ROTLE- Chapter 32- Unnecessary (Patreon)

“So this is the infamous gargoyle the scripture talks about so graciously.” Elaswit kicked the corpse. “Personally, I think it’s overhyped.”

Aiden paused his task of retrieving his sword from the gargoyle’s mouth to look at her.

“A while ago you had no idea what a gargoyle was,” he said.

He grabbed the hilt of his sword and tugged. It didn’t budge.

Elaswit gave him a sheepish grin. “Would you believe me if I said I was only pretending not to know?”

He could hear the humor in her voice.

It was a good thing she was making jokes, it meant she was still good to go.

Unless she’s one of those people who use jokes to hide their nervousness and how broken they are.

Aiden tugged on his sword once more. It budged this time but didn’t come loose. When he tugged on it the fourth time, it succumbed.

He pulled it out to reveal a broken sword.

Holding it up to look at it, he sighed. “Well, that’s a bust.”

Elaswit walked up to stand beside him.

She grimaced at the sight of the sword. “And it was a really good sword.”

Aiden didn’t agree. The sword was a good sword, yes. But calling it a really good sword was a stretch.

“Not really,” he told her.

The broken end of the blade was covered in solidified gargoyle blood. Aiden had an idea of what had happened. Stabbing it through had pierced the heart and blood had flowed carelessly. Whatever depths his sword had reached to inconvenience the creature had most likely been flooded with blood as well.

Then it solidified and pulling out the sword broke the sword.

He tossed the sword carelessly aside. A gargoyle’s insides were as strong as its outsides and normally, a sword of the quality he was using wasn’t supposed to have caused it as much discomfort even stabbed into its mouth as this one had. Normally, the blade would’ve shattered inside after enough struggling.

So why hadn’t his broken? The answer was simple. When Aiden used [Weave of Lesser Strength] it had applied to the weapon as well. So the sword had been buffed for the duration of its use.

Now that the weaving had come undone, timed out, it had reverted to its normal durability and broken under the force of him trying to pull it out.

“I guess it’s a good thing I have a few spares,” Elaswit said.

Aiden nodded.

Something poked him in the side and he turned to find the princess holding up the sword she’d pulled from her storage space to him. The one he’d used to kill the gargoyle.

He took it from her.

“Thanks. But why do you have a regular longsword again?” he asked. “[Butcher]s don’t use them.”

Elaswit shrugged. “You can never be too prepared.”

That made enough sense that Aiden had no more questions to ask on the matter. Instead, he focused on more interesting things, like the fact that he was two levels away from level twenty.

A new class skill was not far away. At level ten everyone got their class. After that, they automatically gained a new class skill every ten levels. Level fifty worked differently, though. The requirement was getting a new class skill but it wasn’t automatic, the person would have to work to create it.

Then at level 99, I’ll have to evolve it.

Everything else started working differently after level 100. The change was slow but sure, as if the person was being eased into a new way of living.

Aiden discarded the thoughts, knowing that future problems were for future Aiden. He removed the scabbard of his broken sword from his soldier’s belt and held up the one Elaswit gave him.

“Cool, isn’t it,” she said.

Aiden couldn’t disagree. He hadn’t been paying much attention to it in the beginning but he was now.

Its scabbard was a bright white, clean. Whatever material they had used to craft it was sturdy and strong. He doubted it was wood.

The white was adorned with simple golden loops at the top and bottom. Whoever had crafted it had chosen to display the beauty in simplicity, and Aiden was sure they had chosen white and gold for colors to give it some royal visage.

After all, only the high class and those who wanted to be tended to be enamored by such bright colors.

He would’ve checked the actual blade if he didn’t already know how good it was. Instead, he did something else.

You have activated skill [Detect]

A simple indicator appeared above the sword.

[Sword]

A simple sword crafted by a proper blacksmith of the royal family with a scabbard to display a fraction of royal beauty. Crafted for better fighters than normal.

Durability: 100%

Aiden held back a chuckle.

The system description of weapons created on Nastild were usually influenced by the minds and intentions of those who helped craft them. If he wasn’t mistaken, the first sentence was created by the system while the second was most likely from the intentions of those who had created it.

Its power was clearly limited, though. For one thing, it didn’t have a name. It also didn’t have an actual effect.

Aiden’s guess was that its advantage was in how sturdy a weapon it was.

“Alright, then.” He attached the sword to one of his soldier belts. “Shall we get going?”

“How about the corpse?” Elaswit asked.

He paused. “What about it?”

She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

Aiden waited patiently.

After a while she let out an exasperated sigh. “I swear the teachers back in the palace are slacking off. Once we get home, I’m talking to my father about stricter supervision of their work.”

Aiden drew a blank, confused. “What?”

“I’m guessing they’ve not taught you, but Nastild has people with crafting classes,” she told him. “And some people have what we call the looting skill, which allows them ‘harvest’ the corpse of a monster and turn it into something of a finished product in record time.”

Aiden knew of them. The looting skill was one of the rarest support class skills on Nastild and the crafting classes weren’t the only classes that gave it. Maybe one in forty-two crafters had the skill, which made them highly paid and highly sought out skill users.

Through a series of processes, depending on the specialization of their collective skills, a crafting class could turn things into finished products. A [Blacksmith] would always be better at blacksmithing than a blacksmith. A [Baker] would always be better than a baker.

By virtue of the class, they cut down the time required to create the finished product and increased the quality and often quantity of the final product.

Then there were those with the [Loot] skill. They were the cheats in the world of crafting. If a [Blacksmith] with the [Loot] skill touched the corpse of a monster, there would be a blacksmithing outcome. If the creature had enough materials, which they almost always did, you could find yourself armed with a sword or shield or something in that department.

If an [Alchemist] had the skill, you could end up with quite the potent concoction.

“If we can get a crafter here,” Elaswit was saying, “or at least get the corpse to them, then they could make something good out of it. Considering how powerful this thing was for its level, I’m sure we can get something unique and strong.”

Aiden didn’t know how he was going to explain how wrong she was to her. He also didn’t need to think much to know that he didn’t have to explain anything to her because he wasn’t supposed to know anything.

The only crafting outcome that could be gotten from a gargoyle was the powerful and great material known as [Rock].

It was a very powerful and great piece of rock than was harder than any simple rock.

The end.

Gargoyle’s, like some of the other cannon fodders the demons had used during the war, were all crafting duds.

There were slimes that turned into the wateriest water ever watered that was far waterier than water.

Duds, all of them.

Aiden could still remember how loud the leader of the Order had laughed when he’d confirmed that all the cannon fodders were crafting duds.

“You can always trust a demon to piss you off even in your own victory,” he had said.

Regardless, Aiden was going to tell her nothing about it.

Elaswit came to stand in front of him as if she thought he was going to ignore her and continue walking.

He wasn’t.

“I say we do this,” she said. “We find a way to mark the spots. Then, if we succeed in clearing this quest and scenario, you go to this town’s branch of the adventure society and submit your quest or scenario completion notification, and claim all the gargoyles we kill.”

Aiden remained silent. He gave her a confused look, playing the part of a confused outworlder.

“That way,” Elaswit explained slowly, “you can then hire crafters to come and take a look at the corpses we kill. You give them an acceptable fee—royal rate is thirty-five percent of sales for every crafted item—and you make a little money on the side apart from what my dad gives you.”

“So—”

“I’m sorry to cut you short but I wouldn’t advise using royal rates as a benchmark, though,” Elaswit interrupted. “The Brandis family has always been generous to crafters not directly under its employ. Father says it helps the overall kingdom’s economy and the citizens, so I’d say we are far too generous. We could talk to Nella, instead, to confirm the adventurer rate.”

Aiden knew the adventurer rate. It was fifteen percent. Sometimes it could be haggled to twenty. The black market rate was an arguable forty to fifty percent depending on how much clout you had in that part of the economy and how feared you were.

“Fair enough,” he said. “We’ll talk to the society once we’re out.”

Elaswit smiled at him. “Good.”

“Now can we continue on our way?”

She nodded happily and turned, heading down the path they had been going down before the interruption of the gargoyle.

Isn’t she a little too excited? Aiden wondered.

She looked like a child who’d been begging her parents to take her to Disney land for so long and now finally had the chance to do all the Disney things she wanted to do.

Aiden was beginning to suspect she didn’t do much in the way of adventuring, which was odd because he knew Brandis supported his children going out into the world to level up the dangerous way.

What was it Nella said, he thought as he started walking, following behind her as they turned the corner ahead of them. Something about adventuring with knights?

Maybe that was the current case. Maybe Brandis allowed his children adventure but only if they had a knight with them, which meant they wouldn’t be able to enjoy the full terrifying fun of adventuring the way adventurers enjoyed and or suffered it.

Odd to be giddy at the thought of potentially losing your life, though, he thought.

Then again, the title of [Berserker] wasn’t something people came by so easily. The very fact that she’d gotten it was saying a lot.

“Hurry up, Lord Lacheart,” Elaswit called over her shoulder. “We’re burning day—”

The ground shook beneath them, cutting her off. It trembled enough that lesser humans would’ve fallen. Aiden paused, looking around them.

The walls were moving, but no debris was falling.

Even the ceiling seemed to be rearranging itself.

Elaswit had stopped walking and had her hands held out to her sides as if she needed the action for stability.

Her eyes were fixed on the ground.

“An ground surge?” she asked, worried.

A ground surge was what Nastild called an earthquake, but Aiden knew better. This wasn’t a ground surge. If his assumption on what it actually was was right, then they were slightly screwed.

“No,” he answered, slightly dreadful.

“Then what?” Elaswit asked.

The shaking had stopped and they now stood easily.

Aiden met her eyes and he saw in them that the simple no he’d given for an answer had given her an idea of what it might be.

For the first time since he’d known the princess in both his past life and this one, he saw fear. He remembered her sense of claustrophobia in dark places and wondered if it only applied to dark places as he gave her the answer he knew she was praying he wouldn’t give her.

“I think the natural enchantment has locked us back in.”

Elaswit paled.

Normally, Aiden wouldn’t have been too bothered if not for the fact that natural enchantments only activated themselves when they were formed. After that, the only way for them to activate was for them to be activated.

Someone had just intentionally activated the natural enchantment.

The question now was had they simply intentionally activated the natural enchantment or had they intentionally sealed them in?

Elaswit walked back to Aiden briskly, with purpose in her eyes. When she got to him, her action was simple. She took his hand in hers and squeezed.

“I don’t know if I’ve told you this before, Aiden.” She didn’t sound jovial in the slightest. “But I’m terrified of knowing I’m trapped with no way out.”

Her grip remained tight and her hand was trembling. Elaswit Brandis had a weakness and she wasn’t ashamed to share it with him.

Aiden nodded slowly.

“We need to sit down, collect our thoughts,” he told her, easing her down to the ground.

She obeyed without question, nodding along.

When she was seated with her cleaver shifted as diagonally as possible to grant her comfort, still holding onto his hand, Aiden took a knee in front of her.

She’s already beginning to hyperventilate, he noted by the increasing rise and fall of her chest. I’ll have to calm her down.

“Listen to me, El,” he said.

Elaswit frowned then chuckled. “No one calls me El.”

“Sorry.”

Aiden had been going for some form of familiarity, something to calm her down. He didn’t think calling her princess was going to help right now, and somehow Elaswit sounded formal as well.

Elaswit shook her head. “No. Don’t be. I just… don’t like it. It feels like something too generic for a short name. People like to shorten any name with ‘El’ in it to El. But you can call me El. For some reason it makes me mad enough at you to focus only on you.”

She gave him a slight sheepish smile when she was done.

Aiden wasn’t sure what had just happened. All he’d gotten from that was that he had permission to call her El.

“Well, El,” he smiled at her. “We’re not trapped.”

“Feels like we’re trapped, though.”

They were definitely trapped.

“Well, we’re definitely not trapped.” He gave her a warm smile, then looked around at the bioluminescent moss and algae that gave them light. “And we’ve got all the light we need. I’ve been studying enchantments enough to know of natural enchantments, and do you know something about natural enchantments that I didn’t say.”

“Because you act like talking is a taboo?” Elaswit replied.

“And I apologize for that,” Aiden chuckled. “I’ll try and be better. But what I didn’t say is that natural enchantments always come in two folds. Something like this with an entrance has another natural array that will always serve as the exit. And we’ll find it.”

Elaswit met his gaze, looked deep into his eyes. He physically watched her place all her trust in him.

“Is that true?” she asked.

Aiden paused, allowed a short silence settle between them so that she would know that he understood the weight of her question and the moment they were in right now. He needed her to understand that he’d given his response his entire thought and memory and was certain of it before he answered.

When he did, it was with a single word.

“Yes,” he lied.

…

Valdan sucked in a slow, deep breath.

Once more, he thought.

He raised the sword in his hand, a weak replica of his true knight sword. Using his original sword could cause far more problems than he was willing to cause in a noble’s house no matter how grand their hospitality was.

Ready, he activated his skill.

You have used Class skill [Aura Strike].

At first nothing happened as he held back the skill as much as he could, allowed the effect build. It strained him, pushed against his entire body.

Then he released it.

At first it crackled through his sword as if the air around it was electrified. Then it ran about the blade as if he had used a lightning enchantment. It was a deep yellow, crackling wildly. Then his sword grew a bright yellow, the air hummed around it.

Valdan held the attack strong. He needed to channel it properly, then chain the skills that would follow. He needed to do it all in the shortest time with the greatest power output possible.

Then he swung.

It was a downward strike, designed to cleave through anything. The moment his sword hit the ground, a blast of yellow aura shot through the air it had cut through in an arc. It lanced forward, charging the air in its path as a crack split the ground in front of him, traveling forward.

But Valdan was not done.

The aura blast had barely gone far when he turned, spun into the attack then stabbed the sword into the ground, activating another skill.

You have used Class skill [Protected Sword]

A massive after image of his sword swelled as high as ten feet and as wide as twelve in front of him. Experience had taught him that this was his strongest defensive class skill. But he was yet to push it to its limits.

Valdan knew a man with the exact same skill and knew that the skill could literally become a physical thing if he channeled mana into it properly. He was close to creating that but he wasn’t close enough.

Faster, he beckoned to himself.

You have used Class skill [Knight’s Repose]

The moment the air around him stabilized, calming the ambient mana as the skill always did, he channeled his next skill. Interface lit up one skill after the other.

You have activated Class skill [Knight’s Stomp]

Mana flooded out of him and shook the ground around him. Enemies within the effect of the skill would find their footing thrown off. They would stagger, most would fall. Under certain criteria it would deal stun damage to an enemy.

Faster.

Valdan’s grip on his sword tightened and he swung it violently in a horizontal slash, cleaving through the air.

You have used Class skill [Resting Cleave]

He felt the ripple go through the air where his sword cut through it. It pushed forward, traveling a distance of maybe ten feet in front of him. It rippled as if under the effect of a heat wave.

Then Valdan swung his sword up in a final attack, put every strength left in him into the single blow, and begged the gods in his heart.

His sword cut in a vicious upward slash but nothing beyond the ordinary happened.

Valdan lowered his sword to the side for the eight time this morning and stabbed it into the ground with a defeated sigh.

He stood at the center of wide field, cracks riddled the ground around him, running as far as twenty feet. Eight in total. Each one was the result of an [Aura Strike].

Failed again, he told himself as he let go of his sword and let it fall to the ground.

He’d been stuck at level forty-nine for too long. Three months stuck at level forty-nine was too long for him. Far too long.

Banediz, a level 89 knight of the crown had told him not to let his inability to scale the level fifty wall bother him too much. There were fighters who had taken years to cross it.

According to Banediz, his situation wasn’t as bad as he thought. Valdan had achieved great things. He was the first [Knight of the Crown] to achieve the title before hitting level 50.

Besides, there were also knights who had spent a year before hitting meeting the level 50 requirement, stuck at level 49.

Yes, there was always someone who had it worse than you, someone who wasn’t as good as you, who had to struggle more than you. It could always be worse, so be content with where you were.

But Valdan wasn’t the kind of man to focus on that. Staring at the chaos around him with no reward, his spirit dwindled slightly, his motivation dying out.

No, he told himself. You do not quit here.

Being reminded that there was always worse was a consolation that he believed pulled people to contentment with where they were or what they had. It was a good thing, but it was not for him.

Contentment breeds happiness. Happiness breeds comfort. Comfort breeds stagnation.

Valdan did not focus on those he was better than.

There were people who took their lifetimes to cross into level 50.

And there are people who have done it in weeks.

Those were the people he focused on. It could always be worse. Yes. But it could always be better.

Valdan always focused on those that were better than him. If there were people who had done it in weeks while he’d been in the same predicament for three months now, then he wasn’t good enough.

He needed to be better to be worthy of his title as a knight of the crown.

Valdan bent and picked his sword back up.

“One more,” he muttered to himself as the morning light stared down at him. “One more.”

With whatever was left of him, Valdan swung his sword once more.

You have used Class skill [Aura Strike].

Two hours later found Valdan seating in his room. The Naranoffs had given him a room fitting for any noble. It was unnecessarily large with a piano at one end of the room, one of the grand ones used at grand events.

Like he knew how to play any instrument. He’d always told himself he would learn at least one instrument in his life but there was always some goal or the other than took over his life and left him too occupied to learn.

Too occupied to be cultured, he thought deprecatingly, before scolding himself for it.

There was no reason to be ashamed of who he was or where he came from. His pristine nature that fit right in with the world of the noble wasn’t something that being knighted had given him, it was something he’d always had.

Playing the instrument was one and the same, a goal for himself not for the role he’d gained and the crowd it had forced him into.

It was a living disrespect to himself to lump cultured things he’d always wanted to learn for himself into the same group as the cultured things he wanted to learn because of his status.

The rest of the room was adorned with portraits of natural sceneries and slain dragons. Vibrant and strong. Lesser men would look upon them and feel the overwhelming urge to be more powerful, strong enough to leave behind a legacy.

The carpets were beautiful and the beddings were fit for anyone.

As Valdan had thought of it… unnecessary.

He placed down a cup of nettle tea that had been served with his breakfast and pushed it gently aside.

Rubbish, tastes like grass, he thought in annoyance.

In public it was something he could pretend to enjoy well enough to finish two cups. But here, in the privacy of himself, there was no reason to suffer it.

He would throw it out before the maid came for what was left of his meal. There were reputations to keep, after all.

Valdan poured himself a cup of water from a ceramic cup. Picking the cup up, he paused before he drank from it. His eyes settled on the jug, its ceramic craftsmanship. Eight years ago he would’ve discarded it as a pointless waste of time, now, he was different.

He dropped the cup, picked the jug back up and turned it one way then another. It had flower prints and the artist had done well to compliment its vibrant colors perfectly.

Maybe I should get one when next I return home, he thought.

Melvet would love it.

If she doesn’t already have one.

He shook the last thought from his head as he placed the jug back down and drank from the cup. It was very possible that Melvet would’ve already added something like this to her collection of…

Valdan frowned, forgetting the name of the collection of cups and jugs and trays used for serving tea. Melvet was always the one to remind him and he was always the one to forget. But that wasn’t what was important. What was important was that he get it on the way back regardless of the possibility of her having it.

As she always told him—it was the thought that counted.

Better to return with something I don’t know she has than nothing at all.

Sometimes Valdan wondered what type of knight he would be outside of the blood and violence if he hadn’t met Melvet.

His mind was still drifting back to the failures of this morning and his inability to break into level 50 for the umpteenth time when a knock at his door pulled him from his thoughts.

Valdan rose from his chair and strolled up to his door. The knock had been polite but urgent, which was saying something.

His mind went to Lord Lacheart but discarded it quickly. Lord Lacheart never came looking for him.

Valdan unlocked the door and opened it to the worried face of Nella. Looking down at what was a clear mix of worry and fear, he wondered what Lord Lacheart had done this time.

Unwilling to be the kind of person known to jump to conclusions, he said nothing.

“Lady Naranoff,” he greeted simply.

“Sir Valdan,” she returned, urgency in her voice.

“How may I help you this morning?”

Nella fidgeted a little, clearly unsure of how to break the news to him. She reminded Valdan of a child who had done something they shouldn’t do, reporting back to their superior simply because they now needed help.

He re-evaluated that immediately. She looked more like she’d lost something important and was reporting herself.

Valdan waited patiently, gave her the time she needed to tell him the obvious. Lord Lacheart was missing.

He knew the day would come, considering Lord Lacheart’s intentions for coming here. Although, he would admit to being a little offended that the young Lacheart had opted to go on his quest in search of a quest without him.

When Lady Naranoff spoke, she simply blurted the words out.

“I can’t find the princess.”

Valdan froze.

Well, he had definitely not been expecting that.