Chapter 109 (Book 3 Chapter 37) (Part 2) (Patreon)

Riardin's Rangers heavily considered waiting out the 24-hour cooldown on Waymark before continuing their journey. They had enough food in Rob's Storage to last a week, so taking a day off and playing tic-tac-toe to pass the time was theoretically an option. Unfortunately, they didn't know exactly when the Black Wind would return. Could be a week, could be tomorrow. Gaining Attunement Level 9 would be pointless if Fiendland degenerated into a Flesh Amalgamation factory before Rob managed to put his new ability into practice.

In the end, they pressed on, implicitly aware of the risk they were taking. To Rob, it felt like zooming down a busy highway without a seatbelt on. Sure, he'd be fine if nothing out of the ordinary happened, but in the event of a crash it was likely that he'd be sent flying through his windshield and smeared across the pavement. There was no way of knowing what new kind of predator may have been laying in wait just around the corner, hungry and ready to sample fresh cuisine.

And even if he drove perfectly, he couldn't account for the other people on the road – in this case, the Merfolk. Things would get dicey if more of those fishy fuckers showed up. With Waymark on cooldown, Rob had lost his method of sending away any unlucky soldiers he chanced upon, meaning that the less savory alternatives he'd been able to sidestep might have to be revisited. No one in the Party knew what they were going to do if that scenario came to pass.

The next two shark attacks didn't help anyone's nerves.

Outside of those short bursts of excitement, Rob had plenty of time to think about his current condition as the Party traveled further into Merfolk territory. After careful consideration, Rob decided to split his 10 unspent stat points from his previous two Levels between Endurance and Vitality. Endurance was chosen because he wasn't sure he'd last the full trip otherwise. Despite the Perfected Ring of Waterdwelling empowering his swimming, and despite Deep Breathing restoring his Stamina, it turned out that Elatran system bullshit had its limits. Marathons were exhausting with or without magical help.

Vitality was chosen with a little less pragmatism in mind. While more HP was never a bad thing, mostly he was just sick of getting munched on by the local fauna and wanted to heal those injuries up a bit faster. Thankfully, he was granted an easy post-decision justification when Not A Scratch leveled up for the first time in a while, reducing its cooldown from 15 minutes to 10. That boost got Rob thinking about how his Skills would evolve in the future. Did they have an upward limit? If he kept dumping points into Vitality, would abilities like Not A Scratch and Lifesurge eventually reach cooldowns of 1 minutes? 30 seconds? 5 seconds? If so, how many points would that take? Would it be worth completely ignoring his other stats in favor of Vitality?

Rob imagined what a fight against a powerful enemy would be like if he spent his next 20 Levels' worth of stat points all on Vitality. Blasts of magic and strikes of steel would flow across his skin like spritzes from a water pistol. Any damage he took would be healed, negated, or outright ignored. He'd be damn near unkillable...and when his opponent realized that, they'd stop trying. Instead, they'd go after his Party members first. Rob wouldn't be able to catch up due to his comparatively lower Dexterity, nor would he be able to deal enough damage due to his lackluster Strength. After his Party members fell, Rob would be captured, restrained, and summarily executed. Which, as a result of his high HP and defensive Skills, might end up being a painful and drawn-out process.

Even if he was literally immortal by then, some fates were worse than death. A million Vitality wouldn't save him from being wrapped in chains and dropped into the ocean with weights attached to his legs. Sinking down, down, until he hit the very bottom. Water pressure crushing him, hungry predators feasting on a Regenerating buffet. Left to nature's nonexistent mercy until the day that he was miraculously rescued. Or miraculously perished. A sweet release, either way.

Accompanied by thoughts like those, Rob lost track of time as he swam. Hours blended together with the endless blue. He only realized how long he'd been going when the dim sunlight that had been guiding their way began to wane, fade, and eventually vanish entirely as day turned to night. Maybe it was a good thing that he'd already used Waymark, because the temptation to use it to escape the darkness that followed would've been overwhelming. Oppressive, pitch-black eternity choked him from all sides, driving any semblance of rationality from his thoughts. It was nearly as nightmarish as the portal that had dragged him to Elatra, and boy wasn't that a fun thing to be reminded of while trapped in an inescapable prison of aquatic nothingness.

The Party was forced to wait until dawn broke before continuing forward. It wasn't ideal, considering that they were on a timer, but none of them wanted to test their luck by fumbling aimlessly into the omnipresent dark. Instead, they gathered around a magelight orb that illuminated a small fraction of the world around them, positioned themselves in a circle with their shoulders pressed against each other, and kept an eye out for any deep-sea creatures that didn't need sight to hunt.

Rob's pulse didn't settle until half an hour after the sun rose. The experience was so deeply unsettling that he couldn't help but view the sea in a different light from then on; its radiant, otherworldly beauty was marred by a thick undercurrent of danger. Not the kind of danger that comes at you with fangs and claws, but rather the harsh indifference of nature. People born and raised in civilized society weren't meant to descend this far below the safety of solid ground, and wearing a fancy ring didn't mean that the ocean depths were his domain. He was an outsider here, and if his Party got lost, or ran out of food, or got ambushed by something less conspicuous than a pack of sharks, then there wouldn't be anyone around to save them.

That creeping sense of dread fell over him like a heavy shadow, and it only worsened after an incident that occurred some few hours later, when the sun was at its peak. In spite of the shark attacks and fear of being discovered, Riardin's Rangers were in relatively high spirits, as Waymark was five hours away from being usable again. Just a little bit longer and they'd have their eject button ready to go in case of emergency.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Vul'to spotted something. It may as well have been a speck in the distance, so small that Rob couldn't actually see it. Vul'to only could because he was an Elf, and even then the other Elves in the Party hadn't noticed until he pointed it out. They approached, muscles tensing as they realized what they were looking at: a landmark. It was one of the occasional subaquatic mountains in Merfolk territory that was tall enough to be visible from high above the ocean floor. This particular mountain's most notable aspect was a bizarre rock formation near the top that looked like a lance – if you squinted at it from the right angle. It was thus appropriately named Spearman's Peak, and out of all the landmarks Elder Duran had told them to watch out for, this one was at the very top of their list.

As seeing it meant that they were horribly off-course. They'd checked the compass on a regular basis, did their best to swim in a straight line, and in the end, it didn't matter. The sea was too vast, too empty. Thank fucking Christ that they hadn't tried swimming at night – it would've been all too easy to accidentally start progressing at a downward angle. They might have never found the light again.

The good news was that Spearman's Peak was roughly two hours away from the Locus. As long as they course corrected directly to the west instead of continuing north, the rest of the trip should be smooth sailing. If Vul'to hadn't spotted the landmark in time, they would've kept swimming in the wrong direction and wandered straight into Leviathan territory, but that wasn't something anyone wanted to think about.
Please let the Locus be unguarded, Rob chanted. Please let the Locus be unguarded. Please let the Locus be unguarded.

Two hours later, he was left wondering why he never seemed to learn his lesson about tempting fate.

Not only was the Locus guarded up to the gills, it was being guarded at that very instant. Dozens of Merfolk were fighting in an army formation against what appeared to be some sort of sentient, moving, black-colored whirlpool. The frontline melee fighters were proving ineffective, as water didn't exactly have any blood to spill or vital organs to wound, so the sole group making any headway were the few mages casting spells from the back. Spouts of pressurized water tore through the whirlpool, ripping it apart and pushing it back – only for it to reform itself within a matter of seconds, again and again.

Rob took a deep breath, then exhaled. "So," he began. "The Locus is over there." He pointed to a spot several hundred feet behind the line of Merfolk. "The Blightspawn are over there." He pointed at the 'whirlpool', which he now realized was Corruption-tainted water enshrouding a mass of infected krill and fish. A lot of krill and fish. The Blight had obviously prepared well before making its assault on the Locus. Its numbers wouldn't last forever, but neither would the mages' MP or stock of Potions. At this point, whoever emerged victorious would come down to which side could outlast the other in a war of attrition.

"How do you guys want to handle this?" Rob asked. "Do we try to help the Merfolk and hope they don't turn on us? Try to sneak an Attunement and hope they don't notice?" He frowned. "Why do all of these options sound like shit?"

"Because they are," Keira replied, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Makes sense."

Their decision was taken from them before they had a chance to discuss it. Just then, Rob's Sense Mana picked up something in the distance approaching ridiculously fast – which was concerning, as that Skill was Level 1. If he was detecting something from this far away, that meant that whatever it was, it was absolutely packed with mana. Rob glanced at Malika to find her mouth open and her face white as a sheet, which was...also concerning.

He was about to recommend a tactical retreat when the Something New burst onto the scene, stopping short behind the line of Merfolk defenders, the force of his approach sending waves of pressure rolling across the battlefield. With a swing of his trident, the Someone New sent a roaring blast of condensed water that was on par with three of the mages' spells combined, shredding the black whirlpool into disparate pieces. The Merfolk defenders let out a cheer of joy and relief, redoubling their efforts as the Blight pulled itself together – at a slower rate than before.

'Identify' - oooooh, shit.

Name: Morcant Cyraeneus, King of the Merfolk
Level: 71
Status Effects: Affronted, Determined
Description: An insolent, vain creature who is nevertheless dedicated to his peoples' well-being. Comes equipped with the Gravemaker Trident, Crown of Salvation, and most importantly of all, centuries of combat experience. Unmatched in the sea, and no slouch on land either. One of the five strongest humanoids in the world.

Rob inched back.

The Merfolk King's head immediately snapped towards him. He was a foot taller than any of his soldiers, sporting ostentatious apparel complete with a crown on top, and his regal appearance only made the dumbstruck look on his face that much funnier in comparison. The King uttered a baffled phrase in his native tongue, and one-by-one, the rest of the Merfolk turned to notice Riardin's Rangers as well.

"WE'RE HERE TO HELP!" Rob yelled, cupping his hands over his mouth. "WE'RE HERE TO – son of a bitch, he's already giving a speech to the rank and file. Somehow I doubt it's about love, peace, and inter-societal friendship."

"He's in the middle of a wartime battle," Keira said, sounding sick to her stomach. "And enemy combatants appeared from the flank." She grabbed the hilt of her greatsword, hands trembling. "Our Levels range from 30 to 49. We aren't entities that can be safely ignored, and he won't send his men to die against us when he...can handle the threat himself."

"There's eight of us and one of him," Rob pointed out.

Meyneth barked out a laugh. "And you think that matters?"

<If I had to guess,> Diplomacy posited. <He intends to kill half of you. The Elves, mostly. He'll keep you, Faelynn, Meyneth, and one Elf alive for interrogation purposes, but the spares must go.>

As the Merfolk King gave his spiel, and the rest of his Party lost their nerve, Rob settled into a sort of quiet serenity. Maybe he should've been scared. Terrified, even. Waymark was still an hour away from being usable, and while the King wasn't the absolute most powerful being he'd encountered in Elatra, 'one of the five strongest humanoids in the world' was quite the ringing endorsement.

At the same time...eh. Fuck it.

Rob grasped Faelynn by the wrist and activated Awaken Class. "Take it or leave it," he said, to the shocked Fiend. "But I'm pretty sure we'll need every advantage we can get."

"Can't fight," Zamira stated, in a clipped, hollow tone. " We must flee."

"You really think we can outrun him?" Rob asked. "There's a reason he's okay with giving a speech first instead of chasing right after us. A head start won't make a difference."

The Party looked about ready to pass out. Rob clapped his hands together, drawing their attention before they could get lost in a mental spiral. Going into battle with low morale would get them killed just as easily as a trident through the heart. "Look," he began. "I get it. The Merfolk King is Level 71. He's been in this line of work ten times as long as I've been alive. And I'm sure you've all been raised on stories about the world Leaders. They're big, they're bad, and they don't lose – how close am I?"

With a flash of blue motes, his longsword appeared in his hand. "But here's the thing," Rob continued. "I'm not from around here, so I skipped out on the hype and propaganda. I know it, but I don't feel it in my bones like you guys do, which works just fine for me. It means that I don't mind fighting this guy if I think we can win – and we fucking can. Eight badass Awakened Class users versus one King seems like an even bet to me."

Rob turned away, facing the Merfolk King as he brandished his sword. "You guys see an unstoppable force. Me? I see an asshole with a pointy stick. Let's send him packing."

He waited, barely managing to stop himself from looking back to see how the others were reacting. It would've ruined the effect. Cool guys never looked back.

One by one, Rob heard the familiar sounds of weapons being drawn and readied.

Leadership Level Increased! 7 -> 8

Wow, Rob thought. I can't believe they bought that.

The Merfolk King's speech ended.

His trident struck Rob in the face one second later.

--

Changes, Character Sheet, Skills List 

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