Book 1: Chapter 45 - Dungeon Diving [Part 2]

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Turning to Eloise, Seraphina gently cupped the girl’s face in both hands, tilting it upward until their eyes met. She was keenly aware of how easily she could crush Eloise’s fragile skull if she so chose. “Do you trust me, dear?” she asked softly.

“Of course I do, but…” Eloise faltered.

“We will be fine. The Goddess watches over us. We will prevail.” Seraphina’s words held all the force of her Charisma.

Eloise managed a shaky smile, half convinced despite the looming danger.

“Come, men, time to move on,” Seraphina commanded. The Knights moved to lead the way, casting scornful looks at the two adventurers.

“No!” Luc cried out, causing her men to halt. “You don’t understand. If more than five enter a Trial at once, it’s nearly impossible to finish. We’ll be swarmed by the Goddess’s wrath—the Trials are meant to be fair!”

“That sounds rather arbitrary,” Seraphina remarked. She was well aware of the actual “player limit” from the game, but she found the “real-world” explanation behind it entertaining. Experimentation could wait; for now, she would abide by the rules.

She looked around before making her decision. “Very well. Frest, Miriam, Eloise, myself, and…” Her gaze fell on the other adventurer. “What was your name again?”

“Etienne, milady,” he muttered.

“Etienne will join us.”

“It would be better if Luc came with me,” Etienne suggested. “We work well together.”

“Luc will stay here as a guarantee of your good behavior,” Seraphina replied, her eyes narrowing. “However, I do find your protest quite worrying.” She turned to Sir Clarendon. “If we don’t return in half a day, kill the adventurer.”

“Yes, milady,” the old Knight barked, snapping to attention. A cruel smile curled on his weathered face.

“I’m so sorry, Luc,” Etienne said quietly. “I never should have… Remember Al-Lazar.”

“It’s alright, Eti,” Luc replied gently. “I remember Al-Lazar.”

Seraphina shook her head, very annoyed. “Honestly, what is with all this drama? We’re just going into a dunge—I mean, Trial of the Goddess.” She turned to the small red-eyed boy. “Ibn, that’s a bad example. Don’t grow up like that.”

She faced her companions. “Miriam, protect Eloise. Frest, watch my flank. And Etienne, darling, try not to die too soon. I’ve given you a reason to live in Luc, after all—love can be a powerful motivator or so I am told. No matter how impure it may be.”

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A flicker of unease gnawed at Seraphina as she eyed the shimmering portal, but she shoved it down. Leaders who led from the front drew people to them; it was as true now as it had been in the times of Alexander the Great.

“Come along, then,” she said brightly. “Let’s not dally. Ibn, my sword, if you please.”

The small boy dragged a massive two-handed sword, which from pommel to tip was half a head taller than Seraphina. With a great effort and struggle, he passed it to her. It was not quite the monster that was her father’s old weapon but it was still quite impressive.

“Thank you, Ibn,” Seraphina said sweetly. She drew the blade as though it weighed nothing, pointing it one-handed toward the portal. After only a moment’s hesitation, she stepped toward it and passed through, confident her people would soon follow.

She did not see it, but hero worship was written plain in the boy's eyes.

A sudden wave of dislocation washed over Seraphina, as though reality itself had briefly shifted. For a moment, everything felt misaligned before snapping back into its allotted place. Suddenly, she found herself in a grey realm of ankle-deep, dark water. Beneath the flowing water, the riverbed, she felt was comprised of loose pebbles. Resting her massive weapon on her shoulder, she hummed a tune whilst she waited for her companions to appear.

Her maid Miriam arrived first, her face set with equal parts resolve and anxiety. Eloise followed soon after, seeming on the verge of complaining about the water before deciding against it. Frest and Etienne, however, took much longer.

After five interminable minutes, Frest emerged with Sir Clarendon at his side. In that instant, it felt like a trap had just sprung shut, and Seraphina thought she heard a triumphant shriek echo from somewhere beyond.

“Where is the Healer, Etienne?” she demanded. She slammed on her helmet, arms folding impatiently across her chest.

Sir Clarendon answered, nearly spitting with contempt before he remembered his company. “He and his lover-boy tried to ambush us rather than come along and do their job just as Lady de Laney stepped through. Don’t worry, we put them down like the perverted dogs they were without injury, milady.”

Interesting, it seemed that her father’s household knights were at least competent, she noted. She had expected that two of the Silver would have done a bit more damage than that.

“Treacherous louts,” Frest added with a wry grin. “No honor among adventurers. They’ll be bird feed and fertilizer for the grass soon enough.” He clapped Sir Clarendon on the shoulder in a rare show of camaraderie.

“I’ll drink to that,” Sir Clarendon agreed.

“Only if you’re buying,” Frest quipped back as they both chuckled.

Although Seraphina had expected cowardice, she hadn’t foreseen it running quite this deep. She knew the dungeon was considered virtually impossible to clear without a special item—one obtained only through an obscure quest—or a very particular skill. She was sure that she happened to possess that skill, even if it didn’t appear on her “character sheet” as it were.

However, what truly bothered her was how badly she had misjudged the pair of adventurers. It was clear that some people, weak people, could only be pushed so far before snapping. There was a lesson in that, she supposed, if only she could be bothered to learn it.

Any chance to reflect was cut short by a low, gurgling moan that caused Frest and Sir Clarendon to silence. Another joined it, then another, until it swelled into a chorus of the undead. A ragged mob of zombies, all failed challengers of this Trial, shambled toward them. They were as varied in death as they were in life, their rotting forms in all sorts of stages of decay.

Seraphina hesitated for the briefest moment. Facing Death as an idea was one thing; confronting it in the putrid undead flesh was something else entirely. But with a determined shake of her head, she steeled herself. Even without the Holy Strike skill, it would be easy enough to cut them all to pieces.

After all, this was precisely why she had brought such a massive blade in the first place.