Chapter 144 (Book 4 Chapter 21) (Patreon)

The cavern fell silent, cries of celebration petering out just as they'd started. Everyone – from Riardin's Rangers to the Dwarves – was staring intently at Rob. The Dwarves in particular were standing stiff as stone, their weapon grips tightening as they cast Identify to check his Status. Elder Alessia began addressing the group, trying to assuage their fears, but Rob barely listened to what she was saying. He was too busy looking back at his Party as they examined him with open concern. Watching. Waiting.

Wondering what he'd do next.

I'm me, Rob wanted to say. I'm safe. Then he remembered the thoughts that had been running through his head during the last few minutes. The...things, he'd considered. And he decided that, in truth, he didn't have a high enough Deception to say those lines with a straight face.

A flash of motion blurred across the cavern. Within the blink of an eye, Seneschal Sylpeiros was in front of Rob, his spear pressed against the Human's neck. Droplets of blood ran down the spear's tip, as red as the fury blazing across Sylpeiros' face. Riardin's Rangers and the Stonewarden started to charge forward, but the Seneschal extended one hand behind his back in the universal sign for 'don't you fucking dare'. The muscles in his arms were rigid, like he was lifting a boulder, struggling from the exertion it took to restrain himself from pushing his spear just a few inches forward.

Rob didn't move. Both because he knew he couldn't escape, and because he didn't have the energy to try. The fact that Leveling High had ever encouraged him to kill the Seneschal for EXP was a ringing endorsement of its poor planning skills. Even if Rob was rested and prepared, there was no universe in which he defeated the Elven Leader in a fair fight – or an unfair fight, really. Sylpeiros was 11 Levels higher, significantly more skilled, and had freaking Danger Sense. Each of them knew that Rob was at his mercy, and this time, Diplomacy wasn't there to bail him out.

Which is probably why he blurted out what he said next. "If you think it's necessary," Rob whispered, "then do it." The static flared in a panic, which Rob took as a personal victory.

Sylpeiros' mouth dropped open. Rob almost laughed at the bizarre mixture of fury and confusion evident on the Elf's face, but he wasn't that hopeless without Diplomacy. Seconds of torturous quiet crawled by, even the Seneschal seeming unsure of what he was going to do next. Everyone in the cavern was fully aware that the future of nations hung by a thin, fraying thread.

"What the FUCK are you doing?!"

Twenty-seven pairs of eyes turned to look at Keira, who'd just finished climbing out of the tunnel she dropped into to kill the final Blight. An unbidden smile spread across Rob's face as he imagined what the scenario must have looked like from her perspective. She stalked forward, hurling obscenities at Seneschal Sylpeiros, whose face looked like he'd run a stop sign only to find a fleet of cop cars waiting ten feet away.

And just like that, the moment was gone. Sylpeiros removed his spear, whirled around, and strode off in a manner that was extremely dignified and not at all embarrassed. Keira reached Rob before anyone else, showering him with are-you-okays and rib-denting hugs. Riardin's Rangers were next, congratulating him on his victory over the Blights and admonishing him for doing something so utterly reckless. Their outpouring of support washed over Rob like a gentle, soothing breeze.

It didn't feel as good as it should have.

--

Two Days Later

Rob forced a smile as the Dwarf patient shook his hand. Vigorously. Her gratitude was appreciated, although he was pretty sure that a less-durable person than him would've had their shoulder dislocated. Once she was finished stress testing his ligaments, she bid him farewell and practically skipped out of the room, healthy and Corruption-free.

He kept his PR-friendly smile going until she was out of sight. The moment he was in the clear, Rob locked the door and slumped into his chair, letting out a sigh of relief. That's a wrap, he thought. She'd been the last of the coalition members infected with Corruption. After spending extended proximity near a Blight and a recently-Corrupted Locus, pretty much everyone had ended up with a decent chunk of it in their system. Some worse than others; specifically, Vul'to and the Stonewarden were down to less than a third of their max HP by the time the Blights perished. If the allied coalition hadn't won the battle as swiftly as they did...

Well, they did, which was all that mattered. With the Blight dead, Rob had been able to restore the Locus of Power without any complications. Dhalerune Mines would be back to normal in several weeks. And now that the last bit of Corruption had finally been excised from the Dwarves themselves, Rob could safely declare Dhalerune City free of Blight influence. For all intents and purposes, his job here was done.

Which presented a problem, as it meant that he didn't have anything to distract himself with.

Grimacing, Rob opened his Status Screen. Maybe a miracle had occurred in the five minutes since he last checked.

Status Effects: Leveling High (Moderate), Melancholia (Advanced)

No dice. Still Moderate.

At least the Dwarves don't seem to care anymore, he mused. They'd been wary after seeing his jump from Mild to Moderate, but that rapidly faded once he Purged their Corruption and restored the Locus of Power. It was kinda hard to think poorly of your city's savior. Seneschal Sylpeiros was behaving as well, although Rob hadn't seen much of him since the Blights were defeated. As for Riardin's Rangers...

Rob scratched the back of his head, expending a sliver of nervous energy. His friends were treating him the same. He should have felt happy about that – and for the most part, he did. But it was tough to forget the glimmers of fear he'd initially noticed in their expressions.

Not that he could blame them. He was scared of himself, too.

Distractions! Rob shook his head to send his train of thought off-course. No more moping; have to focus on the tasks at hand. The Clay of Life should be ready for Diplomacy, so that's neat. I also need to strongarm the Fiends into developing dimensional travel. And if Elder Duran has managed to get in contact with the Merfolk, I'll need to have a chat with the fishy fucks about spreading rumors behind my back.

It was a bit of a shame that Riardin's Rangers would be leaving Dwarven territory so soon, but they just had way too much shit to take care of in Fiendland. Not even the Stonewarden's offer of a blowout celebration in their honor was able to tempt them to stick around. Once they'd finished resting up today, it was time to head home.

And then watch the Fiends realize that their savior's Leveling High had increased.

Mercifully, Rob's thoughts were cut off by a knock on the door. Before he could get up to let his visitor in, the door opened with a plaintive crack, revealing a mildly surprised Keira.

"I don't want to belabor the point," she began, "but our Party members need to make an effort to lock the door if they're alone in a room. For their safety, and my sanity."

Rob smirked. "It was locked."

Keira glanced at the now-broken door, redness creeping into the tips of her ears. "Oh. I suppose it was. Admittedly, I'm not yet accustomed to my dramatic increase in Strength."

"How many Levels did you go up? Eight?"

She nodded, taking a seat opposite from him. "Slightly less than your 10, but yes. Our Party may have set a record for the highest collective Level increase over the course of a single battle."

"We damn well deserved it," Rob muttered.

"That we did." Keira hesitated. "Just so you know, we're going to talk about it."

Rob looked away and whistled nonchalantly. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You've been acting anxious around us for the past few days."

He barely suppressed a wince. "Can't we discuss this later?"

"I believe that Meyneth has taught us the value of directly addressing important issues." Keira raised an eyebrow. "As an example, we missed out on over half a year of fucking by not acknowledging our mutual affections sooner."

That's the most persuasive argument I've ever heard. "Okay, okay. It's just..." He sighed. "Do I really have to explain why I'm freaked out? You've seen my struggles with Leveling High. You know what it's like."

"There's no need to elaborate. I remember well." She folded her hands together. "May I be blunt, Rob?"

"That's usually what people start with right before saying some messed-up stuff."

"It won't be that bad," Keira assuaged. "Granted, my highest social Skill is still Intimidation – by a wide margin – so apologies in advance if that colors my verbiage."

Rob leaned back in his chair and put a smile on his face. "Sure. Lay it on me."

She nodded. "Then let me begin with an assurance. I swear to you that, despite your worries, no one in Riardin's Rangers is afraid of you. Nor do we think differently of you. In fact, your transition from Leveling High Mild to Moderate is completely unsurprising. The only shocking part is that it took this long to happen."

"It shouldn't have happened." Rob clenched his fists. "I was weak."

"You were Human." Keira stared at him with  sympathy. "I don't think you quite understand how astounding your self-control has been up until this point. Reducing Leveling High to a lower grade is a feat of especially rare willpower, and I witnessed you doing so on several occasions. Before the Cataclysm, it wasn't uncommon for a Human to lose their sanity in its entirety by the time their Level reached the mid-30s. In contrast, your ability to stay Mild into the 50s has been nothing short of remarkable."

Rob shrugged. "Could also be a side effect of my fucked-up soul," he muttered. "The gods haphazardly grafted Leveling High onto me when they brought me over. Maybe its grip on me isn't as strong as it would be on a native Human."

"Don't try to diminish your achievements," Keira flatly stated. "Even if your guess is true, remaining Mild took-"

"It doesn't matter how impressive my willpower was," Rob countered, in a surly tone. "I still ended up Moderate."

Keira paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. "Honestly? Moderate is manageable."

Rob sputtered. "You call that showing against the Blight manageable?"

"Leveling High is at its worst when transitioning from one stage to the next," Keira explained. "If the person in question can regain their faculties after that period, the effect partially subsides." She locked eyes with him. "Tell me truthfully: now that time has passed since your leveling spree, and your mental state has settled, do you feel different than before?"

Rob was tempted to look away, but he met her gaze head-on. "Yes. Not by much, but yes. Imagine that there's – to use an analogy – a song stuck in your head. The same song, constantly, every hour of every day. It's there when you're killing monsters, speaking with friends, or just trying to get a good night's sleep. At first, it isn't very loud, so you learn to tune it out and go about your business. Life goes on. Occasionally, the song gets louder in short bursts, as if it was trying to grab your attention. That can be problematic if it pipes up when you're preoccupied with something, but for the most part, it doesn't hinder your decision-making."

He sighed. "Yet. Over time, the song permanently gets louder. Gradually and consistently. You notice, but there's nothing you can do about it. Not like you can turn the damn thing off. You have no choice except to adjust to the song faster than it can grow."

His voice lowered. "Then, one day, you wake up to find that the song is suddenly twice as loud. It's crossed the threshold from background noise to just...noise. You start to notice it more during your day-to-day activities, and in crucial moments, you can barely hear yourself think. Sometimes it gets hard to tell where your thoughts begin and the song ends. And you know full well that things are only going to get worse from here."

A burst of static erupted, making itself known, before sinking into the corner of his mind once more.

Without a word, Keira leaned forward and wrapped Rob in a tight hug. He froze, then returned the embrace, resting his chin on top of her head as he choked out his next words. "During the battle against the Blight...there were moments where..." Rob trailed off, his throat tightening. "I was a danger. To myself and others. Won't forgive myself if...something happens."

"You won't."

"Neither of us can guarantee that."

She shook her head, silver hair tickling his chin. "Even when you were transitioning from Mild to Moderate, you restrained yourself. At no point did you raise your sword against an ally. What that tells me, Rob, is that two battles took place on that day. The first, against the Blight, and the second, against Leveling High. You won both."

His grip on her tightened. "Only reason I didn't attack people is because of backlash," Rob whispered.

"Do you truly think that Leveling High cares about the ramifications of its actions? The fact that you managed to latch onto excuses to avoid attacking your allies is proof that, underneath Leveling High's influence, you were resisting it every step of the way."

Rob felt his posture slowly begin to relax. "You make it sound so simple," he said, with a halfhearted chuckle.

"I've been preparing for this conversation for months."

He looked down, mouth open, as Keira peered up at him. "I'm no fool, Rob," she stated. "None of us are. We knew that you would face this crisis eventually when you continued to gain Levels at an accelerated rate. We also knew that you would prevail and remain as the man we all know, and that I love."

A sense of contentment spread throughout his chest, like a warm campfire on a chilly night. "I love you too."

"You'd better."

He snorted. "Trust me, I know you're awesome. Can't wait to introduce you to my parents. Soon, hopefully."

Keira's eyes widened, then narrowed. "Are you attempting to change the subject?"

"A bit, but I honestly am feeling more relaxed now." He put on a wry grimace. "About this subject, anyway. Leveling High won't cause a catastrophe right this second. Can't say the same for whatever's happening back on Earth."

"You believe that Silviel was telling the truth?"

"She knew Jason's name."

Keira fell deep into thought. "If the Fiends are unable to develop a method of transportation that can include me as well, and if you need to go alone-"

Rob poked the top of her head. "Denied. You're coming with, and then we're coming back. Unfinished business here, after all."

She averted her gaze, a smile dancing on her face. "That is a lovely sentiment, but the Fiends might be incapable of creating dimensional transportation with that degree of finesse. They can barely teleport us across Elatra, and they've refined that magic over decades."

"Then Earth can deal with it. My home planet has guns, and...things tougher than guns." He mollified his paranoia with a mental image of the Blight being torn apart by fighter jets. "As for Jason, he's too stubborn to die. If the Blight tries screwing with him, they won't know what hit them."

Keira hid her face in his chest. "You don't fully believe that," she said, sounding slightly miserable. "Your love for me is forcing you to decide between the people you care for."

"Decide?" His lips twitched upward into a manic grin. "No, see, I'm greedy. I refuse to decide. Everyone I care about is going to live. You, Jason, my parents, Riardin's Rangers – we're all making it through this bullshit intact. Bet on it."

And I don't care what I have to do to make that a reality.

The static flared in agreement.

--

"Here we are," the Dwarven guard said, stepping aside and gesturing to a door. "Stonewarden Grant awaits inside."

Faelynn nodded mutely, feeling as if she was watching herself from an outsider's perspective. Nothing about the current moment seemed remotely real. Just five minutes ago, her morning had been progressing as intended, Faelynn taking a well-deserved rest in an uncomfortably Dwarf-sized bed. The most exciting part of the day thus far was when she imagined telling the Grand Overseers about her success as Fiend territory's official liaison. Of course, Elder Alessia did most of the actual negotiating, but Faelynn managed to avoid embarrassing her people or sparking an international war! That counted for something.

Her peaceful solitude had been shattered when a Dwarven retinue arrived, informing Faelynn that the Stonewarden – one of the strongest, most influential living beings in Elatra – was requesting her audience.

Alone.

Naturally, she'd contacted Riardin's Rangers via Message right away. In a show of concern that Faelynn genuinely appreciated, all of them told her to wait and stall for time, citing the dangers involved. While the Stonewarden had treated her fairly in front of Rob – a necessary ally – there was no way of knowing how he would act behind closed doors.

Which was exactly why Faelynn had thanked her friends for their concern and promptly accepted the Stonewarden's request. If he was inviting her alone, that meant there were matters he only felt comfortable discussing without the rest of Riardin's Rangers in attendance. It was an opportunity to learn new information that she couldn't pass up.

And if it did turn out to be a trap, at least everyone would know what fate befell her. That was better than being disappeared without a trace – another eventuality Faelynn had mentally prepared herself for. As long as she was Fiend territory's official liaison, these were the kinds of risks she would bear with pride.

...That was how she'd felt five minutes ago. Since then, her bravado had waned, leaving Faelynn wondering what the hell she'd gotten herself into. The door to the Stonewarden's office stood mere inches in front of her, as imposing as a fortified wall of steel. "Do I just...walk in?" she hazarded. "What manners of protocol should I be aware of?"

"Keep your claws sheathed. Aside from that, show him due respect while not acting like a sycophant." The Dwarf stared at her like he was trying to solve a puzzle. "Titan preserve, you really can understand us, can't you?"

"Rob taught me." A wistful smile crept onto her face. "I hope that all our people can communicate with each other this easily, someday. No language barrier. No pointless-"

"Save your speeches for the Stonewarden," he interrupted, dismissively waving his hand. "He's the one you actually need to convince. I simply follow his will."

Faelynn suppressed a sigh. Without another word, she turned away from her escort, opened the door, and – with no small amount of apprehension – entered the Stonewarden's office.

"Come in," a deep, authoritative voice said, "and close the door behind you."

As she obliged the Stonewarden's request, Faelynn was immediately struck by how plain and unassuming his room appeared. Even if this wasn't meant to be the Stonewarden's personal living quarters, people of high station always decorated wherever they spent a fair amount of time. Jewelry, trophies, gold-laced curtains; none of those symbols of wealth and power were present. Instead, Grant's office was as modest as his soldiers' barracks, full of unadorned furniture and reports on years-old battles.

The only bits of individuality Faelynn could spy were a portrait hung on the wall of the Stonewarden surrounded by other Dwarves, and a lit fireplace crackling happily in the corner. Admittedly, the fireplace was a lavish decoration to have in an underground city, where the basic quality of air would be a consistent worry, but even that seemed included for a purpose. It presented a cozy, welcoming atmosphere, as if the two of them were about to relax and trade amusing stories from their childhoods.

Stonewarden Grant strengthened that atmosphere by offering her a gracious smile as she approached. "Please, rest your feet," Stonewarden Grant asked, pointing to a seat in front of his desk. "We have much to discuss."

Faelynn glanced at the seat, noting that it was a larger variant than the typical Dwarven model. He'd prepared for her arrival in advance. "Thank you for your hospitality," she said, returning his smile as she sat down. The words came surprisingly easy; she'd apparently been dreading the anticipation of this meeting more than the meeting itself. "I must say, being able to speak with a Leader on peaceful terms is something of a dream come true."

Group Message Sent By Party Member: Faelynn

Faelynn: In the Stonewarden's office. Haven't been murdered yet. Will keep you updated.

Stonewarden Grant let out a good-natured chuckle. "We live in strange times, to be sure. Allegiances shifting on a whim. Abominations of legend rising to smother Elatra once again. You know, as horrible as the losses we incurred during the Blight raid were, there is one ray of hope to be gleaned from the tragedy: it afforded us an opportunity to join hands as allies. We'd best not waste it."

He laced his fingers together. "On a more personal level, I wanted to thank you for your service, Faelynn of the Fiends. Our losses would have been greater without your assistance in combat. If you truly desire peace between Fiend and Dwarven territory, then fear not; I can assure you that you left a stellar first impression, one that will only grow in renown as word spreads amongst the populace of your deeds. As a Leader, and as a Dwarf, you have my gratitude."

He hates me, Faelynn realized.

It was something she'd suspected long before this conversation. Vul'to failed to notice it, but he wasn't a Fiend born and raised. He hadn't spent decades internalizing the expressions of loathing that alighted in people's eyes whenever Fiends encountered members of another race. The Stonewarden hid it well, but it was unmistakably there, lurking deep behind the gentle warmth of his gaze. Like black mold concealed by a brightfully-painted wall.

Faelynn plastered a friendly smile on her face. While she wished that the Stonewarden's benevolence came from the heart, she'd suffered worse disappointments than this in her lifetime. As long as he continued to support Fiend territory, stowing away his contempt in favor of a mutually beneficial arrangement, that was all that mattered.

"You have my gratitude as well," Faelynn replied, "for trusting my people. The Blight does not care for territorial borders; only a united Elatra will be able to turn it aside."

The Stonewarden smirked. He reached into his desk and pulled out a small, metal, rectangular object that Faelynn didn't recognize. With one finger, he pushed down a raised indentation located on the side of the object, a strange crackling sound emanating from within. "She is sane," the Stonewarden said, speaking into the object. "As you said she would be."

"Good tidings, then."

Faelynn nearly jumped out of her seat. The object had spoken – and what's more, its voice sounded familiar. As the Stonewarden placed the object back inside his desk, she stared in abject shock, working up the nerve to ask him what just transpired. "Was that...Vevrandi?"

"Indeed." The Stonewarden's expression twinkled with mirth. "I take it that you are unfamiliar with Portable Message Crystals? Their name is something of a misnomer – the device doesn't utilize any Crystal at all, instead transmitting sound through the air itself. Alas, the moniker was coined by rank and file soldiers who needed a way to succinctly describe its function, much to the chagrin of the scientists who developed it."

"Is it difficult to manufacture?" Faelynn asked, awestruck.

"Less difficult than you might assume. Vevrandi has one as well, which is how she heard my message." He smirked again. "When I informed my retinue that I would be meeting with a Fiend alone, they demanded that I let them know if you were trustworthy by giving updates on my status. I hope you can understand their caution, and don't take too much offense to it."

I rightfully can't, Faelynn thought, not without marking myself as a hypocrite. She sent another group Message, letting her friends know that she was still alive, that nothing awful had transpired, and that they didn't need to fight through a legion of Dwarven guards to rescue her.

"No offense taken." She leaned forward, excitement leaking into her voice. "Would Dwarven territory be interested in trading with Friend territory? Depending on the range of your Portable Message Crystals, it would make communication between our nations significantly easier."

It also had the potential to obsolete the actual Message Crystals, which were exceedingly rare and expensive. Every government official and bored noble would sell half their soul to get their hands on the miraculous Dwarven invention. Faelynn didn't say that part out loud; she knew to hold her desires close to her chest during a negotiation.

"We would potentially be open to trade," the Stonewarden answered. "Although, in the grand scheme of things, the Portable Message Crystal is a paltry achievement. There are far greater ones you have yet to witness."

Faelynn's eyebrows shot up to the top of her head. "Such as?"

She flinched as the Stonewarden's face darkened in an instant. A cold shiver ran up her body, as if the fireplace had been snuffed out by chill winds. Grant looked away, silent, his eyes settling on the portrait of him surrounded by other Dwarves. "Do you have a family?" he asked, in a voice as hollow as the grave.

Faelynn took a moment to steel her resolve, sensing that her next words would be of dire importance. "Not anymore."

"But you did, once."

She nodded. "A mother, a father, and a brother. All Combat Class users of no significant repute." And all whom she'd loved dearly.

Stonewarden Grant kept his eyes focused on the portrait. "How did they pass?"

If he were anyone except a Leader, Faelynn would have told him off. While this wasn't a subject she shied away from, the dispassionate tone of his questioning was borderline insulting. "My mother and father died fighting the Humans. My brother..."

"Died fighting the Dwarves," Grant finished.

Faelynn's claws extended, just by a hair. "Yes. He did."

The Stonewarden, his body motionless, swiveled his eyes towards her. "Yet you do not seem to hate us."

"Everybody kills everybody," Faelynn plainly stated. "My family members were slain in open combat, against enemies who they were also trying to kill. That is simply what war is." It was a lesson she'd learned well since birth. "Perhaps I would feel differently if their killers were delivered straight to me, bound and at my mercy, but I don't possess enough hatred in me to seek those people out, nor to hate all Humans and Dwarves in their place. Instead, I'd rather focus on creating a future where the people I love don't need to lose their lives in wars that are so old no one can even remember how they started."

She slammed her mouth shut, worried that she'd gone too far, but the Stonewarden said nothing. After several agonizing minutes, he turned to face her, a weary smile spreading across his face. "You have an admirable mindset, Faelynn."

Huh, she thought, with mild bewilderment. As far as Faelynn could tell, that statement had come from the heart.

Unfortunately, she wasn't given long to ruminate on the Stonewarden's words before he spoke again. "There is one matter I still wish to speak of with you," he continued. "It has been plaguing me ever since our sojourn into Dhalerune Mines. I was hoping that you could assist me in puzzling out a certain mystery."

"Of course," Faelynn replied. "I'll help however I can."

Stonewarden Grant nodded. "Then answer me clearly," he said, in a neutral tone that immediately set Faelynn on edge. "When the Blight possessing Silviel stated that Dwarves are beings of flesh and mana, while Fiends are beings purely of mana...what did it mean?"

His expression darkened once more. "Please. Enlighten me."

--

Author's Note (Schedule Update):

Went on a family trip recently that left me with less time to write then I expected, so the next chapter will be posted a week from now. On the bright side, I've now gotten proper sleep for the first time in three days!

Thanks for reading!