Chapter 163: Thrice Set

Chapter 163: Thrice Set

For the first time in what felt like centuries, my thoughts were finally my own.

I wouldn't even allow myself to get used to it, but it felt almost strange, after the panic from before. Floating overhead, my mana dispersing and core thrumming, I could finally—well, not breathe, given I was intangible, but pause. Take it all in.

And then, half a moment after that, I shook myself out and turned my gaze back to my floors. Because the only reason I had this brief respite was because I'd fought and bled and damn near died for it, and I wouldn't be allowing that again. Therefore—rebuilding.

My first mission was to prepare for tomorrow; though I could dream that perhaps this twelve-man invasion had blown up the Adventuring Guild to wonderful small pieces of bone and gore, I had to plan for another invasion. The endless cycle of which was my existence. And that meant sending out all those who needed to leave before they would run into anyone else.

Luckily, I was already on the right floor. All I had to do was bob over the lagoon, where kobolds swam back in petulant annoyance that they hadn't gotten to fight Shoth and Aedan before the bastards either ran or were protected, to the human standing awkwardly on the beach.

Nicau stiffened as my mana draped over him, a soothing embrace over his wired self. No combat, because he could learn a lesson or two from Shoth about speed, but there wasn't much to do about that beyond hope he would learn how to evolve more legs.

Low chance of that, unfortunately.

He straightened, stepping further out onto the sand. Over his leather coat were an array of funnel gourds, dried and hollowed out as storage containers. Maybe they would help him bring back more schemas; mostly, they made him look like an over-enterprising fool who hadn't yet shed his past skin. I supposed everyone had their tastes.

"Am I safe to leave?" Nicau asked the sky, shaking some droplets off his hands.

Yes, I said, and filled out connection with my incorrigible dreams. Gather schemas. Bring many.

He nodded, adjusting his gourds. Though he wouldn't be shoving any scorch hound heads in there, I was focused on plants now, and they would be perfect for seedlings or cuttings.

So long as he brought me more than pieces. I still remembered that gorgeous feather he'd brought back from Calarata, those iridescent blue-greens, but my inability to make it. Damnable rules.

And with feathers in mind, as Nicau made an odd hiss-whistle to call Chieftess, another came to him—the parrot, fluttering down from her perch in a cloudsire palm. She squawked, almost politely, staring at him with a passive curiosity.

"I'll be back," Nicau said, because he'd apparently decided to treat her like any other sapient monster. Considering neither of us knew what she was, that might have been a safe bet.

Chieftess emerged from the den, holding her crown of horns high. She churred with an ember's brightness, ready as bared fangs—something about leaving the dungeon was extremely exciting for her, more than even moving down to the Hungering Reefs. What was she trying to find out there? What prize was more than I was providing?

She better not be trying to leave me.

The parrot bobbed her head, still fixing Nicau with her black gaze. Awareness, but not in the way of him. Something else.

Nicau noticed that, mana thrumming in his throat. "I'm leaving," he said again. "Would you like to come with me to–" he paused, then glanced upward—his thoughts skittered over a memory of me saying I would name the jungle, though he was wise enough not to directly ask me whether I had yet, because I hadn't. Shit.

To Myvnu, I said magnanimously, like I had spent many an hour debating and not like it had been pulled from nowhere like a loose scale. A draconic word, meaning the hoard of another dragon that was impressive but, obviously, not as impressive as yours.

Dragons had many words for such things.

"The Myvnu Jungle?" Nicau said.

The parrot tilted her head to the side, preening a gold-tinged feather out of her wing. Deep in her chest, I watched that strange pocket of mana swirl, an ember unlit but waiting. Waiting for what, I didn't know—but she merely ruffled her feathers and didn't flit off the branch. "Jungle," she said dispassionately, without landing on his shoulder. "Leaving."

Nicau wilted a bit, in some genuine sadness that she wasn't choosing to go with him. But he had his other choice of companion—Chieftess, standing tall and strong, and three other kobolds, two warriors and one hunter. The last time he'd ventured out, he'd brought back my scorch hounds, mottled scorpions, fire-tongue flowers, cloudsire palms, and moonstar flowers; with five collectors, I imagined the prizes would be even greater. Either in quantity or quality, I wasn't much picky. I just needed something.

...curious that she didn't want to leave, though. That was where she had come from, guiding Nicau out, before abruptly switching from her previous route and choosing to come with him. Why didn't she want to revisit it? Was she running from it?

Gods, I was going to tear this kingdom down to the marrow so it would stop throwing things at me. If everything in my halls had a secret life of their own they weren't planning on sharing, I wasn't going to live long enough to discover them.

Faintly, the scent of redwoods drifted over my core.

Oh. Right. That little nuisance.

Nicau winced. At his side, Chieftess made a warble-hiss that couldn't have been more of a laugh if she tried.

"Right," he said, dubiously. "That's– that's what is happening, yes."

Aedan slumped like coral pulled from the rocks. "Thank you, Lord of Symbiosis," he murmured, again and again and again. "Oh, thank you, thank you–"

It wasn't out of Rhoborh's fucking kindness he was saved. It was my choice that it was worth more to have the god's boon instead of one more corpse.

My ire bled into the world—one of the kobold warriors hissed, raising her spear, ready to strike down whatever was upsetting their Great Voice. But I was unfortunately iron in my knowledge we couldn't kill him, and I doubted Rhoborh would accept me just leaving him to be murdered by all my hungry animals. No, he had to leave, before I was distracted enough not to tell my creatures off. On purpose or otherwise.

Entirely on purpose.

If I hadn't given Nicau a boat before, I certainly wouldn't be giving one to Aedan. He could find his one way across.

Actually–

I slipped back into Nicau's mind, soft enough not to leak out to the world. Take him through the Overlook, I said. But knock him out before you leave so he will not see where the exit lies. A pause. Leave him wherever is least convenient.

For all Rhoborh said Aedan would not claim my core, I wouldn't give him any other leeway around it. Three entrances were already known by the Adventuring Guild; they certainly wouldn't be learning of a fourth.

Nicau nodded, a slight smile on his face. He did enjoy being vindictive.

But I trusted him with Aedan, and for Chieftess with her honour guard to protect them all. They'd make it out, and I didn't have time to watch them; I left a few points of awareness overhead, an eye in case of the worst, and turned away. There was a timer set, a waiting period for the Adventuring Guild. Half my creatures evolving, my floors flooded with excess mana that I couldn't absorb with too small a pool, no idea whether tomorrow would bring a normal invasion or an armada. Cheery thoughts.

But you couldn't make gold out of sand, no matter how hard you wished on it, so all there was left to do was prepare. And build. And add.

No longer would there be patient meandering wonder for the perfect idea to come to me; no, the second that Nicau came back with schemas, I would be completing my heart tree and starting my ninth floor. I needed more room between me and invasions; I needed protection far from where others poked their miserable fucking gobs into my halls.

Did I know what I wanted the ninth floor to be yet? No. My eighth was going up, spiraling through a jungle's brilliance and adding difficulties for invaders running through, but now I needed more. Slap a pair of fucking wings on Shoth, and he'd clear that floor just as fast as he'd done the rest. My floors would be upgraded to avoid that, and I would be adding more, and I would use my mana now, rather than waiting.

And in that vein of things, my mana was freshly regenerated, and I was going to get more Named creatures. I had ideas for which, the dryad chief among them, but I wanted to at least think it over. Despite the fear that the Adventuring Guild was gathering right outside my halls. And that I was weaker than I thought. And that most of my creatures were currently sleeping.

My mana twitched towards the dryad.

I'd wait– a day. That was it. I had enough Otherworld mana for one Name minimum, and two if I lowered myself back to the mana regeneration of ages past. I called that worth it. My Named were more important than getting mana.

Especially now, when I didn't just need strength, but also cooperation.

It was impossible to miss how Akkyst and the Magelords had killed all invaders they interacted with, including Akkyst actively fighting past my raid-frenzy to allow the Magelords to kill Azkhal for mana. In contrast, while Seros was little doubt one of, if not the strongest inhabitants of my halls, he had crippled my sea serpent and that let Shoth past. That wasn't coordination. Hells, that was one step above wild animals, if only for how they hadn't been actively trying to kill each other instead of the invader.

My Named needed to be better. They needed to be leaders, someone to rely on, since I was learning with a fury that my raid-frenzy was only detrimental. If I commanded my creatures to attack, they did just that—they attacked, damn themselves or others. Kill or be killed. That wouldn't keep me free.

Gods, there were so many things to do. I had to start or else I'd be caught up in thinking them over for eternity.

Two choices—go up or go down. But it wasn't really a choice, or at least not one worth making. In a lovely contrast to my rampaging list of problems that I had either missed or ignored, the only issue with the Scorchplains was its youth; all its inhabitants were unevolved and untested, and while I had plans for adapting things once they reopened their eyes, that would have to wait to see how they reacted to it.

Instead, I coiled, spreading intangible wings woven of pure Otherworld mana, and threw myself up. When the Adventuring Guild came again, they would hit the first floor, and I needed to have that be remade beforehand.

Each floor was that—a floor. Not a room, not a microcosm. They had to be their own entire identity, their own snap-jaw traps, their own cages.

Twice I had remade the Fungal Gardens; this time would be the last.