Path of Dragons

Book 4: Chapter 85: The Best of the Best

Sadie Song stared at the Branch, waiting for the seconds to tick away until she could enter the Trial of Primacy. Even though everything pointed to it being the right choice, she still felt guilty about her choice to attend. There was a niggling thought in the back of her mind that she should have simply gone home. After all, with the corrupted forces of the Primal Realm having been quarantined, the survivors of Hong Kong would have a perfect opportunity to solidify their grip on the region and retake lost territory. She should have been spearheading that instead of preparing to participate in some sort of contest.

“You okay, bro?” asked Dat, standing on her right side. She glanced toward her friend, seeing that he’d taken the impending Trial very seriously. He’d spent weeks in preparation, buying useful items and plenty of supplies. Most of those supplies were nestled snuggly inside the backpack he’d been awarded for conquering the local tower with a few friends he’d made in town.

That was the thing about Dat, and the trait that made Sadie more than a little envious. He’d always been good at making friends. Part of that was due to his easygoing demeanor, but it could also be chalked up to his nonjudgemental nature. He accepted people as they were, even going so far as to show enthusiasm about their interests.

Sadie had never been able to do that.

Charitably, she could have been called cold, but there were less generous labels that had been thrown her way, many of which were quite vulgar. It had been that way since childhood, and things had only gotten worse after she’d grown up and acquired her class. She wanted to be different. She’d tried to be like Dat. But her attempts at connecting with other people usually came off awkward or condescending, neither of which were endearing qualities

But at least she had Dat. And her family, though she wasn’t sure how much the latter actually liked her. Her family loved her, certainly, but even Niko avoided her unless they pursued mutual goals.

Most of all, though, keeping her company were Sadie’s obligations. Others could worry about friendship and being liked. She concerned herself with more important things – like survival. Even if they often called her unflattering names, she would still save as many people as she could.

For her part, she’d spent most of her time in Argos at the Temple of Virtue. It was a comforting place with dense ethera – probably due to the natural treasure that grew at its center – but more importantly, it gave her the opportunity to help people. Because, for all of her cold demeanor, that was all she wanted out of life. Every step she’d taken had been in pursuit of that goal, and standing before that temple and healing people was the purest expression of those desires.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t received the same sort of adulation as that infuriating Druid. When he visited Argos, it was like a parade. And the worst part was that he didn’t even notice it. Nor did he seem to care. By comparison, she’d only gotten looks of suspicion and begrudging acceptance of the help she offered.

“I’m fine,” she lied, shifting her own pack on her shoulder. It was smaller than Dat’s, but because of the spatial enchantment, it held even more supplies. But even if she lost it, she felt confident that she could survive with nothing but the enormous sword on her back. The weapon – which she’d received as a reward from a system task associated with the Primal Realm – was called the Sword of the Morning, and it had been her constant companion for the past year. By comparison, her armor – called Silverine Battlegear – had been crafted by her clan’s most advanced Blacksmith from the best materials they could find, and the results had been a revelation.

Hopefully, it would be enough to protect her. She didn’t fear death, but if she fell, Hong Kong would be destroyed. Thousands of lives would be lost. And the undead scourge would spread across the world.

Pushing that pressure from her mind, she glanced back at the others who would participate in the Trial. One of them was a Merchant, while the tall woman who’d latched onto Elijah Hart led a group of fighters. The odd one out was a pretty young man with curly hair. Despite his slight frame and bookish demeanor, he was the only one who felt strong enough to threaten her.

Suddenly, the Branch lit up with blue ethera, and she received a notification informing her that the Trial was ready. So, she reached out and touched the closest crystalline limb, and a moment later, her mind went dark. The last thing she thought was that she hoped she had made the right decision.

* * *

Benedict Emerson tried to ignore the agonized moans of all the people around him. Why couldn’t they simply remain silent and accept their fates? They were already dead. Their fate had been established the moment they had attacked him, and it had been sealed when they had been impaled by Ritual Spike.

He glanced up, seeing a perfect circle of black spikes, onto which the bandits had been impaled. Thirteen of them, in fact. An ideal number for his new ritual. One for each of the foundational twelve, then another to represent all the hidden powers of the multi-verse. Ten more bodies lay in a nearby heap, discarded and forgotten.

The spikes had been arranged equidistant from one another, and they surrounded four chained imps. They chattered excitedly, completely uncomprehending what was coming. That was the issue with the demonlings. They weren’t completely stupid, but Benedict would describe them more as cunning than intelligent. Whatever the case, the moment he’d evolved Summon Demonling into Summon Malicious Guard, he had chosen to sacrifice them.

The description hadn’t changed much from its previous incarnation, but the ritual’s requirements were quite a bit steeper. Not only did those conditions necessitate using Ritual Spikes, but they also included sacrificing his previously summoned servants. That was okay, though. Imps were useful, but Benedict believed that one powerful servant would be better than four weaker demonlings.

He'd been quite upset when he’d discovered that four was his current limit. He had plenty of ethera to support more, but that didn’t seem to matter. More than once, he’d found himself wishing he’d refused Thakon’s offer and continued on as a necromancer. Of course, that only lasted a few moments – long enough for the self-pity to give way to the realization of his increased power – but in his weaker moments, he found himself railing at the circumstances.

He had adjusted, though. Where he’d once specialized in controlling a great horde of zombies, he would now focus on enslaving the strongest minions he could summon. Quality over quantity – a tenet he could get behind.

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Gradually, Benedict completed his Ritual Circle. After six months, his mastery had become instinctive. He’d always had an eye for detail, and that perfectionism was evident when he stood up and looked at the Ritual Circle he’d drawn with his victims’ blood. He dismissed his Ritual Dagger, then stepped out of the bloody circle.

Once he did, he took a moment to glance around at his surroundings. He’d stumbled upon the town while seeking a tower to challenge, and to his dismay, they’d reacted poorly to his arrival. It was the same all over the world. Bandits and malcontents, all. It wasn’t surprising. Benedict had always known that the world was full of bullies. He’d felt their wrath often enough, especially in his youth. The only difference was that now, he had the ability to resist.

He’d exercised that ability without hesitation, and the results were all around him. There might’ve been a few survivors hiding in the town, but his imps had been thorough enough in their quest of extermination. The only issue was that, when they killed without his input, Benedict only received a fraction of the experience.

A small price to pay, but an annoying one.

Regardless, the reward for the imps’ efforts was that they were given the chance to fuel his latest summoning. They should have been happy to serve such an undertaking. They weren’t, though. Instead, as they began to realize what was happening, they filled the air with their inane chatter, begging him to reconsider. Ungrateful creatures. Hopefully, the Malicious Guard would be better.

He pulled his attention away from the smoking ruins of the town and focused on the circle. Then, he used Empower Summoning Circle, shoving ethera into the ritual. The blood with which he’d drawn the runes lit up with glimmering power.

Then, finally, he cast Summon Malicious Guard.

The Ritual Spikes flared with blinding light as they drained not just ethera, but also vital energy, from the thirteen impaled villains. That power rushed into the circle and to the chained imps. They exploded into a rainbow of light, cutting off their incessant screeching. Finally, the atmosphere ripped apart, revealing a world of fire and brimstone.

A huge creature stepped through. All glistening black muscle and horns, it looked like a proper demon. It was a quadruped, looking like the unholiest of centaurs, though instead of the body of a horse, the origin of the bottom half was clearly that of a predator, with raking claws, armored plates, and a forked tail. What would have been a human half on a centaur came from a hulking primate, though one with thick, rhinoceros-like skin instead of fur. A crown of six horns decorated its tusked, simian face.

It roared, shaking the very foundations of the town’s still smoldering buildings.

And Benedict smiled.

Yes – quality over quantity was the right strategy.

“Master,” it rumbled, bowing its head.

Before Benedict could respond, he received a notification:

“Oh,” he mused. “That was today?”

He’d totally forgotten about the system’s little competition. Though he had to admit that such a Trial might be a perfect proving ground for his newly summoned Malicious Guard. And as luck would have it, the town he’d so fortuitously visited played host to a Branch.

So, without giving it too much thought, he gestured for his minion to follow as he stepped past the bodies and headed toward the Branch.

* * *

Oscar Rodriguez was confused.

But that was nothing new. He couldn’t count how many times he’d dragged himself out of the struggle to survive and found a new setting. Usually, that meant different variations of the wilderness – or the ruins of civilization – but in this case, he was standing outside of a functional town.

Nearby were the companions who’d been with him since the very beginning. One of them – Escobar – barked.

“I know,” he grunted, glancing at the chihuahua. He wore a spiked collar, but even though Oscar knew just how powerful the little dog was, Escobar looked no different than in the beginning. Of course, that wasn’t the case with all the rest. Seven dogs, mostly stay mutts who’d been brought to the shelter where Oscar had once worked, each one bigger and stronger than any dog had been before the world had changed. Oscar had seen them take down enormous monsters, ripping through them without issue.

He'd done plenty of killing as well, using the abilities he’d gained from his Pack Leader class to empower, heal, and direct his companions.

But none of them were even close to as strong as little Escobar.

Oscar turned his attention back to the town. It was surrounded by a large wall, which was guarded by a trio of sentries. In his experience, towns were places to be avoided. That was why he spent so much time in the wilderness.

At least that was what he told himself in his more lucid moments. The forests were wild and dangerous places, but he felt more at home away from so-called civilization. Happier, even though it was usually a difficult life filled with violence. But that was what survival meant.

He’d learned that within hours of the world’s transformation, when a giant rat-like creature had invaded the animal shelter where he used to work. He’d narrowly managed to survive with the help of his companions, but most of the other animals – as well as his coworkers – had been killed. Since then, he’d encountered one deadly hardship after another, but with the assistance of his pack, he’d overcome them all.

Now, though, he had a choice to make.

The nearby town played host to a Branch. Normally, he didn’t care about those curious crystalline trees. He preferred the wilderness, after all. But the Trial of Primacy was important. He wasn’t sure why. He just knew it was.

Escobar agreed, an opinion he made known with another serious of yapping barks.

Oscar sighed. “I know,” he repeated. “We need to go into town.” He turned to his other companions and said, “Be on your best behavior.”

Two of them – Jackson and Sophie, both of whom were rottweiler mixes – snorted. Gabby let out an excited bark. And Jojo – a tiny shih tzu who could move too fast for Oscar to even track – wagged her tail. The rest took the order stoically, just staring at him with undiluted trust.

With that, Oscar strode forward. He had to force himself to move like the person he’d once been. In the wilderness, he’d gotten into the habit of moving like a wild predator, and pushing those learned tendencies aside was more difficult than he had expected. Still, he managed all the same.

When he reached the guards, they were understandably alarmed by the pack of dogs following him. However, he put on his most soothing voice – the one he used when the members of his pack was upset about something – as he said, “They’re with me. Don’t worry. They don’t bite or anything.”

Thankfully, his companions were far more amenable to civilization than he was, and they put on quite a show of wagging tails as they charmed the sentries. It was odd, knowing that the animals were better with people than he was. That had probably always been the case, but increasingly, Oscar found it difficult to remember what his life was like before the world’s transformation. That should have been a little alarming, but he found it easier to accept everything that had happened if he didn’t have to think about all of that.

Regardless, once the guards had fallen under the dogs’ spell, they let him through, even telling him where to find the Branch. He made his way there without delay, though he did buy his companions some meat from a street vendor. Over the past few years, he’d earned a lot of coins, which he didn’t hesitate to use to make his pack happy.

Soon enough, he reached the Branch, and it was just in time too. Almost as soon as he entered the building, he received a notification telling him that the Trial had begun. There were a few people waiting to enter, just like him, and one by one, they touched the Branch and disappeared.

When it came to Oscar’s turn, he directed the members of his pack to touch the Branch, and they too disappeared. Escobar was the last to go, and when he did, a deep sense of sorrow enveloped Oscar. He hated being alone. So, he didn’t waste any time before touching the Branch as well.

And when he did, he was whisked away to the Trial.

* * *

Emperor Yloa K’hnam sat on his throne, one set of arms folded in front of his muscular chest as the other gripped the armrests. The ostentatious chair had been carved from the bone of his first Deific conquest – a leviathan that had descended upon his city with ill intent – but it had lost much of its inherent power.

It was the same with the entire realm, which the system had dubbed The Last Bastion of the Fallen. It was a fitting name, but when Yloa considered it, cracks spread across the armrest. Even with the shackles imposed by the system, his Strength was monumental, and his anger was even more powerful.

Woe be unto those who chose to participate in this sham of a Trial.

Primacy? He almost laughed at the ill-fitting word. They were fuel. A means for Yloa to drag his people back to relevance. That was what the system had promised.

Yloa had accepted without question. His world had long since been excised from the World Tree. It was only through his valiant efforts that they’d managed to resist falling under the influence of the abyss.

But now, they had a chance to rejoin the World Tree. And he only had to kill a few thousand people to do so. It was a gift. A reward for his long dedication to ensuring the survival of his people. Resisting the Ravener had not been easy. Even now, he could feel the great entity pressing against the quarantine instituted by the system. It would find no weaknesses, but its nature dictated that it would never stop trying.

Just as Yloa would never cease in his attempts to save his people. They had already sacrificed so much, and that was before the Excision. Now, they had a chance for redemption.

And he wouldn’t let them squander it.

As those thoughts flitted through his mind, he felt thousands of surges of power. They were like pinpricks in his mind, each one representing another invader into his world. They were all so pitiful. So weak. If it weren’t for the Shackles, he could have destroyed them without ever leaving his throne. With those system-imposed restraints, he would need to be a little more hands-on, though.

Or his people would.

Turning to his advisor, he said, “Ready the hunters. Our visitors have arrived.”

The woman nodded, her ivory skin glistening in the ethereal light of the throne room. “As you say, Emperor.”