Paragon of Skills

Valerius stalks down Emberdeep's main tunnel. Red cracks in the stone glow against his face, and heat beats on his skin, making him sweat like a pig. Two hired blades hustle after him, slipping on the rough floor and coughing in the thick air.

His two thugs, Brenn and Mal, start chatting while they slowly make their way through the Dungeon.

Brenn snorts and taps a dead pressure plate with the tip of his spear.

"Kid's lucky the Knights came through and wiped every trap down here," he says.

Mal nods without slowing.

"True. If the plates still worked, we'd be crawling instead of walking."

Mal kicks a cracked dart tube.

"Yeah, those rigs would chew most men up—even tough ones like us. I'd rather fight an army of Molten Snappers than face a fresh trap any day."

"Why?" Valerius asks.

Brenn flicks dust off his spear.

"Because these traps are built like chain reactions. Step on one plate and half the tunnel wakes up. Walls fall, darts fly, fire shoots sideways. No room to dodge."

Mal shivers, even in the heat.

"My first squad lost three men to a trap set like that when I was still an Adventurer. We found one shield and part of a boot. That was it. That's why I changed line of work."

Valerius grunts, then kicks a loose rock down the tunnel. It clatters, echoes, and nothing happens. He smiles.

"Good thing the Knights did the work for us. Now keep moving."

They march deeper.

Ember cracks underfoot, and the air smells like hot iron.

Brenn wipes sweat and mutters, "Too quiet."

Mal points ahead. A faint blue glow pulses around a corner.

"What's that?"

Valerius raises Hell's Sword, motioning them to hush. They creep up and peek around the bend.

A fresh plate lies in the floor—this one not cracked but polished. Blue runes crawl across its surface, throbbing like a heartbeat.

Brenn's eyes widen.

"That trap's live."

Valerius curses.

"The Knights cleared everything—how is that burning thing active?"

Mal swallows.

"Maybe they missed one?"

Valerius shakes his head.

"Knights in Clearwater would never leave such a thing behind."

Brenn nudges the wall.

"Maybe someone reset it recently."

"Impossible," Mal sighs. "Traps are complicated. Even for Bronze-Ranked traps it would take at the very least a Silver-Ranked trap-master. A Silver-Ranked Knight can disable these traps through pure brute force. But to activate them again?" The ex-Adventurer shakes his head. "It's way more complicated than you'd imagine."

Brenn edges past the blue rune and drops to a crouch. He drags the butt of his spear across the floor a foot at a time, clearing ash so he can see every inch of stone before stepping. Mal mirrors him on the opposite wall, using his axe handle like a walking stick. Valerius keeps to the center, Hell's Sword hovering just above his shoulder, lighting the tunnel with shaky yellow light.

Another rune glows ahead—this one red—set low beside a jagged slit. Brenn whistles.

"Spike launcher. That thing will give you a good peppering."

Mal snorts, trying for humor.

"Perfect. The brat will rush in, hit a plate like this, and impale himself. Saves us the trouble."

Valerius grins, but it is thin.

"He's running blind. A live trap or two will finish him."

They move on, but every ten steps another active device waits: a ceiling slab cracked and ready to fall, a narrow groove in the floor humming with steam, a dart tube that drips poison like sweat. None of these were lit before. None of them should be.

Brenn's smile fades as he marks a glowing seam with chalk.

"So many live runes in a row… feels wrong."

Mal swallows, wiping grime from his brow.

"Knights clear these dungeons every season. They never miss this much." He taps a plate, then jerks his hand back when sparks jump. "That one's primed too."

"Quit whining," Valerius snaps, but even he keeps his blade closer now. Heat waves roll off a wall vent, singeing his sleeve when he drifts too near.

Brenn studies another set of etched symbols.

"If the kid really went this deep, he must have stepped on a trap already."

Mal shifts from foot to foot, eyes darting along the ceiling.

"He's probably already dead, and something else woke the dungeon. Either way, we're walking into a nesting area for the Molten Snappers."

"Those nasty things," Brenn sighs. "Let's take a detour. I don't want to fight any more of those."

"Why?!" Valerius snaps.

"We're close-ranged fighters," Brenn explains to the uptight merchant's kid. "Those Molten Snappers are low-levelled, but they can tank a lot of damage. One wrong move and you risk losing a hand. Hell's Sword could pierce them easily, Young Master Valerius, but an entire nest? The three of us alone? That's just foolish."

"What if the rat went there!" Valerius stomps his foot on the ground, frustrated.

"Unless he has a death-wish, I doubt it."

Ten Minutes Before

I jog into the next chamber and almost choke on the heat. Lava rivers criss‑cross the floor like angry orange veins, and two dozen Molten Snappers bask right in the middle of it. Each wagon‑sized shell clicks when they turn, beaks sparking on stone.

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"Fuck," I mutter, then louder when the first one lunges, "Big FUCK!"

Hell's Sword levitates beside my ear. I shove mana through the fixed vein route, fire it forward, and carve the lead turtle straight down the snout. It drops, hissing. The rest stampede. The cave shakes.

"Damn it!" I slide sideways, looking back at my shoulders.

I was activating so many traps that I felt Valerius and the goons get closer and closer. If I backpedal now, I'm done.

I keep just outside the snapping range of the next four Molten Snappers that get close. Hell's Sword loops, drills through the first shell, ricochets, punches a hole in the second, then returns dull‑red from the heat.

Going through the shell consumes too much Mana, I clench my jaw.

I curse, flinging Fire Shield up an inch before a Molten Snapper can carve my face. The shield flares, drinking the hit. Mana drain bites, but the Grimoire shows only green veins—no leaks.

More turtles crowd in. I switch to Fire Slash, swing wide, and a crescent of flame scythes the front line.

I slash at a few snouts. One Molten Snapper drops from the hit, but even with my larger Mana Pool and the smoother Hell's Sword, I know I can't keep this pace for long.

A snapped‑off beak whizzes past my ear like a thrown brick. I roll over a strip of lava, boots hissing, and throw a fresh Fire Shield across my side. Jaws slam into the wall of light, shattering it, yet the single heartbeat it buys me is priceless. I yank Hell's Sword back, stab a Snapper in the soft spot behind its eye, then fling the body into two more rushing my way.

Shells clang and sparks fly when they collide.

A tail smacks my calf—hot pain flares—but I spin on my heel and swing a wide Fire Slash that carves the bastard up.

Damn it my Mana is being drained too fast, but I need to protect myself.

I activate Fire Armor and plates of ethereal fire cover up my body.

Another alert blooms: Hell's Sword pivot delay — 0.3 sec. I loosen my wrist, shift my stance, and feel the blade move better now.

Ding

Hell's Sword – Level 68 → Level 69

I duck under the second turtle's bite and spear Hell's Sword straight up through the soft hinge of its jaw. Lava hisses when it drops. The first brute lumbers back, but now the Sword moves like a hawk. One clean thrust cracks its shell, and the monster folds. My breathing steadies even while the cavern keeps rumbling.

Then, when a tail goes straight for my chest, time seems to slow. I get another read from the Grimoire.

[Fire Armor – Silver Rank – Lv. 74]

Mana Cost per Second: 0.2 MP

Spread Stability: 82%

Contact Heat Output: 2 HP

Physical Damage Defense: 451 HP

Efficiency: 74%

Channel-Stutter Loop – Mana rhythm breaks halfway through the plates, creating a gap in the flame filament. Causes sputtering and power loss.

Suggested fix: Extend draw through Rising Sun Vein and Heart's Vein. Time a pulse of extra Mana with a hit to harden the armor.

I reroute the mana line the book highlights and the fiery plates on my skin shrink but harden. The first turtle slams into me; heat rolls off harmlessly and it stumbles past.

Fire Armor – Level 74 → Level 79

I remember Sir Greyson saying that the greatest advances in Skills are usually made under pressure, that only a real battle can reveal how to fix the flaws of a Skill. Even if you know exactly what the problem is, sometimes you lack the awareness of it, the physical feeling for it that can only be gained through a life-or-death battle.

Shells crack; molten goo splatters. Shards the size of marbles tumble from the corpses, glinting silver‑orange.

Skill Shards—Fire Walk, by the look. The last piece of the set. My mouth goes dry. "Oh, hell yes."

I dive, snatch two shards, roll, and hiss when another Snapper's jaw slams shut centimeters from my boot. "Back off, you stone‑baked bastard!" I hurl a Fire Shield like a discus. It detonates on impact, flipping the turtle on its back.

Five left. Mana low. Sweat stings my eyes. I grit my teeth. "Not quitting now." Hell's Sword spins up again, steadier this time. One thrust, two, three—each strike cleaner than the last. The final Molten Snapper wobbles, then collapses with a wheeze.

I kneel, breathing hard, shards cooling in my palm. "Worth it," I whisper, then laugh because my voice cracks. "Totally—worth it."

Valerius, Brenn, and Mal make their way through tunnels for the better part of two hours, not finding their target.

"Where is he?" Valerius frowns.

"We'd see the corpse if a trap got him. And haven't we passed through here already?" Bren replies.

"We would have definitely seen something unless a turtle ate him up," Mal comments.

Brenn wipes sweat from his brow. He stares at an empty corridor wall of red stone.

"We lost him," he says. "He ran back to the city for sure."

Mal kicks a loose pebble and grunts back.

"We should leave. Someone will notice we sneaked in without a pass."

Valerius frowns and grits his teeth.

"All this trouble for nothing," he muttered. "Fine. We go."

A calm voice echoes behind them.

"I don't think you're going anywhere."

They turn fast. Jacob stands ten paces back. His shirt's gone. Dust streaks his arms. Hell's Sword floats at his side like a lantern of fire.

Brenn lifts his spear.

"How did you get here?"

Jacob steps forward. His eyes shine in the red glow.

"You chased me because you're a spineless bastard," he says. "You didn't get the pass and yet you still chased me."

Mal snorted.

"Big words for a rat."

Jacob smiled.

"I'm done talking."

Jacob's Hell's Sword whizzes past them but they all easily dodge it.

Valerius frowns at the fact that Jacob can make the sword levitate.

How? Is that a Secret Effect?

"You missed, rat!" Valerius snorts.

"I wasn't aiming at you," Jacob smiles.

Jacob had Hell's Sword hit a square tile near Valerius's feet. The blade flares. A thin beam of flame stabs the rune in the stone. The tile rings like metal under a hammer.

Click.

The floor shakes.

Valerius jumps back, yet Brenn grabs his arm.

"What did he do?"

Jacob drew the blade across the air. Sparks flew.

"Opened the first door," he said. "The rest follows."

The wall behind the goons groans. Red cracks flash blue, then white. Stone joints split.

CRACK.

A whole slab slides free and slams down. Dust billows through the tunnel. Screams echo.
Hidden plates spring underfoot. Iron spikes shoot from the floor. Hot darts hiss from holes in the walls. Brenn shoves Mal aside, but a dart catches his shoulder and he crumples with a cry.

Valerius staggers back toward Jacob, eyes wide.

"You'll die too!" he shouts.

Jacob lifts Hell's Sword overhead.

"Maybe," he says, "but I know where to stand."

He springs onto a low ledge. The sword carves a glowing arc and slices another rune. Farther down the passage a ceiling beam snaps; rocks rain onto the spikes and block the exit.

Flames roar through new gaps in the floor. Blue fire rolls along old oil channels. The tunnel becomes a cage of heat and falling stone.

Jacob balances on the ledge while dust swirls around him.

"Welcome," he calls through the smoke. "Try not to choke."

The ground keeps trembling. More traps click open in the dark.

Everything goes black as the dust cloud smothers the torch-light.

* * *

The goons cough and are poorly battered by the ordeal.

They survived, somehow, but they are riddled with wounds and the way back was just sealed. Now, they must follow whatever direction Jacob went in.

"Young Master?" Brenn asks as he slowly pulls Valerius out of a pile of debris.

"I'm fine," Valerius coughs.

They soon walk a few paces to get out of this tunnel but they enter another one and they see a veritable ocean of activated traps. What happened was that traps don't necessarily regenerate in the same spot. Knights just trigger them once and let them run out of Mana. They don't actually remove it completely. That leaves a lot of inactive traps in a Dungeon such as the Emberdeep Cavern.

And Jacob restored all of them.

"The rat. The damn rat. He did this."

Mal's grip tightens on his axe. "

He's turning the dungeon against us."

Valerius clenches his jaw. "We go slower, but we keep going. I want his head by nightfall."

Brenn and Mal look at each other.

"Young Master, I don't think we should. This kid knows how to restore traps. It takes very little Mana but a lot of expertise. I don't think we should be messing with him. In fact, you should probably apologize."

"Apologize?!" Valerius almost loses his mind hearing those words. "NEVER!"

"Young Master—" Brenn sighs.

"MOVE!" Valerius stomps forward and the other two, bound to Valerius's father service, can't do anything but follow.