TO&FQ: Book 1 - Chapter 45 (RAW)

Chapter 45 - Dungeon Diving

Once all struggles are grasped, miracles are possible.

- Chairman Mao Zedong.

Seraphina gently ran her fingers along the smooth scales of her pet snake, watching as Eloise painstakingly attempted to brew a simple healing potion for the third time that evening. The girl was muttering something about failing to anchor or infuse her Mana to the mixture—some arcane detail Seraphina only pretended to understand. In truth, she could have simply commissioned a trustworthy alchemist for a batch of potions, but she suspected that would hurt Eloise’s pride, so she refrained.

With an absent-minded sigh, Seraphina brushed back the locks of blonde hair that had grown longer. She would need to get it cut again, she thought wryly. Her gaze then drifted to the window as lost herself to her own thoughts. Este Lize had advanced far faster than Seraphina had predicted. It could mean that she had been quietly grinding away at levels, displaying an unusually keen grasp of the game’s mechanics. Worrying, for that could mean that she perhaps was in a similar situation to Seraphina’s. That discovery, while unnerving, spurred the girl to focus on her own development with renewed urgency.

Suddenly, a triumphant shout shook her from her reverie.

“Finally!” Eloise cried, holding up a small flask. “I did it, Lady Seraphina! I made a Health potion!”

At last, some solid progress, Seraphina thought. Though her smile felt somewhat forced, she kept her tone bright. “That’s wonderful, Eloise! Now we can finally head to the Trials!”

“The Trials?” Eloise’s voice wavered. “But isn’t that a place reserved for ranked adventurers? Why would we—?”

Seraphina waved away her concerns. “Don’t trouble yourself over the small details, dear. Just remember to use the metal flasks; glass tends to shatter on impact.” She offered Eloise a sweet, reassuring smile.

Raising her voice, Seraphina called, “Miriam! Ibn!” Within moments, her maid, Miriam, hurried into the room, her apron fluttering at her sides. Ibn ambled in shortly thereafter, wearing his usual sullen expression.

“You two will help me into my armor,” Seraphina commanded, her tone brusque. For some reason, Ibn straightened, his dark eyes sparking with an unspoken enthusiasm. 

*****

They traveled for a day and a half from the capital, leaving their coach and Haze on a side road under the watch of two Knights. Afterward, they cut across rolling moors and through scenic woodland for another day, until they finally reached the Barrows. There, a near-constant mist blanketed the land in a ghostly haze.

Two Silver-ranked adventurers accompanied Seraphina, drawn to her side by the allure of gold and the force of her Charisma. Luc, a middle-aged man with a few strands of gray in his hair, was the first to complain.

“I must say, this is most irregular,” he remarked obtusely.

His companion, Etienne—bald and clad in even heavier armor—chimed in a slightly high voice for a man. “On second thought, I’m of the same mind as my partner, Luc.”

Neither of them fit the typical adventurer stereotype. They looked more like armored librarians, weighed down by their gear. Luc wore a heavy chain hauberk and carried a warhammer, while Etienne wore a coat-of-plates, armed with a shield and warpick. Seraphina had heard that Etienne possessed minor healing abilities, which might be crucial for the place they were heading.

The Trials of the Goddess—this world’s elaborate name for a dungeon. Seraphina could not help but think the game’s scenario writers should have been more original.

“You know,” Eloise spoke up, breaking Seraphina’s thoughts, “I’ve always wondered—why do the adventurers call them Trials?”

Etienne cleared his throat. “They’re called Trials because they’re physical manifestations of the Goddess’s will. Grave souls of sinners, both past and present, are forced to suffer within them as penance. We enter these spaces, confront their sins and guilt, and free them from purgatory. That purifies the world. Sometimes it only takes one attempt; other times they need to be cleared many times to bring redemption. It’s as much a trial for us as it is for those poor souls. And we’re rewarded by the Goddess so we can continue spreading Her glory.”

Seraphina smirked, her tone turning cutting. “How noble. And yet you two are sinners yourselves, aren’t you? For your… particular tastes in each other. Now drop the long-winded sermon and explanations—I can tell you’re angling for more money.”

Etienne’s face reddened, though he quickly composed himself. “It isn’t about the money. Also, all our lives people have basically spat on us for our love, so a few more ignorant words from a little lady like you is nothing. This Trial you’ve chosen… None have survived it. No one has freed the soul within, and each failure only makes its Sin stronger.”

Eloise went pale. Seraphina, however, knew full well what awaited them in the Trial. Irritation edged into her voice.

They talked back… at her. It was time to remind them of their place.

“Frest,” she said coolly, “if they try to renege on this deal again, have the men kill these perverted undesirables.”

“Certainly, milady,” Frest replied, giving her a half-mocking salute as he drew his weapon. The Knights under his command followed suit.

Etienne started to draw his weapon, but Luc quickly raised both hands in surrender. “We were just warning you,” he said. “It could be the death of all of us in there.”

Seraphina raised one armored hand, and her men instantly relaxed. She smiled at the thoroughly cowed adventurers. “Now then, gentlemen. Show me the entrance to this Trial.”

With a resigned huff, the two adventurers led her to a pair of twisted stones. The air between them shimmered in a semi-translucent haze, a gaping rent in the fabric of the world as large as a barn door. No game, Seraphina thought, could have prepared anyone for the raw reality of a dungeon’s entrance—a visceral dread no two-dimensional screen could ever convey.

Eloise voiced her growing concern. “Perhaps we should rethink this… They did say this Trial was particularly dangerous.”

“You would do well to heed the girl’s warning,” Luc muttered ominously.

Seraphina silenced him with a sharp look and a finger to her lips. She was tempted to kill him then and there, now that they had found what they came for.

Turning to Eloise, Seraphina gently cupped the girl’s face in both hands, tilting it upward until their eyes met. She was keenly aware of how easily she could crush Eloise’s fragile skull if she so chose. “Do you trust me, dear?” she asked softly.

“Of course I do, but…” Eloise faltered.

“We will be fine. The Goddess watches over us. We will prevail.” Seraphina’s words held all the force of her Charisma.

Eloise managed a shaky smile, half convinced despite the looming danger.

“Come, men, time to move on,” Seraphina commanded. The Knights moved to lead the way, casting scornful looks at the two adventurers.

“No!” Luc cried out, causing her men to halt. “You don’t understand. If more than five enter a Trial at once, it’s nearly impossible to finish. We’ll be swarmed by the Goddess’s wrath—the Trials are meant to be fair!”

“That sounds rather arbitrary,” Seraphina remarked. She was well aware of the actual “player limit” from the game, but she found the “real-world” explanation behind it entertaining. Experimentation could wait; for now, she would abide by the rules.

She looked around before making her decision. “Very well. Frest, Miriam, Eloise, myself, and…” Her gaze fell on the other adventurer. “What was your name again?”

“Etienne, milady,” he muttered.

“Etienne will join us.”

“It would be better if Luc came with me,” Etienne suggested. “We work well together.”

“Luc will stay here as a guarantee of your good behavior,” Seraphina replied, her eyes narrowing. “However, I do find your protest quite worrying.” She turned to Sir Clarendon. “If we don’t return in half a day, kill the adventurer.”

“Yes, milady,” the old Knight barked, snapping to attention. A cruel smile curled on his weathered face.

“I’m so sorry, Luc,” Etienne said quietly. “I never should have… Remember Al-Lazar.”

“It’s alright, Eti,” Luc replied gently. “I remember Al-Lazar.”

Seraphina shook her head, very annoyed. “Honestly, what is with all this drama? We’re just going into a dunge—I mean, Trial of the Goddess.” She turned to the small red-eyed boy. “Ibn, that’s a bad example. Don’t grow up like that.”

She faced her companions. “Miriam, protect Eloise. Frest, watch my flank. And Etienne, darling, try not to die too soon. I’ve given you a reason to live in Luc, after all—love can be a powerful motivator or so I am told. No matter how impure it may be.”

A flicker of unease gnawed at Seraphina as she eyed the shimmering portal, but she shoved it down. Leaders who led from the front drew people to them; it was as true now as it had been in the times of Alexander the Great.

“Come along, then,” she said brightly. “Let’s not dally. Ibn, my sword, if you please.”

The small boy dragged a massive two-handed sword, which from pommel to tip was half a head taller than Seraphina. With a great effort and struggle, he passed it to her. It was not quite the monster that was her father’s old weapon but it was still quite impressive.

“Thank you, Ibn,” Seraphina said sweetly. She drew the blade as though it weighed nothing, pointing it one-handed toward the portal. After only a moment’s hesitation, she stepped toward it and passed through, confident her people would soon follow.

She did not see it, but hero worship was written plain in the boy's eyes.

A sudden wave of dislocation washed over Seraphina, as though reality itself had briefly shifted. For a moment, everything felt misaligned before snapping back into its allotted place. Suddenly, she found herself in a grey realm of ankle-deep, dark water. Beneath the flowing water, the riverbed, she felt was comprised of loose pebbles.  Resting her massive weapon on her shoulder, she hummed a tune whilst she waited for her companions to appear.

Her maid Miriam arrived first, her face set with equal parts resolve and anxiety. Eloise followed soon after, seeming on the verge of complaining about the water before deciding against it. Frest and Etienne, however, took much longer.

After five interminable minutes, Frest emerged with Sir Clarendon at his side. In that instant, it felt like a trap had just sprung shut, and Seraphina thought she heard a triumphant shriek echo from somewhere beyond.

“Where is the Healer, Etienne?” she demanded. She slammed on her helmet, arms folding impatiently across her chest.

Sir Clarendon answered, nearly spitting with contempt before he remembered his company. “He and his lover-boy tried to ambush us rather than come along and do their job just as Lady de Laney stepped through. Don’t worry, we put them down like the perverted dogs they were without injury, milady.”

Interesting, it seemed that her father’s household knights were at least competent, she noted. She had expected that two of the Silver would have done a bit more damage than that.

“Treacherous louts,” Frest added with a wry grin. “No honor among adventurers. They’ll be bird feed and fertilizer for the grass soon enough.” He clapped Sir Clarendon on the shoulder in a rare show of camaraderie.

“I’ll drink to that,” Sir Clarendon agreed.

“Only if you’re buying,” Frest quipped back as they both chuckled.

Although Seraphina had expected cowardice, she hadn’t foreseen it running quite this deep. She knew the dungeon was considered virtually impossible to clear without a special item—one obtained only through an obscure quest—or a very particular skill. She was sure that she happened to possess that skill, even if it didn’t appear on her “character sheet” as it were.

However, what truly bothered her was how badly she had misjudged the pair of adventurers. It was clear that some people, weak people, could only be pushed so far before snapping. There was a lesson in that, she supposed, if only she could be bothered to learn it.

Any chance to reflect was cut short by a low, gurgling moan that caused Frest and Sir Clarendon to silence. Another joined it, then another, until it swelled into a chorus of the undead. A ragged mob of zombies, all failed challengers of this Trial, shambled toward them. They were as varied in death as they were in life, their rotting forms in all sorts of stages of decay.

Seraphina hesitated for the briefest moment. Facing Death as an idea was one thing; confronting it in the putrid undead flesh was something else entirely. But with a determined shake of her head, she steeled herself. Even without the Holy Strike skill, it would be easy enough to cut them all to pieces. 

After all, this was precisely why she had brought such a massive blade in the first place.