“Not yet.”
The words were so unexpected that they stopped Alarion in his tracks. He glanced back to find a thoughtful Sierra, her eyes focused not on the spire ahead of them, but the Soulless behind them.
“We need to take a break to let our wounds heal, rather than using your potions. In the meantime, I need you to finish off the rest of the Soulless. Preferably without me nearby.”
“What?”
“Soulless have been reclaimed in the past,” Sierra said, watching one of the gardener machines with a mixture of pity and disgust. “Given that spark of life by specialized artisans. All but the recently built are insane. Suicidal. Imagine spending your every waking moment fulfilling the orders of another. Not able to so much as close your eyes. Trapped inside.”
Alarion could imagine something similar, and it was not a pleasant thought. Even so, the idea of taking their lives, broken as they were, was still uncomfortable. Alarion had killed before. Fiends. Steelborn. Men. But he had never considered himself the aggressor. He’d never sought out violence. Even his fight with the scavengers had been justified in his mind. They’d come into his home and he’d only intended to drive them away, not to kill them.
Instead of grappling with that moral quandary as it percolated in his mind, Alarion pressed Sierra on her motivations. “But that isn’t the only reason. Otherwise I wouldn’t have to do it.”
Sierra conceded with a gesture. She’d originally mistaken his stubbornness and basic lack of knowledge for stupidity, but their time together had disabused her of that notion. The boy was uneducated, but he was insightful where it mattered. She couldn’t have slipped her intentions past him if she’d tried.
“Do not forget why we are here,” she said. “You have obtained your swordsman class, but the more you strengthen it, and your Orphan class, the better. You will be more useful during your induction, and you will be more likely to survive. If the remaining Soulless have even a fraction of the UCL as these guardians, it should be a considerable windfall for you. How close are you to your next milestone?”
Alarion thought back for a moment. “I just reached level 7. So that would be three more then, right?”
She made an exasperated noise.
“That aptitude…” she complained. “At this rate you may reach your next milestone before we have to face the revenant again. If so, you might be able to select something to give us a fighting chance. Doubly so if we manage to push your Orphan class, unlikely as that seems.”
Alarion looked to the Soulless, going about their menial tasks without even a thought to the conversation deciding their fate. The fact that they had shifted from altruistic reasons to practical ones did not make him feel any better about the decision.
“We can’t help them?”
Sierra shook her head sadly. “You can not save everyone, Alarion. Trying to take the world on your shoulders will bring you nothing but pain. And in their case, I do not think there is much to save.”
“You’ll be nearby?”
“Perhaps,” Sierra replied. When Alarion scowled at her, she clarified. “Your Orphan class isn’t blocked by proximity, we were not that far away from one another the last time you leveled it. My suspicion is that it is based on your perception. If you think you are alone, it should grow. Keep an eye on your progress and tell me over the Simu after the first. If it doesn’t work I will move further away.”
“Mm.” Alarion conceded without meeting Sierra’s eyes. The older girl vanished into the shadow of a nearby tree a few moments later, and against his usual habit, Alarion did not try to look for her. His eyes were on the nearest gardener, his lips curled down in a deep frown.
Sierra’s points were strong. He could find no flaw in her logic. Yet it still felt wrong. The gardener wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t harming anyone, or at risk of creating more of its kind. Perhaps she was right and it wanted to die. That argument at least was compelling, but would he kill an unarmed man who begged him for death?
Alarion wasn’t so sure.
“At your time,” Sierra spoke into his ear.
Alarion closed the distance between himself and the gardener. Its shears were razor sharp despite untold months, years, or decades of repetition. He wondered how that worked. He wondered if he’d chosen this one because it was the most ‘well armed’.
His sword grew as the thing clipped away at the tree. Precise, elegant cuts meant to keep the branches at the exact dimensions specified in its original orders. It didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. If he interposed his hand, would it cut through, or would it maneuver away?
Alarion raised his blade, then was interrupted by an unexpected system message.
> Mercy Kill
>
> Description: There are reasons for you to do this. Some selfish. Some noble. The question is, can you live with yourself?
>
> Success Conditions: Destroy the remaining Soulless beneath the spire.
>
> Alternate Success Conditions: Find another way.
>
> Failure Conditions: Fail to meet success conditions before departing the Protectorate of the Three Together.
>
> Minimum Reward: One Uncommon Executioner’s Box.
>
> Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!
>
> Penalty: Obtain the negative condition [Guilt Ridden – Severe] for 120 days. It will degrade in severity in 60 day increments thereafter.
>
> Note: This quest was automatically assigned due to the flaw [Single-Minded] and does not count against the once-per-day limit of Self-Motivated. Alternate Success Condition may be impossible.
“You can come back.” He said.
“Is something wrong?”
“No.”
“Alarion…” Sierra’s voice was sympathetic, but stern.
“I received a quest,” he explained. “Come back and we’ll discuss it.”
Ten minutes later Alarion had finished explaining the details and Sierra was not impressed.
“You understand that the system does not give out information freely?” She asked. “Your alternate success condition is not some hidden insight your skill is giving you, it is literally just wishful thinking on your part being conveyed into a quest.”
“I know,” Alarion agreed. “But the revenant sent us here to disable this place. It might be possible to do the same for them. Or even free them.”
“And you think that is mercy?” She stared him down as she spoke. “How long have they been here, like this?”
Alarion’s reply was a firm refusal to engage in debate. “I am not going to destroy them. Not yet.”
There was a pause as Sierra considered his words.
“And if I order you to? I will remind you of the rules set for this expedition. And that you promised to abide them.”
“If you order me to, then you will make me into a liar within the letter of the agreement,” Alarion responded. His gaze was fixed on hers, an unusual intensity behind those violet eyes. “Just as you would if you ordered me to jump from the top of the spire. But we both know the spirit of the thing was never to follow you blindly.”
Sierra’s nostrils flared, her jaw set. For a young man who was born to Imurians and raised by the Ashadi, he had come to Vitrian culture shockingly well.
“If we do not find your miracle-”
“I’ll do it with my bare hands before I leave them here,” Alarion cut her off. For all his fantasy of a better resolution, he would not leave these things as slaves if no alternative presented itself.
Sierra studied him carefully, then nodded. “Then let us go to the spire. We can at least work on finding a way in.”
That proved both easier and more difficult than either had anticipated.
The center of the plaza sloped in, with two long sets of stairs that brought visitors to the base of the spire. Its white metallic surface gleamed in the late ‘afternoon’ sun, but up close the duo were able to see their first signs of human habitation of the spire.
Doors.
Barred doors.
The triangular base of the spire had three long sets of doors, one set along the middle of each of its three sides. These glass and metal entrances had been blocked by an imposing metallic gate pulled down from above. Each grate was bolted to the ground with half a dozen thick metallic locks that appeared entirely absent of keyholes.
True to his straightforward nature, Alarion gave the grate a pull as soon as he reached it, stressing the limits of his newly increased strength attribute to no avail. At his beckoning, Sierra joined in as well to a similar lack of success.
Their only real solace lay in the staggered rectangular bars themselves. They’d bent under the pressure. Not a lot, but enough to prove that this door, at least, was not invulnerable like Sierra’s former nemesis’ on the outskirts of the city.
“On the plus side, we will be well healed up by the time we finally break through,” Sierra said, doing her best to see the glass as half full. “Sometime tomorrow.”
“If there were actual locks…” Alarion complained as he gave the gate another tug. “We should check the others.”
“Hope springs eternal.”
The second gate was no more successful than the first. Its locks were tight in place, with no hint of how they might be removed. The third, however, proved more interesting.
“What is that?” Sierra asked, her eyes following his to an item he was fixated on. It was a small grey and black box set up by the ceiling at the corner of one wall. About the size of her fist it was emblazoned with two rows of five buttons on its outer edge, as well as a two more switches toward its middle.
She could not make heads or tails of it. But Alarion clearly had ideas.
He began fiddling with it almost immediately, pressing buttons on the side seemingly at random, then pulling at the switches in the center. The box was high enough up that he was only able to reach it on the tip of his toes, his whole body pressed up against the wall, his eyes closed as he tapped it again and again.
“What are you doing?”
“I need one of your chairs,” He answered. “Or a ladder if you have it. And something hard, flat bottomed and fairly small.”
Sierra was so flummoxed by his sudden certainty that she obeyed without further query. Kotone appeared with her usual pleasantries, and after a brief discussion Alarion had his chair and a climbing piton that had somehow made its way into her stores. She didn’t even remember owning the latter, but if it were in her inventory, she must have. Kotone could only store things she believed to be her possessions, after all.
Alarion got up on his chair and immediately set to work while Sierra watched from below. One hand pulled down on the central switch, while the other tapped her piton against the various buttons on the outer frame of the device.
“No,” Alarion mumbled as he worked. “Maybe. No. No. Yes…?”
The process continued for a short time. Twice Alarion seemed sure of something as he pulled down on the other switch and pushed four buttons in sequence, only to grunt in frustration as the thing refused him. On his third attempt he was more patient, cycling through each button in turn until at last he entered a sequence, pulled the switch and was rewarded with a delightfully satisfying Click.
“Mm.” He said in self satisfaction as he tossed the front of the device down to Sierra. It had come away entirely, and attached to the back of it was a solitary grey circle attached to a small hook.
“What is it?” Sierra inquired.
“I have no idea.” He admitted in an annoyingly chipper tone, his attention elsewhere.
> Lock-picking [Common]
>
> Description: You have gained the most basic of proficiency of lock-picking that is worthy of recognition. A long road to true mastery lies before you, but your new skills may yet help you unlock your way to those unseen heights.
>
> Requirements: None
>
> Type: Passive
>
> Effects: Gain a moderate increase in AGI and PER when attempting to pick locks.
>
> Growths: AGI +2. PER +2
> Skill level increased. Lock-picking is now Level 3. AGI +6. PER +6.
“This is not your first time picking a lock, is it Alarion?”
“My first time picking one like this. And my first one since Awakening, since I just gained a skill.” He responded diplomatically. “It was a lot easier than I expected. But most locks are. It is like the bars, meant to deter someone, not to stop someone who is determined.”
“I never pegged you for a thief.”
Alarion gave her a look in response. “Did you think people bought me to work as a farm hand?”
Sierra winced. She had, actually. Or more specifically, she’d imagined some sort of idyllic servitude, that Alarion’s time in bondage was closer to that of the gardener behind her than less reputable tasks.
She could have asked. But had she really wanted to know? Did she even want to know now?
“This must open the doors someho-”
Beep!
The shrill chime was followed an instant later by a metallic thunk as the gate locks disengaged in unison. She’d done something, clearly, but Sierra hadn’t the slightest idea what exactly that was.
“Block the gates.” Sierra instructed Alarion, who was already in the process of jamming a piton into the corner nearest to where the gate had receded. If it could withdraw, it could come back just as quickly. Best not to risk that if they were already inside. “We’ll go in as soon as we’re healed.”