Bracing my foot against the felled Hquameta's chest, I wrapped both hands around the hilt of my sword and pulled. There was a moment of resistance, and then I narrowly avoided falling over backwards as it finally came free with an unpleasantly drawn-out sucking sound.
Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil is rightwise king born of all England, I thought inanely, frowning at the additional chips the copper blade's edge had acquired in this latest fight. Lovely.
Another Monster down; that made seven so far.
New Message:
Dungeon room clear!
All traps and Monsters in this room have been defeated.
Rooms Cleared This Run: 9
Rooms Remaining: 2
Our party had surpassed its previous best performance, both in terms of rooms cleared and of Monsters killed. All of us had gained a good amount of Experience, and we even picked up a decent pair of greaves that Sean was now wearing. The run was already an unqualified success. We could turn back to the Portal now, and we'd be able to hold our heads high.
You could end a Dungeon run at any time: just go back to the entrance and walk out. There was no shame in it. The majority of runs didn't end in a full-clear; the Heroes would battle as far into the Dungeon as their party's leader thought they could handle without undue risk, then they would pack it up and go home. Everyone in the party would be awarded Experience when they exited, the amount received determined by the number of rooms they'd cleared.
The Heroes famous enough to do the late-night show interview circuit might talk a good game, playing up the life-or-death nature of the trade for an audience that didn't know any better; those of us who were in the business ourselves understood the way it really works.
As I'd observed earlier, being a Hero was an inherently dangerous occupation. Realizing when the risks of proceeding outweighed the rewards was a vital skill if you wanted to make a career out of it and retire alive and whole. Like the gambler once said, you gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em.
I looked over my party, trying to keep the pensive nature of my thoughts from showing on my face.
We were moving deliberately and professionally, carefully conserving our strength as much as possible, pausing to take frequent breaks like this one between each bout of combat.
None of the subsequent fights we'd encountered had been quite as tough as the first. The traps proved to be simplistic in nature: more camouflaged pits of various sizes, the occasional deadfall overhead, and once a hidden niche in the wall that had concealed a smaller Monster waiting to leap out as we passed. Nothing we couldn't handle.
Still, it was obvious by this point that all of us were considerably the worse for wear – and the Dungeon's hardest challenge almost certainly still awaited us.
Two rooms left. Possibly as many as three Monsters remaining – no more than two Monsters per Level seemed like a hard rule, and often it ended up being fewer than that, but in Dungeon runs there were no guarantees. Could we afford to take the chance?
Ah, who was I kidding?
We'd come so far – we were going to go for it, of course.
"–mien? Hellooo? Earth to Damien?"
I blinked, snapping out of my deliberation. Naomi stared up into my eyes, leaning forward with fists on hips, face so close to mine that my startled exhalation ruffled her hair. She could move incredibly quietly when she wanted to, Agility and innate talent both contributing, but I think this time she'd been trying (and failing) to get my attention.
"Right," I said, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. I cleared my throat. "Uh, right. We're finishing this."
Sean nodded sharply and stood, casually crushing the plastic water bottle in his hand before tossing it over his shoulder. Was it still considered littering if you left trash in an interdimensional space? It wasn't like anything left in the Dungeon – from refuse to corpses of Monsters or even unfortunate fallen Heroes – would still be there the next time the Portal opened, I admitted with a mental shrug.
But I put my own empty container into my backpack anyway. Habits are things you have to consciously maintain.
The next chamber had nothing. No Monsters, no traps. We walked into the room, and immediately received a Message congratulating us for clearing it. That happened sometimes, and it was normally considered a fortunate break, but in these circumstances it made me more nervous about what was waiting in the final area. I looked around as we walked through.
As we'd seen in the rest of the Dungeon, the walls, ceiling, and floors were carved out of the dark-gray stone, rough tool marks plainly visible. This space, unusually, had a number of balled-up piles of shredded... something, perhaps plant fiber or some type of fabric, scattered about here and there. Nests, I speculated. Was this the Monsters' lair?
We had advanced far beyond the glow of the Portal, and the room was illuminated only by the odd directionless half-light that seemed to be an innate characteristic of Dungeons, leaving the corners of the room in shadow. Creepy. Still, the Message said it was clear, and that meant clear, so we were safe enough.
I called a halt before the next archway, the excavated path beyond continuing for just a few paces before a ninety-degree turn hid the rest from view. This passage would be the last thing standing between us and the Dungeon Heart. The last thing standing between me and the very good day I'd promised myself this morning.
A moment of unspoken agreement and we pressed on, cautiously making our way through the repeating switchbacks of the connecting corridor. Finally, after an interminable length, it opened out onto the finish line.
There was, as it turned out, only one Monster waiting for us in the room. Another member of the gorilla-crocodile family, standing alone before the ornate pillar of black metal tracery on which the Dungeon Heart rested.
This one differed considerably from its fellows, at least a head taller, brown-striped and with a smaller secondary pair of three-fingered arms protruding from its midsection. The reptile was wearing a coarse-woven tabard with an inscrutable symbol daubed onto it. One massive clawed hand awkwardly grasped a bronze-headed tool, something resembling a sledgehammer taken from a construction site more than any kind of serious weapon of war. In the other it clutched a broad-bladed, single-edged copper machete.
The creature's eyes were closed, snapping open as soon as we crossed the threshold, and instead of reptilian gold they shone out with an eerie pure-white light.
"Boss!" shouted Sean unnecessarily as the Monster lumbered into motion, weapons scraping along the stone as it lifted them overhead.
Monster: Hquatellon-meta
Level: 5
Experience: 36 / 100
Power: +4
Speed: +2
Agility: -2
Vitality: 0
Resilience: +3
Core Slot 1: Hquatellon-meta Warrior (Rank D)
Core Slot 2: Earth (Rank F)
Core Slot 3: [Locked]
[…]
Level 5, and with a second Core. Crap. I felt a flash of concern that only grew as my eyes skimmed the Monster's Attributes; by the end, I found myself fervently hoping we hadn't bitten off more than we could chew. Racking my brain, I tried to remember what Ability came with a «Core (Earth)» locked into the second Core Slot, but was drawing a blank.
It was too late to back out now. Naomi might be able to outrun it and make her way back to the Portal safely, but it seemed unlikely I would succeed at such an attempt, and in a footrace Sean would be a lost cause.
After all that high-minded monologuing about how Heroes needed to minimize risks and play it smart, I'd managed to immediately put us into a situation where our options came down to victory or death. Some party leader I was.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
With a scowl, I banished the uncharacteristically negative thought and focused myself on the task at hand. If the options were victory or death, well, we'd just have to choose victory.
The party fell into the appropriate combat formation for engaging a single target without needing orders: me front and center, Sean close by my left side where I could interpose my shield against attacks targeting him, Naomi to our right and a pace behind so she could move freely around the flanks.
The creature's jaw dropped open as it sped up, letting out one of those bizarre warbling cries, and it raised its weapons higher before slamming them both down towards me in a pair of arcing vertical chops.
Without conscious thought, I sidestepped rather than attempting to deflect or block the attack. [Steadfast] required contact with the ground to activate, and I didn't like my chances blocking an assault coming from two directions at the same time while stationary on one knee. The blows crashed against the ground where I'd been standing a heartbeat before, sending up a shower of stone chips and sparks.
Unlike the Monsters I'd fought earlier, there was no delay or consideration in the movements of the boss. It flowed from strike to strike in an unrefined-but-fluid pattern, seeming to be almost practiced in its movements and forcing me to keep my own feet shifting constantly. I ducked back or slipped from side to side, occasionally throwing in a hasty riposte in the hopes of disrupting the thing's tempo, but mostly just trying to hold its attention on me.
The appearance of a boss Monster was one of the most mysterious and unpredictable Dungeon phenomena. Not every Dungeon run would encounter one, although the deeper you went, the more likely it became. Any Monster could turn into a boss, it seemed, but most frequently it would be the strongest one – and never more than one per run.
Aside from the unmistakable change to the eyes, there were no outward signs that a Monster had become a boss – it could even happen mid-fight, or so I'd heard. But the difference in capabilities was said to be unmistakable.
If the behaviors of some Dungeon Monsters occasionally raised the question of intelligence, for a boss there was no question at all. They invariably proved to be smart and adaptable, so we'd been told, extremely challenging opponents for any Hero to face.
As I could now confirm for myself.
Another of Naomi's daggers clattered off the beast's armored spine, seeming to accomplish little beyond angering it further.
The boss ignored the flying knives and launched a sweeping horizontal cut in my direction with its now extremely battered copper blade; the once-sharp edge was warped and twisted from being repeatedly smashed against the rocky floor, but the damage the oversized weapon had sustained would make it no less dangerous if it did manage to connect.
I caught the attack with «Bulwark»'s reinforced rim, elbow loose and shield angled so that the powerful impact skittered off. The deflected sword crashed harmlessly against the ground again, and I stomped my lead leg forward, punching a thrust into my saurian opponent's lower shoulder before it could recover.
It let out another birdlike screech in response, then waved its stubby lower arms, a dull brown glow enveloping them.
The ground ahead of Naomi flashed, then darkened. Before she could adjust course she'd sunk into it up to her knees.
Ah. Now I remembered what Ability a «Core (Earth)» in the second Core Slot gave: [Quicksand].
Sean had immediately abandoned any pretense of the formation – pounding as fast as he could over to where Naomi flailed helplessly, trapped and trying desperately to haul herself out from the patch of now-liquefied floor with both hands. But it wouldn't be enough. The boss was going to reach her before Sean or I would be able to.
I had a moment to decide what to do.
So I did something stupid, and I threw my sword at it.
They don't train you how to throw a sword in the Hero certification courses because, as I mentioned, it's a really stupid thing to do. Swords aren't aerodynamic or balanced for throwing at all. Also, if you throw your sword, you no longer have a sword, which is a serious problem if you're currently in a swordfight. It certainly wasn't a skill I had ever had an opportunity to practice. Still, the target was large and reasonably close, and I didn't have any better ideas, so I let it fly with a quick wordless prayer.
The flat of my blade caught the Monster across the side of the face before spinning off into the shadows where it landed with a muffled series of clanks. Not exactly what I'd been trying for, but nevertheless a stroke of luck that I'd connected at all. The boss skidded to a halt in what I think must have been pure confusion, gaze snapping back over its shoulder to glare at me for a long moment before it returned to its original goal.
Unfortunately for it, Sean was now standing in its way, as was the heavy bronze mace-head of his polearm. The creature's skull caved in with a crunching sound like a rotten log breaking. As abruptly as it had started, the battle was over.
Trembling slightly, the adrenaline from the razor-close call we'd just had still coursing through my veins, I stepped past the fallen lizard's corpse and tapped the iridescent crystalline orb it had been guarding with a finger. The Dungeon Heart shattered unceremoniously into a rainbow of glowing motes.
New Message:
Dungeon clear!
The [Dungeon Heart] has been destroyed.
Rooms Cleared This Run: 11
Next →
New Message:
You have reached Level 5!
You gain 1 Attribute point.
(You have 1 unassigned Attribute point.)
You unlocked an additional Core Slot.
(You have 1 available Core Slot.)
I slumped against the pillar, bone-tired but triumphant, my smile threatening to split my face.
Our first full-clear. We'd done it.
From behind me, I heard Sean and Naomi approaching. I wondered briefly if they'd received enough Experience to reach Level 5 as well, but truthfully I had no mind for anything but the Inventory window I'd brought up.
With a still-shaking finger, I made my selection, and the Core materialized in my hands.
Item: Core (Air)
Type: Core, Hero
Rank: A
Attribute Bonus 1: Speed +2
Attribute Bonus 2: Agility +2
Attribute Bonus 3: Vitality +1
Ability 1: [Locked]
Hero: Damien Lemaire
Level: 5
Experience: 3 / 100
Power: +1
Speed: +2
Agility: +1
Vitality: +2
Resilience: +2
Core Slot 1: Human (Rank B)
Core Slot 2: [Unlocked]
Core Slot 3: [Locked]
[…]
The A-Ranked «Core (Air)» I held took the form of a sphere, just small enough to fit comfortably in one palm – a delicate snowglobe-like ball composed of some unknown translucent material. Within, a faint pattern of wispy clouds could be seen spiraling erratically.
It was invaluable – quite literally, I had no way to estimate how much the object cradled in my hands was worth. C-Ranked Cores commanded prices in the millions of dollars on the open market, if you could even find one of them for sale. Any time an A-Ranked Core was awarded, it became a world-news event.
I had not the slightest idea how my parents had acquired it, and couldn't begin to imagine what it had cost them to do so; they'd presented it to me on my birthday the year I'd awakened, and refused to answer any questions as to its origins. Peering intently into the swirling vortex, I vowed again that I would become worthy of the opportunity it presented.
When I looked up, Sean was staring intently at me. He nodded.
Two little copper points appeared at the bottom of my view, one on either side of the Core I held before me. That was unexpected. I tried to draw in a breath of surprise, and immediately realized I couldn't.
A cold, numbing sensation radiated out from my lower back – if you've ever been burned, you know what I'm talking about. It was a suggestion, not immediately painful, but carrying a warning of serious pain to come.
"What...?" I croaked, looking down at what were definitely a pair of daggers sticking out of my chest. "Why?" I collapsed to my knees, the Core rolling out of my hands and bouncing across the floor. Sean trapped it with a foot, then leaned forward until his eyes were level with mine.
"Hey, moron," he said in a conversational tone, "Did you think we stayed with you all this time because we like your personality?"
"I'm going to use this secret super expensive Core mommy and daddy gave me and become the best Hero ever, Naomi!" he continued, shifting to a mocking off-key singsong that I think was supposed to be imitating me. "Do you have any idea what it's like, earning things yourself instead of just having them handed to you?"
That was probably the most words I'd ever heard him speak in one sitting, a part of my brain noted pointlessly.
Naomi came into view, moving to stand beside him, and he wrapped an arm possessively around her shoulders. The expression she wore was sorrowful but resolved; there were no tears in her eyes, just a look of sad resignation. This was a decision that she'd come to terms with a long time ago.
Or at least I thought that was what I was reading from her face... but I'd also thought, up until about a minute ago, that I was a pretty good judge of character. Maybe my skill in that area needed a bit more work. I tried to laugh, but it came out as a hacking cough instead. It felt like she'd managed to put a blade into each of my lungs, without catching on the ribs – hey, that was pretty impressive.
"Damien, I... I'm sorry," she said simply, then looked away. Sean hugged her tighter against his side.
"Oh, guess what? We got engaged while you were sponging off your parents at college. Surprise. You might have noticed if you'd ever tried paying attention to anything other than yourself." He picked the Core up off the floor with one big hand, and a moment later it vanished into his Inventory. "I think we can find a better use for this thing, don't you?"
None of this felt real to me. I toppled over to my side, wondering if it was all some sort of weird dream. Maybe I was still asleep and about to wake up to a lousy pop song about kissing roses.
My vision began to darken ominously at the edges, like I was looking through a narrowing pipe. Sean stared at me for a moment longer, then turned away contemptuously. Naomi shot me a last apologetic glance before following him.
The last thing I saw as my consciousness faded out was the blue pane of a system Message appearing unbidden in the middle of my view.
New Message:
All conditions met for reclassification.
Reclassify from [Hero] to [Dungeon Heart]?
Yes | No