Northeastern Periphery, Uilkmo Forest, Southern Province, The Empire of Stone

"Finally out of the forest," I stretch my arms, then twist my spine this way and that to work out a few kinks, "Thankfully we didn't run into any aggressive monsters other than that Greenleaf Ieurso. We're making remarkably good time, all things considered."

"I won't object to a change of scenery," Horizon concurs, peering into the distance with her hand shielding her eyes from the light above, "That'd be Olton Mountain, I take it?"

"Correct," I nod, taking a chunk out of a strip of jerky, "One of the smaller mountains on Firmament, but it's still big enough to see from miles out like this. Don't ask me how tall it is, because I don't know for certain."

To get to the Mountain's base, though, we have to take the West Floeroad. Nestled amongst series of gorges and ravines that snake out like cracks in a window from the enormous stone landmark. Cut by the melting snows of the mountain and a several large springs forming into streams, rivers and lakes of varying sizes, the surface layer is almost entirely flooded with turbulent waters, making trying to cross by foot or boat suicide. Instead, within the cracked landscape is a few paths carved into the ravine walls, as the water flows harmlessly by. For the most part anyway.

It's not the safest of pathways. The near-freezing water has a tendency to carry hunks of ice and leave a layer of it on the road as the spray settles and freezes overnight in winter, and even out of season, it's still slick with moisture, so without good boots and careful tread you can go for a nasty spill.

Coupled with that, monsters sometimes nest in the dry spaces and caves along the road. Usually some sort of bird or amphibian that got lucky after getting caught in the current and swept over the edge. Level-wise, they might run the gamut anywhere from a measly five for, just as an example, Floe Waddlers, to thirty for things like Floe Serpents.

A caravan should have preceded us by a few days, so it's even odds as to whether we'll run into anything after they passed through, I'd say.

As for the final thing...Well, let's get Horizon up to speed on the initial points first.

"...So to reiterate, stick close to the wall wherever possible, be wary of any openings and avoid moving too quickly, particularly on slopes," I conclude.

"Mhm. I've gone gorge walking at Nantes before, you know?" she looks at me, mildly annoyed, "I know what I'm doing."

"As you say," I sigh, "The last thing to be aware of is that because of the kind of place we're going to, every now and again some idiot looking to prove themselves from Ghoath - and trust me, it's almost always some third or fourth son spare from Ghoath - blocking the road, demanding duels from people on pilgrimage to the shrine like they're trying to re-enact the fabled confrontation between Robin of Loxley and Little John. It's not as bad on the West Floeroad as it is on the East Floeroad which goes over the Ghoathan border, but it still happens."

"Sounds stupid, but what about it?"

"Let me handle things alone," I request, "I might not be able to talk them down, but - and I mean no offence - I'm definitely the better duellist between us if it comes down to a fight."

"None taken," she shrugs, apathetic, "I'm a sniper, not the Count of Monte Cristo. You wanna 1v1 some rando, knock yourself out. I'm happy to just watch - it'll be good material for my project. On that note, make it a good show for me."

"Of course. Anyway, there shouldn't be any need to worry, but I'll call it out if I think they're going to take it too far," I add, "If at all possible, I'd prefer to avoid murdering them by humouring them, since it's not terrible practice for me. I expect that they'll be around Level 26 at most, if that; It's considered very bad form for people on the Challenger's Pilgrimage, so the people who do it are typically ineffectual sore losers who got kicked out of the shrine for one reason or another, looking to vent their frustrations on passers-by."

"Uh-huh," Horizon's interest in this line of conversation has noticeably dipped, "That everything?"

"Everything worth mentioning, I think," I consider it as we walk, "We can deal with anything else as it comes up. Oh, right - It'll be noisy, thanks to the waterfalls and echo, so consider yourself warned. Panoplasts with sensitive hearing tend to have a rough go of it on the Floeroad, I've heard."

"Makes sense," she grimaces, "I'll manage, I hope. Enhanced senses sound fantastic on paper, but in practice, it's just painful and unpleasant, I feel."

"I can empathise," I laugh darkly, any number of experiences vie for position at the forefront of my mind, "How are you enjoying the journey so far if you don't mind me asking?"

My capacity for small-talk is limited, but I still feel the need to put in the effort, both to try and improve my lacking social skills, and to enhance her sense of belonging to Truthseekers. Mostly the former, since even if Horizon does decide to leave, I'll be content to have a connection to her. Perhaps that's a little too pragmatic a view, but I can hardly change my ways at the snap of a finger.

I have my priorities to consider, after all, and so does she. As it was at the start, the foundation of our relationship is that of mutual cooperation and benefit. Horizon has already made her stance clear on that, and any efforts to change her mind are best done over a longer period of time by those she already has a vested interest in listening to, like her boyfriend.

Again, perhaps a little too pragmatic, and I can't help but recall the resolution I made concerning Henna. That my personality is flawed when it comes to my treatment of other people is something I'm uncomfortably familiar with of late. Unfortunately, I feel self-awareness on the subject only exacerbates it. Knowing there's a problem is not the same as knowing how to solve it, and it goes hand in hand with the need to be pragmatic. Not as a psychological compulsion, but for the sake of my position and goal.

"All in all, it's not been terrible," Horizon eventually speaks up, "I admit, I was expecting some rather more fantastical scenery from a fantasy RPG, but so far it's been almost indistinguishable from Earth, which I can't tell if is a good thing or not. If I had to point out one major criticism, aside from the obvious, it's how empty it feels compared to how much distance we have to cross."

"I know what you mean, but that's mainly a characteristic of the Southern Province," I hedge, "It's mostly forests, damp plains and hills. The further out you go, east and west, the more variety there is, though 'damp and rocky' is a fairly baseline feature of the continent's terrain. Moreover, the kind of people who settle down in the south are people who were born here to begin with or looking to get as far away from the capital and the warfronts as possible without leaving the Empire's borders, or else merchants travelling across the eastern borders into the Kingdoms of Ghoath, Scrollwork and so on. There's little of interest in terms of resources and landmarks, so there's little in the way of development as a direct consequence."

"And you want to take over that development?" she frowns, "Isn't that a little like trying to build an Ice Sculpture Factory in the middle of the Sahara?"

"I'm looking for long-term improvements," I shrug, "Admittedly, starting from scratch in Meteo is difficult, but it's not as though I don't have plans. If I had to say, my biggest wish is to open a port to the south of Meteo."

"Really, now?" Horizon's ears perk up, "What for?"

"Too many reasons to list off, just from the top of my head," I sigh, taking a swig of water, "Even if long-distance journeys are dangerous and, frankly, beyond our means for a long time to come, there's still benefits to be had from sticking close to Firmament's southern shoreline, as there isn't a port there at present. We can catch a lot of maritime trade, and it's faster than walking to the eastern end of the continent."

The creation of Brightstar Port is what allowed Amazing to take such a strong stand in the Southern Province during the intermediate years. Not because they built it themselves, utilising their vast stores of money in their tax havens. No, they launched a long-term campaign to bribe, kill and politically ruin any obstacle to what they wanted, coming to a head when they engaged in a war with the then-occupants of the Isle of Destitute Hearts just off the coast, Magic Might, who had a vested interest in keeping the port free of the incredibly restrictive tariffs and regulations that followed their inevitable defeat.

Everyone knew what they were doing, but in the age of CIGs, few had the means to stand against them, without being cut off from vital facilities and resources, effectively made persona non grata until they bent the knee or disappeared for real. Turning to Infamy as an alternative progression path was meaningless, since if anything it was far worse on that side, since the CIG reps didn't have to pretend for the sake of public opinion, assuming they admitted their affiliations at all.

"Well, if you pull it off, save me a seat on the maiden voyage of the first ship," Horizon smiles, "That is, if I haven't already found some other means of crossing the ocean by then."

"Stick around and you can help the process along," I smirk, "First things first though, is to stabilise the Guild's foundations and refurbish our Headquarters. Then it's the long road to 2-Star status, which will let us build the 1-Star Outpost that will eventually become that port. Which means a lot of dungeons to get that far. We'll be counting on you to find them."

"Hah, no pressure," she snorts, "And no promises I'll find much of anything."

"Fret not, I have a feeling you'll have a rather exciting time of it," I chuckle knowingly.

---

 

West Floeroad, Olton Floodlands, Southern Province, The Empire of Stone

Almost as far as the eye can see, is a vast open plain completely overtaken by rushing water. It wouldn't be incorrect to call it a lake or, more accurately, a lagoon, but it's not quite the same. After all, we're quite far inland. Bizarre as it is, the general explanation comes down to a clash between the existence of the mountain and it's snowy peaks, with the near-constant rainfall, gushing springs and, the clincher, elementally aspected ambient mana.

Olton's ambient mana has a higher than average leaning towards Elemental Water and Elemental Ice, feeding the seemingly inexhaustible springs and the constant formation of snow and ice atop Olton Mountain's lower reaches, where the temperature and climate would ordinarily not support it. Thankfully, it all drains far, far below ground through the sprawling cracks, headed to parts unknown.

It does make for an impressive sight, however, and stood atop a large rock near the West Floeroad's entrance, Horizon is enraptured. And has been for what must be about ten to fifteen minutes now. I daresay I can't blame her, but I've indulged her enough, and it's time to move on. I want to get to the halfway point rest stop before we log off.

"Hey, Horizon," I clear my throat, standing up, "Come on, that's enough of a break for now."

Snapping out of her reveries, she looks reluctant to move from the spot, chewing her bottom lip, ears flattened against her head, "I wish I could take a photo of this view."

"There's tools for that, magical and not," I console her, "If you keep an eye out while you're travelling you might find something that suits your interests."

Horizon nods, resolving herself, "I'll keep it in mind. Do you think we'll arrive today?"

"Afraid not," I shake my head, giving her a hand down, "It's pretty slow going from here, but there's a few caves here and there we can use to rest and log off, assuming that they aren't occupied by other travelers or monsters. We're aiming for one of the larger, more popular ones that's overseen by the shrine itself."

"Ah, like an inn?"

"Something like that. More like a well-maintained camping ground, I'd say," I huff, the chill of the air condensing my breath into mist as we descend down the steadily sloping path, well-worn by time and merchant's carriages. The rush and crashing of water in the distance echoes dully from the chasm ahead. It all feels familiar, and comforting despite the chill.

---

 

The Floeroad is, approximately speaking, about 18 metres across, with headroom of about 12 metres. Enough to accommodate most caravans and peoples in either direction. Along the right side is a thick sheet of falling water, kicking up spume whenever it meets a jutting rock that trickles across the dark grey stone floors, nestling amongst the cracks and divots where it will soon turn to ice once the sun sets. Along the left side, the stone wall is carved with simple decorative designs and some graffiti every once in a while. Nothing too vulgar, but the weathering of the carvings lend a sense of enduring age to the Floeroad, evidencing every traveller and Challenger that came before. Hardly profound enough to lead to the creation of a Reminiscence, though I wouldn't be surprised to see it become an Ancient Battlefield in the next Astral Era.

The noise, as expected, is almost deafening at times. Horizon has spent much of the journey through here with her hands covering her ears because of it, eventually deciding to wrap her blanket around her head like a cocoon. She looks quite ridiculous, but I'm not one to pass judgment on practical endeavours. If it gives her some measure of reprieve, I can restrain the urge to laugh at her misfortune.

Besides, I'm going to have this ringing in my ears, especially my right ear, for hours after we leave here - and when I log back in tomorrow, I'll be treated to the splitting headache my Vessel will have been accumulating. Unpleasant to consider, but I can muddle through, if nothing else than to build up my Vessel's resistance to noise. Saying that there's still a danger of me just going deaf in one ear instead.

I really do have a lot of training to do if I'm to even touch the hairs on the back of my old Vessel's legs.

While I ponder the more efficient raising plan I've been cooking up, a tap on my shoulder rouses me to attention. Turning around, Horizon points off in the distance at a faint silhouette. Humanoid, with a spear from the looks of it, and stood rather provocatively in the middle of the Floeroad, idly spinning their weapon one-handed.

Looks as though my premonition was correct, and a Challenger has appeared. With an ambivalent frown, I shut my eyes, massage my stressed forehead and exhale. Might as well think positively about this, and hope that they're at least somewhat competent with that weapon.

It takes another five minutes or so, descending a little further down then back up again, before we get a better look at them, though by then they've already noticed our approach. Casting an appraising eye across them, I evaluate their posture, equipment, and gaze. I'm not going to bullshit and tell you everything there is to know about this man, because I lack that kind of perception and conceit. Instead, I can judge based on what I've experienced before, and come to the conclusion that this man appears to be.... incredibly weak.

Higher Level than me judging by the quality of his equipment - the Ghoathan Lanceguard Apprentice set - certainly, but everything about him otherwise just screams 'half-assed'. His equipment has barely any signs of maintenance, his posture is sloppy, face cocky and his overall demeanour unimpressive.

"Hold, traveller!" he declares, brandishing his spear one-handed dramatically, a sly grin playing across his lips, "I see you are a man of the sword. In the name of Numh, the Challenger, if you would continue further, I demand defeat in combat as the price. Should you fail to satisfy this honourable self, I shall take thy sword in recompense, for you would be unworthy of it."

My eyes narrow, staring more intensely. This man, he has a, for the sake of convenience let's term it a Grade 1 AI. So, akin to a regular Mentor NPC. Henna would be a Grade 2, by that logic, and both Arevas and Lady Jannis Grade 3. The Dragon Knight as well, most likely.

I find it curious that he has that, as my eyes turn to the Quest pop-up.

 

 

I sigh. If he has a Grade 1 intellect, it might be possible to negotiate. Seeing the Title reward, however, I decide it wouldn't necessarily hurt to teach this fool a lesson in manners. Not that I expect it to be amazingly valuable, but it's plainly obvious to me that it's the kind of Title that has the ability to grow further, like the Title I received for breaking the Siege on Meteo. Depending on the effects, I may take the time to nurture it, assuming I understand what the upgrade conditions will be.

"Very well," I rub my neck, quickly limber up, and prepare my sword in the long-practised stance of the Stalwart Duellist Style, "To first blood, then."

The Challenger sneers, "Not willing to stake your life? Pfah, so be it. To first blood."

He lazily draws his feet apart and takes his spear into both hands, pointing it listlessly at me.

"The first move is yours," I offer, feigning condescending arrogance. I pour every ounce of contempt for the pitiful spearman in front of me into my being and intonation.

Almost too quick to track with my eyes alone, his posture tightens to perfection, and the Challenger rushes me in with the Lancer's Lance Charge skill. Victory is in his grasp, for a mere moment. My blade sweeps vertically, meeting considerable resistance even with the last second addition of Brutal Strike, but it succeeds in knocking the spear's trajectory off course as I move to the side, neatly avoiding the sneak attack.

Surprised, he stops on a dime and side-jumps to put some distance between us with one foot, his face suddenly completely serious. After a moment he smirks, "Ah. Well played, serte. What gave me away?"

"Everything," I grunt, resettling my stance, "I know better than to believe such obvious bait. Perhaps it might be possible for someone so inept to attempt this, but I am also quite familiar with the existence of folks like you. You might be an uncommon existence, but not a complete unknown."

There are two types of people that demand duels from suspected Challengers outside of the traditional venues. Feckless nobodies, as I've already spoken of at length to Horizon, and then the second kind: Sadistic tricksters exploiting the stereotype of the former, known colloquially as 'Vipers-of-the-road'. They take the stance that one should always be wary and ready to fight to the death, and inflict their world-view on passersby for their own amusement. Oftentimes, they're little different from highwaymen, dressing up their criminality with pretentious, shallow philosophising.

Rarely, it'll be a genuine master imparting some impromptu wisdom on a whim. But this man is almost certainly in the bandit category.

"Well," he calms down, tension coiling in his shoulders rather than stiffening, "Not that it matters. Here I come!"