16

A weapons room that would put the armories in Wanda to shame materialized around Vander, or maybe he materialized inside of the armory. Not only did endless arrays of staircases lead every which way, but the vastness of the place seemed to expand farther and farther the more he looked, as if his gaze caught in an ever-expanding illusion.

Weapons of all shapes and sizes, some he’d seen and others he hadn’t, lined every inch of every surface. Daggers, long and short swords, thin and thick swords, polearms, and anything that could be made with wood, metal, or bone. Trident, mace, sickle and chain, crossbow and handbow. If he thought of it, he found it.

Choose any combination of weapons.

“Figured as much.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. His family sword still rested in its sheath on his left hip, so he didn’t even consider any other. The thought to practice with one of each of the types until he had weapon proficiencies passed faster than it came. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in the class assessment.

Sticking to what he knew, he strapped a comfortable quiver over his back and tested his range of motion. Snug and tight, he made sure his selection of steel-tipped arrows didn’t rattle when he moved. The bow, one of thin black yew with silver string, he slung over his chest, careful to not get it stuck beneath the quiver. A medium length spear, one as tall as himself, finalized his selection.

Even though he didn’t take more than the bow and quiver and spear, his curiosity still carried him up one flight of stairs, then two, and three. Magic must have been involved. Each and every floor he arrived on, no matter how far he went from the first, had a portal spinning at the end. And if he thought of a weapon type before ascending the steps, the next floor would have them. Traditional, unique, makeshift, and hybrid versions aplenty.

Tragically, no matter how hard he tried to get the armory to lead him towards a selection of guns, no such luck. He missed the familiar feel of Azazell and Yugmuswa in his hands or Naga pressed against his shoulder, mounted on a bipod and locked and loaded to take down anything in his way from farther than it could see.

“Good old days,” he muttered. The weight of his weapons seemed to triple in resentment at his thoughts. He didn’t fail to equip himself with a few knives either, just in case. Could never be too prepared, and he didn’t know what he’d be going against. “Now, if I remember correctly…”

Something had bothered him for a while now. He’d accepted the outcome due to his time crunch, but now that he had a second to think and realize just how strange things were, he needed to do a bit of searching into his abilities. The topic of his inquisition: how the fuck was True Lightning Proficiency leveling?

The skill itself was unhelpful.

True Lightning Proficiency (Level 17)

The ability to utilize the most powerful form of lightning magic.

Up and down, left and right, high and low. Vander checked and double checked, going so far as to pull up the details of his family’s sword again. Not the answer he searched for but the hint he’d needed: Lightning magic’s cost is reduced and all lightning damage is increased by 20%. Following that, he had to ask himself what constituted “lightning magic”.

To answer that simply, all mana usage. Braxton Breathing Technique, a totally balanced skill. Right? Riiiiight? Naturally converts all mana to the lightning attribute. He’d overlooked such a thing before as only a minor aspect of the technique. With the effects of the family’s sword, all of his mana usage costs were reduced by one-fifth, a large amount when considering just how much mana Vander used on everything.

And that didn’t even include the sword arts yet. The properties of the sword made more sense though, now that he took the rest of the synergizing effects into consideration. It really pulled all of the Braxton’s strengths together in one. Silently, he thanked Adrian for the gift. The man could’ve easily awakened Vander’s magic without handing off the sword too. But he didn’t. Adrian set Vander up with a powerful foundation that, if Vander didn’t fuck up too bad, would enable him to grow as far as he was willing to.

After finding all the different clues, the initial question, the cause behind his lightning proficiency increasing, at least taught him he’d need a more discerning eye in the future. He couldn’t skim over new skills’ information so casually.

The only mystery to solve now: how could Vander utilize his True Lightning Proficiency? Was it something purely physical, or would he be able to throw lightning bombs and drop bolts from the high heavens like Adrian?

“Only one way to find out.” Spear retrieved, bow and arrow slung, and family sword sheathed at his hip, Vander stepped through the portal.

***

Class Assessment: Part 1 of 3

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Each part of the class assessment will reward points based on performance. The points will only be usable in the Class Shop. The shop will open at the end of the assessment after all results have been calculated.

Completion Goal: Slay the Keeper of the Core

Secondary Goal: Slay other denizens of the dungeon

When Vander thought of dungeons, dank and cramped spaces in a cave or basement came to mind. A tower any mage would be jealous of did not. The portal tossed him out from the armory and onto a floating island. One island amongst many others that drifted amongst a chaotic space of shifting landmasses. Were he in any hurry to test his luck, he thought he could reach the next island over if he got a good running head start.

Vander didn’t figure himself a gambling man and put aside ideations of prancing through the chaos storm. The tower’s heavy wooden door opened with a creak, the old hinges rusty. He shut it behind him while warily observing the foyer. The first floor had two doors and a winding staircase. The door at the end of the hall looked simple, but the other halfway down the hall emanated a powerful magic energy.

Checking with magic sight proved his gut feeling. Soft red, uniform and solid. A magic presence. When he tested the door, the knob refused to budge. No amount of finagling with the door forced it open, so he moved on towards the end of the hall. Despite the chaos storm outside, the interior of the house looked well maintained. No signs of paint cracking or dust built up anywhere, nothing but meticulous perfection anywhere he looked.

He never knew a monster to clean, though he’d never seen a system notification before coming to Gaia either. Wouldn’t be the strangest thing to happen. With a twist, the knob turned. The door swung inward, perfectly smooth and silent.

Two long tables were pressed together in the center of the room. He couldn’t tell for certain whether the place was meant to act as an office or library. Books, lots of them. Everywhere books. Overstuffed on shelves, piled in mounds against walls or strewn across the floor haphazardly, and left strewn across the full length of the tables.

No threat apparent, Vander stepped inside and took a closer look. The books ranged from every topic he could think of and then some. Magic theory books, some ancient and looking like they’d fall apart if mishandled and others newer and pristine. They took up most of the table space, but those in the rest of the room contained history, agriculture, smithing techniques, more history, genealogy, the costs of transporting tea leaves… It didn’t end.

Some seemed interesting. Others, less so. Whoever collected all of them sure had an eclectic taste he couldn’t fathom. Just the amount of time required to read a tenth of the books, let alone all of them, boggled his mind. On further search, the book cases didn’t end. He couldn’t tell upon first glance, but walking down the center of the library opposite the entrance led him to a maze he didn’t feel like getting lost in.

Rather, he looked at the contents of what remained on the table out of curiosity. Ten Unique Recipes To Satisfy Your Orc Guests. Lust, Love, and Lemons: How To Build A Monopoly. Greatest Tales Of The Divine Chicken.

Enough of that. He left back the way he came and made his way down the hall, eyeing the suspicious door. Still not a gambling man, he didn’t think twice about what might be hidden within and made his way up the stairs. Spiraling upward, he reached lucky door number three.

Spear at the ready, he turned the handle and kicked the door inward. A hissing shriek threatened to rupture his eardrums, and a ball of flames arced towards him. Backward was a dead end that wouldn’t get him through the assessment, so forward. Onward and upward.

Training took over and kept his surprised mind from turning into a nice roast for the angry imp. He leapt up the stairs, only just dodging the flaming ball the size of his fist, and rolled into the room. When he completed his roll, he cocked an arm back and threw the spear with all his might. No time to observe his work, he drew his sword from its sheath and growled as he stabbed forward into the neck of a fiend.

Imps and fiends, both types of devils, commonly worked together. The imps were weak in body but compensated for that weakness with powerful magic and cunning. Fiends were the total opposite. They had no will to speak of and made good meat shields for the more fragile imps.

Lanky with skin like leather and dark holes for eyes, the fiends rushed him as their guttural howls filled the floor. In the small confines of the floor, the sharp claws and claws that could rend and chew steel posed a great threat.

He blocked the first with his sword and threw one of the knives he’d armed himself with. A foot smashed into the leathery chest of the fiend locked with his blade and sent it sailing across the room to land on with a thud on top of the impaled imp. Not fast enough to react, the third fiend barreled into him.

Mana flooded his body as they fell to the floor. The claws tore his ragged and dirty clothes but left only scratches against his skin. On his back with his hand pressed against the fiend’s chest, he slid his sword forward and through the fiend’s neck. Blood, blacker than night, spilled from the wound and coated his sword.

Wrenching the blade to the sword, he nearly beheaded the fiend. All the strength in its body faded as its body tensed and then rag dolled. Groaning, he tossed the fiend to the side and rolled out of the way of another attack. The fiend he’d thrown the dagger at had blocked with its forearm and pressed the advantage created by its fallen brethren.

Claw gouged stone from the floor in a frenzy. The fiend didn’t give Vander room to breathe or get back to his feet, and the first finally found its bearings and approached at full speed, howling and frothing at the mouth. Black blood trickled down its lips and chest from the wound caused by his kick.

Fed up with being forced to scramble so pathetically, Vander took a risk and stabbed his sword forward into the berserk fiend. Powerful blows rained over him, but he didn’t back down. Claws scratched his arms and chest, but he gave as good as he got until the damned thing stopped moving once and for all. Half a dozen holes spilled blood as it toppled over and dyed the stone obsidian.

Two down, one to go, Vander had but a second to get ground beneath his feet and off his back. Now that only one remained, he made short work of the last fiend. A thrown dagger slammed into its chest and robbed its momentum. For good measure, he didn’t stop stabbing until the fiend lay limp on its back.

Tattered clothes became wipes Vander used to clean his blade before he sheathed it. He recovered his two knives and spear then took stock of himself. He bled here and there, but considering the circumstances, he’d fared. Not well or with dignity and grace, but he’d fared.

“Just have to do better next time, I suppose.” The empty room had nothing left for him, so he made his way to the next staircase and ascended. “Onward and upward.”