Chapter 20
We’d turned right around and ran through the dungeon another two times. The mana crystals I’d earned from all three runs added 10 additional mana points. Total mana pool: 45.
There were fewer giant rats with each run as the dungeon was losing strength. We’d wanted to go for a fourth run, but one of the guild trainers had come to close off the dungeon.
“Gotta let it power up again,” he’d said, locking the sewer gate with a chain and padlock.
Since the day was coming to an end anyways, our party split up. With a bag of new loot, the first thing I did was trade at the guild post.
The first two runs had an abysmal loot reward, and the third made up for it. After splitting everything, I walked away with dried moss, a small shield, and a set of bagpipes. The moss sold for a copper, the small shield for a silver, and the bagpipes for 5 silver.
I was destroyed, absolutely exhausted, from wielding my flagstaff with the chain. My muscles burned and I could barely throw myself into bed. Pelle might have tried to talk to me, but that must have been a dream.
I felt worse the next morning and struggled to holster the flagstaff to my back. Pelle offered to help, but I felt I had to accomplish the once simple task on my own. Due to my struggle, We were nearly late for the day’s lessons.
“Level 02 dungeons are the start of a different adventure,” Garmar said by way of greeting. “Boss’s will be more powerful in two ways. They will have specific attacks preempted by a tell, and a second boss phase. What you want to lookout for is the weak point. Those are prime opportunities of attack.”
On my way up the path to Owl’s Ridge, I mulled over the strategies we went over in training.
“Tell,” I muttered as I passed a hand over the rough and deep barks of massive trees.
A boss's tell was a sign that a specific powerful attack was incoming. A dragon’s throat bulging with an orange glow was a tell that it would soon billow fire on its enemies. With proper perception, we could identify an incoming attack from the boss’s tell and plan accordingly.
“The attack following the tell usually requires a tactic of defense,” Garmar had said. “A weak point often follows that attack, and you’ll need to swiftly move on the offensive. Lastly, several triggers will move the boss onto a second phase. The second phase is always different and may often feel like a brand new boss fight.”
According to Garmar, there was no common phase trigger. A multitude of different reasons would propel the boss to move on to that stage.
“However,” he continued, “a good place to start is with the boss’s health. For that, you’ll need these.”
We were given the Dungeon Boss Health Lens scroll. With it, we were able to keep an eye on the health bar of the boss as we fought it.
In my mana ring, the boss’s heath bar was said to appear at the top left, a quadrant up from our allies. It would be circular as well and deplete clockwise like usual. Since the scroll applied a level 01 enchantment to our mana rings, I decided to perform a blind level on it, bringing it to level 02, and costing me a permanent mana point.
“Each level of the Dungeon Boss Healing Lens will allow you to observe the health bar of your target, as long as your lens is equal to the boss’s level. It’s an important addition to your mana ring, so take care to level it as you progressively dive to deeper dungeons.”
I came upon Owl’s Ridge sooner than I realized I would. I was so deep in thought that I’d missed the beautifully manicured passing of my surroundings. Through the hidden layers of architecture, I entered the library.
Meeloe greeted me as though for the first time, until I reminded him which book I was currently reading.
“Ah yes,” he said, nodding slowly as though to dip his head into an invisible source of thought. “You’re on page 202 young reader.”
I was indeed on page 202 of “Axthose: Healer Gourd Master.” I dove in, picking up right where I left off.
A series of interviews were presented with adventurers who’d gone dungeon diving with Axthose. The attempt was to gather as much detail into his life as possible. All that I was able to learn were the judgements that others had made of his character. Nothing nefarious, or born of envy or anything.
The last interview summed it up perfectly. The interview asked, “...and pray tell, what were his desires? What was the purpose of becoming such a legendary figure?”
The interviewee—a dwarf—had taken their time to respond, thinking deeply. Upon petting his beard for the thousandth time, the dwarf finally responded.
“Well, you’ve to understand, Axthose wasn’t one to chit chat. He’d often go days without saying nary a word. Not to anyone. Aye, he’d answer questions, but he’d never tell of himself, of his nature, you understand? He’d read a bit here and there where the rest of us kept our company with words and stories and such.”
“What would he read?”
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“I didn’t care to ask at the time, but anyways, it was me and him one time, returning to Cleetagate city for some quest we’d undertaken. One thing you’d come to understand about Axthose, is that he was more comfortable in more intimate settings of two people. That’s where he became more lively. Now in groups of three or more--he’d utter nary a peep. So I asked him once, I said: Axthose, you bastard, what’s your next move now that you’re among the legends?”
“He responded? What did he say?”
“Well, you see, Axthose never seemed satisfied with the gourds. I know he’s in the books for it, or will be, which means I might pop in there too you think?”
“Please go on. Axthose…”
“Aye, aye, Axthose said to me—he said: Some sufferers something, something, something, something. Then I’d told him: What are you on about? —and he said: There are some who need this gourd more than I do.”
The interviewer asked the dwarf for more insight but the dwarf had none. Other interviews were fruitless in learning more of Axthoses’s character.
That interview stuck with me on the way down from Owl’s Ridge. Through the early setting of dusk, I walked beneath early colors of the night.
Axthose was onto something. What he said in that interview spoke to me in some way.
My father had needed the gourd when he’d fallen sick. It could have saved me from losing a finger by keeping him alive long enough that I could wait for a scheduled carriage departure. We didn’t have a gourd. We didn’t have anything.
As soon as I returned to the guild grounds, I had to stop for a breather. My flagstaff was weighing me down and dragging all my energy out of me. I found a quiet place in one of the gardens to lay down on long, soft blades of grass.
A chill was swooping in as night opened. Millions of stars spoke at once with shimmers of light in place of words. They were sharing millennium old stories amongst themselves. I was breathing heavily, watching my breath plume into cascades of wind currents. Autumn bushes and turning foliage were rustling in the wind. The spirited voices of adventurers were echoing around me. I was laid upon my back with my arms behind my head, truly resting for what felt like the first time since my journey here. My eyes were blinking with heaviness. The more they were blinking, the harder it was to open them again.
“What have we here?” Garmar said.
I recognized his voice, and the sounds of morning bird’s cavorting with youth, and darting from playmate to playmate. A golden ray of morning sun silhouetted Garmar, who kept me in his shade.
I groaned pitifully as I rose up and took his proffered hand. With a few quick strikes, my trainer brushed the dirt and leaves from my shoulders and sleeves. He ruffled my hair with parental familiarity.
“Morning,” he said cheerfully. “How’d you end up asleep here?”
I was lost for a moment and tried to get my bearings. While Garmar chuckled, I put together an indecipherable explanation for my circumstance. I rubbed my eyes and searched for my flagstaff, finding it sprawled beside me.
With great effort I hefted the flagstaff up. I winced with the strain it put on my muscles.
Garmar walked with me to the healer’s lodge and ate a brief breakfast with myself and some of the early risers there. I could hardly follow a single conversation, so most everything went in one ear and out the other. All I could think about was how brutal the weight of my flagstaff was. I couldn't wait for this part of my training to be over.
“Tosin!”
Moran entered the lodge and greeted Garmar warmly with brotherhood, then sat with the both of us.
“You’ll need to eat more than that,” he said, gesturing to my tray of food. “We’ve got a whole day of training ahead of us. How are you feeling? Ready to fall apart yet?”
I’d only just started to wake up, and I was not prepared for today’s training. I managed to mumble a few responses and finish my meal. Moran was patient and spent his time talking back and forth with Garmar until I was ready.
Moran and I returned to the same training ground from our first session and jumped right into it. Another chain was added and I was soon sweating with the effort of wielding it. We revisited stabbing with the tip of the flagstaff for a few hours, non stop.
“Think of getting a spear head for the tip,” he reminded me once more. “It’ll be important to keep your distance from some of the faster enemies you’ll encounter. Most importantly, your offensive contributions could save an allie’s life just as easily as healing can.”
That was enough of a good reason for me to consider topping the flagstaff with a spearhead. I wouldn’t have a chance until our training was over and there seemed to be no end in sight. My muscles were screaming in pain, I was sweating beyond my limits, and Moran’s training continued on relentlessly.
“Let’s move on to parrying,” he said and retrieved a bat from the bag he kept with him.
He came at me with downward strikes and my first attempts to parry were laughable. With the weight of the chains, the flagstaff was knocked from my hands each time. Having to pick it back up from the ground was an effort of its own.
Then he came slamming the bat down on my fingers and drove me back with relentless strikes. His ruthlessness was burning a fury within me and I channeled that energy to up my defenses.
“That’s it!” he said, pleased with the new surge of strength I was enraged with.
I continued parrying for half the day. We only stopped because I could no longer lift the flagstaff. I collapsed in a pitiful heap, unable to move, exhausted all over again.
“We’ve reached your true limit healer,” he said, crouching down.
“I thought I reached that a long time ago,” I said, desperately in need of water and food.
Moran saw this and treated me to some cheese curds and fried potato at the guild post inn and bar. I debated going because I’d thought he’d have to carry my weakened body, but I managed to somehow make it on my own.
“My treat,” he said and dug into his food and drink.
I ate and drank what felt like twice my weight. I was beyond famished. I was so weary I hardly spoke. Moran occupied our conversation with tips and tricks to keep the Five of Gryf and Zekaidean’s Anvil clean and soft. Just some simple laundering advice.
“Another thing,” he continued. “I think you’ll want to either upgrade your flagstaff at a blacksmith, or level up its durability. Enemies and monsters you face from here on will be much tougher on your items. Don’t underestimate the damage a dungeon can throw your way.”
“Won’t a blacksmith use metal for the flagstaff? What about the enchantments I have on it? Won’t they be ruined? Won’t the flagstaff be heavier?”
“Talk to a blacksmith. You’ll have to gauge your options and make your own decisions.”
“Well what would you do?”
“Tosin, everything I’m doing to train you, and everything I’m telling you to do, is exactly what I would do. Even so, you’ll have to weigh whether these things are appropriate for you as you journey forth. Making your own decisions is part of the peril.”