When the others wake up, they look at my face. At the upper left part of it, my skin is burnt. More than burnt. Bits of bone are showing, my blood having boiled away. My left eye was seared shut, then tore open when my healing spell failed. And it really, really hurts.
But I defied that bastard.
[Level Up! 13 > 14]
My higher heart stat helped me resist the damage a bit. I can already tell it’s trying to heal me, again. I put a point in it, but it barely speeds up the process, now. Which makes sense. There isn’t much a single point will do compared to the amount I already have in it. But I catch another glimpse of the mana structure, figuring out a few flaws of my healing spell.
It’ll come together, and then I’ll get my eye back.
Two points go into vessel, since getting my eye to function again is personal, now. It’s mine to regenerate. And maybe walking about with a bit of bone showing will train up my heart stat. Hah.
Bay can barely look at me. But I don’t mind too much. This is entirely fine. Maybe this way no one will ask me to smile more. “You look like shit,” Opal politely reminds me.
“Why thank you, I did sleep really rather poorly,” I tell them.
“Want me to princess carry you?” they ask, half genuine.
“Absolutely not,” I say, smiling just a bit.
Jess uses [Freeze] to cool down the wound just a bit, even as she looks away. “What even happened?” she asks, shakily.
I take a moment to collect my breath. Luckily, my mouth is intact, so I can still have a resting deadpan expression. “Well,” I say. “People from higher floors can come down here, now. I think an avatar of one of the Eyes was trying to recruit me.”
[The Master of Suffering delights in your agony.]
“Shit,” Bay says. “That’s gotta be bad, right?”
Thatch nods. “Yeah. If they can do that to us in the best case…”
“I’m sure they have some restrictions,” Inu says. “Or Snow wouldn’t have a face at all, anymore.”
Norman holds his face in his hands. I can tell he wants to speak, but doesn’t dare. I look at him, and he makes contact with my one good eye. The other one is bloodshot and sticky with fluid. He flinches. But I’m fresh out of patience. “Say it, Norman,” I tell him.
He hesitates. Then he opens and closes his mouth, twice, like a fish. Finally, he takes a breath, then speaks. “They can’t kill us,” he said. “But that clearly doesn’t stop them from torturing us.” His words are slow and shaky.
“Yeah,” I say. “Seems it.” I cast another healing spell at my eye, and some of the blisters recede a bit. A little more skin covers the bone, though it’s not quite the right colour. Pink and raw. It hurts, and I keep [Suppression] active permanently, feeding it a trickle of mana just a little less than what I regenerate. The rest goes to healing, for now.
I keep myself over half mana. Just in case.
“What now?” Amelie asks. “I believe we should find a place that is reasonably safe; where we will not be harmed by descenders from the higher floors.”
Slowly, I nod. “They were here for essence, I think.” Probably the pool. I take a breath. Getting up is hard, and my legs shake, but I manage to stand, bracing myself against a tree. “Let’s go clear a dungeon. Those can’t be interesting to them.”
Bay seems confused. “Why? Aren’t those landmarks?”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Yes,” I readily agree. “But they’re meant for lower levels. Essence has value, even if you’re at level one-hundred. But a dungeon like the Dreadburg? With a couple dozen pieces of shoddy armor?” I shake my head. “They won’t care, not really.”
Thatch nods. “Okay,” he says. “I wanna get out of here. Let’s go.”
And so we do.
- - -
Finding another dungeon isn’t too difficult. However, getting into it is an entirely different story.
“We were here first,” a wulven with greyish fur snarls at a human.
The human woman, for her part, snarls back. “Fuck off with that. We scouted it out yesterday night and just now came back.”
My senses drift over them.
[Sleetstorm, lv. 12]
[Pugilist, lv. 12]
Same level. I tilt my head a little. “Sorry,” I say, not really feeling it, “we’d also like in on this dungeon.”
Both group leaders have their heads whirl to me. The wulven, classed as a sleetstorm, apparently, growls in amusement. “A scrawny, pathetic thing like you? Dream on. We’re not sharing a drop of experience with you.”
At that, the woman snorts in agreement. Then she turns to face me and sees my eye. “Yeah bitch, fuck o- holy shit. What the hell happened to your face?” she asks. She has the whole lumberjack vibe going on, button up shirt and thick leather gloves, tied back hair.
I smile. “Oh, not much trouble. I’m pretty good at taking hits, see,” I say, stepping forward. For some reason, I’m feeling a little bloodthirsty today. “Now,” I say, turning to the lady. “Do any of your group have a power bank? My phone’s battery is a little low.”
Her frown turns confused. “What are you on about?” She readies herself for combat, getting into a stance.
[Select] snaps onto her. My smile widens. “You’re weaker than me,” I say. I have half my mana, my face is hurting like hell, my focus is split. But it doesn’t matter. I [Select] the wulven. “You, too.”
They frown. The wulven snarls. “How dare you…”
“Duel me,” I say. “I challenge you. On my win, I get the dungeon. Every enemy in it. On your win, you get it. Simple, right?” I tilt my head, giving a practiced, sympathetic smile. It looks like something from a horror show with the state my face is in.
“What about me?” the woman asks.
I wave her off. “Sit with my group and watch,” I say.
“We have some food,” Sylves says, smiling happily. “This’ll be fun, trust me.”
Confused, the woman shakes her head. “What about the dungeon?” she asks.
“If I lose, fight the wulven. If I win, fight me or someone from my group. Simple, no?” I ask.
At that point, she shrugs. “Fine, I guess. Alright everyone, we’re sitting this one out. Grab a bite.”
Sylves opens up her backpack, full of granola and dried fruit and some canned stuff. They each grab a few bites. That devious little thing. I love it.
Ignoring her strategy, I focus on the wulven. “I’m telling you something,” I say. “Your class is sleetstorm.”
They flinch. I can’t tell if a wulven is a man or a woman yet, and I don’t bother asking. Surprise spreads across their features. “How do you know that?”
“Because I’m stronger than you,” I say calmly, stretching out my arm in front of me, holding the crappy goblin axe.
At that, they snarl. “I’ll beat the notion out of you.”
“You’ll try,” I say, smiling. “And you’ll fail.”
When my comment lands, the anger finally gets to them. My heart speeds up, adrenaline courses through my veins. The wulven, just under seven feet of muscle, comes crashing at me, blazingly fast. The ground turns to ice around them.
I [Select] them again, lazily stepping backward. They put their hands back for a swing. My will is faster, infinitely faster, and [Suppression] slams into them like a hammerblow. Their steps slow, and they stagger, just barely catching themselves from falling.
My axe slams towards their face without hesitation. The wulven instantly ducks backwards, sliding on the ice, so my hit just slams into their cheek, splitting fur and flesh and spraying blood. As they go down on their knees, I [Deconstruct] their ice skill.
Suddenly, they stop sliding. Friction increases, making their upper body topple forward. They catch themselves with their arms, and my axe slams into their back, brutally.
But the wulven has a tough hide. I don’t manage to break their spine, all I do is disable one shoulder, I think. Still, they yowl and start flailing in pain, as I simply step back, releasing my [Suppression].
I landed two hits, without even being touched. “Hm. You just used one skill. Surely you have more.”
At that, they roar, and an icicle comes shooting at me. I sidestep it, and it impacts a tree behind me, instantly spreading frost from where it struck. It has at least one more skill, I’m sure. Just what?
A needle of mana has long since begun solidifying in my off-hand, concealed in a tightly held fist. This shouldn’t take much longer.
is 40 Chapters ahead!!!
