Threads of fate a litrpg.., p.10
Threads of Fate: A LitRPG Fantasy, page 10
From his vantage point, Lorian could faintly discern the Kingdom of Hrellflan. However, pinpointing Thale proved challenging. It could've been the great expanse separating them or possible inaccuracies in maps he had seen, but something about the western shoreline seemed off. Observing the island externally for the first time was an experience far different than observing it on parchment.
Nearby, Lana toiled, drawing molten metal and filling clay casts. She was perilously close to the adamantite; Lorian could almost sense the scent of singed skin. Thanks to a concoction provided by the dragon to Greenhair, her evident pain was somewhat mitigated. Yet, the dragon's supplies wouldn't last forever, and both would need to acquaint themselves with the art of potion-making soon.
Upon inquiring about their purpose to the dragon, Lorian was met with a boisterous laugh – an ominous sign given their ambiguous status between salvation and abduction. After its mirth subsided, the dragon's message was clear: they had to expedite their leveling process. The imminent threat was the Five, who, to quash any menace to their reign, would lay waste to humanity.
An unsettling truth hung in the air, as evident as their location in the Thief's Wastes – they were now in servitude to the dragon. Whether labeled slaves or pets, their fate was intertwined with its whims. Their rapid progression was a necessity, for the dragon made it clear that any indication of failure would result in their demise and subsequent offering to the Five for a truce.
While Lana risked herself with molten metal, Greenhair dabbled with lethal substances typically untouchable for alchemists. Drinking antitoxins like water, he surprisingly relished this newfound challenge. He had felt overshadowed and seemed to embrace this arduous journey to level up.
Meanwhile, Lorian had begun experimenting with liquid fabrics using the slime creatures. Dipping his hands into a tamed slime, he felt the creature solidify around them, akin to the formation of pearls. The product? Stiff gloves that, while uncomfortable, were fruitful for experience. But with each dip came the risk of injury.
"Apologies, I miscalculated," Grace murmured.
"No worries, at least there's no bleeding," Lorian assured.
Grace's concern grew, "But soon we'll upgrade to a more potent slime. If I can't control this one, you might lose a hand."
"Considering our speed, maybe you can gain new abilities," Lorian suggested.
Reflecting on this, Grace realized that her experience was rapidly accumulating too.
Initially, Lorian had assumed Grace would serve auxiliary roles, given their need to rapidly level up. He couldn't fathom a dragon assuming culinary duties. But Sanctuary, not the vast expanse of the Thief's Wastes but a village at the mountain’s base, was inhabited. People here had either garnered a dragon's attention over time or sought refuge from their dire straits.
Worship of the Five was taboo. Yet, the inhabitants didn't feel the void. Ariana, a seasoned [Class Supervisor], not only enabled others to unlock perks but also had the unique ability to bestow classes. Everyone, come their seventeenth year, was granted a class.
To Lorian, this was groundbreaking. Nowhere in academic materials was there any mention of such a power. A skeptical voice inside him began to ponder: was this suppression by the Five to maintain their control? Or was there a sinister plot to eliminate those like him?
Ariana's talent surpassed the traditional ceremony of paths. Unlike others, she granted freedom of choice. The recipients of her [Bestow Class] talent would see an array of classes they were eligible for and could choose as they pleased. Lorian knew these options weren't the same for everyone, but with the demanding schedule, there was hardly any chance to dive deeper into understanding it. Most interactions were constrained to hurried meals, always eager to return to their rigorous training.
Again and again, Lorian found himself in a monotonous cycle. He'd shape a pair of gloves only to disintegrate them, often damaging his hands in the process. Consuming a numbing potion, a regenerative elixir when the former wore off, or a healing brew whenever Grace's control lapsed, burning his hand to its very bone. Though, thankfully, such accidents had decreased in recent days.
These few days had been more productive for Lorian, gaining more experience than he would've in several weeks under his old regimen. Despite using lower-tier materials, his productivity skyrocketed. The flawed 'gloves' he formed surprisingly qualified as successful creations, unlike his more functional dragon-bracelets. The arcane rules of skills often felt irrational.
Factoring in long workdays, Lorian's experience accumulation increased eightfold. Yet, that wasn't sufficient. Moving up to tier two slimes could quadruple his progress rate. At this pace, reaching level eighty would be a breeze. The bright side? The agonizing process of hand injuries would soon be behind him. Numbing potions might have dulled the pain, but they never truly masked the discomfort.
"Let's call it a day," Grace proposed hours later. "I'm craving some town grub."
"Sounds like a plan," Lorian said, massaging his aching hands.
"Wait up!" Lana chimed, hurriedly setting aside her crucible of adamantite as if it were a dangerous creature.
The trio approached Greenhair, who was smartly positioned away from any sentient being that could smell.
"Dinner," Grace said, her voice leaving no room for debate but her face expecting one.
"I'm not really in the mood to eat yet..." Greenhair started, but Lana and Lorian, accustomed to this ritual, seized him by the arms, leading him back to Sanctuary.
"I would've joined you in a bit!" he protested.
"That's doubtful. We're not making that error again," Lorian replied.
"Indeed, Lorian's right," said Grace. "You're way too thin already. Eating is essential."
"I had my fill, really," he retorted, despite the sound of antitoxin sloshing in his stomach. Though antitoxin wasn't known to be filling.
Soon, they reached the town, surrounded by a sturdy wooden fence, with towering snowdrifts in places. The streets remained clear, thanks to the [Snow Mage] class being quite prevalent, hinting that one's environment might influence class selection.
Given the environment, sustaining food was a challenge. Most of the community dined in a central hall, enjoying meals prepared by a skilled cook possessing the [Enhanced Nutrition] ability. That's where our heroes found themselves, hungrily fueling up. Ariana was there too, and Grace approached her, eager to view her status after such a long hiatus.
Returning to the group, Grace was visibly shaken. "She's at level twenty-seven... I've got two new skills..."
"What are they?" Lorian inquired.
"[Puppetry Finesse Improvement] and [Target Tier Penalty Reduction]."
Lorian appreciated her choices. Improved puppetry would enhance her monster control, reducing accidents, while the tier penalty skill would facilitate the transition between slime tiers. "A few more days and you'll get your first feat," he encouraged, alluding to the possibility of even more skills. The potential of higher-tier slimes was enticing but also menacing. Dipping his hands into something as volatile as a void slime seemed risky, even with a trusted ally at the helm. It seemed as perilous as summoning a demon amidst Thale...
Considering the opportunity of acquiring her inaugural feat after three long decades, Grace collapsed onto the bench, her eyes wide with astonishment.
Chapter 19: Venturing Through Different Realities
Lying flat against the icy ground, Lorian muttered, "This feels absurd." Despite being scantily clad, his advanced level ensured the cold didn't seep in too deeply.
Grace, with her ever-practical approach, retorted, "Less chatter, more work."
With a sigh, Lorian thrust his arms and legs upwards, inserting them into the tier three king slime suspended above him. Moments later, a notification from [Tailoring] indicated he had crafted tier three elbow gloves and long boots. With the slime clinging to his elbows and knees, extricating his limbs became a challenge. Grace signaled the slime to elevate before squashing it down, breaking its earlier form.
The slime effortlessly disintegrated its previous encasements without harming Lorian. Well, aside from the fact his limbs now boasted a permanent sleek and hairless appearance. He rationalized, at least he still had them intact.
A week had seen Grace gain enough proficiency to tame a tier three creature, ensuring no untoward accidents. Lorian's growth enabled him to unlock [Runic Embroidery]. However, Lana had an edge, securing [Runic Engraving] a day prior. Greenhair was still playing catch-up.
Conventional alchemy was a challenging grind. Lorian and Lana, if limited to standard tailoring and smithing, would have seen a slower progress. Greenhair's best strategy had been to replicate his apparatus, enabling the simultaneous concoction of numerous potions.
"As much as I appreciate the XP, how is this even tailoring?" Lorian quizzed, "I feel more like a toy for this slime."
Without uttering a word, Grace commanded the slime, which engulfed Lorian entirely. A notification informed him of a tier five bodysuit's creation. The slime then ejected him, rendering him motionless.
"Alright, I get it! No more whining! Now, free me!" Lorian pleaded.
Amused, Lana, positioned nearer to the adamantite pool, chuckled. Her levels made the surrounding warmth more bearable, though she leaned heavily on an assortment of potions. Ideally, she'd opt for abilities to withstand the heat, but she saved every opportunity in the off-chance she and Lorian needed to cover for Greenhair's lag in reaching level eighty.
Their journey had been relatively undisturbed, and Lorian's dreams remained unviolated. Initially, Lorian believed they were summoned by the dragon because of the demon's misdeeds. However, he learned that the sanctuary's denizens could choose classes, and most had access to tier one choices. The dragon's motives remained a mystery. It labeled them as traitors and deceivers, like the demon did, but offered no clarity on these accusations.
Hours and days spent monotonously working with the slime allowed Lorian's thoughts to drift. With scarce information, contemplating the realm's mysteries was taxing. All Lorian wanted was to shield his comrades and kin.
Thoughts of dragons in Hrellflan haunted Lorian. Was the dragon that abducted them the same one that wreaked havoc in Whitehaven, targeting his parents? The creature seemed unscathed, hinting at his parents' possible defeat. Lorian wrestled with his fear of inquiring, concerned the truth might be unbearable.
Then there were the repercussions for his family due to his newfound demonic alignment. The guards he witnessed dying horrifically were once familiar faces. The devastation in Thale weighed on his conscience. Lorian rationalized that Illumis forced his hand. Succumbing would have labeled him, Lana, Greenhair, and potentially Grace as outlaws. His resistance was a desperate bid for survival.
As their rigorous training wrapped up, they ushered a protesting Greenhair back to Sanctuary. After another routine meal, they retired to their dwelling, freshly tidied by an anonymous helper. The rigorous routine left little time for socializing, but Lorian hoped that upon achieving their leveling goals, that would shift.
Lorian wrestled with his thoughts. What was the dragon's true intention after obtaining the power to craft endless mighty magic artifacts? Did it desire these relics for its personal gain? And if it did, what havoc would it wreak with them? Could it annihilate all the followers and temples of the Five or even entire kingdoms? These thoughts plagued Lorian as he sought slumber, praying he wouldn't be tormented by dreams of slimes once more.
Awakening suddenly, with eyes free from blinding pain, only a slight trace of blood marked his face. Either he was adapting to the demon's voice, or the newfound strength from his heightened level made the difference. It was still dark, but if the demon's words held any truth, the armies of the Five were advancing.
Time was short. None of their party was near level eighty. Even if the forces began from the furthest point of the territory, they'd converge way before Lorian's group hit the target level. The dragon hadn't directly threatened to end them, only if there seemed a potential breach of the island. How much time did that give? But the demon had given Lorian a potential solution: invoking it once more.
With a sense of urgency, Lorian got dressed. This situation surely demanded the dragon's attention. Leaving his dwelling, he directed his steps towards the dragon's den. But he didn't have to travel far, as the creature was already stationed outside the town’s barriers, awaiting him impatiently.
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Within Hrellisti's Temple of Gaia the Mother, the religious heart of Hrellflan kingdom, Shigeo squared off against Marquess Cryscrin, adorned in full armor, gripping a massive warhammer. Behind him stood the kingdom’s top cleric of Gaia and her entourage.
Fleta, with urgency in her voice, unveiled a battered man, one limb amiss, blood seeping from his makeshift bandages. His physical attributes eerily mirrored those of Shigeo, though his slender frame resembled Lorian more.
Before Cryscrin could voice his thoughts, Shigeo interjected, insisting that the archbishop question the injured man. Reluctantly, under her divine [Truthseeker] invocation, she did. "Did you murder Darren of Greenhill?" she inquired.
"Indeed."
A wave of shock rippled through the attendees.
Despite her disbelief, the archbishop continued, "Why?"
He hesitated, "Some mysterious man in a tavern paid me. I assumed it was a grudge. I didn't realize the magnitude..."
When questioned about his mysterious employer, he could only recall a hooded figure.
Cryscrin tried to recount what he'd heard from a chain of clerics about Darren's supposed killer. But Fleta unveiled another maimed captive, insisting he'd provide further insight.
Upon interrogation under the [Truthseeker], the man admitted to hiring the assailant on Illumis's divine command, believing it was for the world's salvation.
Confusion pervaded the room. The archbishop clarified the power of her prayer: it only ensured the victim spoke their perceived truth.
While Cryscrin seemed skeptical, Shigeo contemplated a different, more earthly explanation.
"That individual? Pure madness, I say. Wonder what tales were spun in his ears, attributing them to Illumis?"
Fleta remarked, "Within a brief period, Hrellflan has borne numerous catastrophic events. Dragons assailing, which is unusual given their habitat in Thief's Wastes. Thale's unaccounted annihilation. A move to incite what could become an internal feud. Lately, Kakkerxat the Mighty's temple demanded our mightiest warriors for a crusade against these dragons. Influenced by the resentment from Whitehaven, the royal decree dispatched two at tier eight, a force greater than we would usually send. The duo left now are locking horns. A significant part of our forces accompanied them, leaving us vulnerably exposed. It seems almost orchestrated, a strategy to weaken us before a full-blown assault. At this rate, even a horde of goblins might seize our island."
"They've communicated from the Holy Theocracy. Are you insinuating they're our adversaries?"
"Not exactly. A temple priest could have been manipulated or coerced to convey deceitful information. Or someone might've accessed a high-tier espionage skill to meddle with the vision orbs."
"Who's to say there isn't a class out there granting the ability to dispatch deceptive prophecies?" interjected Shigeo.
Cryscrin posited, "It's plausible that someone employed mental tampering, warping these men's recollections, making them believe they've erred. I've known you long enough to understand the extents you'd reach to shield your kin."
"Then bring that man to Darren's spouse, see if there's a spark of recognition. You'd probably argue I tampered with her memories, too. Use [Truthseeker] on me, but maybe I've altered my own past to deceive better. Or shall we keep bickering till we..."
An eerie coldness, accompanied by the smell of iron, disrupted Shigeo's rant. The daylight filtering through the casements dimmed, casting the room into shadows.
"... Seems we're out of time," Shigeo resumed.
In Jurelli's Holy Theocracy, inside Kakkerxat the Mighty's sanctuary, a deafening split echoed. As luminescence graced the space once more, the hitherto impeccable idol bore three deep rends on its shield. With dread in their eyes, the clerics witnessed the idol's blade, once firmly clenched, lose its balance and crash. The resulting impact scattered marble shards across the expanse.
Chapter 20: The Moment Lorian Rethinks Heroism
Groggy and disoriented, Lorian woke up, his head throbbing. The fragments of his memory showed him racing through Sanctuary's icy avenues, heading to the dragon's den. Wasn’t there some pressing news about an impending invasion?
What happened afterward? He never made it to the den, did he? Ah, it clicked! The dragon had intercepted him, and its query echoed in his mind: "Will you stand your ground, no matter the price?"
His response was clear: "Not for myself, but for those I love."
To that, the dragon had chuckled and, hoisting Lorian up, soared over the seas towards the looming threat. And then...
At the vanguard of the invading fleet, a [Cardinal of Kakkerxat] held his stance, flanked by battle-priests. Alongside him, a [Grand Marshal] gazed at the red dots in the horizon.
