Untapped ~ Chapter Seventeen!

Nearly a full day passed before Joe finally spotted a sign they were nearing the guild’s town. It wasn’t marked by roads or banners, just a subtle shift in the forest.

The ancient trees with their thick underbrush and shadow-drenched canopy gave way to a younger grove, one clearly shaped by human hands. The trunks stood in a neat grid, sunbeams spilling down on the blooming ferns, nettles, and countless varieties of bright, sun-hungry greenery stretching endlessly in all directions.

“Not long now, Boris.” Joe turned to the Scholar, who looked like a stiff breeze might knock him out. After a night and almost full day of continuous traveling while pushing through exhaustion and muscle fatigue, his legs were trembling, and his face had the haunted, wide-eyed stare of a shell-shocked man. The walking stick he had clutched in his hands like a lifeline was being leaned on heavily, and each step came incrementally slower than the previous. “Hang in there, buddy. We made it. The town is right around that bend; you can see it through the trees.”

Conversely, the Ritualist had a spring in his step. Not only had he been having a fantastic time pushing his skills forward, he had also been feeling gratified at the sheer power disparity he had been able to bring to bear. Still, he was feeling a bit reflective, and not just because of his Exquisite Shell. The trail behind them was covered in blood, bone shards, and scorched fur, stretching from the start of the forest ‘til its end. The two of them were perfectly clean, any gore which had managed to land on their bodies having been long-since whisked away by the gentle cleaning effect of Joe's Neutrality Aura. 

“I've been thinking, Boris. It's really interesting to see how far I've come, but there's absolutely no challenge with these creatures. Even the strongest of them only break down into Common material, which isn't really worth collecting.” Still, there was no response, other than a nonverbal grunt as they continued trudging forward. “I guess what that means to me is, after I finish up the last few things I have to do on this world, the only reason I would come back is to visit my mother. Strange to think how an entire world can hold almost nothing appealing for me.”

“Then you're just not looking hard enough,” the Scholar finally spat out, earning a surprised glance from Joe. “Don't be so quick to write Midgard off. Every world has its secrets, its immense potential hidden away until someone discovers it. I'm certain there are places of power which would give you far more than a run for your money if you were to seek them out.”

Joe begrudgingly bobbed his head in understanding, biting his lip as he realized he had misspoken. “I suppose speaking in such broad generalities in the presence of a Scholar was bound to backfire.” 

The elderly man wheezed out a soft laugh… that, or it may have been a soft plea for rest that never made it past his lips. Either way, Joe decided he was going to assume it was appreciation at his willingness to admit when he was wrong. They lapsed into silence as they finished the final short stretch, the open gates of the town finally looming large. The moment they stepped through, a deluge of notifications washed over Joe, freezing him for a few seconds as he quickly scanned through the information. 

Mandatory Quest complete: Ringing the Dinner Bell. You successfully escorted Boris the Shamed to Towny McTownface! You did nothing to induce him to move faster, allowing him to make the entire journey under his own power. 

Reward: Success is its own reward. 

Optional objectives completed: 1) Do not allow Boris to take any damage. Reward: Potion of tripled walking speed. (Boris only.) 2) Defeat 100 hostile creatures during your journey, completed ten times! Reward: Amulet of Damage Immunity (Boris only, 100 minute effect).

Calculating… you completed the quest with a final rating of ‘X’. Future escort quests on Midgard will be modified to the maximum possible difficulty, with rewards to match. 

Quest update: Mastering Ritual Combat I. 

Use 500 Novice ritual combat circles in live combat. 286/500

Use 300 two-discipline ritual combat circles in live combat: 36/300

Use 200 three-discipline ritual combat circles in live combat. 5/200

Skill increase: Alchemical Rituals (Apprentice 0 → Apprentice V).

Reductionist experience gained: 8,175.

You have reached level 11 as a Reductionist! 9,925 experience remains until level 12!

“Feces, it feels like years since I've seen that message. Oohh… that’s nice.” Joe caught two items as they appeared just above his hands, glancing at the amulet in the shape of a book—clearly representing Tatum—as well as a simple potion bottle. 

Knowing these were both for Boris, he tried to hand them over, only for the Scholar to shake his head and wave him off. “Give those to me when you want me to use them; otherwise, I don't have anywhere to keep them.”

“Ugh… quest items.” Joe grumbled in annoyance as he tucked them away in one of his spatial rings. Feeling as though he hadn’t gained anything substantial, seeing as his class didn't come with a bonus, and only one of his skills had advanced, the Ritualist decided to make his own rewards. He flashed around the corner using his high Characteristics and searched around to make sure no one could see him. “Knowledge! Alchemical Lore, Enchanting Lore!”

Seeing as his maximum mana was just shy of seven thousand, losing two thousand of it in an instant felt like more of a gut punch than usual. Joe winced at the instant heartburn, having the presence of mind to clamp down on the ambient mana around himself to reduce the ‘noise’ generated by activating such a skill.

Skill increase: Alchemical Lore (Journeyman V → Journeyman VI).

Enchanting Lore (Journeyman VII → Journeyman VIII).

Blinking away the lingering pain of the massive mana channeling, he went around the corner and rejoined his scholarly friend, who was scanning the area with a slightly disgruntled expression on his face. Joe, still massaging his stomach and annoyed at how long it was taking the sensation to fade, decided to skip the pleasantries and get to the point of whatever was aggravating the man this time. “What is it? The town? I know it's not as grand as Ardania, but it's definitely on the way.”

“Is it? I suppose you haven't been here in quite a while, but… this is… not what I was expecting.” Boris waved a tired hand to indicate the settlement as a whole, quickly replacing his grip on the stick as he started to sag toward the ground. “Either way, I would be greatly appreciative of being shown to a bed.”

Frowning, Joe had looked up and started inspecting the area on his own as soon as Boris began to speak, and he slowly felt his indignation creeping higher and higher as he looked around. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

As he turned a slow circle to take in the vast changes which had occurred in the town, the Ritualist couldn't help but feel as though he had walked, not into a town he had helped found, but instead had stumbled into a construction project funded by a strange combination of an overambitious merchant guild and a cinder block-obsessed bureaucrat. Long gone were the hodgepodge of buildings which had sprung up in order to meet the needs of the town at the time, and in their place were uninspired, squat slabs of stone and barely varnished wood. 

Clearly, these had been turned out in bulk by the lowest bidder, at least… the structures meant to house people. Each of them were practically industrial in design, not quite identical, but certainly uniform—as though an overly strict HOA had been sitting on the zoning board. 

Almost worse were the buildings that had a great amount of variety: chintzy, tourist trap-style buildings that looked to have been put together with duct tape, hope, and a deep whiff of desperation. Directly across from the open gate was likely the most put-together of them all, a squat building with the first floor made of stone, turning into a decent log cabin look on the second floor. A carved wooden plaque hung above the inviting doorway, proudly proclaiming the shop to be The Path Not Taken.

“Alternative class planning and life coaching—because not everyone wants to be swinging a sword for the rest of their lives.” Joe felt his feet moving of their own volition, his mind as blank as if he had taken a blow to the head. He walked up to the building, peering through the windows directly into a gift shop. There he saw small depictions of the juggernauts which guarded the temple connected to the Pathfinder’s Hall, reduced to overpriced action figures someone could bring home for the low price of one silver each. 

But the worst part was various baubles and items on the shelves with advertisements proudly displayed above them. 

Fast travel individual pass. Finish your plan and get back to the city now, not later! 

Career path crystals—why make it hard? Shake to see what fate says you should try!

Missed out on the corpse plague? Buy a snowglobe and shake it to see the red mist rise again! Buy one, get one for a friend!

Wanderer’s Guild leadership—bobblehead version! Buy nine, get A-ten free!

“Is that… me? Abyss. What’s that sign say…? Second floor, career counseling?” Turning back to Boris, Joe barely managed to blurt out, “They've turned the Pathfinder’s Hall into a tourist trap? But… this is the first new Town in the kingdom! A fortress against the monsters and Wolfmen! Where are the Wanderers? Why has no one shut this down?” 

The only break from the conformist monotony or pastel sign-covered storefronts was the enormous Pathfinder’s Hall looming over the other buildings in the area. The towering, egg-shaped building still looked as glorious as ever, its smooth surface covered in a soft glow Joe wasn't certain everyone could see—he had increased his skills far beyond what could typically be found on that world, after all. Still, one familiar building wasn't enough to push back the absolute dissatisfaction he felt.

“Boris, I hate to do this to you, but I'm going to put you up in a hotel for a little bit.” Joe paused as he came back to the same uncomfortable realization he had gained back in Ardania. “Scratch that, I don't have any money yet. Why don't you hang out here for a little bit; I'll be back as soon as I can? No… actually, go up to the Pathfinder’s Hall, and I'll meet you there.”

Seeing as his friend was back to grunting, Joe could only assume they were in total agreement with each other. He began walking quickly, cutting through the redesigned roads which wound lazily through the town, as though attempting to force everyone to go past every store within the walls before getting to the center of the space.

A single Omnivault later, he was on top of a rickety shop proudly named This Might be Important Later, which appeared to sell all sorts of commemorative gear, such as blank class patches—only five copper to have your class symbol added!—keychains, and coffee mugs. From his new vantage point, he could see the Town Hall near the center of the town, only the second structure he had noticed which didn't have major architectural changes.

Just as he started to calm down, he noticed a huge gap. Like a smile where the front tooth had fallen out, it was all too noticeable by its absence. Adjusting his vector, Joe landed just in front of the sign posted at the empty lot, eyes twitching as he read over the Times New Roman font cleanly printed on the paper.

Notice of condemnation. Area declared haunted. Trespassers will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the laws of Ardania, should they survive. 

“It wasn't haunted, it was cursed,” Joe kicked a rock into the space, where it bounced off the broken foundation of the building and rolled back almost all the way to him, “and that was a feature! People fought to sleep in the hungry apartment building! If it didn't eat you, the bonuses were crazy good.” 

Absolutely steaming mad, Joe marched over to the Town Hall and gave the door a polite little tug—just enough to confirm it wasn’t locked—then stepped back and drop-kicked the thing like it had personally insulted him. It flew open, slamming into the wall with enough force to echo up and down the street. Bellowing to keep his momentum, the Ritualist followed the door into the building. “Bring me to the Town council room this instant!”

After his dramatic entrance, Joe found himself staring at a solitary secretary who was looking right back at him with wide eyes. The man sputtered in fear, before managing, “Uh… um… sir, I can bring you there, but there's no one in it. Today's everyone's day off, I'm only here because we need someone in case there's an emergency.” 

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Joe let his head fall back, and he stared at the ceiling for a long moment. Returning his gaze to the middle-aged man whose hand was slowly creeping toward what he was almost sure was a panic button, the Ritualist snapped his fingers hard enough to rattle the windows of the Town Hall. “In that case, go ahead and declare an emergency. Get me anyone who has any authority over this Town. I want them here five minutes ago!”

“We have no one with any kind of temporal powers—oh, you just mean ASAP. Yeah, I'll… I'll get right on that.”

Going into the large council room, Joe paced back and forth for a few minutes, his sheer speed allowing him to traverse the room dozens of times in that span. The long wait allowed him to start calming down, and Joe took a few deep breaths, trying to understand exactly what it was about the place that was infuriating him so much. At the half hour mark, he was able to sit down and remain seated for more than a few seconds, his mind turning the issue over and trying to view it from different angles.

“This world? It’s not even viable anymore. I’ve basically already written it off. So why should I care that it’s been sold out and stripped bare?" Even as the words left his mouth, logic telling him to let the anger fade… it surged instead. "But abyss it, I do care. I fought for this place. I bled here. They’ve turned it into a joke? After everything we survived? No. I’m not walking away-"

“Sir, I'm going to need you to come with—oh, hey, Joe.” The bald Ritualist looked over to see a familiar face, watching with a raised eyebrow as Jay the guard sheathed his sword and carefully showed how neither hand now held a weapon. “We got a report of someone attacking the Town Hall and threatening the local leadership?”

“I brought it into this world; I can take it out,” Joe grumbled darkly, earning himself an eye roll from the perpetually cheerful guard. “I called for the town’s leaders. Where are they?”

“Oh, they're here, just in case this was a legitimate emergency. Most of them are waiting to take pictures next to whoever I drag out of here as a photo op, but I suppose I can go tell them to actually assemble.” Jay waved over his shoulder as he stepped out of the room, only for a sea of greatly annoyed faces to come into view.

“Wait…” Joe looked at each of the men entering the room, each wearing a nearly identical suit and matching tie. “I know you. Aren't you all the original financiers of the guild? I thought you were all stripped of your guild authority?”

“Funny thing about that, Mr. Joe.” The final man to stroll into the room locked eyes with the Ritualist and walked over with a hand extended. “What do you think happens when all of the guild leadership is entirely focused on progressing their power, skills, and classes? Let me answer that for you. As soon as they’re over-leveled for the area, they skip town as soon as they can make it to the bifrost.”

“Mr. Johnson.” Joe reluctantly accepted the handshake, trying not to scowl at the man’s limp grip as they exchanged pleasantries. He looked around the square meeting space lined with rows of uncomfortable chairs, the walls which had various motivational posters, projection charts, and even an easel with a half-formed potential advertising campaign written out on it. Then he looked at the people sitting in those chairs, low-level, dull-eyed bureaucrats who were assuredly swimming in coin. “So many of my questions were just answered.”

Mr. Johnson unbuttoned his middle suit coat button and gestured to a seat at the front of the room as he took one of his own. “As I stated, most high-level members of our guild have moved on to other worlds. Luckily for us, we've been able to far more than recoup our losses from the early days of being in Eternium. I admit, at first, we were rather miffed when we were sidelined to fight a pitched war, but the sheer audaciousness of all of you? The fact that you brought us a type of advertising you simply cannot buy? You’ve spawned legends all on your own, and we’ve been able to turn that into some serious success for the Wanderer’s Guild.”

“Yeah, I saw my plushie. I’ll be direct; this place is a tourist trap,” Joe flatly stated, his words causing the others to shuffle in their seats ever so slightly. “As First Elder in Waiting, and to satisfy my own curiosity, I need you to tell me how this advances the interests of the guild?” 

“There's an easy one for me to explain,” Mr. Johnson immediately responded in a silky smooth tone. “Let's look at the facts. Anyone who wants to adventure, fight monsters, seek higher heights… they do. We've made our mission statement on Midgard as such: establish a stable intake platform for new members. Recruitment, orientation and training, then finally redirection to more appropriate destinations as needed.” 

“Midgard is now a feeder world for the guild,” another of the bureaucrats clarified, obviously proud of how they were managing things. “We find the talent, get them the information and training they need, and if they are the rambunctious sort, like… well, you, we get them on the bifrost as soon as they are ready to go. It's a win-win situation for all of us.”

“Okay…” Joe took a calming breath, but before he could say another word, Mr. Johnson spoke up once more.

“If it's the royalties you're worried about, don't worry, we've been putting aside an appropriate amount. Not only are you listed as the sole owner of the Pathfinder’s Hall, and therefore entitled to a full twenty percent of the ticket sales, your bobblehead sells at a two-to-one rate compared to everyone else's!”

“Two to one? Why? Wait, you’re saying I just have a pile of coins set aside for me somewhere?” Joe raised an eyebrow, not allowing himself to get excited, as he knew nothing would ever be that simple with a group of people like this.

“Well…” Mr. Johnson coughed into his fist awkwardly. “All cash sales are converted into guild contribution points. For your convenience.”

“Useful across all worlds, and you don't have to pay out on this one.” Joe shook his head in wonder at the convoluted means they were using to line their pockets. “Okay, I hadn't asked about that, but we'll definitely come back to it later. I suppose the next major question I have is… what happened to all of the buildings I put together?” 

“We decided to go in a more thematic way,” one of the bureaucrats excitedly interjected, clearly having been someone who was on that project. “You see, Joe, when people come to Towny McTownface, they don't want to see bristling weapons and the standard medieval-style charms of Gardenia-”

“Ardania?” Joe butted in, blinking in shock at how casually incorrect this man was.

“-Yes, that.” The financier nodded patronizingly. “No, when they come here, they want an experience! This is the epicenter of the corpse plague! The red mist! The site upon which Humanity cast out the Wolfman contenders and became a Unified Race! Just like any other place of great importance, most of them want to bring something home to remember the visit, and we made sure to make available anything they wanted! From simple commemorative options to career counseling or even guided safaris into the depths of the Evergrowth Greenhouse. They get to stand where the heroes of humanity stood, or even the Dread Ritualist himself-” 

The man choked slightly at that point, eyes going wide as he realized he had said too much. Joe rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Again, I saw the plushie. Who did you get to do the design work on the eyes? I'd recognize a Ritual of Glimmering from a mile away.”

“Well,” Mr. Johnson shot a warning look at his contemporaries. “There's an entire herd of Ritualists still living in town.”

“Herd Of Ritualists?” Joe tested the words softly, wondering if he was having a fever dream or if this was reality.

“Well, of course I have, there's one right in front of me!” The entire group of bureaucrats started chuckling at Mr. Johnson's joke, who beamed as if he had come up with something truly original. “Anyway, today was supposed to be our day off, so if there's nothing we can help you with…?”

“No, there's plenty to talk about.” Joe offered a shark-like smile. “As the first Elder of the Wanderer’s Guild, I'm immediately going to be declaring a state of emergency for the town, putting it under lockdown and martial law as we prepare for war.”