Wirbald’s off-tune singing made Joel jump.
It was in a strange, guttural language Joel couldn’t recognize. The harsh tones clashed with the melody. He wondered if that was how the song was sung or whether the haunting sound was its intention. They’d been hiking through the tunnel in heavy silence since they’d split up from the others, so the sudden song surprised him. He kept the thought of whether it was wise to be so loud to himself.
Joel still wondered if he made the right move, choosing to go along with Wirbald. Siv — god, or the Lady, bless his soul — had argued his damndest for otherwise. But it simply felt wrong to split up the trio for someone they’d met about a week ago. More importantly, Joel had been the one who pushed to trust the old wizard. It was only right that he’d be the one to pair up with him.
A flash erupted from Wirbald’s floating orb, illuminating the walls with a ripple of light, an alert to warn the others that all was still well. It took a moment to get used to but the flashbang of light was easier to endure than the horrendous singing.
Their hike through the caverns had confirmed one thing. Wirbald was right to have them split up. Each tunnel was a maze in itself. On top of that, doubling back after every discovered dead end doubled their time. They’d already broken off thrice to do individual searches through certain crevices. All of them were equally fruitless.
Joel rubbed his shoulders with his free hand, the other still holding the wrapped Seahorn sword. Thankfully, they’d allowed him to leave the heavy rucksack behind, though Siv was prudent enough to take the satchel of antitoxin with him.
Another flashbang briefly painted the rock walls in light.
“You don’t speak much,” Wirbald said with the same curious look he’d been casting Joel’s way the entire walk.
Joel shrugged back. “Just worried.”
“About?”
Joel chewed on the inside of cheek, uncertain whether he should voice his concerns. There had been one issue that had been tugging at him.
“Spit it out, boy,” Wirbald said without irritation and still humming hiw tune.
Fair enough.
“The miasma,” Joel started carefully. “You said it’s thickening and travelling to the surface? That it could spill into the prison and town?”
Wirbald nodded as he walked. “Something we cannot allow.”
“But will it stop there?”
The wiry mage tensed momentarily but didn’t stop marching. “I’ve considered that,” he said with a masking calmness. “The truth is that I do not know. Whether this haze will stop before reaching topside, halt at the surface, or whether it will continue to endlessly blanket everything. All of that hinges on how powerful the source is. ”
The words made Joel’s chest go tight as he thought about Gorum back at the lodge. Surely it wouldn’t travel that far?
With a wave of his hand, Wirbald sent the glowing orb further down the tunnel. It slowly hovered ahead, dispelling the darkness as it went. The cavernous pass felt endless; each step led to nowhere.
“So you aren’t a Freewalker?” he asked bluntly.
Joel shook his head. “I’m a porter.” No reason to lie about that.
“There’s very few porters with blade skills,” Wirbald replied. His eyes dropped to the bundle Joel was holding. The words made Joel instinctively pull the covered cutlass behind himself. It felt like a pointless gesture, as the shape had clearly given away what it was long ago.
“You’d be welcomed at the Rosnay guild,” the wizard continued, summoning back the floating orb. He fired another pulse, light echoing down the walls. “You have good instincts and a stomach for danger.”
Joel doubted that they would appreciate Wirbald’s recommendation, considering his bloody massacre in their lobby. However, that seemed incredibly unwise to mention.
“It’s my first time,” Joel said, uncomfortable with being the conversation’s focus. “Is the work usually this hazardous?”
“It can be. I’d be lying if I told you otherwise. That said, I would call our current predicament uncommon at the least.”
Joel winced at the polite admission of the present danger. “Do you really think we can find the source? There’s a lot of ground to cover.”
Wirbald sucked his teeth in before exhaling. “As I told you all before, I’ve been handicapped significantly. I’m not worried about suppressing the source so don’t fret about that. Whatever it is, I’ll crush it. But finding it?” The mage scratched his ruddy beard. “Let’s say I do wish I’d been allowed more than a single page of vellum.”
“Do you use it as a channeling focus?” Joel couldn’t withhold his curiosity.
The mage’s cracked glasses gleamed as he gave Joel a look. “You’re familiar with the arcane as well?” Wirbald shook his head, his tight ponytail swaying. “No. The pages are not a focus. My orb suffices in that regard. A wizard, such as myself, must regularly recite the equations upon invaluable vellum to cast their magics. It’s why I have been denied a proper spellbook. The baron is a paranoid man, even after I gave my word I’d return peacefully.”
Considering how he’d found the mage’s former companions, Joel found it hard to blame Baron Valgruv’s decision. However, the notion of a spellbook piqued his interest; it was something he didn’t recognize from the early access days.
“Can you read other people’s spellbooks and use their spells?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
Wirbald scoffed. “Well, it’s considered poor manners. But, if I had the time and capability to crack the mage’s cipher, I would gain access to their arcane calculations.” He slowed his pace so he was walking level to Joel now. “Assuming it was within my own skills to wield their magic, of course.” A mischievous smile wrinkled his face. “Not that it’s in question though.” If his words were false bravado, Wirbald was good at hiding it.
His hand shot out, gesturing Joel to halt. The ex-guildmaster’s brows narrowed and his eyes strained into the dark. With his other hand, he motioned the orb of light forward once more.
“Feel that?” he whispered.
Joel went quiet, trying to sense whatever Wirbald did. After a lengthy pause, he shook his head. Nothing.
Wirbald twirled a finger in the air. “Tremors. Keep your eyes peeled.”
The silence held as the orb continued down the dark until it became a glowing dot like a star in the night sky. From there, another pulsing light rippled off from it, momentarily allowing them to see down the lengthy underpass. Nothing.
With a tug of his hand, Wirbald pulled the orb back. It soared through the dark like a shooting star, slowing at two paces away.
“Perhaps our fortunes have turned and we’ve finally found the source?” he said with a bemused look. “Only one way to confirm it.” Taking the gleaming orb in hand, the mage continued forward.
No longer burdened by the press of the rucksack, Joel felt his wet tunic stick to him, his back slick with sweat. He badly wished he had some EXP left over. It might’ve allowed him to sense whatever Wirbald had.
The tunnel began to curve and widen, the walls perforated with tiny crevices. Each of them were expertly blocked off with smaller barriers, pockets of spotlights. The sheer display of arcane protection from Wirbald tempted Joel to try his own magic. His hand twitched. He hadn’t used his [Mana Hand] cantrip since his fight with Bhas. The boundless dark of the larger caves reminded him of the lunar elf’s midnight eyes — the empty sheen they took when he killed her. The memory made him shudder, even shake.
Until he realized that it was the ground shaking, not him.
Joel leapt back as the ground below him detonated, shrapnel of stone showering everywhere. His damp back ran straight into a stalagmite, knocking half of his breath out of him. Dust swept out, filling the cavern and blinding him. As thick as a morning mist, the cloud of dust didn’t hide the looming shadow.
Coated in bronze, the beetle that emerged was far bigger than he recalled, more akin in size to a rhino than a wolf. The metallic carapace — a rippling tide of slicing edges — scratched rock with a grating scrape. Its jutting horns reminded Joel of the triceratops he’d seen in school field trips to the museum. With a rasping chitter that chilled the bone, the beetle turned to Joel. The entire tunnel rumbled as it lurched in his direction.
He didn’t bother reaching for his sword. The monster was too big to parry so he sucked in air and readied a dive. The beetle broke through the dust, bearing down upon him with surprising speed. A high-pitched trill sounded from its maw, each mandible moving with a life of its own.
Joel threw his body to the side.
A shock of light blinded him, followed by a burst of stars as he felt something crash into the side of his skull.
[Damage taken. HP: 89%]
A barrier of light stood as the source of the concussive pain. The wall shimmered as the beetle slammed it, trying to trample him. It smashed over and over, until small cracks in the barrier began to form. Three muffled bangs went off like fireworks being shot outside your window during a holiday. The Bronzeback beetle convulsed as it turned, shaking the earth.
Past the opaque barrier and the fearsome insect, Wirbald held the glass orb in hands, shaped into an ethereal crossbow. Casually fired at the hip, another trio of arcane bolts fired out. The shots flew in an impossibly erratic manner, swerving in every direction like a dragonfly, before exploding upon the beetle’s metal carapace.
Letting out a furious chitter once more, it rushed the former guildmaster. Another three shots from his crossbow chipped the sharp edges of the beetle. Splintered bits of the bronze stuck into the nearby walls.
The crossbow of light faded back into his orb. Pushing his hand forward, Wirbald pulsed another sheet of solid light at the stampeding beetle. The barrier shimmered as the horned beetle collided into it. Reverberations rippled out against the cavern walls, quaking everything so violently that Joel worried if there’d be a cave-in.
Jaw going tight, Wirbald pressed his hands together towards his floating orb. Both barriers, behind and ahead, pancaked the beetle with a terrifying crunch. The gaunt mage balled his fingers around the orb, as if packing together an invisible snowball. The luminous walls collapsed into a sphere, compacting further and further. No bigger than a beach ball in size, larger chunks of the Bronzeback beetle shattered like glass.
With a gasp, he unclenched his hands. The orb flashed another pulse and released the dead remains of the beetle. A clear slime spilled out alongside the crumpled bits of bugs; a pungent smell like vinegar filled the air.
Taking off his dust-caked glasses, Wirbald wiped them with his sleeve. He blinked at Joel.
“Are you unhurt?” he called out, putting the cleaned spectacles back on.
“I’m good.” Joel replied, getting to his feet. The surprise of the insect’s ambush and Wirbald’s immediate disposal of the danger felt like whiplash. “Thanks for the save.”
No EXP notification appeared, for shared experience or otherwise. He couldn’t complain; he hadn’t done anything. The beetle hadn’t even struck him as he realized he’d run into Wirbald’s protective barrier.
Past the circular corpse of the beetle, a faint rumbling from its excavated path, caved in on itself. Wirbald made a face at the brittle, yet gooey remains as he approached. “Fortune favors us.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “No gas seeping in, no need for further seals.”
Joel couldn’t stop staring at the lump of chitin. It was an eerie reminder of the smushed Freewalkers, twisted into similar balls. He gave a shudder and his thankfulness cooled. Catching Wirbald staring at him, he gave the compressed mass of beetle a small kick.
“They’re a lot bigger than I thought they’d be,” Joel said. The words trailed into memories of late night dungeon runs. The beetle queen was as massive as an elephant back then, when these soldier beetles were dog-sized. “Are you going to be able to do something similar to the hive’s queen?” The echo of the cavern made his voice sound more worried.
Wirbald looked puzzled. “A queen? Beetles don’t have queens or hives. If I remember my old readings, they are actually cannibalistic at times.”
“Oh.” Joel blinked back. It was his turn to wipe sweat from his eyes. More surprises from the game, more differences.
Was that true? He wasn’t some bug scientist back home so there wasn’t any way to know. Did that mean there was no dungeon boss?
Only one way to find out.
He took a deep breath of the stale air as he followed Wirbald. His wiry savior marched with renewed purpose, pivoting straight towards one of the many tunnels. Another pulse fired off, a friendly alert to the others that they were safe. The tunnel he chose was wide, but the ceiling hung low. It forced both of them to crouch and hobbled them to half their speed. Several orb pulses later and his strained thighs felt like they were on fire.
Joel was gulping at the stagnant air. Even Wirbald’s jovial pace was beginning to suffer. Just as he thought to question the mage, a heavy odour struck him. It was vile enough to make his face twist. The same sour smell of vinegar spilled from ahead. With each step, the reek became oppressive enough to make one regret breathing through your nose.
It took a dozen light flashes for the low tunnel to finally open up. Like the patio to a highrise, a small bluff hung off the walls, looking into the dark. Wirbald’s glowing orb hovered out and over the ledge, though it provided little vision.
The room was vast.
Even without being able to properly see, Joel heard how every step echoed distantly. He tried to peek over the bluff’s edge, but the uncertain depth of the cliff churned his stomach.
Wirbald snapped his fingers and another burst of light erupted from his channeling focus. Luminance briefly painted the dark. The cavernous room was so enormous that the rippling light could be tracked as it crawled across the walls.
A gasp escaped Joel as his eyes followed the wave of light to the deep pit below.
Countless beetle corpses formed into a haphazard hill, jutting mandibles and jointed legs poking out. Cratered at its apex, a bloated Bronzeback beetle — the size of a whale — laid stripped of its metal carapace and rotting.
