###
Zayne sat at a long table housing the myriad of adventuring parties and newbies chewing and jesting as they basked in the comfort of the warm lights above. While not the cleanest place he had the pleasure of eating in, the canteen was kept clean enough for most to enjoy, save for the nobles and the rich, perhaps.
For 10 coppers, The old lady gave him a complete set of porridge, bread, and a choice of warm beverage. They tasted bland—almost as if salt never existed—yet Zayne gulped it down like it was prime steak. He’d learned the lesson of extreme hunger, how he should appreciate food when he had it. Sitting between the parties of others, he eavesdropped about their hunts and their missions, about their day and their plans for tomorrow. It served as decent amusement to him; he’d frequently listened on the wild ramblings of those visiting Kate’s inn; oh, how glorious and outright outlandish some of their stories were, yet, Zayne found enjoyment from dreaming about their tales, truth be damned. For a coreless, oftentimes fantasy served better than reality.
His chewing froze upon the mention of the monolith. He shifted his eyes behind, almost staring at a stalwart-looking part on his back, serious faces discussing what appeared to be their final days. “We need a decent heal-” their discourse was muddled by the murmurs of others, and Zayne heard little, but his ears perked nonetheless. He’d listened about Agil’s dream of entering the monolith once he acquired his license—about the tribulations slumbering within, the dangers and the excitement, and the potential riches should an adventurer prevail.
Monoliths were akin to a separate world, similar to a dungeon gate, but way, way bigger in scope, and its denizens stronger than anything else one would find in that region. In dungeons, adventurers could come and go as they pleased, but monoliths obstructed daring folks from leaving should they enter. The monoliths opened its gate once a month, then closed until the floor boss perished—or everybody else died. Monsters in the wilderness respawned upon the monolith’s opening, creating some form of a perverted cycle nobody truly understood how the gears truly worked. What was taught in academies hence were observations, not conclusions.
Those who survived the trials ended up a few coin pouches richer. However, to enter a monolith, a few forewarnings had been publicized by the kingdom—no, the united alliance of races—to ensure fairness and good conduct between adventurers risking their lives inside. The lack of military presence within monoliths made rules impossible to impose. So, adventuring guilds took that role into their own hands—which came with another assortment of problems. Problems Zayne wouldn’t have to worry until the time came.
Zayne gulped the rest of his beverage and exited the canteen. Without a license, all the talks of monolith might as well be nonsense. One by one, he breathed as he traced his way back into the hall, then strode past the lightening crowd back to his room. The rattle of his gems sang with each step, almost begging for consumption.
Hues of surprise colored his face as he entered a room filled with three distinct individuals, each resting a similar-looking backpack on the edges of their respective beds. Their eyes settled on him for a moment, then each turned their heads away, as if unimpressed by his look.
Zayne greeted them as he paced about to his corner. He studied their appearances on the way; First, the giant man sat athwart him, holding a massive sword that thudded as he leaned his blade against his figure. He had the looks to match such a gigantic weapon, bulky with a stocky face, marred with years of experience and hardships, he had eyes filled with character. His imperious stare and rough stubble marked the linings of his facial features; large lips, square nose, with brows thicker than a forest thicket. His short auburn hair was cut cleanly. Scattered under his almost nubile chest were all the intricate armor pieces he must’ve worn; a helmet, pauldrons, a steel cuirass, and all the pieces Zayne couldn’t name. Extreme care shone from the glints of the armor pieces, each appearing new as if he just bought them this afternoon.
“Sorry to intrude,” one spoke from the bed on Zayne’s side, “We’re here for official business.” He smiled, but the corners of his lips never reached his eyes, “You’re Zayne, right? The survivor from Burg? I’m sorry to hear what happened.” This man contrasted the brute sat across him, gaunt and lanky, with an elongated face with a sharp nose and pursed lips. Light freckles dotted his bony cheeks as his green eyes darted sheepishly around Zayne and the other figure Zayne missed upon entering, his medium-length hair shifted as he craned his neck. Cladding his figure was a simple leather armor of dark green and black. A bow strap and quiver hung beside his bed frame.
“It’s alright…” Zayne mumbled as he looked over the final person in the room.
At first, he didn’t think too much of him. The man simply brooded over his bed with knees clutched between his arm, appearing to be sleeping. His dark mane wobbled from his slow breathing, its length similar to Zayne’s hair, and with a studious look, Zayne noted his eyes, which appeared to be blue at a glance, but he couldn’t quite clarify from where he stood. His dark cape and dark everything shrouded his already faint presence. His aloof, almost insipid look stretched his vagueness too far that Zayne’s heart pounded with a sense of eeriness; no human carried such a minuscule existence.
“Shut up and leave that kid be, Danya.” The brutish man spoke, his voice throaty, vibrating the floor and hard objects in the room, “We’re not here to chit-chat and have fun.”
Danya, the man greeted him, raising his arms high in mock surrender, “Woops. Sorry. you don't have to speak that loudly, Bernard. You don't want to-”
The dark-haired man stirred awake. Both Danya and Bernard froze. A strange coldness washed into the room for a moment, but heat returned before Zayne noted the abrupt change. “Go to sleep.” He said, his voice slightly deeper and louder than he expected. “We have things to do tomorrow. I don’t want any tardiness from you two.”
Danya grinned, and with his final words, everyone had to sleep. Even Zayne felt pressure to follow his words, even if he wasn’t a part of their group. With a full belly and a day of tiresome battles and constant activity, he felt the need to sleep anyway, so he wasn’t complaining.
###
Morning came like a storm. The three men left in a hurry, caring little of the rowdiness as they exited the room with booming, heavy steps. Zayne breathed relief, something about the black-haired man struck a cold fear into his heart—but he couldn’t explain why.
Regardless, He felt awake enough to reach into his satchel and downed all the gems he’d saved for the day.
All in all, he earned 90 essences from the ten or so monster gems he’d consumed; enough for a level up, yet no essence gem materialized. With a short nod of begrudging acceptance, he spent his essences for a level up while stretching his sleep away, squinting as the ray of morning sun bathed his skin. A good bedding allowed him to rest well for the first time in weeks. He yawned and allowed his body to naturally rouse, then packed his satchel, noting the extra chips on the edges of his spear and weapons, sighed, and left. A few more days of harsh usage and these weapons had to be repaired.
CORE
Core.Level
4
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
To next level
250
Max. Essence
350
Race
Human
Mana
6/6
Essence
60
Class
-
SLOTS
Required ess.
Open slots
Required ess.
Open slots
White
20
0/1
Red
200
0/1
Blue
100
-
Green
100
-
Violet
500
-
Black
1000
-
TRAITS
NAME
NAME
NAME
Brawn
+4
Endurance
+4
Magic
+3
Agility
+2
Level 4… Zayne felt little changes upon subsequent level-ups since his first. He felt stronger, sure, but the changes weren’t as drastic as how they used to be. He hoped he grew at a consistent, measurable pace, evident from his ever-increasing mana, but without certainty, there’d always be doubt in his mind.
The adventurer’s hall was the least rowdy during the daybreak. His steps echoed in the emptiness, and only two counters were filled with a clerk, one of which was staffed by Pherey. She yawned as Zayne marched away from the hall, eager for another day of hunting.
Light mist drowned the basin in its unique predawn chill. The walls glinted from the rising sun, hues of white subdued with shades of orange and yellow. To his back, the monolith reflected the growing light like a perfect mirror, painting an image of the sky on its breadth. Zayne gawked at the incredulous sight; A gem-like mountain, mirroring the skies and the sun, amalgamating with its surroundings, wreathed by a collage of walls and houses and towers. No matter how many times Zayne had seen it, he couldn’t stop himself from being awed all over again.
Forcing himself to turn away, he approached the nearest weapon shop.
A portly man in his fifties, wearing a full set of common garb and a coif with a neatly trimmed mustache glowered over Zayne’s downright impoverished guise. All his weapons needed repairing, his outfit bloody, and his hair a mess. “What do you want?” He said, his tone terse and cold.
“Can I get my weapons repaired here?” Zayne pulled his sword out of its scabbard, “Like this one?” He placed his worn blade on the wooden counter, “How much will it be?”
The man eyed his blade, sighed contemptuously, then answered with a dismissive wave. “You’re better off buying a new one, and last time I checked, this isn’t a blacksmith. For repairs, you need at least 2 silver in most blacksmiths. But most charge more than 3.”
Zayne lowered his gaze. He had 179 coppers, which translated to 1 silver and 79 coppers. “Thanks for the time,” He smiled. The merchant smirked. At least, he had the decency to keep his thoughts to himself. One day, one day I’ll buy something good for myself.
The gate guards stifled a yawn when they let Zayne pass. On the outskirts, he spotted other adventurers preparing for their day, convening near the entrance as they scrutinized their resources; food, weapons, armor, etc. Some eyed Zayne’s weapons—his crude, almost battered armaments seemed to elicit groans as he kept his head low—but he paid them no mind.
And so his day continued. Killing rats and kobolds in his usual spot until the afternoon. Their numbers dwindled from Zayne’s constant hunting; he surmised he had to find another spot tomorrow, else he risked wasting time. Twelve clangoring gems clattered in his satchel before no other monsters dared to step into his territory. He sighed an exhausted breath and took a seat.
“ROAARRR!”
A roar shattered the peaceful silence of the plains. Wargs, he concluded in an instant; he’d fought them enough times to recognize their sound—low and deep, thick and menacing. At first, He paid it no mind, but that changed when he heard the cries of humans. With spring-like steps, he galloped past the tall grass, coming upon the sight of Gilbert and his siblings, circled by wargs and-
Shit. Their alpha? His eyes widened. A Warg Alpha, this one even larger than the one he encountered before. Wyne had her staff clutched between her palm, her face languid and pallid, retreating with languor-filled steps. Oswul cast his glance back and forth, keeping his bow close to his hands, unable to launch a successful shot. Gilbert struggled to keep his stance right; a nasty gash ran across his knees and feet matching the light slits dotting all over his body. Zayne recognized the direness of their situation and bolted. His eyes counted at least 7 wargs were present, discounting the giant one.
Time to use it. [Poison strike]
A tiny glow of magic resonated on the surface of his skin, glowing a dim purple, submerging his palm and reaching over to all his weapons. The light lingered as Zayne zipped to their position with his shabby spear in his hands, panting. A warg turned its head back upon noticing his arrival, but its cries were silenced by his invasive steel that lodged itself in its gullet. Oswul pointed in Zayne’s direction, “Zayne!” He called as Gilbert swiped the advance of the giant warg, accruing another nasty gash on his right arm. Zayne sensed demise, then rushed without thought, grasping his spear tight as he barreled toward the warg leader.
A roar swept the plains as Zayne bounced high. It opened its maw, ready to receive Zayne’s sudden attack, but Gilbert wasn’t dead—not yet—as he raised his giant sword to swat the other advancing wargs away. A light show cast Gilbert’s back, painting the scene white—a healing spell, from Wyne—before gravity yanked Zayne downward.
The giant warg’s maw was all he saw as blood burst from its snout. Zayne kicked himself away, drawing his blade whilst parrying the charge of a warg from his rear. A few slashes to its underside rendered it placid, then he resumed his advance at their leader. Zayne knew little of the effects of his poison, but it proved somewhat effective, as the alpha growled and lost its ability to stand properly. The others held the tide of rampaging wargs as he charged. With his spear lodged on the top of its nose as a beacon to its location, Zayne sidestepped its quick retaliation; its figure blurred from their intense exchange, and he carved more swift slashes near its hind legs.
It cried. Zayne gritted his teeth as if he’d forgotten to breathe. His blade chinked against its bones as he intensified his barrage of slashes. A crack and snap later, his sword shattered into glass pieces, leaving only its handle in his palm. No time to hesitate, I still have my daggers. He discarded the wooden stump and swung his hands near his sides, drawing his two reserve weapons, then rechanted poison strike-
A blur of a large limb swerved, cleaving air as it smashed the right side of his head. Its force sent him rolling; wet, bloodied soil erupted, filling his sight with its brown fudge. Air wobbled as he lay still, limp from top to bottom, quivering. Zayne coughed, his arms rocking as he clambered himself up, pulling on grass. Thoughts halted to a stop. That one strike left his brain a jumbled, watery mess. He clutched his daggers—no, no daggers left in his hands now—He lost grip of both after that strike. Zayne coughed up another splatter of blood before a shadow loomed over the harsh sun above. Stale breath submerged him under the giant warg’s dominance. It lurched, snapping its maw wide open.
Zayne wasn’t close to being strong enough to handle it alone.