Chương 20: Interlude One: Shifting Tides

X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X Interlude One: Shifting Tides X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X There used to be only two measures of an Adventurer's worth: Level and their familia, in that order. Level for obvious reasons. It was a summation of one's entire life. Their story–both their triumphs and tragedies–carved deeply into their back in ichor and ink.

Every once of might earned in blood and tears, every spell clawed out of the void, and the skills gifted by the spirits themselves, all distilled down into plain, easy-to-read numerals. Familia, by contrast, represented a softer kind of power. It was the combined wit and guile of their patron god fused with the collective strength of their comrades.

Together, they formed a union greater than the sum of their parts: A beast of industry and political influence, far more valuable than any Valis scrounged up from the Dungeon day after day. But, as Riveria reached into her Bag of Holding and withdrew a golden-orange-hued magic potion, she couldn't help but feel like there was now a third contender that had laid its paw upon the scale. A new power that turned Orario's system, perfected over a millennium, into a triumvirate.

And that was, of course, how much of one's equipment was branded with a hyena head clutching a hammer in its teeth. She pulled the stopper off her potion and downed it in one pull, doing her best not to gag through its horrid, overly ripe, fruity flavor. Thanks to the training she received at the feet of her father, not a hint of her revulsion showed through her carefully martialed expression as she put the empty vial away.

"He's still going, hm?" Gareth grunted beside her, arms resting on the handle of his axe as he stared down into the basalt caldera stretching out below them.

"Seems like it," Finn said, standing slightly in front of them, arms crossed with his spear in the crook of his elbow.

"You would think that those things would have run out of magic by now." The crunching of gravel underfoot heralded the arrival of Bete, monster dust drifting from his clothes as his face twisted into his usual scowl. His ears flicked back as he spat to the side in disgust.

"Just another coward coasting along on borrowed power, using Magic Weapons as a crutch without a speck of strength of their own." His fangs poked through the mean sneer growing on his lips.

"I bet he'd be dead in five seconds flat if I took those fuckin' toys from him." Riveria kept her thoughts to herself, but she couldn't disagree more with Bete's assessment. The Loki familia's executives watched the chaotic battle raging below: a disciplined group of heavily-armored dwarves holding their shield wall against endless waves of monsters pouring out from the infamous Colosseum.

Barbarians led the charge, the deep-Dungeon Minotaurs slamming into the dwarven line in a thunderous stampede of hooves and billowing breath. Even at this distance, the monsters enraged trumpeting made the ground tremble. Lizardman Elites guarded the Barbarians' flanks, aqua-colored bipedal lizards loping alongside their stronger kin. They acted as skirmishers, hurling landform spears at the Adventurers from afar.

Trailing behind the charge were scattered packs of Loup Garou and Skull Sheep, both species eager to slip into the growing chaos like ghosts to strike at unexpected angles. At the head of the dwarven host stood a lone figure: a dwarf gripping two massive warhammers in a low-ready stance, bellowing commands to his men. Even at this distance, Mister Maddic's craftsmanship was unmistakable–glowing blue lines traced across the weapons in an intricate web of pulsating magical arrays.

Smoke curled from the soot-stained warheads, both dyed a deep crimson with monster blood. Just before the Monster Train could crash into the crowd, the lead dwarf spun one hammer into a reverse grip, leaned forward, and leaped straight into the oncoming horde. At the peak of his jump, he unleashed a furious battle cry. Twin pillars of sapphire flames erupted from each end of his hammers. He became a spiraling blue tornado as the tide fell upon him–and shattered.

He tore through their ranks like a top, ripping monsters asunder in gory explosions as limbs and broken bodies flew through the air, trailing ribbons of blood like streamers. Most slammed right back into the horde, killing yet more of their unnatural brethren. The second he broke through to the other side of the horde, the dwarf stomped the ground, hammering himself to a stop as he pivoted around on one leg. Both warhammers rose high–and fell.

The monsters had only just finished spinning around to track the threat when a wall of concussive force blew them backwards into their fellows, grasping tendrils of purple lighting arcing off their smoking corpses. They were still reeling when the dwarf's allies fell upon them from behind. From there, the pitched battle descended to little more than a summary execution as the group went about the field. Ending the threat with an efficiency of action that even the clerks of the Guild would appreciate.

"They're Magni's children, yes?" Finn asked, looking askance at her like she was supposed to know everything, as per usual. Thankfully, Gareth came to her rescue before she had to answer and make a fool of herself.

"Hmh, the one with the hammers is Dormul Bolster. Good kid, but can't hold his booze to save his life. M' pretty sure he's only Level Three." A bolt of shock speared through her, and she was not the only one. All of Loki's command staff spun about to stare incredulously at Gareth, who continued to watch the battle as he stroked his beard."' Level Three'? You're sure?" She pressed, turning to follow his gaze. Venturing this deep in at such a low level…

You'd have to be either insane or carried by someone far stronger. But from what she had seen so far, Bolster was by far the most powerful Adventurer of the field. Thanks in no small part to the hammers he wielded.

"Yep," Gareth nodded, popping the P.

"A fresh one, too. Couldn't be more than E rank at best." He paused, head tilting consideringly.

"Ya' think I could get Max to make me my own hammers like that? They look like a right riot to use." Bete wordlessly growled, shooting a dirty look at Gareth and then at the dwarves below. Squaring his shoulders, he stalked back off into the Dungeon's twisting stone labyrinth. The executives watched him go before sharing a commiserating look. A small sigh slipped through her nose as his white-furred tail disappeared into the dark. She understood Bete's anger; sympathized with him, even.

What he went through would have turned anyone bitter. She just wished her young friend were just a bit less hostile towards those undeserving of his hate. And to be more open to other interpretations of what true strength is.

"Alright, we've done enough sightseeing." Finn broke the awkward silence.

"We need to get a move on. Everyone, gather up your squads and prep them for another push. I want to reach Under Bridge before nightfall. We can hit the Colosseum on the return trip." They shared nods and went their separate ways. Riveria strode towards the rear element of the Loki familia's experimental expedition. Just two up-armored wagons surrounded by her fellow magicians and the familia's contracted support groups. Blacksmiths worked in teams, rushing equipment back into working order over improvised anvils.

All the while, healers fritted too and fro, attending to the wounded. Thankfully, the latter group was small, and their injuries were light. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. This was just a short run to the Forty-Fifth floor and back, after all. Little more than an equipment test before they make a real attempt for the Fifty-Ninth next month. It would be an unspeakable tragedy for one of their own to fall for such a paltry reason.

Seeing her mentor approaching, Lefiya jogged over–sapphire eyes wide with anxiety. Her red coat flapped widely behind her as she slid to a stop before her. The golden-haired elf nervously twisted her hands around her staff as she looked up at her.

"Is there a problem, sensei? Why have we stopped?" She gave her fretting protege a reassuring smile.

"No, we were merely observing another party." She looked up, projecting her voice to the whole group.

"Unfortunately, it appears that another familia is currently utilizing the Colosseum, so we will be bypassing it and continuing on." A chorus of groans met her words, and she couldn't blame them. The room that spawned an endless horde of monsters was a fantastic resource for farming both raw material and Excelia.

"Not to worry, we will make another attempt on our return trip. So, everyone, please finish your work quickly, we will be departing soon." Everyone redoubled their efforts, the blacksmith laying on the finishing touches as healers forwent being frugal with their Mind; Instead, just dumping their healing spells on their patients in an effort to get them on their feet. Riveria walked around to the back of the wagons, where she laid eyes on exactly what they were testing this dive.

Twenty Bags of Holding, all hanging from hooks in neat rows–ten to each wagon, separated to make sure the loss of one cart was not too devastating. It used to take a whole baggage train to dive deeper than the Thirtieth. One that stretched exponentially further with every floor traversed. Ammunition, food, and medicine stores were always tight–carefully rationed out in order to last both the descent and the return. Space aboard the wagons went for a premium, where only the most critical of items were allowed.

Any loot taken has to be painstakingly carried back by hand, or else left where it falls. But with Max's bags? These two wagons combined could hold nearly five tons of goods. No longer did mages and archers have to be frugal with their projectiles, nor did healers have to carefully hoard their health potions. Their cooks could work with real food, rather than just doling out hardtack and jerky.

They could carry an entire army's worth of supplies down into the belly of the beast, and still only have to worry about defending two measly wagons. Compared to past ventures, the journey down so far had been as easy as a relaxing stroll, and just as pleasant. They no longer had to negotiate fifty wagons' worth of goods through the cramped maze of the Dungeon, meaning that the rest of Orario did not have to work around the disruption caused by a major expedition.

The familia could all move as one cohesive unit, rather than stretched thin across multiple floors to defend their supplies against relentless waves of monsters. Getting all their loot back to the surface was still a logistical issue to be solved, but hopefully, Lady Loki will be successful in commissioning more bags from the gnoll. Perhaps… she would also pay him a visit. It would be interesting to see if he had anything that could possibly improve her own combat effectiveness.

X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X Hephaestus leaned up against the stone pillar with her arms crossed, watching Orario's newest curio raise up a workshop like none other before her very eye. Well, that wasn't exactly true. The only other workshop like the one unfolding before her was just across town. Under the command of But. One. Mortal. Unconsciously, her fists tightened, the leather of her gloves creaking.

She had greeted Max the very next morning after sending her letter, and left him with an empty warehouse and a mountain of rare materials. Eight hours later, the room was already filled to the brim with the bare bones of machines she could only begin to guess the function of. That was not normal. Not possible. Max himself was on his hands and knees, oblivious to her presence as he was half-buried in the guts of the massive forge-hammer.

Over the whining din of whatever tool he was using, she could just about hear him humming a song under his breath, tail swishing to the beat. For two billion Valis, she had ordered an exact copy of Max's workshop, as it was at the time of the contract being accepted. For two billion Valis, she was getting a workshop that was as close to her own back in Tenkai as to be terrifying. What kind of land did Max come from? What kind of people lived there?

And what had inspired those people, driven them to make such creations? Hephaestus knew empirically that innovation was almost entirely driven by external forces and societal stresses. That was what led people to build bigger and better tools… and better weapons. Her people faced off against the unknowable beast beneath their feet. One capable of flooding the world with unstoppable monsters if it were ever given the chance to do so. That was what inspired her children to work tirelessly to hone their craft.

To build the ultimate weapon that would carry Orario's champions deeper and deeper into that dreaded pit. But her children more or less practiced their trade in the same way their parents did, and their parents, and so on for millennia. Blacksmithing as a trade has not changed much from the fundamentals since she first descended all those years ago. So what kind of forces would demand the kind of innovation she saw unfolding before her very eyes?

What kind of enemy did Max's people face that necessitated these kinds of tools? She had heard whispers of even more intelligent species from his homeland, tens if not hundreds more. But beyond that, the furball was being frustratingly vague about his past. The only things she, and by extension Orario, knew by large were just factoids about his life, each one painstakingly ferreted out of him via gifts of alcohol and food. Who knew what kind of horrors lurked wherever the gnoll had come from?

She just prayed that they could not follow him here. X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X-x-X Freya luxuriated on her throne, a glass of red wine raised in one hand, the other resting on one of Maedmux's Bags of Holding in her lap. Out of the grand plate-glass window that wrapped across her hall from floor to ceiling, she watched Orario flow beneath her. Small people living their small lives, their souls dull and uninteresting to her gaze.

Their immortal selves twisted and rolled with the usual fare of mortals–greed, self-obsession, lust–only a few stood out of the herd, flecks of genuine good swirling around through the miasma of mediocrity. The only exceptions to the rule could already be found under the protection of the gods. Such as the one beside her. Ottar's golden light washed over her like a welcome balm, as steadfast and loyal as the man himself.

She allowed herself to relish the warmth of his soul before turning her attention back towards her newest muse. Maedmux Maddic. When she first laid eyes on the bizarre creature, she was disgusted–No, disgusted is not a strong enough descriptor, it was more accurate to say she was sickened. Not once in her immortal life had she seen such a warped, wretched soul.

The thing calling itself Max was, in actuality, two halves taken from two separated creatures, haphazardly grafted together in a horrific display of Animancy–one of rigid order and cold logic, and the other of bestial rage and fiery creativity. The two souls thrashed together, each one trying to devour the other in a spiraling display of viscous rejection. But… As the days passed, and then weeks, the creature didn't drop dead as its body rejected its monstrous soul, as she thought it would.

Instead, the two halves reached a sort of harmony with one another. They had ceased attempting to overpower the other and now rested in symbiotic cohabitation of one body. Something that, by all established knowledge on the subject, should be impossible. It should be, but Maedmux had somehow found a way to live with two souls crammed inside one head. And outwardly? One would never guess that the gnoll should be a raving, bipolar mess frothing at the mouth.

He acted normally enough–or well, as normal as it appeared to be baseline for the creature. The two halves had slipped into a holy unique symbiosis, forming a singular mass that vaguely resembled the taijitu. Chaos and order, coiling together protectively over one another in an almost… familial way. It was both bizarre and mesmerizing to behold. And she wanted a closer look. To find out what makes the twin beasts that call themselves Max tick.

She took a pull of her wine, savoring the various fruity notes of Demeter's finest vintage. She would have to be patient, of course. The gnoll was too hot a commodity right now. Everyone wanted a piece of him, if for different reasons. A corner of her lip turned up. All she would have to do is wait for some other fool god to act first. Then, as the chaos spreads, she could swoop in and claim him for herself. It would be nice to have an in-house blacksmith, after all.