Chapter 60 – Trapped (Patreon)

“I’d like to work with you,” Luke offered, motioning to the table Alfair was at. “To fix the Gordian.”

The Shadow Drake snorted a curl of black shadowy flame. Luke could feel the heat even across the room.

He was curious about Yindferl’s level, but he didn’t risk examining the drake too closely. Tigers, panthers, and the like were already dangerous enough back on Earth.

A huge drake empowered by stats? She might easily be able to claw him to ribbons.

Alfair gave him a curious look. “I do not mean to be rude, Luke, but you are new to this universe. How could you help me to fix the Gordian? Runegravers are incredibly rare, even I did not possess the Marks capable of bending the System to provide me with that profession and I was the star pupil of one of the greatest Runegravers in recent memory.”

Luke tried to smile. Based on Alfair’s worried expression, he clearly was out of practice. He tried to cover it by coughing into his fist. “I know I’m new, but I’m useful. My profession is Runegraver.”

“Surely you jest,” he said, coming around the table for the first time and stepping right up to Luke. His expression changed when he saw the sincerity in Luke’s eyes. “Do you mind if I confirm?”

This time, Luke’s smile was more genuine. He wasn’t sure how exactly Alfair would check, but he was curious enough to accept with a nod.

Lifting his delicate fingers to Luke’s temples, Alfair muttered something that made the hairs on Luke’s arms stand on end. He felt a wave of hair-lifting energy roll through his body and then Alfair stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief. “Amazing.”

“Do you believe me now?” Luke asked.

“I do,” Alfair told him. “You have no idea how powerful that profession is. If only Master Frendlebren were still alive, he would whisk you away to the Sorcerii Academy in a twinkling, thumbing his nose at the Company the whole way and damn your assessment.”

Luke wished it was that easy.

What kid didn’t dream of getting a letter from Hogwarts and being taken away from the world of mundanity and petty hatreds to one of magic and wonder?

“It’s difficult, but feels rewarding,” Luke admitted. “I must admit, I prefer the adventuring lifestyle more, but being able to craft wondrous things is appealing too. I wouldn’t mind seeing the Sorcerii Academy. Is that like Hogwarts?”

For so long, Luke only thought of the immediate next step towards survival. To make it through the assessment test and prove he was worth more alive than dead was as far as his plans went.

Anything beyond that was blank.

Now he was starting to see something else. Worlds to explore, fantastical places to visit, and so much power to attain along the way.

I wouldn’t mind having a life like that, Luke realized with astonishment.

Alfair scrunched up his face. “I have not heard this Hogwarts… admittedly, something may be lost in translation because a hog with warts sounds like a disease, not a school for the magically gifted.”

Luke couldn’t help but laugh. “Fair enough. It’s a story from my world. Magical school for kids, secretive and highly exclusive. Considering the billions of humans, a fraction of a fraction are admitted.”

“That does sound like the Sorcerii. However, I am still a student. I lack the pull Master Frendlebren possessed. I am sorry, Luke. I did not mean to get your hopes up.”

“It’s fine,” Luke lied. For a moment, he really did feel a sense of burgeoning hope at being whisked away by an elf of all things to a magical academy. The only “magic” he had was his bloodline, but he enjoyed using it immensely.

“It is not,” Alfair persisted. “But should you ever find yourself able to enroll, I shall sponsor your entry without hesitation. The fees are… exorbitant, and you need no less than 3 sponsors on top of paying the fees.”

“Thank you. Can’t say I have much money to my name anymore, even if I do have a treasure hunting skill.”

“You are a Thief,” Alfair said as if that explained it. “While uncommon, they are well-known by the Sorcerii. Many students enter as Thieves. It is one of the few ways people can gain enough to pay the entrance fees if they lack the backing of a House.”

“So maybe there’s hope yet,” Luke said quietly, trying to temper his expectations.

“Ideally, you will be at least E-Grade and Bronze rank,” Alfair told him. “Mastery of Dunamis is a core skill that the Sorcerii teaches. And students are expected to have basic competency, which means a minimum of common-rarity Dunamis wieldance.”

“I might have a ways to go with grade and rank, but I’m already at common with my [Novice Dunamis Wieldance],” he said with a shrug. “That’s fine by me. But in the meantime, I have a goal to aim for at least. Does the Academy have any sort of bad blood with the Company?”

Alfair returned to his table, reached down to pat the head of his black dragon, and resumed sorting through the books as he spoke. “They are mostly neutral. Obviously, the Circle has vested interests–that would be the mage-centric organizational equivalent to the Company–but the Academy has always stood as a neutral ground. They will not turn you away if you have associations with the Company, if that is your aim.”

Luke slowly came around the other side of the room to stand side-by-side with Alfair and look over the documents. “How do you expect to repair the Gordian if you can’t use runes?”

Alfair glanced at him, a look of faint annoyance crossing his fair features. It clearly was a sore spot for him.

“Sorry,” Luke added belatedly.

“We cannot help what we are,” Alfair told him. “I am an Alchemist of no small skill. Though I cannot use runes directly, the power they represent is applicable to all disciplines of the core professions.”

“You’re an Alchemist? You can make potions?” Luke asked, then realized only after the fact how ignorant he must sound to an elf like Alfair.

“Easily. It is the bread-and-butter of the profession. I must confess I am surprised you seem unsure of so much while simultaneously knowing far more than you have any right to for being so new. If you’ll forgive me for saying so, you have a rather skeinholed understanding.”

“A… what?”

“Skeinholed,” Alfair repeated. “You do not know the expression? Must be something of my people. A skein is a knotted, tangled thing, or potentially a very thin scraped item. Add holes and hopefully you understand the meaning.”

“You’re saying I have a spotty understanding.”

“Hm. Yes, I suppose that translates.”

“I haven’t been around many others of my kind for long. Things have been… violent.”

“Truly? I am sorry to hear that. I know some of the universes that get uplifted suffer such… growing pains, as we call them. Many races succumb to baser instincts and revert to savagery, culling the masses until those who are capable of more rise to the top. I am afraid it is not a pretty sight, but it is frighteningly effective.”

“Effective for what?” Luke asked.

“For winnowing the population and making the true paragons of their people stand out in the fore. I apologize if this seems callous. Many races do not undergo such things, but I hear it is not uncommon for humans.”

Luke thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “You’re mostly right. There are a lot of good people, but… well, we even had incredibly popular stories about this sort of thing happening. Not exactly like this, but close. An apocalyptic event where people started to turn on each other and form little cliques.”

“How horrific, and you say this is a type of entertainment?”

“Afraid so.”

Alfair gave a delicate little shiver. “Well, the least said about that, the better I think, yes? Here, have a look at this. You asked how I could help fix up the Gordian. This is how.”

Luke looked at the complicated diagram of geometric designs in spidery handwriting. Accompanying the writing were drawings of ingredients, potion bottles, flasks and beakers, and a host of things that went way over his head.

“These are recipes I can utilize in order to furnish the Gordian with repairs. The Gordian was my master’s pride and joy. He would weep to see it in such a state of disrepair. Monsters in the halls, creatures roaming free and unchecked, traps springing without hesitating to tell friend from foe. It is most unbecoming.”

“And you’re trapped in here until the Gordian is fixed?” Luke asked, turning away from the pages because the diagrams were giving him a migraine.

Nearby, the drake shut her eyes, disinterested.

“Unfortunately. And you?”

Luke shook his head. “No. I… I’m in a sort of dungeon, I guess? Except it’s less dungeon-y and more home-y. It’s a refuge of sorts where the Gordian resides in a special cham–”

Alfair snapped his attention to Luke. “You found Master Frendlebren’s fabled workshop! Well, not his true workshop, but where he first thought up the idea for the Gordian! Did you find his [Stele]?”

Luke took a step back from the sudden intensity, his hand immediately moving to a pocket on his cloak.

The elf composed himself a moment later. “I apologize. I… would very much like to see the [Stele] if not possess it. As a memento of my master. However, I would not deprive you of a tool necessary for your profession. But if you ever feel like you could part with it, even though it is a fairly weak implement, I will pay you handsomely for it.”

“I do. Unfortunately, I need it to craft for now.”

Though Luke’s loot-lust did like the idea of being rewarded for giving Alfair something that clearly meant a lot to him. All he needed to do was find another [Stele].

“If you are able to use runes, then I think we could repair the Gordian in quick succession. No less than a year, for sure.”

Luke stared. “I… don’t think I have that long to live.”

Alfair looked utterly confused. “Are you ill…? That should not be possible. Upon uplift almost all physical diseases and ailments are removed. And since you are F-Grade, you should have already undergone one Ascension, ridding the majority of your physical form’s baggage.”

“The Gordian is undergoing some kind of meltdown,” Luke explained. “An explosion is ripping out of it in slow-motion. It’s taken over half the chamber it resides in. I need to fix it before it encompasses the entire area. You know, where I’m living. Plus, it’s the requirement to finish the challenge quest and leave the dungeon.”

Alfair turned to him. “You can not only enter the Gordian but also leave it?”

“I did once already, mostly by accident, but it was after I repaired a platform.”

“Then you were the one who opened this place! It would seem I am already in your debt, Luke. I was stalked by a vorpal eater when a section of the Gordian shifted and revealed a way out that the beast could not follow. It is the reason I am here in this room.”

“While I’d love to take credit for it, I didn’t have any idea I was helping you, but I’m glad I did. It was getting lonely talking to myself,” Luke admitted sheepishly.

“I know that all too well,” Alfair nodded. He reached down and patted the shadow drake’s head. She leaned up and rubbed against his palm, just like a cat. “Yindferl is a great companion, unfortunately I am all too aware that I am not able to return the favor. She is interminably bored by all my study. I fear I am a poor master for her talents.”

The drake snorted out twin smoke-rings as if in agreement.

“It can’t be that bad,” Luke said.

“Oh, but it is. I am a skilled practitioner of the arts, but I spend much of my time in a lab or library. Poor Yindferl does not get out as much as either of us would like.”

Looking between the two, an idea came to Luke. “I could take her out. If you’re as good with research as you say, perhaps you can direct me to another platform or node that I can repair. It also wouldn’t hurt if you could furnish me with a few potions, so I don’t die.”

Alfair looked at him thoughtfully, then at Yindferl. The dragon had perked up. Luke was certain he saw a keen intellect behind those golden eyes. She understood what they were talking about.

“I suppose it could not hurt,” Alfair told him. “I will have to teach you a few key phrases to help guide her, and as luck would have it, I already have an idea where to look next.”