Vortena Page 3

  On the other hand, one could argue that the Mimic had gotten off easy, as having too many Skills and Attributes ripped from one’s being came with any number of nasty side effects. Individuals who had been forcibly relieved of a vocation at Level 70 or higher did not always survive the process. Those who did often went mad or catatonic, while others were left physically crippled or partially paralysed. And even if their bodies or minds remained intact, their spirits were inevitably broken by a deep depression which ended in suicide more often than not.

  Although Fizzy had heard the stories, she was sure that wouldn’t happen to her. Her Paladin Job was nowhere near that advanced – plus, she would be willingly letting the Job go, so she was at far less risk of suffering any side effects. Except extreme happiness, perhaps. In fact, if anything was making her want to kill herself, it was the Job – and her current daily routine.

  “No good,” Boxxy said.

  The words that the gnome never wanted to hear again put a stop to her fantasies of a better life. Or at least a less-shitty one.

  “No good,” it repeated. “Still weak.”

  “Huff, huff, I can’t help it!” she insisted, still gasping for air. “I’m a gnome you know! Huff. I don’t have a, huff, monster’s body like you do! Huff. My people are the physically weakest enlightened on the continent! Huff, huff, huff! Probably even the world!”

  Her inherent lack of muscle mass was something that no number of Levels or Attributes would solve, as such things only improved upon one’s base physical or mental abilities. It was possible to bulk up and gain extra muscle power through a strict exercise regime, but the limitations of race and gender would always be unsurmountable. Even if a gnome like Fizzy had 800 STR, she would still be outmatched by a human with half that amount.

  “Not that.”

  However, it appeared that the Mimic was referring to something else. While it was true that gnomes had a far shorter reach and lacked the raw force of larger enlightened, they were far superior in other ways.

  “Your arms are weak, but hands are fast and wits even faster. Sharp eyes, can see blows coming clearly. Reaction time and stamina could use work, but those are easy to fix with practice.”

  As an expert in the art of murder, it was Boxxy’s opinion that gnomes could be just as adept at fighting as any other race, so long as they applied themselves correctly. And it was precisely that that the Mimic had taken issue with.

  “Your big problem – you hesitate,” it continued. “You care. These are untasty, stupid thoughts. Pointless distractions. They dull the blade and weaken your attacks.”

  Over the past few days, Fizzy had figured out that ‘good,’ and ‘tasty’ were synonyms in Mimicanese. Using said knowledge, she understood the monster’s words to mean that the unwillingness with which she carried out its instructions was apparently her biggest weakness as a fighter. But that wasn’t as easily remedied as Boxxy seemed to think.

  “I can’t help it! Until a week ago I was just a girl working on her gadgets! Last month my biggest worry was whether or not I’d be able to find a cheap supply of blast powder! You can’t expect me be cruel like you so easily!”

  “No. Cruel one is you.”

  “… What?”

  “You hesitate. You cause prey suffering. Should finish quickly. Not tasty if they struggle.”

  The Mimic had actually meant that last bit literally: it found that prey had the best flavour if it had died instantly, without struggle. But it did – however unintentionally – make a valid point. The gnome’s unwillingness to cause pain was, ironically, causing her victims undue pain. It really wasn’t a question of if the creatures had to die – that outcome was practically inevitable once Boxxy had ahold of them. The only thing that mattered was how their end would come. That it would be easier on everyone involved if she just got the killing over and done with was something with which Fizzy begrudgingly agreed. Actually putting it into practice, however, was no easy task.

  “Alright! Okay, I’ll do better next ti–”

  “Liar!”

  *SMACK*

  A spidery limb slapped her across the face. Which was another way of saying that the Mimic kicked her in the head.

  “Aargh!” she stumbled backwards.

  “Said that yesterday!”

  *SMACK*

  This time it hit her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. She fell, unable to even scream, let alone keep her balance.

  “Do better now!”

  *SMACK*

  A downward strike left the faint imprint of her body in the moist soil.

  “Not tomorrow!”

  *SMACK*

  “Worthless!”

  *SMACK*

  “Useless meat!”

  *SMACK*

  “Not even good as snack!”

  *SMACK*

  “Mercy is for idiots!”

  *SMACK*

  “Learn to not care!”

  *SMACK*

  It continued to hit and insult her as she curled into the foetal position. She lay there, taking the abuse and quietly whimpering, not even considering fighting back. It would be over soon, anyway. This was just another part of her new daily routine.

  The two of them would come across some monsters and Boxxy would decide that they had to die. Fizzy would either be thrown into the dark, suffocating Storage or be forced to fend for herself. If the enemy was a mountain troll, a twin-tailed wolf or one of the enormous strangling serpents, she was required to fight them alone. They were lower on the local food chain and only half as dangerous as the satyrs, but they were still too much for her. Boxxy often had to bail her out and then beat her for her incompetence.

  If their opponent was something tougher, like those goat-men or a maybe a pack of hobgoblins, the Mimic would mop them up and leave one or two alive for her to execute. It was all for the sake of raising her Levels, yet she hesitated to hurt them every single time, which resulted in more beatings.

  Her diet consisted of whatever prey she had killed, either today or the day before. Luckily, Boxxy had nabbed her mana-fuelled welder from her shop, so she was allowed to start a fire to grill the monster meat as best she could. Unfortunately, she had no idea what she was doing and had failed to cook her food all the way through the first time she’d tried it, giving herself food poisoning in the process. Another time she had tried foraging for berries, but didn’t know which ones were edible and ended up getting poisoned for real. She had recovered from both incidents well enough, but only because the Mimic had treated her with some of its leftover potions and all-purpose antidotes. She’d then been beaten for wasting its limited resources.

  It seemed as though beatings comprised about half of her days, now that she thought about it. Boxxy could always find some excuse to hit her. If she was tired from all the walking and fell too far behind, she was beaten for trying to escape. If she slept for over five or six hours, she was beaten for being lazy. If she dared to question Boxxy’s methods, she was beaten for being a traitorous worm. The only time she wasn’t in danger of being physically abused was when she was thrown into Storage, but that was its own special kind of suffering.

  The beatings were so common that she was actually growing somewhat accustomed to the pain. They were also as severe as they were regular, to the point where her END Attribute had risen by three points. This was not a good thing, however, as Boxxy would surely only intensify its abuse should it find out.

  “… What Level?”

  This day, however, seemed to hold a pleasant surprise for her, as the monstrous chest had cut the punishment short in order to question her.

  “Fif-fifteen!” she answered, tears filling her eyes.

  “What new Skills?”

  “J-just a second, okay? S-s-skill List: P-paladin!”

  Just like when she’d reached Levels 5 and 10, she was offered two new Skills. Of course, it was Boxxy who decided which Skills she would take. So far it had ‘advised’ her to choose Toughness and Strength of Faith. Th
e former worked much like the Mimic’s own Natural Armour, though it improved the performance of any and all metal armour the Paladin wore rather than fortifying her hide. The latter allowed the Paladin’s melee attacks to draw on the power of their Faith (FTH) Attribute in addition to their STR, with an added bonus when striking the undead. The God of Chance had indeed given her the best Job to assist Boxxy in their lich-hunting Quest.

  However, what would most contribute to their goal was the FTH Attribute, which was why the Mimic was focusing on it. According to her Status, it amplified the effects of Holy Spells while also increasing the likelihood of receiving guidance from Werner in the form of divine revelations. The latter was largely worthless in Boxxy’s opinion, but the former was another matter entirely. Purifications, blessings, exorcisms, and healing magic were deemed to be of utmost importance, hence it had forced her to focus on Skills related to that Attribute. It had a hunch that doing so would eventually give her access to such incantations, and it would appear that its guess had been right on the money.

  [Holy Scripture]

  The gods will graciously share their power and their secrets, but only with those willing to accept them.

  Requirements: Level 15 Paladin, INT 40, WIS 20

  Type: Passive

  Range: Self

  [Effects]

  Grants knowledge of sacred texts and divine rituals.

  Grants knowledge of a Holy Spell at Level 1, 3, 6, 8 and 10 of this Skill.

  Increases the effectiveness of Holy Spells by 2% per Level of this Skill.

  This kind of Skill was familiar to the Mimic – the so-called ‘library’ type Skills that bestowed knowledge of magic not otherwise available through one’s Job. In theory, one could study and learn the Spells without the assistance of a Skill, but doing so would require time and resources that neither Fizzy nor Boxxy were willing to devote.

  [Proficiency level increased. Holy Scripture is now Level 1. INT +2. FTH +2.]

  [You have learned a new Spell: Holy Light.]

  “Okay!” the abused gnome whimpered. “I learned Holy Light!”

  “What does it do?”

  “It- it heals the living and burns the undead!”

  “Show me.”

  Fizzy stood and began to chant the Spell, focusing it on herself. But her exhaustion caused her to fumble the words, and the magic exploded in a flash of blinding light and a weak wave of concussive force. This failure made Boxxy smack her a few times while demanding she ‘do it right.’ The gnome fought back her tears and frantically tried again, this time making sure to follow the arcane formula in her head more carefully. It was actually surprisingly easy once she visualised it as just another circuit.

  “Holy Light!”

  Her second attempt was successful, and a radiant yellow-green glow enveloped her bruised and beaten body.

  [Divine power has healed your wounds. HP +145.]

  The light soothed her pain immediately, wrapping her in a feeling of warm comfort that lasted for only an instant.

  “How was it?” the Mimic asked.

  “I f-feel better now.”

  *SMACK*

  “Not you. How much did it do?”

  “Hun-hundr– Hundred and forty-five HP…”

  “Weak. Did you get Mastery?”

  “N-no …”

  “Then use it again.”

  “Holy Light!”

  [Divine power has healed your wounds. HP +145.]

  [Proficiency level increased. Holy Mastery is now Level 1. FTH +4.]

  “O-Okay! I-I got the Holy Mastery now…”

  Just as Boxxy had expected, the first Level of Mastery had been easy enough to acquire. It would hopefully serve as a foundation that would keep Fizzy from fumbling her Spells in the future, at least in theory.

  “Cast it again,” the Mimic commanded, and the gnome complied.

  “Holy Light!”

  “Now?

  “Hundred and sixty.”

  “Still too weak,” Boxxy declared. “Must level the Skill. Cast it again.”

  “B-but I’m already at full HP!”

  It then bludgeoned her hard enough to knock her over and stomped on her stomach, dealing a total of 154 HP worth of damage in the process.

  “Cast. It. Again.”

  Fizzy stood, whimpering, and prepared to heal herself once more. It would seem the tiny Paladin’s hardships were just beginning.

  Part Two

  The black-furred, twin-tailed wolf lunged at its prey, its sharp fangs attempting to bite the small, pink thing in half. It was so tiny it probably could have run upright between the wolf’s legs. As a matter of fact, that was exactly what the gnome did to evade the attack. Rather than attempt to best the wolf in a contest of raw physical strength, she dove under its ferocious bite and rolled.

  The wolf yelped as something cold and sharp ripped through its leg. It leapt aside to put some distance between itself and the tiny thing, landing a good three or four metres away. It turned to continue the attack, but Fizzy was nowhere to be seen. After a moment of confusion, it once more felt its body being carved into from below. The wolf howled and hopped away again, but the same thing happened a second time. And a third.

  Finally, the beast realised that its afternoon snack was somehow able to keep up with it, despite its clearly superior speed. It gave up on trying to move out of the way and decided to simply flatten the offending creature with its weight. After all, it was a tiny thing and looked as though it would squash easily with just a little bit of effort.

  Fizzy rolled out from under the wolf just as its massive body came crashing down, missing her completely and landing directly on top of the dagger lodged in the soft dirt. The best whined in agony as its own weight drove the steel blade deeper than the gnome could ever have done by herself.

  It was a huge wound, but one that Fizzy could only inflict by effectively disarming herself. That was why she carried another weapon, though it wasn’t a backup one. It was far more accurate to say that the dagger was merely the opening act. She reached over her shoulder and gripped the rubberized metal handle poking up behind her. She gave it a twist and a pull to release it from its holding clamp on her back and brought it to her side, holding it firmly with both hands.

  She dashed around the wolf’s huge body, now right at her eye level. The pint-sized Paladin’s eyes and weapon both shone with yellow-green light as she took a wide horizontal swing. The illuminated mace-like object in her hands smashed against the monster’s head before it could muster enough strength to pull itself up from the ground.

  *THONK*

  [You have inflicted major blunt force trauma. Target HP -246.]

  [Proficiency level increased. Mace Mastery is now Level 4. STR +4.]

  The wolf yelped pathetically as it collapsed. The blow had cracked its skull and smashed its jaw, but it still clung tenaciously to life. An issue that was resolved moments later when the bloodstained hunk of metal swung down a second time.

  *THWACK*

  [You have inflicted major blunt force trauma. Target HP -307.]

  [Proficiency level increased. Divine Wrath is now Level 3. FTH +3. STR +1.]

  The wolf’s head splattered against the ground with a wet, disgusting noise. Bits of brain and blood splashed onto the gnome’s face and hair, but she didn’t seem to care – or even notice – as she lifted her weapon above her head. She made another downward swing, just to make sure that it was as dead as it appeared.

  *THWACK*

  More wolf bits flew everywhere as the monster’s head became a bloody pulp. Satisfied with her victory, Fizzy lifted the improvised weapon and wiped it clean as best she could against the beast’s fur. As she waited for the magical glow to fade, she inspected it for any new dents or blemishes. The item was not something one would normally consider a weapon, but Fizzy had learned to make do with what she had.

  Although not immediately apparent due to all the filth caked on it, the lump of steel in her hands was actually an adjust
able wrench. A tool which, much like the rest of the instruments in Fizzy’s shop, had been enchanted to fortify its durability. Not that she had ever been able to use this thing for its intended purpose. After all, it was nearly a metre long, far too unwieldy for someone of her short stature to use as an Artificer’s tool.

  Strictly speaking, it was too large even for human-sized tinkerers. The only possible use for such a thing would require a stupidly large-scale project, and the Fizzlesprockets of Erosa had never been that lucky. In fact, the only reason it was even in Fizzy’s Fidgety Widgets in the first place was because it was a novelty that had been gifted to Cornie’s father, the original ‘Fizzy.’

  As to how the wrench had found itself in her possession, Boxxy had simply picked it up when it had looted her shop.

  Fizzy, oddly enough, wasn’t the least bit upset that she had been robbed blind. In fact, she was glad that her things hadn’t been taken by that corrupt asshole of a Spymaster, particularly her father’s Lightning Thrower. Boxxy hadn’t been stupid enough to give her the weapon outright, but she found solace in the fact that it was still, in a matter of speaking, nearby. The Mimic still allowed her to assemble a few small utility gadgets from the random parts inside its Storage, and now Fizzy had finally found a use for the stupidly enormous wrench. All things considered, the animate chest’s hoarding habits had proven to be quite… tasty.

  After noting a tiny new dent on one side of her wrench, she sheathed it and turned her attention back to the wolf. Grunting with effort, she rolled it onto its side and removed the dagger stuck in its belly. With practiced ease, she began carving up the meat that was to become her dinner, moving mechanically as she did so. Her bruised face showed no hint of squeamishness, disgust, or any other emotion despite being elbow deep in monster guts. Her once bright and attentive green eyes now appeared dull and lifeless, seeing the bloody mess before her as ‘just another day.’