Iona snapped her fingers. Timber got up to all four limbs from his previous sitting position. He stood beside Iona. Lulu, however, stamped her feet and turned her head away.
The Beastmaster looked flabbergasted, “What do you mean you don’t want to?” she said.
Hoot, hoot!
She smiled awkwardly at Luke, “Seems like they’re busy hanging out, you don’t mind if your companion does her own thing for awhile, do you? Certain companion handlers dislike their pets separated from them.”
“Sooty? Never been one to keep a tight leash on her. I’ll talk with her real quick.” Luke called out to his bird, “I’ll be busy for awhile pal, hang out with your new friend, come find me when you’re done, okay?”
“Caw!” Sooty flapped her wings in excitement.
“That’s settled, you were saying something about a test?” Luke inquired.
Iona scratched Timber’s ears, “Come with me,” she moved toward the opening to the Defier’s guild interior.
The internal entryway was adorned with runes, pulsing yet rotating between black, red, and occasionally yellow. Luke gave Sooty a half-wave goodbye before following Iona. The inside was brightly lit; something similar to an artificial sun was caged at the vaulted ceiling. Except it pulsed gentle blue light. The floor inside was tiled into marble slabs, alternating between black and red. Bards played in boredom around spacious benches, resulting in a low melody reverberating in the air. In the center of the room were two bulletin boards linked to ten platforms, similar to the library Luke visited earlier. Giant portraits decorated the walls, but Luke recognized none of them.
“Who are all these people up on the walls?” Luke asked Iona.
“The greatest Defiers of their time, each placed in commemoration after their deaths. The exception being the founders, who instead had sculptures placed in every Defier’s guild in the three kingdoms remaining in the Edgelands.”
Luke spotted a handful of servants wandering about. Each performed a duty between cleaning, cooking in the kitchen walled off to another branch, or assisting hunters around the spacious hall. Luke smelt a faint floral scent wafting around. In a particular corner, well-dressed noblemen and women paced back and forth.
He decided not to ask about it. Frankly, his eyes continually darted back to the artificial sun that slowly rotated. He perhaps gawked a little much.
Iona veered off to the right, and people parted for her without asking. As someone following right behind, they naturally gave Luke a curious glance but figured he was yet another hopeful. As the two entered a branch separated by a black crystal arch, Luke overheard a snide remark from an aristocratic voice.
“Even the peasantry think they can be something these days.”
He let it go. He still hadn’t re-equipped his combat gear. To someone with weak perception, Luke appeared to be a peasant with a combat profession clothed in average attire and a sword too big for his britches. Instead, he felt sorry for the heckler, those sorts never went far in life.
After Luke fully entered past the black crystal arch, a thin transparent barrier soon cut contact with the hall. Runes appeared onto the barrier, emanating a weak yellow light.
“Any reason for that?” Luke said.
“It keeps the hunters out; you’re in the branch specific for the Defiers. Only specific guests and servants are allowed here, and hopefuls like you, here to prove themselves.”
Luke inspected the hall around him; there were libraries half-hidden away, a different set of servants, crafting laboratories, another fully staffed kitchen, and even well-furnished rooms for a person to call home. Two red portals swirled on opposite ends, one on his right, the other, his left. A small reception desk was to the immediate left of the crystal arch they passed a while back. Interestingly, Luke did not see any sort of center for requests like the bulletin board earlier, nor did he see any stressed-out nobles.
A good thing in his opinion. So far, Luke had grown to dislike nobles, at least after the fire mage brat and the incompetent raid leader. Iona patted Timber on his head, and the storm paw bear sat on the floor.
“Be back soon, Timber; keep watch for me, okay?”
The bear grunted in response, then sat on its hind, paws out, waiting for its Beastmaster’s return.
After patting the side of Timber’s face, Iona made a sharp left turn where the hall branched off once more. This time, the walls became more solid stone, a spacious stairway twisted up the tower in one direction and down to its depths in the other. Iona made circles in the air as she hummed along, descending the steps.
Yellow brick, adorned with gems etched by runes, contained the stairs inside the tower. Luke followed the spiral, and for several minutes, they continued further down; occasionally, a platform into another section appeared, but they ran into no one else in the stairway.
“This all seems…empty,” Luke said.
“The Defiers tower always has been. Too few reach the requirements. If you can guess the number we have now in Sylen, including apprentices, I’ll give you a kiss,” she winked at Luke, then laughed at his confusion, “Lighten up, Aspirant Luke, you always have a serious expression on unless you’re talking to that companion of yours,” Iona teased.
Luke slowly nodded; his old man often said the same thing about his expression, something along the lines of: How can you get a girl to give me a grandchild if you scare them all away with that stone face of yours?
He guessed, “Fifty of you?”
Iona arched an eyebrow, “No kiss for you then, shame, I’d have an excuse to bat away all those annoying suitors. No, try more like eight.”
Luke saw the end of the steps, “Eight? All this for eight people and some servants?”
“Not anyone can become a Defier, Luke. I’m sure when you applied your intent to become one of us, they did everything they could to dissuade you, did they not?”
Luke rummaged through his memory. Yumna had indeed given him an earful after he declared his Intent to be a Defier. So much so that he blocked most of it out. When he let others know his Intent of contribution was to be a Defier, even after that, many subtly tried to change his mind or give him a reproachful look.
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“They did; in fact, they still do.”
The two reached the end of the spiral down into the depth; it led to a white wood archway, a black swirling vortex sucked in the surrounding air, slightly pulling Luke in.
“Did you know, Luke, that Aspirant is a name they only give to you stubborn farworlders dead set on becoming a Defier from the start?”
“I do now. Why give that title, though?” Luke responded.
“They call you Aspirants because that’s where all of you stop. Out of every farworlder to come to Sylen in your batch for the last three years, none have passed the test, even after a handful managed multiple ascensions. All eight Defiers in Sylen are natives of the Duchy. Not one is a farworlder.”
“If the test is impossible to pass, why let a transfer like me pick it in the beginning?” Luke crossed his arms.
“It’s far from impossible, Luke. The test is simple even. The issue has little to do with tier, level, or class. The problem begins in that it requires something only a minority ever grasp onto. An expert level technique, when someone shows ability with one, then it means they can learn many more, we take that, and mold them into a true Defier over time.”
“Why force us to be level 25 before you give us a chance?”
Iona answered his question with another, “Do you think anyone is born knowing a technique at level 1? We assessed the minimum requirement to be level 25 because the chances of being competent at a technique before then are practically nonexistent.”
Looking at Luke, she grasped his shoulder, “If you don’t possess one, then you can only wallow as a hunter like the rest; the exam is in this vortex; you’ll be guided more once you arrive.” She lifted Luke from the steps, “Off you go.”
Before Luke could protest being manhandled, the elf woman displayed supersonic speed and incomprehensible strength, rocketing Luke into the Vortex. The Reaver slowly experienced being sucked within, unable to resist, no matter how much essence he tried to muster.
“I’ll be waiting for you here, Aspirant. Prove the cynic within me wrong; we Defiers desperately need more of our kind to appear.”
The vortex wrapped around Luke. Black covered his vision, and his senses became silent. The young man floated around in a void; a heavy pressure immobilized him. An indeterminate time passed. Luke tried to speak but found he could produce no volume; hell he couldn’t breathe, yet air filled his lungs all the same.
The sensation certainly unsettled him. Whispers tugged at his senses.
“What, never held a gun before?”
“Shoot, private, it’s you or them.”
“I know what you enlisted as, I don’t care; point the barrel down range.”
A black liquid splashed over Luke, and he lost his vision. By the time he regained his senses, he found himself in a white crystal dome. A notice invaded his line of sight.
[Equip the provided items, Aspirant]
A plain wooden table willed itself into existence in front of Luke. The Reaver noticed he felt clean, and besides undergarments, suddenly naked, his socks had gone off on vacation as well, nowhere to be seen.
He felt his hip and noticed Xera was gone, as was Wayfinder. He panicked for a second, “Wayfinder, Xera? Where did you go?”
An inventory panel appeared in front of Luke; in it was every item he had on him when he entered the vortex: his regular wear, the boots, Xera, and Wayfinder were included. A red X overlaid the item slots.
The Interface bugged him once more.
[Equip the provided items, Aspirant]
A timer popped up in the left corner of his vision.
[00:02:00]
“Alright, guess there’s no time to worry then. At least I know they’re okay.”
The table held a choice of wooden weaponry, a carved sword, mace, bow with arrows, wand, etcetera. Any weapon a class would use was here. Beside them all was a simple white robe with woven sandals.
Luke put on the white robe and wooden sword. He inspected the two items.
[Aspirants Robe and Sandals]
Quality: Trash
Armor: 0
Stats: N/A
Useful so you can fight without dying of embarrassment.
[Wooden Sword]
Quality: Trash
Stats: +1 Physical Damage
Something to focus your techniques on if a weapon or nexus is required.
“Techniques? Not skills?” Luke became confused.
[For the test duration, level has been suppressed to level 1, all stats have been reduced to one. HP has been normalized to a flat 65 points. Specials stats have been disabled]
“What sort of test is this?” Luke clutched at his chest, feeling supremely weak like a plague had pushed his body near the verge of death. Vitality drained from his body, and the cool temperature in the dome felt harsher.
[Class abilities and Frost Fall Reave have been sealed. Resource has been normalized to baseline values of 100 essence and 10/s regeneration]
The pure white crystal dome around Luke expanded, the entry point shut. Haunting but indecipherable whispers returned. Different from before, Luke’s sense of hearing failed to pick apart any comprehensible sentences.
White crystal began to rot, dimming, then turning to brown. Finally, the crystal became black, the light Luke had taken for granted cut out. The previously present table and weapons ground into dust.
“See what you’ve always hidden. Monster.” A voice spread from a dark silhouette.
Luke couldn’t adjust his eyes to the lack of light. Even in the cave, the roots above had emanated soft blue light. Here, there was nothing. A cold wind swirled around, coming from the void. Luke felt cold, powerless, weak, angry.
And challenged.
The rotting energy around the dome forced him to remember the horrible past. The first dead friend, the failed mission, the near execution, the girl he once loved swindled by one he used to respect.
Regrets. Regrets. Regrets. The whispers around tormented his mind, implanted images and twisted events.
“I know that voice,” he whispered.
Calming down from the challenge’s rapid fire of placing restrictions, Luke thought to himself. Seeking the will within.
Everything else is gone, but Essence remains. Why not use it? Why let fear get to me? Why always doubt myself? Why…why…
“Why always regret the past?” Luke said; he withdrew from the whispers and pushed out the corrupting energy with his essence.
Essence imbued his eyes, and the darkness within the dome changed to the lighting of dusk. The dark silhouette revealed its features to Luke.
“Hello again, me. Stop shutting me out. It really is quite the bother.” The silhouette said to Luke.
Luke saw a reflection of himself on the opposite side of the dome, except everything was in grayscale. The form had little color, with cracked lifeless skin and two white iris’ defined by a black rim to separate from the sclera. The corrupt Luke wore the same white robe and held an identical wooden sword.
The Reaver inspected the monster before him, near-emotionless, the earlier yell focusing his energy and mentality.
[Doppelganger]
Level: 9
HP: 330/330
A being that has crushed the dreams of many hopefuls. A corrupting cacophony of whispers surround it.
When Luke displayed a near-inert reaction to his splitting image, the Doppelganger continued to speak, “Cat got your tongue? Hard to have a conversation with such a dull man.”
Luke only raised his sword; he made short movements, expeditiously adapting to his restricted physique. His fingers felt numb, his legs stiff. He experienced massive flexibility loss, a drop in physical ability, and a slowed and weakened mind. Willpower plummeted, and the past washed itself in his mental state.
His muscles became like jelly, feeble, and even lifting the sword felt taxing. His movement speed became sluggish, control over his body lowered. His perception and senses crashed to the bottom.
The Doppelganger’s expression became grim, “A silver tongue can’t get to you?” A familiar spectral heart pulsed to the surface of the Doppelganger’s chest, “Perhaps my heart of gold will do the trick? Too bad that special ability can’t be used.”
Luke blinked slowly. He began to regulate his breathing. If essence was useable, then the challenge became clear. Use the techniques Iona talked about. With further thought, he already came prepared in that aspect.
He already had a technique, after all.
Essence glided up to Luke’s wooden sword. His ability to control essence had blunted with the loss in intellect, but it was by far the least affected area of ability.
“Shame,” the monster exhaled, “I wished to have a conversation with the first Reaver I got to become.”
The creature stepped forward slowly; through the small details in its bodily movement, Luke managed to decipher that the monster appeared to have the stat spread equal to its level. Except for the elevated hit points.
Luke synced his breathing with the rotation of essence internally. The haze over his mind began to lift. Stretching the limits of his control, the resource spread to strengthen his lower legs, eyes, upper arms, and sword.
He smiled, “Four at once, new record outside of Essence Feedback.”
With both hands on the hilt, Luke shifted his wooden sword forward, the flat of the blade pointed to the ground, he focused the tip toward the approaching creature.
“Hone me, test me, torture my past, laugh at my soul, spit at my mannerisms, and try to ruin my future.” Luke breathed calmly, “But never act as if you understand who I am. You failed copy.”