MM - Chapter 270 - THROWING STONES

The crackle of residual energy faded slowly, allowing the distant rumble of a collapsing mountain to reassert itself as the dominant force in all their ears. Salamon, his form shrinking to that of a regular man, offered the two Rattlemeckas a curt nod before vanishing in a silent implosion of electrical sparks.

The Rattlemecka pilots climbed from their respective cockpits and promptly sat upon the steaming armor of their war machines. They paid no mind to the cherry-red metal plating that radiated enough heat to distort the air around them. One pilot pulled a pair of thin, hand-rolled cigars from a pouch, pressing the tips against a smoking shoulder plate until they ignited. He passed one to his comrade with a high-pitched cackle that echoed all the way back to Raine’s perch on the wall. Before his boots hit the ground, they were waving their arms in wide, exaggerated motions, voices carrying on the wind as they retold the tale of their glorious victory.

By the time the other onlookers picked their jaws off the floor, the mysterious latecomer to the siege, cloaked entirely in light-devouring shadows, was already darting with unnatural speed across the field. The fools who followed Raine before paid for their inattentiveness; their drops as well were his for the taking. They were not alone; the boss’s fall had caught nearly a hundred Vaaterrans, and several times that many Travelers. The battlefield was littered with opportunity, and after Salamon quit the field, there was no longer a reason to hold back.

From the relative safety of the wall, a furious man shouted down, his voice straining to project authority. “You! Looter! Silvergate’s top guilds are in command here! It was agreed that all loot would be collected and distributed according to contribution! You will be compensated for your efforts fairly. However, if you do not cease this dishonorable scavenging at once, you will only add to the spoils!”

The threat was as empty as the space between the man’s ears. Raine offered no reply as a dozen Warriors, Defenders, and Brawlers readied their weapons. He continued his work, a wraith flitting from one prize to the next. Dozens of faces flushed with anger. “This is your last warning! Surrender the items you have stolen, or you will be declared an enemy of the united guilds!”

The common rabble had long since fled the dangerous, unfamiliar situation. All that was left were elites from the various guilds. When Raine continued to ignore them, the frontliners, their levels ranging from 28 to 30, tore from the wall. Multiple versions of Charge turned their bodies into streaks that came at him from several directions.

“You asked for this,” one of them snarled, his fists glowing with the telltale light of an activated skill. “Pay for your arrogance with your life!” 

Raine let them close in, finally pausing in his work to face them calmly. A storm of steel and energy converged on a figure so drenched in darkness they didn’t even know if he was man or woman. He raised no weapon, nor adopted a defensive stance. The first attacks were unleashed, a flurry of mid-range blows that would have torn any normal Traveler to pieces. He felt the impacts as dull thuds, his unbuffed Defense of nearly two thousand absorbing the vast majority of the damage. Only two strikes managed to break through. [-21] [-113]

The paltry numbers hung above his amorphous head, a testament to their utter inadequacy. The attackers’ eyes widened, their confident sneers melting into disbelief, then fear. Those who could took an involuntary step back. The others, those with Charges that could not be stopped until reaching their target, could only mourn the terrible mistake they had made. Raine let all of their attacks land before commanding the Soul Flame of Amanesh to retreat from his face, revealing a wide, menacing grin. 

Quick as lightning, four whips of golden fire lashed out from his back, wrapping around his assailants’ waists and legs. The cords of deadly flame tightened, grabbing multiple assailants each and yanking them off their feet, halting the retreat before it could begin. Tormented screams filled the air as their souls were flayed. The cloak of light-eating soul flame receded fully, revealing him for all to see. 

Recognition dawned, followed by a wave of pure terror that washed over those already in his clutches. One man, his body already smoking from the soul flame’s touch, managed to raise a trembling finger, his voice a choked whisper. “A-Alaric?!”

Raine used the whip of fire coiling around the man’s chest to pull him closer. Without a word, he swung his greatsword. With half of its devastating force converted into additional cutting power, the blade didn’t even whistle as it cleaved through armor, flesh, and bone. [Critical Hit! -32,811]

The man’s body fell away in two clean halves before exploding into a shower of starlight. A small pile of twenty loot bubbles appeared where he had once been. The mountain still collapsing in the background offered the only sound, the only movement. The rapidly fading damage number was incomprehensible, so much more vast than any of them could accomplish, that suddenly, all thoughts of resistance faded. Only those captured fought back. Their limbs churned uselessly against the air as they thrashed and screamed, desperate for the pain to end. Yet, they could not even overcome the small measure of Potency Raine was able to exert through the whips. 

With equal nonchalance, he dispatched the other two caught in the same tendril, then casually swiped the now-freed whip of soul flame through the loot bubbles they left behind, adding their possessions to his own.

At some point, the original speaker on the wall had bitten his lip so hard a trickle of blood ran down his chin. All earlier traces of bravado were absent. “Alaric of Astra Infernum?! We—we did not realize it was you. Please, take as much as you wish! You have more than earned it!” His hollow laughter was a poor attempt at placating the monster he had provoked, and it did little to comfort the numerous others who still had their weapons drawn.

Another man slammed the butt of a heavy polehammer into the stone battlement. He was a mountain of a man, encased in a full set of ornate, Marvelous Gold armor that shone even in the dim twilight. Raine had recognized him when first arriving—a well-known Vanguard Berserker named Borje. He was also the top honorbonded on the siege’s leaderboard. 

“Do not go too far, Alaric!” Borje’s voice was a harsh growl that carried across the field. “Our leader made it clear we are to show you a measure of politeness for your achievements, but that does not mean we will roll over and allow you to tread on our graves! Release my men, and The Bloodforged Warband will let this matter slide.”

A wave of excited whispers broke out along the wall. The tension from the battle, which had only just begun to fade, returned in full force as every eye passed between the two men.

Raine scoffed. Unlike his assailants, he was not in the habit of attacking without first knowing who he was picking a fight with. “Bloodforged Warband? Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

Snickers rippled through the crowd of onlookers.

“He doesn’t know the Warband?”

“He’s either brave or a complete fool.”

Borje puffed out his chest, the plates of his golden armor shifting with the movement. “It is fine that you do not know. I suggest you listen closely, so as not to repeat your ignorance. After we were joined by Freedom Apeiron, Enders Fall, and the Demonic Core, our Coalition of Guilds represented more than forty of the top guilds in the kingdom. We thought it prudent to rebrand. We are The Bloodforged Warband. Now that you know who you are dealing with, I suggest you release my men!”

“Oh,” Raine’s tone was flat, unimpressed. “Is that the same Coalition of Guilds led by Jarl Ramakin and Jarl Yogrund?”

Borje’s grim expression broke into a wide, hearty laugh, as if they were suddenly old friends sharing a drink. “That’s right! The very same. As such, I myself am now known as Jarl Borje, 13th commander of the Warband.”

Raine nodded to himself, now understanding. In the past, the Coalition of Guilds had sold its services to the highest bidder—Damian Tafell and his Rising Endlessly, allowing the little shit to sweep up the entire kingdom into his pocket, subsequently opening the gates for the Dantinians to sweep aside the little resistance that remained. This time, with Damian’s forces dust in the wind, and both CronGate and DyingNight weakened, the Coalition of Guilds had stepped into the power vacuum. 

Forty top guilds? Not bad. Not bad at all. They should do nicely.

“Since that’s the case,” Raine’s eyes remained on Jarl Borje as he pulled the remaining captured men into a tight, struggling group. A single Rupture tore through them, silencing their pleas and turning them into motes of fading light. “Such is the fate of those who attack Astra Infernum.”

“What?!” Jarl Borje roared, his voice cracking with disbelief and fury. His eyes were bloodshot, and the grip on his polehammer so tight his knuckles were white. “How dare you?! Jarl Ramakin will hear of this, Alaric!” Despite his rage, the man made no move to personally enact vengeance. 

Guess he’s not as stupid as he looks.

Now it was Raine’s turn to laugh as if they were old friends. His whips of soul flame danced, collecting the astonishing amount of loot that had dropped from the Jarl’s men. “Do you know what determines the sharpness of a sword, Jarl Borje?” Raine barely paused before answering the question himself. “The quality of its grindstone.”

Confused murmurs spread among the onlookers, none understanding his meaning. Jarl Borje pulled a Return Stone from his inventory and activated it, face a mask of simmering hatred. “This isn’t over, Alaric.”

Raine watched him vanish into a beam of light that shot back toward Silverlight City. “I certainly hope not.” 

His attention returned to the field as he calmly collected the last of the unclaimed loot. The equipment dropped by the slain Vaaterrans was handed off to an officer who was organizing a group of Clerics desperately racing the clock to resurrect the fallen in time. Thankful but distracted, the officer gave him a curt bow before rushing off to pull a disembodied leg from the mud. 

While the man did his best to find the rest of his missing comrade so the resurrection would actually function, Raine entered Vile Peak Town through the half-destroyed gate. The various guilders on the wall watched him go, smug and amused. Each was confident in the storm coming for Astra Infernum, as it had for each of the guilds that eventually bent the knee to the Warband.

He arrived at the Gromglenn yard to find it untouched by the recent chaos. Gazmo, as usual, had his small green head buried inside the guts of some complex machine, his focused muttering making it clear he was oblivious to the siege. With fingers crossed, Raine approached to turn in his quest.

“I brought the boomsticks,” he announced, withdrawing a small crate and setting it on the ground. “What’s next?”

The little Gromglenn pulled his head from the machine, wiping a streak of grease across his forehead with the back of a three-fingered hand. He only made the smear worse. He eyed Raine with open suspicion, speaking in the too-fast way that all Gromglenns did. “Let see-see. If quality bad-bad, will have to give quit-quit. Moon too heavy. Almost out of time-time.”

The moon is too heavy? It is almost a full moon. Wonder what that has to do with the quest.

Gazmo was already headfirst into the crate, oblivious to the potential danger of fifty stacked Boomsticks. He shuffled them about, turning several over and sniffing them one at a time. He nodded once, a quick, jerky motion. “These passable to work-work. Now, you bring friends and go-go. Find Princess, save Princess.”

Raine held up his hands, shaking his head. “Not so fast. Where are we going, exactly? And what will we be up against?” He had his suspicions, but specifics could save lives. With Varak’s people along for the ride, he wanted to give them the best possible chance of survival.

Gazmo hopped from one foot to the other, his patience wearing thin. “No-no! Weee not going anywhere-where. You’s going to Deep dark-dark. Gromglenns no go dark-dark.” Gazmo shuddered, lips drawing back in an expression of pure disdain. “Bring friends, rescue Princess, go-go! No much time-time!”

Raine fought to keep the frustration from his voice. The little creature’s impatience was likely due to how long he had taken on this phase of the quest. Still, he needed more. “And how are we supposed to find her? C’mon, Gazmo, give me something to work with here.”

Gazmo threw his hands in the air and spun in a quick dance. The movement, while cute, was the Gromglenn equivalent of a man about to burst a blood vessel. “Dullest rock is well name-named! Truly dull-dull! Follow krotanium vein. Use eyes-eyes, use ears-ears! Find Princess. Rescue Princess.”

“Wait, so the dark-dark is just an underground ore vein? How does that make any sense? If Gromglenns don’t go into the dark-dark, then why is your princess there?”

“Different!” Gazmo snapped. “That is that-that. This is this-this. Not same at all-all!”

Raine could only sigh at that nonsense. He shook his head, happy to read a series of system messages that were, thankfully, more forthcoming.

[Chain Quest: Melacor’s Munitions updated]

[Gazmo has accepted the quality of your personally created Boomsticks. (Brave choice.) Using the munitions, blast your way through the ‘Deep Dark-Dark.’ Locate and rescue Princess from her captor. If not rescued in time, the difficulty of the chain quest will increase by +2. (5 days, 14 hours remaining)]

[Rewards: Deep Dark-Dark raid permanence]

[Warning: Quest failure will result in Melacor’s Munitions permanently forsaking the Silvergate Kingdom. Quest may not be abandoned]

Raine almost jumped for joy. A new, permanent raid instance was beyond his wildest expectations. In Vaateaire, raids one could simply stumble upon and run indefinitely did not exist. Raids first had to be discovered the hard way, through quests, rumors, and vast exploratory effort. Even then, they were one-time affairs, just like the demonic heart.

Securing a permanent raid was no different than controlling a gold mine; they were the primary reason most wars were waged, the ultimate source of levels, high-tier equipment, materials, wealth, and combat experience. He forced down the excitement surging through his gut with pure will.

Interesting. The quest won’t fail if time runs out; it will only become more difficult. A triple difficulty modifier is no joke. Do we clear it the easy way or the hard way? Risking the loss of a permanent raid for slightly better rewards on the first clear is a terrible idea. We should show up on time to finish, assess the situation, and then decide if letting the timer run out is worth the risk.

And what’s with all these princess quests? First Selena, and now this? Huh… have I ever even seen a female Gromglenn before? Can’t say I have. Maybe they only have one. Whatever we’re in for, it’s bound to be a perfect experience for the core group. Can’t let them slack their way out of coming along.

Gazmo stopped Raine from leaving by tossing a small stone his way. He almost let it drop, thinking it was another jab at his intelligence, but a flicker in the Gromglenn’s expression made him snatch it from the air.

“Take-take,” Gazmo grunted. “Cute Tiny no attack-tack. You no hurt Cute Tiny. He cute-cute, though not very tiny-tiny.”

“Riiiight. Sure thing, Gazmo. Don’t you worry, we’ll have your princess back in no time.”

Gazmo looked at Raine like he’d just said the planet was flat, then cackled with mad laughter and walked at a blur back to his machine. Used to their antics, Raine didn’t watch him go, attention drawn to the small stone.

[Dull Rock: A polished stone made of a mysterious ore that remains dull despite its owner’s best efforts. No matter what direction you peer into its depths, your face is reflected back at you. Having this item on your person will grant access to the Deep Dark-Dark]

Unsure if even the system was in on the stupid joke now, Raine deposited the item into his inventory and replaced it with a Return Stone. Assuming it would take at least two days to clear the raid, he had very little time to get everyone’s gear up to standard. Luckily, he knew just the place to do it, and if they had followed his orders, Varak’s people would already be there, ready to do their part.