D.J. Rintoul
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Re: Butterfly 3-25. First Blood
🕑 Added 2025-02-22 04:35:56 +0000 UTC“Well done, Adon,” Rosslyn said.
In her mind, she added, I should have known you were busy conducting interspecies diplomacy again.
He had been gone so long in the second level that William had broached the idea the butterfly might have been killed or captured—an idea that Rosslyn had rejected, naturally.
“If it works,” William added, frowning and raising an eyebrow.
“It could reduce our bloody work for this floor by quite a lot,” Frederick said, smiling.
“We will conclude this matter in a day or less, if the alliance that Adon constructed holds,” Rosslyn said. She smiled warmly at the butterfly.
I have not forgotten the value of time to us, she thought.
“I should be able to manage it just fine,” William replied in a firm but gentle tone, giving Rosslyn a sidelong glance.
I have not forgotten that you are commanding the operation on this level, William. Though it is a bit churlish to speak so insistently when I have already given way without resistance on this.
Fortunately, William could not read minds, so he could not hear the less than charitable assessment that Rosslyn made of his words. She simply nodded to him.
“Now the question is how best to descend the cliff face, assuming that we can trust the alliance Adon made,” William said. “I think one group on each side, and we keep a handful of men armed with bows back to snipe at the approaching birds. Assuming that the strixes are as reliably opportunistic as you observed—” He looked at Adon as he spoke—“we should be able to take them by surprise with the archery while the climbers are still relatively close to the opening.”
It is strange to imagine living creatures behaving so predictably, mused Goldie.
“It might be intentional, to make them easier to deal with,” said Frederick, smiling down at the spider who stood on his shoulder.
Rosslyn still thought that Frederick’s recent attitude toward the spiders was a little strange. She’d had the initial impression that Frederick was not particularly fond of or impressed by any of the mystic beasts.
“This would be consistent with dungeon theory,” Rosslyn said. “The idea is that the dungeon behaves according to rules of some sort—not rules that we precisely understand, but limiters nonetheless. Each level has to be more difficult than the one previous—that is essentially a universal rule—but that means that the second level cannot be more formidable than any of the levels further down. Following that line of thought, the dungeon had to construct this level in such a way that there was a way to complete it that would make it easier than whatever is on level three. It is possible that the ecosystem’s balance is that mechanism. The rivalry between the creatures, and their predictability, is exactly the way we are supposed to complete the level.”
Why would the dungeon do that? Samson sent. Create a deliberate weakness in its own design?
“Think of it as a constraint,” Rosslyn said. “Rather than deliberately making itself weaker, it is more along the lines of a trade-off. In order for something of value to be obtained, other things of theoretically equal value must necessarily be lost.”
I do not suppose you ever spent a lifetime as a dungeon core, Rosslyn thought, aiming for Adon to hear it. She arched an eyebrow as she waited for his response.
I was not, Adon sent in a quiet, subdued voice that Rosslyn could tell was for her hearing only. But I was a monster in a dungeon once, and I think it might have been in this world. The more I see of this place, the more convinced I become. It wasn’t this dungeon, of course—but a dungeon. When I was a monster, I remember an unseen thing commanding me and the other creatures in the dungeon. It’s possible it was the core, I don’t know. But it made me and the other monsters attack a village full of horned humanoids. I don’t know if that’s what the demons look like—or maybe some other race from this world? Or maybe it wasn’t on this planet after all. I do remember you mentioning at some point that the demons had horns, though. Probably none of this is relevant… Just my mental static. I have a lot of useless memories like that, from too many lives.
Rosslyn’s mouth went dry, and she stared at Adon for a moment, lips slightly parted, until she shook her head slightly and got control over her own thought process again.
She knew that Adon remembered a number of his previous lives—more than anyone she had ever heard of, though that was perhaps to be expected of a being who had been hand-selected by the Goddess to incarnate into their kingdom during its hour of need—a person of great spiritual significance, in other words.
But she had not realized, and did not recall him mentioning, that he had been a monster at some point—let alone the other, more shocking elements of his recollection.
Of course, he had no way of recognizing what was significant about this previous incarnation—or perhaps he did. Rosslyn thought he might have at least recognized that it seemed to contradict her theory about how the Demon Empire and dungeons were related. Then again, his memory sounded like it was could be interpreted in more than one way. It was possible that this was useless information. There was only one way to be sure.
Adon, could you describe what you experienced in a bit more detail when we go through the passageway to the next level? she thought. It could be important.
Happy to, he replied.
The conversation was continuing without them, so Rosslyn quickly turned her attention back to the young lords.
“I recommend we warn the knights about the likelihood of betrayal by the griffins in the end,” Frederick was saying.
Why would the griffins betray us? Adon asked immediately.
“I think we should ensure that the men know what to expect,” Rosslyn agreed. She looked at Adon again, brow slightly furrowed, and lowered her voice. “They are still monsters. They serve the dungeon. Despite whatever friendship you may have struck up with the creatures, their use for us ends as soon as we have ceased helping them fight the strixes—so, sometime before we enter the tunnel to the third level, which your reconnaissance suggested was some distance away. Across open, exposed ground in a narrow canyon that floods, with enemies who can fly…”
She allowed her voice to trail off, hoping the implications were clear enough.
If the griffins were territorial or cared about preserving the dungeon core at all, it was natural that some of them might instinctively perceive the humans as enemies once they no longer had a common enemy among them.
Yeah, Adon sent. I guess it might be a little naive of me to think that the griffins would keep up the alliance with us once the strixes are dead.
Rosslyn thought that she could detect a bit of wishful thinking in Adon’s tone—he really wanted to imagine that the griffins would keep the deal that he had negotiated with them—and she sympathized with his idealism.
If they were capable of behaving honorably, they would not be monsters, she thought. Control over their actions is not their own. If you were a monster once, perhaps you know something about that?
I guess I do, Adon replied reluctantly.
Your faith in others to keep their word is to your credit, Adon, she thought, trying to keep that thought below the surface of what Adon would automatically pick up. She did not want to come across as patronizing.
While the butterfly and the Princess were talking, William stepped away and began to explain the situation to the men.
Rosslyn heard him repeat the broad strokes of what Adon had accomplished—curiously, without actually mentioning Adon specifically, only a vague reference to telepathic communications with the griffins—and then give clear, straightforward instructions in keeping with their discussion.
The knights seemed to immediately increase in energy at the prospect of finally getting into some action again. They were far from fearful of some overgrown birds and half-bird creatures.
The fighters split into three groups: one that would descend with Rosslyn, one that would climb down behind William and Frederick—for the leaders of this expedition were truly leading the way, as the toughest combatants among the group—and one that would remain behind for now, armed with their bows. The last group was smallest, because only a few knights had brought ranged weaponry at all.
That seems like a significant oversight. But that was what peasants were usually for: the willingness to use a weapon that was perceived as less honorable and sporting. The few knights who did bring bows were a subset of those who had worked their way into knighthood from common origins.
The group spent a few minutes securing their climbing anchors carefully to the rock face directly adjacent to the waterfall.
Finally, the crew began their descent.
Rosslyn and the young lords emerged from the respective sides of the waterfall, mystic beasts mounted on their shoulders. At first, all was quiet. Rosslyn was able to quickly take in the lay of the land and confirm that the description and mental pictures Adon had sent were accurate.
Then she began her descent, using the line as she had when the group descended from the first level, with the difference that the slope she walked along was a sheer drop straight down—and that rather than merely a slight moisture, the stone she set her feet on was doused with a constant spray of liquid from the waterfall. Within the first minute, she had the repeated sensation that she would fall at any moment—and given the height, she would suffer some injuries even with mana circulating through her body.
It was in the first moment when she was thinking about falling that she heard Adon’s warning.
They’re coming! The telepathic shout was clearly directed at everyone nearby, but Rosslyn quickly turned her head to see the knights who had begun to descend behind her, and she added her own warning.
“Incoming targets!” she yelled.
Everyone on the line moved almost in unison, shifting posture slightly from facing straight down to keeping eyes peeled forward, with the area above them kept somewhat within peripheral vision. Keeping one hand on the line, each warrior used their other to reach for a weapon.
Rosslyn raised her head until she spotted them. A half dozen winged monsters that looked like mutated owls mixed with buzzards. Abominations.
She drew her own sword and pushed mana into her armor—as every other knight ought to be doing, but given her positioning, she could not afford to babysit them right now. Her full attention locked onto the birds closest to her.
One bird peeled off from the group, eyes focused on her in turn. Rosslyn felt that the two were each preparing to try to land a single, decisive attack on the other. With her armor reinforced, she felt free to invest enough power in her attack to slice one of the wings off. At this height, a fall ought to be fatal for the ungainly bird.
It approached, swinging lower than the other birds, which were aiming for Rosslyn’s companions.
The strix’s talons glowed with mana, reinforcing the blade-like extremities for the decisive, lethal blow.
The Princess saw from the fight path that it was aiming to strike her in the back—perhaps in the back of the head or neck. She tilted her head back to make those weak spots harder to get at from above.
The strix seemed to accelerate through the last several feet that separated them. Rosslyn prepared to swing her sword. She would cleave the strix’s left wing from its body before it could get within a foot of her.
She twisted her hip slightly, swung—and as she shifted her posture to put strength into the blow, her foot slipped on the wet surface of the cliff. The sword slashed through the air—and skimmed the bird’s tail feathers, chopping through a few of those but missing anything of real importance.
Rosslyn thought she saw the bird’s eyes widen slightly at the near miss, but then the strix was past her sword, within her defensive circle, above her—in her blind spot. It did not waste the opportunity it had acquired by risking its neck.
The Princess’s own neck was too difficult to reach from its position—the bird would have to turn around in midair somehow—but a sharp set of talons raked Rosslyn’s back with what she imagined was all the force it could muster, including the mana she had observed it using.
The blow hit hard, raking the metal of her plate like a set of steel blades.
The claws could not penetrate the mana-reinforced armor, though she felt their sting as if someone had jabbed her in the back with a sharpened comb. She knew the attack would have left long scratches along the metal despite her best efforts at reinforcement. It was simply easier and more reliable to infuse mana into a small area—like the tip of a blade or the edge of a claw—than into a large, flat surface like a shield or a section of armor. Offense was easier than defense—and defense would always struggle to keep up with offense by these mechanics, unless the defender was orders of magnitude more powerful than the attacker.
Rosslyn probably was an order of magnitude more powerful than some random bird monster from a dungeon, but she was also off-balance and in a vulnerable position, which weakened her focus as well as forcing her to defend more of her armor’s surface area than she could get away with protecting if this was a face to face fight at ground level.
Then the bird’s momentum carried it toward the cliff face, and Rosslyn quickly pivoted on her steadier foot and used the other to aim a mana-enhanced kick at the bird. The blow was weaker than it should have been, but she thought she felt a bone crack as she struck it in the ribs. Then the strix was flapping away, getting height, avoiding a fatal injury.
Rosslyn grimaced. On the one hand, she enjoyed a challenge.
On the other, this situation posed a challenge to everyone around her—and more of one than she would have preferred for her first time leading a party into a dungeon. Every life she had with her was precious.
She could hear the first cries of pain from above her. A few men had been hit, and she saw dribblings of blood rain down beside her position from both the line of men above her and, more distantly, those knights who had followed the young lords down their climbing wire.
Then she heard a satisfying pair of thuds. Two birds dropped, arrows protruding from one’s neck and another’s wing. The latter bird was not fatally injured, but it would not be flying back up to antagonize them anytime soon.
As a group, the strixes that survived flapped away from the knights.
For a moment, it felt like a victory. The archers had at least taken a couple of them out, and the others were running scared. They might be able to descend the rest of the way to the ground now.
Then she heard the loud screeching of the retreating strixes—a horrendous noise that she recognized as a form of warning cry.
She saw a movement from dozens of different openings in the cliff face across from her—and in her peripheral vision, she was aware that the same thing was happening in the cliff face that she and the knights occupied.
The strixes had called for backup.
