FINAL CORE - Chapter 69 (Patreon)

2 new sections were added to FC on today's RR chapter 57 that weren't on the patreon Release. If you didn't read the Discord.

https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/54046/final-core-a-holy-dungeon-core-litrpg/chapter/987782/chapter-57-the-spreading-of-the-good-word

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The depth of my love is proved true by my ability to deny, to say ‘no’.

I hold a sword in my hands, strong, sharp. I could give it to my child, my girl. She’s eight. She could hold it. She could try to swing it. She wants the sword.

But when she asks for it, I will say ‘no’. I will deny her her wish to be like the strong adventurers, who she sees walking by our customer-less store, day after day. I will watch her cry hard tears and listen to her hoarse screams and sad tantrums and desperate explanations that she just wants to help us earn money to survive.

She is a good child.

But I will still say ‘no’.

She can hold the sword. She has the hands, the will. She wants to have the sword. I can give it to her. I have the capacity to do so. But she doesn’t have the training, the experience, the fortitude, the body, the mind. She’s eight.

My true love is made apparent, not by my granting of her every hope and dream, but by my ability to deny her fondest wish. Would I be a good father, if I gave her the sword?

I will deny her until she is ready, not because I want her to lack for anything in life or in heart, but because she is simply not capable of handling what she wants, should she get it.

In life, you must tell the people who you love ‘no’, sometimes, even if they don’t understand and they cry and they scream.

- This is how the gods view us.

~ Level forty-two ex-priest, Aventis, of the northern-city, who underwent a class-change to become a merchant, after breaking his vows of celibacy and starting a family.

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The Humming Man

???, Male, Chronomancer

He throws a dish towel down onto the floor, in front of the window.

A jovial hum fills the room, coming together with the clinking of glassware as the humming man sets down his cup of tea into the saucer he’s holding with his other hand as he looks out of the window.

— It all shakes.

The glass of the window, the cup and saucer in his hand, all vibrate once, as a resounding, heavy metal ticking carries through the world, like the single strike of a titan’s sword against a mountain.

The tea in his cup splashes over the edge of the saucer, the droplets landing right onto the towel he had placed here in advance.

Waiting a moment for his cup to settle and for the quake to carry through his home, he then picks up his cup again, taking another sip as he stares at the distant tower. It’s not easy to see on most days. But on a clear, cloudless day like today is promising to be, the top of the tower can be seen, set to motion, like the hands of a clock.

Who could have ever seen something like this coming?

The chronomancer smiles a quiet smile and sips his tea, a hum escaping his throat.

The clock continues to tick, but towards what, is impossible to say.

— For most people.

He sets his cup back down into the wet saucer and picks up the damp towel, returning it all to the kitchen. He hums as he walks, doing a little spin around the frame of his door as he walks through the rooms and tosses the towel across it, right into the washing basin.

It’s about time for him to get back to it then. Someone is counting on him.

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Cardinal Schweig

Human, Male, Cardinal

Location: The Southern City

The men in the red robe sits at the table, swirling around the chalice of wine as he stares down into its ruby contents.

“What do you mean they won’t march?” asks the cardinal of the north, with venom in his voice as he lifts his gaze to the officer, standing before him.

“They- They won’t move from the camp, your grace,” says the officer, lowering his head. “We arranged an execution, but…”

“But what?” asks the cardinal.

“— But the tower, your grace. It… it intervened in our assault,” he says, wincing. “A great wyrm, from the distant basalts of the west, destroyed the staircase.” He clenches his fists. “Given its marking, w- we’ve identified the creature as being the same holy wyrm, referred to in the old scriptures.”

The other men at the table, the other cardinals, murmur. The officer hasn’t dared to open his eyes yet. As the head of the snake, this collection of failures leads all the way back up to him.

“— From the west?” asks another, very interested, cardinal, from the west.

“That can’t be, can it? That was hundreds of years ago,” says the cardinal from the east, holding a small crystal in his hands and playing with it. “During the great release.”

More murmurs.

“Have we made a mistake?” asks the cardinal from the west, looking at the others. “Casualties?” he asks, returning his gaze to the officer.

“N- none, your grace,” replies the officer. “The tower protected us.”

The cardinals murmur.

“Continue,” orders Cardinal Schweig in a cold voice.

The officer gulps. “E-every deserter scheduled for execution was taken up to the island. As of now…” He stops for a moment and stands up straight, holding his arms stiffly at his sides. “- As of now. The assault is a total failure.”

The cardinals continue their murmuring and the officer stands stiff, frozen.

Schweig continues to spin his chalice, looking at the crimson wine inside.

“This is our fault,” says the cardinal from the west. “We’ve turned up our noses at the gods and they’re putting us back into our place.” He rises to his feet, looking around the table. “Don’t you fools see? The wyrm has been sleeping for hundreds of years,” he argues, tapping against the table. “It came with the god-chosen hero and then slept when he left,” says the man. “Why would it wake again, for any other reason than being god-chosen?” he asks, looking around the table. “We must repent. We’ve made a mistake.” He looks towards the cardinal of the south.

The man thinks for a moment and then nods, rising up to his feet.

The two of them look towards the officer.

“Officer. You are to immediately call your men and place us all under arrest,” says the bishop from the west. “Gods have mercy on our souls.”

“Y- your grace?” asks the officer.

The cardinal from the east doesn’t bother moving or watching, opting to simply play with the crystal in his hands.

“— For the collective murder of Bishop Zacaries Mo-”

The cardinal from the west stops, wincing and making an odd face as he clutches his throat. He opens his mouth, trying to talk, but only an odd hacking sound comes out.

(Cardinal Schweig) has used: [Red-Water]

His eyes roll back into his head and he falls over to the ground, spasming, blood leaking out of his ears, together with the officer and the cardinal from the south.

Cardinal Schweig sits there, spinning his chalice and looking inside of it as the room is filled with a slow choking sound from three people.

After a minute, he takes a sip of his wine and then rises to his feet.

The cardinal from the east doesn’t seem bothered, being lost in the sight of the beautiful stone he’s holding.

“Another assassination,” says Schweig, setting down his cup. “A shame the others didn’t survive.”

“Mm…” replies the cardinal from the east, tilting his head to stare at the reflection in the yellow gem in his hands.

Schweig walks to the door. “I think it’s time for us to declare a new bishop,” says the cardinal. “One with a little more fervor.”

A window appears before them both.

[Global Quest]

FINAL CORE

Difficulty: EXTREMELY EASY

Description: The grand tower of Isaiah seeks to bridge the gap between the heavens and the mortal world within this year of life, so that joy, sanctity and hope might be restored to the lives of all living beings.

The world must change. It will change.

Objective: Speak the name of Isaiah.

Reward: Your soul will be saved, as will your days upon this mortal world.

He narrows his eyes, hissing. He looks over his shoulder, towards the other man, sitting in a room of bodies, who hasn’t bothered getting up. “Call for every man and woman in the land to come here,” he says.

The cardinal from the east turns his head, looking away for the first time.

“— More tributaries?”

“A crusade,” orders Cardinal Schweig, walking out of the door. “As justice for the tower’s assassinations of the bishop and the cardinals, for not adhering to its twisted mockery of our faith.”

He slams the door behind himself.

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Isaiah

[Level Up!]

You are now a level {49} dungeon-core!

“Fuck me,” says Red. “I get that you’re sick of playing the game by their rules, but this is a big move,” she says, looking around the area at the hundreds of experience-point windows that are appearing all over, as people all around the world receive the global quest. Even if many do not understand what is being asked of them, they simply need to say the name for it to count nonetheless.

Isaiah holds onto its own head, listening to thousands of voices carrying across the world, filling its head with its name over and over. The voices of men and women, of goblins, orcs and humans, of kobolds and the odd monster aware enough to count as sapient. All of these voices come together into the buzz of a harmonious collective, resounding in its skull like the song of a swarm.

“- You thought this through, right?” asks Red, flying in close.

Isaiah’s body tingles, its wings grow and the ground down low, far, far beneath where they are now, rumbles.

With every increasing level, the territory around the island grows. Landmass from down low rips out of the soil, jumbling chaotically up towards the tower.

The grand staircase tears apart, long inside of the edge of the territory and thousands of bricks loosely fly upwards, sticking into rocks and soil and tree trunks as it all breaks free in chunks.

“I did,” replies Isaiah, as the voices quiet down. More and more utterances of its name come, but it has managed to drown out the sound of the constantly reactivating perk.

The territory breaks down through the camp of the besieging military. Thousands of tents and poles and campfires, crates and carriages and weapons of siege rattle and fly upwards, sucked towards the sky by the powerful force of the dungeon magic.

“So is this finally it?!” asks Red excitedly. She giddily kicks her legs and swings her arms. “Are we finally killing all of the humans?!” she asks. “Oh, chief! You’re making me the happiest girl in the whole world!” says Red excitedly, grabbing Isaiah’s arm.

Isaiah tilts its vision, looking at Red and then shakes its head.

“You will have to forgive me, Red,” says Isaiah. “But I will do no such thing.”

“…Huh?” asks Red, looking at it and then down towards the chaos below. “But…” The landscape tears, ripping out a new kilometer of mass in all directions with every five level-ups.

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Junior Officer Walter

Human, Male, Shieldswain

Location: On the road back to the city

Walter, riding on an anqa, looks back over his shoulder towards the tower.

His eyes wander back to the quest window at his side. It had appeared from them all, while they were down in the camp.

[Quest]

Merciful Release

Difficulty: Extremely Easy

Description: The land will shatter and break. Everything in the immediate area will be destroyed.

Objective: Evacuate immediately. Go wherever you please. Live free from the shackles that bind you. Say the name of Isaiah as you leave.

Reward: Life + 2 {High Quality}[Gold Ingot]

Walter sits on his anqa, his eyes watching the incredible sight.

They’re men of honor. But they’ve seen what happens to those who defy the tower, who defy the heavens. He isn’t a religious man, but he knows how to take a hint that he ought to be.

Walter looks at his men, all of them watching the utter destruction as the forest, the hills, the edge of the ocean — As all of it rises up towards the island, becoming a part of its grand mass.

Walter sucks on his teeth, his hand patting the sack of gold ingots he has.

Two is enough to retire on, if he moves to the east. Things are cheaper there.

Forget the military. He’s done.

“Well boys,” he says, looking at his soldiers, who are looking back at him. They’ve been working together for years. They’ve fought back to back, healed each other's wounds, mourned each other’s deaths. All of them know now that there’s no return from here. They have to go, wherever it is they want to go. This is their one shot to be free from the contracts they’ve made. “Go fuck yourselves.”

“Fuck you, Walter!” calls a man from down next to him.

Another man calls from the side. “Suck my dick, Walter! Asshole!”

Walter shows them the finger and breaks off from the road, riding through the forest on his anqa as he makes a break for freedom. “Have a nice walk, cock mongers,” laughs Walter, being one of the very few people with a mount.

All of the others do the same, diverging to the west, to the city in the mountains, to the north, to the home of the greatest cathedrals and wild-lands, or to the east, to the rich, prosperous bays by the ocean, across the desert.