Chapter 60 - Finally Floor 3

What should have taken hours felt like it took years. YEARS. We rotated safe zone deployments as we followed Thwain’s lead, avoiding goblin shamans like the landmines that they were. Still, what meager rest we got was barely enough to keep us going. Rushing made us sloppy, and sloppiness always leads to mistakes. Close calls turned to grazes, which soon morphed into deep cuts. We deployed more and more safe zones to compensate, then farmed goblins for longer to keep our system points up. The shamans were persistent, however, and we often had to leave before we had fully recouped our points or risk having to fight the floor’s most dangerous enemies.

When we finally arrived at the portal to Floor 3, we slapped down two safe zones and collapsed, keeping a wary eye on the portal. Something was very wrong. Instead of an influx of monsters from Floor 3, the goblins were the ones invading upwards, draining out of Floor 2. It made no sense. Individual goblins could easily take on a handful of slimes. It stood to reason that the boars that Thwain had seen on the third floor could easily defeat a few goblins each. And so, as that apparently wasn’t the case, we didn’t dare cross into Floor 3 without being at our best. Unless Floor 2’s goblins were way stronger than they should be, Floor 3’s monsters should be flooding downwards, not be pushed back.

After eating, sleeping and discussing other Towers for over two full hours, we were all anxious to ascend. Well, aside from Thwain. He had already made his way to Floor 3, so he wouldn’t be receiving any boons for making the trip once more. Still, he was antsy to get moving. The faster we moved on, the faster we could get back to raising our strength and actually making progress. That, and there were hopefully no goblin shamans on Floor 3 to deal with.

Thwain, wings out and both guns ready, flew through the portal first, followed by me and Slimey, with Slorp and Pyro bringing up the rear. Slimey was kitted out in his enchanted metal plates, and I had activated the Slime King’s Servant’s Nephew’s Neighbour’s Necklace, hiding myself inside of Slimey’s protective slime and his mobile metal fortifications. As soon as we touched the portal, the world spun and was replaced with a blue screen.

You have reached Floor 3 of the Tower. How do you wish to proceed?

Option 1: You cannot harm me, for I am the one who birthed you into this world. (Cookie crumb of knowledge: this is a path of immunity through subjugation).

Option 2: Souls may take many forms, young summoner. (Cookie crumb of knowledge: this upgrade will lead you down a path of permanence).

My mind kicked into overdrive. The first option’s obvious implied immunity from my own summons’ damage seemed beneficial. I would no longer need my necklace, and I could be far riskier when deploying tactics in tandem with my summons. Then again, I already had the Slime King’s necklace’s immunity, which wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. The “subjugation” part of the description rubbed me the wrong way, though. I had already sidestepped any mention of that in the past, not wanting to force my summons to do my bidding like an evil overlord, especially if they truly were beings with consciousness and wills of their own.

I read and reread the second option. It was painfully vague, but the idea of permanence didn’t sound bad, per se. Still, it was the only option of the two that didn’t sound morally questionable, so I selected it and hoped for the best.

Class : Summoner, rank 2.

Soul Echo (rank tied to class rank). Passive. Effect: absorb a portion of your opponent’s essence upon their death, adding it to your Bestiary.

Summon, rank 3. Active. Cost: variable, diminished. Effect: summon the power of the souls in your Bestiary. Examine and influence the stats of the souls in your Bestiary.

Bestiary monsters: 2/3.

Soul Forge, rank 1. Active. Cost: variable. Imbue the souls from your Soul Forge into items.

Soul Forge slots : 0/1. Choose an item to imbue.

I stared at the description of my new ability, Soul Forge, for a long moment. It wasn’t… bad. It was just vague. Like any other skill, I guess I would just have to figure it out bit by bit. Even if it sucked, I now had a third Bestiary slot for another summon, and a Soul Forge slot available, whatever that meant. To imbue souls into an item… Would my boots be permanently slimy if I imbued them with the souls of slimes? What would a dagger do if imbued with the soul of a goblin? Smell bad and steal shiny coins? I’d just have to test it until I got it right.

Satisfied and ready to test out my shiny new ability, I willed the screen away and looked around at my surroundings. I didn’t know what to expect to see when I arrived at the third floor, but it sure wasn’t the sight that was before me. Packs of furry, pointy-eared… people… hurriedly picked fruit from trees and placed them into baskets, which were then handed off to runners who, duh, ran the baskets deeper into the orchard and ran back with empty baskets. Bigger, burlier guards stood every dozen meters or so, backs ramrod straight, one hand holding a spear, one hand holding a net. Every so often, shining particles would gather up and condense, spawning in a boar that would be swiftly killed by the nearest guard, shattering the beast into puffs of multicolored mist. None of the gatherers so much as flinched, they just kept picking their fist-sized purple fruits and handing their baskets down to be hauled off.

The whole operation was so smooth, I just stood there and gaped. The same thing was happening in every direction, and for as far as I could see. Thwain circled above, staying high in the sky, but not venturing too far. Pyro mumbled about trace metals while Slorp just stood and looked smug.

Eventually, a larger guard, one adorned in a full metal breastplate instead of the strips of leather the other guards wore, approached our group.

“Greetings. I am General Hipsep of the Laughing Crowns pack. This section of the floor is under my jurisdiction. Ground rules: do not steal any kills. No exceptions. Boar and panther spawns are ours. Do not steal any purple fruits from the orchard. They are ours. You may take any of the green grapes, as they are not safe for us gnolls to consume. Violence against gnolls will not be tolerated. Violence between other races is not our problem. Anyone caught breaking any of these rules will be executed. You may travel through our territory, but may not set up any form of camp. Any questions?”

His tone was clipped as he barked out the rules. There was a slight growl in his throat as he spoke, as if he were mere moments away from lunging at us. I looked over at Pyro who just shrugged. I nodded at the general and asked, gingerly:

“How, uh… How far does your jurisdiction spread and do you have any idea where the exit to the fourth floor is? …Sir...” I wasn’t sure what a gnoll was, nor what customs they had. My chest tightened as I asked, not wanting to piss off what was clearly the leader of a very organized force. He wasn’t holding a weapon, but the claws on his hands and feet shined a little too brightly in the midsummer sun. The general clearly didn’t need a sword to cut us to ribbons.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“The entire third floor has been subjugated by gnolls,” General Hipsep grunted. “The Laughing Crowns own a quarter of the way to the ascension portal. The Yippets, Graunching Grelots, the Reincarnated, the Grassy Gnolls and the Bloodfang Syndicate own the rest.” He gestured to the side, between a row of trees. “That’s North. Ish. Portal is three days straight North. You’re free to traverse, but no camping on my land.”

“Can we-”

“No.” Pyro’s question was instantly cut off by the general’s guttural voice. “You may do nothing other than travel through or leave back through this portal. This may be your Tower, but these are no longer your lands. Move on or pass on.” He punctuated his statement by flexing his claws. I took that as a queue to leave, not wanting to test myself against the general. His mane flared slightly as Slimey started to move, but he thankfully made no move to attack us.

We walked briskly down rows of fruit trees, careful not to cause any trouble. The sheer scope of the operation bore down on us all as we noted just how many gnolls were occupying the floor. Eventually, Pyro grew tired of walking.

“Alright. Gon’ test this shit out,” he announced, starting to gesture with his hands.

“Hey! Woah! If they take anything we do as aggression, we’ll be mobbed,” I warned.

“Improoooved finesse,” Pyro drawled out, waggling his fingers. “Bet I could move us ‘round like before, jus’ without the giant wall o’ dirt comin’ outa our shitter, naaamean?” As a proof of concept, the geomancer raised himself up on a small mound of dirt, circled the group twice, then lowered himself back flush with the ground’s original height. To my surprise, none of the grass was disturbed. Sure, the rare few twigs were pushed to the side, but the grass itself remained pristine and unmarred.

Once Pyro received a shrug from the rest of the party, he repeated his feat from Floor 2, but at a much smaller scale. Dirt and sod rose up around us, carrying us swiftly by dozens of trees in an instant. The first few guards we met hastily lowered their spears as we approached, so Pyro slowed down slightly. Seeing we weren’t attacking or running away from other gnolls, they let us pass without issue. We blew past gnoll patrolls, slowing down occasionally when they seemed nervous, but otherwise, we ate up ground faster than an earth eater eats… earth… when it’s hungry and has lots to eat.

Pyro showed off his new and improved control over his earth manipulation skills, forming the dirt into dust clouds that seamlessly took the form of galloping horses, then thousands of jumping fish, then large birds of prey riding on solidified air currents as we oohed and aahed. He even went so far as to skim a bit of grass from the path as we passed, forming large lumps of turf that served as cushiony bedding for the rest of us.

The transition into the next gnoll tribe’s lands was very obvious. We slowed to a crawl, Pyro forming our platform into a swirling fluffy cloud as we came upon what looked like a very tense standoff. Two rows of gnoll warriors stood almost completely still, staring at each other. On one side stood the Laughing Crowns, their chests crisscrossed with their typical leather strips, their spears pointing straight up. On the other side were gnolls in, well, almost nothing. Those that were clothed had the barest slips of loincloths covering half of their junk. They were crouched, one hand on the ground, one hand poised to strike, claws extended. They exuded a wildness that contrasted heavily with the orderly Laughing Crowns, who almost looked like they were a completely different species with their militaristic bearing and heads held high.

There were also a few physiological differences. The crouched gnolls had longer, sharper claws and teeth, but the manes that grew down their backs were far shorter and were missing chunks of fur in enough spots that they looked mangy. They also had thicker forearms and bulging leg muscles compared to their sleeker counterparts.

Both groups eyed us as we approached, but none made a move to stop us. We gingerly squeaked between both groups, waiting for someone to ask us to pay a toll to pass, but none did.

Gnoll toll avoided, we cautiously ventured into the territory of the Yippets, a band of gnolls who, well, yipped. A lot. Barks, yips and screeches echoed from tree to tree as if we were in a madhouse. They, too, were foraging berries and stripping the fruit from the trees, just like the Laughing Crowns. But the Yippets dealt with monster spawns far differently. They fought each other, often to the death, over a single boar spawn. Heaps of gnolls, some dead, some soon to be, dogpiled (well, gnollpiled) near every boar spawn, some even being attacked by the boars since they were too busy fighting amongst themselves. We made damn sure to avoid the clusters, giving them a wide berth as we hurtled across their territory.

Everything went relatively smoothly as we crossed through one territory and into the next. There was nary a close call until we brushed up against what we soon figured out was a single Reincarnated crossing the Graunching Grelots’s territory with a Yippet corpse slung over his shoulder. A dozen Graunching Grelots emerged from where they were melded with trees and halted our path, bows at the ready.

“Deed of transportation?” The lead gnoll sounded like he had forgotten to shape shift his vocal chords back from the tree bark they had been. He held out his hand while obviously trying to hide a smirk and doing a terrible job at it.

I started as I noticed he was not only motioning to the dark hooded gnolls, but also to our group.

“Wait, you mean us, too?” I asked, astonished. “They let us through the border without saying a word.”

The lead gnoll’s attempts at hiding his grin slipped just a little more. The hooded gnolls didn’t budge at all.

“In that case, we of the Graunching Grelots find you all guilty of theft!” His voice rasped out as he stood triumphantly leaning on a gnarled staff, one hand still out, awaiting a payment he had clearly just invented.

A long suffering sigh exploded out from my right. I glanced over to see Pyro getting up from his literal lawn chair. “Alright,” he announced. “I’ve got yer’ damn payment right here.” The lead gnoll’s eyes widened slightly, but he otherwise didn’t move. Seven bow strings behind him tightened audibly, though.

Pyro took two steps forward, then shook the sleep out of his legs and rolled his head, cracking his neck in disturbingly satisfying pops. Then, he exaggeratedly reached into his right pocket, making a show of leaning forwards to dig in deep, deep into the far reaches of his bag of coins. As he straightened, he withdrew his hand and presented nothing but his middle finger and a shit-eating grin.

“Here’s your payment, right here, mother fuck-” Pyro’s proud announcement was cut off as ten bows twanged. Before I could flinch, a curtain of water rose up, distorting my view of the gnolls and diverting all of the arrows so that they flew wide. Gunshots rang out from above and Pyro thrust his other hand forward, strain tarnishing his wide grin.

I stood there, frozen. The water wall splashed to the cracked dirt as the force animating it receded. I… Everything had happened so fast. They had all seemed so coordinated and I was just… there… I didn’t even have Slimey summoned or anything since the last few hours had been so peaceful. I was on a dainty carriage ride while my team was a special forces brigade. I hadn’t even had time to process that we were in combat yet, and there they were, a dozen gnolls, dead in the dirt. Water from Slorp’s spell slowly dribbled towards the corpses.

“You have confidence in pack, squishy pink man,” a voice to my right said with a chuckle.

Still in a daze, I looked over, my eyes wide. It was one of the hooded gnolls. He was rubbing his hands together and licking his lips, eyes locked onto the corpses. I tried to ignore how snakelike his tongue looked as I replied.

“Yeah, they’re… quick, that’s for sure.” I winced at my lame answer, but the gnoll didn’t seem to care. He gestured to the bodies enthusiastically.

“Garnush can secure safe passage, he can. Garnush knows the Grassy Gnolls and the Bloodfangs. Garnush knows how to cross safely. How to say right words, bark right barks. Yip the yip. Walk the walk. Other squishy pink and not so squishy, not so pink travelers don’t know. They don’t get far. They all… Reincarnated with strings. Many strings.”

“What do you get out of it, Garnish?” Pyro asked as he approached, spitting to the side.

“Corpses for practice!” Garnush yipped, nodding emphatically. “Garnush is Reincarnator now. Garnush needs to practice strings. Practice, practice, practice! And eat. Now, Garnush has no strings. And no meat. No spoils. No strings attached!” He cackled as if he had said the most hilarious thing.

“Yer’ sayin’ you, errrr… Garnish… need corpses? And we have corpses, so you’ll bring us through other shithead gnoll lands in exchange for these fine… specimens?”

Garnush nodded excitedly. “Garnush has slain many foes, collected many tokens! Many spoils. Now, Garnush is Reincarnator. Garnush needs practice before Garnush can take Chief Reincarnator’s beta’s assistant’s position and help raise armies of gnolls and string the rest of the nonbelievers.

“You know,” Slorp started, trying his best to gesture with his tentacles towards Garnush without letting the salivating gnoll take a bite of raw calamari. “Thish musht be a rare clan of shpellcashting gnollsh. I have heard that gnollsh have to bathe in the blood of their enemiesh and wear their shkinsh to progresh in their Tower. If they mashtered the art of reincarnation and managed to pash it around inshide of their clan, they could functionally kneecap their enemiesh. Tokensh taken from foesh that aren’t dead don’t count in their shyshtem. The only victory ish a true kill. Not even full shurender countsh.”

Garnush bounced in agreement. “Yes, yes! Chief Grelok is best chief clan ever had. With one Reincarnator, clan is strong. With more Reincarnators than toes on a turtle, clan is unstoppable!” He puffed out his chest as much as he could. As he did, I had to repress a gag as ear rings poked out from under Garnush’s black hood. Literal hoops of ears stitched together dangled from multiple piercings in his own ears. “The Stone of Rip accepts only those that have proven strong in battle. Clan fights to the death, then Reincarnators bring clan back. Rinse, rinse, rinse! No peksy strings for clan."