Chương 102: Bones and Bounties

Cal burst into the wider cavern, his legs struggling to keep his feet beneath him. A deep tremor shuddered through the stone, rattling his teeth. He didn't look back as dust from the collapsing tunnel billowed into the room around him. He ran on. Following the perfect map in his mind, he made it quickly through every turn and junction. Left at the split passage. Right past the collapsed alcove. Straight through the chamber of shattered stalagmites. Burning lungs. A hammering heart.

His world narrowed to that frantic beat as the tunnel walls blurred into glowing-fungi smears around him. The tremors finally began to fade. Twenty yards. Fifty. A hundred. The rumble diminished to nothing, leaving only the ragged sound of his own breathing and the urgent slap of his boots on stone. Pure adrenaline and fear drove Cal's body forward as he pushed harder, not trusting that he was out of danger. The passages twisted and turned.

Following his mental map without conscious thought, he ducked through a low archway and vaulted over a pile of rubble. His shoulder still throbbed where the tendril had punched through, even after the potion, and nausea roiled in his gut. He ran until his legs gave out. Cal stumbled, catching himself against a tunnel wall as his chest heaved and sweat poured down his face to sting his eyes. For a long moment, he simply stood there, listening. The subterranean rumbling was gone.

The ancient rage hadn't been able to follow. His perception swept the tunnel, searching for movement. Bare stone walls, worn smooth by centuries of water flow, led to a small alcove on his left that was barely wide enough for one person but offered a defensible space. Cal limped into the alcove and slumped against the back wall, his spear clattering to the ground beside him. As the adrenaline drained away, it left behind a hollow exhaustion that had his hands shaking.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, forcing his lungs to slow. His thumb followed the outline of the runic whistle in his pouch. One breath was all it would take to summon Selara, who could carve a path out for him. Safety was just a sound away. But what would that rescue cost? The need for deliverance made him uneasy for more reasons than one, as his entire arrangement with the Veils was built on his value as a competent and reliable apprentice.

An extraction from his first solo mission would flip that script, turning him from a worthy investment into a potential liability and creating a personal obligation to Selara that had nothing to do with money. He loathed the idea of owing such a debt, of being the apprentice who couldn't handle himself. And while he thought that he was getting along well with them, who knew if something like this would make him less in their eyes? With so much of this world coming down to personal power…

the last thing he wanted to do was show weakness. Especially to Aurelian… Besides, I've come this far on my own and I want to see this through. It might be dumb, but the reality is I'm not always going to have some magic whistle to blow for salvation. I need to go as far as I can on my own. Conflicted as he was with his decision, the path to the exit was anything but clear. While his memory provided a static map of the tunnels he'd traversed, it couldn't reveal what had shifted and moved since his descent.

Spirit beasts wandered and predators hunted, making the world down here as dynamic as it was hostile: he had been lucky not to run into anything during his mad dash. Only the [Spiritual Pulse] could grant him that awareness, though his earlier use of it during a period of distracted frustration had been… foolish, to say the least. He needed to master the technique. Now. Still, he wasn't a complete idiot.

Pulling the whistle from his pack, he placed it between his teeth so he would have one last chance to call for aid if his practice went wrong. First, let's try a baseline without the rune. Maybe I don't even need to risk charging [Continuance] in my spirit? After activating [Spiritual Perception] and removing its spatial component, he focused on the technique he had so foolishly ignored.

His mind envisioned the pulse's boundary as a dissipating mist, a gentle gradient designed to fade into the cavern's ambient Mana before he attempted to flood the sense with an active surge from his own Mana pool. An attempt to mimic the discharge from the arcane battery. Power zipped out from his spirit in his experiment, but it was a weak projection that collapsed a couple dozen yards from him. He knew he couldn't force much more Mana through in that method, and it wasn't useful in such a limited range.

As expected. I need the capacitor. Cal's will reached inward, this time forming the familiar hourglass shape of a [Continuance] rune inside his spirit. He drew a thread of power from his Mana font, feeding a minimal charge into the glyph. The mental effort increased. He had to maintain the rune's structure, control the charge, and actively soften the edge of his perception simultaneously. Then he released the pulse.

His perception rippled outward as a small wave, expanding in a smooth sphere that traveled thirty yards from his position before fading. The area within the pulse's range was spiritually barren, revealing nothing but the ambient hum of the Depths. [Your proficiency with Spiritual Pulse (F) has increased to Practiced] Better. But still weak. Cal repeated the process, incrementally increasing the Mana charge with each attempt.

A larger investment meant a stronger pulse, but it also demanded tighter control over the softened boundary, as the [Feathered Edge] had to scale proportionally. He charged the rune with double the initial Mana and released it. The pulse reached sixty yards. At the edge of the expanded radius, a new cluster of spiritual signatures appeared, but they were just common F-tier spirit herbs. He pushed the charge higher, but more slowly.

The work became a meditative pattern of charge and release that commanded his full attention, causing the fear to recede and the pain in his body to fade into background noise. Eighty yards. One hundred. The pulse traveled further with each iteration, layering a larger spiritual map of the tunnel system in his mind, which refreshed the limited sections he had already traveled and scanned on the way down. This time, the return revealed a significant find deeper in the rock, nearly ninety yards away.

The signature was dense and metallic, its High F-tier quality resonating with the taste of some spiritually infused metal ore. If that was actually accessible it would be worth mining a sample. At a hundred and twenty yards, the pulse contacted something living. Cal tensed, his hand moving instinctively to his spear. The returning aura was one he recognized: vorlag serpents. The den of them bunched in the side passage he had fled past, barely moved from the last location he'd pinged them at.

Relief washed through him that they weren't on his trail, and furthermore that the technique hadn't disturbed them, though he tempered it with caution. Similar tier beasts weren't a definitive test, even if the pulse might have been powerful enough to alert them. An E-tier creature would be more sensitive and far more likely to notice the intrusion. He pushed the pulse's range further, surveying the tunnels beyond the serpent den. At a hundred and fifty yards, he detected a lone aura to the northwest.

The signature was one he had felt with the Disaster Pulse, but it belonged to a creature he still hadn't encountered. Probably a hjort weasel and it's… E-tier! His mouth went dry, and he was keenly aware of the whistle's cool metal pressed between his lips. The urge to blow it was barely being restrained by his self-control. The creature was a known predator, capable of taking down vorlag serpents with its venom resistance and mineral-infused claws.

If his pulse triggered a hostile response, he would have only seconds to prepare for a fight he wasn't ready for. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. This is the real test. With his body taut and ready, fists gripping the spear shaft, he waited a moment before sending out another pulse at the same power to ping the location again. The weasel's aura remained placid and unchanging, indifferent in his perception.

He repeated the process every thirty seconds for five full minutes until he'd almost exhausted his Mana, each pulse wrapping the weasel's position in a feathered scan. The creature remained calm and stationary, showing no signs of awareness or aggression. Cal finally let out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging with relief. It works. [Your proficiency with Spiritual Pulse (F) has increased to Adept] The whistle's metallic taste lingered on his tongue after he took it from his mouth.

He looked at the silver object for a long moment before tucking it securely back into his pack. A quiet confidence straightened his spine, pushing back the exhaustion. He had faced the test and passed. He could get himself out of here. First, I need to regenerate my spiritual energy. Potions were out of the question, which made [Meditation] the obvious choice. Its passive regeneration rate had once been painfully slow, a limitation Aurelian had corrected during a particularly poignant lesson.

He needed to create a low-pressure zone. The technique was fairly simple in theory and execution, made a touch tricky by his current state. Settling into a more comfortable seated posture with his back against the alcove wall, Cal closed his eyes and focused inward until his awareness sank into the quiet stillness of emptied thoughts. His Mana pool appeared in his mind's eye, a reservoir below his navel. Around him, the ambient Mana of the cavern drifted in lazy currents, the natural flow into his spirit minimal.

Guiding a small amount of Stamina from his abdomen's cellular reserves, he let the physical energy flow downward through his channels until it coalesced around the font in a thin, porous shell. The trick was to make the wall permeable and maintain the correct thickness. Too much and it would damage his channels further; too thin, and it would have no effect. Cal shaped the Stamina into a loose lattice that acted as a one-way valve.

The spiritual membrane created a region of lower spiritual pressure, and the currents in the cavern air shifted as ambient Mana was drawn toward the artificial gradient to equalize. Cool Mana trickled through the construct and into his spirit at an accelerated rate. When it transitioned from external to internal, the free Mana was immediately subjected to a natural passive process that slowly brought it under his will and direction.

This allowed him to pull it behind the Stamina screen and into his pool, maintaining the gentle suction effect in an ongoing cycle that slowly filled his font. The process continued for thirty minutes while his mind split its attention between holding the Stamina and monitoring the Mana's cycle. He dissolved the shell only when his pool reached roughly ninety percent capacity, allowing the Stamina to dissipate back into his body. Cal turned his attention to his depleted Stamina reserves.

The fuel that powered his physical Abilities was scattered throughout his muscles and bones, drawn down to critical levels by his flight and the fight with the serpent. He pulled some specialty dry rations from his pack and bit into the nutrient-dense jerky. His gut rebelled slightly, but Cal gritted his teeth and forced it down with a hard swallow. He waited, breathing slowly through his nose until the worst of the feeling passed.

The ration sat in his belly like a stone, slow to break down, and he needed a way to accelerate the conversion of the food's energy into usable resources. Luckily, Aurelian had a trick for that, too. Cal drew a thin thread of power from his near-full Mana pool and used his Intent to manifest it physically, layering the Mana over the bread in his stomach like a caustic agent. A faint heat grew in his abdomen.

The Mana's presence accelerated the ration's digestion, dissolving the dense fibers and converting the nutrients into Stamina with supernatural efficiency. Cal maintained the technique until the jerky was fully processed, leaving him with a feeling of balanced readiness. [Your proficiency with Meditation (F) has increased to Practiced] Time to get this show back on the road. Testing his legs, Cal stood.

The antidote had eliminated the numbness, and though his shoulder still throbbed where the tendril had impaled him, the healing potion had sealed the wound. He was functional. Cal activated [Spiritual Perception] and sent out a pulse. The three-dimensional star map of synesthetic impressions materialized in his mind. The vorlag den was to the southwest, the serpents still dormant. To the northwest the hjort weasel remained unmoved.

Between him and the surface, the pulse revealed scattered F-tier auras, most of them stationary or having moved slightly. He headed into the dim tunnels, his perception guiding him through with what his son would have called a 'map hack.' Every minute, he sent out a new pulse, updating his mental chart of nearby threats. The journey became a taut game of avoidance, a careful path through a hostile ecosystem. Then, a powerful aura registered on his pulse. E-tier mosshide bear!

The next ping revealed it had closed half the distance, moving with undeniable purpose directly toward his location. Adrenaline surged through him. Is it tracking me? The serpent's blood, my own… I'm a walking lure! Spinning on his heel, he abandoned the wide passage and plunged into a narrow fissure to his left.

Rock scraped against his pack as he scrambled through the tight space, not stopping until twenty yards of winding tunnel separated him from the main corridor, where he pressed himself into a cramped recess. The E-tier aura stormed past the fissure's entrance; a huge beast whose passage sent a slight tremor through the ambient Mana. The creature's footfalls were soundless, its movement through the tunnel system impossibly quiet for something so large.

Cal watched its aura track the scent trail he had deliberately abandoned. Then, at the narrow fork where he'd broken away, the beast stopped. His heart hammered against his ribs. He pressed himself deeper into the tight crevice, making himself as small as possible while a sniffing sound rushed from the tunnel. Cal held his breath, daring not to move. After a moment that stretched entirely too long, the bear withdrew. The creature's aura turned and resumed its silent journey down the wider path.

Motionless, Cal waited until the signature faded completely from his pulse's range. Only then did he allow himself to breathe, though the relief was fleeting. From his pack, he pulled a small bottle of mosshide repellent, uncorking it to splash the oily liquid over his shoulders and chest. The foul organic stench was a nauseating perfume, but with his scent hopefully masked, he resumed the climb through the smaller tunnels. Nerves only… slightly frayed.

The shafts widened gradually as he rose, the narrow passages giving way to the larger, root-carved chambers of the Rootbound Depths proper. Cal used his pulse and his beam to cross-reference and update data with his memory of the descent. The glimmerdew moss patches were close. He felt his purpose now, the strain of avoidance replaced by the concentration demanded of skilled work. The emerald glow of the fresh moss finally appeared in the dimness, its patches clinging to the undersides of wide fern fronds.

Working with speed, Cal used his damaged harvesting knife to make cuts that preserved the delicate root structure. He filled his pack carefully, as each harvested patch glowed to illuminate his hands and cast eerie green shadows on the surrounding flora. The methodical cadence of cutting and packing allowed his mind to settle, letting the chaos of the deep tunnels fade. His perception maintained a constant watch, but the threats remained distant.

When the pack was full, Cal straightened and performed one last wide-area pulse. The returning data painted the Depths in his mind, with F-tier auras littering the landscape and the E-tiers much rarer and more spread out. And then, tucked high above him, a faint, non-living spiritual signature appeared. Cal snapped his attention onto it, quickly analyzing what he felt. The spiritual signature was unmistakable, and his perception identified it instantly as an enchanted metal of E-tier quality.

What is that doing up there? Curiosity overrode caution. Cal navigated the twisting roots toward the aura, letting the spiritual signature lead him through the biological maze. The path required a careful ascension, and he used his strong hands to find purchase on the bark as he moved up toward the item. [New Skill Gained: Climbing (F) - Novice] Skeletal remains appeared amidst a crevice in the dim light.

Wedged into the narrow gap between two big roots lay a long-dead adventurer whose body was now little more than bones. Time and moisture had rotted away the flesh and clothing, leaving behind decayed gear, decomposed leather armor, and the shapeless mass of a collapsed pack. But clutched in the skeleton's arms was the remnant of a spear. Its haft, crafted from a dark wood, had been snapped jaggedly a few feet from the tip. The spearhead itself was pristine.

Forged from a lustrous metal that brightly reflected what little light there was, the leaf-shaped blade was expertly crafted, and its edge remained keen. To his [Spiritual Perception] the aura hummed with a song of deadly purpose. How long have you been here? Cal drew his harvesting knife. He wedged the broken weapon against a root to hold it steady and then set the knife to the wood just below the spearhead's socket. He carved into the dense grain, methodically stripping away shavings until the haft weakened.

When he'd thinned it enough, he placed it across two roots and gave it a stomp with his boot, breaking the spearhead free. Then he secured it delicately into his pack. He was about to turn away when his perception shocked him. With his focus finally off the spearhead's dominating aura, three fainter signatures revealed themselves from the spiritual noise, almost lost in the quality of the enchanted weapon before. They were clustered near the skeleton's hip, red signatures of E-tier power. He looked to the source.

A dark mound of what appeared like hardened muck - the last remnant of a rotted leather pouch - was lumped beside the skeleton's pelvis. He carefully prodded the lump with his harvesting knife, confirming what his senses already told him. The blade struck something hard. Wiping away the filth, Cal uncovered three spirit stones and a handful of tarnished gold and silver coins mixed into the debris.

The unexpected bounty was a welcome find, and as he gathered it, he was grateful he hadn't succumbed to fear and blown the whistle. He descended from the crevice and sent out one last pulse. [Your proficiency with Climbing (F) has increased to Practiced] The path to the exit was clear. Cal followed the scent of woodsmoke and the faint taste of pine on the air, his exhausted body moving on autopilot. Every muscle ached.

His shoulder throbbed, and his legs felt like lead weights, but the load on his back was proof that he'd succeeded, and the success felt good. The crimson light of second dusk began filtering through the massive roots as he emerged into the clearing. The air was fresh and alive, a welcome contrast to the stagnant confinement of the deep tunnels. A campfire crackled, and Selara looked up from where she was reading a book. Her eyes widened.

As he limped into the clearing, she took in his battered state, registering the grime on his face and the way he favored his left leg. Then her attention shifted to the bulging bag slung over his shoulder, and her mouth fell open. Cal managed a tired grin.

"I got the moss."