Earthchild
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Chapter 113: Ten Bags
🕑 Added 2025-10-07 12:00:15 +0000 UTCCaen felt a few more souls wink out as he ran through the wall, which was growing increasingly hot as fire spread from behind him. He coughed violently, having inhaled some spores in his brief exposure to them. He could only imagine how terrible it was for the others out there.
From within the wall, he flickered Soul-sense at a nearby Body-enhancer, attacking him with vines and plant tendrils. Into his ears, his nostrils, his mouth, and down his throat. The man’s soul began retreating at preternatural speed.
At the same time, two nearby souls winked out. Even as thick vines from the walls and the ground grabbed for limbs and encumbered everyone else. Between the still present cloud of spores and Caen’s constant flickering, they didn’t stand a chance.
Mere seconds later, Caen exited the wall, coughing as he inhaled more spores. He kept them away from him with a Flora spell and used a Body-enhancement spell to help him better endure the harmful effects.
Only three of his assailants remained: his cousins, Fahptis and Gebda, and a Liquid practician.
Fahptis was fighting his way out of a wall as the vines kept flowing over him, trapping him firmly in place. His ice armor covered every inch of his skin, granting neither the spores nor the plant tendrils any leeway. But Soul-sense mostly prevented him from using any spells.
Gebda, the heavily muscled Kinesis and Wind practician, had lost his large sledgehammer in a moment of distraction. A bubble of air around his head kept out the spores, but his entire body was wrapped in vines and thickets. Wind and force blades tore into the mass whenever Caen wasn’t interrupting Gebda’s spells. That wasn’t often.
The Liquid practician was encased in some sort of gelatinous orange substance which had come out from her canister. Vines, roots, and brambles were stuck in place within the gel, effectively keeping her safe. The instant she spotted Caen, she formed a large tentacle of the gelatinous liquid to hurtle at Caen, but the next moment, it fell apart.
Caen was constantly flickering Soul-sense on all three of them.
“Fight me like a Body-enhancer!” Fahptis roared from his nest of vines by the wall, still struggling futilely to free himself.
“No,” Caen said simply, as he walked past the man. “You should have brought more Flora practicians.”
Caen covered the man’s entire form in vines, then directed his attention to the most important thing right now.
There had been fourteen people in this ambush. Only five of them had escaped without bowing out of the trial.
Which meant—
Chasma sent an impression of ‘food?’
Caen chuckled.
If a participant teleported out of the trial grounds before the time for the trial was up, their bag of holding would be left behind. This was why most participants preferred to stick it out till the very end. No one ever willingly abandoned their treasure.
Still flickering Soul-sense on his victims, Caen manipulated vines to retrieve all the bags of holding that had been left behind. Six of them.
With a spell, he wove a patch of brambles into a makeshift basket and placed all the bags of holding within.
It took only a moment of concentration to snatch away Fahptis’s and Gebda’s bags of holding. Regrettably, Caen could not reach the Liquid practician through her
gelatinous protections. Eight bags. He retrieved the other two, which he’d kept in the walls after the traitors on his team had bowed out. That made ten bags of holding in total, excluding his own.
It was a shame that taking their loot wouldn't grant him any points.
He levitated the basket behind him as he walked away. The time display spell in the corner of his vision told him he still had about ten minutes before the end of the trial.
Let’s see if we can get more points. And those tree ferns… I wonder if I can uproot a few. They seem really handy.
***
Gebda Ereshta’al stopped struggling when he realized that his spells would keep collapsing every time. He was wasting mana, anyway.
For some reason, the bubble of air around his head had not been nullified. He took this to mean that the Dampeners working with Herb Mask were prioritizing certain kinds of spells.
He noticed the moment he could no longer feel his bag of holding. An errant vine had snatched it off his belt just now. Rage bubbled in his chest but petered out quickly. He felt… ashamed.
This entire ambush had been his idea, for the most part.
A short moment later, the vines stopped constricting him. He tentatively cast a spell, and it blasted a section of vines off him without issue. He tore off the rest in an instant.
Fahptis roared as he too wrenched the vines off himself, freezing several of them in the process. “That fucking bastard! Aargh!”
Gebda took a few seconds to rid the area of spores. Unhindered, he managed to blow them away with a Wind and Kinesis manifold spell. Casting another spell, he reached his hand out to the wall above him, and his hammer came hurtling into his grasp. He scanned the passage, noting that Prawn Mask, the Liquid practician, was the only other person here. The woman was funneling her elemental fluid into her canister. She'd exited the safety of its protection only after Gebda had dispersed the spores.
Someone stumbled around the bend of the maze, and Gebda tensed up, brandishing his weapon and preparing a spell.
It was Mubu: a shirtless Body-enhancer with metal claws extending from his gauntlets.
Gebda winced at the sight of him.
He looked like shit. His eyes were red, swollen, and leaking tears. His face had scratches and wounds. His skin, bruised, raw, and bleeding in several places.
“Where in the three realms were you?!” Fahptis barked, walking up to the man and dismissing his ice helmet in a puff of mist. “You abandoned us!”
“Had to…” he wheezed, his voice sounding hoarse and painful. “Had to go outta range of those… those blasted Flora spells.”
“And why are you half-dressed? Where is your armor?”
Mubu, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. “I wanted to… to make an impression.”
Fahptis sneered, then turned his glare on Gebda. “How the fuck did Herb Mask manage any of this? We had two Dampeners.”
“He was working with a team of Dampeners as well,” Gebda said, feeling very certain of this. “They must have been hidden somewhere out of sight. For Soth to have missed it all…” he shook his head. “This was a counter-ambush.”
“Fuck!” Fahptis roared. “We had him surrounded. We fucking—aargh! Without the advantage of an environment like this, I could have taken him. All he has are tricks and schemes.”
“We did ambush… ambush him first,” Mubu wheezed out.
“Shut your mouth! Shut. Your. Mouth!”
“Remember that we have an audience,” Gebda scolded lightly. They had made a fool of themselves in front of the entire island, but that was no reason to lose their composure entirely.
Prawn Mask walked over with her canister on her back and her pouch firmly secured to her waist. Seeing that made Gebda feel even more shame. How was he going to explain this failure to his Eshtr? Oludlana had trusted him to assist Fahptis in bringing honor to the Faithful Descent faction.
“Should you still be in here?” Prawn Mask asked Mubu. “Those welts on your neck look… really bad.”
The idiot shook his head and slapped his bag of holding. “Couldn’t leave these behind. Four treasures from three different zones.”
Fahptis’s eyes widened. He reached for his belt, evidently shocked. He turned to the wall he’d been bound to, making to rush over.
“Don’t bother,” Gebda said with a tired sigh. “He took mine, too. He must have taken the others as well.”
“Aaargh! He’s going to pay for this. I’ll challenge him to a duel. One on one.”
“Uh… are you sure you can take him alone?” Prawn Mask asked.
Fahptis turned to her, a dangerous scowl on his face. He looked like he was about to explode; instead, he took a calming breath. Then he formed his helmet of ice over his head and walked away.
Prawn Mask shrugged. Mubu winced. Gebda sighed and followed his younger cousin.
***
Less than two minutes were left till the end of the trial. Caen had found four more treasures and gotten twenty extra points. That put him at ninety points for this trial and two hundred and ninety-five points, so far. He gave up on looking for more points so that he could excavate tree ferns.
The plant was half as tall as he was, but its roots were long and tangled with other plant matter, making it a little difficult to completely uproot.
“Your performance wasn't good enough,” Stormsong said. “You didn’t show any strength of character or virtue.”
What did that even mean? Stormsong used this phrasing often, but refused to explain what it meant. “I just went up against fourteen armed people. Alone.”
“It was inadequate! You have not proven yourself to have a high compatibility with me. As I’ve said, there’s a spark, but nothing more.”
“Is there any way I can improve this spark?” Caen pressed. He’d asked the sword different versions of this question several times already in the past week. Spirit tools usually had qualities they sought in their wielders. He’d yet to determine what Stormsong’s hidden criteria for worthiness were.
“If you need me to spell it out for you, then you’re never going to be worthy.”
Caen suppressed a sigh. “You said you’d give me guidance. I would deeply appreciate any tips you’re willing to share."
“‘Tips’? I don’t give ‘tips’. I can point out your inadequacies during combat. I can at least do that much.”
This was the most progress that he’d made with the sword so far. “Thank you. I’ll be relying on you next time we're in combat, then.”
