by Ryan DeBruyn
Who knows? We may never clear a boss room again.
Chapter 24
September 1st, 151 AR
Jeff Turle
Walking toward the guard post is one of the hardest things I have done in my life. Every step is a fight against a part of myself that just wants to stay hidden in the safety of the Training Room. Each shadow I see becomes a snarling Markus, knives drawn and ready to pierce my flesh. I push myself forward, though, fighting through my fears like they are the undertow of a rushing river.
The two guards in front of the military vehicles are standing where they were two days before. Indica isn’t present, but Julia, the woman I spoke with last time, is. I skip the line to approach her. She gives me a stern look before recognition reaches her eyes, and her slightly upset demeanor morphs to open-mouthed staring.
“What are you doing here?” she asks, her voice somewhere between confusion and excitement—maybe something else entirely. It’s hard for me to place with my limited interactions.
“I want to report a crime,” I say with all the courage I can muster.
“You’re confessing then?” Julia asks. Her brow furrows, and her hand drops to the pistol on her hip.
“What? No! The group I left with two days ago killed another group out in the ruins,” I sputter a little too loudly. The people near the front of the line gasp in shock. The other guard, also a strong-looking woman, stops her interview and moves closer with her hand on her weapon. The line quickly becomes a crowd but backs away from me to a safe distance.
“I don’t understand,” I cry, looking around me in a panic. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Julia steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Come quietly, and you will be able to plead your case. The group that returned claims you stole the loot they fought for, and I am placing you under arrest to stand trial,” she says in an authoritative voice. In a whisper, she adds, “Your claim is a much more serious offense. Do you have any proof?”
I shake my head, numb to the world. I fought through my own fears to be here, to help others, and now I am in captivity? My heart thuds weakly in my chest, and my stomach churns, feeling like the meal I ate earlier is pure acid—not the delicious Pulled Rodentia. A bit of pressure on my elbow directs me to the metal vehicle.
“Get in,” the second woman commands, which clues me in to what Julia expects. I step up into the vehicle’s dark black interior and move to one of the two barred windows. I can feel the sound of the door closing behind me. It’s a thud that reverberates through the air and then out the windows. It seems to pound inside my skull as it passes through me.
Is this the cost of doing the right thing?
“Do you have any proof or evidence of your claim?” an unemotional feminine priest intones from behind the podium at the front of the church. I shake my head again and point in the direction I believe might coincide with where the attack happened.
“I am sure you will see that the adventurers’ bodies weren’t killed by goblins,” I say for the second time before remembering to add, “Your Grace.” The accusations against me are simple theft of valuables. Because of my far weightier accusation of murder, my own trial is on hold. I realize something new that I haven’t communicated yet.
“And the goblin fight happened a long way away from the scene of the murders. I am sure you can find the site of the dungeon to prove my story,” I add, my voice surging upwards with a bit of hope.
“We have already recovered the bodies of the slain and exterminated the goblin dungeons. As I said before, this is all conjecture and offers no proof to support your spurious claims,” the woman enunciates. She looks at me with narrowed eyes like I am at fault for wasting her time. Julia stands up from one of the pews and waits patiently to be nodded at.
“Your Grace, while you are correct, I was one of the guards sent to recover the corpses and find the goblins. Some of what the boy says does tie some of the oddities together.”
“Continue, child,” the priest says.
“The presumed site of the goblin massacre was a fair distance from the adventurers’ corpses, as was the dungeon. Yet the only sign of the battle was green blood, as the monster corpses and weapons were completely missing.
“Additionally, some of the precise and deadly wounds on the adventurers do point toward higher quality weapons than goblins are known to wield. Unfortunately, the bodies of the adventurers were molested quite viciously by nearby monsters. It’s hard to tell what wounds were caused pre- and postmortem.” Julia states her facts neutrally, not really taking a side but adding to the strangeness of the case.
“Thank you, child,” the priest says with a neutral smile before turning back to me. “Unfortunately, the claims cannot be verified, and this church will not mark adventurers as murderers without proof. I dismiss the case of murder due to lack of proper evidence brought forth by the accuser!”
She raps a wooden mallet on her podium, and I look around the room, trying to understand the significance of the gesture. The woman’s sharp voice brings my attention back to her.
“Now to the case of theft against the boy, Jeff.”
Again, Julia stands up and waits for the woman’s nod. “The group Ride or Die accuses the defendant of running away from them as they fought off the goblins. They claim to have cleared an F-4 Leporid dungeon and believe that the defendant stole approximately three hundred dollars of meat and one loaned weapon. Let me see here . . . Ah yes, a dagger, Your Grace.”
I look around. Leporid dungeon? Wasn’t the meat left in the boss room called Leporid?
“How do you plead?” the priest intones flatly, directing her cold stare to me. Her attention causes me to flinch and return to the present.
“Umm, I didn’t do what they are accusing me of?” I say hesitantly, not understanding the situation’s formality but feeling my stomach churning endlessly as my nerves threaten to unravel.
“So, you don’t have any weapons or meat that could belong to the group Ride or Die or that don’t rightfully belong to you? And you are willing to testify to that fact while holding the rod of truth?” she retorts sternly.
“I don’t understand. Why wasn’t I just able to hold the rod of truth during the last trial?” I ask heatedly, starting to see how trapped I am. If I hold the rod, I won’t be able to deny having in my possession Markus’s dagger. Perhaps the rod would even take offense to me having the food the group left in Chunkalunk’s boss room.
“The rod cannot be held by an individual who possesses no proof of their accusation. While the rod can determine the truthfulness of an individual’s statements, it cannot determine the difference between a belief and a false belief. If the holder believes what they are claiming is true, the rod won’t react. This is why the rod cannot be used except to prove the innocence of the defendant.” The woman announces this into the room loudly, as if she needs to be overheard. I scan the empty pews of this area of the church. What’s going on?
“What proof does the group, Ride or Die, have to support their claim?” I ask angrily, wanting to somehow avoid holding the rod and damning myself.
“Markus has some minor ability to Infuse, and every dagger he owns is linked to him by his own liquid. The instant you walked in here, I could personally see the glow of Markus’s aura on you, thief,” the woman states imperiously. “Now, do you deny that you have a stolen dagger on you?”
I grit my teeth but realize that there is but one hope remaining: take the rod and recount the circumstances by which I came to possess the ‘stolen’ dagger.
“I don’t deny having the borrowed dagger,” I correct, “but I would like to take the rod of truth and prove that I am innocent of theft.”
“I find the defendant, Jeff Smith, guilty of the theft of a dagger from Markus Leech of Ride or Die. The accused will return the dagger and pay one thousand dollars in restitution within a month to the church. The accused will check in daily at the church and pay what he is able as a show of intention,” th
e lady pronounces and imperiously bangs her wooden hammer again.
I sigh deeply but consider myself to be somewhat lucky. A moment before, jail time or literal enslavement to Ride or Die was on the table. Luckily, Julia spoke on my behalf, telling the tyrannical priest that I came quietly and have been cooperative. The priest didn’t look happy but took it into consideration in sentencing. Still, one thousand dollars—that’s more money than I have seen in my entire life. Probably more cash than even Alrick ever held at any one time.
The one upside is that I can sell items for bitcoins and buy items that may sell for actual dollars. Of course, the definition of the word dollars supposedly means something different now than it did before the Rise. I’ve held wads of the paper stuff from scavenging houses. Even used it as toilet paper. So I wish I could pay this off with that. No, now a dollar is defined as approximately an ounce of mithril, ten dollars for an ounce of true-silver, one hundred dollars for an ounce of sun-carbon, and a full thousand for an ounce of qi-ridium. And each of these has a coin denomination, not that I’ve seen any of them higher than true-silver.
The chances of me making a thousand dollars in a month are pretty slim, but considering I can collect items from dungeons or trade corpses for bitcoins gives me a slim chance. Additionally, the moving Training Room gives me a foolproof escape if I fail.
For these reasons and one other, I took my punishment with little complaint. The other benefit to the sentence is my daily check-ins here at the church. This will give me access to the sun- or moonlight within Beach at least once a day, and the guards will need to let me through without reason—day or night.
Perfect!
I summon out the dagger and relinquish the tainted thing to the priestess. Truthfully, I feel relieved to be free of it, especially after finding out it still has a connection to Markus.
Chapter 25
September 1st, 151 AR
Jeff Turle
Walking out of the church, I find Ride or Die sitting below the concrete walkway on the far side of the street. They all stand up upon seeing me and glare. My heart thuds like it’s being beaten by a thousand unrhythmic hands. What am I going to do? They will likely just force march me out of the city—
“Ride or Die, Her Grace is now free to be seen,” Julia calls from the door, and I manage to exhale my held breath. The sweat that prickles from my goose-bumped skin turns from clammy to mildly cool, and I hurriedly walk to the edge of the concrete railing to watch the group as they cross the road.
“We’ll be seeing ya, thief.” Markus’s gruff and slurring voice punches into my ear, and my heart stutters. Now is not the time to engage with these murderers. Do I still fear them? Yes, I admit to myself—these psychopaths would kill me without a second thought, but that fear won’t last forever, I promise myself.
The church is another building that was clearly built pre-Rise. It has a massive raised plaza outside the entrance and a concrete railing that overlooks the road. Ride or Die is below me and I wait to see what stairs they choose to take so I can use the others. They move right and so I go left to avoid them while glancing back up at the massive church.
Once I am down the stairs, I hurriedly rush away toward the center of Dungeon Square and only once I am hidden in the crowd do I finally slow. My breathing is fast, and I realize I likely ran the last little bit. I notice a few people eyeing me, and I begin to blush as I slowly walk toward a landmark I recognize. I look back to study the church now that I’ve created some distance. The central building of the church has a white domed roof and is circular in shape. The whole structure is surrounded by two curved high-rises that leave a small gap around the central building. The two high-rises have windowed fronts facing inward and concrete backs facing out, and I assume this is where the clergy and powerful Church members stay.
I’m not ready to leave the Suburb yet. I still have some cultivation to undertake. Of course, my current blush brings back my experience with Veronica. Somehow, reporting Ride or Die felt like the bigger accomplishment then, but now I think I’d rather face the arrogant priest again than head to that rooftop.
Of course, perhaps using someone’s rooftop could be considered a crime and I would end up back in front of the priest with a new charge. I massage my ear as I walk aimlessly, scanning my surroundings for other options. There are many high-rises in the area, and I circle each looking for a staircase.
The first I walk around is a gorgeous shimmering building which appears to be made of glass. The windows are reflective and shimmer no matter what angle I view them from. It’s quite possibly the most beautiful and impressive structure I have ever seen. There are two problems I notice with this building. It takes up the entire space between four brick roads, and leaves no dark alley to hide my climb to the roof. The bigger issue of course is that I can’t climb it, because it has no staircase on the outside. I move on and continue to admire the buildings and wonder why some are larger than others. Is this a sign of wealth? Each of these buildings must be owned by groups of people, right? What would a single person do with it?
The sun passes its peak and begins to descend before I finally face the truth. I can’t find another building in this area. Should I search other areas? This suburb is massive, and I am wasting time. All my wandering has taken me right back to the building I was trying to avoid. . . I crane my neck and look up at the roof in question.
Is there a better option than up there? Admittedly, Veronica didn’t turn me in, and that’s got to count as a point in her favor. After my experience with Church law, I think I’ll give her two points. What’s stopping me from climbing up then? My own fear of an F-rank woman? The thought of her green eyes regarding me makes me shiver. This startles me. Am I afraid of her? That shiver comes with an undercurrent to it that I can’t place and so choose to ignore. If I’m simply afraid of Veronica, isn’t this the same problem as me not leaving the Training Room?
It is. And I am going to face it, dammit. I begin climbing the recessed staircase and need to pause and have another quick self-chat at the top before I gain the courage to mount the ladder. At the top, I peek above the lip and find the rooftop empty. What have I been worried about? I jump over and huddle down as close to the ladder as I can.
I want to sit in the sunshine and relish its feel on my skin but simultaneously don’t want to run into Veronica again. Thanks to that and my other stresses today, it takes a few moments to fall into meditation. Still, after a few breathing exercises I manage it. Once I begin cultivating sunlight, it takes about a minute for a single new drop to form. I smile now, and take a moment to enjoy the warmth of the sun as I pass it to my River artery. The flow of the artery begins carrying it to the vein and then on to my heart—I twitch as my Meriplass artery blockage crumbles with the small increase in pressure from the single new drop. The breakthrough is like the removal of a nagging wound or the breaking of a cold. A swell of energy and warmth courses just below my skin, and I take a deep, heady breath of pleasure at the much more comfortable feeling.
This is so much better than a forced breakthrough. There is practically no pain during this breakthrough, nothing like my first two minor ones, at least. Maybe a small itch like a sunburn, but now the ninth drop of qi easily fits into the arterioles around the Dantian as well. I wait for another minute and circulate the new drop to my heart to activate before it returns.
The Meriplass consumes three drops of my Fire qi, slowly cleansing itself of small abscesses. But then it’s in the same situation as my Subcutavian, waiting on blockages at the capillary exchanges. I am a bit surprised the Meriplass opened before my Cumulae, considering the Church preaches the order as doctrine. Yet the Cumulae backup still feels solid, and this breakthrough was pleasant.
This is one of only a few positives in the last few hours, and it helps change the tone of my dark thoughts. I am officially F-4 now, and the gap between myself and Ride or Die is closing. Will I trust other groups again? Probably not, but at least I’m making forward pr
ogress.
I continue to dump the Sun qi into the path along the River vein and back to my heart, hoping to continue cleansing it. It seems like quite the boon to discover activated qi. I wonder if the Church is withholding this knowledge from people. Perhaps it’s my recent trial causing me to jump to this harsh conclusion. Still, how much of the Church’s teachings are wrong?
Let’s start with the name God Organ, the Church’s chosen name for the Dantian. Crash calls the same organ the Sea of Qi, and considering the way it functions, the AI’s name for it fits far better. The floodgates open after my first bit of scrutiny. Why is consuming monsters or liquid-dense food considered a subpar method for advancement? In their doctrine, cultivating the Sun and Moon energies are the very touch of The Giver. The gifts he bestows upon his chosen people.
And as for the process they dictate for ranking up? At this point, I don’t think it’s a question of whether it’s wrong, but how wrong it is? In the minor F-ranks, they teach clearing out the River vessel and its eight channels. To advance to the E-ranks, you simply increase pressure and force the dispersion to unclog. Even the names for arteries, arterioles, capillaries, venules, and veins are different, and that should tell me everything. Still, according to the Church, you are ready to advance to E-rank once you have a clear pathway, including the funnels and returns, otherwise known as venules and veins. This allows you to strengthen the walls and muscles of the God Organ. The goal is to pressurize the liquid inside the organ so you can hold more and forcefully eject it in spells.
What comes next? Well, to tell the truth, I don’t have any clue what the Church’s teachings are past E-rank. They share higher-level methods only when you approach them to break through. While Alrick mentioned the steps, I only wrote them down, thinking I would speak with him more about them later. Still, listening to Crash’s minimal instructions has pointed out some glaring problems within the F-ranked teachings. How many people have caused irreversible damage to their Dantians at the Church’s behest?
