Slate nodded slowly and thoughtfully. "Yes, a harder healing trial," he said. "They're called challenge trials, and they're required for attunement to certain dungeons. I…" Slate hesitated. “I don't think you are advanced enough for one. But if you're looking for practice without consequences, that would be the way to do it."
Rick considered. The challenge trials were certain to be much harder than the dungeon he had been in previously, and that one had almost killed the team. They’d had no real chance of completing it had that hunter not been there. Maybe if they had started out with a real tank and taken things slow and carefully…. This challenge trial sounded hard. On the other hand, if it gave him a chance to practice without risking death, that would be perfect.
Rick ground his teeth. Stick-to-itiveness. He would make her eat those doubts.
"How do I get into one?"
"Right here.” Slate pointed toward the caravan. "In the fourth wagon of the caravan.”
Rick raised an eyebrow. "The blue wagon?"
Slate nodded. "In the corner, with the trophy shelf, there's an orb."
Rick had only glanced in that wagon, but he had noticed the glowing sphere in the corner. Without another word, he walked over to the wagon and climbed up the ladder.
Gambit followed, calling up to him from the ground. "Are you sure about this? Shouldn't we be out doing more quests?"
Rick shook his head. "I need to try this. I need to know how far I have to go."
Gambit looked skeptical, but shrugged. "Alright. Just don't waste too much time. If it beats you down—" He paused, correcting himself. "If it overwhelms you, just back out."
Rick entered the wagon and crossed to the shelf in the corner. To his surprise there was now a small trophy on the shelf. The plaque on it read: [Complete your first dungeon] But the shiny metal figure standing on the trophy was of a trio of small children being carried by a muscular figure.
Rick ground his teeth. "Screw you," he muttered under his breath, thinking of the system. Could it even hear him? Did it even care? He didn't appreciate its sense of humor. "Right," he said aloud. "Let's do this."
He stopped in the middle of the room and checked himself over. His three abilities were in his hot-key bar. His gear was all there—what little there was of it. He flipped up the hood on his mantle and felt the slight increase of stats surge through him.
He checked his stats page.
Stamina
10+1
Strength
6
Dexterity
8
Magic Affinity
9+2
HP
33
Soothing Mist would do 17 health points right off the bat, with the same again over time, and Protection would shield for 18 HP. He needed more levels, or maybe more gear, that would improve that, but for now he had what he had.
He laid his hand on the smooth orb. It felt cool to the touch. A menu popped up.
[Trials]
It had options to select the regular trials, with the Healing Trial highlighted in gold, probably to show he’d completed it. It looked like he could run the tanking or damage dealer trial from this object. Below that were two more tiers: [Challenge Trials] and [Legendary Trials.]
The third one glared at him ominously. How hard would it be? Was it a question of gear and level? Or was there more to it than that? Maybe he should do what Gambit said, grind gear and xp and improve – but that was what Sam had been talking about, wasn’t it? He always had an excuse for why he couldn’t push himself.
Rick selected the [Challenge Healer Trial] and the world dissolved around him.
---
Rick zoned in on the top of a ziggurat. Steep stone stairs fell away in all directions. The top was a dozen yards in each direction; it barely had room for the people crowding around.
He looked down at himself. He wore a loincloth and sandals. So much for the sick hoodie. In his hand was a stick. Strips of leather wrapped around it, attaching bits of bone and metal to the stick.
The people with him were dressed similarly, except instead of a bone-covered stick, they had spears and shields made of animal hide stretched across wooden frames, daubed with red and white paint designs. At first glance, he took them for humans—except for their gray skin and long, slicked-back hair.
The impression only lasted an instant. They had fish gills behind their ears, and what had looked like hair was actually a discolored patch of scaly skin. The top and back of their heads, as well as well down their backs, were a darker blue-gray than the light gray-green of their scaly bodies.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Rick pulled one of his hands off the stick and saw webbing between his fingers.
"Fish people, huh? Great," he muttered.
Beyond them in all directions stretched a swamp, the water coming right up to the edges of the ziggurat. Scraggly trees grew up from the water, large spaces between them—enough that boats could have passed through under the thin branches. In the distance, toward the setting sun, a village of huts set on pilings rose above the swamp. Smoke rose from the village—the smoke of destruction, not of cook fires.
A pop-up appeared in front of him.
[Challenge Healer Trial.]
[Use your own abilities or a standard set?]
Rick thought about this for a moment. He really did want to see what other kinds of healing abilities were out there. But at the moment, what he most needed was to test himself. He selected his own abilities.
The selection vanished and was replaced with one that read: [Start Trial].
He selected it, then [Confirm].
The warriors around him sprang into motion. They all rushed to one side of the platform and looked down. Rick followed cautiously, making sure to stay behind the rest of the party.
Rick reminded himself that he needed to pay more attention to his own party than to what the enemy was doing. But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Enemies in games often had abilities that needed to be dodged or countered, though he remembered Team Technique’s healer bitching when Pratt made him handle interrupts. He would have to find a balance.
The leader, a fishman wearing an elaborate helmet made of skulls, yelled over the edge of the ziggurat. “Go back to your own lands!”
“Renounce your heathen ways and join us!" a voice from below answered.
The leader shook his spear. “Never!”
"Then the consequences shall be on your head!"
Suddenly, the leader’s health bar appeared and dropped by half. He staggered back as a rumble of thunder rolled across the swamp.
Holy crap! Rick threw a [Soothing Mist.] The initial heal ticked the leader’s bar up, but only by 10%. The heal-over-time effect was almost imperceptible. The leader must have a huge health pool, though his stats weren’t visible. Which meant whatever had damaged him would likely kill Rick outright.
Rick cast another [Soothing Mist.] "What the hell is down there?" he muttered.
What looked like a dead tree was sticking up on that side of the ziggurat. He sidestepped closer to get a look. It wasn’t a tree, it was a mast. A ship was parked next to the ziggurat. It wasn’t a galleon; it was longer and skinnier, more like a Roman trireme, with two tall masts.
One of the spear carriers grabbed Rick’s shoulder. "Stay back, medicine man!" At the fishman’s tug, Rick took two quick steps backward.
He did a quick inspect on his ally and realized she was actually a fishwoman. Not that it mattered, since they all looked nearly alike. Fishwomen apparently didn’t have breasts, contradicting every game Rick had ever played with non-mammalian people.
The leader’s health was above three-quarters now. Rick threw another [Soothing Shot.] The fishman’s nameplate was a string of syllables with far too many consonants for Rick to even guess how to pronounce.
"Get ready," the leader called. "We will throw them back into the sea."
Rick was prepared to believe this was some sort of historical reconstruction of events in a galactic setting—until the first of the attackers appeared over the side of the Ziggurat.
The humanoid form wore metal armor and clanked up the steps. It carried a musket and had a conquistador helmet with a tall, arched feather plume on top. Bulging from below the helmet was a large neck pouch, and a long yellow beak protruded from the front.
It was a pelican. A pelican wearing conquistador armor and carrying a halberd.
Another appeared, and this one had a musket. It raised the archaic weapon to its shoulder and took aim. The line of warriors on Rick's side raised their shields.
"Get back!" Rick shouted.
But it was too late. The musketeer disappeared behind a flash and cloud of smoke. One of the soldiers staggered back, his health bar plummeting more than half.
Damn it! Rick should have shielded him. He threw Soothing Mist and then cast it again. The spear wielder’s health popped back above half, slowly ticking upward.
But the halberd-wielding pelican was there and swung. The spear-carrying fishman moved to blocked it with his leather shield.
Rick hit the spear-carrying fishman with a Protect just as the halberd swung in. The attack bounced off the translucent bubble. A bar appeared just above the fishman's health bar—this one indicating only a third of the shield bubble remaining.
It wasn’t enough. The halberd bird was about to swing again, and the fishmen fighting him were all much too low.
The captain of the fishmen, seeing their plight, moved in, stepping in front of the halberd-bearer. Rick desperately slammed Soothing Mist again, but it wouldn’t be enough. The captain fish wasn’t going to be healed enough to take a hit before the musketeers were reloaded.
Rick, completely out of ideas, threw Force Wave. The blow hit the halberd swinger in the chest, staggering him. Rick cast it again. The halberd-wielding pelican man staggered back and then dropped over the edge. His foot missed the step, and he tumbled down the steep stairs. He bounced once and then went straight into the pack of four musket wielders, bowling them over.
Rick stepped forward eagerly, hands raised for another strike. The musket ball from the lone gunman punched a hole neatly through his forehead, and the world vanished.
----------------------------------------
"How was it?" Gambit asked.
Rick stood, trembling in every limb, surprised to be alive as he looked into the faces of Gambit, Slate, and Daniel. He shook his head slowly. "It wasn’t good."
Gambit shrugged. "Eh, you didn’t lose any XP, right? Maybe you can try again later."
The thought of trying that again gave Rick a twisting sensation in his gut. It had been beyond bad, and he was not eager to try again. He could still feel the musket ball punching through his skull.
"Uh, yeah," he said, trying to steady his voice. "Maybe later."
----------------------------------------
That night in his cabin, Rick thought about the trial and about what Sam had said. He needed to get better, a lot better. When things got bad, he went for his combat abilities instead of his healing ones. That wasn’t the right mindset for a healer. Then again, if he had remembered to do it sooner, he might have changed the tide of the battle. Knocking back the musket man the first time it had shot could have saved the situation.
But he would have had to have been focused, weaving the knockbacks in with his other abilities. He ran through the fight over and over in his mind, seeing several opportunities where he had screwed up and missed a chance for a cast of Soothing Mist or a Protect. All in a fight that had lasted barely a minute.
Would he be able to keep up that sort of rotation for an entire boss battle? Right now, honestly, no way. He needed to grind. He needed gear, he needed experience and level ups. His abilities weren’t strong enough, and he didn’t have enough of them. He needed a bigger direct heal, and maybe an ability that could heal the whole party at once.
Rick tried to think of the healing abilities he’d seen healers use in games he had played in the past. Instant heals, heals over times, damage reduction. He needed all those, for sure. What else? Maybe something big, even with a long cooldown, that could fill an entire health bar up immediately.
What’s more, he needed a party that would listen to him. If the fishmen had only backed up when he had said to, the leader wouldn’t have taken all that damage. He was used to calling raids. It was a critical role on any raiding team—someone who could step back and see the big picture while still fulfilling their own role. They could call out fight stages or when players should use their own damage mitigation abilities.
Most boss fights had multiple different phases and mechanics in each phase. It was important to have someone keeping track of them while the rest of the team focused on their individual roles. It required a superior player, who could perform their own job while still paying attention to the overall fight. Rick had always considered himself to be such a player, but his pride had taken a serious blow today.
He was going to have to work harder.
Well, so be it. He lay in his bunk, staring up at the ceiling, hearing Sam’s words. They hurt worse than that musket ball to the head.