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The Creator, Atlantis, Kalenic Sea
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Yeah, The Isid-Cliche-Haythem raid definitely noticed the lesser numbers of enemies. When they inevitably bug Kata for an answer, she could answer truthfully. 'The Creator sees that you struggle so and has lowered the difficulty that you might descend further and view the glory of His works.'
Or something like that. I didn't know what Kata would say, and I wasn't going to read her mind to find out. It was a boundary, something Kata had encouraged me to set for myself. This was the first I was trying out. I prided myself on always asking the Children for permission when my actions involved them. I never did so to see through their eyes, thoughts, or memories. It was an invasion of their privacy, and one I knew I'd never have allowed had it been my mind being rifled through back before I was reincarnated.
The raid group pushed through the newly renamed Collapsed Mines. This configuration didn't lead them through the Ant Colony, though that was probably for the better. The Ants weren't ready for that yet. They have insufficient numbers and individual strength to be more than a paper wall.
The group made it through the mines without killing any Drake-kin; the miners and soldiers had been ordered to not attack first, and since they weren't attacked, the encounters ended peacefully. The Drake-kin continued with mining and delivering, and the humans moved on.
When they reached the Boss Arena, no one was there. It was the same as the last time: a series of staircases ascending three larger levels. When they reached the top, they were met with an empty stage. There was no Boss. The only features were the large door to the next floor, a small doorway off to the side lit from within with an orange glow, and the ringing sound of a hammer on metal.
The group approached the smaller door.
They entered slowly, weapons out and eyes peeled. No doubt they expected a fight. Tear glanced up at them as they entered, snorting slightly at the sight of them. "You can lower your weapons. You won't find a fight here., He commented, raising the work-in-progress off of the anvil. He angled it, observing how the forge's light reflected from the rippling pattern.
"Are you the Guardian?" Isid asked, stepping forward to speak for the group.
"I suppose, though not a very good one. Only had to fight twice and lost both times," Tear replied casually as he brought the unfinished item back to the anvil for more hammering. "Not my style, anyhow. So what brings you by my forge, humans?"
The guilders glanced amongst each other, sharing shrugs and a whispered discussion.
"If you won't fight us, how will we progress?" Isid eventually asked. "The door to the Eighth Floor is closed."
"Knew I forgot something," Tear grumbled and paused his hammering. He took a key from his belt and threw it to the humans. Though it seemed average-sized in his hand, Isid's fingers barely met as they wrapped around the key's shaft. The head and biting were almost as large as her head, and she grunted slightly as she caught it. "That's yours. Forged it this morning when the big guy asked me to. You're free to pass through to the Eighth so long as you kill no Drake-kin on this floor. If you do, the key will no longer work for you, and you'll need to fight for the right to pass."
"By 'the big guy,' you mean the Dungeon?"
"The Creator, yeah," Tear answered. "I know most Children are real big about using his proper title and emphasizing his name, but I never got the sense he liked it." I knocked on Tear's mind, and the Drake-kin nodded to the air, pausing his hammering again.
I don't. You can call me whatever you want, Tear. I wasn't the one to ask for it.
"Yup, that's what I thought." He made a few final strikes on the blade and then shoved it into a bucket to quench.
"Is, uh, he speaking to you?" Isid asked, tentative.
"Yup. Said I could call him whatever I wanted," Tear said. "You humans want something else? I'm busy." He then sat down at a grindstone and started sharpening.
"Can we commission you for weapons and armor?" Haythem asked quickly. I got a mental query from Tear and promptly returned a mental impression of a shrug; it's up to you.
"Yes and No," Tear answered after a minute, looking the human in the eyes. "In the future, sure. But right now, I'm filling out an order. Come back in a few days."
The humans filed out and made their way to the Eighth. I followed as they passed through the tunnel, leaving Tear with pride. The Drake-kin let a soft smile cross his features, his furrowed brow softening for a moment. Then he called in his assistants, who'd been hiding from the humans. They still had plenty of work to do.
It was only a short walk until Isid and Company reached the end of the tunnel. They paused outside the tunnel's mouth, taking in the view.
And what a spectacular evening it was. The snow glittered in the light of a dazzling sunset, and the darkening shadows only highlighted the brilliant colors. From the entrance, you could see each peak in its full glory. The long rope bridge spanned the gap between the first two peaks, and you could see how it swung and twisted in the howling winds. The second peak held a larger flat section near the top, occupied by the Air manabeings. The third peak was crowned by Pyry's Nest, the only obviously artificial construction in view. As the guilders watched, Pyry and her mate launched into the air. The Thunderbirds were large enough to be easily visible, as were the far smaller chicks that followed them.
"Wow..." "Incredible..." "Are we even still in the Dungeon? Is that the sky?" "We are still in the Dungeon; it's just an enormous cavern. The manastream gives it away." "How long would it take to even make something like this?!" "Quickly, Duncan! Give me the spyglass! I simply must get a better look at those monsters." "Sure, fine. Keep it, for all I care."
I took it all in, watching closely as the guilders excitedly talked about how amazing the Eighth was.
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This was what I wanted. This moment, that look of awe as the guilders gazed upon my works.
And by the gods, was it just what I wanted.
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Blackwater Port, Kolchiss County, Theona
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Aston Astarionson, Representative of the Minotaur Children beyond The Creator's Gaze, stood stock still as three human seamstresses crafted a set of robes directly onto his body. They lay fabrics in place and talked amongst themselves about fit, where the seams would be hidden, and all sorts of things that went over the uncomfortable bull's head. And that was quite hard to do; he was very tall.
It was a long hour, but eventually, they were done, and he was freed. He ducked through the door into the main hall of the shop to find his fellow representatives decked out in new robes of their own. They'd been paid for in mostly materials, such as the bolts of Capriccio Wool. Thus, their robes were red and black, the most common colors of Capriccio Wool. The robe-and-hooded-cape outfit he was wearing was comfortable and stylish. The moonsilver jewelry and hand-chain necklaces complemented the colors nicely.
"Looking good there, Aston," Towers-Over-Others complimented. The Scorpan was too large to fit in the back room, and given how uneasy most humans were around his species, he was attended to only by a couple of old women who weren't intimidated. They insisted that only clothing on the Child's upper body was insufficient. He had a much larger lower body and, thus, much more room for decorative pieces and fabrics. The way they managed to hang individual pieces of fabric around the segments of his tail was intriguing, and drew attention to the moonsilver pieces sewn onto them.
"The seamstresses here are good at what they do," Aston answered in the phenocian language. They'd made an effort recently to speak the language, even amongst each other. It made the humans nervous that the Children could talk amongst themselves, and they would remain ignorant about what. "How much longer is Baal going to take?"
"Not too long. She was pulled away by an excitable young thing an hour ago," Teka Gleamfire answered from where she sat on a plush couch. The female Drake-kin claimed her name came from the Phoenix she was once bonded to. It had died long ago, but she insisted the monster lived on in her memories. She was the eldest of the Children in the seamstress's parlor, practically ancient by her species' standards. He'd heard talk she was one of the original Drake-kin. "Here, Aston, sit. If your fitting was anything like mine, your hooves need a rest."
Aston did so, though the couch creaked under his weight.
"I heard from a couple of my kin that you're struggling with The Creator's Absence," Teka stated. Aston sighed and nodded. Like most Children on this mission, Aston did his best to avoid thinking of the hole in the back of his mind. But he found it making itself known in moments of silence and quiet. Since his calfhood, he'd always bask in The Creator's presence in calm times, and he was a quiet calf indeed. A trait inherited from his sire.
"I am," Aston finally responded once he'd managed to pull his mind away from gazing at the absence. "Venerable Grandmother, please share your wisdom."
"Bah! Grandmother, I may be. But yours, I am not," Teka grinned. Age in drake-kin was interesting, given none had yet died of old age. Teka looked like any other Adult Drake-kin, though her dull reddish-brown scales hinted at her origins as a Kobold. Her eyes were what showed her age. Glowing like hot coals, the fire shaman's eyes had a particular set to them. Aston had only seen in the oldest of the Children. They had a knowing about them. "I have experience with something like The Absence. My Bonded, Gleam, was killed long ago. It hurt. It hurt in my soul. But time heals all wounds. I found healing in the memories of our time together. Time will heal this wound, too. The Creator always encouraged us to make our own decisions and choices. Now, we have no choice but to choose for ourselves. He is no longer a crutch we can lean on, nor a fire to rest beside."
Aston listened to Teka's wisdom seriously, nodding at her final point.
"But we must not forget that we have not forsaken Him, and He has not forsaken us. We left his embrace with eyes open and with his blessing. There will always be a place for us on Atlantis, and we have set forth on a mission greater than ourselves," Teka continued. "This human world is full, and they are suspicious people. If we want to join them, to make a place for ourselves and the rest of our peoples, we must bear The Absence."
"Well said, Teka," Baal said. Aston blinked, looking over at the Capriccio as she emerged from another room. She was followed by, as Teka had claimed, an excitable young human who fluttered about the slightly taller Child. The human girl was picking at and adjusting the fit of Baal's robes. She had to be practically pulled away from her work by an older woman who greatly resembled her. Probably her mother.
It was only a short time after that Towers was done, and together, the four Children of The Creator left the seamstress. They had a feast at the castle to get to and nobles to meet, after all.
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The Armory, The High Temple, The Holy City
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Tamesou Akio scrutinized his new shield. The metal shone brightly in the daylight and had a subtle gleam beyond that. The gleam of mana, of the enchantment placed upon it. Set on the backside of the shield was the dungeon core; its deep blue color glowed duller than it had once been, but it still had a light in its center. Akio carefully equipped the shield, then moved his arm around.
It was heavier than his old shield by almost twice as much. It didn't impair him at all, though. He'd noticed his old shield had been getting lighter and easier to move- or was he getting stronger? Either way, his new shield was about as heavy as his old one when he'd first started using it.
"What kinda metal is it?" Bruce asked, wearing a new set of robes. Though made of plain cloth, they were apparently enchanted to be just as hard to damage as unenchanted metal.
"A metal altered by concentrated mana over a long period," the armorer explained, nodding as Akio tested his range of motion. "I call it Arcanim, but I've heard other names. We're unsure what metal it used to be because they're changed entirely when we do find nodes. It conducts mana well, but not perfectly. Its hardness and strength, however, have no equal."
"Is it really alright for me to have such a thing?" Akio asked, unsure. "Surely it is expensive?" The smith snorted.
"Kid, you're one of the summoned heroes. The High Temple coverers all your expenses. Fact is, that core in your shield is the most expensive part, and you got that for free."
"Ah, I understand. Thank you, Mr Smith," Akio said, bowing at the waist appropriately.
"Ain't never been bowed to before! I like you, kid," the smith chuckled. "Now get; your friend was in here earlier picking up a shortsword, probably still practicing it in the training grounds."
Akio and Bruce didn't need to be told twice. Shouting thanks over his shoulder once again as he ran from the room, Akio and Bruce quickly turned their run into a race. Eyeing a stack of crates and the balcony above them, Akio did something he never could have done back on Earth.
With leaps and movements so smooth it was like he'd practiced them a hundred times, Akio bounded up the crates, leaped to the balcony, and scrambled up to the rooftop. He paused for a moment, processing what he'd just done. He looked down at the ground below, spying Bruce looking up at him with wide eyes. They both blinked. Bruce was off like a shot, and so was Akio. His feet found the most stable tiles, and within ten minutes, Akio was at the training ground, looking down on Sophie and her sensei, Jinasa, as they trained.
As Akio contemplated a way down, his eyes were drawn to a pile of hay and the spur of wood jutting out from the rooftop directly above it.
Akio felt there was only one option here.
The scolding he received from Sophie and Jinasa was nothing compared to Bruce's sweat-soaked form as he rushed into the training grounds and Guard-Captain Heliat's deep belly laughs. That the smile on his face didn't go away, no matter how much he tried, certainly didn't help his case with the leather-clad rogues.
Akio decided right then and there that his middleschooler syndrome was a boon in this world. Who else but a gamer would have even considered what he'd done as a viable option? It gave him ideas outside the box.
He felt he'd need that kind of thinking in the future.
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