Solo Strategy

Experience had taught me: nothing was more dangerous than overconfidence. Even knowing the path to the ruins was safe, I moved with my usual caution, periodically activating Shadow Player, keeping an eye on the surroundings, and maintaining my auras.

Once, this house, lost in the endless swamps, had served as a hidden laboratory for some powerful alchemist. Possibly even one of the Heroic Coil. Now, though, only ruins remained.

Entering the dilapidated structure, I almost cut my boots on the scattered shards of broken alchemical glassware. All that remained of the former "splendor" were faint echoes. Shattered tables and collapsed shelves, which once held bottles of precious potions, now lay on the floor as rotten debris. The ceiling was gaping with holes, through which occasional drops of swamp moisture lazily dripped. In a distant corner, on a moss-covered floor, I made out a broken human skeleton. Only faceless gray scraps remained of the clothes, completely merged with the ground. Nearby lay fragments of a staff—once, perhaps, a powerful artifact, now just a rotted, useless stick. Alas, the main value of the staff—the precious stone in its head—was missing. Perhaps it was taken to its lair by the Great Deykan, who, judging by the state of the skeleton, was the cause of the alchemist's demise.

A silence reigned here in which you could hear your own breathing echoing back from the bare walls. Only under the roof's arches, a fragile shard of mountain crystal, by some miracle still clear, occasionally crackled as it rolled across the decaying boards from a stray gust of air.

This was the lair of a renegade, hiding from the servants of Antares in these impenetrable swamps.

Why a renegade? Because only such loners, who scorned the commonly accepted norms and laws, dared to work with Shadow.

Perhaps this very alchemist, who died centuries ago, was the one who stole the sacred relic of Gatya's tribe. Stole it to drag it to his lair and enhance alchemical compounds with Shadow magic.

Well, apparently, mad scientists weren't exclusive to Earth.

Even if there were any valuables here, almost nothing remained of them over the centuries. All the rare herbs had rotted, all once-miraculous concoctions had long turned into useless sludge, unique ingredients crumbled into dust. Time spared nothing. With rare exceptions...

Bending over an ancient skeleton, I used Air Discharge, clearing the floor of dust and moss. Then, crouching, I noticed a ring that had fallen into a narrow crevice between the stones. It looked very much like the one Larindel had once given me: the Earth Magic Ring, which enhanced the simplest spells of this school by one filled Talent Star, up to the artifact's maximum of four Stars.

Just in case, before picking up the find, I checked it for protective magic or any other traps. As expected, the ring was clean. Most likely, it simply slipped off the alchemist's finger when the Great Deykan tore off his hands. After wiping the ring free of centuries-old dirt, I put it on and immediately cast the Metallic Scale spell. As hoped, the magic responded faster, more eagerly, more easily, and the spell itself became denser, richer, as if a living wave of power coursed over my skin.

Canceling the protective magic, I carefully examined the ancient corpse again. The skeleton looked like a broken child's toy: someone very strong had torn it apart without any care and then just piled all the pieces together. Quite an unpleasant sight.

Considering that the lair of the monster that had dealt with the alchemist of the Heroic Coil was only seven hundred meters from this island, the sight was not just unpleasant but also hair-raising.

One of the earthlings in the Last Cycle suggested that the alchemist himself had raised the monster that killed him—as I now understood, using the altar of Seguna stolen from the local tribe—creating a tool with which he hoped to drive away the Seven-Headed Hydra living nearby.

Maybe that's how it had been. But honestly, I didn't care how this ancient mage had died—whether by accident or his own foolishness, thinking himself a creator of monsters. History, as usual, did not forgive those who fancied themselves gods in a world where even real gods sometimes looked like madmen.

As for the relic of Shadow... I felt its presence. It was very close. Right under my feet.

Stripping to the waist, I lifted the miraculously preserved metal hatch and peeked into the basement. Once, this place had been dry and used by its owner as a storage area. But now, as soon as I lifted the lid, murky, rotten, and utterly opaque water appeared before my eyes.

I didn't need to use any search magic; the direction to the altar was felt in every nerve, every cell, even my very soul.

Filling my lungs to the full, I leaned down and submerged up to my waist in the foul sludge, leaving my legs outside. The length of my arms was enough to touch the warm stone—the true altar.

From the experience of past "prayers" to Seguna, I knew that such a mystery wouldn't last long, so I wasn't afraid of suffocating. And, besides, I was sure: losing such a useful tool would hardly please the Echo of the Goddess of Night Cool.

Maybe for a change, everything went almost routinely this time. The Echo neither tried to force, control, nor tempt me. I sensed a sort of request—to find a priest—and immediately responded mentally, 'Alright, I'll find one within five years.' And that was it. It even seemed like the Echo dismissed me as if I were a pesky fly, preoccupied with something far more important somewhere distant.

As a reward, I was gifted a new spell, a combat one this time—"Arrow of Silence." Its purpose wasn't to inflict physical damage but to break magic from a distance. A useful spell. And at the same time, a subtle mockery from the Echo of the goddess of Night Cool.

Why mockery? Because to fully use the "Arrow of Silence," Four Stars of Talent in Shadow were required… Which meant this magic was simply beyond my reach at this stage. Well, as they say, thanks for at least that much. A splendid gift for the future… if I survive.

Emerging from the murky ooze, I hadn't even dried off when I felt a weightless touch on my Core. Something ethereal, invisible, as if with a brush of light and shadow, quickly inscribed a new record on my Core. An adamantium record!

"Seeker of the Forgotten," it declared.

A new Achievement, granted for finding five treasures: four lost altars of Seguna and the Boundless Pride.

Wow… Adamantium?! Astonishing. Though… why astonishing?

It was as if an archaeologist on Earth had, in their lifetime, found the Ark of the Covenant, Ivan the Terrible's Library, Tutankhamun's tomb, Saint George's Spear, and the Inca Sun Disk. Such feats indeed warranted a divine achievement.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the echo of this record permeate my entire being. Not just a sign, not merely a rare mark, but an Achievement that, besides a vast amount of Core growth energy, granted me a unique ability. An ability to intuitively sense when something unusual was nearby. Of course, this ability had some limitations, but I couldn't discern them. Alas, not everything inscribed by the gods was comprehensible to humans. And I had to accept this as a given.

After cleaning off the clinging muck and drying myself with household magic, I immediately donned my armor. Then, I immersed myself in meditation again, carefully examining my Core.

Good. Very good!

I hadn't cleared a single dungeon since stepping beyond the First Wall. I hadn't even engaged in a real battle. Yet now, to reach the Sapphire Step, only about a quarter of the Core growth energy remained to be filled. And all this in such a short time!

It turned out that archaeology in the world of Ain brought quite decent dividends!

Of course, I knew that one could ascend the Great Spiral of Elevation without battles and dungeon clearing. What's more, I had such examples before me: Arien, Katashi, and even Dice. But only now did I truly understand that it was possible for me too.

Clearing the moss, I dried my cloak and spread it directly on the floor, lying down to relax a bit. I hadn't slept properly for five days. Just a couple of hours ago, it seemed that if I closed my eyes for even a few seconds, sleep would knock me out even in the middle of the swamp. But now, as I was lying in relative dryness, sleep eluded me. My thoughts stubbornly circled around the idea of rank elevation without fights.

In the Last Cycle, I began my adventures in Ain precisely in the Patanga Swamps area, though about five hundred kilometers west of where I was now. Nevertheless, thanks to frequent conversations with other earthlings, I knew about many curious things hidden in these marshes. Most of them I had outgrown in rank, and I had only heard about the location of others from stories. But maybe it was worth trying to find them?

For example, there was a very curious artifact—akin to a compass, which I had regretted not having not too long ago. True, this artifact pointed not north but to Divino Mountain, yet it would be no less useful as a directional guide. Tempting. But to get it, I would have to trek through these hated swamps again for several days—with no guarantee of success, as I "remembered" the location only from others' words. Besides, finding it was unlikely to earn me a significant Achievement. After all, it was just a magical tool, not something as unique as Boundless Pride.

The longer I pondered this, the more I recalled the secrets and treasures hidden in the Great Patanga Swamps. And the more I realized that I never wanted to set foot here again. These marshes were already a thorn in my side. If I'd remembered the existence of some divine artifact here, I might have overcome my aversion and set out to find it. But all my memory offered was useful only up to the Sapphire rank at best.

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Although the fact that I didn't remember something truly significant didn't mean it wasn't here. After all, the Great Patanga Swamps were a vast territory where, long before the Fall, a large state once existed.

But be that as it may, proper archaeology in these bogs would only be possible after they were drained. And considering the size of this area, not every deity of Ain could manage such a task even at the peak of their power.

The thought that as soon as I found the second lost altar of Seguna, I would leave this place, was calming and finally allowed me to fall asleep.

I dreamed of some muddling horrors, making waking up far from pleasant. And by the feel of it, I'd barely slept five hours. I hadn't even fully recovered my strength.

I leisurely prepared breakfast without lighting a fire. Then, I stretched to warm up my muscles. Only after that did I begin a thorough examination of the abandoned alchemist's base.

According to those who found this place first in the Last Cycle, I knew nothing valuable was left here. But, first, those who told this to "my past self" might have simply omitted something. And second, they might have just missed it.

Alas, two hours of searching yielded no results. To be more precise, I found a lot of things, but centuries of neglect had turned it all into useless junk.

After finishing my search, I spent another two hours in restorative meditation. I didn't dare take another recovery potion; I had drunk too many in recent days, and it was already manifesting as a dull, persistent muscle ache that no magic could relieve.

Meditation helped partially. But to fully recover, I needed at least a day of complete rest. In principle, I could afford this, but the knowledge that one of the Great Monsters was lurking nearby, somewhere beneath a layer of murky muck, wouldn't let me be. I knew the swamp creature would "sleep" for a long time, at least several months... But no matter how I rationalized it, my mind stubbornly whispered, "What if it wakes up right now? What if it senses my presence?" This whisper, like a splinter under the skin, kept me on edge.

Due to the monster's proximity, I didn't risk using magic, except for household spells and Shadow. I also tried to constantly maintain the aura of the Shroud of the Hidden Heart, remembering that one of its properties was to pacify monsters.

Before leaving the ruins, I gathered the alchemist's bones, carefully placed them in a corner, and covered them with stone fragments, creating some semblance of a grave.

To my great relief, the memory of the future held the exact direction from the alchemist's house to the lair of the Seven-Headed Hydra. So this time, I probably wouldn't get lost, unless I foolishly started circling in this cursed fog again.

After gathering my belongings and securing everything in place, I threw on my cloak and mosquito net. Then, taking the Pure Step Totem in hand, I headed towards the gap in the hedge that I had made myself.

As soon as my boots sank back into the murky sludge, reeking of pondweed and rot, a new wave of disgust for the swamps swept over me. I honestly couldn't understand how people could live in places like this. And Gatya's tribe was far from the only example.

Still, that was just how people were: we clung to life anywhere, as long as survival was possible there at all. Even so, I never understood those who chose the swamps willingly. Loving mountains, seas, forests—I could accept that, but how could anyone love a swamp? It was a mystery to me, and yet, such people did exist.

Again—the fog, again—each step a battle, and covering a kilometer—already a feat.

A feat that, for some reason, only brought trash Achievements. And yet, it seemed to me that for something like this, I should have been at least awarded a Precious Coil Achievement! Unfair. Because clearing a dungeon was much easier for me than slogging through this damned swampy mess for hours, fearing with each step that I'd sink into a treacherous mire.

And beyond the mire, treacherous floating mats, poisonous plants and mosses, and bloodsucking vermin—both in the air and in the murky sludge—the Great Patanga Swamps had plenty of other dangers. Monsters of all kinds: from those same deykans to oversized frogs the size of a compact car, which, it always seemed to me, were just waiting to spit acid that could corrode even steel at anything that dared to come into their sight.

It was just as well that the monsters capable of posing a threat to an Opal rank traveler tended to steer clear of these parts. This area was literally thick with signs that true giants reigned here—creatures that wouldn't tolerate any predatory rivals nearby.

Nevertheless, despite all the difficulties, after crawling for about half the way, by sunset I finally reached my destination. At the last moment, though, I nearly went off course, straying too far to the right. But a timely gust of wind cleared the fog for a few minutes, allowing me to spot my target.

I was lucky, really. I could have easily passed by and then spent several more days wandering these swamps, risking not only my health but also the remnants of my sanity.

The place I was seeking stood out against the endless marshlands like a stranger among the rotten hummocks and viscous mire. A relatively small island, about fifty paces across. But it was unlike those I had passed in the previous days. Completely different.

It looked like a fragment of an ancient rock that had broken through the swamp's depths. As if some giant hand had torn a piece of a mountain range and tossed it here, into the heart of the fetid quagmire. The top of this rocky formation rose only about twice my height, yet it seemed monumental, almost arrogant, compared to the shifting swamp slime around it.

Bare, cracked stones jutted upward, resembling a pile of giant knives or the snarling fangs of an ancient monster. Sharp and threatening, they seemed so dangerous that one careless move could leave a deep cut. Between the "teeth," narrow crevices gaped, oozing thick moisture, and watery sheens glimmered here and there—as if the island breathed and sweated, shedding the swamp's dampness. There was no moss or the usual swamp vegetation here. Only cold stone, black-gray, with whitish veins in places. It looked as if it regretted being amid this mire, enduring the alien surroundings only out of an ancient stubbornness as old as the world itself.

Reaching this inexplicable rocky outcrop took me a full three hours. And those were probably the most exhausting hours of my entire stay in these swamps.

Here, the bogs showed their insidious nature in full. Deep, almost bottomless pits, disguised as dense, deceptively reliable floating plant mats. Each hummock could treacherously slip away from under your feet, dragging you down with a squelch that sounded like mockery. The few paths I managed to find with the help of the Pure Step Totem often ended in dead ends, forcing me to backtrack long and painfully through the same treacherous mess, where every movement required utmost concentration and precise calculation. Each step could be your last if you stumbled or hesitated even for a moment.

The local mire pulled with such force that I wasn't sure if my abilities as an Opal-ranked warrior would be enough to escape these natural traps if I unwittingly fell into one. Especially since I was truly exhausted, moving forward more on the remnants of will and sheer stubbornness.

Reaching the rocky island—the last few meters I had to swim across without removing my heavy armor—I finally made it to dry land. Using what felt like my last bit of strength, I managed to grasp a granite ledge, pull myself up, and collapse onto a relatively flat area, like a sea lion miraculously escaping an orca attack. At the very least, it seemed I was breathing just as heavily.

Honestly, at that moment, I thought I'd lie there for at least a day, completely still and even ignoring the water dripping off me. But then my gaze caught on a small bush, just a couple of my palm widths across, bearing clusters of ripe, dark blue berries. Moon Mistberry. I knew it from the Last Cycle. Although... Wasn't...? Oh, right—this was precisely the time when it ripened.

A very rare and incredibly useful plant. Rare because it only grew near Places of Power, and even then only where there were no mosses—which was exceedingly rare in swamps. Useful because its berries perfectly restored energy, invigorated, cleansed the body of toxins, and, unlike alchemical potions, had no side effects or "delayed price." For just one such berry, even dried and having lost most of its properties, any alchemist would pay a gold coin without bargaining.

With difficulty, I raised my hand, picked a dozen, and popped them into my mouth. The abundant, intense juice, reminiscent of concentrated cranberry, generously spread across my palate. My face involuntarily twisted from the excessive sourness, but it was a very small price to pay for the fact that just five minutes later, I felt my strength returning, the aching muscle pain subsiding, and my legs no longer feeling like they were filled with lead.

Having come to and feeling refreshed, I still lay motionless for almost half an hour. I just didn't want to move. At all. But then, gathering my willpower, I got up, stripped everything off, and set about drying it out.

Thanks to household magic, it didn't take long—far more time was spent properly cleaning the armor from the plant fragments and, especially so, the nasty leeches.

Once dry and dressed again, for the first time in days, I felt like a human, not some soaked amphibian.

Then, I shook out all the items in my backpack, cleaned them thoroughly, and had a snack from what was left of my supplies. I picked some more Moon Mistberries and, using fire Element household magic, brewed myself an infusion.

Any alchemist, seeing such a wasteful use of rare ingredients, would have probably ripped my hands off. But that was the least of my concerns. The journey back lay ahead, and any natural remedy capable of restoring strength would definitely come in handy.

After tidying myself up, I left my backpack and spear behind and began to explore the rocky islet. As luck would have it, the memory of the future hadn't preserved the exact location of the lost altar of the Night Sister. The only thing I remembered for sure was that this sacred place was different from the altars found in temples. Here, among the rocks, there had to be hiding what was called a "natural altar," very similar to the one I once visited on the distant island of Quad at the very beginning of my journey through Ain in this Cycle.

The rock seemed quite small, yet it took me almost an hour to find that distinctive sign: a handprint pressed into the granite.

Almost three months ago, on Quad, having found a similar altar, I waited for Seguna to appear in the sky to cast the shadow of my hand onto the print in the stone. Now I understood that, for me, possessing Shadow Affinity, this wasn't necessary at all. Instead of waiting for the clouds to clear—clouds that could hang here for weeks, even months—I simply placed my palm on the imprint and reached out to my Affinity.

The response came almost immediately. A wave of shadow energy enveloped me completely, soft yet all-encompassing. It settled over me like a weightless cloak, dispelling even the slightest, barely noticeable traces of fatigue.

This time, the attention of the Echo of the Mistress of Night Cool felt like a friendly, enveloping warmth. It lulled, soothed, and, to my surprise, demanded nothing and even asked for nothing. I felt cradled in loving arms, while a stream of pure growth energy flowed into my Core. This stream felt more refreshing than the sweetest water after a week in a merciless desert. It flowed until my Core was filled to the brim.

A new Adamantium-colored Achievement, outlined in a play of semitones—"Pilgrim of the Forgotten Shadow." Besides a whole sea of growth energy, it also significantly reduced the energy costs for all Shadow magic spells and auras. And by "significantly," I didn't mean a paltry ten percent—no, it was by half!

Sure, I had hoped for a reward and a worthy Achievement, but Adamantium?! And with such a useful property! It was far more than I could have ever dared to imagine.

The only thing better would have been an additional Talent Star in Shadow.

As if sensing my thoughts, the Echo of Seguna, it seemed, broke into silent laughter. It rocked me a bit more in its illusory arms, and then, sending a wave that felt like it whispered 'See you,' gently released me, returning my consciousness back to reality.

Still in a light daze from such a substantial reward, I reached my belongings. I spread my cloak on a spot free of sharp stones, ate another Moon Mistberry—it burned my palate with a bright tartness, clearing my head completely—then lay down and went into Elevation.

A new Step of the Great Spiral of Elevation awaited me. Sapphire!