Gwyn tugged Sorath’s sleeve, asking, “You’re not serious about putting me in a youth potion, are you?” Her tone was less accusing than her quivering, anxious mana.

He answered in a gentle voice, “No, of course not. We were joking around.”

She blinked a couple times before her mana settled. “Okay, I believe you.” Her lips curled very slightly. “But I can’t forget you’re going to grow old and die on me one day. When that time comes…”

“Gwyn,” he huffed. “That’s a long time away. No need to worry about it now.” Five to seven decades was more than enough time to find a solution; the world was riddled with ancient mysteries and hidden knowledge. If there was one route to eternal life, then there had to be at least another, for magic often grew in sibling branches.

She kept pushing: “One year, two years, ten, fifty. Might as well be ten seconds. Boys who don’t plan ahead annoy me.”

Just for that, he was tempted to annoy her some more, but he held off... for now. He spoke in his best adult voice, “Once our faction is established and secured, we’ll scour these lands and beyond for something.”

Her core of mana flipped in happy surprise. “You really mean that?”

“Sure.” A future with the Elves, with Gwyn, was looking more and more tangible, but he wasn’t going to ignore the state of their settlements—a refuge for Cyesten’s criminals. At the end of the day, he could always return to Greenwood and take up Madrog’s offer. A mundane but secure life.

She touched his upper arm. “What are you thinking?”

An awkward shrug jerked his shoulders. “You know, I’d be a Town Guard right now if the pay were as good. Do you think I enjoy sleeping in the open wilderness, in fear of death every night, and then eating cabbages and hardbread for breakfast?”

She jovially said, “You can be a Town Guard for us.”

“No, thanks.”

She chuckled. Her pointed ear twitched as she flicked hair out of her eyes. Her mana coiled in both amusement and impatience, waiting for Freya to hurry with the lock-picking puzzle. “Are you done yet?” Gywn asked.

“Almost.” Freya was picking the final lock on one of four pillars. Eight locks spread over the pillars had to be undone in a specific order. There were no consequences for failing; this puzzle merely tested one’s perseverance and patience. A time waster. And it had wasted thirty minutes already, twenty in actuality.

The lock clicked. Then all four pillars lit up, falling into the floor as the exit door opened. Finally.

They continued up a flight of ten steps and was met with another water pouring puzzle, except there were six vases to be filled using ten cups. Gwyn sighed and got to work.

Whoever had designed this dungeon floor loved to repeat puzzles with increasing complexity and length. So far they had gone through three sliding picture puzzles, three water pours, two talking riddle statues, eight Eldritch Slugs, and numerous traps all avoided thanks to Telepathy. Minus that one mirror side-room, this floor was a series of puzzles on a spiral path. They should be close to the center; this room was either the last or second to last.

Freya was staring at Sorath, her eyes judging. She said at above a whisper, “If you hurt her, you will wish you had never set foot in my territory.”

He copied her tone: “What do you mean by that exactly?”

“Oh, you know very well.” Her arms loosely crossed under her bosom as her hips slanted.

This talk was the last thing had expected. His sneer wasn’t too mocking. “What is this? Are you her mother?”

“No. You can consider us to be close friends, and as you know, we Elves are few… and our emotions aren’t to be toyed with.” Her mana was solid as her resolve.

The sappiness made him queasy. “Same for me,” he mumbled.

Freya was quiet for a prolonged moment while Gwyn poured cups two at a time and hummed a cute tranquil tune. When the first vase was done, Freya murmured, “You have peculiar eyes, Sorath.”

“Thank you?”

She didn’t say more.

He scowled, glanced at her mischievous golden eyes. She was being intentionally vague, holding back an important tidbit. And if she didn’t want to speak, he wasn’t going to bother playing ten-thousand questions. Interrogating a tight-lipped human would take hours; her loopy Elven mind might take days to weeks. Not to mention, Gwyn wouldn’t appreciate him interrogating her best friend.

For the following half hour, Freya helped Gwyn solve the remaining five vases by also pouring cups—in silence. Zero communication. Which only meant the puzzle was far simpler than Sorath had assumed. And as he watched their flurry of pouring more closely, it became clear that they were repeatedly measuring out a few small volumes of water to build up the required amount for each vase. This puzzle was also as tedious. The challenge was to not fumble, a test of Dexterity rather than Intelligence.

Gwyn poured one last time, then all five vases lit up. The door swung. Inside was a hollow void of melancholy and hate.Inside was absolute darkness, but the manalamp’s green light outlined something roughly circular.

Putrid musk wafted up Sorath’s nostrils. He held in a gag reflex.

Shield held at the ready, Freya threw up her hood. “Sorath, send in the lamp.”

Telenka.

The manalamp hovered inside under a wobbly grip, Sorath trying to concentrate and stop his eyes from watering in the stench. His nose was clogged and runny. All he tasted was spicy, bitter, sour dirt. He would take a Town Guard’s post over this any day. Anyone would.

Under a dome roof, an Eldritch horror slept in the center of an arena fifty strides in diameter. Purple-gray tentacles hugged a spherical body of smooth, slime-covered, leathery skin. Two touching horizontal ridges in the skin that spanned the body’s width could be lips. Or eyelids.

The thing was a giant eye.

Hood up, Gwyn passed him a two pieces of wood bound together with a metal spring. Nose pegs, which did help. She whispered, “Once it wakes up, it will go invisible. See those pillars?”

Squinting hardly improved his eyesight, but he discerned four three-foot obelisks close to the arena’s edge. “Yeah.”

“Touch the square crystal to activate for thirty seconds. All four will reveal the Eye. I’ll cover the two on the left. You take the one close to the exit.”

Freya instructed, “I’ll drag it to the right. First phase is a Tank-and-Spank. Second phase will be ground hazards and petrifying gazes that should be aimed at me. Third phase is similar to the first. Easy enough?”

His eyebrow rose. “Easier than the Prime Corta.”

Gwyn said, “She didn’t say the tentacles will regularly squirt acid slime at us. Don’t get sprayed. Don’t go melee range, Sora.”

Freya added, “Wait five seconds between pillar activations. Me, Gwyn, Sora, Gwyn—that order. Ready?”

Good strategy. And obviously, melee range wasn’t an option. This was going to be another Psionic Slash spam. Twinpoint Lance was suddenly a million times more appealing, doubling his ranged damage output. More than double due to the combo effect. He again checked that Temporal Haste was toggled on before nodding. “Ready.”

Freya fearlessly strutted toward her pillar, her footfalls quieter than usual. Sorath and Gwyn were already in place when she touched the pillar’s crystal with her sword’s pummel. Vertically engraved lines on the pillar glowed whitish-purple.

Sorath counted to five, but Gwyn’s pillar activated half a second too soon. He counted faster while Gwyn dashed. His pillar activated against his elbow, followed by the fourth.

Grunting, Freya threw her leaf shield. Not her shield. A phantom copy of her shield hurtled at the Eldritch Eye, struck it with a resounding thump, and shattered into sparks.

A red bar appeared in Sorath’s vision.

But the Eye didn’t wake.

Freya started whacking her blade against her shield, and the Eye stirred in its slumber. On the fifth whack, she tossed another phantom shield.

Those slimy eyelids lazed open, unveiling throbbing purple veins on a chalky-white sclera surrounding a blood-red gleaming iris and a shrinking pupil. Tentacles unfurled and dripped slime. The Eye made no sound as it glanced at Gwyn.

Then Sorath. His grip tightened around Vetara’s Reckoning. He held steady.

Freya banged another taunt.

The Eye’s hollow mana and body rotated toward her, noticeably slower than the Prime Corta had moved. By more than thirty-five percent. Over twice as slow.

Not so rapidly, one by one, the round growths on the Eye’s tentacles shined crimson light. It shot a beam of bloody mana that traveled with the speed of a marble rolling down a moderate incline. She sidestepped long before the beam reached her position.

Tentacles shuffling, the Eye lobbed a mana sphere—a typical bomb.

Sorath watched the bomb fall under what looked like slightly reduced gravity. The pluming explosion was a weird first, not just slow, but also lower in pitch compared to any bomb Sorath had ever heard. This was so much more than Temporal Lethargy; everything was slow. This whole sight was surreal, dreamy, downright bizarre. How could this be real? Having such a godly passive advantage over a tier nine miniboss… yet here he was, drastically reducing this fight’s difficulty.

A ping jabbed him.

Scarlett Freya orders you to attack!

He pointed with a finger, drew a circle. Temprus. He assumed the hex would splash like it had against the Corta, but the indigo dart pierced the Eye’s skin. A clock icon appeared under the red bar, debuffed. Its tentacles’ movements slowed to that of long grass waving in the gentlest of breezes. He stopped breathing. Vetara’s Reckoning loosened in his hand.

He was a god.

“Brackia,” he calmly mouthed. “Hexus.” An overhead swing lopped off a tentacle, splashing him with purple blood, adding two icons to the red bar: a broken bone and a broken dagger. Fragility and Frailty.

The pillar behind Freya dimmed.

He pinged her to touch it, and she obeyed. Good Elf.

“Psycha-Cres,” he snarled, uppercutting, unleashing a wide line of electric plasma that erased three tentacles from existence, cauterizing wounds. A 7% chunk of the red bar vanished but was already regenerating. The wounds bubbled and swelled.

The Eye’s mouthless scream was quiet, rolling thunder. Its mana heaved in not much pain at all as tentacles flopped toward him.

Three flicks of Sorath’s wrist sliced through a dozen tentacles. The dying appendages fell in slow motion. The red bar flashed—phase change.

The pillar he was in charge of dimmed.

He pinged Gwyn.

“On it!” she chirped. Good girl.

The Eye took on a bloody hue. Its pupil shined red.

Sorath felt his body stiffen, his mana hardening. Petrification. He closed his eyes, relied on Telepathy alone, and cut diagonally with both hands, releasing a maximum power Psionic Slash. Lightning crackled. Several mana tendrils fell.

15% of the red bar disappeared.

Temporal Lethargy’s icon was fading.

“Hexus,” he breathed, twisted around on his heel, delivered a roundhouse cut. Two tentacles fell. Fragility and Lethargy refreshed, their icons fully vivid again. He redirected momentum into a follow-up, his blade ringing. Another two tentacles fell.

A pillar dimmed. Gwyn was on it.

Freya, at last, joined in. Her curved blade glinted with a golden edge. A flurry of slicing and dicing amputated the Eye’s remaining five appendages.

The red bar flashed. Phase change.

The Eye started liquefying, splitting in two, reforming into two smaller maimed bodies.

Sorath didn’t know why he—or the Elves—watched it transform in slow motion. Maybe he wanted to give it a fighting chance. This ridiculously one-sided fight didn’t scratch an itch for a challenge, for a mountain to conquer. And this was not a mountain, not even a bump in the ground.

Freya said, “Kill both together within ten seconds.”

“Or what?”

“Or it’ll revive full-health.” She banged her shield, taunting both.

The temptation to fail on purpose wrapped him in a seductive embrace. But he wasn’t so stupid. Hexus. He plunged Vetara’s Reckoning into an Eye. Debuffs refreshed on the one red bar, which halved in length. The Eye’s innards was softer than melted cheese, and its bulbous form deflated like a balloon filled with melted cheese.

A pillar dimmed for less than a fraction of a second—Gwyn.

Before he could invoke Psionic Slash, Freya spun on the spot, finished the other Eye with a whirlwind of razor gold.

Severed tentacles disintegrated into black ash, followed by the Eyes’ disfigured corpses. The ash coalesced into four loot gems similar in size to the Corta had dropped.

The gods congratulated him with a skill advancement.

Skill Advancement X2: Multi-Hex Strike (Intermediate 5)

Type: Active, Psionic

Effect: With a melee strike, inflict one of your hexes at 114% efficacy

Cost: 450 mana

Cooldown: 10 seconds

Intermediate Bonus: Inflict an additional hex

Good enough.

Gwyn whistled and cheered, “You did it, Sora! All you!”

He could feel his nose grow longer. “I don’t mean to brag, but I question if that was a miniboss at all.”

“I question,” Freya said, “Why it wasn’t also immune to your hexes. Those debuffs trivialized the fight, and that may not be a good thing. The god who designed this floor can’t be very happy. Next floor might be hellish. Will be hellish.”

Yet again, she was right.

A sigh pulled sour, putrid air into Sorath’s lungs. He coughed and asked, “What should we expect?”

“Usually, I’d expect a continuation of this floor.” Her head tilted. “The hardest floor-types are shifting labyrinths and cursed domains.”

“Which is harder?”

Gwyn answered, “Domains.”

But Freya said, “I really hate shifting labs.” She made a growling-grumbling sound as she noticed cast iron double doors at the chamber’s far end. “Sorath, you should take all four loot gems. Hope for legendary gear and skills, because the chance of you getting badly injured will be…” Her head shook.

He picked up the smallest gem, a cloudy-white donut—unlucky shape. Unlucky color too. “If it’s really bad, should we just leave?”

“Yes.” Freya.

“No.” Gwyn. “We’ll for sure get a legendary loot gem from the dungeon boss.”

That for sure settled it. He said in a sturdy voice, “I agree with Gwyn.”

Freya let out a miffed breath. “I am this party's leader, Sorath, and I will ber the leader of our future faction. However, I do admit we should at least partly explore the next floor.”

“Good,” Gwyn smugly said. “Now, loot please, Sora.”

With Sorath feeding the donut a trickle of mana, it shined not too dimly as it gained weight and morphed into a cold metallic oblong. The mithril ingot was normal-quality at best. Could be worse. He pouched it.

Next up was an off-color emerald lump that sustained a dazzling flash, shrinking three-fold into a vial of sparkling, viscous silver liquid. Is this a… It couldn’t be. He commanded in the divine language, “Unveil.”

Excellent-Quality Luck Potion (Vial)

It was.

Immediately his mind was thrown back to his dream. The Luck Potion he had drank was of high-quality, not excellent, but these couldn’t be coincidences. First Vetara’s Reckoning. Now this. His body tingled throughout, a wave of goosebumps coursing up his arms and sides.

Gwyn was standing very close to him, inside his breathing space. Her hood was down. Her eyes were cute and puppy-like. “So we do have a Legendary Loot Gem…”

His heart jumped. He blurted, “You have it with you?”

“Of course I do—safe in my soul inventory.”

“Can I have it?” There was a chance albeit infinitesimally small.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Maybe.” She rose to the balls of her feet. “I could give it to you, but what happens if you decide to turn your back on us? Hmmm?”

His fingers brushed the side of her cheek. Her skin was warm silk. Her nose peg made her look like a clown; he unclasped it along with his own. Thankfully, the stench had left the chamber. “Do you really think I would betray you?”

Suddenly her eyes dipped. Apprehension crossed her face, quivered in her mana. “Well… We’ve only known each other for a day and a half.”

“You’ve read my journal,” he said lightly. “There’s not much more to know about me. I grew up with a loving mother, a decent enough of a father, and a community that probably could’ve been better to me. All-in-all, I’d say I’ve grown into a decent enough of guy, like my father. I just want the best for myself and those I care about.”

“Who do you care about?” Freya asked in a kind voice.

An easy question. “Madrog for one. His son for two.”

Freya unhooded herself. She was frowning. “Have you met his son once? Lafan is nothing like how you described his father in your journal. The kid is a violent troublemaker.” Truth.

He ignored her. “And I’ve grown to care about you two… even if it’s only been a day and a half. Gwyn, you’ve been good to me—”

“I have,” she quipped, flashing teeth.

“Minus the tussle the other night.”

“Hey, you’re the one who tried to attack me first. Then I underestimated your squishiness. So, both our faults. I accept your apology.” Her grin widened. Her golden eyes gleamed with a green tint.

Her cuteness was intoxicating. He patted her head. “I don’t plan on chopping off your head anytime soon. Quite the opposite; I’d do everything I could to reattach your head.”

She chuckled nervously and said in a meek voice, “I could say the same about you.”

Freya was hardly amused. “Sorath, you have two more loot gems. We can continue talking later.”

Greed encouraged him to argue, but he relented, pouching the Luck Potion. Up next was a rough bluish-green cuboid, which glowed dimly as it split into two dozen blobs. More coins. Gold. He kept his irritation in check and moved on to the opal cube, which looked identical to a dark skill gem if he were looking through a glass of water.

As the gem glowed, he prayed to the gods: Something good, please. I’d do anything. I’ll bring Desiric to justice. Anything.

And the gods answered him by shrinking the cube into a real skill gem. Third one in two days. Only filthy rich royals in Desiric’s court had better fortune.

“Can I have it?” Gwyn asked, joking.

“No. Unveil skill choice.”

Choice 1

[New Active Skill] Chain Lash (Beginner 1)

Type: Active, Psionic

Effect: With an offensive weapon, unleash an arc of lightning that bounces between three targets, dealing 75% weapon damage with Intelligence multipliers

Cooldown: 15 seconds

Mana Cost: 1200

Choice 2

+15 ranks to Temporal Haste Aura

Choice 3

+15 ranks to Frailty

He didn’t need to think, although Chain Lash was an interesting skill. “Final choice, two.”

Skill Advancement: Temporal Haste Aura (Master 1)

Solo Effect: Time passes 65% faster for you

Party Effect: Time passes 32.5% faster for all party members within a 250 stride range

Raid Party Effect: Time passes 6.5% faster for all party members within a 1000 stride range

Master Bonus: Solo effect is applied to party sizes of eight or less. +20% aura effect for all party sizes (capped at 100%)

A part of him had anticipated Gwyn’s smothering hug. For once, he hugged her back, tried to not squeeze too hard as his instincts pressured him to do. It was a protective desire. With everything outside this party running 85% slower, she was completely safe. No evil king was going to torture her on his watch.