CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I’m telling you there has to have been some sort of mistake!” exclaimed princess Caerinth.
“Uh… begging your pardon, your majesty?” Casandra Knightly tried.
“And I’m telling you that no such error could possibly have occurred!” the arch magister shot back. “My rune-work is impeccable. In fact the only reasonable explanation that readily comes to mind, is a pointedly lax approach to the enunciation of certain euclidean vowels!”
There was a sharp intake of breath. A look of red-faced affront marring the princesses normally angelic features.
“You dare!”
“I-if I could just have a moment of your time…?”
“And so what if I do! Never, and I mean never, have I had to deal with a more impetuous student! All of that time, all of those resources. Wasted! And all because of an arrogant! Dismissive-!”
“Arch magus, this really is something you should see…!”
“Well! If it truly was the fault of mine, then surely that reflects more on the instructor, than it does the student? After all, was it not you yourself that once said-!”
“Bull headed! Short sighted! Uncooperative-!”
“I really rather think you should take a look at this…!”
“-a student is only as good as their master?! Were those not your exact words, Arch Magister? Or, will you, yet again, foist your own glaring incompetence onto the shoulders of your disciples, under the guise of their supposed ‘inattention,’ and ‘forgetfulness?’ As if-!”
“For the sake of all that is good and holy, will you two quit your constant bickering and look up already?! He’s flying for Pete’s sakes!”
The two argumentative aristocrats in question—powerful members of the peerage, the both of them, their faces bare inches apart—first swung their collective glare onto one white faced guard captain, before, reluctantly, dragging their eyes up towards the flying baby in question. The very same, riding atop an inexplicable paper contraption, that was steadily bobbing its way down the far end of the grand hall. Going on to exit through the massive double doors, and finally disappear around the corner.
Mouths agape, they stared after the inexplicable sight for a long moment. Then down at the empty summoning circle. And finally up at one another—blank stupefaction the predominant emotion on their faces. Before, all at once, their eyes widened, and they each lurched into a dead sprint. Legs pumping desperately in hopes of catching up with, what they only now recognized as, their would be savior.
+++
As he bobbed his way down gaudy hallways, lined with masterfully painted portraits, exquisitely carved alcoves, and all manner of expensive finery—from sculptures, to carpets, to furniture—he made a point of ignoring the many demands levied at him by his unasked for escort.
“P-please, great hero!” huffed and puffed the old man. “At least tell us where you’re headed, that we might aid you in some way!”
He was far more interested in finding an exit to this gilded labyrinthine maze, so that he might get a lay of the land where the trial was to be conducted, before things truly kicked off. Why Shaper didn’t teleport him there immediately, instead having him wander these infernal halls for a small eternity, he didn’t rightly know. Did it have something to do with these people? Perhaps they’d be of some help in a way?
He tuned back into the conversation briefly.
“And your sure he’s an arch demon?” whispered the one in the plate-mail.
“Going purely off of those runic formations? It’s the only conclusion I find plausible. The runes themselves, well, they’re nothing I haven’t seen hundreds of times before, but the ways in which they’ve been made to interact and somehow compliment one another…? It pains me to say that not even I have total confidence in my ability to recreate such complexity…”
Richard snorted.
Complexity…? What a joke.
Based on just that comment alone, he suddenly found the idea these people would be able to aid him in any way extremely unlikely. Perhaps if he’d been able to communicate with them in some way, he might have asked them directions, but barring that…?
At long last, Richard spotted just the thing he’d been looking for. Flying straight up to a sufficiently wide clerestory window, he wasted no time in retrieving a very specific brand of talisman. Three finger widths wide and about as long as his forearm—the once pristine paper now covered in arcane scribblings—he barely aimed as he dribbled a tiny bit of his mana into the sequence of runes.
?—|-Leaping Force Talisman-|—?
?[Common]?
A simplistic Poor Grade talisman made with the very best possible materials, and graced by the touch of a master crafter—upgrading its rarity from Poor to Common. Once fed with a bit of mana, this talisman will leap forward and release a wave of kinetic force, expending itself in the process.
The talisman shot from his fingers like a streak of lightning, impacting the panes of glass with a wave of kinetic force, and blasting the entire thing from its frame in a shower of bent metal and glass shards. Ever so carefully, Richard maneuvered himself through the newfound opening, breathing in the fresh scents of open air for the first time in what felt like forever. Ultimately leaving a truly dumbfounded trio to stare and gape in his wake.
The city spread out before him was reminiscent of your typical fantasy fare. Half timbered houses, segregated living conditions—from the poorest slums, to merchants districts, to where the wealthy lived the life of luxury—with a pearly White Castle, of course, gleaming at its center. And, to tie it all together, in the far far distance, was a several story tall wall dotted with massive portcullis, that wrapped around the entire city.
Completely ignoring the overly congested streets, the palpable air of fearful desperation, or the occasional brawl that broke out in the various market squares, Richard made a straight b-line towards the towering stone wall. The massive ramparts he suspected he would be expected to defend. Unwilling to unnecessarily tax his rather unwieldy creation, while also floating several stories above the rather uncomfortable looking cobblestones far below, it took him a good ten minutes to reach the ramparts at his plodding pace.
More than enough time for the guards on said ramparts to notice him, and prepare a welcoming committee.
“Identify yourself, or my men will be forced to fire!”
As if to substantiate this threat, the tense sounds of several bows being drawn, cut through the relative tranquility of the crisp, early morning. Richard contemplated shoving them all off the ramparts with another kinetic push, but thought better of it. If this was to be a siege, he’d need willing fodde- that is to say brave soldiers ready to give their lives for the cause, after all.
No need to waste resources…
But then, that put him in a bit of a bind.
He kept forgetting that he was, effectively mute. How was he meant to communicate to them that he was no threat?
Ah! Hold on a moment.
From this vantage, they couldn’t actually see him, now could they? Only the flat hull of his conveyance, glowing with arcane scribbles. He decided to take a gamble. Thumb hovering over his Ring of Plenty, ready to summon up a paper shield at any moment. Ever so slowly, he began to lower himself down, not making any lateral moves, lest he spook one of the bowmen into firing prematurely.
“I said identify yourself! You have five seconds before I order my men to…”
He broke off, finally getting a good long look a just who he was threatening to riddle with sharp pointy bits of metal.
“Uhhh….”
“Sh-should we still be prepared to shoot, sir?” one of his men asked hesitantly.
“What?! No! Are you mad, man? Look at him! Lad can’t be more than two months old! Lower your weapons! For gods sakes, put your weapons down!”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Richard smirked.
Huh, perhaps there were perks to having this body after all. He knew for a fact that if he’d still been in possession of his adult body, he’d have had to kill at least one or two before they’d properly settled down.
Convenient.
Putting the soldiers from his mind, he began to approach once more, looking out past the wall onto the unending stretch of grassy plains. The grassy plains—like an emerald sea of undulating green—and beyond, where something like a brown smudge hovered over the distant horizon… could it be…? It must. There could be no other explanation.
Dust.
Clouds of it. A literal tsunami of kicked up soil. A shifting tide of airborne particles which seemed to stretch from one end of the horizon to the other. A sweeping vista of swirling dirt and debris—earth brazenly daring to intrude upon the domain of heaven. A great wall of it. Blanketing everything, ground and sky alike, in a muddy, almost impenetrable gloom. Somehow acting as the wake, as well as the herald of worse things to come.
An extinction level event. An apocalyptic procession. An army as much seen as it was heard at this distance. That is to say, almost not at all. Those leading the migration looking like shifting silhouettes. Dancing, flickering shadows. Lumbering titans, every step a ponderous affair, and scurrying figures, sometimes there and then gone.
Yet one thing always remained the same. Eyes, like burning green coals, dotted the expanse like pinpricks in the night sky. Some large, some small, but all of them invariably trained on… them.
If he had to put a number to the horde of unknown creatures arrayed before them, a million strong would’ve been his starting estimate. Although it was entirely possible that was just wishful thinking on his part. He looked out over the potentially millions strong horde, then down at the too few men and women standing atop the ramparts, each and every one of them grim faced and resolute, and finally out over the comparatively tiny medieval town—his expression blank and unreadable.
As if picking up on the fact of his growing comprehension, the long awaited system message finally arrived.
TRIAL OBJECTIVE.
?[IMPOSSIBLE DIFFICULTY]?
CHALLENGE: EXTINCTION WAVE EVENT
OBJECTIVE: Defeat 100 Consecutive Waves to Successfully Complete This Trial.
?(Complete Additional Waves to Earn Bonus Rewards)?
Performance to be Graded at the End of the Trial.
First Wave Will Begin In: 100… 99… 98…
Richard didn’t merely sit there and watch as the seconds ticked down. He leapt into action. Letting gravity drag him earthward until he was eye-level with the soldiers on the wall, he ignored their desperate scrambling to get out of his way, far more intent on finding a suitable location. He bobbed his way up and down the wall at as fast a clip as he could manage, parting armor clad men and women like the Red Sea before him, all the while maintaining a thoughtful gaze on the blurry horizon. He eventually found a place he thought would serve.
First Wave Will Begin In: 76… 75… 74…
He set his flying contraption down on the stone pathway, the paper octagon adding a few inches of height to the otherwise flat carpet. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a few of the soldiers, likely an officer among them, hurrying his way. Their goal likely to pluck the precious infant off the very dangerous wall, as if they weren’t all dead men the second that horde neared. Before they were able to intervene, however, and he truly was forced to kill one of his potential minio- that is to say hard workers, he thumbed his Ring of Plenty, and summoned his makeshift weapon in all its roundabout glory.
Before a cordon of disbelieving soldiers, a cannon emerged from out of nowhere, only it was unlike any cannon they’d ever seen before. A three barreled breechloader, with a highly maneuverable gimbal system, sporting chest high aiming handles just above the breach. In essence, a three barreled cannon, designed to be loaded from the back, which itself sat atop a rotary mount. The swiveling contraption allowing for a full one-hundred eighty degree range of motion, both vertically and horizontally.
The very definition of point and shoot.
And they said I was crazy for housing textbooks on 19th Century Naval Warfare inside my soul. Oh, to see the looks on their faces now… Ah! And let us not forget the star of the show! “A Treatise on Artillery: A Cannoneer’s Canon Guide on Field Gun History.” Knew I’d find a use for it one of these days.
?—|-Talismanic Three-Barreled Paper Cannon-|—?
?[Rare]?
A highly maneuverable three barreled breechloader made entirely of top quality paper talismans. Clearly the brainchild of a master crafter’s overactive imagination, the genius of its creation makes it no less deadly than your run of the mill cannon. And, if given the right ammunition, it has the capacity to be even more so.
Ahh! And, naturally, it was entirely made up of overlapping talismans. By this point, that much should have been rather obvious. Bound together by Lesser Bind, and reinforced with Lesser Harden runes respectively.
Taking advantage of the soldiers stunned silence, Richard bobbed back into the air, a few choice talismans in hand. He wasted no time in securing the breach lines he’d grabbed. A series of long talismans strung together to create a chain of sorts, which he then slapped all along the stone of the parapet, as well as choice points along the walkway itself. Securing each with brief flashes of the Lesser Bind rune, so that it was as if each were an extension of the wall itself. With all of his breach lines in place, the other ends bound to the barrels, as well as the base of the paper cannon, all it took was a touch of mana to harden each in turn.
Now, when the cannon fired, there was far less of a chance for the recoil to send the precious weapon, and whoever so happened to be manning it, pinwheeling off the wall. That done, he looked back to the timer.
First Wave Will Begin In: 39… 38… 37…
Cannon having been preloaded, there wasn’t much left for him to do except re-familiarize himself with his creation. Thumbing his spacial ring one more time, he summoned what looked to be a crude tripod made of paper talismans. Docking his flying construct onto said tripod, having been prepared for just such an eventuality, he grabbed hold of the suspiciously baby shaped handles, and began swiveling it around, first pointing at the sky, then the ground, then giving the distant horizon a careful sweep.
Richard tsk’ed.
Though the cannon’s range of motion may have been considerable, his ability to take advantage of that wide range of motion was rather pitiful.
Curse these tiny baby arms!
And yet, as the timer ticked down to zero, he just had to hope it’d be enough.
Opening up his status screen, Richard’s mind briefly hesitated over his two free points. Those two points into mana could mean hours, or even days—as the cultivation method he was using became less useful over time—he didn’t need to be mindlessly cultivating. And yet, if he was going to make it through this trial with the maximum possible performance grade, he couldn’t just put all his points into mana capacity. With a regretful sigh, he placed one point into strength and control respectively, knowing he’d need both if he were to have any chance at successfully completing this trial.
The change he felt in his body was immediate, as for the first time, it felt as if the weights chaining him down this entire time had eased up considerably. Allowing, if not for a free range of movement, than at least for him to keep his head upright without constantly feeling as if his neck would snap from the strain. The waves of relief he felt in that moment were nothing less than pure bliss. Control was less obvious, though he knew from experience it would show its true value much later.
First Wave Will Begin In: 10… 9… 8… 7…
As the horizon devouring dust cloud grew closer, and the timer neared zero, a change in the oncoming procession swiftly became apparent. A break in their shadowy formation, as several frontrunners broke from the pack at a dead sprint. Their figures growing larger and more distinct by the second. Until, nearly a hundred meters out, give or take, one could just begin to make out their warped and twisted frames. Evidently humanoid, but just as clearly unwell, their grayish skin was positively covered in lesions.
Puffy sores and open gashes which leaked phosphorescent green pus, the same color as their glowing eyes.
White haired and dull eyed, lifeless but for that sickly green sheen—and the mindless hunger writ large on their expressions—the bulbous tumors that stretched their skin taught and gave them the appearance of hunchbacks, seemed to hinder their movements not at all.
The figures didn’t just run, they flew across the intervening grassland. Eating up the paces in great bounds and leaps. Soaring through the air like humanoid grasshoppers, before landing with an unnatural grace, and beginning again. All along the ramparts, men and women began to prepare, though to him, it merely sounded like the prelude to panic. Meanwhile, they seemed to have completely forgotten about him.
A fact for which he was supremely grateful. Finally, when they were about a hundred fifty paces out, he was allowed a glimpse at their descriptions.
+—|-Plague-Touched Skirmisher-|—+
<[Lvl 2]>
+—|-Plague-Touched Skirmisher-|—+
?[Lvl 3]?
+—|-Plague-Touched Skirmisher-|—+
?[Lvl 1]?
Having ascertained their levels, he saw no more reason to hold back. Ignoring the hoarse cries from a white-faced officer to “draw!” and “aim!” although… now that he really thought of it, why not play along? He did as instructed, swiveling his three-barreled cannon so that it faced the hundred odd pack of leaping Skirmishers. Risking a demerit for insubordination, he didn’t wait for the order to “loose!”
Instead calling upon the paper constructs he’d situated in place of ignition chambers, and setting off three explosive runes simultaneously. With a concussive bang three spherical projectiles streaked forward. Not quite fast enough to trick the naked eye, but nearly so. Not trusting his reaction speed, he activated the second set of detonation runes immediately after, this time located in each ball of layered talismans respectively.
What happened next, happened in such rapid succession, that it might as well have been instantaneous.
In each ball of overlapping talismans, a tiny paper construct detonated, destroying the equally small mana battery he’d placed at the heart of the projectile—the very same that’d been passively maintaining the binding runes holding the entire ball of papier-maché together. Simultaneously releasing all that unspent mana into the surrounding talismans. In turn causing a cascading effect wherein the mana first flowed into the shell of force runes surrounding the core battery, then finally spread from there onto the outer shell of runes, entirely made up of combined Lesser Harden and Lesser Sharpen talismans.
The end result?
Barely a second after he’d set the metaphorical fuse to the symbolic gunpowder, three streaking projectiles turned into rapidly expanding clouds of paper shrapnel. Shrapnel which then evaporated the party of jumping Skirmishers in an instant. Leaving nought but a few stragglers, merely grazed by the blast radius, writhing in a chunky green slurry that’d once been the bodies of their comrades.
For the first time since he’d arrived on the scene, there was complete and utter silence on the wall.
*DING!*
?-|—YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY DEFEATED THE FIRST WAVE!—|-?
Second Wave Will Begin In: 11… 10… 9…
