NOVEL NEXT 103 - Measure Twice, Cut Once
Archmund hit the docile Monster in the side with his Gemstone Sword.
It screeched in pain. Like nails on a chalkboard, and a crying baby, and an air raid siren all at once. Archmund winced as he drew his sword back.
"Nothing to worry about!" Gemmy said. "You've restored enough of its awareness so it knows he needs to avoid pain, but not enough for it to be able to fight back! If anything, this will encourage it to vent even more of its power, thus creating stronger gear!"
Sure enough, black blood oozed from the wound — and as it touched the air it solidified into a hard crystalline scab.
"Gemmy, how did its stats change?"
"The Monster in front of you has expended its excess Strength and Dexterity to create a Gemstone Scab, which fortifies its Constitution!"
"By how much?"
"One point of each!"
Oh, great. Just great. Another variable. If he hit them to get them to lower their physical stats, they would instead redirect their physical stats power into items that fortified their Constitution, which itself was a physical stat. The upside was that it was a net loss of physical stats, trading 2 points for one point of greater capacity.
He had a few theories for how this could go:
Each scab would cost a point of Strength and Dexterity for 1 point of Constitution, thus slowly tipping the ultimate resultant Gem out towards solely granting mental capabilities;
Or each Constitution bonus was a 1-time deal, and further wounds would create more scabs without increasing Constitution, achieving a similar result;
Or this would be a net increase of stats overall, and the greater reservoir of Constitution would allow for absorbing more Strength and Dexterity from consuming other Monsters, resulting in a Gem that granted enhanced physical powers.
Alternatively, he could just cut the Gordion Knot (like Alexander the Great, not to be confused with Alexander Omnio I, though frankly he wouldn't be surprised if "cutting the Omnian knot" was a metaphor in this godforsaken place) and rip the Gemstone scabs out of its wounds. Presumably, this would lower the Constitution overall.
Except that wasn't how it worked for the living, who remained linked to the stat bonuses granted by their Gems even when they didn't maintain physical contact. But the magic of the dead and the magic of the living, though superficially similar and coming from the same source, ultimately worked very differently.
It was aggravating because the there were two possible ways this could work, and they both achieved opposite things. If this method of injury led to a net increase in physical attributes, he could create Gems of physical enhancement through this method. But if this method of injury led to a net decrease of physique, this would actually tilt the Gems towards being mental enhancements.
"Gemmy? Any thoughts on that?"
But the sprite didn't seem to have anything. It was intelligent and responsive, but evidently not omniscient.
Though he wondered if it was intelligent. Had it told him anything he didn't already know, or was it just a stochastic parrot, repeating back to him things he had already intuited?
"I have a mind of my own," Gemmy said. And for a moment Archmund wondered if there was indignation in that voice, breaking from the flat and tinkling monotone.
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
"Do you really, though?" he said. "If you can't ever act against my desires and how do do whatever I want, then what's stopping you from telling me this?"
"Because you want to experiment for yourself, as wasteful as it might be!" Gemmy said. "You feel that if I were to give you the easy answer, it would be like cheating. You hate the feeling of relying on other people!"
"If I told you to get out of my head, would you be capable of doing so?"
"Unfortunately, probably not! At best I can distance my presence, but I'm hitched to your magic so long as you're on this path! But remember, I can't act against your desires! I am ontologically incapable of betraying you!"
Now he was really hoping Gemmy was benign and not lying to his face.
"Have you considered you may have trust issues?"
Archmund did his best to clear his mind and think nothing in response.
"Would you like me to tell you what your subconscious believes is the best method of making Gems for enhancing physical attributes and mental attributes?"
"That makes me think that you don't actually know all the answers."
Gemmy didn't answer. Archmund sighed and directed the Monster to eat another Monster he'd spawned out of a pool of darkness. "Tell me in a bit. I'm going to test this out myself."
Rory was enjoying himself.
He knew he wasn't the sharpest. But he knew that what he lacked in wit and guile, he could make up for with loyalty and kindness.
That had always been the way of the Redmonts, long before they'd been granted their lands and their name. They'd been a pawn in the petty game between Granavale and Blackstone, but ultimately they had survived through the strength of their kindness and generosity.
That, at least, was what Rory had been told.
Archmund and Beatrice were much alike, he mused. They kept people at arm's length until trust was earned, and so they were often misunderstood.
They had iron and beautiful rich red stone. Archmund had discussed buying some of this from his family. Rory had thought of it as a trifle, or a joke, or something their parents really ought to be discussing, but now he was beginning to believe that Archmund was serious.
There was something special about Archmund Granavale. Something that could elevate them both.
He'd even made Rory a leader of men.
Well, of undead men.
Rory leaned against a pale Dungeon wall as the Monsters he'd been assigned began eating each other. He kept his eyes on the floor and focused his magic, his sense of self, his being into his Quarterstaff. He wanted no part of what those creatures were doing to each other, how they were eating each other in an act of vicious cannibalism.
Archmund had charged him with a very important duty — eliminate the Monsters if they acted out or once they reached capacity, and collect their Gems before they could be reabsorbed by the Dungeon or eaten by another Monster.
But it still turned his stomach, and instead he focused on the feeling of his magic flowing through his Quarterstaff, through the lanyard that he'd attached to the end of it as well, that almost felt like a pebble in his shoe or a knot in a rope. It warmed his heart, thinking about it, for even though the lanyard was tied to this Dungeon, it was something he'd captured fairly in battle with the help of his friends.
When the Monsters that had accompanied him there had devoured each other, forming one stronger Monster, another emerged from the darkness, like a swamp lizard from a bog of mud. The stronger Monster devoured the newborn.
And so it went, on and on, new unlife forming and being devoured instantaneously. Rory found it sickening, so he directed his focus back into his staff. It was like a second spine, a solid rod of support, a pillar of his being that existed outside of his body. Mind, body, soul, staff. But the lanyard felt like a grafted arm, a gauntlet welded to his hand. Foreign and intrusive, and yet growing more and more familiar, like the first time he'd worn armor. The discomfort from that was nothing compared to the charnel of the Monsters devouring themselves.
And then the sounds of gnashing teeth and tearing flesh were interrupted by a thunk. A piece of Gemstone Gear extruded from the one remaining Monster, clattering to the ground.
Rory grimaced. It was time.
He bashed the Monster's head in with his staff.
To be clear, he did feel bad about beating opponents that literally couldn't fight back. If Archmund had been a bit clearer about the goals and members of his tournament, Rory never would have joined. He'd just literally never tested his abilities against the common man before, and so had no idea just how much he outclassed them.
He'd felt bad about beating up helpless peasants, which was why he really hadn't minded it when Archmund had bloodied his nose. It had felt like penance.
But as the Monster dissolved into thick black miasma, he felt bad for it. Even though it would've tried to kill him, had it not been under Archmund's control, he couldn't help but feel bad about killing a sitting duck.
He picked up the Gem.
It was large and round and perfect, tinted ever-so-slightly with the endless blue of the impossible sky.
The miasma bubbled again as a fresh Monster emerged from the shadows.
Rory steeled himself as the grisly process began again.