James A. Hunter
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Shadowcroft Year 3 - Chapter Twenty-Nine
🕑 Added 2022-11-09 18:00:08 +0000 UTCMonday morning, Logan went out early to the Akros Coliseum, well before six a.m. He hadn’t been sleeping anyway. The events of the previous day had made sleeping impossible. Even his moldy bed hadn’t been able to relax him.
He got into a meditation pose in front of Chadrigoth’s carbonite cocoon.
Logan was having trouble concentrating, though. From the footage, there was no question in his mind that this Lou Shador could easily have wiped out their dungeon had he set his mind to it. Even their score, as impressive as it was, didn’t mean much. The competition, other than Wintersylver, had all been removed. Although removed was quite right. More like exterminated.
It was convenient that the White Wyrm hadn’t been touched. And once again, she scored better than Logan and Inga, but not by much… only a few percentage points. They would be going up against her in the Finals. If there were Finals.
Logan’s score—98.45—was amazing. They got 100/100 for their Wow Factor, and their Apothos Usages was 105/100 because of all the excess energy they gained from digesting the dungeoneers. For the other three categories—Structural Economy, Minion Management, and Crafting—all were in the high 80s or mid-90s. They’d gotten a 95 in Crafting because of the various cool things they’d created for Wally Wanko’s Murder Factory.
Wintersylver had set a new interschool tournament record by getting a 98.55. She’d scored better on Structural Economy, Minion Management, and Crafting. That wyvern woman was unstoppable. Did she have help? Logan knew the truth—she didn’t need help. She was that rare dungeon core that was just gifted, like Chadrigoth had been.
If only Chadrigoth would come out of his ascension cocoon. Logan knew the rules allowed him to pull in his friends for the Final, and a full A-Class cultivator would be welcome, given the circumstances.
It all just might be wishful thinking anyway.
Benji Slaphero, the journalist, had grilled Shadowcroft and Lolozi Webbs about the possibility of cancelling the competition all together because there was a good chance that Lou Shador would be on the hunt. And which dungeon would he hit? Probably not Wintersylver. While she maintained her innocence, word on the street was that she was the snitch. How else could those high-level dungeoneers hit not one, not two, but four of the competitors?
Something fishy was going on and the only plausible explanation was that someone had leaked the info to Lou Shador and his crew.
Then again, people had been surprised at the power levels of the Lupine Fury. Logan and Inga had been given Wow points because they’d dealt so well with flatulence of Petula Cloudsweat.
Logan sat in front of Chadrigoth, oddly soothed by the presence of the abyss lord trapped in the stone. Logan touched the Miami Vicesweatbands around his wrist. Not only did they stink, but that neon pink and green hurt his eyes. Logan, though, knew at some point they were going to be invaluable. He was keeping hope alive, even if it could be a challenge at times.
The fungaloid sighed. “Wish you were here, buddy, because I’d bring you in on the fun. Probably not going to happen. I’m just wondering what you would think of all this.”
Logan suspected that the old Chadrigoth would’ve taken a very Shadowcroft view of things. He would laugh at the dungeon guardians who died because they were either weak or unluck or both. However, the new Chadrigoth would’ve given Logan a hug and said something oddly encouraging.
Logan sat with his legs crossed on the field. It was a snowing a bit, and the field was covered in white. He sat with his twine, which was still just as big of a mess as ever. He thought he’d found the master strand, which would allow him to unravel the central knot, but he’d felt that before and had wound up disappointed.
As he worked, he felt the Apothos flowing from the field into his core, hitting his two knots perfectly. His core effortless cycled the energy, thanks to all the work he’d done with both Rockheart and the hippie snake professor from the year before. Both had taught him techniques—Boundless Wheel and the Radiant Serpent Under the Glowing Moon. Both had been critical in his success.
Once again, though, he sensed that he’d hit a plateau and he wasn’t sure how to move past it. He’d been B-Class, Rank 4, since last year, and he’d not gone up a single rank since. He’d also failed tied another knot. Honestly, he’d done nothing but mess with a ball of stupid twine in hopes that Rockheart was Karate Kid-ding them. The longer he worked at it the more worthless it seemed, but he was convinced there had to be reason. There had to be something at the center of the ball of twine just as there had to be something at the center of Treacle’s jawbreaker.
There had to be a reason for it all.
Okay. Maybe not Marko’s bathroom cleaning. Tthat could simply be Rockheart messing with the satyr—it was no secret that the Rector Prime had a strong dislike for Marko. And maybe the academy just needed Inga’s sharp mind for the audit. That would be cruel. Inga was at B-Class, Rank 10, and she hadn’t progressed either. It also wouldn’t be entirely out of character for the staff of the Academy.
But either way, it felt like they were all just spinning their wheels.
Logan couldn’t shake the dark thoughts. They’d done so well against the Lupine Fury! They’re dungeon had been so good! Now, it just felt empty.
Logan resumed his mediation, cycling the energy around and around in his core, pushing it effortlessly through the meridian channels that ran through his guardian form.
His concentration was broken by Marko shouts. “It’s obvious, right? This Lou Shador is working with the Zeta Ridiculans. It’s all a massive conspiracy to undermine the education system, if you can even call it education.”
Logan turned to see Inga and the goat man walking across the field with the minotaur in tow. Marko didn’t have his cleaning cart, but he was in his janitorial jumpsuit with his nametag on the breast. He basically wore it all the time. He said it was harder to talk to girls in Vralkag, but that was okay. He had a higher purpose now than partying.
Treacle had knitted himself a bright sarape, the colors reminiscent of Sucrosia. That was strange. Treacle hated candy.
Logan remembered how moved Treacle had been when they’d returned from their dungeon. It was probably just relief that they were alive.
The trio had reached Logan when Inga whirled on Marko. “We’ve got to do something about all these conspiracy theories. There are no Zeta Ridiculans! And while they were probably spore lords, they are not the cabal behind four of the dungeons being destroyed in the Semi-Finals. Now, stop it.”
Marko’s eyes turned to slits as he squinted at her suspiciously. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? How much are they paying you, Inga? Can you show me the receipts? You have enough of them. You’re not even hiding them anymore.”
“Why bother? You would only get more paranoid if I hid them.” Inga’s pockets were filled with receipts paper-clipped together and she had an enormous tax code book tucked beneath one arm. The other eleven books in the set were currently tucked away in Logan’s Ring of Pockets. He didn’t mind, though he was worried about her. She seemed resigned to the impossible nature of task which was somehow worse than when she’d been actively fighting to dot every “i” and cross every “t.”
Treacle didn’t complain about the jawbreaker anymore either. Was that a good sign? He rarely took it out anymore. He was too busy clicking away on his crocheting. He seemed oddly withdrawn and contemplative. He seldom seemed to speak these days, and when he did it was in haiku as often as not. He’d also stopped talking completely about his off-world class, Mercy of Manifesting Armor, which was taught by Professor Donald Crucible, a pacifist. Come to think of it, Professor Donny was probably really sad about the dead dungeon cores.
Inga cleared away some snow and laid down numerous colorful afghans that Treacle had crocheted. Logan found the ground fine.
Marko made a face. “I’m not paranoid. I’m well-informed,” he grumbled as Inga sat.
Logan kept absently picking at his twine. “She’s right, Marko. You’re worried about the Zeta Ridiculans and the spore lords—who probably aren’t even real—when Lou Shador is hunting down our friends. I’m not saying you’re wrong, I’m just saying we need to have our priorities in order. And speaking of the masked dungeoneer, I’m wondering what we’re going to talk about in our tournament class today. I think both Shadowcroft and Rockheart will be there.”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Inga asked. “They’re going to cancel the Finals. There is no other option. After those cores got cracked.” She shivered, antenna drooping. “And the awards ceremony for the Semi-Finals was so sad. They shouldn’t have had it at all. It was in terrible taste.”
“I dunno,” Mark said with a shrug, “I think the shrimp tasted fine. And I liked the theme, ‘Be Strong and Dungeon On.’ But you’re probably right.” Marko plopped down, holding a spray bottle in one hand, and a scrub brush in the other. Every so often, he’d spray something in his mouth. From the odor, it was more Blue Divine Philter. Was he using it as a cleaner as well? He closed his eyes and mimicked scrubbing with the scrub brush. It was a true wax on/wax off moment.
The satyr sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about Lorena Quartz. She had a heart made of crystal, fragile and beautiful. Her heart shattered. She is gone like the wind. Her crystal heart beats no more. Hey, Treacle, is that haiku enough for you?”
“No. You messed up all the syllables,” Treacle’s needles clicked, clicked, clicked. “That is not haiku. It is barely poetry.”
“I’m really upset, okay?” Marko said. “I liked Lorena. We hung out some. I’m not saying there was kissing, but I’m not saying there wasn’t kissing. For being crystalline, she had a certain softness.” The goat man shook his head. “You know how Melvin was strangely popular at Nightfall University?”
“Yeah,” Logan said. “I’m reminded every time I pass his statue on the way to my fungaloid class.”
“Well, Lorena was like that at Saudrian’s. She really shined. Professor Nicklewise cancelled classes this week because there’s going to be a memorial. Saudrian’s has its problems, but there is real community there.”
“Sorry about your clown school,” Logan said. He reached over and patted Marko’s shoulder reassuringly.
“Clown college. Whatever. We were going to do a pie unit. Throwing and receiving. But it’s fine." Marko was clearly depressed.
And he wasn’t alone. Treacle morosely shoved his jawbreaker into his cheek. “Professor Zeggenerschwar is planning a field trip for his cultivation class to Necroscant before it crumbles away. It was one of the larger planet-wide necropolises in existence.”
Logan felt like a hypocrite, since he also felt so bad, but all of the negativity was helping them. “Let’s just cultivate, okay?”
They all lapsed into silence as they concentrated on their Apothos flow. Logan couldn’t stop thinking that they were missing the boat on something. Something was off.
They ended the meditation early, got breakfast, and then made their way to Professor Suresh’s classroom—they weren’t meeting in a dungeon, just a normal classroom in the central castle.
On the way, Inga tried to make Treacle feel better. “We might miss out on seeing Necroscant, but Professor Zeggenerschwar is also going to be leading the field trip to the Crossworld Bazaar for all the third years. And you have your off-world class at the Waldorf School of Strategic Learning.”
“You’re right,” Treacle admitted, raising his voice over the clicking of his crotchet needles.
Marko walked behind them. He’d smacked his tuning fork against the wall and was listening to the vibrating audio crystal in his pocket. Emerick’s annoying voice went on and on about the Spore Lords and the Deep Dark.
Inga pulled Logan close, so they could talk without the others hearing. “We have to do something about the side effects of your Blue Divine Filter. It was supposed to help them cultivate better, since they’re C-Class, but I don’t think it’s doing anything. Except annoying me, that is. And the side effects are horrendous. Treacle with his endless crocheting and Marko with his conspiracy theories. Its driving them mad and for what?”
Both Logan and Inga had done some research, but they hadn’t found much.
Logan was at a loss. “Yeah, I don’t get it either. They should’ve advanced already. Looking back, C-Class seemed so easy. Nothing like B-Class. Marko is what, rank 2?”
“Indeed. And Treacle is stuck at rank 1, which is a crime. He’s a very good cultivator, and so powerful. I don’t understand why he hasn’t ascended to B-Class yet. None of it makes a lick of sense.”
Logan didn’t understand it either.
“Logan, we should go to your alchemy teacher,” Inga said. “Professor Ahrah-Koonem Gilligan. If anyone can give us an answer to our quandary, surely its him, isn’t it?”
Logan started sweating at the mere thought of his Brews, Beers, and Bubbles class. He heard the screams. He smelled sulfur. His stomach twisted. “Ahrah isn’t all right. Not all right at all. We can’t, Inga. Please. We can’t.”
Inga rolled her eyes. “He has office hours. Surely, he can’t be as bad as you and Marko are making him out to be. We survived Rockheart, after all.”
Logan didn’t know what to say, except he was certain he didn’t want to go to Professor Gilligan. The very thought filled him with existential dread.
“Just give me a little more time,” he pleaded. “I’ll get my twine ball unraveled, we’ll see if there are going to be in the Finals, and then we’ll get serious about helping Marko and Treacle. You know, my Mastering Mushrooms Magic might help.”
“Maybe.” Inga paused. “In the meantime, I’m wondering if we can use our Cruelty Incorporated class to find out more about Lou Shador. It is supposed to be about famous dungeoneers and the business of dungeoneering. However, I don’t expect Professor Kobold to do much, but he might. Having a genuinely helpful Professor at Shadowcroft wouldn’t be the weiredest thing that’s ever happened here—though, admittedly, it might be in the top five.”
By the time they reached the doorway of their classroom, Logan was feeling marginally better. Right until he walked inside and saw that none of the other students were present. There were plenty of professors, though. Professor Suresh stood with three other dungeon guardians, one of which was Lolozi Webbs—the queenly spider and headmistress of Nightfall University. There was another arachnid core there, the dungeon accountant, Weavelord, a tiny poodle-sized drider in a tweed coat.
“Come in,” Headmaster Shadowcroft said from the front of the room. “We gave the First Cohort and the Ninth Circle the day off, so we could talk with you about this upsetting turn of events. There is no way we can, in good conscience, continue the competition.”
Logan felt his heart drop. He’d known this was coming, but it still felt like a gut punch.
In walked Wintersylver Gracefreeze, in her more human form, though she still had the face and tail of a white dragon. She wasn’t even fully in the room before she made her thoughts known. “I heartily disagree. I want my chance to kill this Lou Shador for destroying my friends.”
“Plot twist!” Marko sputtered.
