Book 6: Chapter 37 - A Challenge (RAW)

Chapter 37 - A Challenge

He who belittles his foe invites the unknown blade to claim his own throat, for in arrogance lies the seed of downfall, and in vigilance, the root of victory.

- A Quassian Aphorism.

“Listen closely, Horothric. As a small boon to you, I would suggest you flee Bronzegate with your family while you yet can. My debt to Durhit is paid,” I told him, lips curled in a smile that had no warmth.

The old Dwarf’s brow furrowed. “What are you saying? Truly, you are soft in the—”

“No,” I cut him short. “Think. What will become of you, Horothric? The man who led the great evil through the gates, who overturned the bedrock of your vaunted laws. The man who brought me, doom, to Bronzegate Hold.”

“Those are lies!” he barked, but there was no conviction in his voice.

“Lies? How droll. Your whole system of laws is a lie, a joke, if justice is measured only by the strength of one’s sword. Primitive and wrong. Barbaric.” I leaned closer and let my voice drop, low and cold. “Rumors flow, little Dwarf. They seep into cracks, they fester, they poison. When blame cannot fasten to an outsider, it turns inward. Twists through the gut. They will blame you, Horothric, for bringing me here, for giving my justice voice. I will see to it. I will thank you publicly. I will sing your name with honeyed praise, until your own folk spit it like bile after I deal with whatever awaits me at the top of the Assay.”

I laughed then, and the sound echoed strangely, touched with something not of this world. “Look at them. Even now, your men wonder if you conspire with me.”

Horothric stiffened, turning half about. His soldiers had indeed fallen to murmuring, their eyes sliding toward us with suspicion. He saw it, and I saw the moment he knew he had erred.

I sighed, theatric as any player upon a stage. “I will overcome. Remember this, Dwarf: with will and power, any madness may be made real. Go now. Take your family, your gold, your treasures, all you hold dear, and run. Cataclysm has come to Bronzegate.”

Horothric made to leave, but I seized him, my hand clamping down on his shoulder, fingers gripping the steel and nearly tearing the plate from its straps. He froze, trembling like prey caught in a predator’s gaze.

“Not so fast, little man. Explain. What must I do?”

“You must climb the Assay,” he stammered, “to the summit, where a Runed will meet you. As I said before, you go naked, save for a single weapon.”

It seemed that I would have to clear this quest with a somewhat serious handicap. Why not try for style points and increase the difficulty even more for fun, I thought to myself.

“Would a single piece of underwear suffice as my ‘single weapon’ in lieu of sharp steel?” I asked, laughing. “I have little desire to climb those steps with my manhood dangling in the wind.”

Horothric only frowned. My jest found no laughter in him. Still, he nodded stiffly. “The law allows for one item. Some of the condemned have chosen a draught, a Health potion… but that only delays the end.”

“That is answer enough. Thank you. Now go,” I dismissed him with a flick of my hand.

He trotted off like a whipped dog, glancing back once to see if I followed. Pathetic. His men bent ears to his hurried words, and I could almost taste the sour doubt already working its poison.

Turning, I caught the eye of the red-haired warrior woman. “Cordelia. Attend to me.”

“At once, Lord Herald.” She crossed swiftly to me, her expression grave. “How may I serve?”

“By the laws of this place, I must ascend naked,” I said, gesturing toward the dark ziggurat that loomed like a sleeping god. “Help me out of my arms and armor. Guard it well until I return. I do not trust these creatures.”

“Of course, Lord Herald,” she replied, voice low, steady. “It is the will of the Goddess.”

With deliberate care, she removed her own gauntlets and then came to me. Her hands worked slowly, reverently, unbuckling plates, loosening straps, easing me from my war-panoply piece by piece. Even Cordelia strained with the black-gold cuirass, though she bore it with grace. At last, I stood in little more than breeches, pale skin stark against the cavern’s blue glow, the eyes of Dwarves drinking in the sight of a man stripped to be judged. 

I looked upon my nakedness, and saw nothing had changed since I had first come. There were no marks of battle, the tales told in scars. No, those I bore in the darkest places of my heart. No, I was physically immaculate.

“You… of this place. You of Bronzegate Hold, bear witness to my glory. Bear witness to the frailty of your laws,” I declared, and they muttered to themselves, though they were less sure of themselves now. “I will honor my deal with Earl Horothric and thank him for leading me here.”

Another seed planted, and soon to be watered with my victory.

To my delight, Horothric had left their company and disappeared. Fleeing due to my warning, or running to warn this city of the danger that now threatened it. For me, it did not matter which.

Ready as I would ever be, I turned to Cordelia and smiled at her. “Stay safe and suffer no treachery.”

“It shall be so… go with the Goddess,” she replied in her lilting tone, eyes of cobalt hard and determined.

With that, I turned to the steps and began my ascent. They were narrow things, mean and spiteful, designed to encourage a fall—especially if you were a Dwarf. This was how the people here corrupted what passed for justice here, the treacherous curs. But to me, without the heavy weight of my armor, they were, at worst, merely inconvenient. A minor drain on my Stamina.

So it went until the midpoint, a slow and steady progress. But there the air thickened, and a weight fastened itself upon my limbs. An unseen hand pressed down on my shoulders; a thin buzzing gathered in my ear like flies about a wound. I knew now the taste of foul magic, knew well the touch of a curse. Did the Dwarves have no end to their iniquity?

In me welled a great distaste for such a wrong, an old anger rising from deeper places. I was no meek condemned, climbing to meet the executioner’s axe. I was Gilgamesh—Heroic King, Herald of this world’s end. How dare they!

Let us, hissed Entropic Aura, eager as a hound who has scented the spoor. It would have been easy, so easy, to let loose the darkness. Let us. But I needed more than ruin; I needed a message.

So I reached for the other gift. The Grace of Avaria filled me, a gold that was mine and not mine, bright as the sun. It burst from me in a choir’s first note, a clear ringing set against the corrupt blue of this place. My hatred cooled and hardened into purpose; light gathering about me as I shone.

The Holy Aura took the stairs as a battlefield, meeting the foul magics that worked their slow treachery against. Step by step, its light drove them back. The pressure eased; my legs grew sure again. Righteousness seated itself in my bones, for my cause was just. This was to be a little private, holy war. A jihad in miniature.

I did not look behind. I fixed my eyes on the next riser, and then the next, as a man must take his life—slowly and surely. There was meaning here, and I let that meaning take me.

Take me to the top, where I faced my challenge.

You have learned Holy Aura (lvl.5)

The reward for being righteous. I smiled at this, knowing that I was becoming ever closer to perfect Justice.

Across from me, on a crown of stone so flat it seemed a god’s sword had taken to it with a single slice, stood a sight to sour any man’s courage—any man but me. It had the squat cast of a Dwarf, yet was twice the size: taller than I, and broad as a barn door. Black plate swallowed it from helm to heel, the metal dark and depthless as fresh night. Adamantium, I thought, for I knew that metal well. In its hands lay a great axe: one edge a long, rectangular bite of steel, the reverse bristling with a spike, another cruel thorn jutting from the tip.

It mattered little. I had met worse and bested them. Still, my hard-earned wisdom counseled that I take the measure of the foe before me.

Klaust Solaxe - Runed Warrior (Dwarf lvl. 34)

Health: 1215/1215

Stamina: 92/92

Mana: 12/12

Strength of Earth (lvl.5)

Earth Spikes (lvl.5)

It was a monster, but then again, so was I. 

Without wasting time or greeting, it began to come for me. I heard the heavy, resounding clank of its tread, each step a thunderous echo that vibrated through the ancient stones. Already, a weak, treacherous part of me cursed my lack of caution, whispering that this challenge might prove too formidable, even for the likes of me.

I called upon Rust, envisioning the spell reducing this colossal foe to a heap of corroded slag in an instant. I let loose the black lightning, but nothing happened. After a few moments of dancing around the Dwarf, it found no food to feast upon. The magic fizzled out with a raspy, regretful whisper, dissolving into the air like a broken promise. Will, it seemed, was not enough to make a fantasy a reality.

The thing lunged forward, far too swiftly for a being of such immense bulk. It must have used Dash—or whatever equivalent the Dwarves, or his Calling, possessed. But I was faster still, my body a blur as I danced lightly out of harm's way. His massive axe cleaved through the empty space where I'd stood, whistling with lethal intent.

In retaliation, I struck back with a fierce punch, only to achieve nothing but pain—my knuckles splitting open, blood welling hot and sticky. It swung again, his weapon tracing a deadly arc that promised oblivion, yet once more I dodged its biting edge, twisting away.

A “He,” most likely, I corrected myself absently, an odd flicker of thought amid the chaos of the struggle.

Though the Runed Warrior's face remained hidden behind that impenetrable helm, I sensed his surprise in the subtle shift of his stance. Nonplussed, perhaps even stunned, that one of the condemned could defy execution so deftly.

For now, I held the advantage in speed, but if this dragged on, I would meet my end here atop this forsaken pyramid. I had to be perfect and skillful every time; my foe only needed to be lucky once. Of course, there was always another option. I could always flee...

Suddenly, the entire summit of the ziggurat transformed into a deadly arena. Earthen spikes erupted from the ground all around the square platform, jagged and unyielding, forming an inescapable prison of stone. So much for the better part of valor—cowardice was no longer an option.

It seemed I would have to grind this out the slow, unglamorous way. This wouldn't be the overwhelming, humiliating triumph I'd envisioned, no... but victory would be mine all the same. The Runed Warrior was taking me seriously now, his posture radiating wary respect.

Very well. I would return the courtesy. With a burst of my own Dash, I created distance, retreating to the very edge of our spiked enclosure. There, I summoned Entropic Aura, coaxing its surly, hateful energy to weave through the golden threads of my Holy Aura. A forbidden fusion that had no place in this reality. 

Hesitation gripped my opponent, or perhaps it was caution; I could see something in the rigid lines of his armored form. It did not matter—only that it bought me precious seconds. Seizing the moment, I invoked the absence of my magic's aspect: Freezing Aura. It felt like juggling a thousand fragile plates in a hurricane, but my mind, honed by the endless calculations of the impossibilities of magic—that paradox where human will was able to influence the very fabric of reality—made even this possible. 

The temperature plummeted in an instant, a biting chill that clawed at the air. I felt none of it, immune to its grasp, but I witnessed its birth pangs: frost riming the stones in crystalline patterns, turning the footing treacherous and slick. Yet the Dwarf remained unmoved, his steps steady, assured, and unhindered.

His gift of Earth, a voice whispered in my mind, one of my steadfast companions. And I knew those words rang true, a bitter revelation.

This cursed game heaped handicap upon handicap, stacking the odds against me. Now, fury truly ignited within me; I seethed, I railed against the injustice, and what tattered remnants of my soul remained sang in savage harmony.

As the Dwarf charged once more with Dash, I raised a hand and evaded with grace. Eyes narrowing, I unleashed tentacles of ravenous midnight—Greater Drain—setting it toward him in half a heartbeat. The voices within me had aided in its swift construction, the chorus of dark whispers as helpful as ever.

To my utter chagrin, his black armor flared with an ominous purple glow, repelling my assault. The tendrils shattered, flung back into the void from whence they came.

Truly, this world conspired against me at every turn.

I gritted my teeth in dire frustration, but I had a few tricks left to play yet.