eli stated, bowing slightly at the waist. "May I have your name? I confess I was so stunned by you when I first saw you that I forgot to ask. My dear, your smile is so radiant I believed there had been a second dawn." The receptionist, still pink, turned bright red.
"Thank you, Captain. I am Emalie Lewin."
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Comments
Red Mammouth
tftc
Undead Writer
Thanks for the chapter!
Penguin Glutton
Tftc!
osos12
Thanks for the chapter. Just wanted to say that I absolutely love this arc and it's the arc that made me become a patreon !
Tequila Worm
Tyfc
BuzzTech
The name is placed like a big revelation isnt it? I was wondering who they were
Curb504
Is Emalie Lewin related to anyone we should know?
Shelbo
I mean the Fleet was just starting to pack up supplies for a invasion it’ll take a couple of weeks to fully complete then sail off, a extra couple hours of waiting in the lobby of the person your meeting won’t make a difference
Amelgar
If the dire news is a possible invasion, the captain should get slapped and the receptionist fired...
