For the entire morning, Sorath made careful small talk in between Freya’s historical recounts. He didn’t track down any lies or inconsistencies. They were genuinely kind souls, albeit manipulative. Their friendly mana increasingly eroded mental walls. He was already growing on them, as though they were already his best friends—exactly what they wanted him to think.

He reasoned, They have to know something about psionics, but they’re so careful about not verbalizing their thoughts. Damn it.

Gwyn’s fingers brushed his arm. “What’s wrong, Sora? Hmm? ”

“I’m just wondering. What exactly do know about my affinity?”

“I already told you—I’ve read somewhere before that psionics is type of mana like any other. Like heat or sound or light. It is generated by all living things, especially those that can think. Your Psionic Slash physically manifests the energy as electric plasma.”

“Is that all?”

She half-sighed, half-chuckled. “For the thousandth time, yes.”

Fine. If that really was all, then they seemed genuine enough; they wanted him for his rare power alone. He stated, “If I weren’t a psionic, you’d send me to the mines.” To slave away with Madrog’s son.

She dejectedly smiled. “You did kill a handful of our people. A century in the mines would be justified.” A century to her didn’t sound long.

“More than justifiable,” Freya said. “However, you’re not a Miner. You’re a Chef. I’d have you work in a kitchen instead, and I don’t think it’d be evil of me to do so. You saw children at the farms, did you not?”

“I did.”

“Then you know how difficult the coming winter will be for us.”

And yet Hyera had ordered their food supply destroyed. No way the Royal Guard wasn’t aware. This couldn’t be a mistake. King Desiric and Hyera were willing to sentences dozens if not hundreds of children and innocents to death. That wasn’t justice. That wasn’t the will of the gods… and if it was, then Sorath wouldn’t follow such evil.

He grumbled, “Why don’t you send innocents to Greenwood?”

“We’re not forcing our followers to stay here,” Freya truthfully said. “And we can’t force anyone to Greenwood either.”

“Alright, I get it. You’re not evil.” He stood and stretched his back. “We’ve talked enough. When are we leaving for the dungeon?”

Gwyn sprang to her feet. “Want to go now?” She wasn’t concerned in the slightest that the dungeon was tier nine.

“Sure. Where are my items?”

“In a closet,” Freya said. “Come.” Her head jerked toward to the door.

Sorath followed down a hallway spacious enough for a full party walking shoulder to shoulder. The arched ceiling was ten arm lengths above his head. Crystals lit up in passing; the ladies didn’t even need to touch them—a massive giveaway of their power. They wore sets of legendary equipment, both of them. A jealous twinge pinched his lips, for they had eternity to collect riches while his body would start rotting after his thirtieth birthday. He understood Desiric’s motivations.

A dangerous question rose from the depths of his mind. He asked, “About that Youth Potion. Does it need a full ground-up body? Can it be brewed with just some blood?”

“Wow,” Freya blew at him. “That didn’t take long.”

But Gwyn answered, “Nope, it has to be a full tortured body. It’s dark magic, you know?”

“That’s a shame,” he mumbled.

“It sure is. Psionic boys are extremely rare. I’d give you some of my blood if it were that easy.”

Good to know, and his suspicious piqued again: “You’ve met one before?”

“Nope. Like I said, you’re the first I’ve met.” Truth.

Freya’s fingers clicked by his eye. “Here.” She touched a magical lock, and the door swung open with a squealing creak. On the shelves waited his items, including his case of Vitaleaf Cheroots, the bounty list binder, and jars of salt he had looted, though the bagged heads were in their freezer.

He grabbed his folded jerkin, shook it straight. The leather was clean and smelled of lavender soap. He didn’t find any of the scratches and tears it had taken over the past months. Its stitchings were thicker and colored bronze, giving off a gritty mana that wanted to meld with his own.

Unveil items, he thought in the divine language, glossing over each refurbished item.

High-Quality Leather Jerkin

Durability: 100/100

+5 Vitality

+2 Endurance

Lesser Thick Skin: Your skin is 5% more resistant against damage

High-Quality Leather Pants

Durability: 100/100

+5 Vitality

+1 Dexterity

Lesser Thick Skin: Your skin is 5% more resistant against damage

High-Quality Leather Boots

Durability: 100/100

+4 Vitality

+1 Dexterity

Lesser Runner’s Perseverance: Running drains 5% less stamina

High-Quality Wool Gloves

Durability: 100/100

+2 Vitality

+1 Dexterity

Lesser Sanitation: Dirt and grease of all forms slides off these gloves

Normal-Quality Steel-Studded Leather Belt

Durability: 100/100

+2 Vitality

That was it for the surprises. His silk cloak was full of holes like before. The tattered cloak wasn’t any different. Neither were his weapons.

Hands behind her back, Gwyn rose to the tips of her boots. “Do you like them?”

Freya said, “She stayed up enchanting them for you.”

He didn’t know what to say. Did it matter if this was part of her overly blatant manipulation? The last time someone washed and patched up his gear had been over five years ago. And for the permanent enchantments, they were each worth thousands of gold, Lesser Sanitation worth almost ten-thousand at Greenwood. This was an eighteenth birthday that he never had.

“Well?” Gwyn nudged his arm. “Does this make up for last night?”

“It does. Thank you. They’re great.” He stepped into his pants, pouched the bathrobe.

She hugged him for a quick second. Her warmth and sweet scent was nice, he had to admit. She chirped, “So have you decided if you’re going to join our humble gang?” Subtlety clearly wasn’t her forte.

He buttoned up his jerkin. “We’ll see, but I don’t see myself loyal to Desiric again. If what you say is really true, then he’s a two-faced freak. I bet he’s stealing tribute gold for himself too. No wonder there are shortages everywhere.”

“So do you don’t want to go back?” Gwyn asked.

“Well… At this rate, the kingdom may fall apart in ten years.” But if things were to fall apart here, he could aways say he had been captured and taken prisoner, which was true.

Freya asked, “If not here, where would you go?”

He didn’t answer, because he didn’t know, and they saw it in his expression. At this point, he was a stray dog under the mercy of these two Elves. They were merciful for not sending him to the mines or kitchens. They were wise for knowing his abilities were valuable, wiser for treating a valuable prisoner with kindness. And being nigh-immortal, they were somewhat more resistant to corruption. He could see himself being part of Freya’s court, not as a general or high lord but as a right hand dagger in the night.

“Ah, it’s fine.” Gwyn playfully slapped his back. “We’ve got time. It’s not as if you’re running off anytime soon, are you?”

“No. I’ll stay for the winter at least.”

Freya nodded. “Then you will need to uphold your weight by working to the best of your ability, both in terms of crafting and combat.”

“Naturally,” he muttered, tied his pouch to to his right hip, wore the tattered cloak, then whispered, “Unveil attributes.” Indigo words scribbled onto the marble wall.

Level: 41 (30,059/205,000 EXP)

Health: 4,800 (24 regenerated per minute)

Mana: 5,200 (250 regenerated per minute)

Stamina: 10,200 (510 regenerated per minute)

Strength: 55 + 9 (64 total)

Dexterity: 94 + 8 (102 total)

Vitality: 28 + 20 (48 total)

Intelligence: 96

Wisdom: 52

Endurance: 48 +2 (50 total)

Affinities: Maximum Psionic, Low Darkness

“All in order?” Freya asked.

“Yeah, let’s go. Who else are we waiting for?”

“Only us.”

Surprise jolted up his back. “It’s a tier nine.”

“Do you want to split loot five ways?”

“No, but—”

“Gwyn and I do a few nines every year. There is a reason why Hyera hasn’t raided us since the first parties he sent.” Her confidence was reassuring.

No more words, they reversed direction, turned into a narrow corridor, then hurried down a flight of twenty steps. Freya put up her hood and undid a magical lock. Bright sunlight flooded a cave’s mouth, and Sorath shielded his eyes while they adjusted to a steep hillside view overlooking a sparkling river and a patchy White Oak forest, freezing wind lashing his cheeks.

Bandits were doing bandit things among blocky marble structures; their architecture was consistent if nothing else. This settlement, however, had a lot more foresight. Buildings were arranged according to a fanned-out grid layout around Freya’s cave. Plots were left open for future developments: small squares, large rectangles, and two peanut-shaped blobs which were meant to be parks but made for temporary farms. This was the beginning of a future capital city.

Indigo streaked.

Scarlett Freya has invited you to her party. Do you accept?

Yes, he thought.

Then information assaulted his eyes. Their entries gradually appeared at his vision’s left corner with health, stamina, and mana bars and spaces for buffs and debuffs. They were both level 50. Gwyn’s class icon was a bushy plant inside a gray border—Shaman. Freya’s was a flaming ornate shield inside a thicker silver border—Guardian, a second tier tank class which Sorath had forgotten the skill names for. Auras were shown as buff icons.

[Gwyneth] Featherfoot Aura (Master 10)

Party Effect: 200% increased running speed outside of combat

Master Bonus: Running drains 50% less stamina, aura persists during combat at 20% of the effect, reserves no mana

[Gwyneth] Rejuvenation Aura (Master 10)

Party Effect: 40% health regenerated per minute

Master Bonus: 50% increased regeneration outside of combat, 100% increased regeneration when sleeping, reserves no mana

[Scarlett] Protection Aura (Master 10)

Party Effect: 25% reduced damage received

Master Bonus: 50% increased aura effect against physical damage, 25% increased aura effect against magic damage, reserves no mana

His only aura faded in before he could turn it off. Keeping it secret now was stupid anyway.

[Sorath] Temporal Haste Aura (Beginner 1)

Party Effect: Time passes 2.5% faster for all party members

Gwyn and Freya also had a fifth silhouette icon.

Perfect Stealth

There was no effect description, but the the name was enough. Their bodies were invisible, outlined in indigo for party members. The ability was either an innate racial bonus or part of a legendary set.

“Hmm?” Gwyn hummed in rising excitement. “Temporal Haste Aura?”

“What about it?” he murmured.

“Oh, Temporal Haste just seems like one of the best auras in existence is all.”

Freya’s head tilted. “We should stay partied whenever we’re near, Sora. Mutual benefit.”

Between Gwyn’s cooking and those three Master 10 auras, they had enough to offer. He huffed, “Let’s go. How am I going to sneak past—”

“I got you.” Gwyn took hold of his wrist. Her loopy, warm mana blended with his. He shimmered out of visibility.

And they were off to adventure, Sorath wondering if this was all one big nutty dream. It certainly felt like one. Maybe he was in a coma like Cardon’s father. If he were, did he want to wake? Hard to say. Hard to say.

Late evening had came with another cold snap upon these corrupted lands, upon Cyesten and her people.

Underground, mana boiled to an unstoppable pressure, ejecting steam and superheated murky water twenty body lengths high. Droplets that sprayed Sorath’s face were lukewarm from icy winds blowing in from the Arctic, colder than he had felt in years, maybe the coldest in his life. He stood closer to the geyser, pulled his cloak tighter.

Someone rubbed his shoulder. Gwyn, of course. “This cloak is below you. It’s low-quality cotton.”

“It’s not mine. I found it floating at Greenwood.”

“Floating like floating on a pond?”

He met her eyes. Her gold irises were aflame in the evening sun. “Floating mid air with a levitation enchantment. Scared the hell out of me. Your followers are real pranksters. It smelled of puke and rotting meat.”

“Where was this?” Freya asked, mana flowing up her midriff in concern.

“Two leagues east of Greenwood boundary by some boulders. There was also one of your member’s severed head under a small bridge.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No. He was chased by Rangers.”

The geyser went off, its heat quelling Gwyn’s unease. “Did you find his body?”

“No, and the head was gone when I passed the bridge the second time, which was when I found the cloak.”

Freya’s concern turned into trifling worry, like a spooked goldfish swimming in her bottomless sea of mana. On the surface there were no waves.

Sorath tried to sound compassionate: “Was he one of your leaders?”

“He was no one important.” Freya’s mana gelled up as she steeled herself. “Quite the opposite. Our violent criminals are exiled to the outskirts for periods of time. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re living in anarchy… if they’re resorting to cannibalism.”

That explained Cardon’s party. Knowing they had been troublemakers even by bandit standards put tiny guilty shreds to rest. Live by the blade, die by the blade.

Sorath asked, “Then why were you worried?”

“Do I look worri—” Her head shook. She felt exposed, for a second only before she smiled in a manic way. “We shouldn’t worry. It’s nothing.“

Eyes rolling, Gwyn said, “She’s trying to say the Chaotic One is gaining power due to Desiric’s transgressions. Does your schools teach about the dark gods, Sora?”

“They’re glossed over as myth. I only know their names.” He hadn’t found books on them in any library either.

She took hold of his frozen fingers. Her hand was warm, so he didn’t mind all this continued touching. She rambled, “When it comes to the Chaotic One, he is, as you say, a prankster. He starts with strange random events like these, then it gets really bad really quick, like in your dream. But it can always be a prank by some of our more troubled followers.”

He rebutted, “You said Desiric’s crimes have been going on for five hundred years, and this is only now starting to happen?”

Freya said, “Which is why we shouldn’t worry.” She was munching on solid chocolate. “Want some?”

“Sure.” He caught a square, chucked it into his mouth. It was smooth and bitter, darker than he preferred. “Let’s say the Chaotic One was behind this cloak. What may we expect at worst?”

“Anything from Eldritch infestations to undead uprisings to demonic plagues. If it does come to pass, then pray that a loving god makes countermoves.”

“They have to know. This must be the real reason for the tribute hikes and Royal Guard expansion—”

Mana surged below.

Sorath backed up ten steps, pulled Gwyn along and shielded her in a trained reflex. The geyser erupted far more explosively, shooting water a hundred strides into the air. Pressurized steam lashed his face and sliced 21.8% off his health bar but only 4.4% off Gwyn’s.

Less than 0.1% off Freya’s. Even though she hadn’t moved. Water dripped from her cloak’s golden hems.

His eyelids rapidly blinked in searing pain. The Rejuvenation Aura had kicked in, but he spat, “Heal me.”

Shining green, Gwyn’s bone wand waved in front of his nose. Her mana soothed his scalded skin, and both their health bars refilled. She sang, “There you go. All better. Thanks for looking out for your Shaman.”

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s go.” He began running.

For the next half hour, they traversed this ledge over a deep chasm in between mountainous hills. At the bottom, sparse crystals glowed. An animated mass of boulders wandered—an Earth Elemental. Ambient mana thickened by the stride to the point that Sorath could draw on it for skill invocation. When they arrived at the dungeon entrance (a serrated hole in the ground marked by a circle of ancient runes), walking was like wading through neck-high water. He crouched and roughly deciphered the runes. This was a small tier nine dungeon fit for a party of five or an undersized raid party. He had envisioned something far grander.

He remarked, “You don’t have anyone guarding this? What if Veric shows up? Or someone from Greenwood.”

Freya said, “Why would Veric? And I have a scouting outpost north of here.”

“Hyera told me you’re not on good terms, fighting over a high-quality salt mine.”

“That’s a gross exaggeration. We are on amiable terms, although our peoples may fight at times.”

Fair enough.

Gwyn had waited to ask, “Is this your first dungeon, Sora?”

He nodded. “We did mock practices at the School of Adventuring but nothing real.”

Freya’s mana turned feathery in befuddlement. “You wrote in your journal that Greenwood has a Dungeoneering Guild.”

The same guild that had claimed Mother’s life. He said heartlessly, “A few years back, a party of teenagers sneaked into a pocketworld dungeon. The portal timed out before they returned. After a month of protest, the guild closed down. I’m surprised you didn’t hear.”

“News to me,” Gwyn quipped in mild interest.

“That’s very reckless,” Freya said. “I wish I could start a Dungeoneering Guild. Imagine. We would be so much further ahead than we are now. Your people have grown weak in their minds.”

A large part of him agreed. The other part was simply craving violence and confrontation, winning over his tongue: “So you can send your expendable followers into dungeons while you eat chocolate?”

Amusement stirred Freya’s mana. “Firstly, I wouldn’t send anyone’s parents. Secondly, only Gwyn and I have the necessary gear to farm high-tier dungeons. Only cowards like Desiric and his high lords hide in their keeps and castles all day wearing legendary sets as if legions of assassins are waiting at their gates.”

Gwyn hummed in a playful emotion. “I don’t know… I’m pretty cowardly and fond of chocolate, to be honest.” She ate a grape-size chocolate egg. “Yummy. Want one?”

He understood she was trying to keep the team together in high spirits. Starting an argument at a dungeon entrance was probably the most stupid thing to do here. He smirked, plucked the egg from her palm. It was sweeter than Freya’s block. “Are we ready?”

Freya drew her sword, then a glittering leaf-shaped shield materialized in her left grasp. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” He retrieved his mana lamp and fed it a cup worth. Indigo flames lit up a rugged cave floor seven or eight body lengths under his feet.

“Stay behind me.” Freya jumped in.

“Good luck. Don’t die on me.” Gwyn disappeared in a wink of green mana, blinking.

He Backstabbed to them. The gods wrote to him.

Warning: You have entered an open-world dungeon as an undersized party. Continue at your own risk.

Party Size Loot Modifier: +150% drop rate.

He dismissed the warning and followed Freya’s lead, ready for acid traps, otherwordly terrors, and floating cloak pranks.