Chapter 106: Lost World

Chapter 106: Lost World

As wonderful and delicious and frankly distracting it was to know that Nicau was holding several schemas under his surcoat, that was not the main reason I had sent him out into the wider world—and I had questions I needed answered. Unfortunate, very pressing questions that may or may not determine my existence, so to put it politely, I was rather invested in the answer.

Tell me, I said, pushing a point or two of mana through our connection. Of what learned.

Blegh. This human tongue—Viejabran was the name, I thought—was still hopelessly clunky to speak with. My true eloquent potential was in the draconic word. Which Nicau, for all his decent abilities, did not speak. Or at least didn't know how to speak it to me.

If I could find this many faults with Nicau, there was no chance I was keeping Kriya. What had Veresai been thinking?Updated from novelbIn.(c)om

Nicau blinked, peering at the surrounding darkness like I was just waiting out of sight. "Of course," he said, with proper reverence as was expected. "I, ah, cannot bring great news, but it is news. They're." He licked his lips. "They're building an Adventuring Guild for you."

Ah.

Yeah, I'd been preparing for that answer, but it was still the worst thing he could've said.

Adventuring Guilds didn't fuck around. As a sea-drake, I had been the target of a few quests, little insipid brats who thought to clear me out of whatever cove I had chosen as my hunting grounds for a few decades or so. Of course, they hadn't been able to do anything, because I was a sea-drake, but they'd certainly tried. And continued trying, after I'd eaten all their first attempts.

And though they were, at most, a biting-fly compared to a proper assault, they had been persistent and vicious enough that inevitably, I found some excuse or another to change the location of my hunting grounds. Adventuring Guilds had no lack of weak idiots and powerful idiots in equal number. In the right hands of a proper Guildmaster, they were dangerous threats.

Especially when they had a target, rather than unspecific "adventure". Such as a dungeon.

Fantastic.

About what I'd expected, though. Even if I hadn't wanted to admit it. There was no reason to have an invasion so large as my last one—excluding the merrow—and then have weeks of silence. They'd be planning something.

Nicau was still standing awkwardly there, sensing my attention was elsewhere and wisely not continuing his story until I prompted him; I dove into his more recent thoughts and pulled up images through his weak little eyes of a stone foundation, of construction mages, of an extended dock coming right up to my cove-facing entrance.

Not completed yet, but well on its way. If the progress that they'd had from Nicau's arrival to his departure, I predicted less than a week or two until the building was done and the Guild beginning its establishment. Which did not necessarily factor into my plans towards general survival, but I could work with this.

For as long as invaders came to my halls, they would bring mana with them, and I was rather in need of it. Why, with enough invaders, I could build my fire-themed seventh floor and finally transition the Skylands back to what they were meant to be.

Was this a touch of me ignoring the problem and looking only for how I would benefit from it? Perhaps. But I wouldn't exactly succeed if I curled in a corner and bemoaned all the high-ranked invaders that would soon be knocking on my halls, so I counted this as the better option.

Nicau straightened as my attention fell back on him, shuffling in place. The parrot squawked her displeasure at being moved. Of Calarata? I asked, rather than having to sift through all his horribly unsorted and unorganized and plainly terrible eyesight memories. Humans were so boring.

"Busy," Nicau admitted. "They've heard of you—of your mighty power—and that the Guild will be allowing them to attack your core directly. Many, ah, are interested."

Hm.

I was uninterested in that. But unless I could speed up my plan to rip out the Dread Pirate's heart and consume it in front of him, there was unfortunately little I could do to stop it.

Challenging my core. It seemed that Lluc had some sort of plan for me, which was infuriating already to think that a mere human thought he could box me in with all these trappings and schemings, and worse to know that there was a budding point of genuine fear at the thought.

Sea-drakes had precious few weaknesses.

Dungeon cores had an enormous glaring one.

I would never regret returning from death, not when faced with the alternative, but I did wish that I would have merely stayed a dragon rather than this new form.

Let them try, I said, because I certainly wasn't going to show concern in front of Nicau. They will fail. What else you gather?

Nicau straightened, some pride spilling into his pose. He'd kept his arms wrapped awkwardly around his midsection but now he pulled his surcoat open, the leather creasing at his shoulders as prizes tumbled from his grip.

Several beautiful prizes; an animal's pelt, a wilted plant, a glorious feather, a little statue, a translucent flower, a water-stained scroll. If I could have, I would've swooned.

"And I claimed these," he said, chest puffed out. "Not too much, as to draw attention, but I, ah. Thought these were the best."

I certainly wouldn't tell him that—no need to inflate the little brat's ego—but I did push an energizing point of mana through our connection. A prodding to keep him serving me, if the powerful blessing from his Name didn't already do so. At my nudging thought, he knelt and spread everything out, from the glossy silver-blue fur to the gleaming flower to the–

To the scroll.

I devoured.

And–

I watched the golden motes swirl around before spiraling to my core. The knowledge of how to make a feather flooded through me.

But just the feather.

My mana heaved in a mockery of a sigh.

Nicau did his best, I'm sure. But his best didn't let me create whatever creature this beautiful feather belonged to. A single talon, perhaps a beak, even just some skin; but he'd only gotten me the feather.

A patient creature I was not. Even with the excitement of the mist-fox and funnel gourd, this irked me.

At least he'd brought me other things, even if they were only materials. I dissolved the rest of his prizes with prejudice.

Marble—white-grey, similar to limestone, but with a sturdiness and gleam that I simply couldn't find elsewhere. Likely not a material I would use to create whole halls, but already I was mentally tearing down my previous pillar used to house my core and replacing it with this. Much more prestigious. And now I could stud amethysts over its surface; I wasn't positive what attunement this jewel had yet, but it was remarkably pretty, with jagged edges and gradient spikes. The purple was exceptionally pleasing.

Glass as well; I had the merrow's sand-blades, but that was unwieldy and extraordinarily expensive in mana to make. This was much more useful. For what, I wasn't sure, but doubtless I would find a use.

Treasures, lovely, lovely treasures, all of which I could and would use. Mist-foxes as clever hunters, funnel gourds for crafting and consumption, marble for elaborate sculptures, amethysts for the mage ratkin, glass for the shardweaver spiders—and the feather for, ah, something—and brilliant plans already shone through me. Nicau had delivered what I'd asked for.

Fucking fantastic.

Today had been a series of ups and downs—new title, but new mystery. New schemas, but new Adventuring Guild.

But despite that, I was pleased.

Which meant it was time to dive into the final treasure of the pile.

The scroll sat there.

I poured a few points into the air and directed a blast of wind to pry the scroll open, rolling it out along the moss underneath; the leather band wavered and slipped to the side, the yellowed skin curling and twisting but opening up. Not long, hardly more than an arm's length, covered in drawings some three inches in diameter, all in old, faded ink. Something old.

Something I knew.

Runes.

And these were not a child's imagination of runes, the dwarven script or amulets from the distant Wandering Empire; these were true runes, ancient things that called upon mana from beyond Aiqith. Cast down from deities above. There was no nebulous myth surrounding their creation; they were simply not created on Aiqith. This was known.

My understanding was shaky. I had my own that I carved around my hoard room on the fifth floor; protections passed down from the draconic god to his kin. They did not apply to me any longer, but they were comforting. They were also all I knew.

But much like I was now able to understand Viejabran, becoming a dungeon core had opened my mind to other languages. Even those that no longer existed.

And from the collection of runes, words came to be.

Last World, Lost World. World beyond time and shadow; beyond Above and Below. World Forgotten, World Forsaken. World beyond fall and flight; beyond Gods and Guards.

It approaches.

Ere now, the Breaking of the Old World.

And beneath it, a single rune. I could not translate this one.

A line with a half-circle above, as if a setting sun; and below it, spreading cracks uncontained.

I did not know what it meant.

But within me, shivering to life, with double maw and black skin and ravaging, starving hunger, something did.