Goblins were, in Alan's honest opinion, one of the stupidest, most wretched little abominations ever to walk the face of the Earth. From his experience, they had little to offer in terms of planning, and their combat skills consisted of mindless swarm tactics that more often than not led to wanton cases of friendly fire. Which, as one would expect, was never great for group morale. Infighting was practically a guarantee.
Throughout his years in the Guadalupe River Dungeon, Alan had seen entire hunting parties of Goblins tear one another to shreds over a misplaced arrow, or carelessly swung club. Claiming a kill, who got to drink from the river first, a shaded place to shit; they would go at each other's throats at the drop of a hat. Sometimes for nothing at all.
In their unending boredom, Alan and Rexus would sometimes watch them from afar, usually from the crown of a tall tree, excitedly placing bets on which Goblin would be the last 'man' standing.
The correct answer was usually none. Once they got to fighting, it was like all common sense and self-preservation was thrown out with yesterday's garbage. Their weapons were discarded almost immediately in preference of clashing with tooth and nail. The survivors, if there were any, were so injured that they usually bled out soon after claiming a fleeting victory.
None of this was anything new, in fact, after living in such close proximity with Goblins for years on end, Alan felt confident in saying he knew as much about them as the next guy. Yet the moment he laid eyes on that oversized Goblinoid monstrosity, he began to question everything he thought he knew about Goblins. He had to face the reality that perhaps he had misjudged them entirely. That thing was obviously smart. And way too big. Thankfully, it was also very dead.
Is that what happens when Goblins live long enough to level up and Evolve? That armor… It kind of reminded me of my Class armor… so Goblins can get Classes too? Does that mean the Goblins back home actually have Classes? Why haven't I seen any mages? Actually, that makes sense. They are probably too dumb to use magic in the first place…
It was a sobering thought. If that was the case, was that why there was a bit of variety amongst the weaponry used by Guadalupe River Dungeon's Goblin population? We're the ones with crossbows actually [Goblin Archer]s? What about the ones with daggers or clubs? If I follow this logic, those would be some kind of basic warrior-type Class.
Setting aside the specifics of how Goblin Classes functioned before it gave him another worry he couldn't afford to have, Alan tried to think positive. If nothing else, he took great pleasure knowing that at the very least, that particular Goblin assassin was as good as dead. Or close enough to it that it didn't really matter. It felt kind of surreal to find out the Dungeon's Core Consciousness had once been a living creature, but that did little to change his immediate plans. In order to fulfill his Oath to Reggie, that trapped spirit had to go. Be it Goblin or otherwise.
One way or another, the Sandstone Palace Dungeon was getting conquered. Alan wasn't sure what Reggie had up his sleeve, but the Wraith had been up to something in secret for a while now. All Alan really knew was that it had to do with engraving, and he didn't understand much else. Engraving was a matter he knew next to nothing about, and quite honestly, he really didn't care enough to learn more. It was enough for him to know that Reggie was doing something. Whether or not that something would turn out to be helpful, well, that was yet to be determined. There was already too much to worry about as it was. Alan was of the opinion that it didn't really matter one way or the other.
Alan would drag that wretched spirit out of the Dungeon Core with his bare teeth if that's what it took to get Su'ong out of this shit hole.
A ghostly shade of Erasmus, his form translucent and colorless, materialized next to Alan's similarly immaterial presence. He remained silent, content to observe the culmination of the Dungeon's Core Consciousness. The air practically hummed with nervous anticipation as the Core emitted a wave of pressure that scoured the floor clean, scattering the last remnants of the charred magic circle, along with all signs of the recent battle.
The earthen walls began to quake. Boulders the size of houses broke away from the ceiling and fell to the floor. A plume of dust and debris clogged the air as the final fragments of an unnatural existence settled into being. Unaffected by the airborne particles, Erasmus chose this moment to break his silence. The old man's voice was tinged with weariness and regret as he began to explain the unjust fate that befell his grandson, Kuldar.
"Although we managed to retreat from the assassin, Kuldar's Cultivation base was already destroyed beyond repair. Under normal circumstances, a physical wound of that caliber would hardly be worth mentioning. The deciding factor was that peculiar weapon. I don't know where the assassin stumbled across such a foul artifact. I can't even say for sure what its true effects were. The only thing I can say with any certainty is that single attack was all it took to shatter Kuldar's Core… With no Core to draw strength from, he was wounded and regrettably, rendered completely mortal." Erasmus lamented; his voice filled with timeless regret.
"There was nothing I could do to help him. Or myself. I thought it was all over. My life's work would be spirited away to a laboratory somewhere, my fractured Sect scattered like dust across the cosmos. Yet, rather than succumbing to despair, that stubborn boy sought out a way to make our adversaries pay for their trespass."
They paid a heavy price, but the cost was paid in blood.
As Erasmus told it, for the first time in his life, Kuldar went against the will of his grandfather. With the help of a traitorous Divine Spiritual Treasure, Kuldar had taken matters into his own hands. With one final bow of respect to his esteemed ancestor, he sacrificed the last reserves of his waning power to activate the protective arrays within the labyrinth. In doing so, he managed to seal away the Celestial Essence, and with it, his grandfather's soul wisp, within the labyrinth's very heart.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“It is from this act of self-sacrifice that the Divine Tower was called into existence." Erasmus finished. He folded his arms and looked at Alan expectantly.
“Uhh…” With so many questions on his mind, Alan struggled to decide what he should ask first. The main problems facing him were the tower and the Dungeon Core, so he decided to start at the top of the list. “What exactly is that tower?" He probed, unsure what exactly was expected of him. Surely this ancient being didn't mean to sit around chatting. He had to want something. “The energy powering the tower… that's you isn't it. Your Celestial Essence I mean,” Alan corrected.
“The Divine Tower is a defensive talisman meant to safeguard what little remains of my inheritance." He answered simply. “It is, as you guessed, currently being maintained by the ambient energy of my Essence. This makes it nearly impossible for my remains to be reached. At least for those who don't possess the Core of a Cultivator. And so once more, I waited, biding my time in hopes a successor would stumble across this location. Never once did I truly expect to be found… but here you are."
A bitter smile cracked Erasmus's stony expression as he surveyed the scene of Kuldar's final act of defiance. “Not a single day has passed that I haven't wished I could go back... Hindsight is a cruel mistress." he whispered. “In a way, watching you struggle these last days reminded me of him… Although that boy was never the most talented, not once did he ever let that stop him… Many will overlook you, likely to their own detriment."
A smile lit up his features, a glint of hard steel flashed in his eyes. “I am, and have always been, of the opinion that talent is not something one is born into. It is accrued through persistence, dedication to self-improvement, and a steadfast refusal to remain idle. My kind eventually discovered this to be irrefutable, but by then, it was too late. For so very long we reigned as the supreme beings in the cosmos. We were untouchable. Or so we thought."
The scenery around them shifted. Before he knew what was happening, Alan found himself standing in an ocean of green. An unending expanse of plush and vibrant grasses stretched for as far as the eye could see. A dull orange sun could be seen peeking its face from between cracks in the heavy cloud cover, the light it cast was warm and inviting.
Where am I at this time? Alan wondered. No matter where he looked, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to a singular tree that loomed in the distance. There was something wrong with it. He couldn't place where that feeling was coming from, but the moment his eyes fell upon its azure bark, he knew it to be true.
At first glance, the tree seemed to be healthy, but upon closer inspection, Alan was unable to deny it had some serious problems. It wasn't the coloration, which was odd, but far from the strangest thing he'd seen. Nor was it the flower-bearing leaves that adorned its colossal branches. Of which there were many. No, what bothered Alan was the unstable pressure radiating from it in concentrated bursts. It felt sticky and humid, and smelled of swamp gas. There was no mistaking it. This tree was sick. Possibly dying.
“The tree is not important,” Erasmus's voice echoed out over the environment, “it is but a metaphor for Cultivator society as a whole. So confident were we in our power that we grew stagnant. With nothing to overcome, many turned away from the path of martial power and spiritual enlightenment. Some sought out financial gain, and for others, it was the allure of political power… When pursued with the single-minded focus of a Cultivator, the outcome was all but written in stone." Before Alan's eyes, the tree began to fester. Clumps of vibrant bark fell to the ground, exposing a pulsating green interior that shone with a sickly glow. Flower petals curled up and lost all color, only to be stripped away by the faintest breeze and carried away.
“Like a festering tumor, these shortsighted endeavors led to petty squabbles that soon became inter-Sect conflicts. By the time the System Evolved, we were so caught up in the midst of an eons-spanning war amongst ourselves that we couldn't spare the manpower to deal with the repercussions."
“By then, it was too late. The momentum was no longer with us. In a final bid of atonement, the greatest among us sacrificed all that we could've been to allow a few promising young Cultivators to become something greater. A guiding force to fill the vacuum left behind by our fallen empire. A beacon in a time of chaos and brutality. A Pantheon to lead the Multiverse into a prosperous new age."
As the icy fingers of understanding took hold of his mind, Alan's blood froze in his veins. But didn't Gaea say that she was the founder of the Pantheon?! What's going on?
"Alan," Erasmus said suddenly, his voice heavy with regret, “You Humans were their first, and among the greatest of all their accomplishments. I know not how the conflict between our Races ended, but a connection must have been forged between our peoples. How else would a Human have managed to awaken a Cultivation Core? Such a thing should not be possible. Your Race is… synthetic. Created. Some would say unnatural. An abomination even. Yet, I find myself in the position that I must ask for an artificial child of the Pantheon to provide my salvation."
He gave Alan a perturbed look, quite obviously in the midst of an internal conflict. You… are my last hope." He spit the words out as if they would set his tongue aflame. “And yet, even having admitted this, I still cannot fathom why you, a being harboring both the System, and a Cultivation Core, have not succumbed to the fatal backlash faced by the others." He looked Alan up and down as if expecting him to explode. When nothing happened, he shrugged.
Fatal backlash?! Alan didn't like the sound of that one tiny little bit. However, he was still very much alive, and another step closer to fulfilling one of his main objectives. Looks like I might actually get that Celestial Essence after all!
Alan's heartbeat quickened in response, but the more he thought about it, he began to seriously question whether or not he really wanted to go anywhere near that thing. The System itself was the one who bid him to collect the Celestial Essence before conquering the Dungeon, if at all possible, and it was looking like that was definitely going to be a possibility. But just what exactly was the System planning to do with it? Alan vaguely remembered something about the creation of something called an 'Aspect', but other than that, he was left virtually in the dark.
Alan was trying to decide how to respond to such a sudden, and ominous turn of events when Erasmus's wraith flickered, his form wavering unsteadily. “As you can see from my appearance, my Essence, and with it, my physical manifestation, have deteriorated to the point of instability. Even maintaining this form is soon to be impossible. If you have anything to ask of me, do so now. “
Standing in the presence of the shade of such an ancient and knowledgeable entity, Alan felt that he could spend the next five years picking his brain apart for random tidbits of juicy information. But unfortunately, as things currently stood, he wasn't sure he was going to have the time to ask another question. Already Erasmus's form had dimmed further, solidifying the fact that he was not long for this world. With this thought weighing heavily on his mind, Alan asked the main question that was eating away at him.
“This Pantheon… Was it founded by an Earth Cultivator named Gaea?"