Path of Dragons-Chapter 7Book 9: : Prime Grinding

Gwenivere stared at the abandoned settlement, unsure what to think. She’d lived there, once, and not even that long ago. She had hunted those tunnels, killing flesh spiders and all manner of foul, mutated creatures. She’d lain awake, staring at the jagged shards protruding from the ceiling, wondering if they would suddenly fall and end her suffering.

Maybe hoping.

That had driven her and the others to form a suicidal expedition to the surface, where they cobbled together a raft and set out to brave the seas. She barely remembered what had happened in the storm. It was all so chaotic. The waves were as tall as skyscrapers, and the wind threatened to capsize their vessel with every gust. The only reason they’d stayed afloat was because of Matthew’s class.

He'd become a Sailor in the hopes of leading everyone to the mainland, and in a way, he had. Without him, the raft would have capsized with the first wave. So, everyone who’d escaped that island owed him their gratitude. It was just a shame that he had not lived to see it.

It was even more galling that, all that time, they’d been only a couple of weeks’ march away from a much more habitable forest. How many more would have survived if they’d found their way to the Hollow Depths? They could have thrived.

And yet, no one had ventured that far from camp. There was little reason for Explorers like Mako to range further than a couple of days away. Nobody could have imagined that the world was apparently hollow and that it contained such wonders.

She sighed, glancing back at the man who’d saved her people and felt a host of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, Gwenivere was immensely grateful for what he’d done. He had risked his life to rescue them, which was something she would never forget. However, he’d also taken his sweet time in doing so, which was a fact she would always remember.

They had never been a priority for him.

And she understood it, even if she found the situation frustrating. Elijah Hart had a lot of responsibilities on his shoulders, and he had the unenviable task of weighing the importance of each one. He couldn’t be everywhere at once, after all. He couldn’t save everyone.

Yet, Gwenivere knew for a fact that he’d spent weeks lounging about. She’d seen him, hand in hand with that woman, treating Ironshore like a tourist trap. That had stoked the fires of her frustration, creating resentment and building into something closely resembling hatred.

She knew it wasn’t altogether fair, putting everything on him. No one could flit from one crisis to another without rest or the need to recuperate. Yet, she couldn’t stand aside and watch him ignore hundreds of people who needed saving without consequence – especially when the issue was personal for her.

But she needed to let it go.

He had come through. He had saved the people he could save. And now, he was trying to help the world. That was a noble thing.

She still didn’t like him, though.

“You alright?” asked the dwarf beside her. Donogal was the highest-level Builder in Ironshore, and his inclusion in the expedition was a decision she couldn’t quite understand. The place – dubbed Chimera Island – was dangerous, and there was no room for non-combatants.

Even so, half of the hundred people sent through the Druid’s portals were Tradesmen. There was even an orphaned Envoy of the World Tree who’d been included in their number.

“Just thinking,” she said, planting the butt of her spear in the ground. It was a sturdy weapon, though not particularly high-grade. Standard issue for those tasked with defending the city, the same as her armor.

Since setting up in Ironshore, she had been a bit torn with regard to her place in the world. She’d long since left behind the silly girl she’d been before the world had changed. Now, she was a fighter, through and through. So, she’d been faced with a choice – become an official part of the city’s defense force or set off across the world and embrace the life of an adventurer who challenged towers and tackled difficult monsters in the wild.

Gwenivere couldn’t imagine abandoning the people who’d come to depend on her. Five years was a long time to spend with anyone, and inevitably, she’d formed relationships with many of her fellow survivors. The possibility of death was too poignant to allow her to get close to anyone, though.

So, she had become something of a loner. A part of the community, but also separate from any meaningful relationships.

Maybe that was why she’d enlisted in Ironshore’s defense force. So many of the others were like her. They wanted to be a part of something. They needed a place in the world.

Of course, there were plenty of her new colleagues that had made the same choice, but for different reasons. They had families. Friends. They were pillars of the community, and they needed the city to succeed. They had people they wanted to protect.

It was a thin distinction, and there was some overlap between the two groups. In addition, there were others who wanted a life of adventure but didn’t want the instability of venturing out into the world against unknown dangers. Ironshore provided the chance for advancement, a decent salary, and good equipment.

That was enough for most people.

For Gwenivere’s part, she liked the idea of that base, but she’d jumped at the opportunity to go on an expedition – especially when she’d learned the destination. The only issue was that Elijah was in the lead.

Sort of.

He operated outside the chain of command, but the leaders all deferred to him. And as much as she hated to admit it, Gwenivere understood their logic. The Druid was one of the most powerful people in the world – so strong, in fact, that when he spoke, people were compelled to listen.

The alternative was to risk his wrath.

It was more than that, though. She didn’t know the details, but she’d heard plenty of rumors that Ironshore’s economics were tied to his fate. That wasn’t difficult to believe, especially when his sister-in-law was such a prominent figure. Everyone feared him, but many also revered him, at least to some degree.

It was a maddening turn of events, considering that it wasn’t really that long ago that one person was roughly equal to the next. Sure, there were things like social or economic power to contend with, but Elijah – for all that he was a frustrating person – was basically a god among mortals.

And she suspected he didn’t even realize just how different he was from everyone else. That made it worse, somehow.

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She gave the settlement one last look before she hurried across the cavern to join the others as they made their way to the surface. The trip was uneventful. With the Primal Realm having been conquered, the local wildlife wasn’t nearly as affected. Gwenivere wasn’t sure how it all worked, but what she did know was that tunnels that had previously been absolutely lousy with mutated creatures were now almost entirely deserted.

That was an improvement.

At the head of the procession was Elijah himself, carrying that intimidating and awkward-looking scythe. She’d seen him use it on a few attacking beasts along the way up from the Hollow Depths, and he didn’t seem at all impaired by the fact that it took the shape of a farming implement more than a true weapon.

Finally, after more than an hour trekking through the twists and turns of the tunnels beneath the island, they reached the surface. A quick jaunt across the island, and she got her first look at the tree they were meant to protect.

And she was absolutely floored by what she saw.

The bark was snow-white, but there were multi-colored tendrils flowing through its trunk and limbs. Each one glowed intermittently with a pulsing beat. They were only barely visible, though she didn’t think anyone would fail to notice them. At least until they looked at the leaves, which glittered like blue crystal.

“Where did this come from?” someone asked. A gnomish woman who Gwenivere pegged as their Architect.

“Pretty cool, right?” Elijah replied, grinning like an idiot. “She’s not quite as powerful as the one back in Druid’s Park, but she serves an even more important role in keeping this island from being overrun. The harpies spawn at about a quarter of the rate they used to, and I think once the tree reaches full maturity, it’ll go even lower. They’re still going to be a problem, but this way, it’s a manageable issue.”

Gwenivere felt a shiver run up her spine at the mention of the harpies. Those things had nearly obliterated the crash survivors, and the only reason they’d survived was by braving the tunnels and setting up a subterranean settlement. There, they’d cowered in fear, knowing that if they ventured topside they’d be slaughtered.

Not because the harpies wanted to eat them. That would have been a lot less terrifying. Rather, the harpies killed and destroyed because of some other drive. They reveled in it, almost as if they were made specifically for that purpose.

“Well, how do we want to do this?” he asked. “I’m going to have to run up the mountain over there and exterminate however many harpies have spawned. So, if anyone wants to come with me, they’re welcome.”

“I need a squad to stay here to protect us while we lay out the foundation,” Donogal said. He was nominally in charge of the expedition, though the fighters had their own chain of command. “So, you all figure that out while we get to work.”

With that, Gorank, the goblin who’d been given leadership over the combatants, split them into two groups of twenty-five. One was meant to go with Elijah, while the rest were tasked with guarding Donogal and his Tradesmen as they unpacked their materials and got to work.

According to him, it would take at least a month to get a fully defensible outpost built. Most of it was supposed to be underground, connecting to the tunnels below, but there needed to be a sizable structure aboveground as well.

Gwenivere was assigned to the group meant to accompany Elijah, so it wasn’t long before she and twenty-four other fighters were following the Druid across the island. She kept glancing toward the sky, expecting one of the giant birds to swoop down and carry one of them off. It had happened on more than one occasion, especially in the beginning.

“Don’t worry about them right now,” Elijah said, suddenly beside her. “They’re still confused by the tree’s aura. I don’t expect it to last much longer, but they’ve avoided the island since I planted her.”

“Why do you keep referring to the tree with feminine pronouns?”

“Uh…not sure. She just feels like a girl. Or woman. I don’t know. I didn’t even think about it, honestly,” Elijah answered.

That tracked with what she knew of him. He seemed the sort to take his instincts for granted. She glanced down at his arm, where she saw green scales encircling his wrist. He hadn’t had those the last time she had seen him. Were they some cosmetic decoration, like a tattoo? Or were they something more meaningful? Certainly, those scales shimmered with ethera, suggesting the latter, but he didn’t even seem to notice them.

Besides, it wasn’t like they were friends. They’d only spoken a few times, and even that had been slightly antagonistic. So, she didn’t feel comfortable asking about his scales.

“Alright. Give me a shout if you all need help finishing them off. Otherwise, I’ll just keep you alive,” Elijah said, pointing to the mountain.

Gwenivere followed his gesture and saw that the mountain was crawling with harpies. Not nearly as many as there’d been before, but there were enough to make it look like someone had kicked over an anthill. Thousands, at the very least, and that might have been a conservative estimate.

She stepped forward to take the lead, embracing her abilities and preparing to take some revenge on the hated monsters. As she did, she felt a surge of vitality, and a subtle green shield enveloped her form.

And she wasn’t the only one. Indeed, everyone in the group of twenty-five had been affected. At the same time, a gentle rain fell, rejuvenating her with every drop.

Then, Gwenivere reached the first group of harpies. They were a disgusting marriage of woman and bird – with a leaning toward the latter – and she wasted no time in stabbing the first one with her spear. It screeched in protest, alerting the entire mountain.

After that, her world devolved into a melee. The creatures swooped in from above, raking their claws across her armor and ripping at her flesh with their sharp beaks. She countered as best she could, using all her abilities as much as possible. However, there was no way she could have endured such an onslaught alone.

It was a good thing she didn’t have to.

Not only did she have a couple dozen others with her – many of which were offensive specialists who tore through the seemingly endless flock of harpies with ease – but Elijah was also there. Most of the time, he simply healed, but when things got hairy, he leaped forward and tore through huge clumps of harpies in an effort to ease the burden.

But he clearly wanted them to reap most of the benefits, so he stayed out of the fight as much as possible.

It wore on for nearly three hours, during which time Gwenivere took far more damage than she’d ever endured before. She killed countless harpies, and the experience from doing so built with every passing moment. Then, she broke through to the next level. But the flow didn’t stop there. Indeed, she nearly reached another threshold before, at last, the harpies were finished.

“Alright. That’s a good warmup,” Elijah said. “You all ready for the main event?”

Breathing hard, Gwenivere asked, “Main event? There’s more?”

“Just one more. It won’t venture too far away from the spawn point. If you’re not up to it, I’ll take care of it myself,” he said. “You do need to see it, though. Piece of advice – don’t get close to the big flesh-hole. It’ll snatch you.”

“Flesh-hole?” asked one of the gnomes.

“You’ll see.”

With that, Elijah led them up the mountain. Gwenivere had grown up in the highlands, so she had some context for the terrain. She estimated its peak was close to five-thousand feet above sea level, which would have made it the tallest mountain in Scotland – but nothing compared to the highest peaks in the world. Either way, it took some time to reach the top, which was their destination.

There, they saw the “main event” Elijah had mentioned. It was a harpy, but far larger than any of the rest. In addition, its body was much more human than any of the others. He killed the thing in only a few seconds, lopping its head off with his brutal scythe.

Then, he showed them the flesh-hole.

The name was more accurate than Gwenivere could have expected, and Elijah explained that if they got too close, tendrils would drag them inside the Primal Realm.

“It’s not a fun experience,” he admitted. “And if you end up in that Primal Realm before you’re ready, just stay in the city. Don’t try to be a hero. We’ll eventually mount full expeditions inside, so someone will be there to rescue you, so long as you hang tight.”

The winding green scales encircling his wrist glinted in the sunlight as he ran his hand through his hair. “So, the plan is for you and the others posted here to cull the harpies. Once a day at first, but when you’ve established how much you can handle at once, you’ll be able to adjust the schedule,” he explained. “Don’t let it go more than three days, though. If you do, you’ll be overrun. Any questions?”

There were none.

“Good. Now, let’s head back to the outpost and see if we can lend a hand. This thing needs to get done in a hurry,” he said before wandering back down the mountain.

Everyone followed, and even if the day had been quite hectic and action-packed, it was clear that all any of them could think about was just how much they stood to progress. A never-ending source of enemies? It was like a dream come true for anyone who wanted to level.

Gwenivere’s eyes found the slain harpies, and she couldn’t help but contemplate just how closely related dreams and nightmares could sometimes be.