384 days until the Arkon Shield falls

Your majesty,

Our spies have intercepted a missive from Duskar’s high shaman. Orgtul is on the hunt for a human named Jamie Sinclair. We are yet to figure out why the shaman is seeking him, but given Orgtul’s interest, it can be no small matter.

With regards to our colonization efforts, I’m pleased to report we are making excellent progress. The human leaders have proven very amenable to our requests, and soon I expect... —Paladin Jan Lin, leader of the Protectorate Expedition in the Human Dominion.

The sky had brightened noticeably the next time I exited the cave. To the north, the mountain’s jagged crests were clearly visible. From this distance, I could make out the snow covering the peaks and the clouds swirling about them. I was glad I wasn’t venturing into the mountains proper. They looked harsh and forbidding.

In the east, the sun was just about peeking over the horizon. There was a fresh breeze in the air, too, bringing with it a biting chill. I shivered. I missed my cloak already.

My eyes drifted to the two shapes lying still and undisturbed on the rocky slope where I had slain them. They appeared as menacing in death as in life. Limping up to the closest, I knelt by its side.

The creature was avian, just as I suspected and nearly three times as large as me. I ran my hand through the burnt feathers. Beneath the soot, I spied bits of brown and gold on its wingtips and white near the head. The creature’s hooked beak, eyes, and crested head were reminiscent of an eagle. Thoughtfully, I cast analyze on the corpse.

The target is a dead level 41 mountain roc. It has no Magic, low Resilience, exceptional Might, and no Craft.

The roc was surprisingly high leveled, considering how quickly it had died, but then again, the creature’s Resilience had been low. It likely accounted for its poor fortitude. Unsheathing my knife, I dissected the bird-like animal.

You have uncovered a mountain roc’s Technique: sky dive.

Satisfied with the results of my handiwork, I climbed back to my feet. It was time to get going again. Wrapping the straps of the sled around my shoulders, I continued on my way eastwards.

✽✽✽

The morning was well-advanced when I finally spotted the landmark the scouts had told me to look out for, two vertical and near-parallel rock outcroppings that rose well above the nearby hills. As the pair had promised, the entrance to the valley containing the dungeon was unmissable.

I slipped cautiously between the stone pillars. Martin and Yana had reported the valley to be barren. Still, I was not about to take any unnecessary chances. With my eyes scanning the surroundings, I advanced across the hard packed earth.

The valley was small and strewn with loose boulders and rocks. Its side walls were high enough that the chill breeze did not penetrate but low enough for the sun’s warmth to reach within. Crucially, there were no signs of life, either benign or hostile. I didn’t even spy a single blade of grass.

The valley did contain one notable structure, though. From the center of the rocky floor, an obsidian obelisk covered with runes rose twenty feet upwards into the air.

“The dungeon entrance,” I breathed and hurried forward. Dropping the reins of the sled, I approached the structure with only my staff in hand.

Walking a slow circuit around the obelisk, I inspected the runes in fascination. They had been carved into the obsidian and etched with a metallic green substance that glowed faintly. I wished I could understand whatever they said, but the runes were still indecipherable despite all my Trials-gifted knowledge.

I was so focused on the structure that I nearly stepped onto the scuff mark in the ground without noticing its presence, but something—perhaps it was a half-caught glimpse, or maybe it was intuition—caused me to stop mid-motion.

For a drawn-out moment, I hung motionless, with one leg hanging midair, but not entirely sure why.

Look down!

Glancing down, my gaze fixed immediately on the scuff mark. It was not as I’d first assumed a random pattern of lines and dirt. No siree, the lines dug out in the ground were distinct, sharply delineated, and taken together formed an impression whose shape was instantly recognizable.

It was a boot print.

Without a doubt it was a boot print. The lines forming it were too regular for anything else. From one of Sierra’s scouts? I wondered.

Carefully, I set my own foot down beside the track. Definitely not from one of our scouts, I thought with a nervous gulp. Judging from the size of the print, the owner of the boot in question was many times larger than me.

A Trials message dropped into my mind.

Your scouting skill is insufficient to identify this track.

Irritably, I banished the alert. I didn’t need the Trials to tell me what I was seeing. I knew. Trying to slow my suddenly racing pulse, I bent down to study the boot print more closely.

The surrounding ground was softer than elsewhere in the valley, which explained why it was able to capture the indentation. Are there other such spots? I wondered. And if there were, would I find—

I halted my rambling thoughts. They were not helping as much as I hoped. Despite my half-hearted attempt to curb my fear by focusing on irrelevant details, there was no use denying what I already knew.

The boot print was not of human origin.

Which left only one other possibility.

Orcs.

The Arkon Shield and the restrictions it placed on the other races virtually guaranteed it was them. Until the year was up, no other civilized people could traverse the Human Dominion but humanity and its Patron.

Orcs are here, I repeated to myself. It was too soon. How can they be here already?

I’m not ready!

I clamped down on my spiraling thoughts again. I’d always known the orcs would show up at some point. It didn’t matter that it was much sooner than I’d anticipated. One way or the other, I would have to deal with the cruel monsters. Enough wallowing, I thought. Time to focus on the matter on hand.

Ignoring the anxiety still spiking in me, I rose to my feet and studied the obelisk again. Was the owner of the boot print in the dungeon? That surely was not possible, but in sudden need of reassurance, I stepped up to the structure and laid a tentative hand upon it.

A Trials notice appeared in my vision.

You have discovered the rank 1 dungeon: Primal Keep. Last cleared: never. Status: fully seeded. Availability: unoccupied. Maximum party size: 6 Trainees. Time limit: 3 days. Other restrictions: human entrants only.

This dungeon may be exited at any time. However, the minimum waiting period between reattempts is seven days. Do you wish to enter the dungeon?

Warning: rank 1 dungeons are designed for a full party of Trainees. Entering the dungeon with less than 6 players may result in an insurmountable challenge.

My first reaction was relief.

No one was in the dungeon, and I could enter. Then the sense of the rest of the message penetrated, and my eyes widened.

Seven days between attempts?

Three days to finish?

Both durations were… alarming. I knew from the Infopedia to expect a time limit on my dungeon run. But three days—really? How am I going to manage that? Still it was not the time limit but the waiting time that worried me most.

I had been planning on entering the dungeon immediately and withdrawing to regroup if things proved too challenging, but considering how long I’d have to wait if I was forced to retreat, that seemed foolish now.

And with orcs in the vicinity, I might only get one shot at this.

I have to make it count.

As maddening as it was, I knew I couldn’t enter the dungeon yet. I was ill-prepared. I had to wait until invincible was ready again. It would take my spirit a whole day to mend sufficiently, which meant that at the earliest, I would only be entering the dungeon tomorrow morning.

Sighing at the delay, I responded in the negative to the Trials and removed my hand from the obelisk. I took in the barren surroundings again. I would have to search the valley, I decided. To hunt for more boot prints and to verify nothing else occupied it.

But after that, what did I do with the time?

✽✽✽

In the end, searching the area went quicker than I anticipated. Despite going over the valley from end to end—twice over—I found no further tracks, and while the possibility of running into orcs troubled me, I knew there was little I could do about it. Other than fleeing, of course. And that I wouldn’t do. For now, I had to be content that I was alone and safe.

With ample time remaining in the day, I sought out a safe spot to practice my magic. I chose an out-of-the-way cave high up the southern slope of the valley. Dragging the sled into it was back-breaking work but necessary. I didn’t want to leave any easily spotted signs of my presence for the orcs to notice.

I paced my back against the rear wall of the cave and sank down. Seeing as how I had some time to play with, I’d decided to advance my remaining magic Disciplines—embarrassingly, three of them were still at the Neophyte rank—before attempting to acquire more spells.

My first hour of training went by quickly and without a hitch. Fire magic was simple to train, and water magic wasn’t much more complicated either. Death magic, however, took more effort, not because the Discipline was inherently difficult, but because I spent nearly every step of the process fighting my own haunted memories.

It was hard focusing on the magic itself when every time I thought of death, my mind conjured up the specter of Mum. I tried holding my anguish apart from the magic, but time and again, I failed.

Death and death magic were not synonymous. I knew that. But like all other magical Disciplines, the raw element and the magic itself were closely intertwined.

I persisted through my failures, stubbornly believing I could plow through my mental block, but it availed me little. It was only when I thought to stop fighting the grief and weave my sorrow through the magic that I began to make progress.

My mana seemed to respond to my anguish, and it may have just been my imagination, but the death spellforms I formed in my mind felt all that much stronger for its presence.

After that, it didn’t take me long to complete training my magic Disciplines.

Your skill in death, fire, and water magic has advanced to level 10 and reached: rank 2, Trainee.

Thereafter, I turned to spellcrafting, but here I was less successful. Despite multiple attempts, I failed to learn any damage-dealing castings from the Disciplines of death and water magic. Eventually, I accepted that I wouldn’t, not without advancing my skills further through the dragon temple. Still, I managed to acquire a couple more spells.

You have spellcrafted a touch-based spell ward from the Discipline of death magic. The name assigned to this spell is wilting ward. When it triggers, entities within the range of the ward will be afflicted with a curse that will temporarily halve their Might attributes. This ward can only be activated once and has a very short lifetime. Its casting time is slow, and its rank is rare.

You have spellcrafted a touch-based spell from the Discipline of water magic. The name assigned to this spell is freezing sphere. This spell imbues the air around the caster with the cold of an arctic winter, slowing all entities in the vicinity, including the caster. Freezing sphere is a persistent spell and while active, drains the caster’s mana. Its casting time is fast, and its rank is uncommon.

It was early afternoon when I was finished with my magical training. I had more spells at my disposal now, and while fire ray was still my only ranged spell, I felt better equipped to face the dungeon.

I still had many more hours left in the day, though. Should I explore my dragon magic further? I wondered. I could try—

My thoughts broke off as my gaze fell on the hunting bow tied to the back of the sled.

Hmm…

Archery was not a skill I had considered acquiring. It belonged to the sphere of Might, in which I was far from gifted, but until I reached level hundred, it might just serve as a worthwhile substitute—for when fire ray failed me.

Rising to my feet, I unfastened the hunting bow and quiver from the sled and strode back into the valley to search out a likely target.

✽✽✽

Your skill with shortbows has advanced to level 10 and reached rank 2, Trainee.

Unexpectedly learning archery proved much harder than magic, but eventually, I managed the feat and raised my skill in the shortbows Discipline to Trainee rank.

I’d spent the rest of the day and a good part of the night shooting arrows at uncaring pieces of rock and cursing my dreadful aim each time I was forced to limp about collecting my misfired projectiles. Most of my initial attempts hadn’t even reached the target, others had flown well wide of the mark, but after seemingly endless hours of practice, I began regularly hitting my marks—finding them at least one time in two.

While I would never be a master archer, I was at least capable of firing a bow now. And despite how much I cursed the time it had taken me to learn the bow, I knew my accomplishment was still nothing short of remarkable.

In less than a day, I had gone from not knowing one end of the shortbow from the other to becoming, if not an expert marksman, at least a fledgling bowman. Just thinking about it again, I couldn’t help but shake my head in wonder, amazed anew by the things the Trials made possible.

On Earth, I would never have managed the feat. Yet on Overworld, with the assistance of the Trials and core embedded within me, this level of advancement was… normal.

I glanced up at the sky. The stars were out, and it was about time I called it quits for the day. Dragging myself up the valley’s southern slope, I made my way back to the cave I’d used earlier.

It was time for sleep, and this time, I’d made doubly sure the cave I picked was a deep one.