Accidental Reaver

Chapter 204 - 203: Public Assignments Secret Sentences

A gloaming overtook the illusion realm, delving it into night. Roaming magma on the other side of the peach barrier kept the entire zone well-lit enough. Luke breathed in the warm air, pushing away a too curious Immortal Slime that developed an interest in his boots. The information on Sooty's Spatial Feather popped into view over the Interface vision imprint.

[Spatial Feather]

Quality: Unique

Passive - Spatial Pocket: Allows the feather to store items in a dimensional pocket. These items can be summoned by the companion at will.

Wings of Reaver: Upon activation, companion's attacks turn into true magic damage for three strikes. 60 second cooldown

Gigantification: Increases size by two to twelve times, dependent on user's will. Boosts next offensive action by 40%. Automatically deactivates after first ability or offensive attack. Unable to last more than one minute. Cooldown: 15 Minutes

Spatial Distortion: Using the feather's Spatial properties, faint seams tear in space. While in flight, or flapping to stay in place, afterimages distort and overlay the companion, concealing their true position. Interferes with auditory, spiritual, or visual senses of enemies that focus on the companion, lasts fifteen seconds. Cooldown: 15 Minutes

Left behind feather of the last bird to be a Reaver's companion. Glory to the feathered ones!

Gently running two fingers through Sooty's Feathers, Luke envisioned how this final new ability of Sooty's may help. "This lets you stay around when you or I need it most." Tapping his chin, he said, "Do you think there's a limit on how many it affects at one time?"

Sooty answered with a confused caw. Clueless as Luke on the matter. The Reaver instructed Sooty to try it on the slimes, with unsatisfactory results. The Immortal Slimes were outrageously useful in some respects, and useless in others. This time they erred on the useless side, since they ignored Sooty, unless she directly attacked them, the distortion effect left them be.

When Iona took her next break, Luke not so politely repurposed the elf beastmaster as a test subject. He felt like he'd taken after Annika with her inquisitive researching, except for ability interactions. Iona leaned against the sole tree in the realm, brown hair flowing with the gentle gales. Timber grunted at her side, while Lulu carried on an excited conversation with Sooty.

Set up, Luke signaled to Iona. "All I need you to do is aim hostile intent toward Sooty, in fact, close your eyes, then tell me if anything changes."

"You owe me one suitor chase off for me." Iona winked at him and shut her eyes.

"Something tells me that'll be the least of your worries for a while, but if you ever want to cash it in, let me know."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I hope you would, I certainly lack the capacity to remember."

Communicating through the link between them, Luke alerted Sooty to use her newest item ability. Iona veered on the tree, suddenly unsteady, she commented, "Hearing is like a silence enters into the middle of it. Aura senses are being cut to ribbons every heartbeat." Opening her eyes, Iona blinked, unsteadily stepping forward. Life mist came out, righting her posture. The corvid jumped around in shadow pockets. She flew around, generating dozens of images, worsening the sensory disruption. Iona eventually managed to orient better to where Sooty was. Sooty's Spatial Distortion ended, and the multiple images around on top of her dissolved into black feathers.

Blinking once, Iona visibly refocused her eyes. "A powerful aid, that trick that messes with the senses. Took an incredible amount of effort to pick out Sooty from all the other images, I'm not certain I got it right either." Gathering herself, Iona dipped halfway into the portal to exit. Before leaving completely, the elf offered unsolicited, but probably needed advice. "Get some rest Luke. Higher ascended need less, but less is not zero. Don't be the Defier who dies in a Tide due to being exhausted from overtraining the night before."

Timber wobbled after Iona, with Lulu on his back. The bear offered a roar as goodbye, and Lulu a single hoot. The companion pair was swallowed up by the portal, leaving Luke and company by themselves.

A nice place to be sure, on the grassy hills, slime-infested side. But not exactly the environment to take a power nap. The slimes weren't the problem, more the literal hundreds of illusion beasts plastered against the peach barrier, gnashing their teeth to get at Luke. They'd never break the barrier. Far from a rest-inducing phenomenon though.

Whispering Tome slipped itself into a fold in Luke's armor. Asking to be sure, the Reaver said, "Last tasks, anybody?"

"Does it involve slicing something apart, crystal polish, or a nice sharpening?" Xera inquired.

"Not this time, Xera."

"So neglectful. What will you do if I get metal stress cracks?"

"Essence repairs you better than any usual smith does anyway. Plus, except for a tiny amount kept back for emergency repairs, Sylen lacks any repair people in light of current events."

Wall engineers pampered the wall battlements like their most precious possession, even at these last hours. Or they had been when he went inside the Defier's Branch not all that long ago earlier in the day. Sooty started to close her eyes, nodding off, leaning against Luke's neck. His bird pushed herself every chance she got. Persistent feathered rascal.

A wisp of a smile on his face, the Reaver started toward the portal himself now. Wayfinder's gears turned, he said, "I don't have advice for any last-minute preparations. Other than usin' that noggin to get yourself some basic potions or bandages. Let this old metal scrap remind that Xera lassie could use Envoy Essence for an upgrade. Not a one of us knows how she'll change when it happens."

Running a thumb over the side of Xera's sheath, the Reaver assented. "Thanks for bringing it back up to the forefront. Last task before a well deserved rest."

After a wash, Luke settled against the soft black sheets in the number 203 dorm that belonged to him in the Defier's Branch. Outside the window, deep night greeted him.

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Stars out in the distance were clouded by smoke and thick ether, tinged with Divinity. He could see quite easily through elemental vision. A faint drum sound reached his senses at their edge, too distant to be heard by the average person, too loud for any of the higher ascended to miss. A taunt, and a clever one at that.

In sleepwear, Luke brought out a thick red potion, alongside a bandage that pushed out healing blue-green mists. The next step up in quality from before, the standard potion and bandage set tier 2 fighters used. It cost him a dozen gold, and kept the same limits as before, while slightly superior to its tier 1 cousin. Thirty minute cooldown for the potion, able to heal either fifteen hundred HP, or 12%, whichever is greater. The Life Mist Bandages diverted from the dryad stitched series he'd bought before. He was still able to use only up to two at a time. They helped mitigate all manner of negative effects and minorly dragged in ambient ether to counteract the wounded area from worsening. It wouldn't stop a serious life-threatening wound by itself, but buying you some additional minutes to seek out treatment was its main purpose.

Insightful enough to get whatever the vault would let him get—for a price—the Reaver snagged ten Third Stage Healing Potions and Life Mist Bandages. They offered up the other variants of potions too surprisingly, other than a few niche ones out of stock. Mostly ones that boosted up a particular resistance, restored stamina instead of health, or a class power resource, like mana. Elixirs were often what gave the specialized effects, talent boosting, permanent power-ups, and of course, the damned Blood Elixirs. And no, despite his best efforts, Luke couldn't get a single elixir. The Defier's treasury had none, all used up, or held on to by the other Defiers.

Leaning his shoulders into the soft bed, he lamented going into the Tide without a battle elixir. Still, he hadn't an ounce of regret. Against Nemenoth, he needed it. His breathing began to soften and smooth out. Sooty left for the realm of dreams long ago.

Xera worriedly asked, "Master, are…we going to be okay? I like being your sword-wand, don't get yourself killed. Things just started getting fun. This has all been like a dream to me, out of the chest and thinking about something else other than the whispers and regaining freedom."

"Keep your head attached, lad. Owe me a trinket master visit, remember?"

Chuckling, Luke appreciated the diversion. "Yeah, Wayfinder, I do. Doubt Sylen has one at the moment."

"We're on the same direction, means you've got no choice but to live through this hogwash," Wayfinder said.

"Xera," Luke paused, voice filling with confidence. "I'm not going to die. Just be the usual team we've always been, and we'll pull through."

Whispering Tome settled near Luke's ribs, pages open as runic letters inked themselves on the parchment, recording yet another interaction. Reaching out to the tome's binding, Luke said, "And you've got a story to record for my dad to read about when the day comes, Whispering Tome. I never regretted fighting to keep you by my side. The rest will be short. Night all."

"Sleep well, and a last guidance from ancient springs that have seen more wars than you have years. Don't try to save everyone. Some of the greatest can turn a war all alone, we aren't there, but by the magnetic fields, we ain't so far off from being so either."

"Do that nap thing you guys do, can you tell me what you dream about, master?"

"If memory serves Xera."

Hunched over a war map, Ophelia Cyrn stamped out the embers of dread. Lendaris played soothing musical notes as sound bent around her, controlled for the sake of her lesser ascended advisory team. Musai leaned against a purple and silver marble pillar in the war room. They were in a better-kept portion of her estate in the pocket realm reserved for the City Lord's use.

Servants hurried about, bringing any items requested by the council. It comprised of the Titled Noble heads, Musai, her two most trusted city commanders, the Tier 3 hunters with the most influence, and various others needed to manage the civilian or logistics support, such as the wall engineer corps.

This day was bound to come. The three remaining nations in the Edgelands experienced one every decade—minimum. That didn't make them any easier to experience. She'd taken part in the defense against them over a dozen times by this point in her life. Oftentimes, the higher tiers had no choice but to sally out to meet against the apex monsters in a Tide. No defense, including the barrier the Silver Black Tower let out, would hold up against their siege for long in that case. The walls served more as a post for ranged support, medical bays, a fallback and resupply point, and a command center.

Officially, this Tide defense was overseen by her. Unofficially, Musai had the final say on any measure. Each time the council settled on a decision, a pause would come after. The old swordsman stayed silent up to this point, other than offering a sentence or two, which often served as enough to sway things the way he liked them. None compared to the Grandmaster Swordsman in experience in defense against the Tides. Musai earned the title 'Guardian Sword' for a reason. He'd taken part in the Tides' overwhelming waves against Sylen for decades. She herself had only defended other cities in the Duchy in the past. It was no secret what those cities and towns experienced—horrible in their own right—paled to what Sylen received, the Bulwark City, and host to the Silver Black Tower.

When bequeathed the position of Sylen's City Lord years ago, after the murder of the previous City Lord, Ophelia learned how vitally important this city was—although she gathered inklings well before then—but it all started with a question.

The Tide had the capability to send portions of its forces through the ridge Sylen sat between. So why did its leaders always insist on using the majority of what they commanded to attack the Bastion City? Were they fools? Except for possibly Aelon, the Ducal Capital, no other metropolis carried this many high tier defenders, walls, or the barrier defense the Tower itself gave. Well, the answer lay therein the Tower itself, so painfully obvious when Ophelia pondered on it. Feasting on the less defended towns and taking tribute was all well and good.

To conquer any of the nations, the Towers they each held had to fall. They connected to the Defiling Barrier, a construct that kept the cost of events like a Tide tremendously high, severely limiting the influence of the god creatures in the Edgelands. Without it, Tide events could easily happen every other month, rather than every eight to ten years, as the current status quo. The Sinned Seven, figures lost to public knowledge, created it, taking full advantage of the distrust Throned harbored for one another. Each squabbled on the price they would pay to fuel a Tide, for if one sacrificed too much, losing their position was all but guaranteed. Those creatures fought more among themselves than the 'inferior races' as they viewed humans like Ophelia.

Sighing to herself, Ophelia muttered, "Those fools back in the Interior. There's no nation left to bicker over if Sylen is completely conquered."

In the past, Sylen indeed failed in defenses, but that really meant overrun while a small elite few defended the Tower, each time it'd been heavily damaged, and repaired afterward. Either through luck or by the twisted hand of fate, to this day it stood, never utterly destroyed. How she wished the chains of politics freed her, or she held the power to right this rotting Duchy by force. The day she reached the fourth tier as a sound elemental human, she thought it achieved. For a major city, it truthfully would be. But all of them? Folly. Not without mutual destruction as the best outcome.

Humanity was its own worst enemy, she realized long ago. Her ears rang from the back-and-forth arguments between who took what position where, each maneuvering for the safer sides, or back line support. Done with it all, she silently apologized to her niece, Duchess Kathrine Elaria. The troubled ruler entrusted her only real family member with this position, as no other could be trusted with it. As the doting aunt, Ophelia already feared she failed to carry that burden.

Crushing the unsightly inner weakness, the best sonic bard in the Edgelands set back her shoulders. Power entered the sound vibrations of her voice. She cut directly into a positional argument between Lorcan Pyrite, Morgana Miel, and the leader of a group of three tier 3 hunters.

"Settle the cowardice, miscreants and spineless nobility." Her eyes fixated on Morgana and Lorcan, causing their rising arguments to die unsaid. "Both leaders of a family, scheming to rise to be the fourth Great Noble Family in our small Duchy. Have you ever considered earning it on real merit? Do you believe the Duchess would refuse such a request if you took an Apostle's head?"

Tapping on the air, Ophelia let her superior tier and life rating ripple out. Sound waves formed rips in the air, forcing many to the floor. She flicked a wand on Lendaris' pages, musical notes chained down everyone in this room, except Musai, Lorcan, and Morgana. She lacked the ability to bind them easily in the case of the latter two, and would never dare to with Musai.

A shimmering sound wave materialized, a specialized scrying available to her. It unveiled the truth coming for the walls. Hundreds of thousands of monsters, described better as a black miasma all the way from the ground to hundreds of feet in the air, than anything else. Fluctuations strong enough to make her shudder came under a banner depicting Succoria's Vampiric countenance, wreathed in holy but bloodied light. Its holder, Yuriel, located the scry, smiling openly. He mouthed, 'Keep the tributes warm.' Fourteen Diplomats, each a minimum of ten feet tall and radiating terrible power. Nearly a hundred Envoys, walking mountains, titans, averaging thirty feet, their forms varied per individual, grotesque one, then switch to a baffling holiness to the next.

Ripping her wand across the scry, it unraveled, its purpose served.

"Every second you argue, is another you waste. Terrible creatures care not for your higher aspirations. Defend for the now, or smile and welcome being a meal later." With a gesture, she unraveled the sound chains she conjured. "There are to be no arguments. All Tier 3 or higher combatants take the center, excepting the four assigned to oversee the inner two-thirds of the Western and Eastern Front. Aruna Blackmoon, the Eighth, will be assigned to spearhead the extreme left flank. In light of his recent ascension, counter to the previous plan, Luke Wallace, the Ninth, will captain the final portion of the west side. Should a Diplomat break form and attack the sides, only then shall a tier 3 assist."

Flames burning low, Lorcan asked, "And if the Envoys overwhelm Defier Aruna or the Ninth?" Lorcan spat, barely able to muster the term. "What then?"

"Should those able to help them be occupied, the other tier 2 hunters unavailable, as expected of every honorable hunter, soldier, or otherwise in Sylen." She breathed in sharply. "They die, buying time for all of the Duchy."

The tiniest smirk brought mirth to Lorcan's otherwise stony face.

Ophelia asked Musai for permission over the assignment through the use of her eyes. When the swordsman gifted the slightest nod, all the air practically left her lungs. The load on her spirit lifted somewhat.