Along the shoreline of Sleepy Gills’ western edge, the walls of a magically reinforced limestone structure shook, and a dull metal bang reverberated out through the halls. Rok cursed lightly, startled into looking back at the thick, enchanted steel door he once more nearly ripped off its hinges with a mix of agitation and satisfaction. Inside the cell, he could hear and even feel the reactions of the two newly minted Oathbreakers, the meek squeal of the silver dragonkin and the sigh of relief from the gold, and some newfound, primal and predatory part of his mind was practically purring with delight. Dragons were too prideful to fear much, but apparently even the most spoilt, pampered among their lot knew when they were no better than prey.
His talk had revealed too much for him to really indulge in that feeling, however; it seemed that his snap ascension was the right choice after all, and he’d be finding out the limits of his newfound power much sooner than he’d have liked. The dragonkin really had turned out much more well-informed than their various lackeys, and the information they did have was exactly what Rok didn’t want to hear.
The Fae, it seemed, were more than willing to breach rules that Rok was sure they themselves wrote or had a hand in writing. Apparently the group of fools, mercenaries serving under the three dragonkin of the failed “expedition” were just the opening act, a means to make life difficult even before the main event. The Goldwing brother had wonderful news about his half-sister, she was telling the truth when she had said she wasn’t working for her parents after all. Working for the Fae was a Goldwing profession, although the boy refused to call it such, insisting that it was a mutually beneficial partnership that ended in both parties being wealthier. There was some merit to this, considering the insane bunch had helped Petra in her own ascension, on the condition that she come back to the island, and then to the dungeon.
That was where their information ended, the captives were out of information and probably exhausted. The silver one had passed out once or twice, between Rok’s new aureole, the fact he was very deliberately leveraging his new blood against them like they had tried just hours earlier, and the fact that she had broken an Oath he was surprised she was that resilient to begin with, but the boy was awake even as he was made to talk, even as he felt every wisp of mana he’d ever accumulated bleed out of his body, along with his ability to ever try and get it back. Rok both pitied and respected him, but neither to the extent that he disliked him, who he worked for and what he was trying to do.
Rok was deep in thought as he crouched back under the entryway, standing back up to his full height on the street and immediately becoming the center of attention. He didn’t notice, though, he was too busy planning how he would deal with the resentful, arrogant, and likely power mad S rank dragonkin that was being paid to come make his life more difficult. The greatest advantage he had was that the Fae likely only hired her again because it was cheaper to give her the resources for a quick and dirty ascension and send her his way than it would have been to hire an already established S ranker who’d be much more wary about violating the Adventurers Guild’s rules on interaction with dungeons, and even a cheap, fresh, young, and poorly optimized S ranker would have been too much for an A rank Rok.
As it was, however, Petra was unaware of Rok’s ascension, not having been notified through a communications crystal before things fell apart on them. She was sticking to their original plan: arriving at the island and figuring out whether to head to the dungeon immediately or add to the chaos that was supposed to have been. Knowing this was a definite edge that he had, but Rok knew not when she would show up, how, or what exactly she was prepared to do. Still, though, he was in as good a position as he could be; if Rok was as familiar with dragons and their ilk as he felt, then the dragoness was probably expecting to show up and pay Rok back for her humiliation, flaunting her strength and being generally insufferable.
He could work with that, it was in his nature to do so, even. It always had been, Rok would be a terrible crocodile if he didn’t know how to use surprise, ignorance, and unawareness to his advantage. If he played his cards right, there wouldn’t even need to be a fight, he could simply strike out and use overwhelming force on a problem that wasn’t even aware she was about to be in the jaws of the beast.
He just needed to be ready, despite not having a time, place, or even guarantee of any conflict; everything would come crashing down should the uppity girl decide to go straight to the dungeon, and no doubt she would if she arrived at the island and caught wind of his own ascension. He could try and set a trap, offer her the chance at retaliation against him, or, loathe as he was to even humor the idea, against Kelly for her part in the dragonkin’s humiliation. That relied on the hope that whatever pride the pair of them wounded was more important than whatever Oath the Fae had no doubt made her swear, and an Oath was much weightier to an S ranker.
There was also the option of simply prowling the shoreline. When the girl did stop by Sleepy Gills, it was entirely possible she would advertise her presence and even if she didn’t, Rok was confident in his ability to hunt. A thought came unbidden to him, he was struck by a sudden urge to repay her for her own attitude and her actions when last they spoke. He may have been unaffected by blood so weak as hers, and he knew it’d be the same now, but a small new part of him was indignant over it and demanded that he set things right.
But Rok knew these thoughts were unusual, and he stamped down the urges that he could only guess came from his new race. The blood that ran through his veins was new and potent, but Rok was still himself and he refused to let the impulses of some long-dead ancestor he’d only recently acquired dictate how he approached a potential disaster. Instead, he steered his thoughts back on track, and weighed the two options against a third. If Rok were to wait at Aby, it was possible, probably guaranteed even, that a confrontation with Petra would follow, and he had no doubt over the outcome of a fight between him and her in the water, if it ever came to that.
And ideally, it wouldn’t need to. Perhaps a single confrontation would be all that was needed, the threat of violence from one S ranker might be enough to make another back down, if only because fights on that level tended to be extraordinarily volatile, and exceptionally difficult to end. It was hardly surprising, Rok knew S rankers could survive all but the most destructive injuries, and heal from any of them without even a scar in all the time it took for them to take in mana from their surroundings or create it in themselves.
Of course, their capability for destruction managed to equal or even exceed their ability to heal from it, which was why Rok was hoping to avoid a drawn-out fight in the first place. Whether he attempted to talk down Petra, or simply take her by surprise, he had to do it before she dragged him and anyone nearby into a fight. His mind was going in circles by the time he made it to the entry to the Guilds hall, because while he specialized in striking an unaware opponent and ending fights before they could even begin, such a tactic worked best when only the other party was lacking information, and Rok was probably just as blind to what he’d face in Petra as she was about him.
It was for the best, then, that the outside world finally got through to him as he trudged through what was now not even knee-high waters, in the form of a familiar sing-song voice and the light tug on his mind, negligible to the point of almost not noticing but still enough to make Rok turn his head downwards. From across the entry hall, Kelly looked even more slight than usual, probably thanks in part to her and quite a few other people present were actively trying to make themselves seem smaller.
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“Rok! Rok! Cut it out” Shouted the siren, using her Charm to almost no effect, and only then was Rok aware that he hadn’t actually stopped letting his aura out since interrogating the two dragons. He’d practically walked through town, screaming about his ascension and even more importantly, his mood. It was basically the magical equivalent of a death threat, one that everyone around knew Rok could make good on.
The towering man cursed, rumbling out an apology that sent ripples through the water, and then did his best to pull back the power he was leaking out through his very presence. It was shockingly easy to do so, too, where before he needed to concentrate just to control his aureole in any direction, now it took the barest intention and he went from the most dangerous thing on the island, to not even there.
It was startling, not just to Rok who only hours earlier still felt some difficulty in controlling himself, but to the Guildsmembers in the hall, who wouldn’t even notice the four-meter-tall hulking reptilian man if they weren’t looking directly at him. Gradually, the still silence faded away, and the bustle Rok had come to expect from the Hall even at sunset started to return. Most of that came in the form of questions, the obvious sort that Rok was prepared to deflect or ignore, and the rest was either hurried congratulations or simply people returning to whatever business they had before the crocodilian arrived.
Once more, Rok was forced to make vague promises to elaborate his very obvious new circumstances, a formal announcement he’d need to plan for and make, preferably while wearing more than a single pair of dubiously fitting pants on loan from a man who’d need to quarter them just to use them as a quilt. But having a wardrobe that fit was of secondary concern to him right now, which was why he was muscling past or outright stepping over the few brave enough to come towards him while he walked to his office, rather than doing the same on his way to a tailor.
Rok slipped past the desks and board, disappearing past a corner into a hallway that was far more cramped than the open-air reception hall, having to crouch nearly to his knees as he waded through them. Kelly followed behind him, a much more welcome face than most, though it was mostly silent as Rok fell back into silent contemplation, a bit less defeatist.
The tunnel of magically shaped limestone and palmwood gave way to a few more offices, but it was largely a short trip before Rok was squeezing through yet another doorway into yet another slightly too small room. He moved quickly, pushing the desk further from the wall so he could rip one of the drawers out, needing to crack apart the wood that had grown from the Mapper’s ‘care.’
He grabbed one of the few remaining communication crystals left in his dwindling supply, one of the only ones that he had which served as a direct line to the bear-kin in charge of the Adventurers Guild in Hynix. He prodded it with his mana, once more a bit startled by how easily his magic was responding to him now, and watched as the translucent crystal turned opaque, etchings lighting up. All that was left was to hope for an answer, hope that was not in vain as the gruff, weathered voice of Tuor, the Hynix Guild Head, spoke shortly after.
“Who would even- This is Rok, isn’t it?” The exasperation was palpable, and he could hear a muffled thump as the large form on the other end take his seat. “What went wrong this time, and why did it happen just as I was going to leave, instead of ending up as a report on my desk in the morning?” Rok, already unhappy with his current circumstances, responded in a much more biting manner than he’d intended.
“In order, sir? It has recently come to light that the Fae Consulate have been challenging my position for what might be months, have hired an S rank mercenary to violate the Accords, and have sparked a Dungeon war earlier today, all to pursue uncertain goals towards the Dungeon you have placed under my care. I am assuming the worst, preparing for a fight, and want it to be known that my own recent ascension didn’t utilize any methods considered taboo by the Guilds. I would also like to state that any hypothetical damages to the Goldwing clan or their lineage were done in self-defense. I would stake an Oath on this, should you need it, and would like it to be known that the recently Titled Mapper was witness to much of this.”
Silence followed in the wake of his report-turned-rant, stretching on for what felt like just a bit too long as the old bear digested the deluge of information. Finally, Rok heard a defeated sigh on the other end.
“Vol’s sake, couldn’t have been another request for healers or enchanters or something, or added security for traders, or something sensible like telling the local clans and merchants to be quiet and happy with their lot, again. Rok, you understand how this makes you sound, do you not? If even part of this is in jest I’d be obligated to, at minimum, strip you of not just your position but your membership entirely, and I’m tempted to already. I’ll give you one chance to renounce that entire declaration if even one word is untrue, and I’d advise you don’t take it lightly”
Unfortunately for the kin, Rok did no such thing, instead elaborating. It hardly made him seem any less unhinged, even as he presented what evidence he’d had, but even the threat of an approaching S ranker forced the Guild Head to pay attention. The magically binding Accords that the Guild had drafted upon it becoming a plane-wide superpower was very clear on many different topics, one of which was how to treat S rankers of any allegiance infringing upon dungeons without any creatures that could match, even if the Fae decided to flagrantly disregard those rules. Their rules were strict, Rok would only be exempt from punishment thanks to his finding the dungeon in the first place, and the Guild was compelled to enforce them to the best of their ability. Even as the owner, Rok could now only enter his dungeon under very specific circumstances, and his actions would be directly scrutinized by the man he was speaking to if he did.
Even if there wasn’t an impending disaster, however, Rok would still have needed to call his superior, matters of ascension were serious all their own. Tuor had spent most of their chat simultaneously praising and berating Rok, his new status was something to celebrate but his accusations towards the Fae were beyond serious, something that could spark a feud or even a war between the two factions. The Fae, these Fae, may not be as omnipresent or as powerful as the Guild, as far as Rok knew, but he hardly wanted to be responsible for the Guild going to war with multiple continents worth of dungeons.
There was more, much more that the two needed to discuss: the mess that was the Mapper and his self-imposed inquisition, the Reef Dungeon potentially going rogue after the abrupt Dungeon War, how to deal with the big, golden problem sailing his way, hopefully without getting half a dozen bigger, more golden problems bent on saving face.
Tuor promised to either send someone or take a trip out himself, but considering the distance between Sleepy Gills and the regional headquarters on Toruk, he was likely on his own for the confrontation. After a drawn-out discussion, Rok finally stopped feeding mana into the crystal, and the runes dimmed, changing shape just enough to turn the crystal into a recording of the conversation that just took place. He set it aside, then rubbed his forehead in consternation. The conversation did plenty to alleviate his worries about the repercussions of a fight, but he still needed to actually win, if a fight took place.
He was reasonably certain that whatever method she chose to ascend would be as vain and shallow as she was, giving him the advantage in raw strength and bodily power, but she’d also have a few months instead of a few days to have gotten used to the new power, and loathe as he was to admit it, time was important. There was also the matter of equipment; even if Petra got nothing for her new rank, she’d probably at least be able to fit in her old gear, wielding her old weapons.
Rok… could not, not that he had even kept much of his gear to begin with. He reached into the same dislodged drawer, pulling out the only items he’d really hung on to from his career. A pair of trench spikes, weapons he favored over the daggers he’d started his journey with, designed almost purely to stab. Just like spears and harpoons, these were easier to work with underwater, as well as being just as effective outside of it.
But, as comically large as the weapons were, Rok wouldn’t even be able to get a finger in the knuckle-guards any longer. He would need a new pair forged, and was sure that they’d wind up looking like a pair of awkward, weirdly proportioned rapiers more than any dagger or spike, but that was for another time. As he set the pair of metal-and-bone skewers aside, it finally occurred to him that he had yet to even test out how shifting between this and his atavistic shape would work, and he got up to remedy that, away from prying eyes of course.