The Guild Core: The Complete Saga Boxset: A LitRPG Dungeon Adventure

by TJ Reynolds

  Kai considered a moment before asking for more advice. I am most definitely increasing my Intelligence; that, I’ve already decided. But what else should I improve? What exactly does each Attribute do?

  Ban considered best how to answer his young master. It all depends on what style of fighting you prefer. If you wish to swing a heavy mace around and wear heavy armor, you’ll need more Strength and a high Constitution, as well. The first gives you the might to lift, carry, and swing such a heavy weapon effectively. The second gives you more physical resistance, making you harder to knock down or injure. Both combine to improve your stamina.

  Ban continued his lecture. But, if you want to be quick with a pair of knives, wield a bow, or move as fast as deer in the forest, then Dexterity is where you’ll want to focus. The higher your Intelligence, the more ether you command and the more powerful your spells will grow to be. Wisdom sounds similar to Intelligence, but is a trait that all rely on. It sustains your will and perception, two things that are handy in many situations.

  A man with low Wisdom, for example, will not notice the telltale signs of a liar, or they may succumb to hardship and give up sooner than someone with a higher score.

  Finally, Charisma is as handsome does. I don’t think it needs much explanation.

  Kai practically hissed, I have below average looks? You don’t think I am handsome?

  It isn’t that, Ban paused, sorry. I’m sure you are fair enough for a human. I’ll do my best to explain. Charisma reflects how others perceive you, how much they like or believe in you. High Charisma encourages others to follow your lead. In that respect, no, Kai, you aren’t such a shiny penny. But for now, it matters little. I suggest you invest your points elsewhere.

  Kai thought for a time, wanting more than anything to avoid making a mistake at this stage in his journey. Having already decided on how to spend his first Attribute Point, he focused on his Intelligence, mentally urging it to increase to 10. Sure enough, one point added to his score, and immediately, his thoughts became clearer.

  If felt like cobwebs had been lifted from his mind, impairments he hadn’t noticed before. Suddenly, he could recall details from his past that had been lost to him, odd memories of a childhood friend, Marna, who he’d simple forgotten, came back in a flash.

  Such a subtle shift in numbers, but for Kai, the whole world changed in the blink of an eye.

  I’m smarter! he shouted to Ban. He then considered his dilemma again, this time with more fire in his oven. He asked Ban a final question before committing to his line of thinking. Ban, will I get more Attribute Points at each level, or only after major ascensions?

  That is a great question, Ban mused. My own gains differ greatly from yours, but Yorick mentioned that each level rewards you with a certain number of Attribute Points, though not as many as does an ascension. I don’t know the specifics, but you should be confident that you’ll receive more at Crimson 2 and 3 as well.

  And the rule of threes applies to dragons as well? Kai asked. I’ll ascend to Amber 1 after reaching Crimson 3?

  Exactly so. All tiers but the highest have 3 levels.

  Suddenly, everything seemed more attainable to Kai. He’d taken the first major step on his journey. But how far does it go, Ban? he wondered. I’ve heard of soldiers ascending all the way to Emerald, and I assume the tiers continue beyond that, but what is the limit?

  It’s a spectrum, Kai, Ban lectured. Although red exudes the image of power, it actually contains less energy than brighter colors. There are nine tiers in all: Crimson, Amber, Golden, Emerald, Viridian, Cobalt, Indigo, and Violet. Those eight in combination are said to compose the ninth and final tier, just as the eight gods together make up the Fundament.

  So, there’s a ninth tier then? What color will I be when I get there? he wondered.

  For Briga’s sake! I never heard of any, save Kevir himself, attaining the ninth tier, and Kevir’s many feats, my friend, are mostly legend.

  Ban’s dismissal did little to squelch Kai’s curiosity. Just humor me, Ban. Please, tell me what you know of the ninth tier!

  Very well, but before I do, consider how rapid an ascension you’ve already achieved. Not even the king’s most prized soldiers can afford such accelerated ether accumulation. There wouldn’t be a beast left alive if everyone went around slaying creatures to no end like you’ve just done, Ban lectured. Only a dungeon can provide such concentrated experience, and as we know, most are gone now. So, consider yourself fortunate.

  Of course, Ban, Kai admitted. And none have the privilege of befriending you. Now, will you tell me?

  Kai’s flattery seemed to have landed squarely, for Ban’s tone shifted to one more pleasant. I saw the ascension tiers illustrated on a chart once. The ninth tier, an ascension so powerful it would nearly make you a peer to the gods, was labeled ‘Lumen’, an ancient word that simply means ‘light’. The color of The Fundament is the purest and most unbridled form of light.

  Kai’s mind spun with dreams of further ascensions, but he forced himself to concentrate. Finally, he nodded and pushed both of his remaining attribute points into Dexterity. Before we move on, what is an accolade? Core Mender? Have you heard of that before?

  Accolades, Ban replied, are instances or acts of great significance. I think this one has to do with how you healed me. Mentally select it and see if any additional information is offered.

  Giving the Accolade a mental nudge, a second scroll opened, revealing a short description.

  Core Mender: By giving your blood and a supply of Progression as sacrifice, you have restored the mind and body of a shivvered Earth Core. Being the first to accomplish such a task, you gain the title ‘Core Mender’. Progression requirements to heal other Earth Cores reduced by 90%. Earth Cores revived begin with 5% of all materials and Ether Reserve.

  Wow! Kai mused. I’m practically famous.

  I wouldn’t go that far. Most people and creatures will never see your accolade, unless they are quite powerful or well-trained. Still, it’s nice to know that should anything happen to me again, you can stitch my core back together with your handy dragon’s blood.

  Kai considered it, but even imagining Ban lying broken in shards made his blood run cold. The possibility this opened for healing other dungeons crossed his mind, but the difficulties of finding them and having to leave Ban behind made the idea seem impractical and distant. His body felt a good deal faster now, and that called for immediate action.

  He opened his eyes, stood up, and declared himself finished with the boring bits. Kai bounced on his toes, marveling at how fluidly he moved. He felt like a leaf on the wind! I want nothing more than to swing an axe at something. Did you want to tell me about that other surprise before I do so?

  Ban’s laughter filled Kai’s mind and blended with his own joy. In a voice riddled with anticipation, the dungeon encouraged, Please, Kai, go upstairs into the first chamber. Your next gift is near the apples!

  Kai sprinted up the spiral stairs and skittered to a stop near the now, much more manageable pile of apples. It seemed Ban had reabsorbed many of them, summoning less than half their number. Next to the abundance of produce, Kai noticed the wooden table he had broken apart for firewood, whole and beautifully rebuilt. Beside it, tucked neatly into the wall, sat a shelf half-filled with books.

  He picked one up and read the cover. The Musical Traditions of Northern Hintar. He set it down and picked up another, this one bound in a polished, gold wood. War with the Fist: A Discussion of the Effectiveness and Utility of the Brintoshi Soldier Monk.

  This one, Kai flipped through briefly, the concept of an unarmed fighter, a monk, foreign enough to his ears to spark his interest. He saw, to his great disappointment, that the book wasn’t written in Brintoshi. Browsing further within the volume, Kai found a painted chart. It was well-crafted and striking in its depictions, but it was the nature of the chart that arrested his attention.

  It depicted a warrior, dressed in plain clothes, body covered in a
vast array of dots, each with a corresponding number and word written in the odd language.

  On the warrior’s belly was an orange swirl, an artist’s rendition of the man’s core. Though it looked familiar, Kai noted that this one was vastly more intricate than his own. Rather than a simple circle, the vortex of ether folded in on itself, wrapping like a coiled snake.

  I wish I could read this, he sighed. It looks valuable, doesn’t it? Kai asked his friend.

  Yes, I believe it is. And I could read it to you. The book you hold is akin to the one I wanted to show you, but it has a class requirement.

  Kai tried to remember what he had heard Jakodi say about classes. I can choose a class when I get to Amber, right?

  Ban’s reply surprised him. No, Kai, you’re a dragon. Dragons do not pick a class. Your Etheric Interface mentioned Elemental Affinity. Dragons can learn spells from masters, and when next you ascend, you must choose which divinity you wish to worship. When they bestow their blessing upon you, it will increase your affinity with all spells that rely upon their associated element. We’ll cover that later, though. For now, put the book down and pick up the one at the other end of the shelf.

  Kai did so and ran his fingers over the simple leather binding of the book Ban mentioned. He glanced at the spine and read aloud, “The Essence of the Sword: A Beginner’s Primer.”

  Ban spoke again, pride spilling from his words. It’s a skill book, Kai. They are exceedingly rare. My master had many books like it, but this one will be most useful, right now.

  What good is a book in learning the sword? Does it have pictures of different forms? Kai asked, already flipping through the pages.

  No, Ban instructed, go back to the beginning, boy, and just read it. Trust me. Though you should head back down to the core chamber and get comfortable before doing so.

  Kai shrugged. Trusting the dungeon had become second nature, despite his frequently odd suggestions.

  He sat again before the hearth, and opened the book. The words were not at once captivating, as he’d hoped, but the subject was dear to his heart. How else could he become a hero, if he didn’t study the arts of combat?

  “Unlike the knife, the sword revolutionizes one’s ability both to defend and to attack. Not only does it extend a warrior’s reach, the sword boosts his leverage, increases the weapon’s effective killing zone, and allows for blocking or parrying incoming attacks further away from the body…”

  As Kai continued to read, a strange sensation grew in the back of his head, like a slowly spreading bruise. He almost stopped reading, but the feeling wasn’t exactly painful, and he wanted to learn what he could of proper swordplay and exercises he could do to improve, before reentering the training hall.

  Sensing his discomfort, Ban encouraged him. Though it might feel odd, a skill book won’t hurt you. Don’t stop reading.

  The further Kai progressed, the more the sentences, paragraphs, and pages all blurred together. It felt like he was absorbing the lessons in the book at an incredible rate. Sure enough, the volume contained a dozen pictures of stances and dozens more of various attacks and blocks. Toward the end, a list and description of over twenty different kinds of swords filled the pages, yet most focused exclusively on the long and short sword.

  He finished reading so quickly, that when he closed the book, a wave of disorientation swept through Kai.

  How … how did I read that so fast? he marveled.

  Ban laughed in his mind. You’ve been at it for four hours. But I’ve good news for you. You now know the basics of swordplay. If you want to advance your skill further, you will need to practice what you learned and eventually find a master. Skill books are so valuable and rare that only nobles—and, of course, dragons—can afford them.

  Kai rose, staring at his hands. He realized he could recall everything he’d read. He ran to the training room and snatched up his short sword. Spinning the blade in his hand, Kai fell into a defensive stance. Laughing, he let his sword dart out, deftly slicing the air, then returned to an overhead block.

  “Yes! I can’t believe this, Ban! I’m a warrior now!” Kai crowed.

  Ban grumbled and began to qualify Kai’s declaration, but the young dragon cut him off.

  Come on, Ban, don’t be dull. I know I’m no champion yet, but this will make a difference, I just know it. Let’s train! Can you summon a minion for me? Oh, and no more rats!

  Ban told him to wait just a moment while he selected the perfect minion for combat. Kai bounced on his feet, shifting from stance to stance. He returned to a basic defensive stance, however, not wanting to push his luck just yet.

  Kai stared at the shimmering blue form coalescing before his eyes. It was larger than the rats had been and certainly longer.

  What could it be? Kai hadn’t a clue.

  A moment later, the heavy form slumped to the ground, its muscled body already tensing to attack.

  And despite his new clothes, boots, and short sword, despite his newfound knowledge of swordplay, and despite his Crimson ascension and 3 additional Attribute Points, Kai recoiled as he faced off with the most terrifying beast he’d ever seen.

  “Sweet Briga, defend me!” he yelped. “Why a snake, Ban? Why a shivving snake?”

  13

  The Inconvenience of Skullduggery

  Rhona

  Rhona reached up and slapped away yet another fly. Or was it the same blasted fly? The demon came for her sticky sweat, no doubt. She’d planned on breaking the news of her discharge after she bathed, but her mother had insisted on serving dinner almost immediately after she’d arrived home.

  As she clopped along the dusty trail, Rhona admitted that her mood was as foul as her smell. The fact that she’d been forced to sleep beneath a hedge, as she’d done many times in her career as a Brintoshi soldier, didn’t help.

  Normally, she slept in her leather armor, even keeping her iron helm on. To someone who’d never soldiered, the mere suggestion of such a sleeping arrangement sounded horrible. The armor, however, not only kept her warm, it nullified the discomfort of the twigs and stones, and even mitigated the heat-sapping cold of the ground.

  But Rhona no longer had her armor.

  What Rhona refused to do, was admit that she missed it. Her clothes were serviceable: heavy linen trousers, shirt, and her issued leather belt she’d kept in good condition with oil and care. Her boots, of course, were worth more than a few gold talons. Supple and tougher than chain mail, they were fashioned from the skin of a Dathkine dune ray.

  She rode on in silence, poor Honor trotting along patiently, despite having run at a dead sprint last night for far longer than she should have let him. With a sigh, Rhona pulled on his reins and dismounted. If she was angry, she could take it out on her own feet, and leave the horse out of it.

  As she walked beside Honor, Rhona allowed her mind to wander. That she didn’t have anyone to report to, had no mission to run, with no endless drilling under the indifferent stare of a hot sun still seemed so strange.

  She was out.

  And all thanks to Palben. Some soldiers had teased her, likely jealous, and suggested that she was shivving the older man. Palben was handsome enough, but it was his odd habit of seeing the world differently than everyone else around him, that had caught her attention. That, and her growing distrust in the selfish intentions of King and country.

  More than anything though, she valued the lessons he’d taught her about the old ways of fighting. Brintosh was an ancient kingdom, though its expansion was relatively recent. It was once only a barony of the vast kingdom that was Hintar.

  The War of the Dragons had changed all that.

  Long ago, before Brintosh fell in love with the fire of Yugos and cold, hard steel, they were a disciplined people. Rather than celebrating the excess and violence of the sword and hammer, Brintoshi monks trained with hand and foot, hardening their bodies to serve as weapons. It was Palben who had taught Rhona these truths. History books had all but dismissed the ancient marti
al techniques, as the more traditional methods of battle practiced in Kaltan and distant Pintea won out.

  The first lesson of the Path of the Bleeding Tiger came to Rhona. Embracing your opponent’s attack, not shying away from it, opened up a font of power. Rhona’s fellow soldiers thought her mad when she’d shared this with them. They felt, as so many did, that the old techniques glorified self-harm.

  There was some truth to this. The old ways had everything to do with sacrifice. Sacrifice of self to defend others was the guiding principle that made her chosen discipline so different.

  When an attack was perceived as imminent, a monk stepped toward injury. By embracing sacrifice, one’s own ether stores were unleashed, lending the counter-attack that followed unfathomable power. Likewise, if the injury received was grievous, it could be mended using the same release of ether.

  Palben had made her swear to commit herself to living a life centered on defense. A monk only attacked when violence was called for. He considered the initiation of avoidable violence to be the lowest act of dishonor.

  After seeing, for years, how the Brintoshi army treated commoners, Rhona could only agree.

  Then, as it had so many times before, the memory of the gnomish raid returned to her mind.

  Initially, she’d been as afraid as the rest of her company. Despite their diminished stature, gnome warriors were as fierce as any, and Rhona and her squad mates had little experience with them. They cut the warriors down, though. And afterwards? After the threat had been neutralized, the violence continued because of the unquestioned habit of blindly following orders.

  Rhona had swung her sword along with the rest, the blade cutting too easily through the unarmored bodies of the refugees. She wasn’t the fool who’d killed the children, though she would forever remember how badly she’d wanted to place herself between them and the incoming attacks, how much she wanted to strike back in their defense.