1 - First Blood

  A mix of strange sensations pulsed through the back of Claire’s mind as her consciousness clawed its way out of the abyss. It was her bed’s fault. For some god-forsaken reason, the heavenly fort of sheets and blankets had turned as hard as stone. Her fluffy pillows were missing, and even the warmth of her covers had somehow escaped her. Presented with the peculiar circumstance, it took her one moment to rise from her resting place and another to recall her predicament. Her eyes snapped open. She looked towards her chest as soon as her vision cleared and breathed a sigh when she found her flesh intact. Her dress was still dyed in a deep, dark red, but the wound had closed without a trace. She didn’t know how long it had been since the blade had gored her heart, but regenerating from the brink of death must have taken at least a few hours.

  The ceremonial dagger lay directly in front of her. The blood smeared across its blade had already dried, but she shivered when she met its gaze. Her ribs ached with a phantom pain, a reminder of the ritual she had narrowly escaped.

  When she moved to retrieve the weapon, she found her hands still trembling.

  She had survived—she had finally, finally, outwitted her father and escaped his all-controlling grasp.

  Smiling softly, brushed her bloodied bangs aside and looked around. A cursory glance confirmed that she was sitting on one of the many mossy boulders decorating the end of a long, damp hall. The cave was dim, pulsing with a faint green glow, just bright enough for her to see.

  Her excitement grew as she rose to her feet and gazed upon the infinite expanse that awaited—the Lost Library of Llystletein, the ancient archive that contained all the knowledge she required to overthrow the tyrant who had ordered her dead.

  But it was nowhere to be seen.

  There was no grand cathedral, no divine gate, nor even a single bookshelf anywhere in sight. Nothing but a long corridor full of mossy rocks. The dim green light she had immediately associated with an artificer’s devices came instead from the occasional bare stalagmite.

  Gulping, she engaged the system and summoned a translucent blue box. Motioning at it with her eyes, she selected a subitem marked with a quill and a scroll and carefully inspected its contents.

  Log Entry 474

  You have succeeded in completing the Lost Library’s Rite.

  As a result of being affected by the Lost Library’s Magic, your non-racial classes have been purged. All combat-related skills have been removed, and previously unlocked classes have been sealed; only newly unlocked classes are eligible for selection.

  She stared at the entry with a frown on her lips. It would have been a death sentence for an established warrior, but Claire wasn’t losing much. Sword Mastery and Singing, her only combat-worthy skills, had barely been level twenty to begin with.

  Log Entry 475

  You have entered the Ruins of Llystletein, in which the Lost Library lies. The monsters that lurk within this dungeon far outclass you.

  “Oh, would you look at that? We actually made it. I thought we were dead for sure.” The voice came from her left shoulder, spoken from the mouth of a translucent blue-white serpent. It was a tiny creature, measuring no more than twenty centimetres in length.

  “Shut up, Shouldersnake. I’m trying to focus.” Claire brushed the imaginary reptile aside, closed her eyes, and dug through her memories for relevant information.

  The Lost Library was a well-known deathtrap. It was an ancient dungeon with a peculiar method of entry and an even more peculiar survival rate. Typically, dungeons were supposed to be trials crafted by immortals for those that sought their favour, and typically, it was possible to discern a particular test’s progenitor by either carefully studying its quirks or by directly querying the god in question. But no one knew the mythical database’s manufacturer. The gods of war and death were commonly suspected, but neither had ever stepped up and claimed it as their own.

  Whatever the case, the survival rate was abysmally low. For every fifty thousand men sent into its depths, maybe one would emerge intact. Their names were known and celebrated, for the Library granted great power to those capable of clearing its tests, but the individuals in question refused to speak of their experiences. The public assumed that they lived under a vow of silence, as was sometimes the case in the clearing of a sacred trial.

  Career soldiers and death-row prisoners aside, only the dumb and desperate ever attempted to seize its power for themselves. And while the applicability of the former was up for debate, Claire was most certainly the latter. The tiny chance at survival—and vengeance—was far better than the end that had otherwise awaited.

  “This isn’t the time for this.” Shaking her head clear of gloomy thoughts, Claire returned to her seat and pulled up her status.

  Claire Augustus

  Health: 128/128

  Mana: 670/670

  Faith: 3/3

  Health Regen: 30/hour

  Mana Regen: 476/hour

  Faith Regen: 5/hour

  Ability Scores: 0 Points Available

  - Agility: 30

  - Conjuring: 198

  - Dexterity: 21

  - Spirit: 87

  - Strength: 28

  - Vitality: 20

  Racial Class: Halfbreed - Level 19.34

  - No affiliated skills

  Primary Class: N/A

  Unclassed Skills

  - Dancing - Level 24.07

  - English - Level 25

  - Marish - Level 18.96

  - Sneaking - Level 19.60

  Sure enough, her Ritual Mage class was gone. Her conjuring and spirit still held the proof of her lifelong investment, but with no magical skills to her name, the stats were as useless as the candle holder at her feet—not that the loss was much of a telling blow.

  Ritual magic was ill-suited for combat. Its activation required strict procedures, and its effects rarely manifested in short order. Given the circumstances, she was better off with the empty slot.

  The pruning of her class choices, on the other hand, stung just enough to leave her sighing. She had always had her eye on Sword Dancer, but it was no longer an option. Gone alongside it were all the unlocks afforded by her aristocratic education. Warrior, Ice Mage, Druid, and countless others were thrown to the wayside and hidden out of reach. Silently cursing her upbringing, she grabbed the tools that had accompanied her on her journey and got to her feet.

  She briefly considered leaving the candle holder behind; its waxen taper had already melted into oblivion, and it lacked any notable edges, but she erred on the side of bringing it along. She could repurpose it into a projectile, or maybe a tiny bludgeon. It was, at the very least, tougher than the sticks she called her arms.

  Because her thin dress was strictly intended for ceremonial use, it lacked the pockets that a more practical garment would have featured. Claire was stuck holding a belonging in each hand as she slowly crept her way towards the only exit. She briefly raised her massive ears overhead and scanned her surroundings for any signs of danger. And oh-so-many of them there were. She could hear towering beasts lumbering around the caves. They drew closer with every step she took, but it couldn’t be helped. She had started in a dead end; there was only one path laid out in front of her.

  She took a deep breath as she finally reached the first intersection and stuck her head around the corner. Again, she found a long, narrow corridor. The left side was faintly lit, like the path she had just walked, while the right was much darker, courtesy of its mossier rocks.

  Claire pursed her lips into a frown as she returned her back to the wall. The brighter path appeared to be the correct choice—she didn’t hear as many monsters, and the few that were present lay off in the distance—but that was precisely why she headed in the opposite direction. Given the dungeon’s abysmal survival rate, she doubted that common sense would guide her to its completion.

  The monster-made sounds grew louder with every step she took. The crushing of stone, the feral roars, and the ear-piercing squeaks only urged her progress. She even started to make out a few wingbeats and whooshes as she drew closer to the end of the hall.

  Her heart pounded as she inched towards the corner. The flesh drum was so loud that she was worried it would give her away, but she pressed on and peeked out regardless. Another corridor continued past the bend, but it didn’t go on for long. After roughly ten metres, it opened into a large bright cavern. The glowing inscriptions embedded into the furthest wall grabbed her attention, but only until the light drew her gaze to the abominations fighting within.

  There were three of them in all, eight if the chewed-up corpses were to be included. The two flying creatures were nearly identical to the five that littered the ground. They each had four small limbs and two velvety wings attached to an eyeball that doubled as a mouth. She had read about similar monsters in encyclopedias before, and often too did the bards sing of creatures so grotesque, but she had never seen or heard of the particular species fluttering through the air.

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  Squaring off against them was a hulking, spiny behemoth whose body was covered in warts. Its unhinged jaw contained three distinct rows of pointed teeth, the most prominent of which extended from its lower mandible up through its widened snout. Unlike most pig-based creatures, it was not quadrupedal. The beast stood on its hind limbs in a forward-leaning posture only emphasized by the bony quills protruding from its spine.

  At a glance, it appeared that the eye-bats held the advantage. Their wings allowed them to avoid the hog by darting through the air each time it approached. They countered its punches with waves of gloopy purple missiles fired from holes in their oversized retinas. A pained howl followed every strike; the acid melted straight through the pig’s bloodied flesh. Wounds covered its whole body, the worst of which had claimed its right arm. The limb was as much bone as it was melted muscle, barely hanging on by a strand.

  The bat-like creatures focused their attacks on the damaged extremity, slowly but surely erasing the few remaining bits of flesh. One of the winged monsters dove at the forearm as soon as it was fully stripped and claimed it with an audible snap. But while its rush certainly proved fruitful, the floating eyeball’s greed only spelled its demise.

  The pig’s other arm shot forward like a bolt of lightning, snatching it out of the air immediately after the impact. The eye-bat struggled as best it could, flapping its wings and flailing its limbs in a desperate bid for freedom, but it was unable to escape the hog’s iron grip before it was crammed between its jaws.

  One sickening crunch later, the first flyer was no more.

  The second bat didn’t pause for a moment. It engaged while the pigman was preoccupied and flew directly over its head. It split its massive oculus in two and dumped a glob of glue far darker and murkier than any of its missiles. The potent acid ate right through the swine’s head. It melted its flesh, destroyed its snout, and exposed the white of its skull.

  Somehow, not even that was enough to fell the beast. The eye-bat generated another acidic blob, but the hog’s bony spines flew out of its back and pierced the flying ball before it could unleash the purple poison.

  Like tiny, terrifying harpoons, the needles expanded as they pierced the ocular creature’s flesh and locked themselves in place. The hog reeled its bones back into its body with an angry squeal, pulling the winged monster along with them. The bat desperately pumped its wings and worked its magic. But it was to no avail. Like its partner, it soon found itself grabbed and consumed.

  The bipedal pig raised its remaining arm and roared at the top of its lungs. A declaration of its hard-earned win.

  Claire continued to eye the beast as it retreated. Its steps were unsteady, each accompanied by a splotch of blood from its many open wounds. Its left leg was lame, and the acid was still hurting it. A red mist drifted from its body—a visual cue matched to the sound of its still sizzling flesh.

  The runes in the room flared to life as the beast departed. Light flowed through a series of artificial magic circuits, pouring into a centrepiece that soon came to life. The mechanical pyramid unravelled to reveal a massive gemstone that projected an old man’s face.

  “Welcome to the Lost Library of Llystletein. If you were unimpressed by the fight that you just witnessed, then I offer my sincere apologies. In all likelihood, you will soon perish.”

  His voice was perfectly clear, but Claire paid it no mind, not even sparing a glance as she passed it by.

  “In fact, you are likely to die regardless of how you felt, but I suppose that is simply how this dungeon is configured. If you have chosen to enter it regardless, then I have no doubt you are already aware of the ramifications.”

  The hog outclassed her in every way. Speed, strength, stamina—there was not a single metric where she came out ahead, but it was close to death, and the monsters responsible for its damage had already fallen. Something in the back of her mind told her that success was on the horizon, but only if she acted posthaste. Its wounds would heal if she waited—every moment she dallied was a point of health returned—but it wasn’t like she could chase after it without a plan.

  Still ignoring the recorded speech, she took a moment to examine the beast’s detached, skeletal arm. The material was too tough to break and too heavy to swing around.

  But while her arm-related experiments proved fruitless, those conducted with the eye-bat acid did not. She pressed the candle holder into the liquid in hopes of sharpening its tip, but the golden stick emerged from the experiment unblemished. She was annoyed at first, but her pout twisted into a grin as she took a second look at the broken utensil. Its bottom was a dish—a large, curved dish with more than enough space for a swig of poison.

  Filling the container to the brim, she rose from the rotting bile and chased after her prey, stalking it with both weapons firmly gripped in her hands.

  Despite the minute-long head start, the pig-like beast had hardly covered any distance. Its steps were excruciatingly slow and it often stopped to clutch at its still-open wounds. Though she far outpaced it, Claire couldn’t find an opportunity to leap atop its back unnoticed. The bipedal pig spun around with every pained grimace, scanning the rocks behind which the halfbreed was hidden.

  It was only the expected reaction. The beast’s weakness was on open display; it had every reason to be on its guard.

  Turning down another corridor revealed the creature’s home. It had a nest in the middle of the passage—an alcove dug into the wall and guarded with a short bone fence. There were clear traces of a pit meant for a fireplace, as well as a tent, a wooden chair, and a sleeping bag a third the size of the hog—items that had once belonged to the humanoid skeleton lying in one of its corners.

  The camper’s bones were by no means the only set present. The entire recess was filled with skeletal remains.

  A bloody mess was added to the collection as the pig regurgitated its most recent meal. Claire was almost tempted to do the same as she watched it return the half-digested pieces to its bloodied maw, but she clenched her teeth and fought back the urge.

  It was then, as the creature chewed its cud, that she finally made her move. Setting down her acid-filled candle holder, she grabbed a particularly pointy bone from the nearest pile, tiptoed behind the pig, and prepared to strike.

  It was the perfect opportunity.

  The perfect opportunity she fumbled.

  She stepped on a skull and lost her balance as she launched her attack. The pig perked up and spun around, just in time to find a pointed rib inbound towards its face. Completely thrown off, the first strike only scratched the creature’s nose, but Claire quickly regained her balance and drove the bone into its eye. She thrust her other hand towards its throat as soon as she blinded it, but her ceremonial blade only cut halfway through the beast’s neck before snapping in half. She backed away immediately, but even releasing the rib lodged into its skull, she was too slow to escape its range.

  The monster delivered an incidental strike to her gut as it raised its remaining hand towards its face. It was a light touch, but standing three metres tall and two meters wide, the giant pig was well over twice her size. Even the glancing blow had enough strength to send her tumbling away.

  Claire desperately fought back the urge to howl in agony as she hit the ground. Blood dribbled from her lips. Something inside of her was broken. She couldn’t tell what it was, but her chest throbbed every time she tried to put strength into her arms. Still, she clenched her jaw and kept deathly silent as she pushed herself off the ground.

  She grabbed a random bone in one hand while tightening the grip she had on the broken dagger in the other. Neither weapon was entirely functional, but Claire was unconcerned. She dipped her blades in the thick, purple goop before forcing herself back to her feet and stumbling towards her target.

  The lady-turned-assassin remained behind the boar while it flailed its arm around at random. The heavy blows shattered the surrounding stone as the hog attempted to locate its assailant, but only after feeling a burning pain in the back of its functional knee did it finally realize her location. It swept its claws in a targeted, deadly attack. But it found nothing.

  The next blow came from right between its legs. An acid-laced bone straight to the groin.

  Again, the pig loosed a feral scream. But the terrifying roar only encouraged her. She grabbed a large fang off the ground and jammed it into the beast’s thigh. Once it was as deep as she could get it, she grabbed the protruding ivory with both hands and pulled downward with all her might.

  Blood streamed down her arms, leaking from the wound like a crimson cascade. When the pig finally fell to its knees, she forced the makeshift weapon into its armpit, tearing at the muscles it used to flail its only functional limb.

  She had the beast in check, but the arm she thought she had disabled lashed out the moment she withdrew her blade. The monster grabbed her, wrapping its thick muscular fingers around her shoulders and holding her arms tight to her chest.

  She was drawn towards its face, where its maw awaited with all three sets of sharpened teeth ready to consume her; the very same teeth that had so easily ended both its flying foes.

  She would have been doomed had the blinded beast understood the nature of her form. But it didn’t. She kicked it in the nose, inflicting just enough pain to loosen its grip.

  Slipping out of its grasp, Claire jabbed the sharpened bone into one side of its neck and her broken dagger’s guard into the other. The bits of acid still covering its contours allowed her to eat through the creature’s flesh. But not even that was enough to end its life.

  Ducking under another grab, she retrieved her acid-laden dish, weaved under its armless shoulder, and drove her candleholder into the opening in its neck. As soon as the package was delivered, she flipped it upside down, dumping its contents into the depths of the pig monster’s throat.

  As the behemoth fell forward, she grabbed the chair by the campfire and bashed it against the back of the monster’s head, over and over and over, until the old, brittle wood buckled and creaked, driving splinters into the pig’s exposed internals. When the chair’s legs finally broke, she grabbed them one by one and shoved them into the titan’s neck.

  The pig monster struggled. It desperately tried to shove her away, but it lacked the strength it once had. Its resistance amounted to pitifully pushing its arm against her as she continued to tear at its flesh. It grew more limp with each passing moment, more powerless, more vulnerable. And eventually, it succumbed, lifelessly collapsing beneath her with its throat jammed shut and its innards fully dissolved.

  Log Entry 476

  You have slain a level 47 Bristleboar.

  You have been awarded the following first-kill bonus:

  - 9 points of agility

  - 17 points of dexterity

  - 8 points of strength

  - 4 points of vitality

  “I did it…” she muttered quietly as she collapsed onto her rear, her hands still shaking with excitement. “I did it.”

  Log Entry 477

  You have levelled up. Your health and mana have been restored, and all harmful status effects have been cleansed.

  Your racial class, Halfbreed, has reached level 22.

  You have gained 6 ability points.

  Log Entry 478

  You have acquired the Tracking and Makeshift Weapon Mastery skills.

  Log Entry 479

  You have unlocked the Rogue and Barbarian classes.

  Celebratory messages appeared in her logs one after another, but she couldn’t be bothered to read them. Her breathing was still ragged, and her heart still pumped with adrenaline. It wasn’t exactly her first kill, but it was certainly the first she would have happily recounted.