B3 Ch24: Level 50 (Patreon)

Brixaby flew on with his new stealth class fully activated. He was all but invisible to other dragons and people. But that meant...he was all but invisible to other dragons and people.

"Watch where you're going," he growled, having to rely on his skills to quickly take him out of the path of a brown dragon.

The big, lumbering brown dragon that had almost plowed right into him mid-air flinched in surprise and looked around. After a labored moment, the brown dragon finally settled his gaze on Brixaby and squinted. "Oh, there you are. Have you ever considered painting your wings a brighter color? You're a little hard to see."

Brixaby clamped his muzzle shut before he could roar out that that was the point.

Instead, he flew on and veered to the side, closer to the walls that bordered the aerial highway between the free hives' lava bubbles. He supposed he should be happy that his stealth skills were so effective.

Too well. Some dragons naturally flew close to the walls, either due to preference or to give way to larger dragons. There were a few more close calls. Brixaby could have started using his stealth class more sparingly, but that would have been the same as admitting he had made a mistake. He wasn't ready to do that yet.

Instead, still flapping his wings, he found he could creep directly along the walls, sort of bounding from one vertical spot to another.

New Skill gained: Extreme Rock Climbing (Adrenaline Activities Class)

Due to your card’s bonus traits, you automatically start this skill at level 3.

Hadn’t Arthur been working toward a rock climbing skill of some sort? Brixaby felt a brief flash of pity for him that he didn't have wings to help him along the way.

Finally, the tunnel widened out and Brixaby arrived at the crafters' bubble, which was a wider area that allowed him to stay away from other dragons. He stuck to the shadows, now clinging to the top of the domed ceiling, and looking down. His naturally magnificent dark scales allowed him to blend in with the shadows.

And right below him was the stall that sold chain mail. Twisting his head so that he wasn't staring upside down, Brixaby observed the craftmaster putting chain mail works into an enchanted net. The same type that had carried himself, Arthur, Joy, and Joy’s rider here. Interesting. He wasn’t aware that the craftmaster had one of those.

And it was obvious that the man had more products than he had let on. He removed more and more chain mail shirts and even several pairs of pants and greaves from boxes that had been stored under the booth tables. Brixaby supposed he should have been more curious and checked within those boxes before. But it hadn't seemed to be important until now.

The enchanted net must have accounted for weight because after he was finally done and pulled the drawstring to shut the top of the net tight, the craftmaster picked it up with merely a grunt, slung it over his shoulder, and started to walk out.

Naturally, Brixaby followed.

It was slow going because in his inefficient, human way, the craftmaster also stopped to talk to people. More than once, Brixaby considered gouging out a pebble from the wall he was clinging to and throwing it at the man to get him to hurry up. But, since that might give away his position, he resisted.

It was a good thing that he was certain that this would be worth it.

Finally, the master made it out of the mesa complex, and Brixaby could take to the air again. He modulated his wing beats so that the two wings on each side beat in unison instead of each cupping the air separately in a rapid movement.

This was a much more inefficient way to fly—just like a normal two-winged dragon—but it cut down on the buzzing drone. It was, unfortunately, a distinctive sound.

So, flying in this boring, inefficient, tiring way, he was able to follow the craftmaster. All sorts of humans conducted their business outside the main mesa complex. The location varied based on where the sun was in the sky. No one wanted to stay in the blazing heat for long, so temporary booths and picnics were often set out in the shadow of the mesa, moving as the shadow did.

The craftmaster met with another human almost at the point of the tall shadow. The other human was...a little odd. It wasn't his ebony skin, or the many golden nose rings and earrings that decorated his ears, nose, and eyebrows that set him apart. It wasn’t even his shiny bald head.

To Brixaby's eye, his proportions seemed… odd. His ears were a bit too sharp. His limbs seemed too long. He held himself not like a human but more forward, as if he were actually walking on the tips of his toes. Brixaby landed and crept closer, hiding behind the occasional boulder strewn across the landscape. It was both gratifying and annoying that he couldn’t quite fit behind most of them anymore. He had grown too large.

He wasn’t able to catch the conversation between the craftmaster and the new man, but he did see the handshake and the two of them exchanging enchanted nets. The craftmaster immediately loosened the drawstring, looked inside, and grunted with satisfaction. Brixaby suspected he had just seen a transfer of goods, and possibly money.

They nodded to each other again, and the craftmaster walked away. Meanwhile, the tall, thin man stared after him, and then up at the mesa. His expression—as best as Brixaby could read human expressions—seemed to be contemplative.

Sometimes, when he was paying attention, Brixaby could get a feeling of when somebody was about to use a card from their heart deck. He got this feeling now.

On reflex, Brixaby popped up from behind his boulder and dropped the stealth card. The craftmaster was still walking away. Hopefully, he wouldn’t look back.

"Hold it right there," Brixaby told the man. “I have business with you!”

The man looked at him and smiled brilliant white—the eye-teeth a little bit too long. "What is this? Law enforcement? That was a legitimate transaction." He had a slightly odd cadence to his voice. It was musical in a way that Brixaby had never heard before.

"Of course not," Brixaby said, trotting up to him. "I just want to know if you’re interested in buying something else."

The man squinted at him. This close, Brixaby saw that his eyes were odd too. The pupils were vertical and not round. "I suppose that depends," the man said. "Aren't you a little young to be... so enterprising?"

"No, just talented," Brixaby jumped to buzz up to the man’s eye level, and then plucked one of his own chain mail shirts out of his Personal Space to hold it up between them.

The man’s odd eyes widened. Then, he reached out to take the shirt and look it over carefully. He had the air of somebody who understood what he was examining.

Brixaby preened. After passing level 30 in chainmail weaving, these shirts had become easy. In fact, he had managed quite a few of them in his effort to level himself up.

"How many more of these do you have?" the man asked.

"Seventeen more, in various human sizes. And ten pairs of sleeves going up from standard human woman to small dragon."

"I have no need for the dragon sizes, only the men and women." He hesitated, then nodded at Brixaby. "My name is Jon, and I am an associate from the city-state of Evanstown."

"What is a city-state?"

"Think of it as a tiny kingdom. Speaking of tiny, I have never seen a dragon quite like you… I hope you don’t mind me saying."

Brixaby puffed out his chest. "I prefer to think of myself as impressive."

Jon chuckled. "Show me the rest of your wares, impressive dragon."

Brixaby did, and the man checked them all for signs of quality. Not that Brixaby was worried on that account. All were up to his impeccable standard. And indeed, the man didn’t set any aside except for the larger sleeves. "I have no interest in these, though if you repurpose them into additional armor, I would buy them.”.

"Why not?" he asked. "Don't you want to keep your dragons safe?"

"The city-state of Evanstown has no dragons."

Then the city-state of Evanstown was a very sad, pathetic place, Brixaby thought to himself.

Then they bottle settled to haggle on prices, which gave Brixaby a haggling skill in the merchant class. That was most useful. Perhaps once he had completely leveled with chain mail weaving, he would focus on haggling.

They settled on a payment of four Rare shards for the entire bunch. This was pure profit as Brixaby had repurposed the chain mail itself from what the craftmaster had given him. Also, with these additional shards, he might have enough to finally complete that Rare card he and Arthur had been planning. Hopefully, it would be a combat variety.

With satisfaction, he tucked the shards away into his personal space. The man carefully folded the chain mail works and placed them within the enchanted net. "I don’t suppose that an adventurous dragon like yourself would be interested in fighting scourgelings for our cause?"

"No," Brixaby said. "I have many enemies to defeat first, and a hive to conquer—I mean manage."

Jon looked up, surprised. "This hive?"

"No," Brixaby snorted. "A real hive back home in the kingdom."

The man looked at him for a moment as if he was trying to decide if Brixaby was joking or not. Then he shook his head with a deep chuckle. "Well, until then, I come every second week for trade. Come visit me if you have more goods, young Brixaby." Then with that farewell said, he activated his heart card. Instantly, he was whisked away within a teleporting spell.

New Counterfeit Skill Obtained: Return Home (Spell)

Remaining Time: 59 Minutes 59 seconds

Ohhh. A Rare-level teleport spell. This was useful. Based on the name, though of course there was no card to confirm it, that this card's limitations meant he would only be able to teleport where he considered home. That was annoying, though he supposed the cave he shared with Joy and her rider could be considered a temporary home.

Brixaby gave it a try. After all, he would only have this spell for an hour.

Sure enough, he emerged back into the cave he shared with Joy and her rider. It was currently empty, which was good because Brixaby still had one more great accomplishment ahead of him today.

He retreated into his Personal Space where he had liberated some rare metals from the crafter’s stall. Gold, one of the crafters had called it. Too bad they hadn’t kept a close enough eye on his product. Throwing a bar of the stuff into his Personal Space last week had been too easy.

Smelting it on the sly had been harder, but he only had to heat it to melting point before, again, stuffing the entire crucible and tongs into his Personal Space.

Knowing that he would need to stretch himself to gain that final all-important level, he worked the odd, soft metal into the chain mail. It was, he suspected, not helpful for protection. But decorative, which tended to draw the eye.

He would have added it to his own chain mail, except gold clashed with the purple highlights in his dark scales.

Several hours within the mind space, and he was feeling the strain that told him he needed to take a break soon.

Then, he reached level 50.

Congratulations! For reaching this milestone you have been awarded the following:

+3 Dexterity

+2 Wisdom

+1 Intelligence

+25% quicker learning in all chainmail class skills.

+25% quicker adaptation to all chainmail body enhancement skills.

Ha. He had been right! There was a sizeable reward for sticking to a single skill.

Brixaby felt an immediate wave of tingles wash up and down his body. The result of his new attributes, he assumed. He spread his wings and examined himself for any physical changes. Nothing was immediately apparent.

Dexterity, Wisdom, and Intelligence weren't among the physical attributes... but he would have liked to grow.

He was just pondering what a chainmail body enhancement skill was, and if that would affect his physical form, when he received another startling prompt.

Warning: No further advancement in Chainmail Weaving is possible until this skill is added to a class.

He reread it again and again, hoping he had misunderstood. But the truth was literally staring him right in the face. Classes were indeed the way to grow stronger. At least, past level 50.

Heaving a sigh, Brixaby exited his Personal Space. He was not looking forward to telling Arthur that he had been correct after all.

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