B3 Chapter 328: Next Steps, pt. 2

The felled trunk cut through the jungle like a city wall, a pillar of dead wood that had shattered the canopies of its neighbours. Lying on the ground, it was still almost as tall as the young growth that surrounded it. the grasping roots that sprung from its base climbed even higher, shading the surroundings enough that no new growth had sprouted in proximity.

It was almost ominous — like it commanded a respect in death that not even its desperate competitors violated.

Kaius leaned against one such root, making use of the clear sightlines the height of the trunk gave him.

Two days ago, they’d cautiously investigated the cratered mess of snapped roots and collapsed tunnels it had created in the shadow of its bulk. The threat of more rootborers had hung heavy in his mind, but it seemed they’d gotten lucky. Without the lifegiving vitality of the roots, there had been no sign of them.

They’d found evidence of other beasts, tracks and the like, but most of those had led away from the trunk. It seemed their final confrontation with Old Thousand Eyes had been enough to scare off whatever remnants still remained. Once they had known the coast was clear, they’d set up their tent in a hidden hollow beneath the trunk. As useful as ever, their tent had concealed itself as just another snapped root among thousands.

He’d known it wouldn’t be enough against any of the more perceptive denizens of this layer. The item was only a first tier Uncommon afterall — it was likely that if anything actually hunted them, its illusion wouldn’t be able to best their senses. It was barely working against the rest of his team anymore, either. Even a moderate inspection was enough for the disguise the tent offered to feel…wrong.

Hence, his watch — taken in shifts with Kenva.

Thankfully, it seemed to have been an abundance of caution. While he’d seen more than a few beasts crossing through the area, most seemed to disdain the open and exposed ground — more comfortable with the cloaking anonymity of the fern-forest that carpeted the rest of the jungle.

Kaius drummed his hand on his thigh, lost in his thoughts. The selection of his final Skill still loomed — it was impossible to get out of his mind. It was certain to be potent and emblematic of his class, they always were, but as much as the anticipation had built within him, it felt wrong to make their choices while their teammate lay insensate.

No matter how good they were, a brand new skill was unlikely to move the needle against any threat they might run into while Ianmus recovered.

Something that, thank the gods, seemed to be progressing nicely.

Kenva had been watching him closely whenever she wasn’t on watch, insisting it was the least she could do. Her ability to see the soul and energy within Ianmus had given her direct insight into the slow changes that had been occurring. She insisted that — whatever they were — they seemed to be coming to an end. His Health drain had shrunk by the hour, and more and more of his mana had coalesced around his skeleton.

Ianmus’s face jumped into his mind. From the way the mage lay peaceful and still, it was almost enough to think he was merely sleeping. Far different from the ragged mess he had been immediately after casting. He just hoped that the man hadn’t crippled himself.

With his circuits seemingly permanently broken, and his mana having found a new roost in his marrow, would he even be able to cast? The thought of it burned with bitter frustration.

The fool, why had he gone to such lengths?! How’d he even manage to hurt himself so thoroughly in the first place? From what the mage had told him about mana burn, even channelling his entire pool shouldn’t have caused such catastrophic damage.

He knew the man had finished his sigil under the pressure of the fight, but he just didn’t know.

His contribution to the team wasn’t what worried him — Ianmus was a friend. Kaius just couldn’t bear the thought of telling Ianmus that he might be cut off from magic. It was everything to him. He knew how he would feel if someone told him he could never hold a sword again, or inscribe a spell. It would kill him — kill his soul and life.

They’d find out soon enough — hopefully when Ianmus woke he’d be able to tell them more. Who knows, maybe the System was kind enough to give him a notification?

The thought of his friend waking brought him back to the prospect of his final skill. He sighed — again — leaning his head back to stare at the ray of sunlight that shone through one of the many holes in the cavern ceiling.

Kaius couldn’t get the epigraph of Runeblade Hymnfocus out of his mind.

“If you wish to prove yourself worthy of Vos, you must succeed at this step.”

Hymnfocus still languished at a low level. He’d done his best to practice it during their downtime, but it was still awkward to weave consistently into the fast paced battles that could be found in this layer. It was just a little too slow, a little too focus-intensive. Sure, he got better everyday, but he wasn’t there yet.

What if his lack of ability cost him whatever Vos was? Sure, it was possible that it was simply some central philosophy or tenet of the Order, but the thought it might be a skill ate at him.

He groaned, returning to his watch of their surroundings. Prickly ice shot down his spine as he spotted movement. A beast, far off — cutting across the open floor of the copse, heading away. He relaxed.

At the end of the day, it was meaningless worry — it wasn’t like he could wait on selecting his skill for weeks or months while he mastered Hymnfocus. It was his final skill.

Not only would he waste the opportunity to grow it as much as possible, it was still a pivotal ability. Even if it might not shift the balance of strength immediately, it would eventually. It could mean the difference between capping their classes in time for a potential Honour, or missing one.

Besides, the faster they grew, the faster they could leave this delve. Rieker and Ro were waiting for them, likely worried sick about what had happened. He had no interest in stretching that out.

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Shaking his head, Kaius straightened and made his way to the edge of the trunk — a steep drop broken by the snapped ends of jutting roots.

He jumped, landing casually on a root five long-strides below him and lept to the next with lithe grace. With each jump, soil was knocked loose, falling to the ground with a soft patter. He was on the ground in seconds, and made his way quickly to their hidden camp.

Ducking into a half collapsed tunnel that must have once held a large root, he made his way to the false root that jutted out of the ground and entered their tent.

The inside was as warm and comforting as it always was, with warm yellowed wardlights coating the thick furs covering the floor and bed in a golden glow.

Porkchop had hunkered down in one corner, his head resting on his palms as he meditated on his burgeoning Mentis aspect. Kenva was sitting beside the bed, watching over Ianmus intently.

He hurried over. The mage looked identical to how he had before Kaius’s watch, his face slightly pale with an off-puttingly peaceful expression on his face — like he was sleeping.

“How is he?”

“The changes have almost completely stopped, and his soul is a little more active — I think he’s on the verge of stirring,” she replied, not looking up.

He hurried over, kneeling by his friend’s side. Porkchop must have heard them, because he moved to the opposite side of the bed, peering down at their friend.

Kaius’s heart thumped in his chest, his hands clenching. Ianmus had to recover — he had to!