The Pinnacle Warrior

Skandr and Benedict’s faces both lit up in understanding why while Muti and Felix squinted at each other in mild confusion. After several seconds, the Barbarian threw her hands in the air. “What are these trials? A time to fight?” 

Though Felix didn’t react quite so explosively, he waited for the same answers as the Barbarian.

“I’m sorry, I forget that some people didn’t spend every day of their childhood thinking about things like this. The Wandering Trials is a unique entrance to the Dungeon, a strange mix of a proper entrance and a branch, that seems to work in tandem with the Great One. With Dungeon and Great One working together, the Wandering Trials give a test to any delver of any tier. The entrance to the Trials only appears every 10 years, and sometimes it relocates itself to places where nobody finds it for those 10 years. When it’s found, all of the delver organizations, no matter where they originate from, come together to further incentivize any delver to come and put their skills to the test. In our case, the Guild will sponsor any promising delvers who are in the final watershed of their tier, depending on their Skills and dedication, to go to the Wandering Trials.”

“OK, but,“ Felix replied, “this doesn’t make any sense. You don’t have any details that make this seem like something worth doing instead of just continuing to delve the way we always have.”

“That’s because Astrid’s not telling you the stories!” Benedict shouted “Whether they’re true or not, every famous delver has a story told about their time in the Trials. And the reason for that is because becoming the victor in the Trials grants a boon from the Dungeon!”

“So things like a growth type weapon or a straight across boon from the Great One? How have I never heard of this?” Felix’s tone became increasingly incredulous.

“Well, there’s a couple reasons,” Astrid answered with a shrug, “but the big one is that being able to take advantage of it requires so much luck that it isn’t worth trying to plan around most of the time. After all, timelines and discovering it are difficult at best. Beyond that, I suspect that the nobility puts a bit of a damper on the popularity of these stories, since they’re another instance of a delver becoming more powerful than the ruling class.”

Unlike usual, Astrid felt none of the disappointment and frustration when she talked about the nobility, so excited was she about the Wandering Trials.

“And we’re learning about this at the perfect time! Two months? That’ll get us all right about to level 20 if we push hard. Should we push all the way to the border of 21? No, my mother said to not reach the threshold…” As Astrid’s voice trailed off, she read through the letter more closely. Eventually, she found the passage she was looking for.

Do not bring yourself all the way to the point of being able to select your evolved Class. If you do so, you will be counted as Iron by the Trials, and won’t be capable of achieving anything noteworthy in the Trials. Beyond that, the Guild has ways to discern your level and your qualifications, so don’t be stupid.

Astrid chuckled as she read it, and looked at her friends. “I guess we’ll want to get maybe halfway through level 20 and then stop delving, if we can get that far.”

“OK, you’re not saying anything about what the Trials themselves are.” Felix spread his arms helplessly. “What does this expect us to do? How do we become qualified for it? How can a victor be unanimously selected? What do the Guilds do with regards to making it more appealing like you said? As far as I can see, you’re just excited about something that means nothing to me.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll slow down.” Astrid nodded as she stood and paced from one side of her room to the other. “The Wandering Trials’ name has two reasons for being called ‘wandering’. The first is because the entrance itself wanders, like I said. I don’t know how much of this is storytelling and how much is true, but what I’ve been told is that the entrance to the Trials appears somewhere and will stay there for 10 years. It can appear anywhere on the planet, or at least anywhere on the continent. Then, after exactly 10 years, it disappears only to reappear somewhere else. That’s the first reason why they’re called ‘wandering’. The second is because it is, supposedly, an entrance to the Dungeon proper. And the monsters found inside are like those found in the Dungeon proper, not in branches, with greater variation per floor as well as partially balanced ecosystems. So, every time the Trials appear somewhere new, the entrance links to a different part of the Dungeon proper, or something that looks like it. Thus, the Trials’ entrance is wandering, and what is found within the Trials is wandering as well.”

“So how was this an opportunity that’s open to every tier? Something that would be a challenge for us would be simple even to lower Irons, to say nothing of Mithril and Adamantium.”

“That’s part of how people know that whatever new entrance they find leads to the Wandering Trials.” Benedict cut in. “See, instead of a single passageway to enter into the Dungeon, the entrance to the Trials is a hexagon of doors. Each doorway is assigned a tier, from Iron to Arcanite, and anyone who chooses to test the Trials can only go into their own tier’s door, or those of a higher tier. Plus, once you go in and come out, you can’t go back in.”

Felix nodded, but then he asked a question that Astrid had no idea how to answer: “How does the Great One choose the victor?”

“The stories I’ve heard,” Astrid supplied, “say that the victorious party is the one that plumbs the greatest depths. Before you ask, as far as anybody can tell, there isn’t an end to any of the paths. That’s the one of the main reasons why people think that it’s the Dungeon proper and not a branch, because it doesn’t act like a branch. Like the Dungeon proper, the Trials don’t have a distinct finishing floor. I don’t know much more specific than that, as I don’t want to say things that are just speculation, so I will leave it at that.”

“So how do people decide who the victor is if they’ve gotta check who gets the boon after ten years of the Trials getting filled by people? How does the Great One make the choice, just right at the end? If it’s going all over, then it’s over there in the Verdant Sanctuary for 10 years, then in the Hordes’ Plains the next. There’s gotta be a system, it couldn’t just say that the first person to go in and leave becomes the victor, because then they would be the person to get the boon.”

“Good question. I can’t say exactly how they came to understand this, but my understanding is that the Dungeoneers can tell how long it’s been since somebody first entered the Trials. From the day that the Trials have someone enter them, there is one year until it will close itself off to any individual who is looking to gain its boon. After that, delvers can still go in to gain experience and materials, but there’s no chance for anyone to get a boon. So, since my mom said that we have two months, I’d guess that in about three months, the Trials will be drawing to the end of their year for people trying to get the boon. That means we need to be at the peak of Bronze by then to make sure we’re strong enough to go into the Trials and evolve while we’re in there to maybe get the boons!”

“And what do the Guilds do about this?” Felix asked, his body language growing more excited with every point of explanation she gave.

“That I know nothing about.“ Astrid shrugged. “I’ve never been a part of this, of course. But we need to get levels, and get them quick to be close to evolving when we go in. In the tale of Gideon Lightspear, he evolved from Iron to Steel in the Trials, which is part of the reason why he was able to become the victor. All I know is that it’s a huge deal, and with what I know about it, we might become the winners! That would mean so much for us, to be able to get the boons and whatever the Guild might do for us. I have every confidence in being able to win, how about you?”

“Those from every country will come?“ Muti’s voice asked barely above a whisper. 

“That’s what the stories say.“ Astrid shrugged. “Though I couldn’t confidently say if that’s the absolute or not, but I think that’s probably the truth, though the Hiveguards might not think it’s worth it. Nobody can really understand why they do what they do, they never talk.”

Muti nodded, her finger unconsciously tracing the scar along her jaw. Astrid felt her own jaw tighten as she looked at her friend, then she said, “When we encounter other Barbarians in the Trials, what will happen? I’ll follow your lead, but I want to be ready.”

Muti looked at Astrid, and the Warrior grinned as she continued speaking. “We are bound. I don’t know what that means for your people, but if I have a couple idiot Barbarians who think they’re tough enough to start a fight with you, I’ll keep the other ones off you while you do what you need to do.”

“And I might just show some muscle–headed Barbarians how magic can bring a spark to their lives.” Skandr smiled widely as he made the pun, though Astrid and Felix both groaned before looking at Benedict with accusation in their eyes. He disregarded them. Instead, he raised a fist.

“I’ll cheer for you!“ The Bard said with a chuckle. “I might also help you move fast enough to take a couple of them on at the same time. If you want. If that sounds like too much of a hassle, I can teach you a couple insults. Not sure if they’ll be able to understand, but you know, it’s possible. Maybe those could be their first words that they learned in our language? How to call themselves impotent dung–licking failures, incapable of making their mothers happy or their fathers proud. Could be kind of funny.”

Muti laughed, but she shook her head. “Such words would do little in the coming conflict.” She said “coming conflict“ like it was a certainty, and Astrid wondered if Muti herself would be the instigator or the other Barbarians. “Strength determines who is correct, and I have sufficient confidence in my strength to challenge them in the way that will cause the most distress.”

“Well, that’s enough information for me for now.” Astrid nodded. “I suppose I do need to ask, is there anybody who doesn’t want to make preparations to enter the Trials?”

Looking around, nobody disagreed with what she said, and Astrid nodded. “I’m going to take a bath, take my armor to be repaired, and ideally we get back into the Dungeon tomorrow afternoon at the latest. We’re going to have to push to get levels as fast as possible, because eight weeks to gain five levels is going to be hard.”

As Astrid spoke more severely, the joking that had evidently been on the tip of Benedict‘s tongue slipped away. Instead, all four of her companions nodded and went to get some rest after saying their good nights. After all, things were about to change quite a bit. Astrid herself gathered her armor and clothes in her arms before striding out of her room with purpose. The Smiths who lived here in the Guild and seemed to be constantly looking for work, would have plenty of more work today, because she was going to make sure that she was ready to get back into the Dungeon soon.

***

Cresche

Cresche’s roots spread under the ground, absorbing as many nutrients as they could manage. They felt their body filled with energy as, contrary to everything they had ever been taught in the past, they drained this 20 meter radius of land of everything that could provide life. Everything drained away as they withdrew the roots and stood up tall. So many of their teachers stood nearby, and Cresche could feel their companions doing the same thing, not far away.

You have grown in stature, little Cresche.

Ssthandren’s presence washed over Cresche with a sweet familiarity. Ssthandren had been Cresche’s sire, and had cared for the little Verdant Guard as they’d grown from a sapling with the barest hint of sapience to the towering oak they now were. Ssthandren still hid most of their bulk in their roots, just another testament to their willingness to serve as a sentinel in the Sanctuary, while Cresche’s roots pulled fully into their legs as they checked their experience.

31,832/33/000

I have nearly reached level 20.

Cresche’s reply to Ssthandren’s unasked question made the grander Verdant Guard creak happily as his branches swayed in the air. It had been a while since there had been any access to the Dungeon around here, and Cresche was looking forward to an opportunity to act not as a tree, but as a Crusher.

***

Luzara

“You will fight until you collapse, or you will die by my fang!” Luzara’s hissed command was unnecessary, his party wouldn’t lose at this point. They’d held themselves back for months to ensure they would have this opportunity to enter the Trials. They could have entered months ago, they would’ve been in the perfect opportunity to, but they had fought for this opportunity so that they could crush their opposition, to show all the enemy nations that the Freed Tribes of the Kin were the perfect manifestation of beings blessed by mana to become perfect beings. Yes, starting here, Luzara’s pack would show the world their dominance, their abilities, and their meteoric rise past mere Bronze.

He raised his paws, the mutation that had allowed him to gain his class, Bear Knuckle Fighter, and let out his ursine roar as he led the charge against the other finalists. The felines always thought themselves capable of outwitting the rest of the Kin. They were wrong, foolish, and they had forgotten the strength of a fully ursine pack. Today, those foolish kittens would learn. He sent out two swipes of his paws, Shattering Claws flying out from his own and slicing through their frontliner’s defenses like so much lard. The poor fool fell with the scream of pain and fear, seemingly surprised that his enemies would deal so heavy a blow, and Luzara stomped on it’s back as he passed through to the backliners that cowered behind it. The little ones screamed as he threw himself forward into battle while the feline Elders shouted their protests. The ursine Elders would solve any problems, and for now, Luzara would relish the opportunity to show the fools where their pride belonged.

***

Krizzick

As one of the eldest Hiveguards who’d plumbed the depths of the Dungeon, deep enough to meet the dwellers, Krizzick was assigned to instruct those hatchlings who’d been so unfortunate as to hatch into roles where they would be forced to spend the vast majority of their lives outside of the embrace of the Mothers. The latest of her assigned “parties” had been told of the Wandering Trials’ existence. They understood little, unsurprising given their age, but when they were told that the Mothers would be proud were they to return with tales of victory, each had thrown themselves into the Dungeon and trained more than ever before.

The little ones, or drones, as Krizzick supposed she should call them, had long since left behind their chrysalises, emerging from their metamorphosis as one. Each of the five had received the Class they were meant to, Healer, Defender, Scout, Lancer, and Mage. Their bodies thrummed with their power, small as it may be. Krizzick remembered that excitement, and remembered her fallen sisters. She was always the last survivor of every party for some reason, and she hoped for these little ones too thrived in the Trials of the Dungeon. After all, the Mothers would be so pleased if they could create another successful team. Perhaps there could even be a new brood born of the evolutionary material the little ones could bring back.

***

Kalta

“You are an embarrassment! Raise your axe or bleed!“ Laisall of the litter before Kalta’s was a capable Iron assassin. He’d seen some small measure of combat against the humans on the northern border, and he’d twisted his years of experience with a Class to his advantage against the less trained Kalta. Beyond that, Laisall was of a higher tier than Kalta, and the Assassin showed no hesitation to leverage his higher attributes and more powerful Skills against the younger man. Axe and dagger flashed as Kalta fought to stave off the attacks of his trainer, and time and time again his body burned where the tip of Laisall’s knife cut him, teaching lessons in the fleshy notebook that was Kalta’s body.

“I said, raise your damn axe!“ The Assassin’s words were punctuated by another cut of his knife, this one crawling up to Kalta’s neck. The Berserker lost any hold on his sanity at that, with a threat of marking his face so close. The Assassin bastard knew what he was doing, how close he was to shaming himself and Kalta alike, yet he showed no care or remorse. Instead, he laughed as the enraged Berserker threw himself into a blinding rage. As a scarlet hue colored his vision, he felt his Power, Alacrity, and Fortitude flare. He whirled in a maddened dance to draw closer to the higher level man, but he had no chance. Laisall flickered back with the Dodge Skill as he loosed a knife from his waist. The steel flashed towards Kalta’s face, but the Berserker raised his axe and smashed the weapon away. He pressed the attack in, but Laisall continued dodging back as the exhausting drain on Kalta’s body slowly grew to be too much.

“See! You can raise your axe. Now do it again!“ The implacable Assassin’s teachings continued to be punctuated by cuts, but Kalta greeted his teeth and bore with it, because he could feel himself growing closer and closer, more capable and prepared for the coming Trials. And he would slaughter any stupid enough to stand in his way.

End of Book 2