Chapter 46: Better
TRISTAN
When it really came down to it, Tristan knew he wanted to upgrade his hammer. It had been with him from the beginning of his Path, and by the gods it would be with him all the way to the end.
He would eventually, after upgrading the rarity, find a way to upgrade the materials and craftsmanship to tier 2 as soon as he could. And then tier 3, tier 4, tier 5...
One step at a time.
He applied the oil carefully and evenly, until the whole thing was completely covered. Even before he’d finished, his hammer had begun to emit a light blue smoke that subtly hung in the air before dispersing. Even as he moved the hammer around, the bluish, smoky aura followed. He used [Identify] to tell him exactly how it had changed.
[Smith’s Hammer (uncommon)]: [Crafter’s Blessing], Soulbound
A hammer forged by a talented blacksmith and has since been magically upgraded.
The improved rarity had been expected, obviously. But he cared more about the new property. What sort of enchantment had the oil bestowed?
[Crafter’s Blessing] While crafting with this hammer, gain a +10% bonus to Strength and Endurance.
Tristan was thrilled. A 10% bonus to even one stat, conditional or not, would have been incredible. To get that same bonus to two stats made it absurd. Currently, a 10% bonus was the equivalent to 10 stat points (5 to each). That was basically like crafting at a whole level higher than he was! And it was a percentile buff, so it was going to grow along with him.
With a huge smile on his face, Tristan swung his newly upgraded hammer, glad to find that it still felt the same as it had before. He’d admittedly been a little worried that the upgrade might change the hammer’s feel somehow.
All that was left was to see how much it improved his work.
That would have to wait, though. He was still in the dungeon, after all, and before he left he wanted to look around for anything else that might be useful. Just a quick search around the Crypt, then he'd head back to the Quarry.
As could be expected of a final boss’s lair, the space was mostly empty aside from the massive forge and anvil, and of course whatever the giant had supposedly been working on.
It might have been part of a giant-sized breastplate, given the huge sheet of flattened metal. Tristan could tell that it was now fully cooled and would need another heating before it could be worked again. But eyeballing its thinness, and by testing its resistance to force, Tristan knew it was worth taking. Whatever material it turned out to be, if he could shape it a bit more, it could be turned into something special.
He wasn't sure how he could transport it though. It was super wide, making it ridiculously awkward to carry. Added to his burned shoulder and general tiredness from running an entire dungeon solo, he struggled to heave it over his head with both hands. He was only able to walk to the crypt’s door before he had to set it down.
This isn't working. If I try to take it outside like this, I won't be able to carry anything else. I wonder if it’s still considered a crafting material?
Hoping for the best, Tristan pulled out his [Crafting Materials Bag] and held it near the oversized plate. When the flattened metal began to slowly shrink down and fold over itself as it was rapidly drawn into the bag’s mouth, he was beside himself with glee--and then also worry. Was the folding something that was actually happening, or was that just the magic of his bag? He'd never heard of such a property before. Which naturally led his curiosity to the most important questions: How big an item could he fit into his growth bag? Just how much had the space inside grown?
He resolved to find out after he got out of this dungeon. But first thing first. Now that his hands were once again free, he had to find all the materials he could in this dungeon and take them with him. He would never have enough materials for the plans he had.
Luckily, with nothing left to get in his way, he could take his time in the Quarry. After such a hard dungeon, it was going to be nice to have something come easy.
- - - - -
Tristan hobbled to the cemetery gate with a leg so badly injured that even the slightest breeze shot fiery pain through his whole body. There was no way it wasn’t broken. He'd found a fair-sized branch from one of the trees to use as a crutch, but every step was still extremely painful and frustrating. It had already slowed him down a lot just getting back to the exit, and he was worried that he’d taken so long that he might need to hire someone to take him back to Jamal’s. One glance at the sun’s sinking position in the sky told him that it was well after noon. There was only a slim chance he’d be getting back before nightfall.
The injury had come from trying to find every possible ore node in the grounds... and forgetting about the direwolves.
He’d fought the one that got away, sure. But when he hadn’t encountered it again, he’d practically pushed it from his mind... along with the thought that maybe there’d been a pack. What a painful mistake that had been.
There were six more, it turned out. Perhaps they'd seen themselves as the true final boss, as they’d stalked him, laying in wait. They'd completely surrounded him as he mined a rich iron node, and then they'd struck all at once.
While the fully-empowered Greatest Fear miniboss probably should have been the hardest fight in the whole dungeon, the direwolves had done way more damage. A pack of normal mobs, Tristan thought with a grunt as he continued toward one of Rockmoor’s central streets, and all they dropped were a handful of mana potions that weren’t even soulbound. Not that he could use them if they were. He sighed. At least he could give them to Opie... whenever it was that he saw his friend next.
- - - - -
AARIC
The moment the [Frost Bolt] left his fingertips, Aaric unleashed his [Ice Barrage], already knowing that the bolt would be enough to completely stack the frost debuff and fully freeze his opponent. This would be the third time this fight, after all, and he had learned this opponent’s capabilities as surely as all the others. She was strong, but ultimately she was a melee Class, and that put her at a huge disadvantage against him.
Aaric had been steadily improving. That part of the scout’s assessment hadn’t been wrong in the slightest. This last casting, though... He could feel no gap in the flow of magic down his arms, so he knew he’d perfected the timing of the spell combination at last. A slight nod from the scout, who was leaning against the wall outside the duelist’s circle, seemed to verify it.
Aaric returned his gaze to the spear-wielding woman across the circle from him just in time to see the final shards of [Ice Barrage] tear into her chest, forcing her down to one knee. She tried to lean against her spear to keep herself up, but the damage was just too much. Aaric didn’t even need to fire the next [Frost Bolt] that had been building at his fingertips. She was done.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
As the crowd roared its support, the announcer stepped back into the circle to announce the victory. Aaric raised his chin and tried to act as though it meant as much to him as it should have. He’d joined this dueling league specifically at the scout’s behest, to push himself. He’d been at least a full level lower than all of his opponents from start to finish. And he’d handily won every single bout.
So why does it feel so hollow?
Thinking back on the championship duel, Aaric had been able to easily keep his distance the entire time. It had been trivial, honestly, as the woman didn’t seem to have any escape mechanisms or snare breaks in her skillset. It took her so long to get free that Aaric had to wonder if she’d ever trained for that type of opponent. Perhaps she’d just relied too heavily on her magic spear returning to her after she threw it whenever she faced off against ranged foes. But even with her high Strength to hurl it through the air, it would never be fast enough to hit Aaric Longbloom after all the slowing debuffs he’d applied.
Since he’d seen her throw her spear many times in earlier rounds, the only surprise throughout the whole duel had been just how much health she seemed to have. She’d managed to take three full freezes before she’d gone down. None of his previous opponents had lasted past the second, with one even falling unconscious after the first. But this was the final round; more should be expected of anyone that could make it this far. The spear-wielding woman had certainly tried her best, and that would have been enough had Aaric not been there.
By the end of the league, victory had felt expected, and it wasn’t interesting. He hadn’t needed to cast [Frost Nova] a single time.
Once all the fanfare died down, Aaric was presented with the champion’s prize, which also happened to be the biggest reason he’d agreed to enter this league in the first place. It was a certificate signed and sealed by the head of the Steelblood Guild in Rockmoor, stating that the bearer could commission one certified tier 2 item (with an upper cost limit) from any shop on the Row allied with the Guild, and it would be made their top priority.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted to commission yet. He’d been considering a new staff, for more offensive output, if he could find a craftsman able to match his aesthetic. On the other hand, Aaric also wanted to get something enchanted with cooldown reduction or a cast speed increase. Preferably both, if the costs didn’t exceed the prize. For the first time in his life, Aaric was being constrained by cost, and it felt really strange. Unpleasant. He had no idea how others tolerated it.
Still, he took his certificate and held it tightly in his hands as spectators and the other competitors came up to congratulate him. Aaric smiled through it all, but he merely tolerated the attention instead of embracing it as he usually would. He’d ended up spending a lot of time with this dueling league, but he didn’t really know any of the other combatants. He hadn’t even bothered to learn a single one of their names.
When the crowd dispersed, and Aaric walked over to the scout at last, the higher-tier man slowly clapped twice. “Congratulations on your success.”
Aaric rolled his eyes. “How much did you make on the betting side?”
The scout smiled slightly as he tapped a pouch that Aaric knew was actually spatial storage. “Enough that it might be best not to advertise it here.”
Aaric scoffed. “Like anyone here could challenge you.”
The scout merely shrugged. “I’d rather not make the event cleanup harder than it already will be.”
“Why? You won’t have to do it. You’ll be long gone by then.”
“But someone will,” was the scout’s reply before redirecting their conversation. “Why aren’t you happier about winning? Didn’t you want to be League Champion?”
Aaric clutched the certificate. “It was too easy,” he said quietly.
“And that’s disappointing to you.” The scout hadn’t asked it but merely stated it as a fact.
“It is,” Aaric admitted. “When you told me what the prize was, and that everyone entering was a higher level, well... It was just a lot easier to win than I thought it would be.”
The scout nodded, but otherwise remained silent.
Aaric found that frustrating. “You think you know something.”
“Well, I always know something.”
“Something about why this was so unfulfilling?”
The scout actually laughed. “Oh, I definitely know that.”
Aaric tried to wait patiently, hoping that his silence would prompt the man to tell him, but the scout was as tight-lipped as always. He wants me to have to say it.
“Will you tell me, please?” Aaric finally asked.
“Not this time, sir. This one you’ve got to figure out for yourself.”
Aaric threw his hands up. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Yet you’re not actually surprised,” the scout pointed out. “How about this: I’ll point you in the general direction. Assuming you’re willing to think, and answer a few questions honestly.”
Aaric ground his teeth slightly, but he knew the scout well enough to see that the man was now playing a game with him. If Aaric wanted to figure out what the man was thinking, he would have to play by the scout’s rules. “Fine,” he said, bowing to the man who was supposed to be his servant.
“Then here’s your first hint. Who was the person you fought in the championship duel? What was her name?”
“I don’t know that,” Aaric answered immediately.
The scout raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”
Aaric paused, considering the question. It was fair, and in all honesty he probably should be able to remember something as simple as her name. The scout had said it countless times during their preparations. So had the announcers, before and after all of her duels. So why didn’t he know it?
“Because I didn’t care about her,” Aaric said.
The scout led Aaric to two chairs in the front row, now emptied, and indicated for him to sit. “Why not?”
Aaric sank down into the cushioned chair and dug into those two words again. The first answer that surfaced was too easy and reductive: that he didn’t care about anyone in this town. No, there was more to it here, or else the scout wouldn’t have asked. It’s because... “She never really stood a chance to beat me.”
The scout nodded slowly, leaning back a bit in his chair and rubbing his chin slightly.
“None of them did,” Aaric continued, “despite their advantages.”
“Interesting word choice,” the scout commented, leaning forward again. “Let’s talk more about advantages. Your own, for example.”
My advantages? Aaric wanted to scoff, but upon doing a quick and honest inventory, he recognized just how many he truly had. “Wealth, obviously.”
“Obviously,” the scout said, raising one finger.
“And training.”
A second finger came up. “Expensive training.”
Aaric bristled at the correction, but kept going. “Good gear.”
The scout lifted an eyebrow, tilted his head, and held up a third finger.
“And superior focus,” Aaric continued, “not to mention persistence, and drive.”
“Finally,” the scout mused, clapping his hands, “some advantages that actually come from you.”
Aaric realized that his fists were clenched, even the one holding his certificate. He calmed himself and tried to flatten the paper against his chest. “What’s your point?”
“Not everyone has all your advantages, Aaric. Or at least, not those first few.” He paused, perhaps to let the words soak in, before leaning forward even more. “And who could possibly stand a chance against you, Aaric Longbloom the {Ice Prodigy}, without such advantages?”
And there it was. Aaric sighed. There it was. There was someone who had... beaten him already.
“How did he even do that?” Aaric asked aloud.
“Which part?” the scout asked with a smile. “Not drop below 60% health against you, despite being a noncombat Class? Or keep up with your leveling pace, despite Awakening later? Or maybe you mean how he pulled you out of the fire at Sharing Cross?”
“He saved my life,” Aaric quietly agreed. He hated admitting it, but it was true. He struggled to say the next part, but he needed to get it out. “So is it bad that... I mean, is it OK that... I want to beat him?”
When Aaric finally glanced up at the scout, he found the man was already staring straight back at him, his face open and not judgemental. “It depends on what you mean by that.”
“When it counted, he was better than I was,” Aaric began, struggling through his own thoughts to find the right words. His hands tightened together around the certificate. “How can I be better than him? Show me how to be better.”
The scout held his gaze silently long enough for several heartbeats to thud in Aaric’s chest. “Better than who?” he finally asked.
“Better than..."
“...The Hammerson boy?”
Aaric shook his head. “Tristan. Better than Tristan.”
The scout reached out a hand and placed it firmly on Aaric’s shoulder. “You’ve still got a ways to go, but this, at least, is the first step on the right path. And you know what, I think I might finally like to see you walk it. You’ve grown, kid.”
Then he smiled, and the warmth of that smile seemed to radiate all the way down his arm and into Aaric’s chest.