Aunt Rosemary replies, “The Academy is for Elite Apprentices, but there is a place that has an Elite Novice program. Mostly for overachieving reincarnators.”
“I resemble that remark.”
“What’s so good about this Crux Academy?” Basalt asks. “And do they have an adult program too? Am I even an adult, technically?”
“You spawned as an adult, yes. Journeyman tier is its technical term with regards to skills and classes. There are places for journeyman Elite schooling as well. And the reason Crux Academy is good for leveling skills is because, in addition to its extensive library and knowledgeable teachers, it is an extremely dangerous high level dungeon. The constant mortal peril, risk of being attacked by monsters in the corridors, and shifting hallways make even getting to your next class worth quite a bit of experience.”
“Cool, cool,” Basalt says.
It has taken us a week since we got back to Corwen, but we’re finally heading out to Grubwick to check in on Milo. At least he wasn’t killed again this time. The kids and Meadow are staying behind this time, so it’s just me, Anise, Rowan, Basalt, and Aunt Rosemary.
“So what sort of powers do you have, Rosemary?” Basalt wonders. “They said you’re Heroic.”
“I mostly focus on Wizardry and Incantation,” Aunt Rosemary says. “That’s the power of written and spoken words. Rest assured that I can handle anything below Epic rank that bothers us.”
We do a quick run of the Hedge Maze on the way by and rest before moving on.
Every level of those is welcome, even if [Fast Travel] doesn’t give much in the way of a speed bonus yet. I don’t have any reason not to try to grind it whenever I have the opportunity. At least that one benefits from regularly visiting the same areas.
We head into the caves and arrive at Grubwick, and are quickly ushered inside by enthusiastic goblins as Milo comes out of the warrens to greet us.
“Drake! Rowan!” Milo exclaims. “Good to see you’re alright. And who is this?”
We have another round of introductions and another repeat of telling the story of what happened and what we did. I should really just write this down. Or better yet, unlock some Enhanced Mind skill to write things down in my head.
“With a new dungeon opened up, we ought to get that bridge built near the Wisteria Garden that we were planning on,” I say.
Milo nods in agreement, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his cider. “Good idea. And having you and a [Dwarf Handyman] on the crew would be great.”
“A bridge, huh?” Basalt says. “Cool, cool. Never built a bridge before, but I started off with a bunch of skills like [Masonry], [Carpentry], and [Stoneworking] that should help.”
When we return to Hebron, it’s accompanied by a Heroic adventuring party this time. Uncle Hawk’s Epic-ranked party isn’t available at the moment. After they conquered Muckburrow, left on a skyship to go run some dungeons in another domain. The Heroics don’t want to wait until they get back to start exploring the new area, and if a pair of Basics survived there for weeks, it can’t be too dangerous.
It takes the remainder of the summer to arrange everything for building the bridge. The result is a much better bridge than the one we put over Skullburn Creek. It’s also a lot larger considering this is bridging an actual river and not just water shallow enough that even a goblin can still touch the bottom.
As we work, I watch with [Psychometry] as essence flows from us into the stone blocks. Human, goblin, and dwarf. More than that, I can see it being imprinted with concepts of friendship, cooperation, and connection.
But the world isn’t to let our efforts go unchallenged. I detect something approaching in the water, and send a warning to the construction crew and guards.
The water swells up, and the Basics are madly scrambling to higher ground before anything weird even starts happening. A huge, scaly creature like the unholy offspring of a crocodile and a beaver erupts from the river’s surface.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
I don’t panic. “Only” Heroic. It’s not something I have any hope of defeating on my own, but we have enough muscle here to take care of it without a problem. In fact, the Heroics on our side step back to let the Elites handle this and just keep their eyes open for any other enemies.
“Woo!” Anise exclaims, calling fire to her hands. “And here I was afraid this was going to be boring!”
Spells and weapons rip into the monster’s hide. With a swish of its massive, broad tail, a flood of water surges over the Elite party. One of them puts up a shield spell, leaving them all still dry when the aquatic attack passes.
After a short but fierce battle, there’s just a corpse to be looted. The watching Basics cheer and clap, while the Heroics say “good job” and make sure the skinning gets done properly.
The goblins return to work as though an attack from a Heroic beaver-tailed crocodile is nothing more than a minor interruption.
I remember how terrified we were at facing that Heroic orc woman. For a group of Elites, some of whom were crafters and not fighters, that was just a boss fight. With the Heroics here to step in if necessary, no one was even worried about it.
We complete the bridge without any further interruptions. There’s a big party in the Wisteria Garden, of the sort that involves a celebration and not an adventure. Apple cider is served, of which I’m only allowed the non-alcoholic sort. That pompous True Artist, Valerian, even shows up to paint the scene.
“Do you just live in this dungeon here?” I wonder. “Where are you from?”
“I am not here all the time, no, but it is a good place to work,” Valerian replies. “My full name is Valerian Kinsale Thorn Tiganna. I see you are continuing to make waves.”
“I had nothing to do with the lizard-beaver monster,” I insist. “Nor its waves.”
“Not directly, perhaps, but an avanc would not have emerged had your crew not attracted attention in building that bridge,” Valerian says, his brush strokes embellishing a group of dancing goblins. “It is no matter. You have not chosen a dull life. We are all but bystanders when Heroes and Villains take the field. It is only for us to find what experience we may glean in their wake.”
Burdock turns 14 in September, and banners in the Hearth proclaim him to be a freshly-minted [Apprentice Witch]. I carve and paint a little wooden figurine theoretically depicting his cat, but it turns out the four ears are hard to get right.
The seven-year-olds are a bit miffed that they don’t get to go tower climbing this year, but slightly mollified by the promise of doing lots of dungeons next year. Rather than hoping nothing will interfere, I should prepare, because I doubt Tempest is going to let us go on an adventure without making sure that it’s an adventure.
With that, the skies turn red and swarm season is upon us once again. Aunt Savannah declares that this year is another undead march, with some bats thrown in just to be annoying. For the most part, the Elites take low-level fliers in the swarm season to just be an excuse to practice hitting a small moving target.
Basalt stays in the Corwen guest house over the fall. Being trapped in Hebron is no way to spend the swarm season and there’s no much the monsters can do if there isn’t anyone there to eat. They never bother the Hedge Maze or Spooky Grove, only the Hearths where there are living people.
“There are seriously zombie hordes coming out every year?” Basalt says incredulously.
“Well, not specifically zombies,” I say. “There’s different monsters every year, though they rotate through some common types.”
“Cool, cool,” Basalt says. “I suppose it beats having monsters roaming the surface year-round. Good chance to get in a little combat practice. Where do they even come from?”
“Somewhere deeper than the second layer, so far as I know,” I say. “No one has given me a more clear answer than that. There’s usually at least one Legendary ever year, so it must be pretty deep and dangerous.”
At the end of November, I receive a small pile of gifts from friends and family, and a couple of welcome notifications of my own.
My gifts are primarily books, from a fictional adventures featuring skyship pirates to a reference book about architecture. Now if only I could make sense of whatever is going on with my Knowledge skills.
I make Hearth Day gifts for my close family members. By which I mean the ones I like and whose names I can remember. My dear little sister gets a staff carved with what’s at least supposed to be a snake on it. Willow and Griffin get figurines of dinosaurs, which they just take to be some sort of monster.
My painted wood carvings still aren’t terribly good, but it’s enough to convince the system that they were made with love.
I’m recruited to help roast Snookums for the Hearth Day feast as well, in Corwen’s fine yearly tradition of eating monstrous devil-goats for our Not-Christmas dinner. With an apple stuffed in the mouth.
Meadow gives birth to a boy on December 19th, but by tradition he’s not to be given a name for seven days so we’re celebrating Hearth Day with a nameless baby. Her aura radiates joy, relief, and exhaustion.
On the 26th, we hold the naming ceremony, where my Hearthmates and I declare the boy to be named Glen.
I join in as the people of the Hearth sing winter carols about skymotes to the tune of Greensleeves.
Finally, the year ends with streaks of light into the sky as it turns violet again, heralding the start of winter and a new year.