You have slain Crystal Stalker (Level 69 | Tier 2).
An experience bonus has been awarded for slaying a monster 5 levels above you.
Your race has leveled up to level 65.
Your class has leveled up to level 65.
Skill Selection available.
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My tail flicks in quiet appreciation.
Finally.
Level sixty-five has been achieved, bringing with it a brand new skill selection that I have absolutely no intention of touching for the time being. There exists a strictly nonzero probability that I do something profoundly unreasonable during the final boss fight and accidentally convince the System to offer me a higher-tier skill instead.
Forward thinking is one of my finer qualities.
Four vines erupt from my shadow, wrapping themselves around a Chime Serpent just as it lunges toward Marek. The serpent never reaches him. A rifle cracks through the cavern, and the resulting glowing purple projectile tears through both the monster and several meters of crystal beyond it, converting the unfortunate serpent into what can only be described as highly cinematic debris.
Another serpent attempts to exploit the opening.
Marek greets the idea with the business end of his tower shield.
The resulting collision is deeply educational.
Apparently, sufficiently motivated Bearkin are capable of briefly transforming hostile wildlife into improvised artillery. The serpent fragments collide squarely with an overly ambitious Prism Squirrel, stunning it for precisely long enough to receive simultaneous judgment from both a holy healer and a fire mage.
It survives the initial impact. It does not survive the follow-up review process.
A second Crystal Stalker observes the entire exchange.
Then, demonstrating the remarkable pattern-recognition capabilities shared by automatic vacuum cleaners and particularly optimistic lemmings, concludes that it should attempt exactly the same ambush as the first.
Four vines immediately wrap around what anybody without highly suspicious eyes would call “empty air”.
Sylrae does not hesitate for even a heartbeat.
Another rifle shot echoes through the forest.
The Stalker explodes before it is ever forced out of stealth, apparently because Sylrae has reached the entirely reasonable conclusion that if my vines have decided to grapple absolutely nothing, then absolutely nothing probably deserves to be shot.
A surprisingly effective strategy.
Meanwhile, Rin carves a path through the crystal forest ahead of us, Frostflame roaring nearly ten meters into the air as everything unfortunate enough to enter its reach is rapidly converted into decorative ice sculptures.
The surrounding temperature plummets accordingly.
Tragic.
Warmth had been growing on me.
We continue carving our way through the horde for another ten minutes, eventually reducing a combined forty-six monsters to a highly educational assortment of crystal fragments. All in a single engagement.
I glance around at the aftermath.
By this point, we are all beginning to feel the effects of the steadily increasing mana density. The crystal forest no longer resembles a hostile ecosystem.
It feels…
Off.
As though the dungeon itself has quietly decided that subtlety is no longer worth the effort.
Monsters attack in waves now, entirely unrelated species charging together without the slightest regard for territory, prey, or the rather fundamental concept of a functioning food chain. Crystal Stalkers emerge alongside Chime Serpents, Prism Squirrels sprint through the undergrowth with all the confidence of apex predators, and moths descend from above as though everyone has collectively agreed upon one remarkably simple tactical doctrine.
Adventurer party detected.
Please remove immediately.
Rude.
Mutations have become noticeably more common as well.
Unfortunately, most appear to have been designed by someone whose understanding of evolutionary biology came primarily from repeatedly attaching random household appliances together until something technically functioned.
Additional limbs remain the overwhelming favorite. Most simply flail around awkwardly without contributing anything meaningful to combat, though the occasional monster does acquire extra claws or fangs that prove mildly inconvenient.
One particular moth developed wings sharp enough to shear cleanly through one of my vines.
Needless to say, the entire party reached the immediate and unanimous conclusion that such behavior was unacceptable. The moth was introduced to overwhelming force shortly thereafter.
Thankfully, ambient mana appears to replenish our reserves more quickly as the dungeon's concentration increases, allowing us to maintain a respectable pace despite Zeke's increasingly frequent complaints that his mana pool continues exhibiting deeply antisocial behavior whenever Pyroclasm becomes involved.
Which is beginning to happen far more often.
Unfortunate.
Three hours have now passed since the incident involving two roaming bosses appearing in rapid succession.
Fatigue is beginning to accumulate.
Even so, we have progressed considerably faster than expected.
Primarily because I have elected to solve the issue of Marek's comparatively modest Dexterity by simply carrying him between engagements using all four of my vines.
This arrangement allows us to travel at approximately Zeke's pace rather than Marek's.
An excellent compromise.
Especially considering that even Zeke possesses over a hundred additional points of Dexterity.
As a result, we have already crossed nearly half the cavern.
We have even stopped harvesting mana cores altogether. Spending several minutes excavating crystal corpses every battle seems like an excellent method of accidentally discovering whether dungeon stampedes possess a practical upper population limit.
I would rather postpone that experiment.
Not that it would matter particularly much.
I am, after all, the most beautiful and thoroughly prepared genius on the planet.
Should the dungeon somehow decide that several thousand monsters constitute a reasonable greeting, I could simply stop holding back.
Failing that…
There remains the teleportation talisman safely waiting back in the beginner village.
Contingencies are wonderful inventions.
Even so, I would strongly prefer clearing the dungeon before either option becomes necessary.
Rin eventually saunters back toward the group, his Frostflame finally dissipating and allowing the surrounding temperature to return to something considerably less offensive.
Marek takes a slow look around the newly quiet battlefield as the last fragments of crystal settle across the forest floor.
"Status?"
Avelyn is the first to answer, grimacing ever so slightly.
"I used too many Blessings and Sanctified Spears during the last few fights. My mana is below half now, but my stamina is still fine."
Zeke nods in agreement.
"About the same here. Stamina's a bit under sixty percent."
Marek gives an approving nod.
"Alright. You two sit out the next fight if we can manage it. Recover what you can." His attention shifts across the group. "Rin, Sylrae... Little Miss?"
…
Why must this man insist on calling me Little Miss?
Rin answers immediately.
"Stamina's below fifty. Mana's under thirty. My momentum skill eats through the stuff way faster than I'd like."
Sylrae follows without hesitation.
"Seventy percent stamina. Roughly forty percent mana."
Marek nods once more before looking toward me.
"Little Miss?"
I pull up my status window for a brief glance.
"My stamina is approximately seventy percent." I pause. "...Mana remains at zero percent."
Marek blinks.
Then he laughs.
"Right." He rubs the back of his neck. "For a second I forgot you're completely manaless."
Rin glances sideways at me.
"Gods above..." He whistles quietly. "That regeneration rate is ridiculous. You're fighting almost full tilt, yet you're still slowly gaining stamina."
His ears twitch.
"How does that even work? Can you just... fight forever?"
I rest a finger against my chin.
An excellent question.
I wonder how he would react if he learned that activating my Arcana would approximately double that regeneration.
Probably poorly.
"My stamina pool is approaching twenty thousand," I explain. "Additionally, my primary offensive skill is only Rare quality, making it remarkably economical."
Most enemies simply fail to justify the effort required to activate Starfall Sequence, and a substantial portion of my combat style relies upon passive abilities or basic manipulation of Astral Energy rather than expensive skills.
"My stamina expenditure also appears somewhat misleading."
I lift Astra Nocturne onto one shoulder.
"Most things are not dying because my techniques are overwhelmingly powerful." I give the blade a small appreciative glance. "They are simply discovering that being cut by an exceptionally sharp soul weapon is generally an unhealthy experience."
Rin stares at me for a moment.
"...Somehow that's even less fair."
"I disagree."
I lower the sword again.
"It is perfectly fair." I think about it for a second. "They are all given an equal opportunity to avoid being cut."
He rolls his eyes at me.
"As if anything in this cave could dodge you with your speed."
My tail immediately gives a deeply smug swish.
A reasonable deduction.
Unfortunately…
The rest of the party notices.
Their collective gazes follow the offending appendage as it happily cuts through the air behind me.
…
I calmly seize it with my free hand.
The tail continues swishing anyway.
It simply drags my hand along for the ride as though my opinion on the matter is little more than a polite suggestion.
...Annoying.
A few chuckles spread through the group.
Sylrae, in particular, appears to be deriving an unreasonable amount of enjoyment from my ongoing struggle against my own anatomy.
Noted.
Vengeance shall be scheduled for a later date.
Avelyn, meanwhile, develops a rather complicated expression before quietly drifting another half-step closer to me.
... I am becoming increasingly uncomfortable.
She is learning to read me far too quickly.
I blame my traitorous Foxkin accessories.
Life would be substantially simpler if they stopped enthusiastically announcing my emotional state to everyone within visual range every ten seconds, like an overly helpful household smoke detector that insists on informing the neighborhood whenever someone burns toast.
I narrow my eyes at the culprit.
The tail notably offers no apology.
It merely continues its leisurely swaying, apparently possessing all the remorse of a cat that has just pushed an expensive vase off a shelf specifically to observe the consequences.
I maintain the glare for several additional seconds, just to ensure my displeasure has been communicated with appropriate clarity.
The tail remains entirely unconcerned.
Communication has, regrettably, failed.
Fortunately, Marek interrupts the ongoing insurrection before I am forced to escalate disciplinary measures.
He claps his hands together once.
"Alright. As much as I'd like to rest too, we're still on a timer." His attention shifts toward me. "Little Miss, think you can handle most of the damage in the next fight? Everyone else could use a chance to recover. My own reserves are still doing alright, so it'll just be you and me."
I nod immediately.
"Understood."
Truthfully…
That arrangement sounds considerably easier than convincing my tail to respect the chain of command.
We set off once more, Avelyn naturally keeping pace beside me while Marek travels a few feet behind, suspended by my vines. He still appears to have rather complicated feelings regarding this particular method of transportation.
On one hand, it is dramatically faster.
On the other…
He is, technically speaking, being carried around by a one-hundred-and-fifty-centimeter Foxkin.
I imagine that does unfortunate things to one's dignity.
It takes an astonishing ten whole minutes before the dungeon remembers we exist. A fresh wave of crystalline wildlife pours from the surrounding forest, immediately attempting to acquaint us with a thoroughly unaesthetic death by overwhelming projectile magic.
A new record.
The hordes are becoming more frequent. They are also becoming considerably larger.
Concerning.
Marek and I move almost simultaneously.
Bulwark erupts into existence with a flash of pale blue light, and the Bearkin immediately begins introducing anything reckless enough to approach into the fascinating field of high-speed geological redistribution.
Meanwhile…
I remain perfectly still.
Stone beneath our feet fractures apart, rich and dark soil spreading outward in an expanding circle as I locally project my Arcana.
Kaleidoscopic vines erupt from the earth without hesitation.
Half immediately begin intercepting incoming spells, swatting crystalline projectiles and occasionally a light projectile or two from the air before they can burden Bulwark.
The remainder surge toward the monsters themselves.
The results are… adequate.
Raw force has never been my specialty. Even employing the familiar whip effect, even the Crystal Stalkers require multiple strikes before finally deciding that remaining structurally intact is no longer a realistic ambition.
Making matters worse, every successful hit obliterates the vine responsible.
Functionally speaking…
I am spending stamina to manufacture increasingly expensive disposable clubs.
That feels inefficient.
I place a finger against my cheek as another vine enthusiastically sacrifices itself for the greater good.
...
A solution exists.
It has to.
Problems do not simply materialize out of nowhere. They are puzzles awaiting a sufficiently brilliant mind.
Conveniently, I have one of those.
My thoughts immediately explode into motion.
Ideas collide like celestial bodies, splintering into smaller ideas that immediately begin colliding with each other. Possibilities branch outward with alarming enthusiasm. Somewhere in the distance, inspiration extends a hand toward me with all the solemn grandeur of a legendary hero entrusting humanity's final hope to its greatest champion.
I answer the call.
Entire strategies are born.
Refined. Discarded. Rediscovered from an entirely different angle.
I stand upon the precipice of a breakthrough so profound that future historians will likely dedicate at least three paragraphs to it.
…
Wait.
Rin already solved this.
I can just steal his idea.
Starlight blooms between my palms, flowing like molten rainbows as I begin shaping it into something considerably sharper than a vine has any reasonable right to wield.
The kaleidoscopic nature of my Astral Energy begins to fade as I condense more and more light into the structure, becoming a soft, celestial silver.
Naturally, I dedicate an entirely responsible amount of effort to the aesthetic.
The edge is honed until it appears capable of arguing with reality itself. The point narrows to a fine needle point. Elegant decorative flourishes emerge along the spine, accomplishing nothing whatsoever beyond making the weapon approximately seventy-four percent cooler.
An acceptable trade.
Practicality is, as always, encouraged to coexist peacefully with style.
The remarkable durability of condensed starlight allows me to indulge myself slightly. Even if one of the blades somehow breaks…
I can simply make another.
Approximately ten seconds later, the basic structure is complete.
I weave my familiar energy enhancement loop along both faces of the blade, the runic circuit settling neatly into place.
Satisfied, I hold the completed weapon aloft.
The party blinks.
Avelyn watches with an expression that suggests she is expecting the enormous construct to catastrophically explode at any moment.
Curious.
I see no reason why it would do that.
Rin, meanwhile, wanders over with the unmistakable expression of a cat who has just discovered someone else owns an exceptionally interesting toy.
He circles the weapon once, studying every curve of the blade. His eyes linger on the decorative embellishments considerably longer than strictly necessary before he straightens again, his tail tip flicking thoughtfully behind him.
Finally, he gives me a firm thumbs-up.
"Looks great, little miss."
My tail swishes with entirely justified smugness.
Naturally.
Rin hesitates.
"...Although..." He points at the blade, then at me. "...Did it have to be that massive?"
His concern is, perhaps, understandable.
Resting comfortably in my hands is a scythe large enough to compete with Marek for overall height.
The Bearkin, rather concerningly, appears to be looking at it with poorly concealed envy.
Unfortunate.
Crafting one for him is... inadvisable.
There remains the rather awkward possibility that someone eventually inspects it and discovers my Aspect is significantly more complicated than "Prismatic."
That would be difficult to explain.
...Actually, now that I think about it…
Prismatic absolutely should not be capable of explaining why my light dahlias become celestial silver. Or my new scythe.
…
Right.
I appear to have already accidentally demonstrated that my Aspect is considerably stranger than the one I claimed to possess.
Tragic.
I dedicate several seconds to thoroughly evaluating the situation.
The conclusion proves surprisingly encouraging.
Nobody has questioned it.
Everyone has already watched my dahlia bloom into celestial silver. Everyone has now watched me forge a matching scythe. At this point, abruptly deciding silver no longer exists would likely generate considerably more suspicion than simply continuing as though everything is perfectly normal.
I nod sagely.
An excellent resolution.
Therefore…
Future Lyn problem.
I am confident she will display the appropriate level of enthusiasm upon discovering it.
My attention returns to the considerably more important matter resting comfortably in my hands.
I inspect the scythe.
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[Starlight Scythe (Epic)]
A massive scythe forged from starlight condensed beyond its natural limits, giving the blade a celestial silver sheen. Created by the Volatile Rune Smith, Lyn, it combines exceptional sharpness and durability with extraordinary astral conductivity.
Runic Patterns:
• Moderate Energy Enhancement (20%) x2
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My tail immediately resumes its victory lap.
Excellent.
It would appear that sufficiently condensed starlight naturally elevates the rarity of anything I create.
That…
Is remarkably useful information.
I had assumed reaching Epic rarity would require substantially deeper runic knowledge. Discovering that raw material quality can compensate to some degree dramatically accelerates several long-term projects.
Legendary weapons suddenly feel considerably less theoretical.
Potentially dresses as well, assuming I eventually decipher the runic patterns woven throughout my current outfit well enough to reproduce—or preferably improve—them.
I glance down at the silver blade, admiring the way it catches the cavern's kaleidoscopic light.
Objectively speaking…
Celestial silver is a vastly superior aesthetic than rainbow.
The universe appears to agree.
As it should.
A vine briefly abandons its all-important duty of suppressing the local crystal population to retrieve the massive scythe from my hands. It wields the weapon effortlessly, since, conveniently, my vines inherit my own stats.
The surrounding monsters immediately discover why that is unfortunate.
The enormous blade sweeps through the battlefield with all the grace of an exceptionally vindictive windmill, carving broad silver arcs through the crystal forest as though harvesting particularly aggressive wheat.
The results are… acceptable.
Certainly an improvement over enthusiastic bludgeoning.
The cuts, however, lack refinement.
Rather than cleaving cleanly through their targets, the scythe tends to shear its way onward through overwhelming momentum, relying more upon force than cutting power.
Effective, but not all that elegant.
Likely a vitality-born issue.
Against anything substantially larger than a Crystal Stalker, I strongly suspect the blade would simply become lodged inside the target. Which is a rather mild inconvenience. One that I would prefer not to experience firsthand.
Even so, the additional cutting power dramatically accelerates the demise of the surrounding horde.
While Marek continues introducing monsters to his tower shield, I quietly forge three more scythes and distribute them amongst my remaining vines.
Normally I am limited to four.
The localized projection of my Garden currently maintains considerably more than that.
Still…
I struggle to imagine a scenario requiring fifty-eight eight-foot scythes orbiting my position like an agricultural implement designed by someone harboring deeply personal grievances against vegetation.
Four should prove sufficient.
Eventually the final Chime Serpent discovers Marek's shield.
The experiment concludes exactly as expected.
Sylrae, who has elected to remain grounded for the duration of the battle, sits comfortably within my soil with her wings spread loosely behind her.
Concerningly…
She appears to be enjoying the sensation of standing barefoot within my soil very much.
Interesting.
She brushes a little dirt between her toes before glancing toward me.
"By the way..." She gestures vaguely to the soil surrounding her. "How do you even turn the ground into soil whenever you do this?"
She shrugs.
"Just curious."
I tilt my head.
"Magic."
She immediately side-eyes me.
"You don't have mana." A pause. "You literally can't use magic."
I consider that for a moment.
"...Different magic."
She continues staring.
Entirely unconvinced.
Tragic.
My attention drifts across the party.
Avelyn remains faithfully beside me, watching my vines return the newly forged scythes for storage with an expression somewhere between admiration and fascination.
Nearby, Zeke brushes crystal fragments from Marek's armor while Rin offers Sylrae a hand.
She accepts it, ears developing the faintest hint of red.
I find myself smiling. Only a little.
My tail gives a small flick behind me. Not smug or amused.
…Different.
I quietly file the observation away.
Further investigation will be required.