Symbiotic: Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Unwilling to accidentally be unavailable when the first new citizens reached Haven Valley, Sara avoids diving into the Dungeon or heading out to search deeper into the valley. Instead, the next two days in Haven Valley were filled with the steady rhythm of creation. Sara worked tirelessly, her hands glowing faintly as she called upon Create Basic Object, shaping spores into hardened forms.

Cadri and his three scouts were the first to be outfitted. Sara handed each of them a Fungal Bow, that flexed with surprising resilience. She gave them forty Fungal arrows apiece, their tips sharp and glistening faintly with fungal sheen. Connak had prepared leather armor for them, and with his blessing, Ellie, the Crafting School’s eager Enchanting student, etched her first enchantments into the hides. The enchantment was simple, a slow self repair woven into the fibers, but it was enough to make the scouts beam with pride as they donned their gear. Sara watched Ellie’s hands tremble as she finished the runes, then smiled at her success.

Brogan and five others received Fungal Chain Armor, each link grown from spores hardened into a dull metallic sheen. Sara paired their armor with Fungal Spears and Shields, weapons that hummed faintly with fungal resonance. Two of the Valley Defense Force wall guards were given Fungal Platemail, heavy and imposing, each armed with Fungal Axes and Shields. Their presence on the walls would be a deterrent to any who dared approach. One healer among the VDF received Fungal Robes and a Fungal Staff, the robes light and flowing, the staff pulsing faintly with restorative spores. Sara knew this healer would be vital in keeping her defenders alive.

Meanwhile, Tas took on the task of expanding the Village as needed for new families. Two housing expansions, adding a new Ranch for meat animals, a new farm for more fruit and vegetables. The Guildhall as promised to new crafters, was added in the center of Crafter’s Row. Spaces set aside for new Workshops or expansions once they learned what crafters had joined the Valley. They were nearly out of TAP, and Sara’s personal store of funds, even with selling surplus crystals and the Challenger Party, which had taken to calling themselves “The Foreshadows”, tackling the Dungeon each day, was now under 50,000 SC and just two TAP.

The Valley was ready for growth. Defenses fortifying. Security growing. But still just limping by financially.

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When she wasn’t shaping weapons and armor, Sara worked in her Alchemy Workshop. The air was thick with the scent of herbs, spores, and simmering brews. She brewed tirelessly, producing a dozen Body Rejuvenation Potions, a dozen Mind Rejuvenation Potions, and a dozen Soul Rejuvenation Potions. Alongside them, she crafted two dozen Minor Healing Balms, each sealed carefully in clay jars. All of these she sent to the Barracks Storeroom, ready for the Valley Defense Force to use when the time came.

By the second evening, as she corked the final vial, the familiar hum of the System filled her mind.

*DING* [Skill Upgrade: Novice Alchemist → Level 3]

EXP 625 of 1000

• Brew Potions: +5% success rate, +5% result quality, +5% result speed

*Ping* New Skill Unlocked: Craft Basic Pill

Description: Craft Basic Pill Introduces Novice Alchemists to the art of pill crafting, unlocking the recipes for Basic Body Pill, Basic Mind Pill, and Basic Soul Pill. These pills are highly condensed forms of Body, Mind, or Soul energy, capable of permanently increasing the corresponding attribute when consumed. Basic Pills are the least potent and least refined of the Pill Crafting skills.

Warning:

Consumption is inherently dangerous. If the user’s Body, Mind, or Soul is not strong enough to withstand the surge of growth, permanent injury, including death, may occur.

Restrictions:

• Do not consume more than one pill at a time.

• Limit intake to one pill of each type per level to avoid catastrophic backlash.

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Sara sat back in her workshop, reading and rereading the description of her new Skill on her System display.

She quickly realized what it meant. Pills weren’t like salves or brews. They were condensed power, the risks and rewards both dangerous and permanent. The System’s warning rang in her thoughts: Injury, even death, if the body, mind, or soul could not withstand the surge. But, at the same time. Staring her here in the face was a path. An option for how to grow her Valley Defense Force from a village guard to an army that other powers will think twice about angering.

It was risky. But Sara was not just an Alchemist. She was also Mycorrhizal. Surely with Mark Target and Repair Other, she could eliminate, or at least reduce the risks her people would need to take to grow?

For a moment, she felt a thrill. This was a step into true alchemy, into shaping growth itself. But the thrill was tempered by caution. She pressed her palms against the workbench, grounding herself.

“Dangerous,” she murmured aloud, her voice steady but thoughtful. “But powerful. A path that could change lives… or end them.”

Tas shimmered nearby, her glow soft with approval. Sara met her eyes and nodded. “We will treat this skill with care, Tas. No reckless use. Test on myself first and only offer it as an option after I am confident of the risks and when I know my people are ready.”

There was no doubt that the skill to brew Pills was a great gift. But, as with everything the System provided, it was also a test. And System tests had deadly consequences.

Sara’s pondering of whether to step through that door and craft Pills was interrupted by a message from Tas.

Tas’s voice shimmered in Sara’s mind, calm but insistent. “Viscount, arrivals at the gates.”

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Sara straightened, her pulse quickening. “Teleport me down,” she commanded, and in a blink she was standing at the Valley’s entrance, the heavy gates looming behind her.

The first arrivals were exactly what she expected, mercenary companies, small groups unaffiliated with each other, dour men with scarred faces and weapons that looked far too eager for blood.

Four groups stood together, but apart, each distinct in their bearing.

The first was seven strong, disciplined and scarred, their leader a broad shouldered woman with a jagged line across her jaw. They carried longspears and short swords, their stance tight and practiced, already scanning the horizon as if guarding was second nature, and announced themselves as Scar Jaw’s Spears.

The second group, calling themselves the Windcutters, numbered five, lean and restless, bows slung across their backs. Scouts, clearly. They shifted their weight constantly, eyes sharp, one of them idly spinning a dagger between his fingers as though unable to sit still.

The third group was eight shieldbearers, their gear mismatched but their unity unmistakable. Heavy shields strapped to their arms, they moved as one, snapping into a square formation at a barked order from their leader. They were a wall, plain and simple, as befitted their name. The Ironwall Cohort.

The fourth group, the Redfangs, were six varied mercenaries, less friendly than the rest. Their armor was scavenged, piecemeal, but their weapons were readied and their confidence was palpable. They shuffled around, whispering low, and studied the gatehouse, walls, and guards, ignoring for the most part Sara and Tas, and radiating menace. Sara instantly flagged them as trouble, and her Danger Sense thumped in agreement.

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Sara’s stomach tightened. She was out of her depth here. Negotiating contracts, wages, restrictions. She had no clue what was fair or binding. But Tas shimmered beside her, steady as ever.

“Handle the contracts,” Sara murmured. “You know better than I even what the valley needs. But make sure of one thing: every agreement must include loyalty and discretion. Whatever they learn here, they keep to themselves until the end of their contract term. Even if they cancel early, the discretion term holds.”

Tas pulsed in acknowledgment and began the negotiations, her voice carrying the weight of the System itself. Sara listened, but her focus was elsewhere. Sporesight spread out around her, Danger Sense humming like a taut string. She wasn’t surprised when one group refused to sign, choosing instead to linger outside the gates, scribbling notes and watching her defenses with thinly veiled menace.

Three groups passed Tas’s review. Two signed one year contracts, their leaders grim but practical. The third surprised her, eagerly signing for five years. They asked about relocation, families, even citizenship in the Valley. Sara studied them carefully, Sporesight brushing over every detail. Nothing concerning. She nodded once. “Agree to the five years. Keep negotiations open about family relocation and citizenship if they perform their duties without concern.”

But, regardless of where she looked, her Sporesight senses never left the group of six who had refused. They moved like shadows, trying to maneuver for better views of the Valley, thinking themselves subtle. Sara marked each of them with Mark Target, noting their gear. Two brutes, heavy fighters. Two ranged or rogue types. Two casters or healers. A balanced team. Dangerous.

Enough was enough. Sara ordered Tas to invite the signed mercenaries inside, closing the gates behind them. That left her alone outside, facing the six marked men. Silence stretched between them, heavy and tense.

Sara tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “So. What’s a nice group like you doing in a place like this?”, she teased a terrible one-liner.

The quip confused them for a heartbeat, but then one of the brutes stepped forward, sneer curling his lips. “Surrender your Ownership or die. You’re only level three. You can’t even tell, but we’re all twelve to sixteen. You don’t stand a chance. Just an example to be made for the next Challenger who gets in our way.”

Sara scrunched her face in genuine confusion. Identify had already given her their names, classes, levels, and highest and lowest stats. Why would they think she couldn’t see?

Mercenary 1 – Garruk (Warrior, Lvl 14)

• Highest Stat: Force (42)

• Lowest Stat: Knowledge (12)

Mercenary 2 – Borin (Berserker, Lvl 15)

• Highest Stat: Force (39)

• Lowest Stat: Knowledge (10)

Mercenary 3 – Kaelen (Rogue, Lvl 12)

• Highest Stat: Speed (41)

• Lowest Stat: Sum (15)

Mercenary 4 – Sylas (Ranger, Lvl 13)

• Highest Stat: Speed (38)

• Lowest Stat: Sum (14)

Mercenary 5 – Veyra (Warlock, Lvl 16)

• Highest Stat: Knowledge (44)

• Lowest Stat: Force (14)

Mercenary 6 – Thalen (Cleric, Lvl 12)

• Highest Stat: Self (41)

• Lowest Stat: Force (17)

The mercenaries laughed, mistaking her expression for fear. Weapons shimmered into their hands. Sara’s smile widened. She wasn’t afraid. She was eager.

Danger Sense flared. The rogue slipping around, aiming for her blind spot. But Sporesight had no blind spots. Sara twisted, dodging the stab, and drove her boot into his chest. The crack echoed as he flew back toward his companions, folding over his broken ribs.

Her armor shimmered into place. Mycorrhizal Platemail, heavy and alive with spores. Her Tetsubo materialized in her grip, shield locking into place. She dropped into a defensive stance, Danger Sense screaming louder now. A tough fight ahead. Perfect.

She grinned as she activated Infectious Cloud, spores billowing out twenty feet around her. Two thousand microbes locked into her control, weaving between the 200 foot reach of Sporesight and the choking haze of her cloud.

From the Valley walls above, Tas, the newly signed mercenaries, and the VDF guards watched. Cadri leaned forward, hand reflexively reaching for an arrow, tense. “Are you sure we shouldn’t step in?” Brogan echoed the concern.

Tas’s glow pulsed, calm and certain. “Viscount Sara requested playtime. We are to watch.”

And below, Sara Bloom stood smiling in her cloud of spores, shield raised, Tetsubo ready, as six mercenaries closed in. “You folks are wrong about oh so much. But you’re right about something… You Are here to make an example.”

Sara stepped forward, allowing her Infectious Cloud to reach the front fighters, and grinned as they groaned as the spores dug between armor to attack flesh beneath.

The fight had begun.

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Sporesight painted the battlefield in perfect clarity, every heartbeat and twitch of muscle mapped in Sara’s mind. The mercenaries shifted, trying to circle her, but Mark Target kept them pinned in her awareness. She strode forward, Infectious Cloud rolling outward like a living haze, gnawing at their flesh and draining their stamina.

“Listen. No one’s been stabbed yet,” she said evenly, her voice carrying across the tension. She pointed to the rogue, still hunched over, hands pressed to cracked ribs while the cleric’s glow stitched him back together. “That pitiful try doesn’t count.”

Her tone sharpened, “You can still put your weapons down and walk away. Chalk this up to a bad idea after a long walk, and we all go home.”

The ranger loosed an arrow, the shaft whistling toward her head. Sara dipped aside, the motion fluid, and answered with a flick of her hand. Spores surged, stabbing deep into the archer’s side. His cry of pain echoed as the cloud burrowed into him, eating away at his strength.

“Or,” she said, her voice calm, almost weary, “you can do that.”

She sighed, rolling her shoulders as her armor pulsed with fungal life. “Ok. Line up and learn a lesson. Haven Valley is more than what it seems. Who’s first to be taught how?”

Sara saw with her Sporesight, (and tracked with her Mark Target to ensure it wasn’t a trick), as, surprisingly, the one Identified as a Warlock, Veyra, simply raised her empty hands and teleported away. Apparently deciding that whatever reason the group had come to Haven was not worth the fight she sensed coming. She kept tabs on her with Mark Target, but her dot continued to move further away until she could no longer sense it within her range.

Shrugging the surprisingly smart choice away, Sara’s eyes had never left the rest of the mercenary party, who honestly did not seem to have even noticed that they had already lost one member. Her Tetsubo slammed against her shield with a thunderous crack, the sound reverberating like a war drum. The berserker, frothing with rage, could no longer hold himself back. He roared and charged, muscles bulging, eyes wild.

Sara smiled, stance firm, spores swirling around her like a storm, stabbing out at the berserker and sapping his vitality before he even reached her. The first exchange had begun.

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The berserker came at her like a storm, his axe flashing in brutal arcs. Sara met him head on, shield raised, Tetsubo ready. Each swing crashed against her defense, the force rattling her arms, but her fungal plate absorbed the worst of anything that got past her shield. A few strikes slipped past her guard, glancing blows that bruised beneath the armor, but nothing more.

She answered with her own strikes, the heavy Tetsubo slamming into his ribs and side. She felt bones crack, saw bruises bloom, cuts open, even as Infectious Cloud continued to eat away at his skin, but the berserker ignored it all, eyes wild, mouth frothing, rage carrying him forward. It would have been impressive if she couldn’t sense the truth: his body was failing, his soul burning out even as he fought. He was dying, and he didn’t care.

From the corner of her vision, Sporesight warned her. The second fighter, the one with the loud mouth, charging in from the flank, the cleric’s glow already knitting the berserker’s wounds. Sara spun back, shield snapping into place. She braced, timing her skill perfectly.

Hunker Down.

The berserker’s axe and the fighter’s blade slammed into her shield and Tetsubo together, the impact reverberating like thunder. She held firm, fungal armor and defensive skill locking her stance, absorbing the fury of both blows. The two mercenaries stumbled, colliding with each other as they tried to recover from the unexpected resistance.

Sara’s lips curled into a smile. She released the stored energy.

Power Swing.

Her Tetsubo roared through the air, smashing into the berserker’s chest with a sickening crack. His ribcage caved, the force tossing him back like a ragdoll, half flying, half rolling until he landed collapsed at the edge of the Lifewheat fields, gasping blood.

The fighter blinked, disoriented, suddenly realizing his flanking maneuver had left him alone. Sara didn’t give him the satisfaction of her attention. She remembered the first rule, the constant advice from countless RPG nights with friends.

Healer first.

Her eyes locked on the cleric, spores swirling around her like a storm. The next lesson was about to begin.

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Sara moved so fast with her enhanced Speed that to some it probably looked like she had teleported, and instantly she was face to face with the cleric, who was turning to try to reach the berserker in time.

“Oh, don’t worry about him. He’s a gift. Worry about… Me!”, Sara said as her Tetsubo lashed out to knock the clerics staff from his hands, shield bashing him in the face as her Tetsubo swept his legs out from under him and nearly flipping him over backwards. Even as, from the edge of the Lifewheat, nearly forgotten, there was a scream as something… something large and Golden… pulled a quickly silenced screaming Berserker into the wheat.

Sara spun in place, blocking another arrow and deflecting a thrown dagger, as she used the spins momentum to Power Swing an overhead blow down onto the head of the cleric at her feet.

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Hearing the roar of anger behind her, Sara’s Sporesight tracked as the Fighter raced at her back for revenge. Turning and ducking away from another arrow, (That archer was fast!), Sara met the fighters strikes with her own, learning his rhythm and testing his speed. Soon enough the fighters swings fell behind her own and she batted his weapon away and headbutted him in the face to knock him backwards as she twisted out of another arrow, slapped the dagger of the rogue who though he had snuck up on her down and casually flattened him with a backhand Tetsubo swing sending him rolling into the dirt to lay unmoving.

Instantly switching Tetsubo for her Spear in her Pocket Storage, Sara turned back to the ranger and, from 20 feet away, Stabbed her in the bow arm with her spear’s Spore Lance ability, effectively taking her out of the fight without time to heal or more surprises up her sleeve than Sara expected she had.

Sara then returned her gaze to the fighter who’s words had started the whole encounter. “I am Viscount Sara Bloom, and Haven Valley is MINE. Tell anyone else who thinks they can take what is mine what happened here today ad the hands of “Only a Level 3!”

The fighter sneered, unwilling to back down or admit defeat. “I ain’t gonna tell no one shit, lady. I’ll just show them your head!”, he roared as he leapt forward to attack.

Sara laughed as she slapped his weapon aside and, Rapid Jab, stabbed under his arm, over his breastplate, and into his heart three times. “That’s ok.”, Sara said as the fighter’s body collapsed to the ground and she turned to face the Archer. The only still standing member of the Mercenary Company. “I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to her.”

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Sara glared at the bloody armed ranger, bow lying on the ground at her feet as she tried, and failed, to raise both hands in surrender. “So. Are you willing to deliver my message back to whoever sent you? I figured you were the only one who might have a chance to survive the Lifewheat Fields now that you have made an enemy of the Baron.”

From the high golden stalks came a Thunderous Roar that raced across the wheat heads like a strong wind.

Sara strode slowly over to the Archer, Infectious Cloud off so as not to kill her. The archer stepped back fearfully but, stuck as she was between the death coming towards her and the death she could sense in the stalks, she froze as Sara picked up her bow off the ground and stored it in inventory.

“I’d wish you luck, Archer. But I don’t really give a shit what happens to you.” Sara said as she raised a hand and used Repair Other to stop the archers bleeding. “That will at least give you a chance to not just be a game trail for the Lions to follow.”

Turning to look up at Cadri and the others on the wall as she strode towards the bodies of the fallen and ignored the archers attempts to beg forgiveness. The Archer so eagerly joining in when six mercenaries threatened a Level 3 woman told Sara all she needed to know about her. And that was that she, and those like her, were not wanted in Haven Valley. Sara yelled. “Archers. If this woman is not out of sight in the next 5 minutes, fire at will!”

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Sara pretended not to pay attention as she looted the fighter’s body, but her Sporesight showed her when the archer, rather smartly, chose to race away from the valley but along the mountain edge and not into the Lifewheat fields. Maybe she would survive after all. “Sylas”, Sara muttered to herself. If she ever ran across her again, she would remember!