The Gamer Chapter 1300 – Fusion Festival 7 – Compression (Patreon)

The Mine was marked by bustling activity. The various shafts and side entrances, temporary and permanent, were almost all frequented. This was something that John had seen all over the Guild Hall, while they moved up the river, and yet he had no expectations whatsoever for any worthwhile produce to come out of this weekend.

That was because the people working in the Mine were neither freelancers nor hired workers. They were the visitors of the Fusion Festival.

John remembered when he was very young, so young his antisocial streak hadn’t manifested yet, that his mother had taken him to a renaissance fair. A store there had kids do some very basic medieval-esque crafting, like clay shaping, felting, hand-sewing, that kind of stuff. John had not done anything worthwhile there and not developed any sudden interests. All he remembered was that it was fun and, looking back, a good experience for a kid to have.

Wanting to have others experience similar feelings, he had decided to open the Production Buildings to the general public. There was nothing there a spy couldn’t have discovered anyway, so there was no security risk. All that needed to be taken care of was that no one entered the parts of the Mine where monsters roamed. Not without a suitable escort, at least.

All over the Guild Hall, office workers were swinging axes, fathers were fishing, kids were trying to lift pickaxes, mothers were laughing or shaking their heads, and bachelors and bachelorettes were engaged in all manners of (often half-drunken) shenanigans. There was very little rhyme or reason to anything, and that was fine. The Guild Hall could recuperate from the chaos. To the average labourer, chopping wood or harvesting apples may not have sounded like a vacation activity, but to the bureaucrats or otherwise less physically extensive workers across Fusion, it must have been a great change of pace.

John would know it, he craved a similar change of scenery after all.

“Let’s get inside,” John decided, pointing at the main entrance to the Mine. He led with hasty steps. The sounds around him were like fingers tapping on the inside of his skull, growing louder with every moment. ‘I definitely need that vacation.’

The worry radiated off Claire’s mind like heat off a metal plate that had been left out in the sun. Glancing over to her, then Lee, he knew that they both had found out that he was not comfortable at the moment. He would have given them assurances, had it not been for the sheer volume and movement around. People noticed him, they pointed and cheered. He smiled and waved, yet kept walking quickly. The last thing he needed was to give off the air that he had time for anyone. Visitors may not have known what the etiquette around here was when it came to approaching (or rather NOT approaching) him.

A couple of guards were posted by the entrance of the primary Mine shaft. They let John pass without any control. Because they weren’t worried about secrecy in this case, security was relatively lax. Had this been a matter of greater concern, they would have checked whether he was an impersonator. As it stood, the standard issue anti-illusion contact lenses Fusion soldiers were given as part of their equipment were all the checks they needed.

The only reason why the Mine was off limits was because it was too vast to be controlled for dangers. The only people that were allowed in that day were contracted workers and those they took on a tour. A table near the entrance contained detailed information of where people were or, at least, where they had announced they wanted to go. A lot of people seemed to be giving their friends and families tours of the levels 1 through 30.

That fit John right; he wanted to go to floor 41 or deeper anyway. No one was there at the moment. For presentations, those floors were too dangerous for the normal person.

Level 0 of the Mine was marked by being a large, cavernous room with three industry elevators filling out a wide hole at the centre. John marched towards the right one, the only one currently on this floor, and waited for this dates to get on. A very basic panel let him tap in the number of the floor he wanted to get to, then the cage closed around them and the elevator went on its descent.

The voices of the crowd became quieter, then seized. John breathed a sigh of relief. “Anxiety sucks,” he said out loud.

“Oh, so it sucks when it happens to you, but when you pin me down on a boat, that’s funny?” Lee did him the favour of responding with the usual banter. It made all of this more bearable. With who he was and what he was doing with his life, getting so negatively affected by the presence of a crowd made him feel like a failure. He knew that was not the case, at least not yet. Still, the thought wormed itself inside his head. He could feel it nibbling on his pride, which was bound to set off a whole other set of issues.

‘Being less smart and missing all of this would be really nice about now,’ John thought. ‘Then again, would I be happy if I just acted emotionally without having any reason why I was that worked up?’ “Say, what do you think about smart people, do they always make the best decisions?”

“No,” Claire answered immediately.

“…Not necessarily,” Lee was a bit hesitant. “You sound pretty convinced there.”

“In the Iron Domain, the people that escaped the Mettle were the capable and the smart,” Claire told her. “Most of them became Arkeidos’ loyal servants. The smart Ironborn were usually those easier trained in obedience.”

“That’s actually not too far off from what I was thinking.” Lee stretched, revealing a bit of her midriff in the process. Just a bit of naked skin, peeking out between her jeans and her lifted shirt. That John was still doing fine, he could discern by the fact that this view managed to completely snuff out the creeping misery. “Dunno where I picked it up, but there’s this saying: It’s easier to train a smart dog than a dumb dog. What do you think, John?”

“Pretty much the same, even if it is complicated. Being smarter just makes a person more effective, strategically speaking. It doesn’t necessarily say anything about their morality. Also, there’s this tendency for smart people to overengineer solutions to simple problems.”

“To give you a compliment for once, I think you’re pretty smart for not doing that when you don’t need to.”

“Why thank you, I am paranoid of my own intellect,” the Gamer responded jokingly.

“Just take the compliment, you dick.”

“Maybe I will.”

The elevator stopped with a loud clank, as the pseudo-industrial machinery locked into place. The front of the cage rolled upwards, letting out just the right level of metal clonks and screeches to sound like a video game sound file, without being so obnoxious to demand a bucket of grease to be poured liberally over the apparatus.

“You sure I’m fine down here?” Lee asked, taking a slow step forward into the darkness.

On the lowest floor of the Mine, the only lights were those attached to the elevator and what people brought along. Beyond the chamber they were currently in were numerous corridors, all of them pitch black. John, with his Darkvision, could peer through them. Claire saw even more than he did. Apparently getting a blessing from the goddess of the night was still secondary to being an actual creature of the night. Considering John could see through her eyes, he had no grounds to complain. His powers were more extensive bullshit than that paradigm.

Lee, however, had the eyes of a human. A human at the peak of their physical abilities and youth, but still a human. All she saw were some cave walls and black spots that could have continued two centimetres or two-hundred metres.

“You will be fine, we are here,” John assured her and grabbed one of the pickaxes the Guild Hall had spawned down here. Producing a flashlight from his inventory, he shone light down one of the corridors.

There was movement and a deep, rumbling growl. John saw it clear as day, the eight-legged creature, with a body as long as a snake, but broad and scale-armoured like a crocodile. Swiftly, it rushed away.

Lee cowered behind John’s back. “What was that?!”

“A Basilisk,” John told her. “They’re 30 levels under you, they shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’m a Level 98 Fateweaver, not a combat class!” Lee responded in a half-panic.

John put the tools down and framed her face with both hands. “You’re strong, Lee, and you will be one of the strongest women on the planet before long,” he told her.

“Also, if they are going to actually harm you, I will have them ripped apart,” Claire added in a carefree tone. Her hand was scratching the head of a large wolf of black and red fur, gradually coming into existence.

“This is just training,” John assured her. “You know that living around me can be dangerous. I want you to be able to keep a calm mind and stand straight, okay?”

“…Okay…” she responded quietly, and he let go of her. A deep breath later, she was reclaiming her usual self. “Is this what you think about when you think romantic? Throwing dates at monsters? That’s fucked up, dude.”

“Couples visit haunted houses all the time,” John defended himself. “This is just about as scary and harmless.”

“There’s Basilisks!” Lee cried out.

John chuckled and stared back out into the corridor he had illuminated moments earlier. The walls had shifted slightly while they talked. Constantly, the layout of the Mine was changing. On the upper levels, it took one or two weeks for the layout to have switched notably. The deeper one got, the more extreme the phenomenon became. Down here, one couldn’t be completely certain of the paths being the same after an hour.

Past the 25th floor, the Mine was well and truly dangerous. Level 20 monsters spawned below that, level 40 monsters beyond 30, and these Basilisks past floor 40. No one had died in the Mines so far, but a lot of people had gotten lost for several days or seriously hurt. It was only a matter of time until some overambitious fool ignored all security advice.

This place provided endless riches, but they were not given up so easily. To mine the truly valuable metals that spawned at the lower floors, risks had to be taken. All John could do was to let everyone know about the danger they were putting themselves in. Fusion needed the materials and he was not one who believed in coddling his populace. John’s teachers often had tried to keep the peace in the school. That had manifested in constant surveillance where they cared to check and the bullying to continue where they did not.

Those who exchanged liberty for security would have neither.

Not that the authorities had been affected.

John made a quick calculation in his head, about where the walls had been and the way they were moving. Carefully, he moved his hands and then shot two Blast Rays. Their paths intersected several metres into the corridor. Upon meeting, the silver projectiles of arcane might fused together and changed path, combining the input angles. Around the corner, the Blast Ray hit something, causing a loud, abruptly ending scream.

“The Basilisks really aren’t an issue,” John guaranteed her.

With the physical insurance of his superiority made, they advanced down that corridor. Claire held the flashlight, John carried a pickaxe, and Lee timidly advanced, jumping from as much as a pebble getting kicked. Even if she glanced over her shoulder repeatedly, she did keep on going.

The only part of the inside of the Mine that made it feel artificial was just how horizontal its alignment was. Sure, there were drops and cliffs, slopes and ramps, yet none of them exceeded a difference of more than one or two metres. Always, they returned to a mean. It truly was a floor of the Mine. Even if the walls had that natural texture of caves and even if the ground was sometimes awkward to walk on due to how craggy it was, this was ultimately not a natural formation.

Pretty soon, they came across a vein in the rock, glistening with metal. John swung the pickaxe, happily humming ‘Diggy-Diggy Hole’ while tearing chunks of ore out of the wall. He had to work fast, before the shifting layout of the wall swallowed the vein. The steady changes down here also manifested in steady respawns.

“Put them away,” John instructed Lee.

“It’s so much less effective when I do it though.”

“It will remain that way if you don’t train it.”

Surrendering with a sigh, Lee picked up one of the ore chunks and focused her gaze on it. After a few seconds, it began to hover. Then the air around it swallowed it up, taking it out of existence.

Fateweaving was not a skill one could have an Innate Ability in. Much like martial arts or arcane spells, the field of Illusion Barrier manipulation was made up not of a specific set of magic abilities but of a set of skills. Where one may be born with a soul predisposed to certain elements, manifesting as an Innate Ability, those three categories were primarily marked by talent. That being said, while there was no specific Innate Ability that allowed one to manipulate Illusion Barriers instinctively, one could have an Innate Ability that synchronized with the craft, be that for magical or psychological reasons.

Powerful martial artists often had an Innate Ability that lent itself well to close quarters combat, such as Rave’s primarily short-range bursts of light or Chemilia’s touch-induced internal pressure build-up. Arcane casters benefitted from effects that increased the flow of their mana or gave them the ability to be more manoeuvrable. Fateweavers had a leg-up over their peers when they had an Innate Ability to manipulate space in some way. His ability to bend dimensions around him had made Gehnigm, the previous Supreme Fateweaver, into an unparalleled authority in his field. What other Fateweavers needed to calculate in terms of theories, he was able to just feel. That made acquiring the related Skills a lot easier.

Lee had a similar advantage. Her Innate Ability was called Storage Dimension. It was exactly what it sounded like. By concentrating on an object, she could put it away in a personal pocket dimension. Having this kind of mental influence on physical space naturally fostered the kind of mindset one needed to manipulate Illusion Barriers. It especially helped with the creation of the general pocket dimensions that Fateweavers could tether to paying customers.

Lee’s Innate Ability was not as impressive as Gehnigm’s, not by a longshot. It was inferior to John’s inventory, in its current state, not putting materials inside into stasis. Even with her talent for the craft, she would have not caught up to the Supreme Fateweaver had she put her all behind it. That man had been a genius of Fateweaving comparable to Mozart and music. John’s help changed that paradigm as she was no longer bound by her natural limits (her Potential had been level 125, presumably equal to her father in his prime).

John saw it as his duty to nudge her along. Trying to beat procrastination was difficult and Lee clearly needed the occasional kick in the posterior.

“How will we find our way back?” Lee asked, after she had put the last chunk away.

“Spiders,” Claire answered chirpily, pointing the flashlight in the direction they would head to next. “Lots of spiders. Everywhere. See?” The vampire raised an arm and it suddenly fell off her. From the shoulder downwards, the limb fell, as if turned into sand. Black sand, with red highlights over the surface, that began to skitter the moment it hit the ground. Several dozen palm-sized arachnids dispersed in the darkness. The empty arm socket was steadily exuding a softly waving, black and red mist. “Sorry, did that make the darkness even creepier to you?”

“Did adding several dozen spiders to the darkness make it creepier to me?” Lee stared over her shoulder, while leading the way. “Noooo, whatever gave you that idea?”

“You should look at what is in front of you,” John warned her.

Lee’s eyes went wide and she slowly turned around. Right in front of her was the face of a Basilisk. Its four eyes stared straight at her, its lipless, sharp maw steadily dripping saliva. It looked like a truly terrifying creature and, to 95% of the Abyss, it was.

“EEEP!” Lee shouted and stumbled three steps back. The Basilisk just stared. Lee stared back.

“If you were of a lower level, you’d be paralysed right now,” John commented drily. Basilisks often had the ability to turn their enemies into stone, in video games and stories. The creatures down here were not quite as potent, all their eyes could do was temporarily slow or paralyse someone, if gazes crossed. Because Lee had a high enough Spellpower, she could resist the effect.

“Can’t you warn me in a nicer way?!” Lee screeched and swallowed, trying to get a grip on herself. Standing up, she took a deep breath.

John decided to help her a little bit. He walked up to the Basilisk and put a hand on its snout. Then he released it from the pressure of his emotional aura. He had been exuding a warning to the creature the entire time, letting it know, with his presence alone, that it would die if it took a single aggressive action.

With the effect removed, the instincts of a dungeon monster took over. Growling and hissing, it tried to stampede over John, who effortlessly held it back with one hand. John directed his emotions at Lee instead. The intensity of his trust and pride in her, of his expectations, streamed out in the world around him.

Lee’s panicked gaze was replaced with determination. Washing over her was the rousing feeling only a great speech or the assuring presence of a lover could provide, concentrated with magical potency. “Alright… let’s try!” she shouted and got on her feet.

With an approving nod, John gave the Basilisk a shove backwards and then teleported out of the way. It immediately charged towards the next best target, being the young Fateweaver.

Lee ignited her martial art Aura. A hue of blue enveloped her like thinned out fire. She may have only learned the basics of martial arts for her workout, but she could still use it. In order to keep up with the creature in front of her, she would need it as well.

Just barely, Lee got out of the way of the Basilisk. The three-metre-long body of the creature continued to move past her. Before Lee could swing a proper punch, it had already moved past her, curved up the cave wall, and moved its jaws towards her head.

John expanded his warning presence again and the Basilisk froze mid motion. Audibly, Lee gulped, staring at the jaws that were one second away from crushing her head. “Too much?” the Gamer asked, worried he may have been overestimating what was appropriate for his second-weakest haremette after all.

“It’s a lot… but let me try to get at least one hit in,” Lee requested.

“Alright.” While they had talked, the Basilisk, intimidated by the Gamer’s presence, had slowly pulled back. Then, that presence suddenly pulled back and the beast brain went back into rampage mode.

It was an awkward fight. Lee could have died several times over, had John not been there. The monsters in the Mine did not chase far, so escaping them was often a matter of just running away. Even with that in mind, Lee did provide too many openings to say for certain she would have gotten out of this alive, had she tried to get away.

With his presence alone, John reset the combat several times. The Basilisk was faster, stronger, and had better instincts. When Lee tried to use her brain, she only showcased her inexperience when it came to combat. She swung too wide, tried to do things that looked cool, and didn’t clench a proper fist.

Only a child of the elite could have been that inexperienced when growing up in the Abyss.

After three minutes, Lee finally managed to land a punch worth the description. The Basilisk’s middle section bent slightly due to the impact. A couple of centimetres. A superhuman feat, even if an unimpressive one by John’s modern standards.

Lee was visibly winded. Yes, she did have greater Endurance than Olympic athletes, but she clearly did not know how to measure herself well. “Man… I suck at this…” she gasped.

“Yep,” Claire confirmed.

“We all do at first,” John told her. “I started learning combat by stomping on a bunch of Seedlings.”

“Really…? Don’t remember you… ever telling that… story…” Lee kept her fists raised.

Considering how exhausted she was, John decided to give her a break. “Not particularly interesting of a beginning,” he confessed, before blasting the Basilisk’s head into nothingness with an Arc Lance. “Give yourself five minutes, we’ll run into another one.”

And they did.