The forest had barely settled from the first wave's carnage when the next trial loomed on the horizon. The air was tense with anticipation, the quiet hum of preparation a stark contrast to the earlier chaos.
While Moyo praised the bravery and ingenuity of Josh, the young man who had slain the alpha dire rat, not everyone agreed with his decision to elevate him to commander. Martha, ever the tactician, had immediately tempered Josh's ego with sharp rebukes about recklessness. Moyo watched in mild amusement as Josh, now sporting a slight blush, sheepishly received her words. Meanwhile, the rest of the mages celebrated their small victories, their collective levels creeping upward into the low teens, though still far from true strength.
Josh, however, had surged ahead, reaching the peak of fledgling rank after his pivotal role in the battle. Despite being an aura user, Moyo placed him in charge of the intent users—a decision that visibly relieved Annika, who openly disliked the burden of leadership. Interestingly, the two fledgling lightning users in the settlement continued to gravitate toward her, drawn by her quiet intensity.
Moyo himself felt a restless longing for battle. The first wave had been beneath his power, offering no challenge. Yet he knew the importance of allowing the ascenders of Bastion to claim their own victories, to grow stronger and rise to the system's challenges. For the first time, he empathized with Ajax. Was this what it felt like? A quiet frustration, knowing you could crush the enemy with ease but holding back so others could find their own path?
The mages retreated behind the walls, refilling their cores with the abundant lesser aether shards now available. Ayo's eager energy stood out, her fiery determination lighting up the group. Moyo, however, had decided to test Josh's mettle fully during the second wave.
The system's announcement rang out, setting Bastion on edge:
[Congratulations, you have defeated the first wave! Prepare for the second wave.]
While the settlement buzzed with nerves, Moyo remained calm, idly scrolling through Bastion's interface with Aje. Buildings had sprung to life during the lull, their forms rising steadily as the settlement expanded. Boyle's smithy was now operational, the forge burning brightly as the smith struggled to adapt to his new role. It was here Bastion encountered its first real roadblock.
"To forge weapons of imbued rank or higher," Aje explained, "the world must first ascend from tier 1 mundane to tier 2 nascent. Only then can Smith Boyle purchase the required forging skill from the Forge Covenant faction and undertake the Trial of Fire to become a novice smith."
"The Forge Covenant?" Boyle asked, irritation coloring his tone. He held a crude, misshapen blade in his hand—a failed attempt at improvement.
"Yes," Aje replied cheerily. "The Forge Covenant is an ancient and proud faction overseeing all smiths and the forging arts across the Archailect's domains. Much like the Golden Syndicate manages trade, the Forge Covenant ensures the growth and protection of smiths. They are an independent faction."
"Fantastic," Boyle muttered sarcastically. "And how do I contact them? Do I just knock on their door?"
Aje tilted her head slightly, her golden eyes glowing faintly. "I regret to inform you that direct contact is prohibited until the wave trials are completed. However, you may send a letter of notice, stating your intent to undertake the Trial of Fire. Be warned, success is not guaranteed. Failure may mean you retake the trial after a month, or—"
"Or?" Martha pressed.
"Or you die," Aje said bluntly. "Statistically, seven out of ten applicants fail, and one or two perish during the trial."
"Great," Boyle grumbled, tossing the broken blade aside.
"Boyle," Moyo called, stepping out of the smithy. Boyle followed, his large frame dwarfed by Moyo's towering presence as the two stared at the countdown to the next wave.
"What path did you take?" Moyo asked after a moment.
"Mana," Boyle replied gruffly. "Metal affinity, to be precise. I didn't choose it; the system just assigned it to me."
Moyo nodded, letting the man's story unfold.
"I need this, you know," Boyle began, his voice breaking slightly. "Before the system... I made things. My son—he... he wanted me to make him a weapon once. One of those massive swords you see in cartoons. Damn thing was too big for him to lift, but it made him happy. For the first time, he had a spark, something to look forward to. And then the system came. I survived. He didn't."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Moyo placed both hands on Boyle's shoulders, meeting his tear-filled eyes. "Boyle, as Bastion's smith, you'll honor his memory. Take the trial. You won't face it alone. We'll send a message with the weapons you forge—a message to the system that humanity will not break."
Boyle smiled faintly, wiping his eyes. "And this thing we've started? You think it'll last?"
"It will," Moyo replied confidently. "It has to."
Back in the smithy, Martha handed Boyle a glowing scroll.
"Your letter of intent for the Trial of Fire," she said with a smile.
"How did you know I'd agree?" Boyle asked skeptically.
"Have you met the Titan?" she replied, earning chuckles from those gathered.
Moyo pressed his thumb to the letter, feeling a faint tug on his aether as the scroll absorbed his mark. It vanished moments later, delivered to the Forge Covenant. Aje's voice chimed in:
"Letter delivered. We await their response."
The room clapped in quiet anticipation, but the celebration was brief. A fresh notification lit up on their Huds.
[The second wave approaches.]
Moyo stepped outside, the timer nearing zero. He activated Void Step, landing at the edge of Bastion's defenses. The forest was quiet, the anticipation hanging thick in the air.
Behind him, the defenders gathered, their ranks more organized and resolute than before. Josh stood at the head of the intent users, his massive blade resting on his shoulder, determination burning in his eyes. Ayo and the mages stood ready, their cores replenished. Annika twirled her spear, storm clouds gathering above her as lightning danced across its length.
The timer hit zero.
From the forest, the howling of the second wave monsters tore through the air, their fiery forms lighting up the faintly lit night The second wave had begun.
From the forest emerged fiery shapes, bounding toward the walls of Bastion. The hounds, as the system designated them, were molten creatures, their bodies radiating intense heat and the ability to ignite anything they touched. Outside the walls, a dozen intent users stood firm, led by Josh, his massive bastard blade resting on his shoulder. Moyo stood atop the walls, silently observing the onslaught about to unfold.
Thanks to Martha's foresight, the defenders were equipped with semi-crude shields purchased through the system. These makeshift defenses gleamed faintly against the fiery onslaught, offering a thin veneer of protection. Except for Josh. The young aura user stood still, undaunted as the fiery tide bore down on him, the chaotic blaze reflected in his determined gaze. Moyo couldn't help but feel a pang of admiration.
Then, Josh moved.
A blur of speed and strength, he launched forward in an eruption of soil and stone, bypassing the hounds entirely to charge straight at the massive beast towering above the trees. This creature, a named entity the system identified as Ashfang the Eternal, glared at Josh with its fiery skull, molten cracks glowing across its massive frame. It was a level 20 beast—dangerous, but far from insurmountable.
For a moment, Moyo's concern flickered. He'd faced a named creature before—the Wyrm in the tier 2 dungeon—and knew such beasts were leagues above the ordinary. But as Ashfang unleashed a torrent of fire at Josh, the young man darted out of the way, his massive blade slamming into the beast's hide. The strike cracked its fiery armor, sending sparks flying. Moyo relaxed slightly. Josh could hold his own.
The battlefield was a storm of heat and fury. Josh's brute strength cleaved through the chaos with deliberate, heavy blows, while the intent users under his command danced through the fray, relying on precision and agility. Despite their speed, their strikes lacked the sheer force to penetrate the hounds' tough hides, leaving them struggling against the relentless wave.
Moyo moved through the chaos like a ghost, stepping in to save those on the brink of death, ensuring they witnessed the consequences of their near-failure before being whisked to safety. Within the stronghold, the gates opened to admit the injured, though none of the fiery beasts dared breach the perimeter—Moyo's presence alone keeping them at bay.
On the walls, Annika and Ayo maintained their vigilance. Annika's lightning bolts and Ayo's fireballs rained down on any creature foolish enough to scale the walls, driving them back with ruthless efficiency.
Despite the carnage, Moyo's attention remained on Josh. The young man's attacks were calculated, his movements deliberate. Even when he refrained from using a powerful aura-infused strike that could've ended the battle swiftly, it wasn't hesitation—it was intent.
"Ah, I see," Moyo muttered to himself, watching as Josh deliberately allowed the fight to stretch longer.
"He's honing his skills!" Moyo shouted toward the walls, earning puzzled glances from the others. He chuckled, shaking his head in quiet amusement.
A thought struck him, and he turned to the defenders atop the walls.
"Anyone have a big hammer?" he asked casually.
A few moments later, a warhammer was handed to him. Moyo leaped from the walls, landing lightly amidst the chaos below. Walking through the battlefield with deliberate calm, he approached Josh and Ashfang.
The massive hound unleashed a fiery blast at him, flames washing over his body harmlessly. Both Josh and the beast froze, stunned by the absurdity of the situation. Moyo stood there, unbothered, the fire barely singeing his clothes.
"Here," Moyo said, handing the hammer to Josh and taking the bastard blade in return.
Josh stared at the warhammer in disbelief before nodding, his grip steadying.
"Not sure why you didn't think of using a blunt weapon instead of a blade, but let's see what you can really do," Moyo said with a faint smile before turning and walking away.
With the warhammer in hand, Josh's movements shifted. The heavy weapon felt natural in his grip, its weight driving his strikes with devastating force. The hounds that had once surrounded him fell like dominoes; their fiery frames shattered by the hammer's crushing blows.
Facing Ashfang, Josh wasted no time. As the beast lunged, he sidestepped and swung the hammer upward in a mighty arc, the impact cracking its molten skull. With a final roar, Ashfang crumbled into a heap of glowing embers, the system notification ringing in everyone's ears:
[Wave Boss Defeated: Ashfang the Eternal!]
The battlefield quieted as the remaining hounds dissolved into ash, the wave broken. Cheers erupted from the defenders, their spirits lifting as the victory set in.
Moyo stood back, watching Josh raise the hammer in triumph, his aura glowing faintly with newfound confidence.
"Not bad," Moyo murmured, turning to the walls where Annika stood smirking.
"Guess you were right about him," she said, her voice crackling with residual energy.
"Maybe," Moyo replied, his eyes on the horizon where the next wave would soon come. "But let's see how he handles what's next."
Ushotan stood over the lifeless, crumpled form of the wyvern, the dungeon boss he had struggled so mightily to fell. His shriek of rage echoed through the crumbling proto-space of the dungeon, a piercing cry that reverberated with a mix of disbelief and seething fury. He had done it—defeated the massive, lesser member of the Dracon clan—and yet, the system had mocked him with its silence.
No pioneer rewards. Not a single acknowledgment. Nothing.
His hands shook as he began the reanimation process, dark mana seeping from his staff to seep into the wyvern's corpse. The massive creature's hulking frame twitched and spasmed, its reawakening slow but inevitable. Its roars of defiance were gone, replaced by guttural, hollow cries that echoed the will of its new master.
Ushotan's bulging eyes twitched as he paced the chamber, bile rising in his throat at the injustice. His masters had been explicit—he was to be the first to complete a tier 2 dungeon on this mundane world. The timing was perfect: the world's thirty-day cycle was nearly complete, its zones on the brink of separation and rampant aberrant infestation. No one else could have had the opportunity, much less the power, to clear a tier 2 dungeon.
Yet, the absence of rewards told a different story. Somewhere, someone had beaten him to it.
"How?" he hissed, his elongated nails scraping the polished stone of the dungeon floor.
The wyvern let out a low growl as it rose fully under his control, its glowing, corrupted eyes mirroring his malevolence. This creature—this member of the Dracon clan, lesser though it was—was irrelevant to the grand schemes of higher-ranked ascenders. But here, in this backwater world, it had been a treasure trove. Close to the rank of an exarch, the wyvern was absurdly powerful for a tier 2 dungeon boss, a gift clearly placed there through the machinations of his superiors.
His lips curled into a sneer. There was no way a mere inhabitant of C-102 could have done this. No way this primitive, undeveloped world harbored someone strong enough to clear a tier 2 dungeon before him.
Unless…
The thought hit him like a physical blow. Perhaps another faction had interfered. Perhaps there was another tier 2 dungeon entirely, one hidden from his knowledge. The implications burned at him like acid.
His mind spun through the possibilities. The Dracon clan was a formidable name to summon within the Empire. The dungeon's very design suggested that his masters had assistance at the highest levels—perhaps even a vanguard sentinel was aiding them. It was no secret that some sentinels skirted their duties, hoarding wealth and influence under the noses of their superiors.
How many of those backwater worlds, long abandoned by the system's grace, had been pillaged for their hidden treasures by corrupt vanguards? Ushotan sneered at the thought, though deep down, he envied their cunning. Expeditions to those forsaken trial worlds were commonplace, though few returned, and even fewer returned intact.
"Could the sentinel of this system be in on this?" he muttered. His rage subsided, replaced by a simmering calculation.
He needed to find this rival—and crush them.
The dungeon began to quake, its proto-space unraveling as the system prepared to eject him back to the surface. With a flick of his staff, he pulled the corrupted dungeon core from its pedestal, its pulsating glow now dimmed and blackened by his necrotic touch. As he stepped out into the open air, the light of C-102's sun fell on him.
He held the core aloft, his skeletal grin returning as the system's interface shimmered before his eyes. With a command, he initiated the construction of his stronghold, feeding the core's corrupted energy into the system's parameters.
[Establishing Stronghold…]
The ground beneath his feet darkened, veins of black mana spreading like cracks in the earth. Monolithic spires of jagged, black stone erupted around him, their surfaces carved with grotesque, twisted runes. Towers of undeath rose high, clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The air turned heavy, the faint scent of decay seeping into the once-pristine breeze.
The wyvern, now fully animated, roared in sync with the stronghold's completion, its bellow carrying the corruption far and wide. Ushotan inhaled deeply, the tainted air invigorating him.
"This world is mine," he declared, his voice resonating with unshakable resolve.
Turning to his creation, he marveled at the dark citadel he had forged. It would be the staging ground for his dominance, the heart of his campaign to bring C-102 into the fold of the Empire.
"Whoever you are, interloper…" he muttered, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "I will find you. And I will ensure your end is slow, agonizing, and absolute."
The wyvern growled low at his side, the corrupted beast eager for the bloodshed to come.