Time Since Reckless Self-Endangerment: 5 Days 2 Hours

Goal: Save Tarquin

Inkspur took off for the elvish camp that hour, as Nic set down with his quill and a dozen odd pieces of material that would hold enough Essence to become talismans.

Talismans were the simplest form of runework. The average talisman was nothing more than an object infused with Essence for power and scribed with runes to give that power shape and purpose. They only worked once, but they worked well. Nic had favored his homemade grenades because they consumed far, far less Essence and less valuable materials to make, substituting clever construction for raw strength, but now he needed effects his primitive explosives couldn’t provide.

The main barrier to making talismans was simply material quality; common paper would burn up long before it absorbed enough Essence to fuel a talisman. The little wyvern’s contribution was a vial of pitch black ink that would go a long ways towards fixing that. Good quality talisman ink would bind the Essence and make it easier to inject, taming the sometimes-destructive nature of the energies involved.

In short-

Nic had a new array of weapons open to him now.

He dipped the quill in and began to draw, pausing every now and then to devour a chunk of snake meat to keep his cultivation rate enhanced. Hours passed in tight, eye-straining concentration as one rune after another developed at the end of his quill, each requiring him to infuse Essence with his will and spirit in order for the letters of runic script he drew to have any meaning. The hand of his scarf wiped slimy sweat from his brows. Nic had to constantly rotate and control his cultivation base, producing the purest, most delicate flow of Essence he could, trying not to introduce turbulence that could tear apart the talisman from within.

But this was the work Nic had trained for. Three years had passed where he spent hours each night practicing the runes, even after he’d run out of his measly allotment of Essence; he simply kept working, drilling the formations of ink and Essence into his head.

By the time the sun began to dip towards the horizon Nic had spent nearly five thousand Essence. The bottle of ink was empty as he looked at the array of talismans he’d developed. They were scrawled onto bits of paper, scraps of bone, lengths of snakeskin…

He’d gone all out.

And still, after hours of work, he’d accumulated enough spare Essence to begin working towards another milestone. It wasn’t quite enough to push him over the edge to another level of toxicity, so instead, he pushed for Aura Efficiency.

It was amazing how relentlessly monsters could cultivate. Meditation didn’t increase their rate much, but their bodies were constant wellsprings of power pushing them from stage to stage even as they fought. It actually made them ideal craftsmen too - they could cultivate while working, refilling the Essence they expended.

Nic would wonder how they hadn’t taken over the known worlds, but he already had a guess. His cultivation rate probably wouldn’t skyrocket with each Class advance like a human’s - and the human skill for meditation was multiplicative.

Most humans weren’t all that amazing at meditation, but those with a natural talent would gain more and more benefit as they advanced along the path.

Even if thousands of humans died, the shooting stars among them would pick up momentum in a way that relentless, steady monsters couldn’t hope to.

As for Nic? He wasn’t too worried. This new world gave him more than enough opportunities to eat and to uncover new and precious treasure. If he couldn’t burst ahead by sitting in a cave and cultivating, he’d make his own way through constant adventure, and that suited him fine.

Poison Mist Shard (F)

Creates and controls poisonous mist from Aura. Excellent attacking Shard, capable of piercing many defenses and inflicting ongoing damage.

III Increase Toxicity (73/8,000)

I Add Aura Efficiency (0/6,000)

Secondary Slot (0/50,000)

I Poison Devouring (Complete)

Mist Armor (0/50,000)

By the time twilight came Nic was as ready as he’d ever be.

He slid through the secret nest of tunnels he’d carved under the human camp. Above him, they were sleeping, sitting around campfires, unaware of his presence. It was a ghostly feeling. Coming to the marker he’d placed in the tunnel directly beneath the shipyards, Nic emerged into the cool desert night with his sand-covered cape wrapped around him for camouflage. Redjaw was wrapped around his arm, its delicate feelers sensing for disturbances in the wind.

A pair of patrolmen stood nearby, playing dice with a man in a blood-stained apron.

They saw nothing as Nic took out a fistful of paper talismans and began to plaster them across the half-finished hull of the sandships. He scrambled up bare skeletons of timber, making sure to tag the mast of each of the three ships, and to devote most of his fire talismans to the one nearest to completion.

This wasn’t going to earn him any friends.

He slipped back into the tunnels and continued through the camp, emerging wherever he sensed no humans above to drop a few etched-bone talismans into the sand.

His stock of firebombs was exhausted by the time he reached the great divide where he’d cut a hidden trench of pitfalls between the cage and the rest of the camp. He breathed a sigh of relief as he approached.

Azmin - the camp’s unseen leader - was gone. Her presence was like a thunderstorm, subtly changing the pressure in the air, and Nic was glad he wouldn’t have to meet her head-to-head today. If he had to guess, she was probably off rescuing the ship he’d wrecked.

He emerged beside her tent. Nobody was guarding it.

Likely nobody thought there was a soul in camp foolish enough to try and steal from Azmin.

But Nic? Nic was that fool. Nic was every damn fool.

“Are you sure this is in our best interests?” Sofia asked.

Nic shrugged. “If she agrees to peace, we can give it back.” He whispered back.

Inside the tent several small, glowing lamps in the shape of crystalline flowers hovered in the air, casting a warm light over a motley assortment of possessions. A reed meditation mat sat in the center of the room. A desk with several scrolls and books was pushed to one wall.

A small chest sat at the back.

And other than that? It was eerily empty. Like the person who lived here had no life at all to speak of, only the drive to cultivate. He crept forward and swept the books into his bag before advancing on the chest. Redjaw slid from his arm to explore the tent.

Prying it open, he found several sets of simple dark clothes, with a pouch of medicinal-scented pills, a wooden practice sword, and several small crystals laid on top. There really was no sign of life here.

He examined the pills first.

Spirit Purifying Pills. G-Class // Medicine. These simple pills are a common variation of the most widespread form of cultivation medicine. They increase the rate of cultivation while meditating by 10% or up to 1 Mote per minute, lasting for ten hours.

Counting out eight pills, Nic realized he was holding five thousand Essence - albeit stretched over nearly three days.

The wooden sword was nothing extraordinary. Just a blunt weapon to practice with. The crystals were more interesting.

Training-Cosm Crystal. Astral // Archive. Containing the programming of a basic training regimen, this crystal can be used to enter a meditation space containing illusionary enemies and hone your combat prowess.

The others were all the same, except for the final crystal. That one wasn’t for combat training but for learning the essentials of cultivation. Going by the state of training in the camp, nobody else had access to these kinds of materials - they were likely something the System kept in reserve for the most talented prospects.

Nic tucked them away. If anything he took was really going to sting, it would be these.

A sudden twitch of Redjaw’s mind called Nic to look up.

Perched on one of the flower-shaped floatlamps was a small, long-eared creature like a fox made out of swirling green mist. It held something gold in the grip of its jaws, and was staring down at them, dark eyes wide with alarm.

“Oh.” “Fuck.” Sofia uttered in unison as the fox leapt from the lantern and went dashing across the floor towards the exit. Pushing his cultivation into his legs, Nic shot to chase after, hands outstretched.

He threw himself to the ground and grabbed for the fox- only to be left snarling in frustration as its mist-like body blurred and slipped through his fingers in trails of smoke.

It bounded through the doorway, and Nic unleashed Sunfire. The little bipedal lizard launched from his shoulder as he lay on the ground and went shooting after the fox, managing to catch up and lash out with its long flint claws.

The fox slipped away again, shooting forward as a trail of smoke. But this time, Sunfire’s claw had made contact with the object clutched in its mouth.

There was a metallic ring, and a black pearl fell from the fox’s mouth as it darted away.

It turned, frozen. Its eyes clung to the pearl. But then it made up its mind, turned, and continued to run. It’s life was worth more than the treasure.

Nic caught up moments later, watching as the fox vanished between the tents. It had begun to bark, filling the air with high pitched yips and howls as it tried to get someone, anyone’s attention. “Fuuuck…” Groaning, he casually reached down to grab the pearl-

And snatched his hand back, his fingers hurting violently where they’d made contact. “Fuck!” Screwing up his courage, he grabbed hold, feeling like he was gripping a hot iron in the second before he managed to shove it down into his mystic bag. Even then, his hand ached and a black stain of a bruise lingered on his flesh.

There was something very wrong with that pearl - but treasure was treasure.

Already, the camp was waking up. Nic had no time left as he rushed towards the prisoner cages. Matteos was there, his face blackened with bruises, and the imprisoned elves were clearly no fans of sharing their limited space with the giant - he was hunched over in one corner, given a wide distance by the other occupants.

As Nic dashed forward, he ran almost headfirst into the black-clad officer. The giant, high-tech gun swung up towards Nic’s face as the cursed man reacted without a hint of surprise or hesitation - his addled mind no longer able to feel such thing.

Nic slammed his hands into the ground and rotated aura through the Sandrider Blade on his back. A wave of sand lifted up and threw the man back, closing over him like a clenched fist. Adhesive aura spread through the sand and left him rooted fast as Nic darted forward, kicking the gun from the man’s hand and continuing on.

In the background-

The first talisman exploded into a ball of fire, and triggered the rest. A long daisy-chain of brilliant orange spheres blossomed across the skeletal silhouettes of the shipyard. The masts ignited, the hulls were turned to matchsticks, fire raced across what remained.

The whole camp’s attention turned from the single desperately barking spirit-fox towards the fire in their midst.

Secondary blazes began to go off, tents erupting, stockpiles of rope and supplies going up like tinder. Nic had planned his distractions well and the majority of the camp was occupied with fighting the fires as he rushed to the cages.

Digging into his bag, he pulled out the second kind of talisman he’d prepared. A talisman of nullification.

He flung the scrap of paper against the bars and it blazed bright blue, unleashing a wave of aura that would knock out other enchantments in a short area by removing the ‘shape’ of the aura. The fire surrounding the bars flickered like a candle about to go out, and Nic reached into the bag for more talismans-

A blast of gunfire slammed into his back and knocked him to the ground. He rolled, coughing, all the wind gone from his lungs as his breath pushed pink foaming bubbles of blood mixed with spit from his lips. He turned to see the guard back on his feet.

The talisman had broken the sand-trap apart too.

The cursed guardsman was back on his feet, plastic shield up. With one hand he grasped the pump action of his gun and racked it, feeding another load of buckshot into the action. His face was unreadable beneath the plastic visor and blank mask.

Tiny metal pellets were pushed out of Nic’s skin as his flesh regrew and he stood up.

The camp burned around them. People screamed and yelled. By contrast, his opponent was as silent as the grave.