Mage Tank-Chapter 247: Dungeons and… (3)

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SYSTEM ADDENDUM ADDED BY: USER NAME [Ruler 2]

ADDENDUM NOTE: Despite receiving multiple warnings that this is an inappropriate use of the System Addendum feature, Ruler 3 has requested that a complaint be logged concerning Ruler 2’s testing of the Physical petitioner. This request has been denied. Ruler 2 has requested the addition of the following text, which he claims is unrelated to Ruler 3’s request: “Get fucked.”

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Varrin didn’t know whether he’d found the source of the mountain’s fire, but he’d certainly found fire. He stood amidst endless flames, the flickering dance of orange and white engulfing him. The light stole his vision, the heat robbed him of any useful breath, and his armor had become an oven which sought to cook him.

It was an annoyance, but nothing to cause him any concern.

Not yet.

Varrin’s armor kept the worst of the heat at bay, and his Hiwardian endurance took care of the rest. It would need to grow much hotter before he’d willingly describe the blaze as uncomfortable. As far as the lack of air was concerned, he could just hold his breath. If someone wanted to kill him through suffocation, they’d be waiting for a while.

While the heat and lack of air meant little, the sound of the fire was a problem. Varrin could navigate well enough without sight; his ancestors had developed keen hearing in the depths of the pitch-black Littan mines. If he were only blinded, it wouldn’t have mattered, but the sole sound to be heard was the roar of the inferno.

None of that obscured the System notification he received, which Varrin glanced at and dismissed just as quickly as it had come.

You have entered the Caldera of the Paroxysmal Ruler

Physical Dungeon

Recommended skills: Physical Magic 40

Unfortunate. Varrin’s Physical Magic skill was only level 28, which was quite low for an attunement. His Spiritual Magic had even overtaken it recently, owing to his work with his ancestral soul clones. He gave little weight to the recommendation, however. If his skill level needed to improve, then he would improve it. If there were other ways to deal with this Dungeon, then he would find them. Varrin could already endure the fire without relying on Physical Magic. He could just as likely solve any other problems he ran into without it as well.

Varrin spent a few moments in the flames, waiting to see if something would try and take advantage of his reduced awareness. He also spent the time considering whether it would be worth it to pick up the Reconnaissance skill for the Sense Motion evolution. It would have been perfect for a situation such as this.

Foll𝑜w current novℯls on ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm.

Perception was a minor weakness of Varrin’s build, and he knew as much. However, it rarely came into play. When it did, there were usually other solutions, such as flying away from the hazard. He was also fond of simply cutting everything down around him, which he could do regardless of whether he could perceive his surroundings.

There were certainly some Physical Magic evolutions that would trivialize this problem in particular, but he was more concerned with build choices made according to more generalized principles. His entire Physical Magic progression was already laid out, and none of it dealt with manipulating fire or improving his awareness. The Restrictor Belt evolution series was focused entirely on making his attacks sharper, and that would be all. Perhaps he could slice these flames away, but he didn’t need to.

Varrin finished his musing. Addressing his blind spots was useful, but it didn’t matter much at that very moment. No one had come to ambush him, and he was satisfied that further contemplation would yield little of value. Varrin slowly rose into the air, moving cautiously to avoid a hard collision with any other unseen hazards. After a few seconds, the fire began to give way to smoke. Smoke was tolerable. He could see at least a few feet through smoke.

Varrin still couldn’t breathe, but the sound of the fire was no longer omnipotent. It was dominant over all other noise, but other noises could be heard. Thunder rolled through the sky above him, and there was a soft clanging in the distance, barely audible. Varrin centered on the rhythmic toll and floated onward.

His flight continued to be sedate and measured. Not out of any attempt at stealth, although he could move unseen and unheard much better than anyone who knew him might suspect. Varrin moved at a glide because he felt no need to rush. If there were an enemy, let them think he was slow. Let them understand how little their theatrics mattered. A valley of fire was hardly enough to disturb him, and so he moved as placidly as he felt.

When Varrin breached the thickest smoke, the sky above him was black as soot as far as the eye could see. Frequent streaks of light cut through the miasma, followed by booming rumbles. On the ground below, he spotted an anvil as large as a mansion, sitting near the edge of the flame.

From where Varrin hovered, he could see a glowing slab of metal atop the anvil, looking like it had been abandoned only a moment ago. On the ground beside it was a blacksmith’s hammer sized for a giant, and sitting with their back against the head of that hammer was a man, sized normally.

Normal, in this case, being relative to the smithy equipment. The man was at least as large as Varrin, and no one of any sense would describe the young Ravvenblaq’s size as ‘normal’. ꭆäɴÓ𝔟ÊS̩

Varrin flew closer. He landed on the ground and strode across a field of glowing coals. To his right, the fire burned for at least a half mile in each direction, bounded by a thick stone lip that arced away. Varrin tried to identify the figure as he studied him, but the System was not yet willing to do so.

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The stranger wore a heavy set of armor that was tinted a deep, vibrant red. It had the subtle chromatic glint of prismatite, and the combination made it appear as though each plate had been cut from the same colossal ruby. Otherwise, the armor was plain.

There were no engravings, no heraldry, not a single ornamental flair to be found, but while the armor was functional and unembellished, its workmanship was of the highest quality. Each piece had been precisely forged, the surfaces perfect, polished, and pristine. Overlapping metal plates slid smoothly around the joints, with no visible separation or friction. The gauntlets had such complex articulation, that Varrin would have believed the man had he said he could paint a masterpiece without ever taking them off.

Beyond that, the armor was clean in the way that could only be achieved through the Immutable property. Despite the environment, not a single scorch mark could be seen. Not a single speck of ash could find purchase. Outside of a System award, such a thing could only have been the product of a very high-level smith. Someone approaching Varrin’s own grandfather in skill, of whom there were precious few.

Across the ruby man’s lap was a two-handed sword. Like the armor, it was both simple and masterful. Six feet of frozen steel made up a hand’s width blade, straight and double-edged. The crossguard and pommel were heavily weighted, balancing the sword while serving as potential weapons of their own. While Varrin had only the most rudimentary mana sense, he could still feel power pouring off the weapon. Its surface swam with elemental beauty, compressed until the blade was more magic than metal.

The man watched Varrin approach, a glint of citrine eyes visible through his visor. Slitted, reptilian pupils studied him, betraying no emotion. Varrin came to a stop ten feet from the man. The two of them were the only things in the realm untouched by the pervasive rain of ash. A virginal pair amidst the tainted landscape.

The man stood with casual strength, as though he’d levitated from his sitting position. He brought the blade of his sword to rest against his shoulder. The stance wasn’t an aggressive one, but it also allowed for that to change very quickly.

The System finally gave Varrin an identification.

Remembrance of Hep, Era of Youth: Elemental, Grade 25

The man shifted his feet and leaned in. Varrin held tight to Kazandak’s sheath, but made no move to draw it. The man had weakened his balance with the motion, and it seemed more evocative of interest than any intent to attack.

“This is weird,” said the stranger. “You’re Level 13.”

Varrin ignored the rude comment, choosing to be civil instead. “I am Lord Varrin Ravvenblaq,” he said with a slight bow. “Might I know your name, such that I can address you properly?”

The ruby man moved back into his casual stance. “You may call me Lord Hep, if you so desire.”

“Well met, Lord Hep,” said Varrin. “It seems that I have been brought to this Caldera against my will.”

“Oh?” said Hep. “Is that truly what happened, Lord Ravvenblaq?”

“Indeed, Lord Hep. However, it is my understanding that I am to undertake some kind of test. I presume this to be the reason for my abduction. Would you be familiar with such a thing?”

“I am familiar with this test,” said Hep with a nod. “It is not often that I receive those of noble station into my caldera. You’ll forgive me for my earlier comment, I’m sure. It has been some time since I was addressed so formally, and I have grown accustomed to speaking aloud for both myself and my guests.”

“Think nothing of it,” said Varrin. “Although I am curious as to why you find my Level to be an oddity.”

“Ah, you misapprehend me, Lord Ravvenblaq. This is understandable, given my inartful words. You see, what I find strange is not your Level, but my own.”

“I will admit that you have now enlivened my curiosity even further, Lord Hep.”

“Yes, that must sound absurd without context,” said Hep. “To explain, whenever a guest arrives in my caldera, my Level or Grade is reduced to match their own. Otherwise, my opponents would have no chance of winning. Even then, they have but the slimmest of prospects.”

“I see,” said Varrin. “But I am Level 13 and you are not.”

“As you say, Lord Ravvenblaq.” Varrin could hear a predatory smile in Hep’s voice. “This is a most unusual occurrence, although it is not without precedent. Some individuals present a greater challenge than their System-assigned number might suggest, but the divergence has never been so great. My Level is nearly double yours, after all!”

“Hm,” Varrin grunted. “I cannot say that this surprises me, Lord Hep. I have a history of fighting upward, so to speak.”

“Good, good,” said Hep. “I would hate for you to feel that this is unfair in any way.”

“Fairness was never a consideration.”

“Then let us be done with words, and truly speak with one another.”

Varrin drew Kazandak, and by the time the weapon had left its sheath, Hep’s blade was already crashing down upon it. Varrin tilted his sword to let Hep’s heavier weapon slide down its length, then whipped Kazandak forward to take the ruby man in the neck. Hep pivoted, moving back enough to avoid Kazandak’s tip by an inch, but Varrin extended Kazandak mid-swing. Sparks flew from Hep’s gorget, and the master of the caldera hopped back to put space between them.

Had this been a formal competition, Varrin would have been satisfied for earning the first point. However, his strike hadn’t been enough to penetrate Hep’s armor, and he’d gleaned very little about Hep’s fighting style. Hep, on the other hand, now knew that Kazandak could change its length, and that Varrin was capable with a precision-based style.

Rather than let Hep spend time analyzing, Varrin pressed the offensive. He darted in and thrust Kazandak toward Hep’s hip. Hep rotated his lower body, pulling back while using the motion to bring his blade down towards Varrin’s shoulder. Varrin had gone low with the thrust, and quickly dropped, pivoting into a kneeling guard.

Hep’s longsword struck Kazandak, Varrin angled the blade to slide away again, springing forward to slash beneath Hep’s armpit. Hep anticipated the deflection and rotated his swing to counter. Hep pressured Kazandak, forcing the blade too low to hit its target, spinning as he went and sweeping Varrin’s back with the blade’s tip.

The longsword scraped across Varrin’s armor, but Varrin was already rotating to turn the hit into a glancing blow. He brought Kazandak back around, met by Hep’s blade. Hep knocked Kazandak to one side, then lunged inside Varrin’s guard. But Hep had under-committed to the block in order to time his lunge. Varrin adjusted the angle of his blade and twisted his upper body to push Hep’s thrust off center. The two exchanged hits, with Hep driving his sword into Varrin’s shoulder, and Varrin running Kazandak across Hep’s left hand.

Both sides drew blood, and both sides withdrew to reset. Neither of the men’s armor showed signs of the damage, but both had struck with enough force to pass through the Immutable materials.

“Done with introductions?” asked Varrin. His left deltoid throbbed and burned. His arming doublet began to grow wet, though he felt less blood than he’d expected.

Hep shook his hand, steaming blood splattering from between the plates. A few wisps of smoke coiled up from his fingers before he re-seated his grip, then nodded. “Thank you for indulging me. I sometimes miss the purity of swordplay.”

Hep’s blade began to glow a dim red as a static charge filled the air. The blade’s light quickly grew in intensity until it was an orange nearly bright enough to be called white. Even from twenty feet away, Varrin was battered by a heat several times stronger than the flames he’d walked through to get here, and the static charge rose in tandem. Arcs of electricity jumped between Varrin’s fingers as he sheathed Kazandak and prepared to draw it anew.

Varrin wondered how hot the sword would be from up close, and then he fought to suppress a grin.