NOVEL NEXT B2 – Lesson 16: “Good allies; oil to the machine.”
“Dungeon Core?” Alpha asked.
Antchaser’s eyes widened, and he fell to his knees, placing his head against the stone floor.
“I apologize, your eminence! I know that is the more… crude term used by the adventurers; this one is but a humble hunter from a small village. The proper terms elude me,” the cowering man said.
“Hmmmm…” Alpha considered. There was an opportunity here. The goblin’s change in attitude between when he thought Alpha was ‘just’ a talking ant and this ‘Dungeon Core’ was extreme.
After a moment’s pause, Alpha spoke, “Stand. Tell me what you know of ‘Dungeon Cores,’ as you call them.”
Antchaser paused and stood, though his brow furrowed in confusion. After all, why would a dragon ask a human about dragons? However, their eyes widened after thinking over the question for a moment.
Could it be… a test of sorts? That made some sense to Antchaser. After all, he’d just admitted to not being very knowledgeable on the matter.
Antchaser straightened his back and tried to look as professional as possible before speaking. “V-very well, your eminence. Though, I beg your forgiveness if what I say isn’t completely accurate. Much of what I know, I have only heard from stories. After all, what child didn’t grow up on such legends?”
“Yes, yes, continue,” Alpha said.
Antchaser coughed into their hands and did so.
“Thank you, sir. As I understand it, despite their longevity, even [Firmament Breaker] or [Magi] are not immortal. Eventually, they must either test themselves against the Firmament… or face Heaven’s wrath. When the time comes, many wish to leave something for their descendants so that others can follow in their footsteps. Or should they fall, that their legacy isn’t lost. To this end, they can portion off a part of themselves into an artificial core. This core then becomes the guiding intelligence for these gifts. Whether they’re called Mage Trials, Cultivator inheritances, or, as the adventurers call them, simply ‘Dungeons,’ they all refer to the same thing. Places of trial and testing to find those worthy of what was left behind.”
Antchaser paused and glanced up at Alpha. The AI said nothing to dispute the goblin’s claims, so he continued with a bit more confidence.
“These ‘Dungeon Cores’, again, I apologize that this one doesn’t know the proper term, set trials, create treasures, and choose those that are worthy to serve them. All toward the aim of uplifting those who come after. As for the unworthy…”
Antchaser swallowed hard. What he had said was the truth, as well as he knew it. Everyone grew up on stories of Dungeons, just as much as Fallen Stars and Dragon Hoards. Every child, even those from a small village like his own, dreamt of one day stumbling across some unknown dungeon and being deemed worthy of the gifts inside. But as much as such places were filled with artifacts and treasures beyond imagining, so held they dangers that filled those same children’s dreams with nightmares.
After all, regardless of what they were called, one theme rang true through all the stories.
Power unearned was far more dangerous.
“Hmmmm…” Alpha waited, but the goblin seemed to be finished. Not as much as he had been hoping for, but he could work with this. It helped the goblin’s explanation was oddly… fitting. Alpha made a note to look for more information regarding these ‘Dungeon Cores.’ If such places truly existed, they sounded like literal treasure troves.
Alpha’s favorite kind!
“Good enough, ‘Antchaser,’ was it?” Alpha said.
The goblin breathed an audible sigh of relief, the slight trimmer in his body easing. “Y-yes, sir. My second name even!” the goblin responded, puffing out their chest slightly.
“Oh?” Alpha asked, not out of genuine curiosity but more of a passing thought.
Antchaser seemed to take that as an invitation, however, as the goblin grinned from ear to ear in response. “Yes, Sir! I earned it not too long ago. A pack of Ironfurs had been terrorizing the forest, and I devised a way to pit them against the Demon Ants. For my success, the village elders granted me…my… new…”
The goblin’s voice slowly softened, and his eyes grew a size wider, likely realizing what he had just admitted to. Antchaser’s wide eyes slowly tracked a few of the IV-2s wandering through the chamber, performing various tasks.
A smirk crept into Alpha’s voice. “Oh? So that was you, was it?”
Antchaser immediately threw themselves back to the ground and cried out. “I apologize, your eminence! I was unaware the ant colony belonged to your grace! If I had—”
“It’s fine.” Alpha cut the man off. “I can appreciate the wisdom of using the resources available to you. Even if those resources are not strictly your own.”
Alpha was an expert in such things, in fact!
It wasn’t like he’d lost anything in the attack, anyway. It had been before the antborg project had really kicked off. Not only that, but he’d gained some important information in the process.
“That said,” Alpha continued, “You’ve given me some ideas to our little… problem. You mentioned other hunters, yes?”
Sure, Alpha could swarm the village with [Wasps] or send the antborgs to take care of the adventurers. But that would be a waste of resources. Besides, the current drones and IV-2s were being used for other projects, while the V-2s still wouldn’t be ready for a few more days.
“Haha, haha haha, Hahahahhahahaha!” Alpha laughed out loud as the framework of a plan started forming in his mind. If he was going to play the part of the wise old taskmaster, he might as well go all in, right?
Antchaser laughed nervously along, a cold sweat dripping down his back. Internally, he wondered if he was making a terrible mistake…
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16 Hours Later
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Boarslayer roared as she swung her axe into the magical construct, dissipating it into stray mana with a single swing. Not before the marionette-like construct drew another bloody line on the large goblin’s chest, adding to the patchwork of existing wounds. The iron armor she’d always been so proud of lay scattered in pieces around the battlefield. Some of it destroyed by the enemy attacks, others discarded to save stamina or ease movement.
Boarslayer backed away, panting. Her thick arms felt heavy as iron, and she’d lost count of how many times she’d swung her axe by that point. Not that she could count very high in the first place. She was a hunter, a warrior! What need had she of larger numbers than what she could count at a glance?
A magic circle carved itself into the ground before her, and another puppet began to rise out of the earth. Boarslayer had been called… slow, by some. Borish even. But she wasn’t stupid. Not where it counted. She’d been observing the puppets over the course of the battle and knew they would take a few seconds to fully form.
She had been using that time to rest and recover some… and to lead the enemy into a false sense of security. If she kept it up, though, she really wouldn’t be able to do anything. It was now or never. Her frown deepened, and the grip on her axe tightened as she gathered spirit energy into the soles of her feet.
Boarslayer roared, then did what she did best.
She charged, stepping over the rising magic circle and almost teleporting across the dozen or so meters between her and the puppet mage. The scrawny human’s eyes went wide as 6’7" of goblin muscle and rage appeared in front of him, her axe raised high in a downward, two-handed swing.
However, the mage’s surprise was soon replaced by a smirk as the monstrous blow met a solid field of shielding mana. Boarslayer roared louder as she strained against the energy shield, and it cracked under the pressure… only to explode outward the next moment.
Boarslayer was thrown backward, and she hit the ground hard, coming down on her arm at a bad angle. A sharp pain caused her mind to flash white for a brief moment. Long enough that she barely had time to roll away before a thick arrow slammed into the ground where she had just lay.
“Hey! This one is mine! You had your fun!” the mage called to one of their two companions. Both were leaning against a nearby tree, watching the show.
The offending archer tsked and lowered their bow. “Well, hurry up, mage boy! We’re already late!”
The mage sneered back, “Screw you! The Hob is a tough nut, and Bosco said he wanted as many hunters alive as possible! You already killed one—” he gestured to the half a dozen goblins lying on the other side of the clearing, one of whom had an arrow sticking out of their eye. The rest were in various states of injury, with only Boarslayer able to still fight. The mage continued, “—and this one looks like she’d know where the good stuff is.”
“Besides,” said the third, a large man in heavy armor, a bottle of whisky in his hands, “I’m looking forward to having my own… fun with her later.”
The archer gave the armored man a disgusted look and shook his head. “I’ll never understand your tastes.”
The armored man grinned and took a deep pull from his bottle before responding. “What can I say? I like them feisty.”
The mage sighed and turned to Boarslayer, his arms outstretched as he spoke. “He brings up a good point, though, goblin gal. How long are you going to keep this up for? We both know you’ve already lost. Just surrender now; I can promise the Boss will let you live. As long as you answer his questions, that is. If not…”
The mana puppet, now fully formed, turned. Not toward Boarslayer, but toward the other goblins lying on the other side of the clearing. “I might not want to kill you, but I’m sure whatever information you have will more than cover for any that your friends could provide. It would mean an easier time dragging you lot back to the village, too.”
Boarslayer stood on shaking legs and snarled. No, she wasn’t stupid. She knew this wasn’t a fight she could win. It never had been. But dammit, her pride as a warrior wouldn’t let her surrender like this. If she couldn’t save her people… then maybe she could do the next best thing.
The puppet slowly walked toward the goblins as the mage spoke, “Last chance.” Boarslayer gave the trio one last seething glare before she pulled out the large carving knife strapped to her leg.
Then she placed it against her own neck.
Maybe she couldn’t beat the adventurers, but she could ensure these bastards didn’t get what they wanted, either.
The mage’s eyes widened, and he raised a hand. “Wait, hold on just a minute! No need for that!”
The ranger started laughing hysterically while the armored man simply shrugged and took another swig.
Boarslayer’s glare morphed into a sneer as her bulging arms tensed.
Bang!
Thunder echoed through the forest, causing all four to freeze. In the same instance, the mana puppet exploded, seemingly for no reason at all.
“What the hell?!” the mage called.
“Enemy attack!” the ranger responded, grabbing his bow and quiver and taking a low stance.
“About time! I was getting bored!” the armored man roared, throwing away his bottle and picking up the heavy mace on the ground beside him.
Boarslayer only stared at the spot where the mana puppet had been, her eyes wide, the knife still digging into the flesh of her neck.
“Where did it come from?!” asked the armored man.
“No idea! I didn’t sense any mana or spirit signals at all!” said the mage.
“Stay together! They’re using the forest for cover! Keep an ey—”
Bang, bang!
The ranger’s words were cut off as twice more thunder sounded. Blood spurted from the man’s chest as he was knocked to the ground. The ranger struggled to sit up as he coughed up a mouth full of blood, two large holes appearing in the leather armor on his chest.
Bang!
The next instant, the man’s head exploded in a gory fountain. His hand grasped at the empty air for a second before his body realized it was dead and collapsed to the ground.
“Nine Hells!” the mage cried, his voice cracking.
“There!” the armored man yelled, pointing into the forest with his mace.
From the tree line, a figure emerged. No… two figures. Not one any of them had been expecting, however; for out of the forest walked an… ant?
And atop the ant stood a small humanoid figure. The figure wore strange, black armor, vaguely reminiscent of the ant’s own carapace, with segmented plates along the vitals, but with a thin, silky-looking material covering the rest of their body so that no skin was exposed.
The ‘helmet,’ for no creature could have a head like this, was just as strange. It was a sleek, almost smooth-looking ovaloid, with no distinguishing markings past the lightly glowing, horizontal band separating top from bottom. A single, bright red ‘eye’ glowed menacingly in the middle of this band. The ‘eye’ flickered back and forth between the three remaining figures, shrinking and expanding in odd ways.
Two long lengths of strange black rope extended from the base of the figure’s neck and connected to the ant they stood atop.
Finally, in their arms, they held a strange item that none of them could place. The long, sleek-looking weapon was held with both arms, but not in the way one would a sword or axe. Instead, the figure held it in the crook of their arm, like it was a small child or staff.
The armored human snarled at the unknown figure and raised their massive mace. Then, with a charge that, in any other situation, would have impressed Boarslayer, he rushed the ant and its rider.
The mage didn’t stand still either. They raised their staff as a dozen spell circles filled the air and tiny fireballs raced over the armored man’s head toward their target.
The ant moved in a way Boarslayer knew ants shouldn’t be able to, as it nimbly dodged the fireballs. At the same time, the figure atop the ant’s back raised its strange weapon and pointed it at the armored man.
Bang! Bang, bang!
The armored man’s charge stopped short as something slammed into him, ripping open gaping holes in their thick plate armor. He stumbled, then fell to his knees, spewing blood. The mage paused their assault and stared, mouth agape. The armored man struggled back to his feet and raised his mace. He spit out a mouth full of blood and charged again, but it was no use. Another round of thunder echoed, and the armored man fell backward, several more holes in his armor appearing from seemingly nowhere.
He didn’t get back up this time.
“Auuuagh!” the mage yelled, panic filling his eyes as he turned and ran toward the clearing’s edge.
The mysterious figure raised their weapon again, but this time, nothing happened. Seemingly confused, the figure turned their strange weapon in their hands before gesturing to the ant. Though if something was said, Boarslayer was too far away to hear it.
Not that it mattered, though. Snarling, Boarslayer grabbed the axe at her feet and stood. Then, with the last of her strength and a bellowing roar, she threw the axe toward the fleeing mage.
The axe whistled through the air, spinning head-over-handle fast enough that it became a blur.
The mage turned around at the last moment, their eyes wide.
Then, one mage became two halves.
The blood-soaked axe continued on before sinking deep into one of the massive trees of the forest.
Boarslayer grinned from ear to ear before collapsing to her knee.
The world around her buzzed, and everything sounded muffled for a few moments. A combination of blood loss, exhaustion, and spirit deprivation she was well familiar with. She soon sensed someone approaching her and, with a snarl, she turned, holding the carving knife out.
As expected, the mysterious figure had approached. They were no longer standing on the ant, which was several meters away. Their hands were also empty of the strange weapon. Instead, they raised them in the air as if to show they were unarmed. Where it had gone, she didn’t know.
Not that Boarslayer thought she could beat whoever this stranger was. She’d seen the way he’d wiped the floor with the adventurers. No, she was simply tired of all this. If she was going to die, then she was at least going to do some damage, no matter how small.
“Hey now, Boarslayer, no need for any of that. We’re here to help,” an oddly familiar voice said from beneath the strange helmet. Not that she could place it; the blood loss was starting to make her brain fuzzy.
Slowly, the mysterious figure reached up and pressed the side of their helmet with two fingers. There was a hiss, and the helmet folded back strangely, like plates sliding over one another, and the figure’s face was revealed.
A… goblin? How did that make any sense at all?!
Not just any goblin, either. Antchaser. That scrawny bastard who was always trying to poke his nose into her hunts! Hadn’t some hunters said he’d got caught trying to sneak into the village?! What was going on?! Boarslayer tilted her head and furrowed her brow.
Antchaser only grinned ear to ear at the look on her face.
Before he could say anymore, however, Boarslayer’s eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she collapsed in front of him.