Bibliomancer ~ 17!

~ Seventeen ~

The trek back to the city was, for the most part, uneventful. The party walked at a leisurely pace, getting to know each other better with every step. Sphinx hailed from Carson City, Michigan; thirty-five, divorced with no kids, despite the fact that she loved kids—obvious from her career choice as an educator—and wanted a brood of her own someday. But so far it just hadn’t come together. Although she was older than Sam by a far margin, and not at all what Sam expected, she had some serious gamer cred. She’d played all of the greats, Masterwind, World of Alphastorm, Celestial Conquest, and had even dabbled in a few pen and paper offline campaigns.

Kai, by contrast, was only a few years older than Sam and lived in a small studio flat in San Diego. In many ways, his background was similar to Sam; the third son of wealthy financers and vulture capitalists. Heh. Except, he’d done something Sam never would’ve dreamed of: Kai had bucked the system. He was a high school grad who’d vehemently refused to go to college, instead applying to a trade school. He planned on being a welder. He refused to follow the plan, to go with the flow, or head into the family business. Sam didn’t regret his choices, though he had a strange mix of envy and pity for the surfer kid who’d had the courage to defy his carefully laid out ‘destiny’.

As for how the surfer-turned-welder-turned-monk ended up inside Eternium—what with its step price tag—that was an interesting story too. Like Sam, the Monk was pod bound, but his trip into the game wasn’t a graduation present, it was a means to help him disappear from the public eye.

His father was preparing to launch a run for political office, and the man thought it would be best if his ‘failure of a son’ was tucked away in some dusty corner of the internet where reporters couldn’t find him. Where Kai couldn’t ‘make a scene’ or ‘embarrass his family further’. Kai told the story casually, almost nonchalantly, but Sam could sense the hurt lurking just beneath the surface of the monk’s shiny, easy-going façade. 

While the three talked, they killed their way through any foxes or rabbits that were unfortunate enough to stumble into their path. After contending against the wolf pack, taking out the uncoordinated groups of animals felt like child’s play. Instead of obliterating the critters with his ranged Wind Blade spell, he used his new Aeolus Sword spell; calling forth the mystic short sword in a flash of cerulean light. Thanks to his rather low constitution and strength, going toe-to-toe with the furry beasts was far more challenging than he expected, but they seemed like perfect targets to practice the basics on.

At first, his sword work was simply awful. He’d never held a real sword before, and he had exactly zero idea how to use it effectively. His swings were wild and sloppy, and he missed far more often than he landed a blow. Even when he did manage to score a hit, he was as likely to connect with the flat of the conjured blade as its edge. 

Sam really had gotten tremendously lucky in his bout against the she-wolf. Maybe having an elevated luck stat only paid off, when push came to shove; it was the only thing that made sense. Eventually, Sphinx had mercy on him, and took some time to walk him through the essentials of sword fighting one on one.

True, she used daggers, not swords, but she was excellent with a blade and the most important tricks she had to impart had more to do with dynamic movement than anything else. Her lessons were far from extensive—taught casually in between bouts of conversation or mob grinding—but by the time they finished, Sam was feeling a hundred times better off than when he’d set out in the morning.

Sphinx drilled him on the correct way to hold the sword—gripped in the dominant hand, blade edge down—and showed him a variety of stances, combined with some rudimentary footwork exercises he could practice during his down time. If he ever got downtime. When he practiced now, his feet were shoulder width apart, hips slightly cocked, his weight evenly distributed on the balls of his feet, allowing him to dart in any direction. He would never overwhelm an opponent with brute force—that wasn’t in the cards as a spellcaster—but he could potentially outmaneuver an underprepared enemy if he got his dexterity up high enough.

Once he had stances more or less down, she ran him through a variety of offensive and defensive maneuvers. He wasn’t going to win a duel any time in the near future, but he could execute a basic lunge and thrust. He also understood the fundamentals behind a feint, parry, flick, and riposte. Then she—combined with a few helpful tidbits from Kai—taught him about ‘combat mindset’, before going over the various non-physical factors he needed to think on. 

For instance: falling into a predictable pattern was an easy habit to form, and one that would get you killed sooner or later. How to control the tempo of the fight by using distance. Techniques for maintaining situational awareness even in the heat of battle.

He only earned a handful of skill experience from the impromptu tutorial, but he managed to nudge his Sword Mastery up to novice five—six when he included his bonus from Dagger of the Mystic Path—and he earned another point of dexterity and constitution for his efforts. He was thinking he might just have to make these sessions with Sphinx and Kia a more regular part of his schedule. He didn’t want to go the multi-class route, but no one would expect a Mage to have any skill in a melee bout. That meant he could potentially catch a foe completely off-guard at some crucial juncture. An edge like that was well worth developing.

They were maybe two miles out from the city walls when they spotted the second half of their party, trudging across the grassy plains. Good timing, since the sun was already sinking into the ground, beams of late daylight painting the skyline with brilliant fingers on pink and gold, wispy purple clouds the color of fresh plums scattered through the sky.

“Imagine running into you hooligans,” Finn called as they got closer, waving one hand in the air, his robes flapping and flailing from the motion. “I can’t even begin to tell you how fantastic today was! Perhaps the single greatest day of my life. I pushed up to level six, which is no small feat, let me tell you, and got some excellent combat advice from the magnificent Dizzy.” 

The Mage turned a thousand-watt grin on the armored warrior. “She was simply fantastic. Truly.”

Dizzy just shrugged away the compliment, but Sam noticed she also glanced away, a faint trace of red creeping into her cheeks. Despite being gangly and rather awkward, Finn could be charming when he wanted to be. Clearly, he’d turned that charisma on Dizzy.

“You hit level six?” Sam idly thought through his own day. “That can’t be right. You’re from Ardania. Surely, you’ve got to be higher level than that… right?”

Finn grimaced and shook his head. “I can certainly see why you might think so, but you’re an outsider. You’ve come here for adventure and action, but most locals just want to get by. More importantly, you lot respawn should you met an unfortunate and untimely fate. Not me and my kin. Most of the fine citizens of Ardania pursue commercial jobs that are far less risky. You’ll find the majority of higher-level citizens in Ardania tend to be merchants and craftsmen. Venturing out beyond the gates is a death sentence for most people, and the results are rarely worth the effort. There are mercenaries of course—like the warriors who escort us on our sewer missions—but they are actually quite rare.

“Of course, there are the guards to consider, but as a rule of thumb they avoid venturing out just as much as the rest of us. Mages are an exception to that rule. We can level up in the relative safety of the College and—if you’re experience today was anything like mine—I’m sure you’ve seen that our kind can be quite powerful. But I have no formal martial training as a noble, and since I’ve only just been admitted into the College, my level is still rather low. I think if we can keep doing missions like this, however, that will all change.” His smile spread. “Why, even if we can only quest like this once a week, I think you and I, Sam, have the potential to be the most powerful Mages in a century.”

“That’s if you survive,” came a familiar and very unwelcome voice. Headshot.

The PKer and his crew slipped out from behind a copse of oaks and pines not far from the road, their weapons drawn. They’d been waiting to launch an ambush? How long had they just… sat there?

Possible scenarios raced through Sam’s head in the few seconds of tense silence that followed. They were only half a mile at most from the gate, easily within view of the portcullis and the formidable gates, but there was no way they could make a run for it. Headshot had three archers with him, all of them carrying sleek bows and wearing full quivers bristling with arrows. Even if the archers were complete noobs, they’d pincushion Sam and his friends before they made it more than a hundred feet; and that was assuming they could get past Headshot and his heavy hitters in the first place.

Which they couldn’t. At least, not without a fight. Headshot and half a dozen warriors in plate or chain mail were arrayed before them, making sure there would be no easy escape. Sam supposed they could pull a tactical retreat, slowly backing away until they could turn and flee into the wilderness, but that too was a fruitless option. It might work short-term, but the sun would set in half an hour or so, which meant they would survive the Hardcores only to die at the hands of whatever horrors prowled the wilds after dark. 

No, if they wanted to get back into the city there were only two options: one, call Headshot’s bluff just as Dizzy had done earlier, or two, let this turn into a brawl and hope for the best. They were outnumbered nine to six, but Sam knew they could take these clowns if things got rough. He and Finn had both leveled up and with their arcane powers, they could call down some serious devastation.

“What do you want?” Dizzy barked, stepping forward until she was in striking range of Headshot. Headshot pulled out a long-curved sword, the single blade edge catching the light of the fading sun, glimmering with a bloody glow.

“That’s easy, Dizz.” He popped one finger into the air. “One, I want money. Ten gold apiece for me to let some of your crew go.” 

“You want to know who’s in the hospital?” Sam tried to intimidate the group. No one answered, but all eyes were on him. “Sick people! You want to join them?”

Another finger lifted into the air alongside Headshot’s first. “Two, I want these Mages with the Hardcores, so either they agree to join, or I gut them where they stand. If we can’t have them, then no one will. Period. Three...”

A third finger got added to the mix, “…I’m going to kill you on principle, because no one disrespects me.”

He lunged forward, blade flashing out as he tried to drive the tip into Dizzy’s belly. She was prepared for the cheap shot, leaping back and turning his strike with her gauntleted forearm. The action narrowly avoided a critical and probably fatal hit. But she was too close to draw her heavy maul, and without a weapon in hand, Headshot had a significant advantage. At least, he had an advantage until Finn lurched into motion, thrusting his staff forward with a primal warcry; unleashing a wrist-thick javelin of ice that slammed into Headshot’s shoulder. The frozen lance of magic punched through Headshot’s plate armor like a nail through the side of an aluminum can, spinning the dirty PKer in a circle.

With that, the tenuous truce was broken and everyone lurched into action, a bevvy of chaotic and often contradictory commands filling the air. No one had been ready for things to go this way; as a result, no one really seemed to know what in the abyss they were supposed to do.

Sam just had to hope that everyone on his side of the equation would play solid fundamentals and stick to their given roles. Instead of jumping into the fray and laying about with his sword, Sam backpedaled; gaining some much-needed distance to work his magic. Arrow, the ranger, did the same, posting about ten feet away from the battle line as he fired arrows; meticulously targeting the ranged support on the Hardcore’s team. Feathered shafts sank into leather armor or found vulnerable flesh. There were too many of the enemy rangers, so Sam thought it was high time he evened the odds.

Sam had recast Mage Armor when he was fighting rabbits, so he was able to focus his offensive efforts on a slim ranger clad in lightweight black brigandine armor studded with brass rivets. Sam thrust his hands forward, loosing a wide Wind Blade. The blue arc of light slammed into the ranger, cutting through his health with devastating effectiveness. At novice nine, the spell hit for twenty-seven damage. Sam didn't think that someone who likely put all points in dexterity and perception would have much more than the base of fifty health, and he decided to test his theory.

The ranger let out a gurgle, blood bubbling from his mouth as he scurried left, trying to gain some distance and time. After battling the lightning-fast wolves, this guy seemed as slow as frozen molasses. Sam sent another Wind Blade, chopping through the remainder of the ranger’s health in an instant. Theory proven. Without missing a beat, Sam scanned the field, searching for where he was most needed.

Two of the three rangers were down—one by his hand—and Arrow was currently engaged with the third, strafing the blonde-haired female with shaft after shaft. Headshot was somehow still alive, but Dizzy was coming at him like an enraged rhino, hammering away with her enormous maul, which she’d finally managed to draw. This was the first time Sam had seen her in action, and wow could she hit. She moved more sluggishly than Kai, Sphinx, or Arrow, but she was an unstoppable juggernaut constantly closing with her enemy. She swung around that maul of hers as though it weighed no more than a plastic wiffleball bat, but when it did hit… there was proof positive that it deserved its classification of a heavy weapon.

Finn was throwing his metaphysical might against the leader of the Hardcores as well, using freeze spells to sap Headshot’s movement rate, while also hurling an ice lance at every available opportunity.

Meanwhile, Kai had taken up a position on the right, battling two chain-mail-clad warriors wielding pitted broadswords. Though he was outnumbered, the monk flowed between the two opponents like smoke, bobbing, weaving, and ultimately diverting their clumsy attacks. Simultaneously, he was delivering a bombardment of blazing-fast palm strikes that chipped away at their health.

Sphinx, on the other hand, was on the verge of being overwhelmed as three Hardcores closed in around her. They had obviously fought assassins before, and steadily hemmed her in so she couldn’t slip into a pool of shadow. Two of the three Hardcores looked to be run of the mill fighters, but a third was dressed in garb similar to Sphinx: dark, soft leathers, a bandolier of throwing knives running across his chest, a cowl covering the bottom half of his face. Some sort of thief or would-be-assassin, and he was giving the intrepid infiltrator a run for her money. She needed help, and she needed it now. Unfortunately, their battle was a tangle of limbs, a whirlwind of flashing blades and twirling bodies.

Sphinx and her trio of assailants were moving so quickly that Sam was just as likely to hit Sphinx as the Hardcores. He wasn’t sure whether or not his spells could deal friendly fire, but now was most definitely not the time to find out. He could repay her lessons in sword fighting by putting the knowledge she’d taught him to use right now, though he’d have to play it safe considering his Stamina would run out quickly. Still, it was his best option. After all, who would expect a glass-cannon Mage to charge into battle with a sword?

Silent as a screaming toddler, Sam shot forward; pulling the dagger from his belt and muttering the words to call forth his Aeolus Sword. The magical blade extended to full size—cool blue and deadly—moments before he launched himself at the enemy Rogue, who conveniently had his back turned to Sam. The ironic justice of backstabbing a Thief as a Mage was not lost on Sam. He lunged forward, executing a textbook, though rather simple, thrust. Sometimes the simple things are the most effective; because the blade punched into the Rogue’s lower back and knocked off sixteen points of health.

Not even close to killing the thief, but more than enough damage to get his attention. The Rogue let out a guttural howl and rounded on Sam, a black dagger in each hand. “You are gonna regret that, you little turd.”

“Turds are brown, not stained a bloody red like my clothes… unless you are having other issues?” Sam taunted the killer. Perhaps not his brightest move.

The Rogue broke away from Sphinx, dancing toward Sam with liquid grace; the guy’s obviously high Dexterity was on full display. He came at Sam like a constipated cobra, creating a constant combo of coordinated thrusts and slashes. Sam retreated backward, drawing the Rogue away, but it took everything he had to fend off the assault. 

Sam was far too slow to respond with a proper counter attack of his own. The Rogue launched into a series of broad slashing sweeps, then flipped into the air, hurling a pair of throwing knives with his off hand. Both struck dead on, piercing Sam’s Mage Armor. One punched into his right shoulder, while the other penetrated his gut. The pain was worse than anything Sam had ever felt before, and that was with his miserable perception stat lowering it.

Back in the sixth grade Sam had dislocated his shoulder. He could remember the day in exquisite detail: the sun high above him, the hot steel of a half-pipe dropping off below the lip of his skateboard, the *clang* and *clatter* of metal on metal. He’d teetered precariously on the edge of the pipe, his heart thumping as he worked up the nerve to drop in for the first time. This was the small half-pipe, only a six-foot drop, but to sixth grade Sammy, that descent looked unimaginably high. Like taking a flying leap off the edge of the Grand Canyon. Yet, despite the fear, he leaned forward and plunged straight down.

He began fishtailing almost instantly, dislocating his shoulder in the process. This felt like that, though the pain was somehow more jagged and stomach-turning. The Aeolus Sword guttered and died as he fumbled the blade, unable to hold onto the hilt through the waves of agony. He stumbled, drunk from shock and trauma, and fell onto his back, his good hand scrambling at the dagger protruding from his belly. 

His Mage Armor had saved him from certain death, but his health was down to less than half, and he was hemorrhaging points every second the knives remained planted in his body. With a wheeze and a grimace he pulled the dagger in his belly free, then went to work at the blade jutting from his shoulder.

That one was stuck more solidly—at a guess it had probably hit bone—so he had to wiggle it free, which was about a hundred times more painful than getting stabbed in the first place. Finally, the blades were gone, discarded in a patch of grass nearby, but he wasn’t out of hot water yet. The Rogue was stalking forward with the lethal movements of a hunting panther, ready to end its prey… though this predator killed with cold iron instead of rending jaws.

“Shoulda joined us when you had the chance, dweeb,” the Rogue growled, his voice scratchy and slightly distorted from the interference of a microphone. This guy wasn’t in a pod, that much was for certain.

“I’d rather die,” Sam spat, his spittle tinged red with blood.

“Good,” the Rogue replied, twirling his daggers with a flourish. “Allow me to help y-”

He never finished the sentence. An Ice Lance slammed into the side of his throat, driving all the way through and leaving a ragged hole behind. The Rogue gulped, working his jaws like a fish out of water, then keeled over, gravity taking hold as his legs gave out. Just like that, Sam and company actually had a chance here.

Filled with a new surge of adrenaline, Sam sprang to his feet, bringing his hands to the ready. But… there was no one left to fight, no one left to kill. Every single member of the Hardcores lay dead in the grass, pools of sludgy blood surrounding their corpses like ghastly halos. Somehow, miraculously, they’d done it! 

They’d beaten the unlikely odds, and even more impressive, every single member of their crew had survived the encounter. They’d just taken on an aggressive ambushing force without taking a single casualty! Glancing around, Sam saw that Finn had done the bulk of the heavy lifting, since four out of nine bodies were liberally peppered with blue-white ice spikes.

The message was clear: Mages were not to be trifled with. The folks at the College might be a bunch of pompous know-it-alls, but there was a reason for their feelings of superiority.

“Get wrecked!” Dizzy hollered, thrusting her maul into the air. She threw back her head and cackled. “You boys are a game changer!” 

Her mad laughter slowly subsided. “With you two on our team, no one is gonna be able to stop us! Let’s get into town before they shut the gates, and have a little celebration. Drinks are on me!”