They came to the largest cavern yet where ambient mana was thicker than iced heavy cream. On the cavern ceiling, quartz clusters shined on an arena over three hundred strides in diameter, marked by a circle of glittering runes. Sorath wasn’t able to decipher these ancient symbols other than two for a dungeon floor boss. That hovering spherical, multifaceted mass of topaz—about the size of an elephant—at the arena’s midpoint was the boss.

Prime Stone Elemental.

Gwyn pulled out a thick tome from her invisible pouch. The cover was fine black leather embossed with flowery gold, but wrinkles and stains marred every other page. She flipped twice, and her finger traced down the margin next to a series of intricate geometrical diagrams. Words were in a language foreign to Sorath’s eyes. She said, “It’s either a Primus Corta or a Hasta.”

Freya said confidently, “Corta. Look at its size.”

Gwyn’s tongue clicked as she flipped back a page. “It says here Cortas usually are made of triangular crystals.” The miniboss was a ball of hexagonal crystals, not far from a honeycomb lattice.

“Hexagons are made of triangles,” Freya countered. “Look closely. You can see the seams.”

“And it says here,” Gwyn said, “that Cortas rarely appear in dungeons of tier eight or higher.”

“Are you sure you read that correctly?” Freya jabbed.

“Read for yourself.”

“Pass the book.”

“Nope, your hands are dirty.”

Freya exhaled in annoyance, then strutted to Gwyn’s side.

How cute, Sorath thought, breathing through a yawn, his fingers tightening around Vetara’s Reckoning’s leather grip, the same leather grip he had crafted for his shortsword. The fit was poor at best, dangerous at worst, leaving a half of the tang’s biting edges exposed. He could only grip with one set of fingers close to the guard; thankfully, his Strength and Dexterity stats were up to the task of one-handing this dragonsteel longsword. The legendary metal weighed as much as textbooks had claimed, twice that of regular steel.

After minutes of squabbling, Gwyn finally admitted, “Okay, Okay, it’s a Corta.” She whistled a high note, then looked at Sorath. “You know what to do, right?”

He peeled back his heavy eyelids, swallowed a yawn. “I don’t. I told you this is my first dungeon.”

“But you said you did mock practices at your school.”

“Not in such detail.”

“Oh.” Her head tilted. “Well… You’re lucky Cortas are one of the easier elemental bosses.”

Freya nodded. “For you, as a damage dealer, this shouldn’t be a problem. There are three phases, one for each third of its health bar. First third is easier than swimming in shallow water—just do damage while I hold aggro. Similar for the second third, but there’ll be a stacking and spread mechanic; watch for black and white markers. Third phase, the boss will spawn adds. Easy enough?”

“Yeah.” His grip tightened on Vetara’s Reckoning. “Let’s do this.”

“Alright. Ready, Gwyn?”

“Ready.”

Freya walked into the ring and flourished her sword in a figure-eight pattern. Her body took on a golden-white silhouette. She muttered two words in the divine language as she began slapping the flat of her blade against her leaf mana shield, clanking louder than a dozen ship cannons going off, louder each slap.

The Corta woke with a seismic groan. Although it had no face, Sorath knew it wasn’t happy about being disturbed, its dense, granular mana shaking in fury. Triangular lumps broke off and began orbiting in a swarm of jagged death. Melee wasn’t an option for squishy damage dealers here.

In a cut of gold light, Freya appeared behind the Corta. One by one, the topaz lumps flew at her. She whacked away last one, but the lumps swerved and flew right back at her with ramping speed. Within seconds, she was continuously dancing in a blur of dodging and parrying. Not once did her health didn’t dip below 100%.

A ping chimed.

Scarlett Freya signals for you to attack now!

The second Sorath stepped into the ring with Gwyn, a thin red bar appeared at the top of his vision along with a small white arrow with a black border. An aggravation indicator. Which should be always pointing at the tank. At Freya.

Sorath pointed with his index finger, drew a circle. Temprus. A slow-moving purple dart flew at the Corta, then splashed. Immune. Of course, this wasn’t going to be easy. He swung horizontally with all his might. Psycha-Cres!

Maroon dragonsteel glowed white. Reality distorted and shuddered as a twenty-stride-long crescent of plasma washed across the arena. Electricity scorched the ground. Dust vaporized. His Psionic Slash hadn’t ever been this hyper-charged. This destructive.

The impact thundered in his inner ears. Cracks spread across the Corta’s mass, broken pieces of topaz falling to the ground. 3% was sliced off the red bar. Its mana and body rotated—toward Sorath.

Sharpened lumps flew at his head.

He ducked. Pain ripped into his leg, putting him on one knee. The Rejuvenation Aura sealed his wound, and he rolled to dodge several more lumps.

Freya was banging her shield to no avail.

Gwyn blinked in front of him, garbled divine words, and the barrage ricocheted off a sparkling green barrier. She grabbed his free hand, yanked him rightward as Freya finally regained aggro, kiting the dungeon miniboss to the arena’s left-side edge.

Gwyn giggled. “Did you not learn about aggro management?”

“I did. I wasn’t expecting that much power in my Slash. This new sword is something else.”

“Try to be careful.” Her tone had some sting.

“I am trying.” He patted the small of her back a bit too close to her bottom.

She didn’t shy away as she said, “I’m serious. You do pretty good damage now. If you accidentally hurt someone, like Freya, I might not be able to out-heal the injuries fast enough.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Don’t worry.”

“Hmm. Okay.”

Keeping a safe distance, he stepped forth into a diagonal uppercut, holding back over half his power, releasing a crescent half the size, dealing half the damage.

The Corta’s aggro pointer wavered slightly in Sorath’s direction but stayed on Freya. Immediately, she reapplied her taunt, banging away, and the pointer stopped gyrating.

Gwyn started pelting the Corta with jade mana bolts. Each little impact chipped away at the red bar. 95.4% 95.3. 95.2. A flurry of three-dozen bolts stole aggro, but she whispered something and the Corta suddenly forgot about her.

Psionic Slash’s cooldown lapsed. Sorath chopped at a steep angle with roughly seventy-percent power, bringing the red bar down to 89.8%. Still a long way to go. And he had already spent a quarter of his mana pool. His teeth gritting, he chose not to drink potion. Natural regeneration would have to do.

For the next twenty percentage points, at a slower pace, Sorath and Gwyn took turns dealing damage while Freya tanked the Corta with infinite stamina reserves. At 66.1%, a ping loudly rang.

Scarlett Freya signals a phase change!

Gwyn fired two bolts.

Earthy gray mana stormed the arena. The Corta’s body swelled to twice the size, and it roared as though announcing the world’s end times. Spinning, it launched three topaz boulders at random locations, then began pulsing beige light.

Ping.

Scarlett Freya orders you to take cover!

“Behind there!” Gwyn yelled, pointing at the closest boulder.

“Brackia,” he barked, but the skill didn’t work. He spat a curse, dove, and rolled onto his knees and palms just as the ground shook in a deafening explosion of dust and razor topaz shards.

The boulders crumbled.

“Psycha-Cres!” He slashed away 2.5%.

Gwyn’s bolts ate another 1.5%.

The Corta roared differently. The sound was like an anxious bear protecting her cubs.

White rings, fives strides in radius, enclosed Sorath and the two Elves.

Ping!

Scarlett Freya orders you to stack together!

Brackia. The cavern stretched, and his boots scuffed next to Freya. Gwyn was a millisecond behind. Then the rings detonated in plumes of earth mana. They stood unharmed.

Psycha-Cres! Another 2.5%.

But Gwyn was tending to a deep gash on Freya’s arm. Somehow she had been hit. Damn.

The Corta again roared in impending doom, spinning. Three boulders launched. The flashing countdown began.

Psycha-Cres! Sorath threw a plasma crescent on the way to his boulder. 56.8%. The explosion went off with the same force as the first, with just as much dust and razor topaz.

Lumps broke off the Corta’s body.

Freya was already banging her shield with her sword.

Then a distorted bellow vibrated in Sorath’s skull, and a black ring, ten strides in diameter, surrounded him. A third mechanic.

A ping jingled.

Gwyneth Carena orders you to spread out!

Not too tricky. He exhaled in relief, jogging away from the Elves but not too far, slashing diagonally. Psycha-Cres! His attack cut a deep groove into the Corta as the rings detonated. 54.2%.

The fight to the next phase was the most grueling in Sorath’s life, but, like his mother, he was a natural. His reaction time was instant: stack, cover, spread out. The random pattern to these simple mechanics didn’t throw him off. He made not a single error, all the while throwing Psionic Slashes and keeping a mindful watch on his mana bar. By the time 35% came and went, he was able to do it without even thinking. Too easy.

33%.

No ping.

The Corta rose high into the air, slowly revolving.

“It’s invulnerable!” Freya called. “Kills the adds!”

At the arena’s edges, Greater Topaz Elementals were spawning, and the Corta was throwing twice as many sharp lumps at Freya, who sprinted around the arena and spammed taunts, allowing Sorath to take out Elementals without trouble. But one add quickly became dozens swarming them every second, spawning faster than even Vetara’s Reckoning could cut down, faster than his mana could regenerate. Topaz Elementals weren’t pushovers either.

“Do something!” he shouted.

Gwyn began chanting rhyming verses—her ultimate. Green mana sprouted into blossoming vines.

Freya yelled, “Wrydia Impervous!” A dome of golden-white mana formed. “Sora, get in!”

Brackia. The rubber of his soles squeaked on the landing. He palmed his knee, out of breath, out of stamina as well as mana. Sweat dripped off his chin. His lungs and muscles were on fire.

Gwyn’s chant ended with an echoing cadence. She pointed her wand at the cavern’s ceiling, and a hurricane of mana petals, centered on the golden dome, stormed the area and began shredding every incoming Elemental into fine sand not a second too soon, the dome’s mana shattering. And after every Elemental death, the red bar lost a tiny sliver.

For three minutes Gwyn directed the hurricane while Sorath held her in a protective embrace, his arm around her shoulder. When her mana neared zero, he fed her a mana potion vial and asked, “Why didn’t you do this at the start?”

“Obviously, this only works on things with low armor and resistances.”

“I guessed as much.”

“Sure you did.”

When he fed her another potion, the gods wrote to him. Two prompts.

Skill Advancement X3: Psionic Slash (Intermediate 1)

Type: Active, Psionic

Effect: With a bladed weapon, throw a crescent of destructive mana, dealing 210% weapon damage with Strength and Intelligence multipliers

Cost: 800 mana

Cooldown: 5 seconds

Intermediate Bonus: Crescents travel 50% further before dissipating

Congratulations! You are now level 42!

You have gained 2 additional attribute points.

Unreal. The experience per kill was utter insanity. He wasn’t going to complain. If only Topaz Elementals weren’t rare; these were the first he had encountered.

The final phase ended peacefully with the Corta disintegrating into glistening spirals of mana that coalesced into topaz loot gems each the size of Sorath’s clenched fist. Not legendary. Merely very rare. He guided three onto a sand pile with Telekinesis. Gwyn caught a fourth.

Freya said, “Since I’m the party leader, I will have two.”

“Sounds good,” Gwyn said, saluting her.

“Fine,” he begrudgingly mumbled, grabbed the symmetrical octagonal ball, and streamed mana through his right-hand fingertips. The weight reduced, and a sustained flash of honey-white light left a circular afterimage in his eyes. On his palm was a glassy colorless cube. A skill gem lacking affinity. Could be better.

Freya was next. Two oblong gems flashed together, yielded a mossy-green ingot (adamantite) and a silver tiara with diamonds.

Unveil, Sorath commanded.

Excellent-Quality Silver Diamond Tiara

Durability: 100/100

Excellent quality. In the right hands, it could be crafted into something legendary.

Freya’s shrouded hood hid her expression as she pouched her loot.

Gwyn unhooded herself as her flat hexagon glowed dimly, enlarging and splitting into many circular objects that she cupped with both hands. Gold coins—the standardized currency of the gods. Not gold. Platinum coins, about thirty of them, each worth a thousand gold exactly. Lucky her.

But her smile was inverted. “Coins? Again? The gods hate me.”

“I’ll take them,” Sorath offered, his eyebrow raised.

“Hmph. No.” She dumped them into her pouch. She poked his elbow. “Are you going to use that skill gem or are you giving it to me?”

“It’s mine,” he said flatly, then invoked in the divine language, “Unveil skill choice.”

The gods rolled their dice and wrote before him.

Choice 1

+15 ranks to Multi-Hex Strike

Choice 2

[New Active Skill] Twinpoint Lance (Beginner 1)

Type: Active, Psionic

Effect: With a bladed weapon, your next stab will release a 15-stride psionic lance, dealing 90% weapon damage with Strength and Intelligence multipliers

Combo Effect: Invoked within 5 seconds of Psionic Slash, Twinpoint Lance releases two double-width lances

Cooldown: 8 seconds

Mana Cost: 350

Choice 3

+15 ranks to Backstab

Choice 4

+15 ranks to Temporal Haste Aura

Only four. The gods certainly weren’t feeling generous tonight.

“So,” Gwyn sang, “what are the choices?”

Sorath, however, was feeling cooperative, especially after that boss fight. His first boss fight. A miniboss to be precise. Truth be told, he had been carried; he would’ve died on the second phase if it weren’t for them. He paid his thanks by projecting an intention for them to see what was meant for his eyes alone.

Gwyn’s face was blank. She blinked once, twice. “Choice four.”

Freya nodded. “Definitely.”

His head swayed. He covered a yawn, stretching his arms. “I really need another ranged area-of-effect attack. I’d like Twinpoint Lance. We might need it for the rest of the dungeon.” He glanced left and right, spotted cast iron double doors which wasn’t there before. The entrance to the next floor.

Gwyn hummed two notes. “Sora… I have all the area of effect we need. Think about it; with fifteen ranks to Temporal Haste Aura, boss fights will be much, much easier. And safer. Safety is the most important part of boss fights. You don’t want to see my detached, bloody head on the ground, do you?”

The image of that was more than disturbing. A primal part of his soul wanted to prevent something like that at any cost. He couldn’t deny it: Gwyn was his new romantic crush. An Elf.

He sighed. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” she smugly said. “Now go ahead, please.”

“Final choice: four.”

The cube turned to dust. Colorless mana rushed up his nostrils, and a peculiar sensation settled in his mind. He felt more relaxed, although he was still fatigued, his eyelids heavy. The prompt was delayed by a second.

Skill Advancement: Temporal Haste Aura (Intermediate 6)

Solo Effect: Time passes 35% faster for you

Party Effect: Time passes 17.5% faster for all party members within a 250 stride range

Raid Party Effect: Time passes 3.5% faster for all party members within a 1000 stride range

Intermediate Bonus: Solo effect is applied to party sizes of four or less

No wonder the prompt had been delayed. Time outside of this party was running slower by a third. A day to everyone else was more than thirty-two hours from his perspective. Unbelievable. The girls were right. This was the perfect choice, the only choice. This advantage was monumental. The intermediate bonus itself was worth the skill gem.

Why did I even consider Twinpoint Lance?

Gwyn’s hand slipped into his. “Good choice. Looks like we’re staying partied for a long, long time, Sora.”

“Mmhm,” Freya murmured in agreement.

He couldn’t stifle a yawn. “Sure, you two aren’t unbearably annoying.”

“Okay, Sorath,” Freya chuckled. “Now let’s get some sleep. We’ll open that door tomorrow morning.” Her pouch spat out cotton bedrolls.

He supposed this boss arena was a safe enough resting place. Most of the steam and spike traps in the maze behind were still waiting for victims.