"Is there…a staircase? Some means of ascent?" I asked, my naiveté perhaps showing.
A hint of amusement flickered in Sylvana's eyes, quickly masked.
"There are no literal floors, Alstair. Each realm within the Abandoned Tower is guarded by a key figure possessing a unique key. This key doesn't grant access to just one or two floors; it catapults one hundreds of levels higher. In this realm, that key resides with me." She gestured to her chest.
My brow furrowed at her revelation.
"The key is with you? Then why haven't you used it to escape, to save your clan? It allows upward mobility, doesn't it? Your clan's survival depends on it!" I exclaimed, my voice edged with frustration.
Sylvana shook her head, her explanation precise and devoid of sentimentality.
"The key can transport a maximum of three individuals to a higher floor, not hundreds. To use it now would leave my clan vulnerable to annihilation by Vorgruth's forces here on the 44th floor."
I finally grasped Sylvana's difficult situation: her imprisonment on the 44th floor of the Abandoned Tower stemmed directly from the relentless Vorgruth onslaught against her clan.
Deprived of a powerful sorcerer to repel the invaders and safeguard their realm, her options had diminished.
A grim realization dawned on me: "So, it all comes down to vanquishing the Vorgruth first. No wonder you calling me out—I possess the crucial key you desperately need," I muttered.
Sylvina's affirmation was resolute: "Indeed, Alstair. The safety of my clan really depend on your victory over the Vorgruth."
While I admired her unwavering dedication and courageous efforts to protect her people, a profound sense of her naivete settled upon me.
Her plan, though born of desperation, felt tragically insufficient.
"For months, the Vorgruth have besieged us, forcing our retreat to this sanctuary," Sylvina declared, activating a magical display that projected a horrifying scene: thousands of Vorgruth orcs encircling the remaining temple, their numbers a menacing tide.
"We've built a protective barrier, but day after day, their relentless assaults chip away at its strength, inch by agonizing inch." Her voice trembled, the weight of her worry palpable.
The projection revealed a brutal spectacle: hulking, green-skinned orcs with crimson eyes blazing, their savage snarls echoing the relentless thud of axes and maces against the invisible shield.
Their ferocity was visible, the relentless assault painting a stark picture of the Lythandor clan's unending despair.
"Like all orcs, the Vorgruth rely on sheer physical dominance," Sylvina explained, her tone laced with grim determination. "Our magical barrier has held, but we underestimated their relentless tenacity."
I observed the monstrous horde, my future enemies, the very obstacles barring my ascent to the upper floors.
A system notification confirmed what my instincts already told me: I was obligated to intervene.
Sylvina's voice, edged with desperation, cut through my contemplation: "What is your assessment, Alstair? In this dire situation, I cannot tolerate pessimism or doubt."
I saw the fear reflected in her eyes, mirroring the anxieties plaguing her fellow elves.
Their hatred was irrelevant; my focus remained fixed on the task at hand.
The system's mandate reinforced my resolve.
> Quest Activated: Defeat Vorgruth Clan!
"I need to witness the magical barrier firsthand," I declared emphatically.
Sylvana hesitated, then rose from her throne.
"What is your objective?" she asked, her voice sharp.
"To fulfill your clan's desperate request," I replied nonchalantly. "What else would I be doing?" Sylvana regarded me with intense scrutiny.
After a protracted silence, she led me from the throne room, guiding me through the temple's imposing corridors to its exit.
Sunlight, blindingly bright after the temple's dimness, assaulted my senses as I emerged.
Yet, even amidst the radiant blue sky, the dissonance of war was palpable.
The guttural roars, the ferocious clang of orcish axes and maces, painted a grim soundscape.
Though the sky appeared clear, I perceived the magical barrier—a colossal, shimmering dome encasing the Lythandor temple and its environs.
In the distance, I saw the horrifying aftermath: buildings reduced to rubble, choked with dust, blood, and the lifeless forms of fallen elves—grim testaments to the Vorgruth's brutal conquest.
Sylvana and her surviving clansmen trembled visibly, their fear visible against the backdrop of the orcish onslaught.
Even Faelar, the knight whose imposing stature seemed to defy the pervasive dread, swallowed hard, his gaze fixed upon the approaching menace.
From our elevated vantage point, I observed hundreds of Vorgruth orcs massing around the temple, their silhouettes stark against the barrier's shimmering edge.
I've faced orcs before; their relentless ferocity is infamous.
Their savage aggression, while terrifying, held a strange, unsettling fascination—a captivating horror I couldn't entirely dismiss.
Was this a divine summons, a challenge to my tenacity?
Turning to Sylvana, I posed the question hanging heavy in the air.
"The barrier's power… I sense its weakening. How much time remains before its collapse?"
The question, fraught with unspoken desperation, hung heavy in the air.
Every elf present understood the chilling implication.
After a long, agonizing pause, Sylvana's voice, barely a whisper, betrayed her fear. "Two days, at best. Perhaps only one," she confessed, her body wracked with silent sobs.
Faelar and the other elves stood petrified, their silence as deafening as the orcish clamor.
Their desperation, their faith in a miracle, their astonishment and dissapointment at my arrival—all were written on their faces.
My presence, it seemed, was the answer to their desperate prayers.
Despite the inherent peril, the System had designated this a mandatory task.
I advanced toward the shimmering, magical barrier.
Sylvana's gasp cut through the air.
"Alstair, halt! What madness is this?"
"Join me," I urged, sidestepping her question.
My request was met with immediate compliance; Sylvana, followed by Faelar and a throng of apprehensive elves, trailed in my wake.
With each step closer to the Vorgruth Orcish encampment, their savage roars intensified, a brutal symphony assaulting my senses.
Ten feet from the barrier, their frenzy escalated.
Axes, hammers, and maces rained against the magical shield, a terrifying percussion of violence.
Lythandor's clan recoiled, their faces ashen, bodies trembling with stark terror.
Even Sylvana, their most powerful sorceress, paled, primal fear eclipsing her usual composure.
The odds were insurmountable, yet my resolve hardened; the plan's success hinged on this perilous act.
"Sylvana, open the magical barrier," I commanded, my voice unwavering.
A collective gasp rippled through the elves.
Their fear mingled with outrage, erupting in a cacophony of protest.
"Insanity!" one shrieked.
"This man will be our undoing! He's Zeta's cursed pawn!"
Sylvana remained silent, her gaze fixed on me, a tempest brewing in her eyes.
I ignored the escalating accusations, awaiting her response.
Faelar, his sword drawn, pointed accusingly.
"Forgive me, my lady, but this man's treachery is blatant! He seeks our annihilation! He's colluded with the Vorgruth!"
My silence remained unbroken, a deliberate counterpoint to the rising chaos.
Finally, Sylvana's voice, laced with dread, broke the tension.
"To open that barrier, even momentarily, would unleash utter devastation, Alstair. Our destruction is inevitable!"
While I paused my reply and steeling myself, I retrieved my Dragon's Scepter from the System's inventory.
A surge of potent mana pulsed through me as I prepared to confront the oncoming Orcish horde.
Looking at the magical barrier that currently shielded us, rendering my spells useless—worse, jeopardizing the entire clan.
"Open it," I urged Sylvana, "and let me handle these orcs."
Her apprehension was palpable.
"Don't you grasp the peril, Alstair? Even a momentary breach would unleash a devastating orcish onslaught.
You'll lack the time to even begin your...ambitious incantation!"
"My timing is precise," I countered, activating Magical Magnification to triple my next spell's potency.
"I'll signal you when I already prepared, trust me." I said while fully prepared for casting Frost Bite, a devastating wide-area spell.
Faelar's dissent echoed through the air. "My lady, his plan is suicidal! He'll doom us all!"
The chorus of disapproval swelled; a hateful tide of accusations washed over me.
"That reckless human! Expel him! Let him face his folly alone!"
Sylvana remained silent, her brow furrowed in agonizing deliberation.
Our gazes locked; a silent plea for trust hung in the air.
I dared not press her further.
Then, with a heavy sigh, she turned towards the temple.
"We retreat," she declared.
Faelar's delight was immediate, a smug triumph ringing in his voice.
The elves, relieved, echoed their leader, their curses aimed at me a venomous farewell.
Alone, I stood before the shimmering barrier, a fragile veil against a hundred Vorgruth orcs.
Frost Bite was prepared; Divine Thunder, enabled by my sorcerous enhancements, waited.
Yet, Sylvana's hesitation gnawed at me.
Doubt, a chilling serpent, coiled around my heart.
Had I failed to convince her?
Would her trust falter, rendering my plan will not be implemented?