It seemed to take no time at all to reach the tunnel he’d marked as the source of the lizards. The scent of sulfur thickened in the air, and he heard the others muttering about it as they drew close. If that hadn’t been enough of a clue, his ethereal senses began clamoring at him as they drew close. He paused, exchanging looks with the others.

Xavien and Natalie had volunteered to carry the torches, freeing up the others. Clay knew he felt reassured with both hands on his spear. He led the way into the tunnel, watching every shadow shift. The tension built as they moved deeper into the mine, passing patches of burnt stone and broken mining tools.

Eventually, the tunnel opened up into a wider part of the mine. Clay had encountered other, similar sections in the tunnels, spots where the miners had found multiple veins and had cleared out a massive amount of rock to give themselves room. There was light up ahead, and his stomach twisted as he realized the torches wouldn’t be needed after all.

They stepped out into a cavern lit by the unnatural, twisted light of the Lair itself. He saw it easily, tucked into a small impression in a far wall. Clay froze when he saw it, his mind flashing back to the tower in the Tanglewood. The terrible sense of wrongness was even worse this time, because he had the supposed benefit of his ethereal senses howling about the presence of something awful ahead of him. Every part of him wanted to run to it and begin the [Chant] to end it immediately.

Then he focused on the rest of the room, and it became clear why it wasn’t going to be quite that easy.

The floor of the cavern was covered in the shattered, leathery carapaces of hatched eggs. They crunched and scraped as a small army of wretches shifted on their feet, their eyes alight with the glow of their Guardian’s control. Over a dozen devils waited among them, their shifting eyes glowing just as brightly. Another five horrors waited as well, clinging to the ceiling, eyes already fixed on his group of heroes. At the edges of the cavern, he could see clusters of eggs that were still intact; many of them seemed ready to hatch and unleash a new wave of wretches into the world.

Yet the biggest threat of all of them waited at the back of the horde. It was completely unlike any of the other lizards. Its sinuous body was thicker and wider than the others, and its snout was longer. There were teeth in its jaw, instead of the ridges of heated bone the others used, and the gleaming fangs looked sharp enough to slice through metal. The thing’s hide shone in the wrong-light of the Lair’s glow, as if it had been made of metal, with knobs that ran in two ridges from its head to the tip of its tail.

Worst was its eyes. The thing didn’t have the twitchy, swiveling eyes of the other lizards. This one had two jet-black eyes that glowed with a power all their own—and they were fixed on Clay.

His mouth suddenly felt dry, and Clay motioned for the others to wait. He recited the Words of Refrain, activating the [Chant] he’d prepared as they were walking. A more combat focused person might have gone for an immediate attack spell.

Instead, Clay used the Orison, and the [Gift] responded by telling him exactly what he faced.

[Guardian Scaled Tyrant (Flame)]

[Rank: 10, Type: Lizard, Status: Lord of the First Lost Mine Lair]

[Type Kills: 0, Deaths Caused: 14]

[Instincts: Guardian, Creator, Commander, Eternal]

A scaled tyrant didn’t seem promising, but at least the name seemed to fit the creature. He watched it study him and wondered why the lizards hadn’t charged already. What was it waiting for?

Then he glanced at the tunnel around him, and realized something. The thing couldn’t get out. It was too large for the tunnel; if his group retreated, it would have to claw its way through stone to reach them. It might not stop the thing forever, but the Guardians in Tanglewood had wanted to keep him from escaping. Was it trying to make sure they were trapped?

He glanced up at the ceiling, and a hint of tactics slipped through to him from a memory of Master Taylor’s lessons. “We’re going to charge. I think those horrors are going to cut around and get behind us. They want to keep us here.”

Anne laughed softly. “Well, it’s a good thing we want to be here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Clay grinned. “Be ready for them to try to flank us. Destroy as many of the others as you can before it happens. It’ll make it harder for the things to gain anything from it.”

“Got it.” Jack’s voice was cold and calm. “You’re going for the big one?”

“As quickly as I can, yeah. It’s probably the only thing organizing them. Are you ready?”

The others murmured and nodded. Clay nodded slowly. “All right then. For Rodcliff!”

He heard the others echo the warcry as he sped forward, already falling into the Canticle of Ice. The others were chanting as well, a clamor of voices that he tried not to let throw off his rhythm. They needed their first strikes to be powerful enough to knock the monsters back on their heels, or better yet, to blow through them entirely.

The horde divided in front of them, with groups of wretches and devils splitting to swarm at them in different clusters. A part of him recognized what they were doing; each group was aimed at a single adventurer. It might have worked against an undisciplined charge, or against a group that wasn’t able to cover for each other.

Against the Ruffians, however, it was a disaster. Lightning lashed out to catch lizards midleap, while curls of stone tentacles ensnared the devils behind them. Monsters spat flame in response, only for the burning pitch to be snuffed as Natalie completed the [Chant] of Vanishing Ember. Anne’s arrows began to pick off devils, and Jack whirled among the wretches, cutting them to pieces. If anything was clear, it was that the Guardian had underestimated the adventurers.

Of course, its worst mistake had been to assume that Clay was only a little stronger than the rest.

He hit the wretches in front of him like a wave of death. Clay barely even slowed as he tore through the creatures, his spear a flickering doom as he stabbed, slashed, and battered them away. The trio of devils didn’t last much longer; he sidestepped a tongue meant to catch him and then lunged in to impale the offending creature. Another tried to bite his arm, only for him to draw his Pell knife and drive it up and into the flesh beneath its jaw. By the time the third one leapt over the twitching corpses of its friends, he had freed his spear, and hurled it straight into the thing’s stomach.

As it fell dead, he finally finished the Canticle of Ice, and used it to impale half a dozen more devils as they tried to assault his team. The adventurers might not have needed it, but the horrors had finally dropped from the ceiling to cut them off from escape, and he didn’t want to risk them being overwhelmed.

Then he stalked forward, beginning the Cycle of Return. A handful more wretches attempted to leap at him; his knife cut them to pieces without much trouble. His spear returned to his hand a moment later, and he found himself once again facing off against a Guardian.

It charged him, launching itself forward with horrifying speed. Clay backpedaled slightly, lining up his spear to strike. Orn and his workers had done good work; even a horror’s armored hide hadn’t stood up to a good thrust from his new spear. All he needed to do was—

The tyrant lunged, and Clay stabbed out of pure instinct. He felt the impact vibrate through the spear shaft as the dark metal point met the armored scales… and bounced off to the side. His attack left nothing but a tiny divot in the scales over its clublike nose.

He was still recovering from his shock when the Guardian’s maw opened wide. Clay’s heart leapt into his throat as he realized he was looking down the throat of a mouth lined with countless glittering fangs. In one bite, the tyrant could easily rip him in half. It wouldn’t have much trouble swallowing the part it had claimed, either.

Clay threw himself backwards as the jaw snapped shut. He felt the wind from those fangs as he leaned back, just barely avoiding the bladelike teeth. Still operating on instinct, he lashed out again with the spear, and saw the tyrant’s hide deflect it a second time. It responded by lunging forward a second time, its jaw once again opening wide.

For a few frantic heartbeats, Clay found himself being driven back. The tyrant’s maw continued to snap open and shut, each time trying to close on a hand, a leg, an arm, a head. Clay had no illusions about how long he would last in that bite, either. One chomp, and he’d be bleeding out or already dead. His own counterattacks bounced off the scaly hide. The thing didn’t even seem to notice the stabs.

Then he swung the spear at the eyes of the monster, aiming for the one unarmored spot he could see. Aiming for the mouth would just be asking for the thing to eat his spear, after all, and there weren’t any scales over the eyes at least.

For the first time, the thing flinched backwards, and Clay saw his spear strike sparks from the scale just in front of the deep, dark eyeball. He regained his footing, just long enough for the tyrant to launch itself forward. Clay countered by hitting it in the snout, just to blunt its momentum. Then he struck at the thin flaps of hide that lined the back of its mouth, forcing it to wince backward again.

His breath started to steady, and Clay forced himself to grin. The thing did have some weaknesses, if only small ones. As the tyrant came for him again, he found a familiar rhythm. In his mind’s eye, he saw again the many duels he’d fought with Orn. When the [Fighter] had chosen to use a spear, their contests had quickly become tests of reach and opportunities, attacks and retreats. Each strike had to be dodged or deflected aside in order to give an opening for a counterstrike. They’d fought so many times that way, with Clay giving ground to the more experienced adventurer, always being pushed to the limits of his skills.

The tyrant might not have had a spear, but its gaping, tooth-lined maw was just as dangerous. Yet Clay didn’t give it any clear openings to exploit. Every lunge was countered by a dodge to the side, followed by a strike at the corners of its jaw or the darkness of its eyes. Again and again, the tyrant flinched aside or deflected the blows, but the defensive moves compromised its ability to close with him. It still pushed him back and around the cavern by sheer size and mass, but it was no longer a headlong chase.

Clay struck at its left eye, just missing the target, and it turned to snap at his forearm. He pivoted and smashed the weighted end of his spear into its jaw, pushing the attack off course. It twisted in place, a surprising move given its bulk, and lashed at him with its tail. He was forced to catch the blow on the haft of his spear, and it drove him back across the stone. Fragments of discarded egg shells crackled and crunched beneath his feet.

The sudden gap between them gave him the barest chance to glance in the direction of the rest of the team. They were still fighting, and his heart soared as he recognized that there were already far fewer of the lizards. At least two-thirds of the remaining devils were down; two of the horrors were dead as well, though there were still far too many wretches leaping about for his taste. He caught sight of Jack stabbing a pair of the smaller lizards at once, of Anne putting her sword into the eye of a horror, of Natalie battering one of the few remaining devils with her clubs…

And then the tyrant was circling him, looking for an opening. He was forced to tear his eyes away and study his own foe, knowing that the thing would take advantage of even the slightest opening. It would only take one strike.

Clay watched the thing move, looking for an opening. Now that he had seen it move and attack, he was starting to see the sense behind its shape. Its legs were short and squat, unlike their more bowlegged cousins, and lacked any kind of claws that he could see. They were thick with muscle, but it didn’t need to crawl along the ceiling or cling to a wall. This thing was built to charge, to bite, and to consume.

It lacked the swiveling eyes for much the same reason; all it needed to see was where its mouth was pointed, and anything else was pointless considering its hide. The armor protected it from magical attacks, so it had no need of a breath attack to even the odds. Its limbs gave it enough strength to charge, but it had no need to leap, just to bring its teeth into range. Perhaps it would be helpless if he lifted its bulk off the ground?

His mind flying through the options available to him, Clay began to [Chant] the Ballad of Air. The tyrant seemed indifferent to his voice, darting to snap at him but retreating as he stabbed at it with a spear. They circled enough that Clay caught sight of Xavien smashing a wretch while healing Lawrence. The [Occultist] was smashing aside another wretch, even while he chained another horror by wrapping its legs in stone. He didn’t see the others immediately, but it didn’t look like any of them were dead yet. Always a good sign.

The tyrant snapped at him again, and Clay poked at its snout again, striking sparks from the scales. It retreated a bit and seemed to grin at him. It clearly didn’t see any urgency to their fight. If the others arrived, it would swallow them, too. After all, what could they do about it? Who would lodge a complaint?

Clay bore down as he finished the Ballad of Air, reaching out with tendrils of air. He ignored his initial temptation to lift the thing; it was clearly an absolute behemoth that would defy his attempts. Instead, he wrapped the tyrant’s mouth in invisible chains and charged in with a sudden yell. With its mouth imprisoned, it was going to be missing its main weapon and unable to dodge a strike at its eye. He’d probably only be able to partially blind it, but even that much would force it off balance and make it vulnerable.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

The tyrant twitched as it felt the air chain its maw shut. One jet-black eye seemed to study him as he closed, his spear held high to strike. Clay felt the tension in the spell increase as the tyrant tried to strain against it, but he put his training with Syr Katherine to good use and kept the creature bound.

Then, just as he was about to strike, the tyrant’s jaw snapped open, shredding the chains he’d woven around it. Clay froze in shock, both from the sight of the tyrant regaining its freedom and the feeling of the [Chant]’s failure scraping along his soul. The Guardian turned on him in that heartbeat of hesitation, its mouth already opened wide to close on him.

Only Syr Katherine’s relentless training gave him any chance at reacting at all. He lashed out with the spear, slamming it against the Guardian’s jaw. The impact traveled up his arms and jarred his grip; to his horror, the spear went spinning from his arms and across the cavern. Desperate and still half-stunned, Clay leapt backwards and drew his knife. As he gave ground, he began the Cycle of Return and slashed wildly as the tyrant closed in.

If it had been unimpressed by the spear, the Pell knife utterly failed to make the monster flinch backwards at all. The tyrant barely even slowed its charge as he struck it across the snout, and he nearly lost an arm when the teeth snapped shut on the bracer strapped to his forearm. His armor buckled immediately, with a chunk left in its teeth as he recoiled.

Clay dodged to the side, as if to head for the spear himself. The tyrant surprised him by rolling to the side, bringing its maw to face him again. He caught sight of the thing’s pale, scaled belly as it moved, barely long enough to register the difference between it and the rest of its hide.

Then he was backing up again, slashing and cutting wildly to present at least some threat. The tyrant pursued, still intent on its prey.

It was a wonderful relief when the Cycle of Return activated, and the spear shot back towards him. Clay leaped into the air, catching the weapon as he transferred the knife to his left. The tyrant tilted its head back to snap at him again, but he struck back with the longer weapon. He felt the impact travel up the weapon and used it to push himself out of danger.

With his spear back in his hand, the tyrant became more cautious again. Clay backed away again, eyes narrowed.

It was too strong to restrain; he doubted even Lawrence’s tendrils could capture it. At the same time, it should have been using that rolling move before; there had been a couple of times when it would have caught him off guard. Had it only resorted to it once it felt comfortable? Once it knew it had less to risk?

He examined its stance again, noting how low it was crouched on the ground. Was that by choice, or necessity? The scales had looked so different. Maybe they were softer than the ones elsewhere.

If that was the case, how could he convince it to open itself again? It wasn’t going to just rear back and let him gut it. In fact, now that he had the spear back, the Guardian was going to be far more careful than it had been before.

He glanced down at the knife in his hand and grinned as an idea came back to him. Something similar had worked against the last Guardians, after all. Why not give it a shot?

Quickly, Clay spoke the [Chant] of the Ballad of Air. The tyrant seemed to grin at him, as if amused about the spell. It was far less amused when he threw the knife at its eyeball, even as he reached out with the Ballad again.

This time it snapped his bonds immediately, angling its head so the knife bounced off. It didn’t seem to notice when Clay snagged the weapon with the one remaining tendril of air and hide it, point up, among the rocks and shells nearby.

Then he began the Cycle of Return. He knew he saw recognition in the tyrant’s eyes this time; it moved deliberately between him and the direction his fallen weapon had bounced towards. Clay grinned at it as he grew near the spell’s completion.

It was rather surprised when he leaped high and hurled his spear at it. The unexpected attack didn’t keep it from twitching to the side, making the spear glance off its hide instead of claiming an eyeball. Clay called the spear back to him as he charged, launching into a frenzied attack against the monster. He began the Words of Refrain as he moved, trying to keep an eye on the glittering piece of metal below and behind the creature.

For once, the tyrant actually gave ground. It was a bit off balance, and Clay used the extended reach to threaten its few weak points. When it tried to snap back at him, he smashed into it with the blunt end of the spear. He doubted it managed to do much actual damage, but it did convince the monster to back up and reconsider its approach.

He kept up the attack, knowing that the tyrant was just biding its time. At some point, his balance would falter, or his stance would slip, and it would try to dart in and relieve him of a limb or three. For now, he had the satisfaction of making it back away for once, his spearpoint sparking from its hide and the weighted end slamming into its bones with the sound of ringing metal.

Then he backed away, abandoning the attack. The tyrant hesitated, clearly still off balance. It must have expected him to continue the assault, pushing forward until misfortune cost him his momentum. He could see its desire to attack weighing against its suspicion of a trap.

Unfortunately for it, the trap was already sprung. Clay slammed the blunt end of the spear into the rock below, using it as a pole to fling himself towards the roof of the mine. The tyrant’s head moved upward, tracking his motion through the air. Its maw began to open eagerly; he couldn’t dodge in midair, and it would be waiting for him when he fell.

At least, it would have been if the Cycle of Return hadn’t activated in that very moment.

Clay felt the power of the [Chant] settle over him, and his knife tore itself free of the floor beneath the tyrant. He could almost feel it burrow into the thing from below, cutting through soft scales and thick muscle like a glittering spike of hate. The tyrant’s eyes abruptly went very, very wide, and Clay gave it a wide grin from where he had reached the peak of his jump.

The Guardian had only one possible reaction, and Clay was watching for it. It rolled, trying to present its belly to allow the knife to rip its way to him without passing through its body. True to form, the Pell knife shot out of the gash it had ripped in the tyrant’s belly; silvery blood spilled from the hole and covered the length of the knife itself. Clay knew it had done damage, but probably not enough on its own.

Which was why his spear lanced down like a lightning bolt, striking the thing just behind its long jaws.

The spear went in up to the crossguards; Clay had hurled it with everything he had. He saw the tyrant jerk in response. Its enraged hiss became an agonized gargle, even as the knife returned to his hand.

He felt a spike of panic as the creature continued to roll with even more energy. His imagination filled with the sight of his spear, his well-crafted weapon, snapping beneath the bulk of the monster.

Instead, the weighted end of the spear seemed to be guided by some blessed fortune. It caught in a depression in the stone floor. The haft of the spear flexed slightly as the weight of the tyrant bore down on it—and then it stopped. Just like it had caught some boar on its crossguards, it stayed braced against the ground, with the tyrant caught propped partially in the air. He landed just in front of the thing as it writhed and hissed, trying to free itself.

Clay didn’t give it a chance. He began the Words of Refrain one more time as he sprinted forward, the bloody knife in his hand. The tyrant tried to snap at him, but the spear in its throat stopped it from reaching him.

Then he was in under the stubby legs and steel scales, the Pell knife heavy and sturdy in his hands. Clay struck deep, ducking beneath the haft of his own spear as he ran. Keeping the blade there, he tore his way back along the length of the creature, opening a terrible gash that streamed silver blood onto the stone and dirt beneath.

The tyrant thrashed above him, and its tail whipped around as it tried to force its way past the spear. He saw the weapon flex again and called it to him as the [Chant] finished. As it ripped itself free, it tore a ragged hole in the thing’s throat, spilling more blood. Clay caught it in one hand as he stepped back, letting the Guardian collapse back onto its feet with an earthshaking thud.

Blood pooled in a silver wave beneath the Guardian as it struggled to turn and face him. He could see its legs shaking and knew that blood loss would continue to weaken it.

All the same, he had no intention of allowing it a chance to recover. Clay sprinted towards it, dodging the frail snap of its jaws. His return strike put the point of his spear directly in one of its eyes.

Once again, he buried it up to the crossguards, and this time he struck more than just muscle and bone. He saw the entire creature go stiff, as if it had suddenly turned to stone. Clay twisted and jerked the spear free, sending another spurt of silver across the stone.

The Guardian stayed standing for another moment. Then it rolled over onto its side, its mouth gaping open as it went limp.

{Guardian Scaled Tyrant slain! Soul increases by 100}

He very nearly collapsed as the notification scrolled across his vision. Clay forced himself to stay standing, however, and turned to look back at the entrance to the cavern, half-fearing what he would see.

Whatever malevolent force had controlled and united the lizards had shattered with the Guardian’s death. Wretches were scattering everywhere; the single remaining horror turned to flee, only for Jack to tear into it. The rest of the adventurers were still standing, though they all seemed to be wavering on their feet.

Clay grinned. Another place purged. He started towards the scattering creatures. He needed to make sure it was done, after all.

In what seemed like no time at all, Clay returned to where the Curse itself was hovering. It was a brutal, unrelenting light searing through reality. He’d sent the others to destroy the various eggs scattered throughout the room; the last thing any of them needed was for more wretches to break through the shells now.

With the Guardian dead and its power broken, it looked as if it was starting to wither. Clay knew that it was going dormant, sleeping until it could regain power. He wasn’t going to let it escape. Not now, when he could end it.

As he approached, he noticed something had he hadn’t seen before. Kneeling on the floor in front of the light was a figure. There was a pickaxe clutched in its hands; it seemed as if the body had been mummified somehow, preserved despite the lizards that had left traces of themselves throughout the rest of the cave. The eyesockets were empty, and the mouth gaped open in a horrified scream.

Clay frowned as he looked at the body. It had to have been one of the miners, not some overconfident adventurer. How had they opened the Lair, though? It wasn’t like…

He followed the corpse’s line of sight, and his heart froze. There, scrawled on the wall, was the [Chant] of the Poisoned Wish. It was instantly recognizable, despite the fact that it had been written in the common language rather than some ancient tongue or Olivia’s phonetic scrawl. The thing tried to worm its way into his mind regardless, trying to force its way out of his mouth.

The unexpected assault met his sheer determination and faltered. He gritted his teeth and turned away from the writing. “Don’t come over here! Any of you!”

A few of the others looked over, but most of them just nodded and continued their task of destroying the eggs. Clay glanced back at them to make sure. Then he stepped over to the rock wall and began a [Chant] he hadn’t used before. It was the reversed [Chant] of the True Ink. He called it the True Blotter, for lack of a better name, and the words flowed out of him easily. Within a few moments, the writing on the wall was obliterated, wiped away as if it had never existed.

Clay stepped back and looked at the kneeling corpse. The miner would have had no chance to resist, not without even realizing what was happening. Whoever had written the [Chant] on the wall had known what they were doing. They had set a trap for the first person to notice the words, a trap that had killed the miner and whoever else had been nearby.

He turned and looked at the Curse, studying its flickering, shapeless form. Anger filled him as he thought over all the fear and suffering the Rogue had caused, and he called the Garden’s Peace to his mind. It was time to end at least this part of the problem. This suffering was going to be over.

Forcing the anger from his mind, Clay began the [Chant]. It flowed out of him with increasing speed, despite how the light began to flare and writhe. He was ready for the Curse to resist, however; he’d faced this same enemy before, and he was not afraid.

Clay fought on, forcing syllable after syllable into the air around the [Chant]. He felt the spell pulsing in time with each word, countered by each lash of power from the heart of the Lair. The struggle was harsh, as it had been before, but he wasn’t the same man he’d been months before, in the Tanglewood. His friends were with him from the start, now, and the [Chant] was a part of him, not something desperately constructed from the scrawlings of a madman. Still, the thing fought him, and he gritted his teeth as a piece of the struggling energy lashed a furrow in the ground near his feet.

Fatigue hovered in the back of his mind, but he pushed forwards, calling on everything he was and wished to be. The [Chant] would succeed. It had to succeed. Had it taken this long last time? What would happen if he failed? Had he underestimated the task, after all?

He shoved aside those doubts and continued, knowing he was nearing the end. When the final arcane syllables left his tongue, he nearly collapsed in relief. The world seemed to go still around him. Darkness filled the cavern as the light retreated, its unnatural glare collapsing in on itself. Clay could feel the Curse itself howling at him, scrabbling at his soul as if it wished to tear a chunk of him away to carry off with it into the void.

Then the shining strands of wrongness furled up on themselves, curling like a leaf thrown into a fire. It shriveled, fell into itself, and was gone, plunging the cavern into sudden, complete darkness.

Clay let himself fall to his knees, gasping harshly. His exhaustion was nearly overwhelming, but he tried to force himself back up onto his feet. The others might need help; he could hear them muttering and shuffling in the dark.

Then a torch flared to life, filling the empty chamber with flickering light. Another lit a moment later, and then another. Clay heard them coming to join him and turned to look back. He saw Lawrence looking at him with concern. “Clay, are you all right?”

He smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. It just takes… a lot.”

“Well at least it was worth it!” Anne was looking around, her eyes as wide as they could go. “Anyone else just hit level six?”

The others nodded. Jack helped Clay to his feet, even as he checked his own notifications through the [Gift].

{Curse of First Lost Mine destroyed! Soul increases by 1000 for all nearby heroes}

{Will increases by 1!}

{Commoner reaches Level 10!}

{Maximum level for all Stats is now 25!}

{Experience gained (Whisperer: Gain 10% bonus to minor Chants. Gain 10% bonus to the speed and effectiveness of all Chants.)}

{Experience gained (Duelist: Gain 10% bonus to all skills when facing an enemy one on one.)}

{Experience Defiant has gained power from destroying a Curse! Experience is now Defiant II: Gain 40% bonus to all skills when facing an opponent of a higher level.}

{Achievement Unlocked! Combat Generalist: Gain Tactician Skill. Gain 10% bonus to all damage in combat.}

{Achievement Unlocked! Warrior Poet: Gain 40% bonus to Lyricist Skill. Gain 10% bonus to the speed of all Chants.}

Clay blinked, his eyes widening as he drank in the new details of his [Gift]. Apparently, his [Experiences] had finally combined to create new [Achievements] for him. Given what he had already been capable of doing with basic [Chants] before, he could only imagine what [Warrior Poet] would do. [Combat Generalist] and [Duelist] both seemed to be primed to help him in his next battles as well.

Of course, the thing that caught his attention the most was the Lyricist skill. He’d more or less ignored it when he’d gotten it initially; he couldn’t picture himself as some sort of wandering minstrel. At the same time, it appeared to be linked to the [Chants] in some way, though Syr Katherine hadn’t mentioned it at all. Was it the skill that might allow him to learn how to create his own [Chants]? Or was he simply overthinking things?

He shook off the questions and looked around the cave. “All right, let’s finish with these eggs and then get to our camp. The slimes won’t have lizards to contain them anymore, so we need to make sure they don’t flood the town.”

The others started to laugh, and Xavien shook his head. “No rest for the righteous, Sir Clay?”

“Not sure if anyone here counts for that anyway, Sir Xavien.” Clay gave him a crooked grin. “We’ve gotten some new abilities, but the job remains the same. Let’s get to it.”