Grant shielded his eyes against the blinding sun, stumbling from the hatch on his hands and knees and tossing the lantern on the snow. The sun peered over the horizon and broke through the thick mist, blanketing the mountaintop in a bright glare. He had freed the prisoners at midnight.
“Is it dawn already?” he mumbled, rubbing his face.
[Current time: 5:41]
“Huh.”
After a week in dim candlelit caverns, his skin burned and eyes prickled from the harsh rays. He clambered to his feet and stood there, allowing it to wash over him. Light was good. Light meant he was free from the cultists’ den. Light meant they couldn’t reach him anymore.
Something slammed behind him. He jumped and spun, looking at the hatch from which he’d emerged.
“What the—where’d it go?”
The steel gate on the ground was gone. As soon as he’d taken a step away, it’d disappeared, like it was never there. He stared down at where it had been, wondering why such a door would be placed in such a location. Bay’kol would be far too large to use it. Perhaps it existed simply so stuffy air could flow out, and fresher air flow in? A servant’s entrance?
It was an oddity that he couldn’t explain, and he wasn’t in a position to give it any more thought. As if to remind Grant of more urgent matters, an icy gust whipped over him. He had grown used to the wet heat of the mountain, but the high altitude magnified the cold outside, despite the sun’s best efforts. It was far worse than the forest, and his sopping-wet clothes had begun to accrue a thick layer of frost. He may have stopped an attack on Estreia and survived the Cult of Bay’kol, but that would mean little if he froze to death.
He was back to where he’d been a week ago. Only this time, he wouldn’t dare build a fire.
“Time for an Auction,” he said through numb lips.
First he needed information. He opened his Store, searching for Rare and Epic Classes. Rare Classes began showing up at around 250,000 Points, with the more expensive ones up to 400,000 Points. The cheapest Epic Class was a 550,000-Point Class called Blood Cleric.
"200,000 Points," he mumbled to himself. That was about the difference between the average Rare and Epic Class. But would anyone have 200,000 Points this early in the Campaign? And even at that price, the Item would only be useful for someone who already possessed a Rare Class.
He carefully pulled the Orb from his pocket and rolled it between his fingers. It was a priceless artifact—possibly the only of its kind in the entire world.
And cold or not, he would get every Point out of it he could.
With a mental command, he opened his Interface and selected Create Auction. The Orb of Advancement left his hand and appeared on his Interface screen.
[Orb of Advancement]
[Crush the Orb to advance any Class by one rank, up to the Epic Rank.]
[Would you like to list Orb of Advancement for Auction?]
Yes.
[Would you like to set a minimum price?]
Grant put it at 100,000 Points, paused, then increased it to 150,000.
[Would you like to set a buyout price?]
"I hope someone can afford this," he whispered. He willed it to 200,000 Points.
Wind blew across the mountain top. His sweat-slick skin was starting to gather a layer of frost. The wind was blowing south, and once he found a path down, it should be warmer, but he hoped the Orb sold quickly anyway.
After confirming all the details and mumbling a short prayer to the Goddess, he finalized his decision.
[…]
[Auction has been created!]
[Time Remaining: 48 hours.]
[Your Item has been sold!]
200,000 Points flooded Grant, and he leaned against the nearest tree trunk, taking gasping breaths. His mouth hung open as he read the Notification again and again. It hadn’t even been a second.
"200,000 Points," he whispered. Almost as many as Raella Genus had when she entered the Portal.
The wind picked up again, howling in his ears. He peered up, watching the clouds shift with it. What were the odds of someone with 200,000 Points saved having the Auction Hall open? Did a Merchant Purchase it to resell it? He watched the Auction Hall page for a moment, shivering in the cold, but the Orb did not appear.
Grant opened the Store and mentally searched for clothes. He had abandoned the cultist robes he received in the first trophy room. They were stained with blood, sweat, and he didn’t want to be seen in them outside the fortress. They would not have provided much more warmth than those he received from the Airet, anyway.
After a few minutes of flipping through candidates as fast as he could, Grant reached his limit and narrowed his choices down to three Item sets from the Store. Hundreds more existed, but they seemed inappropriate for his current skillset. He briefly considered [Stormweaver’s Robes], but they were 125,000 Points and designed for a Lightning or Wind Mage. Closing their menu felt like giving up on his dream of using Lightning Magic, but now that Wisdom was his third-highest Attribute and Intelligence his fourth, there was nothing to be done about that.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
The three options Grant had narrowed his search down to each took three equipment slots: chest armor, pants, and boots.
[Traveler’s Garb (40,000 Points)]
[Whispering Leathers (95,500 Points)]
[Demonic Regalia (165,000 Points)]
Traveler’s Garb was the most sensible choice. It was an Uncommon set which would provide moderate protection against the elements. According to its description, in cold climates, it would protect against the frost as well as a thick wool coat and pants would, and in hot climates, it would have a mild cooling effect.
It checked off the most urgent requirement for Grant, which was staying warm.
But despite hovering over the selection for Traveler’s Garb for minutes, he couldn’t commit to the decision. Whispering Leathers was over twice as expensive, but it more than made up for the difference.
[Whispering Leathers (95,500 Points)]
[Rarity: Rare]
[Affiliation: Dark, Soul, Mind]
[+3 to Agility, +3 to Vitality]
[Indestructible, Pristine, Soft Fall]
[Preferred garb of the Assassin’s Guild. Full climate protection. All footsteps are muffled, and Stealth and Sight in dark areas are enhanced.]
Grant’s low Vitality had been a thorn in his side, and they provided three points in the Attribute. The Indestructible trait was curious, and when Grant focused on it, he learned that they weren’t necessarily unbreakable. They simply self-repaired all damage.
The Pristine trait meant they would always keep themselves clean. On a personal level, he was quite tired of smelling like a latrine that someone had bled out in.
Soft Fall would also nullify any fall damage from up to ten yards completely, and he spent a lot of time jumping from higher ground.
95,500 Points was a lot, however, and he wasn’t sure about how the Assassin’s Guild line in the Item description made him feel. He gave Demonic Regalia one more look, although he had already decided on Traveler’s Garb.
[Demonic Regalia (165,000 Points)]
[Rarity: Epic Bound]
[Affiliation: Fire, Soul, Dark, Earth]
[Limit: 3]
[+5 to Wisdom, +5 to Vitality]
[Indestructible, Pristine, Short Flight, Customizable, Veiled]
[Forged in the fires of the Demon King’s Stronghold. Full climate protection. Resistance to all Elemental Magic increased by 20 percent. Reduces Mana cost of wearer’s Fire, Soul, Dark, and Earth Spells by 20 percent.]
The Demonic Regalia was the most powerful choice, and it wasn’t even close. It was a Limited Item as well, with only three available on the Store. The Bound trait meant it could never be lost or stolen, just like Siphoning Fang. Mr. Nerelot had also said that Bound items were rare, even beyond the Portal.
The Resistances it provided were hard to find on the Store as well. Grant had not yet come across any Magic attacks—at least none directed at him—but he had learned from the Mark of Bay’kol that Resistances worked on a scale from one to one hundred.
But that was not the strongest trait of the Item. Short Flight was. He peered over the cliffs, at the ground miles down, then opened his Store and searched for flight.
There was a Skill called Negate Gravity, which alone was worth 50,000 Points. It was remarkably similar to Short Fight, except it could be used for up to three minutes a day.
The rational part of his brain was screaming that the Traveler’s Garb was a fine choice—far better than what virtually every other Campaigner currently possessed. With the remaining 160,000 Points he'd received for the Orb, he could buy a Spell, a Skill, or other Items to enhance himself. Rings and amulets on the Store could provide him with the benefits he needed to stay alive now.
He also only possessed one Skill, which he could use for ten minutes a day. Increasing his Wisdom to the highest any every Campaigner from Evenon had been a lengthy process, and he had done it so that he could cast Spells, but the Dice of Fate put him on a completely different path.
And when would he next have 200,000 Points?
He opened the sub-menu of Traveler’s Garb again and stared at the Purchase option. It was the smart choice. The right choice.
Grant shook his head in frustration, going back to the Whispering Leathers. He liked their name, as stupid as it made him feel, and it was as if they were tailored specifically for his skill set.
[Would you like to Purchase Whispering Leathers?]
His eyes wandered to Yes. And just before he made his selection, he stopped himself and closed the menu. No.
Grant scrunched his face, staring at the Item’s description, then burst out laughing. “That’s why!” he shouted to nobody, shaking his head and pacing back and forward.
He finally understood what made him hesitate to buy them. They were completely redundant. His Agility was already 31, and he wasn’t even level five yet, so three points in an Attribute he would eventually have hundreds in was a waste. Enhanced Stealth and Sight in dark areas would be nice, as would quiet footsteps, but after sneaking through Bay’kol’s fortress for days, he had learned that his Agility and Perception already provided him with both.
He also happened to possess what was likely the most powerful Stealth Skill in existence.
Grant set his jaw and nodded, having made his decision.
[Would you like to Purchase Demonic Regalia?]
Yes.
[You have Purchased Demonic Regalia!]
The clothes appeared on his body, and it was as though Grant had never been cold in the first place. In a challenge of his new Item’s warming effect, the wind picked up and buffeted him, but Grant spread his arms out and let it hit his hands from heel to fingertip. The Regalia even kept the spots it didn’t cover warm. Grant wouldn’t have been warmer sitting in front of a hearth with a warm cup of tea.
He looked down and twisted his face. There was one small drawback of the Item.
“This isn’t going to work.”
Demonic Regalia was far too gaudy. It was the sort of thing an Emperor might wear to showcase his power. It was mostly black, with two bright waves down its sides. The one on the left was green, and the one on the right was yellow. On the center of the chest, a bright red light pulsed brightly every few seconds.
Sneaking through a dark area wearing the Regalia would be like holding a shining Mana crystal over his head. He would fit right in if he were to visit Athemore again, at least.
Grant focused on the Customize option and willed the Item to change to his specifications. He shortened the pants up to just below his knees, and made the draping tunic more form-fitting. He took out the green and yellow stripes, along with the red center, and changed the colors to a neutral off-white tunic and moss green pants with low-cut slip-on shoes.
“That’s much better.”
He looked down at himself, admiring his work. Now he looked like an average Campaigner, not one wearing a 165,000-Point Item. The Veiled feature would reveal nothing to anyone with the Identify Spell about its cost or power, although he looked outrageously underdressed for the weather. With his remaining 35,000 Points, he could Purchase a Spell or a Skill.
"Thank you, mysterious stranger," he whispered in the wind. "Unless you're a noble who earned the Points from killing. Then go piss off a cliff."
Satisfied, he collected the lantern and walked on to find a safe road down the southern side of the mountain. After his week in the cultists’ den, he had accomplished everything he wanted. The Cult of Bay’kol was being torn apart from the inside. Estreia had weeks, if not months of time to evacuate. He hoped that the Cursed prisoners had survived and found their way south, but he could do no more for them.
Perhaps one day, one might return the favor. Not as though he'd expect it.
