Kredevel tore through the barrier set before him. It was thicker and stronger than the ones he had destroyed earlier. But that was how the training capsule worked. One had to break through ever-stronger obstacles with one’s powers, and that was how one raised one’s prowess.
It was slow going, and the Essence reward wasn’t great. Especially not with mere Tier 3 training capsules. Just another reason Kredevel had to get to higher floors.
So many better opportunities for growth once one climbed the Tower.
As Kredevel channelled his Growth Mana through Bladed Growth, his swords lengthened. Amethyst, hornlike growths glimmered to being around his curved sword, enlarging them to nearly five times their original range. Enhanced and empowered, Kredevel continued crushing through the set of training barricades erected by the capsule.
They broke apart easily. But then, the capsule itself was falling apart. All around him, the white space beyond the glowing blue barriers was cracking apart. Shattering.
Moments later, they fell completely, like the destroyed panes of a window.
Kredevel was back in the real world of the Tower of Forging again. At his feet, a glassy orb lay fractured and destroyed. Ah well. The training capsule had lasted him a decent amount of time.
He had broken through to level 19 a little while ago, after all.
Satisfied with his efforts, Kredevel decided to take a break. And what better way to take a break than to pay a visit to his most relaxing spot.
----------------------------------------
“You have some nerve coming here after what you did.”
That was the welcoming greeting Kredevel got as he arrived at the Brighthorn pen. Their current handler, Serian, had not appreciated how Kredevel had absconded with the training capsules yet still dared to return to the Brighthorns after his heinous crime.
“And yet,” Kredevel said. “You welcome me all the same. It’s good to see you again, Serian.”
The young Sylvan, who had crossed off his Ritual Day mere days before joining the expedition into the Tower of Forging, grumbled something under his breath. He was the youngest among all of them who were here. His light green horns were still thin, and his skin still bore the mark of youthful scales that he was yet to shed off fully.
“What was that?” Kredevel asked. “I couldn’t quite catch you there.”
Serian shot him another glare. “I was saying that you shouldn’t rely on my goodwill so much. If the Floor Lord asks, I will have to tell him where you are and what you’ve been doing.”
Kredevel entered the pen. One of the Brighthorns recognized him, loping over and receiving a light scratch on the back of its head. “We both know the Handler doesn’t care.”
Serian spluttered. He probably couldn’t believe Kredevel would dare call their Floor Lord by the title that was reserved only for the Tower Lord’s use.
It was true, though. Olgolair couldn’t care less what Kredevel did or where he went. In fact, the Floor Lord most likely didn’t care one whit that Kredevel had stolen training capsules as well, while destroying most that he couldn’t have taken with him.
So what if his weaker subordinates would now find it inordinately difficult to train and grow? Olgolair never used them.
He had no reason to care.
Eventually, the younger Sylvan forgot his anger. He bent to tending to the Brighthorn. That was the reason they had struck up a bond. Kredevel and Serian both loved the hounds.
“How are they doing?” Kredevel asked.
“If you think I’m going to tell a traitor what is going on,” Serian said. “Then you should think again.”
“I meant the Brighthorns, Serian.”
“…oh.” The younger Sylvan petted a nearby hound, feeding it a piece of dried Mana fruit from a small sack. “They are doing well. There are still casualties out there, but there is only so much any of us can do about that. The new Denizens are at least treating them better overall, though. I appreciate their new strategy.”
Kredevel nodded. He looked over to where a couple of the Brighthorns were dozing. “Sleep is much better than debilitating via pain or causing some other discomfort. I do worry sometimes that the sleep they inflict might not be good too, but…”
“It beats the alternatives we’ve seen so far.”
“Yes.”
“But yes, I would not be averse to news about our fellow friends too.”
At that, Serian glared at him. Then sighed. “They’re having a mighty row.”
Kredevel slowly turned around to stare. “Really, now? What ever for?”
“I don’t truly know. Some ruckus about a fight between the red-banded ones and the company stationed at Sector 43.” Serian paused for a second. “Most of the company was killed.”
Now that got Kredevel’s attention. Killing almost a whole company of Sylvans? That wasn’t any small ruckus. He was surprised the Wild Tides residing with the Sylvans hadn’t been summarily executed already. “That is difficult to believe. They killed that many of us? And are still here? Alive?”
“Well, they’re denying it all, but… well, I don’t know the details. The shouting is why I came here in the first place.”
“Hold on. Are you saying that they are still there, discussing the matter at this moment?”
Serian nodded.
Kredevel got to his feet, bidding farewell to the Brighthorns. He would need to complete his visit later. Relaxation be taken by the Burgeoner, he had to see what this was about.
“I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to pop in right this moment,” Serian said, standing up as well, his green robes glimmering. “Almost everybody would wish you were one of those killed by the Wild Tides.”
“We don’t even know if the Wild Tides actually are the killers, now do we? So long as their denial can be believed. Don’t worry, I will only watch things from afar, never letting them find my presence.”
Serian probably didn’t believe him, which was likely why the younger Sylvan followed Kredevel as he approached the main compound. The broken-down Everair palace that the Floor Lord had appropriated was a warren at many places, but Kredevel had been here long enough that he could find his way to where the commotion was occurring.
He could also find a secluded little spot tucked away from all else from where he could observe the goings-on without himself being sensed by the others.
“Get away from them, Lastiel,” one of the Sylvans was saying.
Lastiel himself was standing before the humans with the red cloth around their arms. The Wild Tides, as they liked to call themselves. They were all surrounded by several angry Sylvans who had their hands on their weapons. Likely the only reason the new Denizens weren’t dead was because of the Sylvans’ second-in-command standing before them.
“Do not disregard the Floor Lord’s orders,” Lastiel said, voice silky smooth yet holding onto a hard edge. “We are not to act rashly till a complete investigation into the matter has been concluded.”
“Investigation by whom? We’re allowing these cowards to hide their own handiwork. Of course they will come out looking innocent.”
“You do realize we are likely being fooled, yes?”
“And do you realize several of us and our Brighthorns were murdered in cold blood?”
Credit to the humans, they didn’t look cowed or afraid. Only annoyed. Kredevel was starting to get the feeling that they really might not be the culprits. That Lastiel could be in the right in the matter. Such a sad proposition.
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But then, who or what had killed his fellow Sylvans?
The argument went on, as did the standoff. By the looks of things, they had been at it for a while, long before Kredevel had arrived. He couldn’t tell what exactly they were waiting for. Could Kredevel perhaps push things a little in the direction he desired? Hmm, it would be difficult from his currently self-banished state.
While he figured it out, he could call—
Kredevel paused. Impossible. It couldn’t be that Ray was the one who had caused this chaos, could he?
Well, only one way to find out.
He had been about to open up his chat with Ray when Serian grabbed a hold of his arm and began leading him away.
“They are coming,” the younger Sylvan said.
They turned out to be more of the Wild Tides. In fact, if Kredevel wasn’t mistaken, one of them was their leader. The man with the long dark robe and a big beard. He certainly walked and held himself like he owned the whole place.
If he was at all deterred by the frosty, near-hostile reception he got from most of the Sylvans, he didn’t show any sign of it. An intriguing man.
“We are being misled, my friends,” he said. “I have acquired evidence of it.”
“Evidence?” One of the Sylvans scoffed. “Don’t tell us you have the head of the culprit and can make it talk.”
His beard stretched as he smiled. “If only. All I really did was learn how exactly the murders were carried out. The specific abilities this murderer used? I can assure you that there isn’t a single member of the Wild Tides who possesses powers like those. You can check if you want.”
Kredevel blinked. Whoever had reported these killings had likely seen what sort of skills or spells the culprit had used.
As such, Derrick Order, the leader of the Wild Tides, had simply learned about them. Kredevel was not at all surprised he knew what powers the members of his faction possessed. Though, this begged the question, how exactly had they been killed?
The Sylvans didn’t have any real argument against that. All they could do was start scheduling an immediate investigation into every single member of the Wild Tides to see if what Derrick had said was indeed the truth. That would be a massive undertaking, but there was no other choice.
Unfortunately, it looked like the Wild Tides had other plans.
“We will be glad to comply,” Derrick said. “But first, we’ve got some important business to take care of.”
That made several of the Sylvans bristle.
“Nothing is more important than resolving this issue!” one said.
“Nothing?” Derrick scratched his chin through his beard. “Not even bringing to heel the scum who killed so many Brighthorns, who murdered your fellows while running from their righteous punishment? I wouldn’t be surprised if this was their handiwork too.”
Kredevel froze. Derrick had to be talking about Ray and the Faction he was involved with. He realized there was some context he was missing. What exactly did the Wild Tides plan to do?
“Is it true?” Lastiel asked. “You’re moving out against them now?”
“Well, they’ve decided to surrender.” Derrick’s smile was the opposite of pleasant. “We’ve come to an agreement. It’s time the Wild Tides took advantage of it. Once we’re done with them, you can swoop in and kill the perpetrators.”
That phrasing made even Lastiel frown. “We will not kill. We will punish where we deem it appropriate. But if your plan has finally come to fruition, then there is no time to waste.”
“Yes. That’s what I was thinking. Neat little coincidence we have this ruckus right when we need to carry out our plan, isn’t it?”
Lastiel looked around with no small amount of suspicion at the rest of the Sylvans. “That it is.”
“We will still need to inform the Floor Lord of this,” one of the Sylvans said. “He’ll be the one to judge if this proof of yours holds any true merit.”
Derrick’s smile grew wider. “Oh, good idea. I’m sure he’ll judge well.”
Lastiel laughed. “Oh, I am certain he will.”
If that sounded nefarious to the other Sylvans, they didn’t let on. With the argument momentarily settled, Kredevel decided to depart. He had learned enough. Enough that he had to act. Soon.
“What was all that?” Serian asked.
“You heard them,” Kredevel said. “They are moving out against the Insurge Faction—”
“No, not that. The last bit. Where the commander was laughing along with that human. What is going on with the Floor Lord?”
I am bored, Kredevel.
He remembered the words from Olgolair. Of course, the Floor Lord was bored on a Floor that held no real challenges for him. Nothing of true interest. Except for one small thing.
“I think this Derrick Orden has discovered the secret of the Everair,” Kredevel said. “Something the Handler has been seeking for a while.”
Serian winced at the mention of the Floor Lord’s title again, but he looked too thoughtful about what Kredevel had revealed. Kredevel was interested about it too, but there was a more important matter to deal with. He would need to speak with Ray soon.
He and his group had to prepare to be invaded.
----------------------------------------
While Maya handled the communication between Insurge Faction and the Wild Tides, Ray decided to spend some time in the Base. He thought he could just stroll and relax. Gritty had disappeared to who knew where while Randall and Dory were both busy with their own matters.
But if Ray had thought he would have to remain alone until things got going with the Wild Tides, he was mistaken.
“Hey!”
A woman ran up to him. She was trailed by a small gaggle of Faction members, all of whom wearing simple robes of various designs and many of whom bore staves. Ray blinked.
They were all mages.
Which was confirmed later when he began talking with the woman and the rest of the group. Apparently, they knew about Ray. Not only what he had done for the Faction—which everybody knew, from what he heard, not that it was surprising—but also that he had a magic-based Ascension Class as well.
“So, we were thinking,” the woman, Alicia, said. “That you could give us some pointers. You know, help us grow stronger. With everything going on, I feel like we could use all the help we can get to become as strong as possible.”
Ray was a little taken aback by the request. The idea wasn’t anathema to him. If someone had knowledge he could use, it made sense to get that knowledge, if possible.
It was just rare for Ray to be that someone.
“Uh, sure,” he said. He scratched the back of his head, his smile tinged with slight embarrassment. “Not sure how much I can help, but we can give it a go.”
They continued training for a long while after that. Finding some open space at the back of the keep, Ray led them through some exercises to help them find synergies between various spells they possessed and come up with strategies to use them effectively in battle.
Some of them were quite smart about it already. One fire mage type guy—there were way too many of them for Ray to use Presence of the Primordial to go through all their spells and what not—used his heat control to zone his opponents before he blasted them with fireballs.
Another man with strange flesh manipulation magic—which was as gruesome as it was interesting and reminded Ray of his own Lifeblood Chaos—could make himself appear corpselike. To the point his life signature disappeared and even Presence of the Primordial didn’t detect him. And then, once he was within reach of a foe who had ignored him, he’d lash out.
Pretty wild, if Ray thought about it for long. The majority of them had interesting abilities, one way or another.
He also noticed that not all of them were well-rounded. Some had very specific leanings they had to focus on, sort of how Dory’s entire class was built around summoning other creatures to do her bidding.
In much the same way, one man could only apply various buffs to himself and others, while another could only call upon plants to perform any action.
All interesting use cases and limits.
It made Ray wonder about his limits again. Poison. That was one. That fucking swamp. But he had a feeling there were others he hadn’t fully thought of, and if he didn’t figure them out soon enough, he could end up getting in trouble.
When they dispersed a few hours later, they all thanked him for the insights, help, and practice. Ray was smiling brightly when he returned back to the keep. That had felt good.
“What’s got you so happy?”
Ray looked up. Gritty was hanging upside-down from the ceiling with her foot on it, like she had been bitten by a radioactive spider.
“I was helping some people train,” he said. “It’s nice to see everyone working together. What the hell are you doing?”
“Just testing a neat little ability I got.”
“The ability to cosplay as spider punk?”
“Fuck off. And no, I can control the force of attraction between myself and anything that has blood on it. In other words, if I throw some blood around…” She twirled like a ballerina determined to make everyone think ballets were fucking stupid. “I can walk on walls and ceilings. Neat, huh?”
Ray hadn’t seen walls and ceilings out in the wilderness of the First Floor, though he supposed this could be interesting in dungeons, ruins, and in other enclosed spaces. “Definitely neat.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or not.”
“I’m going to go find Maya.” Ray waved as he walked past. “Let me know if you can start shooting webs.”
He caught her rolling her eyes at him as he went higher up the Base. Ray knocked politely and sought permission before entering Maya’s office. Despite that, she still looked shattered when he entered.
“Hey,” Ray said. She looked so broken, Ray had a sudden overwhelming urge to comfort her. “Are you alright? What’s going on?”
She looked up from where her face was buried in her hands. “We got another message from the Wild Tides.” She sucked in a breath wet with a suppressed sob. “They have my family.”
Ray froze. “What?”
“It’s them. I know it. He—he made my husband write the letter. There are things in it that only he would know.” She shook her head, clearly distraught. “How could this have happened?”
Ray found himself swallowing. This Derrick. Maya was right. The Wild Tides leader was a lot more devious than he had given him credit for. “What does he want in return for your family’s safety? We’re agreeing to the surrender, so it shouldn’t be an issue, right?”
“That’s the thing. He doesn’t just want us to surrender. If I want my family back, then—” She hesitated, then stared him in the eye with her tear-filled, bloodshot ones. “Then I have to hand you over to them.”
Ray’s eyebrows rose on their own. He was suddenly tempted to laugh at the sheer evilness of Derrick’s move.
“Don’t worry, Mrs Boss,” Gritty said.
She had entered from behind. Apparently, she had decided to follow Ray, who turned around and didn’t see her. Then looked up and found her with her arms folded on the ceiling. A trail of bloody boot prints snaked out of the office. Good luck to Maya on cleaning that.
“I infiltrated their ranks before,” Gritty said. “I can do it again and extract your family, no sweat.”
Ray stared at her. Wasn’t she always saying how she was mean and cruel and did whatever she had to in a world that she hated? Yet, here she was offering to go out and save a poor woman’s family all on her own.
Those two sides gelled about as well as oil and water, but then, maybe people were more complex than the neat little boxes Ray might have put them in.
“I can’t ask you to put yourself in that sort of risky position,” Maya said. “Though, I appreciate it.”
“It’s no real risk. Trust me, I can survive anything.”
“It’s not just a risk to you,” Ray said. “It’s her family we’re also concerned about.”
“…oh, right.”
“But it’s fine.” Ray turned to face Maya again, trying to smile confidently. “You’re going to agree with what they say, Maya. And then, you’re going to get your family back.”
“Agree?” Maya shook her head. “I can’t just give you up to them.”
“You can. You will.” Ray’s smile turned into a grin. “But also, you won’t.”