Chương 40: Gym Rats vs Greater Roc

Taison had the most important job. If not the most important, then at least the scariest. Because, according to Jordan's plan, the Speedster had to be the first to burst out of [Wall of Fire]'s protective dome. TAISON of HUNDRED SPRINGS cast: Misty Step. TAISON of HUNDRED SPRINGS cast: Longstrider. Two spells back to back. First a [Misty Step] to 'phase through' the [Wall of Fire], followed by a [Longstrider] on himself to run faster than the wind.

Taison had to go first because he had to be the first one to draw the Greater Roc's attention—to draw its aggro, as it were, if only for a brief moment. It worked. The Roc turned away from the bulk of the party, to then chase after the lone Speedster. It was the reprieve Heron needed to channel off [Wall of Fire], to allow more Gym Rats to break out and enact the rest of the plan. Bramble stayed behind to counteract Finch's [Bleed] with [Aura of Vitality].

Pewter, Rowan, and Pinion left the nest, determined even if not quite ready to play their part. First though, Taison had to survive the Roc's [Frenzied] wrath. The bird monster showed every intention of claiming its kill, diving down with another [Galestrike]. Taison managed to dodge it with a timely [Misty Step]. Which led to the perfect opportunity for… PEWTER SAPLING cast: Manipulate Ropes. Pewter had the most important job. If not the most important, then at least the most pivotal.

Everything hinged on this one step, aimed at tethering a king of the skies to the earth. It was the same spell Pathfinder Foxhill had once used to lash a cauldron to the roof of a wagon. In the hand of a bona fide Roper, however, the spell became more powerful, more efficient, more precise. Sturdy [Ropes] snaked along the ground at speed. They then wrapped around a Roc foot, presently dug into the earth from a whiffed [Galestrike]. The Roc let out a screech of indignation as it took to the sky. It didn't get far.

Because Pewter's [Ropes] held, pulled earthward by… ROWAN of BLUE RIVER cast: Bull's Strength. Rowan had the most important job. If not the most important, then at least the most physically demanding. If Pewter's [Ropes] were the tether, then Rowan the Porter was the anchor to pull everything down. His muscles bulged and his face screwed up with tremendous effort as he played tug-of-war with a giant bird monster. Well, the giant bird monster was winning, Jordan saw to his horror. The line went taut.

Deafening wingbeats carried the Greater Roc up and up into the air, as a young Porter struggled to keep his footing. Poor Rowan looked just seconds away from being dragged into sky altogether. This was the part of every heist movie where the plan went awry. Where the hero had to improvise a fix, preferably while cashing in on some foreshadowing. Well, Jordan was no hero, but he perhaps more than anyone had his finger on the pulse of the story. Jordan had the least important job. No job at all, strictly speaking.

He'd been the one to hatch the plan, wrought from an elaborate ability check as well as his encyclopedic knowledge of Vesselia's spellbook. He knew exactly what each of his Gym Rat buddies could bring to the table, and his mind had slowly but surely adapted to thinking about magic in three dimensions. He'd also taken a backseat as soon as the plan was in motion. All because he couldn't envision what he brought to the table. Yet, now that the plan was going to shit before his eyes, he had to do something.

And what did he have to offer except his jank-ass 500-pound Vessel?

"Use this!" he screamed into the buffeting wind as he gave the Heavenly Cauldron a mighty push—squeezing every newton of mechanical force out of his [STR 16] muscles. The cauldron rolled, picking up momentum on a slight downhill, before landing at Rowan's feet. The Porter grabbed it by the handle—a counterweight against the Roc's powerful pull. He then let out a meaty roar as he yanked the [Ropes] for all they were worth. The king of the skies hurtled to the ground for an earthshaking crash.

The impact sent red feathers fluttering into the air. Frenzied Greater Roc lost: 15 HP. A chunk of damage, but nowhere near enough to finish the job. No, for that, the party needed to pull out the big guns. A two-step process initiated by… PINION CLEARSHOUT cast: Greater Blight. Pinion had the most important job. If not the most important, then at least the one that required the most technical finesse. The man was a Dendromancer, a master of all things plants.

He could help trees grow, or perhaps reshape flowers and vines into something that might resemble weapons. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. Or, in this case, instantly desiccate a big patch of grass. Lush green flashed into brittle ocher. The color of death, of [Blight], of kindling. In a radius big enough to encircle the Greater Roc. It was a big-time spell requiring a big-time VR spend. Pinion could cast it once and only once…

which meant that the next man up had to make it count. HERON CATCHGRAIN cast: Immolation. Heron had the most important job. If not the most important, then at least the deadliest. The Lv. 15 Pyromancer was the party's main source of DPS. And they needed said damage to stick, even after their attack window had passed. The whole of the Greater Roc caught fire, the effects of [Immolation] spreading and swelling by feeding on [Blighted] grass.

The Roc shrieked again—a sound most terrible and almost pitiable—as it took to the sky. It didn't get far. How could it, when its wings had already burnt down to cinders by the third beat? Frenzied Greater Roc lost: 24 HP. Frenzied Greater Roc lost: 29 HP. Frenzied Greater Roc lost: 36 HP. Frenzied Greater Roc has died. The air filled, disturbingly enough, with the smell of roast chicken. Jordan nearly gagged, even as his whole body coursed with an emotion he couldn't name.

An emotion all but completely foreign to a 21st-century Earthling. Relief, remorse, excitement, jubilation, triumph. And most of all, a rush of pride and love for his brothers in arms. They'd done it. A bunch of novices, not much more than mewling babes according to one instructor. They'd put their heads, hearts, and talents together to bring down a formidable foe. A veritable boss fight if this had happened on the cracked screen of Jordan's laptop. The Gym Rats celebrated with unrestrained verve.

Taison, Pewter, Rowan, and Pinion shouted superlatives and clapped each other's backs, even as they rushed back to the sixth member of their clique. Because Bramble had had the most important job. If not the most important, then at least the reason the party had fought for. The burly Thaumaturge greeted his friends with joyous laughter, even as Ranger Finch continued to convalesce within his [Aura]. Jordan himself hung back, smiling after his friends. He couldn't quite name the reason for his hesitancy.

Perhaps impostor syndrome had reared its ugly head again. Perhaps he was a little too much of an unc to be included in his own clique. Or perhaps still, he hung back to see how Heron might celebrate this collaborative victory. The answer was that he didn't. At least not outwardly. The Ranger didn't seem keen to meet Jordan's eyes, instead choosing to watch the Gym Rats huddle around Finch and Bramble. His expression was, in a word, unsettled.

Nothing like his usual sneer, but also nothing like the contorted rage he'd shown the moment Finch had gotten hurt. It looked as though the Ranger himself was in search of an answer, one that had yet to drop down from the sky along with the Greater Roc's charred carcass. And no wonder. Because the party wasn't out of the woods yet. They'd slain a giant monster, yes, and in spectacular fashion… but their mission remained unresolved. The tornado bore down on them, showing no signs of receding or even slowing down.

If anything, it'd grown again in size and potency, as it swallowed up everything in its path. Soon, the unharvested remains of the Roc and the Jumper Rats—the party's hard-won spoils of war—would get sucked into the heart of the storm. And the same fate awaited the soldiers, if they were to dally for much longer. It had to be stopped. That was what Jordan had come here for, wasn't it? To fight a fucking tornado and win. Jordan took a step forward. Into the wind, toward the tornado.

He had no plan, every ounce of his ingenuity already spent on taking down the Greater Roc. He had only a sense of duty. To his friends, to his instructors, to the city that was his new home away from home. But more than that, to the irresistible calling of a second lifetime.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like? We're here to stop this tornado, aren't we? Well, that's what I'm gonna try to do." Heron had no response to this, but the face he made said plenty. You and what army? Faced with the enormity of the task, even the experienced Ranger was at a loss. What hope did lowly humans have against a sheer force of nature? Jordan took another step. Getting heavier, now that the winds had picked up again.

"Stop this madness, Recruit Yu! You—we've already done enough. We'll return to shelter posthaste… and pray to Xihe that the city walls might hold."

"Sorry, but I'm a Westerner. I don't believe in your gods."

"… I'll pretend I didn't hear that. And turn back this instant, that's an order! What do you even hope to achieve? You and your bronze scrap of a Vessel that, as far as I can tell, has only ever held you back."

"I'm a Gatekeeper!" Jordan spun to face the Ranger, eyes wild with sudden fury.

"Part and parcel of keeping gates is to open them when the time calls for it. And if there's no path forward, then I've got to force my way through. Am I wrong?" Heron didn't answer. What could he say to that, really? Such utter nonsense uttered with the utmost of unearned confidence. Jordan himself didn't quite know where it had all come from, but he wasn't about to take it back either. He pressed on. Ever closer to the heart of the storm.

Along the way, he once again came upon the Heavenly Cauldron, standing upright where Porter Rowan had left it. By force of habit, he leaned over to peer into the basin, knowing full well he'd find nothing but a pitiful 135-cc speck of mana. Except said mana was glowing. The tell-tale rosy iridescence of active magic. A pitiful speck of it, yes, but unmistakable in its implication. Jordan looked around, round eyes darting for an explanation. At ground level, he was met only by Heron's quizzical frown.

But as he looked up… There. Inside the raging tornado. An intermittent flash of pink. Almost like a lighthouse casting mana glow into the sky. In warning? Or perhaps in invitation? The game couldn't have thrown more hints at him if it tried. There was nothing for it. Jordan reached into the basin and touched the light. JORDAN YU manifested: Voidcross.