“Well, that’s a shit show and a half,” Rory muttered as he watched the two jackalopes. They hadn’t yet begun manifesting their matter erasure magic, but when it started… Well, he’d only barely managed to beat one before.
It’s okay. Rory soothed himself. You’re faster and stronger, with bigger walls and an actual ranged weapon.
Drawing the bowstring back, Rory dismissed the pain, letting it fade into the background as he focused with everything he had on the nearest of the two.
They aren’t much more durable than the rest of the caerbannogs.
Worry replaced with a wave of cool determination, Rory held the bowstring taut for half a second more before releasing it.
Go!
Drawing his next arrow, many times slower now that his draw arm was hurt, he watched as the arrow whizzed forward.
C’mon!
Before it slammed straight through one of the jackalope skulls, pinning the now-dead magical beast to the ground.
“Yes!” Rory grunted with immense satisfaction, which swiftly vanished. “Oh shit.”
The remaining jackalope had instantly focused on his position, black death spheres already flung in his direction.
With what was not a squeak, he dropped from his position atop his ladder, pain flaring as the impact of the drop slammed through his arm. Several of the spheres sailed harmlessly overhead, but from his wall, he heard a sound like a gunshot, the wall trembling for a moment.
The hell?
More and more, he heard the sound of gunshots as a light bulb lit up in his mind.
The wall! The orbs can’t pierce the wall!
Perhaps the matter-erasing magic they utilized was limited, and the potency was massively reduced when striking other magical or semi-magical things.
Such as a magically ascended wall, whose entire purpose is withstanding siege! Alright, new plan. Strafe!
Drawing an arrow, Rory dashed across the gap between his walls, the jackalope content to fire its magic from a safe distance.
Or what it thought was a safe distance. Sprinting through the gap, he spun his body, releasing an arrow as he rolled out of the way, spheres of deadly magic slamming through the air where he’d just been. The arrow whiffed overhead; even with the bow's magic to increase his capability with the weapon, there was only so much it could do for him if he insisted on firing on the run.
If anything, these jackalopes have an even faster reaction time.
Drawing another arrow, he slowly shimmied up the ladder he’d positioned across the gap in his walls, his head popping up briefly before he ducked back down.
Good, it’s still focused on where I was.
He was damned lucky the rabbits, even the jackalope, weren’t the smartest of beasts, reacting more on instinct than anything.
I can do this.
Drawing in a steadying breath, he focused on where he’d just seen the rabbit, his mind eye locked on. It would redirect on him the instant he popped out for more than a peak, so he’d have to be quick about it.
Three… two…one!
Popping up, he swung his bow forward, firing the arrow toward where he’d mentally locked onto. The reaction time of the magical rodent was as quick as he expected, forcing him to drop down before he could see the outcome.
Hitting the ground once more, the pain of his arm he’d mentally begun blocking out, he crept forward, poking his head around the corner of his wall.
“Thank Christ.” He huffed. The second jackalope was unmoving, save for the occasional twitch of its back leg, an arrow piercing directly between its eyes.
I could have won the Olympics with a bow like this back on Earth.
Okay, maybe he was pushing it, but the results were speaking for themselves.
Letting out a huff, he slowly pulled free his quiver, peering into it.
“Well, that’s not great.”
He was low on arrows, perhaps twenty left. Once more, being a one-person team had the problem of only so much time in a day and so many hours between the initiation of a wave and when it arrived. Using the knowledge gained from Maker’s Arsenal, he’d managed to whip up a decent amount of arrows, or so he’d thought, but apparently, fifty arrows went fast.
How was I supposed to know? It's not like I ever went bow hunting before or fought in medieval sieges.
The plus side was with the two jackalopes dead, that put him at stage five of what he assumed was the regular seven.
It should be enough. Hopefully.
A potential concern was that two jackalopes had appeared on stage four when a single jackalope had been the ‘boss’ of stage seven of the last wave.
Does that mean I’ll have to deal with five on the ‘boss’ stage?
A cause for concern, but one he couldn’t affect.
One thing at a time.
His arm still obviously hurt, but he’d acclimated. He had retrieved his bat, but he doubted he’d be using it very effectively, especially not against the jackalopes from whom he wanted to keep some distance.
My walls are the first thing I’ve seen that can take a hit from their magic.
Suddenly curious, a small lens-looking interface popped up as he examined his walls.
Well, it could be better… could be worse.
The wall integrity had dropped nearly twenty percent, with the direct impact locations down a full thirty.
“Not invincible. Got it.”
It wasn’t exactly surprising, but it hadn’t stopped Rory from hoping for the unlikely.
“Alright, no more lolly-gagging.” He muttered to himself as he began to shimmy up the ladder across from his original wall position. An idea suddenly blooming, he slid back down to the ground, snatching a rock before returning to the top of the ladder. Once there, he drew an arrow and waited patiently for several minutes.
At least it gives me time to catch my breath: silver linings and all that.
Only half a minute after the thought, he saw what he’d been waiting for three antler-having rabbits approaching steadily.
Alright, I hope this works.
Holding the rock he’d grabbed earlier, he flung it aside before drawing the arrow back as quickly as possible. Holding his breath for a second, the rock landed off the side of the wizard rabbits, who spun to face the sudden disturbance, already flinging magic uselessly into the woods.
It worked!
Not letting his excitement get the best of him, he released an arrow, drawing another and firing only moments later. The distraction had worked perfectly, and before they knew what had hit them, two of the three were dead, pierced through the skull.
One to go.
It was a matter of perspective on how vital match-ups were. In the prior wave, when he’d tried to kill a single jackalope with a direct melee-focused approach, he’d only survived by abusing an unintended system feature. Now armed with a bow, they were a fraction of the threat they’d been before.
Well, maybe a fraction is being a little too confident.
It also helped that he had walls durable enough to withstand a barrage of their magic, which he could safely hide behind while he took his time preparing.
Anddd… There!
Popping out from behind the wall, he let loose an arrow, ducking back out of the way within the same breath. A brief smile flickered across his face as the sounds of bombardment vanished.
Must have got it.
Peeking over his wall, he confirmed it; the jackalope pierced through like a shish kabob.
“Another stage done.”
He had a few minutes' reprieve, but for once, he didn’t feel entirely winded. His distraction play had worked supremely well when coupled with the bow’s competency-enhancing effect.
Probably should prepare for the next stage.
Clambering down his ladder, it took only a minute and a half to stockpile enough rocks before shuffling up to his waiting spot.
When the jackalopes inevitably appeared, Rory worked like a practiced hunter, tossing stones about and distracting the relatively mindless monsters. Analyze open; he watched as the integrity of his walls gradually fell as he waited to pop back out and toss more stones to distract the beasts. One by one, the seconds ticked by as Rory tossed out stones occasionally before taking potshots.
Within a few minutes, his wall went silent as he finally slayed the last of the jackalopes.
“That was easier than expected.” Rory huffed, taking stock of the battlefield beyond his walls. It was strewn with rabbit corpses and holes in the area as if circular orbs of matter had been erased.
Must have been where their magic missed.
Feeling confident, Rory didn’t even bother stockpiling more rocks, a large amount already gathered.
Five more. Only five more.
Rory was beginning to wonder if perhaps he’d overprepared for the wave. It was dangerous and would have been insurmountable without his bow. Thankfully, he did have a bow this time.
With things going as well as they were, it was no surprise when everything went sideways.
Waiting for the final five jackalopes, what appeared was instead a single beast he’d never seen before.
Is… Is that a fox?
The question was rhetorical. There was no mistaking the beast for anything but a fox, aside from the fact that it was nearly three times the size of an earth fox. Unlike an earth fox with orange, black, or white colored coats, this fox had a belt of dark purple and strips of dull gold.
It blends in with the clover grass.
He’d been on the new planet long enough now that he’d grown used to the twilight-colored foliage underfoot. Still watching the strangely colored fox, he quickly looked it over with analyze.
Triumph Fox-???
“Triumph Fox?” Rory whispered to himself, raising an eyebrow in surprise. New encountered creatures or things often needed naming, so the fact that the fox monster already had a designation meant that someone else on the planet had already encountered one. The fact that no other information was displayed wasn’t a surprise, given he had never encountered one of its ilk before.
Well… Strange name aside, I guess there isn’t anything else to do but kill it.
Bow readied; Rory took several stabilizing breaths, ensuring there was no chance that he’d miss. Tension mounting painfully, he finally released the bowstring. The arrow flickered forward fast as... Well, an arrow. Expecting to see the arrow slam through the oversized fox’s head, he hadn’t expected the monster to flicker out of vision like a vanishing shadow seemingly. A heartbeat later, Rory was met with the sound of wood splintering, as directly beneath him, his wall was torn asunder, and the fox seemed to flow like a living shadow into his miniature stronghold.
Oh, shit.
The fox continued through the hole it had torn open in his wall, tearing down his ladder with a single swipe of its paw as he fell below. The monster snapped toward him as he fell, but thinking quickly, he kicked out, striking his wall and safely altering the trajectory of his fall, relatively speaking, away from the demon fox.
Not good. Not good at all.
He’d grown a little too comfortable with the jackalope's preferred method of attack being a mindless barrage of magic, but the fox was an entirely different beast. Landing hard, instinct screamed at him to move, and move he did, if only barely in time. A claw raked forward, and had he not already been in the process of dodging backward, it would have shredded him through from shoulder to hip as the damn fox leaped at him. His shoddy cuirass had instantly been destroyed, but it had blunted the very edge of the claws so that rather than inch-deep crevices through his flesh, he was only subjected to painful flesh wounds a quarter as deep.
Alive, if barely.
The next strike from the fox was a snarling lunging bite, but with surprising agility and more luck than practical skill, Rory stumbled back and out of the way.
I’m outmatched… Again.
The tiny lizard portion of his brain was screaming to flee, but Rory knew better. Not that he was suddenly a brave warrior facing a worthy foe; no, simply put, there was no way in hell he could escape if he tried to flee. The fox was far too quick, far too keen on tearing into him.
Fight or die.
Tossing his bow away -it was useless at this close of proximity- he snatched his bat from his side as he caught another clawing rake from the fox on his shield. A single scratch from its claws left his shield nearly destroyed, at best capable of withstanding one more strike before it was sundered entirely.
“Not… today!” Rory swung out with as much strength as his busted arm could muster as it lunged forward, ravenous for his lifeblood. His bat cracked the beast in the jaw, but unlike the caerbannogs which would go down after a single strike, the Triumph Fox was merely battered to the side with weeping wounds from where the obsidian shards had torn into its flesh.
Strong, but not impervious.
That much was a relief, but he hadn’t truly expected the beast to be untouchable. The world spirit wasn’t crafting the beasts to kill her settlers, merely to push them.
However, whether the system is anywhere near as gentle remains to be seen.
Again and again, the fox came after him, taking every bit of strength to batter the beast aside. His shield was ruined in moments, and without hesitation, he tossed it at the beast, hoping to distract it. It was a similar tactic to how he’d survived his encounter with his first jackalope, the beasts' slaves to their instincts as something surprised them, shirking out of the way. Taking advantage of the split-second opening, he yanked his knife free, the obsidian shard bat in one hand and the combat knife in the other. With barely the hint of a plan, it was Rory’s turn to lunge at the fox, jagged club and sharp knife swung with righteous fury. It was a rather terrible plan, but without his shield or the advantage of range, a continued war of attrition would shortly end with the fox’s victory; it simply had the more dangerous weapons on hand. The only way forward was relentless fury.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
It’s like a hard workout. The only way out is forward.
Perhaps a shoddy comparison, but it wasn’t as if Rory was a well-traveled man pre-collapse; there was a limit to his comparison skills.
What followed as Rory lunged at the monster was a brutal shower of flesh and blood, claws, teeth, and man-made weapons. Had Rory been watching his Physique information, he would have seen the overall state of his well-being plummeting rapidly, blood loss, lacerations, and other such wounds quickly accumulating in the ensuing melee. Claws raked through his flesh, tearing chunks free from him as fangs snapped pieces from his body. Yet Rory could only wade through the pain, consumed by the red haze of combat.
To waver was to die. An unavoidable death was just that, unavoidable. He could shrug such a fate off as the cruel dice of destiny.
But a battle to the death? That he wouldn’t simply lay down and accept.
For as many injuries as Rory collected, so did the fox. Had Rory had more time to do anything other than swing his weapons with reckless abandon, he may have considered how almost unnaturally aggressive it was, but then he didn’t have the time for such thoughts.
As yet another chunk of his flesh was ripped free from his body by snapping jaws, Rory managed to swing his bat down with titanic strength that only pure adrenaline could summon. In its frenzied desire to tear Rory apart, the fox had overextended, catching the bat directly to the face before being slammed into the ground. Seeing the beast hit the ground, Rory jumped atop the momentarily dazed creature. Pinning it beneath him for as long as he could, he had no doubt the monster was strong enough to knock him free; he began to stab his knife downward in brutal, crimson arcs. Each stab of the knife tore into the monster more and more, spewing gouts of blood from its throat. The Triumph Fox, writhing in death throes, wasn’t quite dead yet, and so Rory abandoned his knife, opting for his bat. Grasping it in a two-handed grip, he slammed the flat of its heft down upon the fox’s skull, the dangerous fox at last going still.
“Fuck me.” Rory huffed, bone-tired, as he collapsed next to the fox's corpse. A glance down at his body revealed the extent of the damage he’d received: terrible tracks of sundered flesh all over his body, entire pieces of his body ripped free. An exhausted, nearly hysterical laugh began to bubble free from him as he pulled up his interface.
“Thirty-fucking-five percent health.” Rory laughed, shaking his head, not bothering to correct himself on the fact that the percentage didn’t directly correlate to how much ‘health’ he had left. “I should be dead.”
The amount of blood that had soaked through his clothes and even pooled beneath him, plus the degree of his injuries, should have killed him either through blood loss or shock. And yet, while he could definitely feel that he was on the edge, he still felt…. Okay, shockingly filled with the vitality of life.
“Durability is a damn godsend.” Rory lay backward completely, staring up at the sky. His flesh had resisted the claws more than it should, and his body somehow was capable of withstanding a greater degree of blood loss.
He truly had become superhuman.
But.
But it was close.
“I can’t keep doing this,” Rory said flatly, staring at the sky overhead. “I’m falling behind.”
He’d put half of his prior ascension’s attribute density into growth, but it had nearly cost him his life. A little less durable, a little less strong, and he wouldn’t have survived. And this was even with an extra week of preparation.
Damnit.
He had an inkling the others on the planet had done better. The fact that the fox already had a designated name meant that someone had seen one and survived to name it. Unless they’d found one in the wild, his fellow survivors were further than he as far as waves went.
The thought sat uncomfortably in his gut. It was a strange back and forth between his typical lackadaisical approach to life and the growing spark of competitive drive he’d only felt in his younger years as an athlete. It was further compounded by the memory of how the world spirit had informed him that while the seven others weren’t his enemies, neither were they his allies, a push to have them outdo one another intended from the start.
I’m falling behind.
With that comforting thought, the darkness consumed him. He could no longer fight off the exhaustion and consequences of his hard-fought—if nearly disastrous—battle.
-----------------------------------------
He was running with all his might, lungs pounding and arms pumping as he rounded the corner of the track, friends and family screaming for him to keep going. He could hear them, breathing down his neck—a hundred meters, fifty, his entire mind bent toward winning.
And then, he was standing off to the side, watching a new generation of athletes pushing themselves, straining with all their might as they fought to be the first to cross the finish line.
Then he was off the track entirely, now in a forest he hardly recognized… No, that wasn’t correct; it was the forest he’d called home in the last few weeks. Except now he wasn’t alone. That same crowd cheering him on from his youth was there, telling him to give it his all. Not for himself, his time was past, but for those kids who would one day travel the same path but make it even farther than he had.
Finally, the image changed one last time. He was back on the track, anticipating the sound of the gun. A glance to his left and right surprised him. Athletes he’d seen as an adult were there with him now, racing him. How they were all the same age was a mystery, but there was a feeling of immense pride inside him. They were there because of him; he knew that from the bottom of his heart.
It brought a viciously warm swelling of pride and excitement to his chest, and yet, at the same time, he couldn’t make sense of it. What was it? What was the purpose? What did it mean?
As if responding to his thought, the other athletes faded away, leaving him alone on the track, seven other mystery figures now replacing where his athletes had been.
-------------------------------------------
“Wha-?” Rory swung upward, his entire body protesting as he was suddenly yanked from his dream, a strange tumble of sights and sort-of memories that he couldn’t make sense of, already fading into obscurity.
“What was that all about?” He questioned, unable to make sense of the dream or what was left of the dream that he could recall. Shaking his head after a moment, he dismissed the strangeness of it. “Must’a been the blood loss.”
A glance down at himself revealed that, while not recovered, the worst of the wounds had scabbed over with some of the ugliest-looking patchworks of dried blood he’d ever seen.
“Fun,” Rory muttered, shaking his head. Bringing his interface up, he ignored the notifications momentarily, instead focusing on his overall Physique information.
“Forty-five percent. Basically, real fucked up, but doing better.” He parsed the information piece-by-piece, first pulling up information on his bad arm.
“Yep, sprained and minor bone fractures, plus lacerations.”
Almost his entire body sang the same tale, sprains and lacerations covering him from head to toe.
“But I lived.”
It was comforting, if barely. The unknown world was becoming more dangerous, a far tale from how it had been in his first few days, where there had been no other living things under the sky aside from seven other intelligent lifeforms, all with an entire continent to themselves.
Moving on.
The next thing he took stock of was that he had capped off his ascension progress. Pre-wave, he’d reached approximately fifty percent of the way to his next ascension. Killing several jackalopes and the ungodly dangerous Triumph Fox had been enough to clear the rest.
I’ll handle that later.
Next were the notifications that he’d expected.
“Wave cleared. Nearby Caerbannog colonies cleared. Jackalope neophytes vanquished. Triumph Fox vanquished.”
“You’re damn right, wave cleared,” Rory muttered; he had the scars to back it up.
“Settlement expansion rewarded. Display Growth Pathways? Y/N”
“No.” Rory shook his head. He still hadn’t used the ‘growth pathways’ he earned from the last wave, as he’d intended to figure out his own path forward rather than take what was pre-generated. “I’ll take that settlement expansion, though.”
Instantly, the area surrounding his walls shifted, the undergrowth and foliage pulling back and away as he gained more area for his little ‘settlement.’ Several trees even appeared to retreat, their roots crawling away and pulling them through the earth that seemed to shift around them.
Moving trees. Strange, but honestly not that strange with everything that’s happened.
Still watching the moving foliage, Rory spoke aloud, answering one of the notifications he knew was waiting for him that he hadn’t yet opened.
“Activate beacon.”
Wave Beacon activated. Next Activation allowed: One hundred sixty-seven hours, fifty-nine minutes. Wave continuation accepted, distributing partial wave rewards.”
“Huh, different than I remembered,” Rory muttered as he read the notification that flashed before his eyes. “Probably because this is the first time I’ve accepted a consecutive wave.”
As for the partial reward of the completed wave, the essence distribution interface appeared, giving him a similar bird’s eye view of his small ‘settlement’ with an essence density approximately equal to the last wave's completion.
“I wonder if the essence is rewarded regardless of whether you stack waves or not.” Rory mused. Perhaps stacking waves would result in exponential growth in the essence rewarded upon each wave, or perhaps physical rewards could be gained. Still, for the time, he had no way of speculating past his initial hypothesis.
Well, I won’t say no to the essence either way.
The decision of how to distribute the essence was a surprisingly easy one. He still had no intention of improving his shelter or upgrading his crafting area further. He didn't need a full-on forge setup until he had metal or such to work with. This left only two real options: his walls or the Essence Spire.
A stronger wall would be nice.
The Triumph Fox had torn through his wall with shocking ease; the wall was stronger than its material composition would have suggested.
But the walls also don’t do anything the moment something gets past.
As much as he wanted to upgrade the walls, that simple fact informed his decision. With a shake of his head, he put all the essence toward the spire, putting it a little over ninety percent of the way to its next tier.
Honestly, I’m still not sure how useful this thing is.
Sure, it was useful for magic, but he wasn’t exactly throwing around any magic now, was he?
Are there even magic spells, or does magic operate differently than how movies and books are represented?
A perfect question to ask an expert.
It was just a shame that there weren’t any experts.
His walls needed repair, but he’d leave that to the slow absorption of atmospheric essence to take care of, and perhaps he could fix it up here and there where possible.
Which leaves one last immediate thing to take care of.
Sitting on his favorite log, Rory closed his eyes, focusing on the magical barrier separating what he was now from the potential of his next ascension. Instantly, the separating divide was breached, and he was presented with the display he recognized as the attribute density distributor. It looked the same, except a secondary bar of attribute density now available, the words ‘growth return’ hovering above it.
Oh, sweet vindication for reckless foolishness.
The bar represented roughly seventy-five percent of the normal ascension density gained. Given that he had invested fifty percent in growth last ascension, the returns were solid.
Not bad.
If he had simply put all those bonus attribute densities toward his attributes now, he would have already been ahead of the curve.
But.
But if he’d already fallen behind, why not push it? He wasn’t going to draw from his base pool of density anymore. Based on how he’d struggled with the Triumph Fox, if he fell behind any further, it was a near certainty he’d be unable to survive the next wave.
But my bonus density… now that’s a different story.
The only issue was that he’d already felt the slow-down effect of Growth on his ascension coming into the most recent wave; he’d failed to reach his next ascension before being forced to tackle it. As only a tier two ascension, it had been damn tricky.
Well, it wasn’t that difficult, not until the Triumph Fox.
He’d only struggled as much as he had because he’d taken a crippling hit to his arm.
That wouldn't have happened if I had reacted faster or dodged better. No, wait, I’m getting sidetracked.
Now that he had reached his third ascension, the next ascension would be even further away, ten times the base essence needed as the last ascension. If he compounded that with fifty percent more growth allocation than the prior ascension, well, he was all but certain that reaching A4 before the next wave was impossible.
But maybe that’s the point. Surely, the idea of ascending once a week is bound to ask too much at some point.
The waves were fantastic sources of ascension energy, either from killing the monsters involved or the ability to personally siphon from the rewarded essence gained from clearing a wave. Still, surely, once more people were involved in the waves, the proportion of essence obtainable would decrease.
Well, I say that, but who's to say that down the line, there won’t be hundreds of monsters attacking at once?
The thought of clearing hundreds of monsters personally was beyond him; he’d need the help, so perhaps the idea of sharing essence wouldn’t be as much of a problem if the numbers kept increasing to such a degree.
Not enough information to say for certain one way or another yet.
The monster count could increase, or perhaps the danger posed by the monsters would increase even if the number of monsters didn’t.
Like the Triumph Fox. One of those was miles more dangerous than even the jackalopes.
The jackalopes had dangerous magic but lacked the intelligence to use it intelligently. They simply threw it around at whatever they were currently focused on. Distracting them was all it took to slay the relatively vulnerable monsters easily.
The Triumph Fox was something else entirely. Sure, it didn’t have such dangerous magic, but it was brutally powerful, quick, and capable of withstanding dozens of blows that would kill a jackalope in a single hit.
Why are they called Triumph Foxes in the first place?
It was another random stray thought that Rory banished, focusing his attention back to the current task.
Right, attribute density. Focus.
His first instinct was to toss the attribute density toward strength. Being able to kill a Triumph Fox in fewer hits meant he’d himself take less damage, but it was short-sighted the more he thought about it. If more foxes appeared in the next wave, they’d tear him apart from different directions, their ability to deal damage faster than his own, even if he went full in on strength.
Durability?
He liked the idea of durability more, considering what he’d just survived, which should have been more than enough to kill a regular human twice over. Being able to withstand their onslaught like an immovable object did sound tantalizing.
And stupid. Who cares if I can withstand even ten times the punishment if, in the end, I’m still whittled down?
Strength and durability were out then.
So, that leaves what was nearly my downfall.
Specifically, flexibility and cognition.
Judging by the last three waves, wave four should be composed of jackalopes, Triumph Fox, and maybe some ‘boss’ version of a Triumph Fox.
The thought made him shudder. Increasing his strength and durability wouldn’t matter, not against some more powerful version of a Triumph Fox. It would tear him apart faster than his durability could withstand or his ability to kill it before it killed him.
Therefore, the best option is simply not to get hit.
With a new plan in mind, he quickly allocated roughly thirty-five percent of his base attribute density to cognition and the rest to flexibility.
Hope that works like I think it does.
Which finally left him with the gains from the last ascension’s growth investment.
Well, I may as well go all the way.
Taking the extra attribute density, he instantly put it back into growth.
I figure if I won’t be able to reach A4 by the next wave anyway, I might as well take advantage.
Rory was aware he’d not be able to compound the growth endlessly. The slowdown, when coupled with the factor ten increase in essence to reach his next ascension, would quickly grow out of hand, faster than he could keep up with the challenges thrown at him, but the longer he could hold off on cashing in on the investment, the more he’d benefit in the long term.
Assuming this doesn’t get me killed.
If one thought of it in a simplified manner, if each ascension garnered one hundred ‘points,’ he was fifty points behind the curve.
But, if I can wait until my fifth ascension, I should be… a little over one hundred ‘points’ ahead of the curve.
Of course, that assumed that no one else also utilized growth investment, but the statistical average bell curve informed him that he was still the most heavily invested in growth.
So be it.
Not giving himself a chance to further second guess himself, he promptly tossed the entirety of the growth-gained points back into growth.
And now for the last part.
The last ascension had given him potential upgrades to his vocation, something he was looking forward to seeing again, words that did not disappoint as a new notification appeared.
Vocational capabilities expanded.
It was exactly what he was looking forward to. The last time he’d earned a capability expansion, he had been offered Fortress Focused, Tools of the Trade, and Maker’s Arsenal, which he had opted for.
And… Oh, four?
Rory took in the slightly longer list; the first two options offered were once more Fortress Focused and Tools of the Trade.
Does that mean whatever I don’t take will remain?
His third option, the first new option, was listed as ‘Maker’s Armor.’
Maker’s Armor: An Architect is the engineer of tomorrow, but tomorrow can only be ensured if the engineer of tomorrow survives today. Focused on personal defensive measures, grants a greater understanding of the creation of personal based armor.”
So, it's a bit like Fortress Focused, but instead of settlement defenses, it’s just normal armor.
There was considerable potential in the option. He could protect himself with armor rather than rely purely on Durability. Plus, the System made it abundantly clear how terrible his cuirass was and how useful his shield had been against the Triumph Fox. Together, it was almost enough to tempt him into instantly selecting the option.
Except.
Eyes drifting down the list, the final option paused his gut reaction.
Eye For Potential: An Architect is the engineer of tomorrow, and only those with the eye for potential can rise above their contemporaries. Due to the inclination for forward-thinking, none are more suited for such as the Architect of the Precursors. Allows the Architect to understand potentials before they’ve yet been realized.
It was… interesting, if not entirely too vague. His first three options, and even his Maker’s Arsenal, had been direct enough in explaining what they did, granting an innate understanding of things he did not yet possess. Eye for Potential was different.
Allows the Architect to understand potentials before they’ve been realized? What does that even mean? And what does it mean to be ‘forward-thinking?’ Was it offered because I’ve insisted on putting so much of my attributes toward growth?
The thought was intriguing, not just for the potential understanding as it pertained toward his growth, but also how the seven others would likely grow through their ascensions. While he’d been offered options that would help for fighting, the core of what was required for ascensions, he’d not been offered a single directly combat-focused option, no fancy techniques or such like you’d get from leveling up in a video game.
Is that because it doesn’t offer them? Or have I just not approached things in a manner that would lead the System to offer them in the first place?
There were questions upon questions, but the answers could not be discovered except through trial and error.
Well, I know I’m not taking Tools of the Trade or Fortress Focused.
They were both solid options, but his focus on investing so much toward his growth attribute meant he was probably the furthest behind the ‘power’ curve than anyone else. They were likely options that’d be great for taking if you had someone else to fight for you, the pure crafting type, but that wasn’t exactly a luxury he was afforded.
So that leaves Makers Armor and Eye for Potential.
Maker’s Armor was the most directly useful. Making a pointy stabbing spear was about as basic of a tool as humanity had discovered, and weapons, by and large, revolved around ‘stabbing something without getting stabbed back.’ Yet, Maker’s Arsenal had still proven useful. With something as complicated as the making of armor and protective gear, Rory could only imagine how much of an improvement Maker’s Armor would have on his overall ability to survive and thrive.
But.
But Eye for Potential seemed too nebulous, too strange and vague to ignore. He had no idea what it did, but it had to do something interesting.
Plus, while Maker’s Armor grants an innate and greater understanding of crafting protective gear, nothing in the System has implied that you can’t learn to do it yourself.
Perhaps it would allow you to skip the time and effort required to master skills that it didn’t directly offer, but it wasn’t as if any flashing screens had appeared exclaiming that he didn’t have the prerequisite skills to do something.
It was a realization that struck a chord of regret in Rory: He had taken Maker’s Arsenal when he could have just learned the skills needed by hand.
But then, did I have the time to?
There was no point in regretting what had already been done, not when he had a decision before him that, unlike past choices, he could actively control.
If it comes down to it, the fact that I can potentially learn important skills without using the System means it's probably better to take things you can’t learn, right?
The logic seemed sound enough to Rory, so he mentally selected the last option without much fuss.
Guess that’s everything.
Releasing his grasp on the world of darkness where he found himself post-ascension, he slowly opened his eyes.
Only to be struck by agonizing pain.