Solo Strategy

People were right when they said, "There's no justice in the world." I risked falling from a great height, tested a new device, and only got an Emerald Achievement, while Katashi ended up with an Itildine one!

Then again, it was the same on Earth—all the glory and recognition went to the designers, planes were named after them, yet only a few people remembered the test pilot's name[1]. There were exceptions, of course, but you could count them on one hand.

"Why are you so happy?" I asked Katashi. "It's not like you haven't received significant Achievements before."

The young blacksmith was momentarily embarrassed but then explained:

"Usually, I got Achievements right after accomplishing something. Immediately. But with the glider, it was different. When we made it, I got nothing. Only now, when you took off, did I receive this Achievement. It's unusual." It seemed he was ashamed of his emotional outburst.

Japanese... I doubted I would ever fully understand them. Why was rejoicing in your own Achievements a bad thing?

"I did promise you Achievements," I smirked. "Or did you think I was lying to you?"

"That's not what I meant," the future God of Labor immediately bristled like a ruffled fledgling. "Hold the glider; I'll inspect it."

"When I was pitching up, the central spar creaked a bit," I recalled.

"I'll check," the young blacksmith nodded, his face returning to the expression of a stone statue.

Katashi's inspection of the flyable model took about ten minutes, but everything seemed fine. He just tightened one of the fastenings a bit more.

"I'm going to descend into the valley between the hills," the Japanese said, straightening up. "You just glide down. No gaining altitude, no turns, just straight down. And use minimal magic."

"Got it," I shrugged.

When Kay had gone down and moved about three hundred meters out from the hilltop, I lifted the glider again. Entering a light meditation of Wind Sense, I took a short run and lifted off the ground.

I wouldn't say I suddenly fell in love with flying. But there was definitely something in it that stole your breath and set your heart racing.

Since Katashi had asked me to use less magic, the flight was very short: the glider simply descended on a very gentle trajectory and landed on the ground, about thirty meters short of where the future God of Labor stood.

"I can't figure out if we got the balance wrong or something else," said the young blacksmith as I got to my feet, holding the prototype.

"What do you mean?" I didn't get his point.

"Didn't you feel the wing pulling to the left?" Katashi was surprised. "A little, but it does. Although wait, the prototype is fine; it's you who needs to shift about three centimeters to the left. I meant your grip on the spar."

"But I'm holding it right, perfectly centered," I objected.

"Let's not argue and just try again; this time, shift your grip as I said," without bickering, somehow overly calm, the Japanese insisted.

"Alright, it's no trouble," I nodded, not arguing.

Then I climbed the hill on foot. That turned out much harder than descending: sharp gusts of wind kept trying to wrench the hang glider out of my hands. If not for Air magic, I'd definitely have been dragged over the rocky ground a couple of times.

Reaching the top, I took a short run and launched the glider into flight, this time following Katashi's advice. Somewhere midway through the glide, I had to admit he was right: after shifting my grip on the spar, the hang glider started responding better—just a hair, barely noticeable, but better.

"See, that was good now, you flew twenty steps farther," the future God of Labor nodded in satisfaction after I landed. "Next, we'll disassemble the structure, then put it back together, and you'll fly one more time." Then he added, "The last one for today. And don't argue; I can feel micro-damages accumulating in the central mast."

So we did just that: took apart the flyable model, carried it to the top of the hill, and reassembled it. Then, I lifted the hang glider off the ground again.

A short run.

The feeling of flight, which became more pleasant with each attempt... Making a half-circle around the hilltop, I caught a cold headwind, like an air river flowing from the lakeshore, and, using Wind Sense, I drove it under the wing and began to ascend.

The ascent wasn't straight but in a wide spiral. The weather conditions were quite favorable to try and beat my previous altitude record.

Wind filled the wing. My body and its balance were like a steering oar on an ancient ship. A steady wind, blowing in one direction. What more could you need?

As it turned out, I did need something more. Specifically, either a bit more luck or a sturdier fabric for the wing.

When I gained about a hundred and fifty meters, I heard a slight crack but paid it no mind. And twenty meters later, I regretted my carelessness. No, the structure held up, the masts were fine, but the fabric we bought and installed on the wing wasn't as durable, or maybe it had a small flaw we hadn't noticed. Fortunately, I saw the tear while it was still tiny.

I immediately tilted the prototype to the left to relieve the load on the right part of the wing, where I noticed the damage. This delayed the fabric's destruction but didn't stop it. Thanks to Wind Sense, I could clearly feel the tension mounting around the tear.

Estimating the altitude gained and the speed at which the gap was expanding, I realized I wouldn't make it to the ground. Still, I tried: it was a pity to lose the glider we'd built with such effort. Probably, test pilots felt something similar when they were ordered to eject in an emergency, yet they still tried to guide the plane to the runway until the last moment.

About forty meters above the ground, I nearly lost control entirely: the wing began to veer sideways as if an invisible force was tearing it apart. The air struck my face with icy fists, trying to knock the breath out of me, and every movement required effort, as if I were holding not a hang glider but a sail hit by a storm front. The tear grew visibly, almost reaching the middle of the right wing, and each new flap of the fabric sent a shiver through my fingers, like the crack of a taut rope about to snap.

The most sensible thing would have been to let go and fall onto the slope of the hill, roll over, and at worst, get away with bruises. But in that case, the glider would have been completely destroyed. So instead, driven by something akin to competitive anger and a stubborn refusal to give up, I shifted my weight to the right, released my right hand, and hung onto the spar with only my left. My palm instantly burned from the tension, my muscles screamed, but I clenched my fingers until my knuckles whitened, utilizing Wind Sense at the same time, forcing the currents to support the dying wing.

For a moment, the hang glider leveled out, the trembling in its structure replaced by a tense, fragile equilibrium, and then it sharply dipped its nose. The descent became swift but steady—without the deadly spin. At twenty meters, I aimed the prototype's nose at the hill's slope and, pushing off the spar, flew down into the waters of Mirkdeep.

I was lucky: even so close to the shore, the lake was about ten meters deep, no less. Managing to cast only one inverted Air Shield, which slightly slowed the fall, I entered the cold water pencil-straight, feet-first, without hurting myself or even bruising my soles.

The water was cold. Very. Ten degrees, no more. But with my Adamantium body, I felt fine in it: my legs didn't cramp, my breath didn't catch, my heart didn't race madly. Surfacing, I immediately swam to the shore, scanning for the crash site.

The first thing I saw was Katashi, who—what a bastard—was running not to help me but to where the prototype had fallen.

"The structure is intact!" I heard the relieved shout of the Japanese as I was climbing out of the water.

No, seriously, Katashi was a heartless bastard—he cared more about his creations than the life and health of his comrade.

Walking over to the crash site, I began to strip naked, as the wet clothes in the cold wind were far from pleasant. After spreading my shirt, pants, and underwear on the rocks, I was just about to use some household magic... when Katashi turned to me, completely ignoring my nudity, and snapped his fingers. Thick steam immediately rose from my clothes, and five seconds later, they were lying on the stones already dry.

It really was good to have five Stars of Talent in the Fire Element—even household magic worked in ways that could only amaze you. I quickly got dressed, feeling the warm clothes driving away the chill on my skin.

"I'm alright by the way," I said with a hint of sarcasm as I approached the Japanese, who was bent over the fallen prototype.

"I see." The future God of Labor responded curtly, not even looking up from his inspection. "What happened? I have a guess, but I'd like to hear it from you."

"Fabric defect." I shrugged, deciding not to get angry at the young blacksmith, as it was useless anyway, and he was just the way he was. "But the frame performed very well. It withstood the load fluctuations, didn't break in the air."

"Got it," the Japanese nodded. "The prototype's landing was quite smooth, so it's possible to trace all the damage... And I must say, the glider turned out even sturdier than I expected. Though... This prototype is done for. Too many internal micro-cracks and chips in the bamboo."

"But it looks intact. Relatively," I said, examining the first flyable model, which now didn't look in the best shape.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

"It only looks that way," Katashi said firmly, standing up. "It needs to be taken apart and broken down so I can better understand the damage structure."

"Break it," I nodded.

Even for those simple words, I had to overcome myself. Just a little, but still. For some irrational reason, I didn't want to destroy the prototype, but I understood that the future God of Labor was right.

Fifteen minutes later, the glider was dismantled into its components, and then even these components were mercilessly broken by Katashi. Each time, the Japanese carefully examined the break for several minutes, and I was sure he was memorizing everything he saw precisely.

"Let's consider that the design itself passed the test, but the materials failed," the future God of Labor concluded, and then, with a sharp gesture, set the remains of the hang glider on fire.

It was almost physically painful to watch the flames devour what had recently been a wing, catching the wind and lifting me above the ground. Every crunch of bamboo, the crack of fabric igniting and shriveling in the heat, rang inside my chest with a heavy hollow note, as if not wood were breaking, but something personal. The fire, like an indifferent executioner, left no chance, working quickly and confidently, turning our labor into smoldering trash that the wind would soon scatter down the slope. I stood motionless, showing no sign that everything inside had clenched tight. Only the flickering of the flame, reflected in my eyes, betrayed that for me, this was not just a burned prototype—it was a farewell to the first flight, to that moment when I briefly believed that the sky could mean not only fear, but something more.

However, I didn't blame Katashi—he did everything right. Dragging the wreckage back to Deytran was pointless, especially after the young blacksmith had already examined it and drawn the necessary conclusions. And leaving the destroyed glider as a pile of trash was even worse than burning it. At least the first flyable model met its end in style—in a pyre.

Barely resisting the urge to salute the ashes, I turned to the future God of Labor:

"If we get proper materials, can you make a full-fledged version?"

"I can," Katashi replied without a hint of doubt. "All the more since I've studied the properties of Ptah wood and am familiar with valirium. If there are any difficulties, it will only be with the spider silk."

"It's better to order that separately, in a whole piece, and directly from a good master weaver."

"Agreed," the young blacksmith nodded after a short pause. "Back now?"

"No, I have one more thing to do on this shore, or rather, in the waters of this lake," I objected.

"You mentioned something like that," the Japanese recalled, scratching his temple with his index finger.

"Let's go; it's somewhere not far from here."

"Somewhere?" Katashi smirked. "I can't say your phrasing inspires confidence."

The future God of Labor developing a sense of humor? Amazing.

After reaching the hilltop, I donned my armor again and, resting Striking Whisper on my shoulder, nodded to the young blacksmith, inviting him to follow me.

When we reached the shore, I started speaking, seeing no point in hiding anything anymore:

"You remember I love studying myths, legends, and lore, right?" Seeing the young blacksmith nod in agreement, I continued, "You see, there are also documents, old maps in the temples of Aerad and Ishid. As you already know, before the Fall of the Gods, this world was different. Even the geography in some places has changed. So, I came across an ancient map. Or rather, a fragment of it. And on that map, this lake was much smaller, about half the size, and not as deep, with its waters supposedly significantly warmer."

"I've seen the aftermath of major earthquakes. These shores are somewhat similar," said Katashi, tilting his head. "Of course, the traces are ancient, but if you know where to look..."

"Exactly," I continued with a sense of relief. "So, on that map, right next to the lake, there was a Diamond-rank dungeon marked."

"There was?" the Japanese raised an eyebrow.

"There was. Because now it's not there. Not on modern maps, nor in reality. Of course, one could assume the dungeon was destroyed by a global cataclysm. But, firstly, I don't know of cases of a dungeon 'perishing' like that. And secondly, it could have simply submerged when the lake became larger and deeper."

"That's a stretch," the future God of Labor shook his head. "Diamond Rank creatures should be incredibly resilient. What would have stopped them from surfacing during the Overflow and terrorizing everything around?"

"The fact that some types of monsters don't handle water well. For example, slugs that breathe through their skin. That's exactly how they're killed—by covering them with a water shroud and waiting for them to suffocate."

"Don't tell me that dungeon was inhabited by such slugs," Katashi rolled his eyes.

"You won't believe it!" I grinned broadly. "But the note on that ancient map mentioned just such monsters."

"Wait!" my companion suddenly stopped in his tracks. "Don't tell me you're dragging me to clear another dungeon! And not just any dungeon, but a Diamond Rank one, when we're both only at the beginning of the Second Coil! Raven, there must be a limit to any madness! Including your greed and your manic drive to gain as many Achievements as possible. I get it, you're an Achievement fanatic, and you're drawn to them like bees to honey. I've come to terms with that and accepted you as you are, but you've got to draw the line somewhere!"

He had accepted me! Did it really look that way from his perspective?

"No, I'm not that... insane," I replied, struggling to find the right word. "It's simpler than that. All Second Spiral dungeon monsters can yield unique resources, albeit with a small chance of success. The map I found indicated that the monsters in the dungeon I'm interested in dropped Orkan stones. They're rarely used in alchemy but are valued in artifact creation and as gems. The demand isn't particularly high, but I checked the markets, and their price is currently steep because they're scarce, only mined in some distant lands," I added a tone of greed and anticipation to my voice. "Now imagine: if I'm right, then somewhere in the depths of this lake, Overflow has occurred once a year for many centuries. Dozens of monsters died each year, and the precious stones from their bodies have been accumulating at the bottom all this time!"

"Raven, have you ever considered writing children's fairy tales?" Katashi shook his head. "I assure you, you'd achieve unprecedented success in such a field!"

I could expect such a phrase from Scully, but from the future God of Labor? Where was this Cycle heading?!

"Kay," I said more calmly, "you don't have to do anything at all. Just sit on the shore and make sure no one steals my gear while I splash around in these cold waters. Such a hard task?"

"I don't want to waste time," the young blacksmith shook his head, but I could tell he had already agreed.

"Three hours... well, four," I smiled. "And we'll head to Deytran if nothing pans out."

"And if you don't drown. The water here is ice-cold," added Katashi.

"Mithril Body, Sapphire rank, Air Bubble spell," I listed, "and on top of that, I'm a great swimmer. So, I won't drown."

"That's if the local legends lie about the monster guarding the lake's depths," the Japanese tried to have the last word. "But what if they're true?"

"Then I'll lure this monster to the shore, and you can give it a good caress with your hammer," I smiled.

"Pf-f-f-f," snorted Katashi, yet offering no further objections.

The first landmark, familiar from my memory of the Last Cycle, came into view after half an hour of a leisurely southward trek. Another ten minutes later, I spotted the second: two hills with an unusual shape, noticeably different from the surrounding ones. If you drew a line between them towards the shore and extended it further, somewhere out there in the lake would be the entrance to the dungeon, submerged about sixty meters deep.

Why hadn't I come here alone, dragging Katashi along instead? Simple: if something happened to me later, the Japanese would have access to a fair haul of gemstones. And if he didn't rush to sell them—thus not crashing the market—he could make very good money. So yes, it was exactly the future God of Labor I chose as my heir if I happened to die before the Invasion began. I was sure the young smith could manage that natural hoard better than anyone else. And I also knew that if I were alive, he wouldn't take a single stone without my consent. Kay was too honest and stubborn to do otherwise.

"Somewhere around here. I think," I said, adding doubt to my voice, and stopped.

"Somewhere... you think..." Katashi shook his head. "Raven, how can you be so... so..." Failing to find the right word, the Japanese just waved his hand.

Ignoring his grumbling, I undressed for the second time that day, though this time I stayed in my underwear to avoid embarrassing the young blacksmith. Then, I filled my travel bag with large stones to make diving easier, approached the shore, took a running start, and jumped off a three-meter cliff.

The dark water immediately closed over my head. For a moment, the cold took my breath away, but it quickly passed. If I wanted to, with my Adamantium body, I could live naked in the snow and not even catch a cold, though the chill would still be a bit uncomfortable.

Swimming a couple of hundred meters from the shore, I took a deep breath and created an Air Bubble around my head. Now, down into the darkness.

At a depth of just ten meters, it became so dark that I couldn't see my hands anymore. No matter, I had Flashlight—finally, this spell came in truly handy. The small fish scattered from me like frightened rabbits seeing a wolf. And as far as I knew, there was nothing bigger than ordinary pike living in this ominously named lake.

The first dive yielded nothing: I reached the bottom, saw the rocks, but their shape wasn't what I needed. No worries—it was only the first attempt.

Surfacing, unafraid of pressure changes—yet another benefit of my enhanced body—I swam fifty meters to the side and dove again. Missed again. No big deal. I had time to spare…

However, one hour later, I wasn't so sure. I kept diving and diving, but still found no signs of the nearby dungeon. Another hour passed, and I started to get nervous, fearing that my memory from the Last Cycle had failed me again. My dives, performed in a zigzag pattern, were gradually moving away from the shore.

What if I got the landmarks wrong? What if I remembered incorrectly or misinterpreted the memory? With each unsuccessful dive, my doubts swelled like rising dough.

It was already the fourth hour of the search when I suddenly felt a pull slightly to the right. Listening to this sensation, I realized that my skill had activated, showing me the direction to something interesting. Inspired by this feeling, I swam almost three hundred meters from where I had searched earlier and dove again, guided by the strange, barely perceptible internal signal.

The deeper I went, the heavier each stroke became. Sixty meters, seventy. The water squeezed my chest and temples, as if invisible hands were trying to press me into the cold, viscous darkness. My Flashlight pierced it with a dim beam, reflecting silvery dust—tiny particles slowly swirling in a soundless dance.

In this world, the silence was absolute: no rustle, no splash, only the dull beating of my heart and a rare, barely perceptible crackling that I might have just imagined.

Reaching the bottom, I slowly turned the Flashlight's beam, and it revealed a recognizable L-shaped rock. Perfect. Now to swim around its northern side, carefully diving under the granite slab that seemed to weigh a thousand tons... A passage! Narrow but real, leading into the darkness.

I paused for a moment, staring into its black throat, from which an icy breath emanated, as if the stone itself warned, "Do not enter." Suppressing the urge to squeeze through immediately, I surfaced, caught my breath, renewed the Air Bubble spell, and only then went down again, now knowing exactly where to dive.

Unlike the underwater cave in Feyst, the passage in these rocks was wider and didn't try to crush me, but it was much more twisted, and sharp rocky outcrops threatened to draw blood from the careless.

Five minutes of swimming through the rocky corridor—and, squeezing through the narrowest spot, I found myself in a small cave completely filled with water up to the rocky ceiling, where barely two school buses could fit. The entire "floor" of this cave was strewn with light green stones the size of a pinky nail, which seemed to glow underwater. There weren't tens or hundreds here—there were thousands. In the Last Cycle, we'd hauled out stones from here worth about fifty thousand gold, but I didn't need nearly that much.

Each gem was worth about fifteen gold coins in the markets of Deytran and Sun City. A thousand of them would be enough for me, even considering I'd have to sell them at a significant wholesale discount. The heavy boulders from my bag, which allowed me to sink faster, dropped to the bottom as I began scooping up the jewels with both hands, filling the freed-up space.

I couldn't manage it in one go; I simply ran out of air. So, I had to leave the bag in the cave, resurface, and then dive again. And so three more times. A thousand stones—that was enough. Any more would flood the markets, and the price of these gems would quickly plummet. Each one weighed little, no more than ten grams, but all together they totalled ten kilograms. Good thing I was at Sapphire, and with that kind of load, I could swim out fairly easily.

Reaching the shore, I got out of the water and tossed Katashi one of the stones.

The expression on the future God of Labor's face as he caught the gem was something I'd remember for life. I never thought the Japanese could open their eyes so wide.

[1] I don't think it's true for other countries, but it was pretty accurate for the USSR. Although not exactly: they named so-called design bureaus after the leading designer's last name. And then, every plane/helicopter developed by that bureau was called after the first two letters of the name.