Chương 109: The Reality Shard

Two figures emerged from the cabin before they'd covered half the clearing. They wore armor of blackened steel decorated with silver filigree, a crimson fist before the golden sun of the Dominion standing out on the chest plate, overlaid with a second mark he recognized from a dozen overheard conversations at the Hearthsong. A spear crossed over a shield, wreathed in a circle of thorns. The Ordo Caelarii.

He recalled a grizzled delver with a missing ear, three ales deep at the common room bar, leaning toward his companion and dropping his voice to a hiss:"You see the thorns on their seal, you keep your mouth shut and your hands where they can see 'em. The Emperor's dungeon watchdogs don't need a reason, friend. They are the reason." The lead agent was burly and thick-necked, with a jaw that could've been used to split firewood.

He planted himself at the edge of the barrier's glow and hooked his thumbs into his belt, looking the group over with half-lidded eyes. His partner hung two steps behind. Leaner and quieter, with a watchfulness that seemed to look everywhere and nowhere.

"Papers and purpose," the burly one drawled. Ido stepped to the front and produced his writ.

"Ido Aloi, commanding. We hold a licensed delving writ for the Deadfall dungeon, registered through the Provincial Capital's Illuminet office. Standard expedition." The agent looked past Ido and took in Zamir's imposing silhouette, then tracked across the Halmi twins to linger on Hope's unremarkable leathers, and then finally settled on Cal.

"Well now." The man grinned slowly, cocking his head.

"What's this? An F-tier? You lookin' to die, boy?" Cal kept his eyes down. Ido didn't give him the chance to respond, regardless.

"He will be quite alright," Ido said conversationally.

"He is with Team Zenith, after all."

"Zen—" The burly man swallowed, his slouch vanishing as though someone had threaded a steel rod through his spine.

"Zenith. Right. Of course." He drew himself up to his full height and spoke so formally you'd think he was a different person than the man who'd spoken five seconds ago.

"Apologies, my lord. No offense intended." Cal glanced at Selara. She stood with her arms crossed, watching the exchange calmly. Aurelian had his hands clasped behind his back, staring off as though the entire interaction was beneath his awareness. A brief mention of their old team name turned an Ordo agent into a stammering recruit. Just who were my mentors, really?

The burly agent produced a rectangular device from his belt, a flat bar of crystal set into a brass frame with runic characters glowing along its border. He held it out like a metal detector.

"Hands, please." Ido extended his right hand in front of himself, the void ring clear on his fourth finger. The agent waved the device over his ring and a pulse of light traveled from the crystal, the runes quickly changing to green. The agent nodded and moved to each member of the famous party in quick succession. Meanwhile, the lean agent had produced a slate of polished grey stone and a silver stylus. As the runes turned green, he inscribed each name onto the slate.

The characters flared with white light, hung suspended for a breath, and then sank into the stone as though absorbed, dissolving without a trace. Ido's five cleared the checkpoint and approached the barrier. Zamir went first, stepping in without hesitation. The warrior rippled as he passed through, his outline distorting and stretching like a reflection in disturbed water. On the far side, his form re-solidified, visible but wavering, as though Cal were watching him through a sheet of rain-streaked glass.

Filip followed with a cocky half-salute to the agents. Angelika passed through without acknowledging anyone's existence. Hope slipped through so quietly that Cal almost missed the transition. Ido paused at the threshold to give the burly agent a courteous nod before stepping through. The hooded figure followed them all in last. As the barrier sealed behind them, the burly agent let out a low whistle. He exhaled, dropped his shoulders, and let the held posture go slack.

"Spirits," he muttered. He scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck and glanced at his partner.

"The Zeniths. Here." The lean agent grumbled, "Ain't right. Folks like that don't come to a place like this for pocket change." The burly agent nodded, still watching the distorted figures behind the barrier.

"Get on the sending stone. Let the garrison captain know who just walked into his backyard." He swallowed.

"He'll wanna pass that up the chain." Cal absorbed every word; his improved F-tier hearing somehow able to draw the whispered exchange cleanly out of the ambient forest noise. The lean agent was already moving back toward the cabin.

"Alright you three." The burly agent waved them forward, his voice hardening again now that the celebrities were out of earshot.

"Step up." Aurelian scoffed audibly but presented his hand. Green. Selara followed. Green. The agent barely glanced at Cal before jerking his chin toward the dungeon.

"Move along. Don't get killed in there." Cal shot the man a weak smile, then turned to face the barrier. Up close, its surface pulled at the eye: layered currents of light chased each other across its face, curling inward at the edges where it met the ground and the canopy above. Stepping through was a chaotic transition. The living currents of Mana pervading every inch of the Virethane, the background noise he'd trained himself to mute but never fully escaped - it all simply vanished.

Extinguished like a candle between licked fingers. The sudden absence left him feeling off balance. But the silence lasted less than a second. Something else rushed in to fill the void as soon as he emerged on the other side: an omnipresent energy that saturated the air, the stone, the moss on the roots of the enormous trees, and the very light that fell through the branches above.

Deeper and more fundamental than Mana or Stamina, his spirit recognized it on an instinctual level even as his conscious mind scrambled to categorize it. Essence. It's pure, unrefined essence. What!? The hairs on his arms rose. He winced at the vividness in his mind's eye: the moss blazed a luminous green, nearly phosphorescent, and the grey of the exposed stone was so rich it looked carved from polished quartz rather than rough granite.

Even breathing felt charged, each lungful arriving fresh and electric, spreading through his torso and into his limbs. Holy mackerel. It was like putting on a pair of glasses and the world snapping from blur to definition. The space outside the barrier had been a watercolor painting; this was the original in oils, every brushstroke vivid and detailed. He flexed his fingers, feeling the strange, pleasant buzz in his tendons, and fought down the urge to laugh as he took in the new experience.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. Looking around more, he noted the clearing on this side of the barrier was roughly thirty yards across, its floor carpeted in thick moss. Ido's team waited in a loose semicircle near the far edge, their distorted forms now fully resolved. And behind them, the dungeon entrance opened. The tree that housed it was vast.

Its trunk had to be forty feet across at the base, its bark so dark it was nearly black, carved in deep ridges that looked like the wrinkles of something impossibly old. Twenty feet up, the trunk split down in a ragged wound, a gaping hole of shadow tall enough for Zamir to walk through without ducking. No light penetrated past the first few feet. The darkness inside was so complete it seemed to press outward against the illumination of the essence-rich clearing.

Cal tested his [Spiritual Perception], pushing it outward. The essence permeated everything: air, stone, wood, soil. Each surface glowed with uniform density; the effect was like straining to see through thick fog. His perception hit the nearest tree trunk and stopped dead, unable to differentiate the wood from the energy suffusing it. He pushed harder, directing a narrow beam toward the dungeon entrance, and the essence swallowed it whole. He had lost over fifty yards of range, down to fifteen, maybe twenty.

Physical barriers that would have been transparent to his senses in the open forest were now spiritually opaque, each one a screen of undifferentiated energy. He turned to Aurelian.

"What's going on? I can't feel any ambient Mana and my spiritual perception distance has shrunk by over half. This… essence seems to be infusing everything." Aurelian nodded.

"It is one of the primary challenges of a reality shard. All spiritual energy inside is refined into pure essence. There is no Mana to draw upon for passive regeneration, nor will you be able to gain Stamina or Vitality by consuming most things found inside. You must rely entirely on your internal reserves, supplemented by provisions." He gestured dismissively.

"It is a minor concern in a shard of this scale, especially for a group of our caliber. We may not even need to stop for a meal. In the higher tiers, however, delves can last for months. That is when void rings and vast stockpiles become imperative."

"Did you just call it a reality shard? I thought these things were dungeons?" Aurelian waved a hand to encompass the clearing, the barrier, and the sky above them.

"The technical term for these pockets of essence-bound space.

'Dungeon' is the more common phrase, used to refer to the specific challenges one faces inside the shard." He pointed toward the hollow in the ancient tree.

"Technically, the dungeon itself does not begin until we enter that passage and commence the expedition toward the core. We are currently standing in the shard, but not in the dungeon proper."

"Is that distinction important?"

"For our intents and purposes today?" Aurelian considered for a second.

"No." Ido produced a bronze chronometer from a pocket inside his robes, its crystal face lit with runic numerals that shifted in a steady countdown. The magic clock's light played across his features as he studied it, and when he looked up, the affable nobleman was gone. In his place stood a commander.

"High Tide approaches. Time to move." The man raised his hands and a rich surge of energy expanded outward from his palms in widening waves, passing through Filip, Angelika, Hope, and Zamir in quick succession. Each pass left a momentary glow on their skin before sinking inward. Simultaneously, the Veils made their own preparations. Selara raised her left hand and Cal felt her call Mana to the void ring on her index finger.

A mass of dark material appeared over her body, a bulky shape that expanded and unfurled like a living thing. It was a cloak of roiling shadow that enveloped her for a few seconds, floating as if stirred by an unfelt breeze. When it cleared, she was transformed. Articulated steel plates over dark leather covered her from shoulder to shin, heavier than Filip's scale but lighter than Zamir's fortress of black iron.

Runes traced the joints and edges of every plate, and at her hip hung a sword he recognized in a beautiful scabbard. Flamewright. Aurelian performed a similar feat. His combat attire was lighter: a silver-etched cuirass worn over deep red robes that fell to his knees, with bracers that held a self-contained glimmer. The runes on his armor were denser and more elaborate than his sister's, clustered in concentric rings around the breastplate like the pages of a compressed textbook.

Both Veils raised their hands in unison. Selara cast a Spell of orange light; Aurelian, one of yellow. The self-buffs took hold just as Ido released his final cast in a wash of golden warmth that swept over the entire group. Cal felt it pass through him: a tingling, electric sensation that was gone in an instant, taking some drag with it. His vision steadied. His limbs felt a few pounds lighter. It's a combat hot-swap, Cal thought, reflecting on the Veil's magical devices and their uses.

Void ring storage meant zero encumbrance during travel, full protection on demand. You could march in light leathers and switch to siege plate in under two seconds. Swap damaged armor mid-fight. Carry three different loadouts for three different threat profiles. The logistics alone— Ido faced the dungeon entrance and spoke without inflection.

"Formation. Zamir, point. Filip, float support. Hope, you have the shadows. Angelika, with me." Cal noted the hooded figure remained at the rear, a silent observer who received no orders. Ido's command softened into something more careful, almost deferential, as he turned to the Veils.

"Selara, your old spot at the vanguard with Zamir is open. If you wish it." Cal caught Filip going briefly rigid, there and gone in a flash. Selara shook her head without hesitation.

"I shall remain in the rear with my brother. Consider us your reserve." Ido frowned for a split second. Something moved behind his brown eyes, a question or a wound; Cal couldn't tell. Then the smooth mask returned, and the moment passed like it had never happened.

"Understood. Let us move out." They marched into the darkness. The glow of second dusk halted at the threshold as the black pressed in around them. Cal channeled Mana to his fingertips and assembled the runic pattern for [Light Orb] and a sphere of soft white light sprouted above his hand, which he moved behind his right shoulder. Ahead of him, three other light sources had already blazed to life: Ido's orb burned a warm gold, Angelika's a clinical white, and Aurelian's a faint silver-blue.

Together they drove the dark back in overlapping pools of illumination, revealing a corridor of rough-hewn stone that descended at a gentle slope. The walls were dark stone veined with something that caught the magical light in random sparkles, and the passage was wide enough for the whole group to walk abreast, with a ceiling that would take three Zamirs stacked on their shoulders to reach. He spotted metal embedded in the wall to his left.

An old iron piton, driven into the stone at shoulder height, its shaft eaten with rust. A coil of frayed rope still hung from its ring, the fibers grey and crumbling with age. A few feet further, a cracked potion vial lay in a shallow depression in the floor, its glass clouded and its contents long disappeared.

"What exactly is 'High Tide'?" he murmured to Selara. She followed his eyes to the debris." That is what happens if you ignore it. High Tide is when the essence core reaches full saturation and vents. It is… the natural course of the Veraxian essence cycle, an ebbing and flowing of the world's energy, pumping essence like a heart would blood. Practically speaking, however, when that timer hits zero, some monsters you've killed start to regenerate. Rapidly.

Get caught in that wave, and you can be overwhelmed in minutes." She looked down the corridor ahead, then back to the rusted piton.

"Or you get cut off from your line of retreat. If you are in deep and your provisions run low..." She left the rest unsaid. A short time later, Hope materialized from the darkness ahead like a ghost stepping out of a wall, one hand raised in a fist. The group halted. She pointed a large dagger at a patch of floor where a cluster of grapefruit-sized fungi pulsed with a sickly green bioluminescence. The caps were swollen and glistening, their surfaces textured with fine ridges oozing fluid.

"Corrosive sporecaps," Aurelian said to Cal.

"Contact triggers a burst of acidic spores. Unpleasant for armored targets; devastating for exposed skin." Before anyone else moved, Angelika raised her hand. A thin lance of white-hot fire shot from her palm and crossed the twenty-yard gap in a blink, striking the fungal cluster dead center. They detonated in a throom, fire billowing a cloud that quickly exhausted, leaving only blackened scorch marks and the acrid bite of burnt vegetation.

She lowered her hand without looking at the result, her expression hardly changed. Hope gave a nod and slipped back into the shadows ahead. Seconds passed. The group advanced another fifty yards in careful silence, the corridor widening slightly as it curved to the left. He caught more signs of previous expeditions: scratch marks on the walls, a boot print fossilized in dried mud, a snapped arrow shaft wedged into a crack in the ceiling. Then Hope reappeared, but this time her posture had changed.

She was lower, her center of gravity dropped, balanced on her toes.

"Contact," she murmured.

"Large bugger with some friends. Looks like a rotcap troll." The party halted while Zamir stepped forward. The air around his left hand shivered as a kite shield the size of a dining table formed from his void ring, its surface scarred and dented from a thousand previous battles. His void ring pulsed a second time, producing a warhammer to match the shield in his other hand. He planted his feet, raised the hammer, and smashed its side against the shield. CLANG.

The metallic report slammed down the corridor, ricocheting off the walls and multiplying into a cascade of sound that rolled into the unseen darkness ahead. From an unknown distance into the dark, something answered. A bone-rattling bellow that vibrated through the air and sent the hairs on Cal's neck standing on edge.