《Combat Archaeologist: Rowan》Chapter 52 - Rockhammer

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Homework. Rowan never knew how much he hated the stuff until he went two weeks without it for the first time. Only two days into the semester and every single professor seemed to have made it their life’s purpose to make up for the two weeks of missed homework Galdurfest had stolen from them, new semester be damned.

As a result, the peaceful nights of the winter holidays were gone, replaced once more by the scratching of quills and the groans of frustrated students. For Rowan and Droon who had both studied through the holidays even when they had not needed to, slipping back into routine was not so bad. For the others in their house, however, it was hell, and more than a few curses had been thrown at the professors after the third consecutive class ended with a new assignment due later in the week.

With four out five classes already accounted for, Rowan and his fellow Draigwyns were all looking forward to the coming Dungeoneering lecture, their fifth and final class, with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Although it was not set to start for another hour, following lunch, rumours and discussion had abounded on the topic since the week before, and perhaps even earlier among the more social circles of the house.

Rowan’s eyes rested on the cafeteria clock, watching the seconds go by as his empty plate lay forgotten in front of him. Despite his pleas, Kanna had refused to tell him anything about the course, merely giving him a knowing smile and telling him that he would have fun. He had not been to her office since before

The bell rang, signalling the end of lunch, and benches were pushed backwards, the students going about their routine as if everything were normal. Which of course it was. Dungeoneering was just another course after all, and for those in the upper years, one they had already taken and were not scheduled to take today. It was only the Draigwyn first years looking forward to what awaited them in the classroom in the southern tower of the academy.

His plate set neatly atop the pile, Rowan followed the flow of students out of the cafeteria, headed for the southern tower. He had no idea what to expect from the enigmatic course, but he was ready to find out.

The southern tower was tall, as was the number of steps required to climb it. Had he not spent the last few months increasing his endurance on both the practice field and in dungeons, Rowan felt that he might have collapsed halfway up, unable to continue any further.

As it was, he made it, joining his classmates in the classroom on the top floor of the tower. Unlike other classes, there were no other houses present in the Dungeoneering course, each house receiving their own timeslot to take the course.

Being the first house to actually take the course, every member of Draigwyn had doubtlessly been approached by anyone and everyone they knew outside the house, extorting them for every detail of the experience they were about to go through. Dugan had certainly been eager to find out, and had promised Rowan to meet up in the halls afterwards for the details.

His breath back, Rowan turned his attention to the surroundings. The classroom was oval-shaped, which was strange given the circular nature of the tower that he had just climbed. Wooden chairs surrounded small tables, each of which looked to sit about four or five students comfortably. A few scrolls bearing diagrams of monsters hung on the walls, below which small bookshelves held tomes with titles such as: The Northern Monster Codex, Deciphering Dungeon Riddles, and Adventuring: A Beginner’s Handbook. At the front of the class was a blackboard, upon which a chalk drawing of a dungeon entrance had been drawn.

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Apart from that, the classroom was remarkably ordinary. Nothing stood out that Rowan could see, and he settled into a chair near the front, away from Tianna and her clique which had claimed the two backmost tables for themselves.

“Hey,” Droon greeted wearily, his face haggard as he collapsed into the chair next to Rowan. Apparently, the stairs had treated him no better than they had Rowan himself, a fact he took some solace in.

Behind Droon, Morgana strode in, appearing as if she had just taken a short stroll across the grounds and not scaled the seven hundred steps of the great southern tower that had laid so many of her fellow brethren low. Unlike Droon, Morgana did not beeline for Rowan’s desk, but instead took a seat at an empty table at the front of the room, right next to the blackboard.

“Everyone here?” The voice entered the room before the speaker, a slightly portly dwarven woman in her mid-fifties whose hair was white as the snow on her furs. At least Rowan assumed it was a woman. Given that all dwarves could and almost always did grow beards, it could be hard to tell, especially when key features were obscured by large furs the likes of which the new arrival was wearing.

“Good afternoon, class. I am professor Eiva Rockhammer. I will be your teacher for the art of dungeoneering and all its associated skills.” Her eyes eagle sharp, Rockhammer scanned the room. “Some of you may think you know what dungeoneering is like. Studied it, joined in on a few expeditions even.”

A few students nodded at this. Rowan did not. He could sense a trap hidden within the professor’s words, and his intuition was immediately proven correct.

“Bah! You know nothing. The art of dungeoneering is as deep as the dungeons we delve, as profound as the riddles that guard their treasures, and as dangerous as a dragon guarding its hoard. It is my job to teach you all enough to ensure that you make it through the dungeons you will enter over the next three and a half years you’re attending Faebrook alive, or at least alive enough that the academy can squeeze tuition out of you.”

There were a few awkward shuffles at this, students moving uncomfortably in their chairs at the casual way in which she talked about their potential brutal maimings or deaths. Rockhammer ignored this, however, grabbing a piece of chalk and writing a few lines on the board. Once done, she turned back to the class, her stubby fingers pointing to the topmost word.

“Our goal this semester is to turn you all into novice adventurers. As such, we will be focusing on brass-rank dungeons and tactics, as well as the training you’ll need to do in order to survive the challenges that brass-rank adventurers tend to face. We’ve only got five months and I don’t like to waste time, so let’s get started.”

Rockhammer’s teaching style was blunt and to the point, just like her name. There was no mincing of words, no coddling of students who fell behind, and no sparing from copious amounts of homework.

By the end of the first two classes, Rockhammer had already assigned as much homework as half of Rowan’s other courses combined, and from how she spoke, there was far more to come. First year students huddled over the books for the course became a common sight at the academy, in the library, in the cafeteria, and everywhere else one could find a flat surface and a few moments of spare time.

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Fortunately, it was not as if Rockhammer or her course were without merits. Those that did well earned as much praise as those who did poorly earned scorn. Her lectures were concise and easy to understand, the concepts and tactics she taught comprehensible even for those with a commoner background such as Rowan or Droon.

Even the homework she assigned was manageable, seemingly just enough to give them no free time for anything else, but not so much that they were forced to sacrifice their sleep or performance in another class.

One month in and the Draigwyn first years’ brains were now filled with knowledge about dungeons. The books Dungeons of the North, Small Party Tactics, and The Northern Monster Almanac had all been read back to front, their materials covered extensively on the tests Rockhammer administered every week.

Elsewhere, the professors of the other classes were also helping out. In combat class, they had begun practicing some of the techniques taught in dungeoneering, forming small squads to put the formations and tactics they’d learned to the test. In magic class, Professor Typhandrios had begun placing an emphasis on spells that would be of use in brass-ranked dungeons. And in history class, they were learning about the history of dungeons across the world, but with a special focus on the northern lands.

In retrospect, everything had been gearing up for a while for the announcement that Rockhammer greeted them with exactly one month after their first class.

“Form parties of five. For the rest of the semester, you will be practicing with these parties in preparation to enter a dungeon. This will be your final exam.”

The silence that greeted these words was deafening. Looking around, Rowan could see that most of the students wore looks of shock. Mouths hung open, eyes were wide, and one particularly nervous looking boy’s leg would not stop shaking. There were a few exceptions though.

Neither Morgana nor Tianna appeared too concerned with the announcement. For Morgana, it was just her regular expression. Whether she had known in advance or not, Rowan felt that she would have looked the same.

Tianna on the other hand wore a smug look that told him she’d known in advance. Looking at the faces of those sat beside her, he could see that a few of those in her clique wore similar looks, knowing smiles that they shared with each other, reveling in the shock of their classmates.

The rest of the class, however, were shocked. And several of them jumped when Rockhammer slammed a hand into the chalkboard, sending a small rain of chalk dust to the floor below.

“Did you not hear me? Form parties of five. You have five minutes. When that’s over, those sitting at your table will be your party members.”

This time, there was no silence. Instead, the classroom became a flurry of motion and sounds as chairs were pushed back, invitations were shouted, and boys and girls alike jockeyed for position as they entreated their friends to join their parties and ignore the others.

Rowan did not move, opting to remain where he sat. He was not close to anyone in his house, and with his background and skill level, there was no way he would be chosen over others who were better in every way. Better to just sit back and wait for whichever group found themselves short on members to ask him to join.

“Please? I know I’m not a great fighter, but I promise I’ll do my best!”

Oh, right. Rowan glanced to his left where a familiar voice had just entreated him. He was close to one person in his house. Beside him, Droon’s eyes were wide, looking like a lost puppy as he begged for Rowan to take him in.

“Can I join your party?” Droon reiterated.

Rowan raised an eyebrow. “My party?”

“You’re making a party, right?” Droon looked confused, though his eyes did not lose their lustre as he continued to beg Rowan to let him join. “I thought that was why you were entering so many dungeons. To get experience to make your own party. Was I wrong?”

“Yes?” Rowan replied. “But I dive into dungeons for money, not for experience.”

“Still, you get experience anyways,” Droon argued. “Even if you’re not down there for that reason, you’re still down there. Compared to everyone else, you probably have the most experience of going into actual dungeons in our grade.”

Rowan sincerely doubted this fact, given how many of the parties he had portered for seemed to have members who’d grown up around and had been entering dungeons for years. Since they were all in the same academy, there was no reason the same wouldn’t be true for the first years of Draigwyn. At least a few of them had to have entered dungeons before, even if they didn’t lower themselves to portering as Rowan had done. But he saw no reason to tell Droon that.

Instead, Rowan just smiled at his friend. “Sure,” he replied. “Welcome aboard.”

Droon’s excited grin was enormous, and it looked like it was taking all of his strength not to burst out into cheers, a level of restraint that Rowan appreciated. In truth, he had always assumed that Droon would join his party, not because of anything to do with their friendship or his friend’s skills, but just based on the simple assumption that no other party would want them.

Given that neither of them had any friends among their own house, and nor were their skills anything to write home about, it was a given that they would both find themselves among the leftovers once everyone else had formed parties with the amicable and the talented.

Sure enough, four and a half minutes later, five parties of five sat in the classroom, clustered around tables as they stared expectantly at Professor Rockhammer, who stared at her timepiece. Rowan and Droon remained alone at their table, as did Morgana, the girl’s attitude apparently having done enough to dissuade others even when her prodigious talent was taken into account.

“Time’s up,” Rockhammer called. “Who doesn’t have a party?”

Three hands were raised, Rowan’s, Morgana’s, and Reinne Westmarch’s, sitting in the back with Tianna and the rest of her friends. Droon did not raise his own hand until Rowan elbowed him under the table, having apparently assumed that he and Rowan were already part of a party despite the lack of any other members with which to make one.

“Four of you, eh?” Rockhammer mused. “Alright. You two girls, come sit with the boys up front here. You’ll be a four person party. If you like, I can try and get you a fifth member from one of the other houses, but it will be difficult.”

“Four is fine, professor,” three voices spoke at once.

With a surprised look, Droon gazed first at Rowan, then Morgana, and finally Reinne in the back, all three of whom had declined the professor’s offer.

“Well, if that’s what you want, then I won’t argue,” Rockhammer replied. “Come join your party, then we can continue the class.”

As Morgana and Reinne gathered their things, Droon leaned in towards Rowan. “Why’d you say no to a fifth member?” he whispered questioningly. “Isn’t it dangerous to dungeon with only four people?”

Sure, but it’s worse to dungeon with someone who wants to kill you, Rowan replied mentally. There were only four other houses, but a good portion of one of them hated him, and Enkhchuluun, the most influential figure among the first years of another also, disliked him. Sure, Dugan existed in Hafgufa, but he had no such friends in any of the other three houses which meant the odds of their fifth member being someone with a vendetta against him was high.

With those odds, he’d much rather just brave the dungeon with four members rather than spend the entire time worrying that some beastman was going to stab him in the back for what he’d said to Klou. Or that a student from Jangar would sacrifice their own grade to tank Rowan and Morgana’s in order to make Enkhchuluun the undisputed number one among the first years. No, better to just not risk it.

To Droon, however, all Rowan said was, “Better to stick to people we know. Morgana and Reinne are good fighters. Not sure we could say the same about another house’s leftovers.”

“Is that why the other two declined as well?”

Although Droon looked like he wanted an answer, Rowan shook his head, indicating that he would explain later. Morgana was already walking over, and he did not want to be caught talking about her behind her back.

Truth be told, he had no idea why she or Reinne had refused the professor’s offer. Perhaps fae had a natural distrust of other races, or in Morgana’s case, of other people. Whatever the reason, he did not know. But it was certainly convenient for him that they had.

Without saying a word, Morgana dropped her things on the desk, taking a seat at the furthest possible point from Rowan and Droon. A moment later, Reinne joined them, placing her things next to Droon and flashing them both a bright smile.

“Heya, new party members.”

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

Both Rowan and Droon replied normally, while Morgana nodded her greeting. Reinne didn’t seem to take it personally, however, and looked expectantly towards Rockhammer, who had grabbed a piece of chalk and started writing things down on the board.

“Today’s class,” Rockhammer grunted as she continued to write, “will focus on getting your parties set up. Choosing a leader, assigning roles, and deciding on a name for your party. These are all critically important tasks, so don’t just decide randomly. Proper division of duties is essential for parties who wish to come out of dungeons with all their limbs intact. And even more so for those who wish to emerge with loot.”

“And the name, professor? Why is that important?”

Rockhammer grinned towards the one who had posed the question, the muscle-bound Davis Merrow. “Well Mr. Merrow, a name is important because that’s what I intend to identify your parties with, making it an essential piece of information for anyone who wishes to receive a grade in this course. But even without that, it’s important because I said it is. Understood?”

“Yes, professor.”

“Good, now then. We have thirty minutes before the end of class, so I expect each group to choose one person to stand as leader, as well as one vanguard, three slayers, and an archaeologist.” A hand went up at this, but Rockhammer ignored it. “The leader can be any role, though it is common for the vanguard to take on leadership duties.” The hand went down and Rockhammer’s lips curled slightly.

“Normally, parties have two slayers and a healer. But since I don’t expect any of you to be trained as healers yet, a third slayer is a perfectly fine choice. I will require that one person carry healing potions, bandages, and other first aid gear for the party, and each group should mark down who that is with a healer’s cross. Other than that, the only thing I ask is that none of your party names are overly crude. These will be submitted as official parties to the adventurer’s guild, so the name you choose will reflect on you and your family. Is that understood?”

A few people wore chagrined expressions at this last statement, and Rowan concealed a smirk as he imagined the names they had been thinking of using before Rockhammer’s warning. If the names the street-scum of Taureen came up with to mock adventurers were anything to go by, they would have been pretty hilarious to hear. Ah well.

Seeing that no one seemed to have any questions, Rockhammer bade them to work. Instantly, the classroom was filled with discussion, as students pointed animatedly at themselves and each other, making arguments for why they should be a certain role, or why the name their friend had just suggested for their party was a terrible idea.

“So…” Reinne swept her brown hair out of her eyes and looked around the table. “Who’s going to be leader?”

An awkward silence followed this statement, the first official statement of their new party. An auspicious start, Rowan thought as he glanced towards Morgana and Droon.

Morgana appeared annoyed by the question, as if the answer itself should be immediately obvious and Reinne was wasting her time merely by asking it. Droon, on the other hand, was glancing subtly towards Rowan himself, clearly thinking about something to do with him. Whatever it was, Rowan was sure it would not bode well for him.

“I think Rowan should be leader,” Droon spoke up, immediately proving Rowan’s instincts correct. “He’s got experience going into dungeons, and he’s a pretty good fighter as well.”

If looks could kill, Rowan would have murdered Droon there and then. What his friend was suggesting was that he, a commoner, be placed in charge of two noble girls, one of which hated literally everyone. There was no way this would end well for him. Fortunately, it seemed that at least one other person agreed.

“I disagree,” said Morgana. “I’ve seen all of your performances on the training grounds, and also your exam scores. Since I’m the strongest among us, I should be leader.”

“Do you have experience?” Droon demanded.

“No, but why does that matter? He has no experience leading a party either,” Morgana shot back. “I’ve been trained in leadership and combat matters my entire life. You’re not going to find a better pick than me among the first years.”

“Rowan has actual experience,” Droon emphasized.

“As a porter.”

“In a dungeon.”

“As a porter.”

“That’s entered dungeons—”

A loud clapping sound pulled the two from their argument, three pairs of eyes swiveling towards Reinne, both hands still together following her clap.

“Both excellent suggestions,” Reinne said, clapping her hands together again, softer this time. “Since nobody seems to agree on who should be leader, how about we have a vote? Each person gets one vote, the winner is made party leader.”

“Fine by me.”

“Sure.”

“Alright. On the count of three, everyone point at the person they want to be leader,” Reinne said. “Ready? One… Two… Three!”

Pointing at Droon, Rowan glanced across the table, checking who had voted for whom. To the surprise of no one, Morgana had voted for herself. As if any other outcome was possible after what she had said earlier.

Droon had mirrored Rowan, both of them pointing at each other, which gave everyone a single vote. That only left Reinne, whose arm was pointed squarely towards… himself?

Rowan blinked. There was no mistake. Reinne was pointing right at him, her manicured fingernail shining in the sunlight. Eyes glancing around the table, Reinne smiled, cat-like as she gave Morgana a mocking smile.

“That’s one vote for Morgana, one vote for Droon, and two for Rowan. Rowan’s our leader.”

“What?!” Morgana demanded, her voice rising to dangerous levels as she glowered at Reinne. “How could you vote for him?”

Rowan nearly nodded at this, so intent was he on figuring out the same thing. Why the hell had Reinne voted for him? They had barely ever interacted, usually doing so only when he ran afoul of Tianna’s group. What reason did she have to make him leader?

“It’s just like Droon said. Rowan’s got actual experience, unlike a certain someone who only knows how to read books,” Reinne replied. “I felt that he would make a good leader, so I chose him. No other reason for it.”

Morgana’s eyes narrowed. “Bullshit. You did this because you didn’t want me to be leader.”

“Not everything is about you, Morgana,” Reinne replied airily. “Just accept that you lost and move on. It’s not like any of us are partying together because we want to.”

“There’s no way I can trust someone weaker than myself to lead,” Morgana protested. “I’m the strongest, I should be leader.”

“Just because you’re the strongest, doesn’t mean you’re the most suitable to lead,” Reinne replied sweetly, but her words contained venom. “We’ve already voted, and Rowan’s the leader. Either accept the result or leave the group. But good luck finding another party that would take you.”

Morgana glared at Reinne, but said nothing. For now, it seemed that she would comply with the results of the vote. But Rowan could feel her gaze shift towards him. Despite having done nothing wrong, he had somehow attracted the wrath of Morgana.

Great, Rowan thought gloomily. He almost wanted to deny the vote and just hand the position over to Morgana, but one look at Droon and Reinne’s expressions told him there was no way that would fly. And there was a good chance Morgana would just assume he was pitying her as well. Suppressing a sigh, he stared at his hands. I’m sure this will go wonderfully.

There were a few possible ways to try and smooth over the situation, but all carried downsides. The one that immediately came to mind was to make Morgana vice-leader or second-in-command, but there was a good chance that it would come across as a move made out of pity again and there was no way the proud fae would accept that. Since he didn’t want to make anything worse, Rowan silently accepted the position of leader with a nod towards Reinne and an apologetic glance towards Morgana.

“So,” Reinne said cheerily, as if the tense air around the table had nothing to do with her. “With that done. How about we decide on a name? Personally, I like the name: Prancing Glitterhorns.”

“Too girly,” Droon shot down the suggestion immediately. “I think we should be called the Slayers of Darkness.”

Rowan felt a chill go down his neck at Droon’s suggestion, which gave a surprisingly deep insight into his friend’s tastes. Friend or not, there was no way he was introducing himself as the leader of the party Slayers of Darkness, or Prancing Glitterhorns for that matter.

“Any other suggestions?” he asked hopefully, his mind working overtime as he sought a suitable name for their party that was not one of the two already suggested. Worse come to worst, he would use his newly vested powers as leader to forcibly name the party. If he was lucky, they might even strip him of leadership for doing so.

“Nightshade.” The way Morgana said it, it was not a suggestion. “If you’re not going to let me be leader, then you’ll at least let me name the party. We’re going with Nightshade.”

“Nightshade it is,” Rowan said hurriedly, earning himself a slight reduction in the intensity of the gaze Morgana was giving him. Droon pouted as his name was rejected, but seemed to accept the result, and Reinne only offered him a slight smile in response.

Seeing that his party members seemed to have accepted his decision, Rowan breathed a sigh of relief. Somehow, they had made it past the first hurdle. But something told him that this was just the beginning.

This is going to be a complete shitshow.

    people are reading<Combat Archaeologist: Rowan>
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