by J. T. Wright
Elemental Spirits rushed ahead of the collapsing bubble of safety. The trio watched hundreds of Spirits, thousands, perhaps more, rush towards them, more of a solid wall now than the gentle mist of before. They reached the three friends well ahead of the wave of dying land, and to Trent’s amazement, they swarmed towards the Orb in Orion’s staff. Thousands and thousands of all different types of Spirits entered the haven of the Orb, and if a few separated and seeped into Trent’s vambraces, no one noticed.
Only Tersa wasn’t completely captivated by the sight of the Spirits. She was interested but had bigger concerns than a bunch of rude, biting bugs. Tersa held her round shield and approached Trent.
“Hey, jerkface, I need…” she started. Her nostrils flared in irritation as Trent shushed her.
“No, I need my…” Again an upheld hand and a shushing noise.
Trent heard her start to speak again and would have repeated this cycle, but this time he recognized the chant for Shocking Touch as what it was. “What? What? I'm listening!” he shouted, as Tersa’s hand closed on his arm but before she could trigger the Spell.
“I need my mace back!” Tersa glowered angrily. She’d been so close. Hopefully the cast time for her new Spell would get shorter as she leveled it. Fortunately, she had the perfect partner to practice with. The Spell was proving perfect for getting Trent’s attention when he was being stubborn. Trent hurriedly pulled both of Tersa’s weapons from Storage and offered them to her. She took the longer mace but waved away her old one. She admired the new weapon as she gave it a few swings to test its worth.
“Think its mithril? It looks like mithril, dwarven make probably,” Tersa’s eyes gleamed. Trent shrugged in reply. His Appraisal Skill wasn’t very high leveled, and it didn’t reveal what items were made of. There were two ways to solve this, train the Skill, or train related Skills. His Herbalism Skill, for example, paired with Appraisal to give more detailed results for plants, but he knew next to nothing about metals.
“Close,” Orion said, the dead earth of the cavern crunched under his feet as he drew near. The rainbow-like surge of Spirits had ended. There was a spring to the man’s step as he approached. His staff and Orb were fully empowered now. Despite being surrounded by the heavy air and lifeless dirt of the Trial, he felt full of energy.
“Silver-steel, not mithril,” Orion continued. “Mithril is lighter and brighter. Silver-steel is heavier and not as easy to enchant, but it’s still a superior metal and very durable. That mace will probably outlast you, Tersa, especially, since you seem to have forgotten we have guests waiting outside, who are sure to enter soon,” Orion mentioned dryly.
Trent and Tersa jumped, their eyes shooting towards the entrance to the cavern. They had forgotten. A pack of Zombies and Skeletons had chased them into the Safe Zone. It was unlikely they had just gone away.
“Tersa, try and keep them in the entryway so they can’t surround us!” Trent shouted, drawing his sword. He didn’t say anything to Orion.
Trent was the leader due to his Leadership Skill and the trust his two companions had in him, but Orion had been a Warrior, challenging Trials longer than his two young friends had been alive. He followed Trent’s lead but used his own instincts as well, once the battle was joined.
Tersa reached the entrance before the creatures outside began their assault. The three Adventurers might have been able to strike the first blows before the creatures were even aware of them, if Tersa hadn’t activated Enraging Aura and shouted, “Piss and more piss, scum-sucking runts!”
But that was exactly what she did, what she always did, and the creatures were ready for them! Leading with her shield, she continued to shout curses and insults as she charged ahead. She channeled Crushing Blow through the shield and smashed it into the face of a rushing Zombie.
Tersa may have had trouble remembering the proper curses Sergeant Cullen shouted at recruits, but she never forgot that a shield was as much a blunt weapon as her mace. And Tersa’s Blunt Weapons Skill was much higher than her Shield Skill. She rarely employed the round shield defensively, bashing and smashing with it as she attacked.
Her first target flew backward from the force of the blow, impeding the progress of the Skeletal Warriors close behind it. Tersa followed up with heavy swings of her mace, viciously pounding the Undead. The entryway was big enough to allow three enemies to enter at once, but Tersa’s violent attack and use of Enraging Aura kept them focused on her instead of spreading out.
Trent was hardly any more subtle as he joined her. He held his sword in both hands and chopped at a Zombie circling towards Tersa’s left. He had meant to activate the Skill Chop, but something stopped him.
The sword, which had always felt a little clumsy in his hands, shifted as he adjusted his grip. It was the proper way to hold the weapon, hands angled just slightly, not grasping too tightly. Instead of activating his Skill, he swung the sword downwards and channeled a touch of Stamina and a little Mana at the same time. The blade cut through one of the Zombies arms effortlessly.
The attack was different from anything Trent had used before. All his other sword-related Skills depended on Stamina alone, not Mana at all. And the Mana he’d used had a different… flavor… than the Mana he used in the three fire-element Charms that he knew.
It was subtle but strong. An image of small waves, gently but constantly eroding a stream bank, filled his mind as he stepped in to deliver another attack. That image was an epiphany and a disaster for the fledgling Swordsman. His motion had been too big, sweeping and uncontrolled. He wasn’t set properly for a follow-up strike.
His legs locked up, and he stumbled. He stumbled right into the fist of the Zombie, who wasn’t even discomfited by the loss of its arm. Trent hadn’t taken the time to pull up his cowl or equip his mask. The exposed bone of the Zombie’s fist struck him directly in the face, and tender flesh was torn and bruised as Trent was forced back.
Bleeding, eyes blinking at the sudden pain, Trent tried to get his sword between himself and the Zombie. The creature had been freed from the effects of Enraging Aura, and its attention was fully locked on Trent as it charged, swinging one arm and gnashing blackened teeth.
Trent managed to get his sword tip up, but the Undead beast came on anyway. Its momentum barely slowed as Trent’s blade skewered its body. It pushed forward, forcing Trent back. A second blow rattled Trent’s head as the Zombie came within reach.
Tersa was entirely unaware of the worsening situation in which Trent had found himself. The young Guard Recruit was too caught up in the incredible impact her new mace was having on her opponents. Silver-steel might not be as enchantable as mithril, but this weapon had clearly been meant to fight the Undead. They didn’t go down with a single hit, but they were stunned by her blows, which allowed her to deliver more and more strikes as she grinned and shouted.
Fortunately for the floundering Trent, Orion noticed his predicament. Survivalists were durable, so Orion let Trent absorb another blow with his face before he stepped forward to help. His new staff plunged forward and struck the Zombie in the chest. White light burst from the end of Orion’s weapon banishing the beast.
The light didn’t stop there. Three more wounded beasts were caught in the wake of the Al’rashian’s attack and ended up much the same way, disappearing in a puff of smoke and ash. If Trent had been able to observe this, he would have been almost as dazed as he was after taking three hits to the face.
Orion had been very capable in the fights they’d seen before now, but he was only a Level 5 Mage. He had no high leveled spells, none capable of attacking at a distance. Orion’s normal method of battle was as a Warrior, dealing devastating strikes with his staff, and only utilizing magic at close rang when an enemy was wounded enough for his basic water and light spells to really hurt them.
Things had changed now that the Spirit Orb was in his hands, and his primary Class Spirit Summoner was unsealed. All that prevented Orion from obliterating the twenty or so Undead facing the
m was a desire to see his young companions grow. Right now, the enemies they faced were around Level 16, but that wouldn’t last for long. If Trent and Tersa didn’t level their Skills and their Classes, even the might of the Spirit Summoner wouldn’t be able to shield them.
Orion’s staff spun and twirled as he casually knocked back opponents. He enhanced his blows with only the most basic Spells, softening them up but not ending them. That he left for Tersa. Wielding his long weapon in one hand, Orion poked and prodded at the Zombies as his free hand reached back and cast a Healing Spell on Trent.
“You are not ready to use the attacks of Ocean Meets the Shore, Trent!” Orion called, as the gashes that had opened on Trent’s cheek and forehead closed under his administration. “You may have the Stamina, but you lack the Mana and the training. At the first Level, the first attack and every fifth attack is a powered one requiring the use of Stamina and Mana. Concentrate on fighting without using those techniques, fight normally, and equip your cowl before you get hit again. And form the party; we will be more effective under the influence of Leadership.”
Trent heard Orion’s words, but it was Tersa who grunted. The man was far too relaxed for her taste. They were still outnumbered at least eight to one, and Tersa had discovered that the weight of her new mace was draining her Stamina. The Undead were falling but not as fast as her reserves.
“Can’t you do more to help here?” she huffed breathlessly at Orion. “I noticed you’ve powered up since you got that shiny staff of yours. Why don’t…”
“I am doing enough!” Orion pushed back a Zombie that was about to blindside Tersa. “You should save your breath! Trent, get it together!”
“Yeah, Trent. Get your ass moving and help me, jerk!” Tersa stubbornly ignored Orion’s advice. She would have had more to say if she hadn’t been distracted by the Skeletal Warrior attempting to separate her from her shield.
Trent shook his head and scrubbed blood off his face. He pulled up his cowl, equipped his mask, and grabbed his sword from where it had fallen. Mentally, he formed the bond that made the three into a party, and then with sword held in one hand, he stepped past Orion to join the fight again.
He hadn’t realized how he slipped into the movements of Ocean Meets the Shore the last time, but now he focused on keeping his attacks basic. It wasn’t easy, his head still rang, and his neck ached from the punches the higher leveled Zombie had delivered to his face. Orion’s Spell had healed him, but not completely. Trent couldn’t help wondering if the man had purposely left some damage as a lesson.
Trent learned that lesson. Limiting himself to Thrust, and Chop, both Basic Skills, he even stayed away from the more complicated Triple Slash and Long Slash. His free hand kept drifting towards his sword hilt as his recently learned Sword Technique begged to be used, and Trent wished he had something, preferably a shield, to occupy it.
He missed his old buckler. Swordsmen had plenty of defensive Skills, but so far, Trent didn’t know even the basic Parry and Block. Not to say he couldn’t perform those actions; he just couldn’t use the Skills. And the Skills were important.
A Skeletal Warrior hacked at him with a Chop of its own, but when Trent deflected the Skilled Strike with an unpowered block, he was nearly driven to his knees. Without defensive Skills, Trent was forced to rely on Dash and Dodge to avoid attacks that he couldn’t counter. He still took hits even with the Stamina-draining Skills active. His armor and cowl kept his flesh intact, but his bones were rattled, and skin was bruised beneath the force of the blows.
Trent would have been surprised by the approving look in Orion’s eyes as he watched the young Summon’s struggle. Orion had led many Al’rashian youths on training expeditions in the past, his own brother Albion among them. If any of Orion’s former charges had been in Trent’s position, they would have been crying for help by now.
Orion felt pride in this new sworn brother he had adopted. Trent didn’t waiver or cry out, he never fell back or tried to run. His movements and attacks could barely be called swordsmanship, worse than before, now that he was struggling against his new technique. But his use of Skills was close to masterful. He’d come far in the last week, adapting to his Swordsman Class with each battle, practically with each swing of his blade.
Orion saw Trent’s hand inch towards the knife at his left hip, and he noticed Trent forcefully repress the urge to draw it. Orion rewarded the boy’s instincts by clearing away two Skeletal Warriors crowding the young Swordsman.
A secondary weapon would be more hindrance to Trent than help at this point. It might even draw out the Ocean Meets the Shore technique. Those advanced movements often utilized two blades. Best to stick to basics. They needed to find the boy a shield.
Trent and Tersa found their way closer together. Together with Tersa bashing and Trent hacking, they brought down one opponent after another. Their confidence soared even as their teamwork improved. Low on Stamina, Tersa was forced to use her shield the way it was meant to be used, and with defense covered, Trent effectively darted around her, slashing at limbs and thrusting at torsos and skulls.
They used the narrow terrain to their advantage and slowly began to gain control over the battle. In the back of their minds, they knew this was mostly due to Orion’s spells and superior strength, but they took credit for it anyway. The Al’rashian was far too relaxed for them to be willing to admit he was helping.
When Tersa finally sent the last Zombie to its eternal rest, or more likely, put it down until the Trial sent it against new Adventurers, she and Trent were close to collapsing from exhaustion. They had twelve hours of rest in the Safe Zone, but this single fight had wiped out all the good a break had done them.
Orion was kind; he allowed the two a full minute to mope and catch their breath before asking, “Which way should we head from here, Trent?”
Trent sighed as he reached for his water skin. He lifted his mask and took a long drink before handing the skin to Tersa, who drank as well. Then she took a longer slower drink and did not offer the water to Orion, who was standing, not even winded, leaning on his staff.
Trent looked around and consulted his Map. The fight had carried them out of the cavern, and they were once again surrounded by the barren landscape of the Trial. At some point, the entrance to the Safe Zone had sealed itself and sunk into the terrain as if it had never existed.
“The fort where we were separated from the rest of our group is that direction,” Trent pointed and pulled his mask back into position. “It’s a long way, but we should try to make it.”
“Then, whenever you two are ready, we should set off.” Orion’s words implied they should move immediately, but it was only a suggestion. Trent was the leader, after all. Trent was the leader, and yet the three started heading towards their destination without a chance to rest. And they left at a jog.
Chapter 32
It had taken a great deal of effort for Kirstin to put aside her pride and apologize to Corporal Francis for her actions. She was certain the Guardsman realized that her words weren’t entirely sincere, but he accepted them. She was the Duke’s daughter, after all.
Three days later, however, she offered the Corporal a more heartfelt apology. It was after Frank had gained his own Holy Strike Skill Stone. She was made aware of how big a blunder she made by learning the Skill on her own without consulting the more experienced soldier.
In Frank’s hands, Holy Strike revealed its true value. The Undead fell in batches beneath the Corporal’s spear. If they faced enemies that were 20 levels beneath him, Frank dealt with them by himself, no matter their number or rank, and he did so quickly and easily, while the rest of the group quietly shared the XP.
If Kirstin had thought she and Dirk had dealt with the group of Knights turned Archers with little difficulty, Frank turned her confidence into a joke. The second day, after learning Holy Strike, the Level 40 Warrior leveled the Skill to 10 and could use it from a distance. Kirstin had stood red-faced and shamed watching him. I
t would be four days before Dirk was completely healed from the injuries he suffered at the hands of the Skeletal Knight Commander. If she had followed the procedures any good Adventurer’s group held to and presented the Skill Stone to the Corporal when it was found, Dirk never would have been hurt in the first place.
The Corporal bought them four days of rest and easy XP. It couldn’t last; the Trial wouldn’t allow it. With levels fluctuating, especially among the recruits, it was hard to keep track of an average, but Kirstin had done the math a few days before and come up with just over thirty-one. When she approached Frank to discuss this, he was aware of what was happening and only told her to keep training. He said she needed to be prepared, that this wooden fort was a stopping point, not a destination. They couldn’t hold it for long.
Frank helped everyone to prepare for the next assault, passing out loot fairly and equally. Skill Stones and Spells were distributed to those that could use them. Under his leadership, even the Recruits gained Skills that would protect them in a skirmish. Kirstin had been confused by this at first. Weren’t they all working to protect the young Guardsmen? But Frank understood what she didn’t. In a survival Trial, there was no protecting anyone for very long. Eventually, everyone had to stand on his own.
On the fourth day, this policy of Frank’s bore fruit. Without any warning, the group found themselves surrounded. While all the Adventurers and Guardsmen were fighting on the wall, twenty Fleshlings appeared within the fort itself. The recruits were able to hold and then retreat even if they couldn’t defeat the monsters outright. They made it to the wall where they regrouped with their seniors, battered and bruised but alive. The weaker recruits would have been slaughtered, if not for the Corporal’s foresight.
That was the day Frank gave the order they all knew was coming, even as they prayed it would never arrive. As Fleshlings pressed them from within and a mixture of Wretched Corpses and Zombie Warriors assaulted them from without, Frank said the words: Scorch the earth.