Phoenix Healer, Chapters 45-46

Chapter 45

The group gathered on the bleachers, and everyone looked at Ted, not knowing if he had just conceived the best idea of his life or the most foolish one. Ted was sweating profusely and had to wipe his hands on his shirt several times before taking the vial from Monica's hands with shaky fingers. Monica had gotten a reward after killing the Crystal Wolf Boss that everyone had forgotten about. But when Ted had seen the mural with the Bard's blood flowing all around, he had realized something.

"Ted, are you sure?" Monica said. "We don't know what—"

Ted nodded, interrupting her. "It must be it," he said.

Ted felt a hunch, similar to the one he had felt when he had realized that the markings on Thraldrirlum's pickaxe were a song, not a message. And now, seeing the thick scarlet blood in the small vial, he had the same hunch. He didn't know if it was the Bard Class making him more attuned to these hunches or maybe just the realization that the System wouldn't have given Monica something useless like vials of blood.

Lucas had postulated that perhaps they could have been used in enchanting, in blacksmithing, or a host of other professions. Blood was not that uncommon of a material for craftsmen. However, knowing the significance of Thraldrirlum's heritage, Ted just knew that this could be it.

They all gathered around the stone general as Ted uncorked the vial and, holding his breath, poured its contents on the head of the general. Everyone watched as the thick liquid descended and trickled over the man's head. They had taken to calling him the general because of his demeanor and because he looked like the most important person in the barracks. Most important statue, at least.

Ted’s idea had been pretty simple: they weren’t strong enough to face the nest full of monsters and the Matriarch. Even though they might have been able to face the monsters individually, there was no way for them to kill them all together. To be honest, it would have already been close-to-impossible to kill the Matriarch on its own.

That’s why they needed someone even stronger than Sir Tristan, someone who could lead them to victory against unfathomable odds.

And Ted had realized that Thradrirlum’s blood might be just what they needed to bring back statues to life. It was too convenient that the System had given them three vials—one for each floor of Viscera. If they could really manage to bring three Dwarves back, considering how strong their people were, they would make the fight against Machina a hundred time easier. 

Sure, the group wasn’t guaranteed to level up that much anymore if their ally was so strong, but it was still preferable to just having to retreat. 

And so, the young man prayed he was right. 

The blood trickled down the general's face. Nothing happened at first. Everyone held their breath and waited.

Ten seconds passed. Then twenty. The blood just kept dripping down, making small red pools at the statue's feet.

Heidi let out a long breath. "Well, that was a waste."

"Give it time," Monica said, but her voice didn't sound confident.

A full minute passed. Sir Tristan shifted his weight, making his armor creak. Dotty's shoulders slumped. The statue remained stone, now just stained with red streaks.

"I really thought..." Ted's voice cracked. He stared at the ground, his face burning with shame. "All that build-up for nothing."

"It was worth trying," Monica said gently.

"Maybe I was wrong," Ted said. He looked down at his feet. "I thought—"

A crack appeared on the statue's surface. Everyone jumped back. The crack spread across the general's face like a spiderweb. Small pieces of stone started falling off.

A crack appeared on the statue's surface. Everyone jumped back. The crack spread across the general's face like a spiderweb. Small pieces of stone started falling off.

"It's working!" Dotty whispered.

More cracks appeared. They ran down the general's neck and chest. His stone armor began breaking apart. Chunks fell to the ground. Under the stone, they could see skin.

The stone kept falling off the general in chunks. His skin was gray at first but slowly turned normal colored. His beard was long and white. His armor looked old but well made.

He opened his eyes and blinked a few times. Everyone held their breath. This was their chance to get a powerful ally.

Then he let out a huge laugh that echoed through the barracks.

"Ha! I can move again!" He stretched his arms wide and cracked his neck. "Gods, being a statue is boring! Do you know how long I've been stuck looking at that wall? Too damn long!"

He jumped down from the bleachers into the courtyard and almost fell over. 

"Whoa! Legs are a bit wobbly. Give me a second here."

They looked at the tag above his head.

[??? - ???]

“You see anything?” Monica asked Sir Tristan.

The Knight shook his head. 

“He’s too high-level. I can’t see anything. He’s above Level 250.” 

Monica and Sir Tristan shared a confused look. This wasn't quite what they expected from a dignified dwarven general.

"I'm Gromorlig!" He slapped his chest with both hands. "And you lot just saved me from the most boring experience of my life. Seriously, do you know how many times I counted the stones in that wall? Seven thousand four hundred and twenty-three! I counted them again just to be sure!"

Ted stepped forward nervously. "Sir, we were hoping you could help us..."

"Help you? Of course I'll help you!" Gromorlig grabbed Ted in a bear hug that lifted him off the ground. "You freed me! I'd kiss you if you weren't so tall!"

He dropped Ted and turned to the others. "So what's the problem? Need someone killed? Something built? A party started? I'm good at all three!" He winked at Monica. "Though I must say, starting parties is my specialty. I was organizing the annual festival when that damn thing struck us down!"

"Actually," Monica said slowly, "we need help clearing out a nest of corrupted spider constructs. There's a matriarch and..."

"Spiders!" Gromorlig bellowed. "Perfect! I hate spiders! Always crawling around, making webs in my beard while I was stuck as a statue. Disrespectful little bastards!"

He patted the warhammer hanging at his belt. 

"This beauty hasn't squashed anything in ages. She's thirsty!"

Sir Tristan cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should discuss strategy first..."

"Strategy?" Gromorlig laughed again. "Here's my strategy - I run in screaming and hit things until they stop moving! Hasn't failed me yet!"

He looked around at their worried faces and grinned. "Oh come on, lighten up! You look like you're at a funeral!”

Gromorlig was already marching toward the door, singing loudly in dwarven. He stopped and turned back. "Well? Are you coming or not? These spiders won't squash themselves!"

Ted looked at the others helplessly. This definitely wasn't the dignified general they'd hoped for.

But then, Gromorlig stopped dead in its tracks and hissed. 

“Uh, this might be a problem,” the dwarf said, cracking his neck. 

“What?” Monica had found the Dwarf absolutely ridiculous, but if he was high-level enough to kill all the spiders, what did she have to complain about? 

“Well, it appears I can’t access Skills, Status, nor do I feel all my Attributes,” Gromorlig huffed. 

Chapter 46

Apparently, Gromorlig couldn't access his Skills, as he had explained. Despite the fact that Ted did manage to bring him back to life, something was wrong with the process. The dwarf could barely lift his hammer now, and his movements were stiff and awkward.

"I can feel my body," Gromorlig said, "but it's like all my strength is gone. My Skills too. Even my Status window is blank."

Monica frowned at this development. The blood had worked to free him from being a statue, but he wasn't at full power. This complicated things. They needed someone strong enough to help them clear out the spider nest.

"Maybe it takes time?" Ted suggested. He looked disappointed that his plan hadn't worked out perfectly.

"No, lad." Gromorlig shook his head. "Something's missing. I can feel it. Like there's a wall between me and my power."

Sir Tristan walked over to test the dwarf's strength. He had Gromorlig try to lift different weapons from the barracks. The dwarf could only manage the lightest ones.

"He's weaker than a normal person," Sir Tristan said. "The stone transformation must have done something to him."

"Well, this is embarrassing," Gromorlig said. "Here I am, talking big about squashing spiders, and I can barely lift my own hammer."

Monica paced back and forth. They had wasted one of their three vials of blood. If they couldn't figure out how to fully restore Gromorlig's power, the other two vials would be useless too.

"What exactly do you feel?" she asked him.

"It's like... being wrapped in thick blankets," Gromorlig said. "I know my strength is there, but I can't reach it."

Ted cleared his throat, and everyone turned to look at him.

“Well...” he started and trailed off.

“What?” Monica asked.

“The System gave us the vials of blood. We can assume it was doing it on purpose, right? Same for the pickaxe. Loot chests are only random until the System needs them to be. Or we could even assume that rewards and loot chests are not directly influenced by the System. They do always give you something vaguely useful, and the average item changes based on who opens them, right?”

“I mean, so what?” Heidi asked. “How does this help? Are we going to find something in a loot chest that helps us give Gromorlig his powers back?”

“Here’s the thing,” Ted said, raising his hands. “If I was the System, whether I could control directly or indirectly what gets in a loot chest for a reward, I wouldn’t want to give us the solution to everything on a silver platter.”

Gromorlig, who had been quite boisterous and all over the place, looked at Ted with sharp eyes and smiled, his pearly teeth showing through the opening in his beard.

“Yeah, now you’re getting it, lad, don’t you?”

“You think he’s right?” Monica asked. “Gromorlig?”

“Do I think so? Yeah, I do,” Gromorlig said.

Monica cringed. “So we got you back and it was for nothing?”

Gromorlig didn’t actually answer. Instead, he turned to Ted, waiting for him to say something. But Ted, under the gaze of everyone, felt too much pressure building and his mind went blank.

“Tell you what, why don’t you get some food in me and we can see if you can think of something?”

  *

They brought Gromorlig to the mess hall. The dwarf ate enough for three people, devouring dried meat and stale bread like he hadn't eaten in centuries. Which, Monica realized, he probably hadn't.

"So," Gromorlig said between bites, "the lad here thinks the System wouldn't give you everything at once."

Ted nodded slowly. "Yeah. Like with Thraldrirlum's Dream - the pickaxe. It showed Monica a vision of how the Bridge of Thraldrirlum came to be, but we still had to figure out the song ourselves. It wasn't just 'here's a magic portal.'"

"Wait, wait," Gromorlig nearly choked on his food. "You have Thraldrirlum's Dream? The actual pickaxe?" His eyes went wide. "By my father's beard, where is it?"

Monica pulled it from her Inventory. The dwarf's hands were trembling as he reached for it.

"May I?" he asked with uncharacteristic reverence.

When Monica handed it to him, Gromorlig cradled the pickaxe like it was made of glass. His fingers traced the runes and he mumbled something under his breath.

"I never thought I'd see this again," he whispered. 

"You know this pickaxe?" Ted asked.

"Know it? I helped build those bridges!" Gromorlig laughed. "I was there when he carved out the last pieces. Thraldrirlum knew what he was doing. But let me tell ya, everyone thought he was crazy at first."

Monica leaned forward. "You were there?"

"Of course! I was the head of defenses for the city before..." Gromorlig's smile faded. "Before this."

Gromorlig pointed at the stone Dwarves in the mess hall. 

“Let me ask just once,” Monica said, “who did this? They refuse to tell me.”

“And they did well,” Gromorlig replied. “Who are you to hear the most dangerous name that can be uttered?”

Monica raised an eyebrow and replied with a question.

“Do you know your blacksmithing?” 

“Are you joking me, lassie? My blacksmithing? Where do you think I was born—”

Monica removed a bracer and threw it on the other side of the table to Gromorlig. 

"This is... this is Divine grade," he said, taking out a monocle from his pocket and looking through it, examining the bracers. "Not just Divine grade. This is a Titan’s set."

"Yeah," Monica said. "I'm the Avatar of the Twin Phoenix."

"That explains it then," Gromorlig said. "You want to know who turned us all to stone? The same one who cursed the Nine Races. The one who made sure no one would have the courage to speak her true name."

"Machina?" Monica said, confused.

"No, lass. Not Machina. Though she did help." Gromorlig put the bracer down carefully. "The Queen of Stone. That's what we called her after. She turned nine races to stone that day."

"Why?" Monica asked.

"Power," Gromorlig said. "She wanted to be the strongest. But she needed more power to fight the our Gods. Esoteric magic and all. You know how these creatures work, right?”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Monica said. 

“You haven’t earned it,” Gromorlig said. “Everyone learns her name at some point, lass.”

Suddenly, Sir Tristan voice came from behind.

“Nexa.”

The word resonated ominously and the temperature dropped in the room. 

“Aye,” Gromorlig said, displeased. “It means death. That’s who did it. If you could avoid cursing us all with her name again, that would be much appreciated.” 

"So, what happened?" Monica asked. “No one here seems to know all the story.” 

Gromorlig set down the pickaxe. 

"The war with those creatures was drawing to an end. We had lost our Gods long before that day. But we knew something was coming. The scouts had reported strange things in our mountains—no one knows where Viscera is but she found us. But we didn't know what it was until it was too late. A world-wide ritual made us into… well, whatever this stone is.”

Everyone went silent for a moment and then Gromorlig asked another question.

“You said Machina’s here? You’re lucky—that’s the easier one.”

“Easy?” 

“Trust me,” Gromorlig said without much hilarity in his voice. “If you’re the actual Avatar of the Twin Phoenix and you intend to pick up the good ol’ battle, this one is just a warmup.” 

“Huh, we already risked our lives a few times, dude,” Ted commented.

“Aye, I didn’t say it was going to be easy. I said easier. I’d consider it good if only a few of you died here.”

That made the entire group recoil. 

“What? You expect to face a monster of this caliber and not have losses? I mean, fair—we didn’t have Avatars back then. Maybe you can do better.” 

“Ok,” Monica acquescied. “What now?” 

“Now?” Gromorlig rose to his feet and slapped Ted on the back. “Now, I’m going to take a nap.” 

  *

"Well, at least now we know more about what happened here," Monica said after Gromorlig left to find a bed.

Sir Tristan turned to Ted, his mouth set in a hard line. "We wasted one of our three chances." His voice was cold. "That blood was priceless, and now we've used it on someone who can barely lift his own hammer."

"I thought-" Ted started.

"You thought wrong," Sir Tristan cut him off. "Look at him. He's not even a fighter anymore or someone ready to help. We freed a fool.” 

"That's not fair," Heidi stepped between them. "Ted made the best choice he could with what we knew."

Sir Tristan shook his head. "Did he? Or did he just get excited about finding a fancy mural and rush into a decision without even telling us what he thought would happen? We're facing an Old God. We need fighters, not retired festival planners."

Ted stared at the floor, his shoulders hunched. The knight's words hit hard because part of him worried they were true. He had gotten caught up in the moment.

"I really thought it would work," Ted said quietly. "He looked important, standing there in the barracks. His posture, his armor..."

"Looks can be deceiving," Sir Tristan replied. "Even if he was important back then, what good does that do us now? We need someone who can fight, not someone who can tell us stories about the good old days."

Monica stepped forward. "That's enough."

"No, it's not enough," Sir Tristan insisted. "We're running out of time. Those spiders are multiplying faster than we can kill them. We had three chances to get help, and we just threw one away. What happens when we use the second vial and that person can't fight either? Or the third?"

"We couldn't have known," Dotty protested.

"We could have been more careful," Sir Tristan countered. "We could have looked for someone with obvious warrior markings. Someone wearing battle armor instead of normal clothes.”

"And what about the mural?" Sir Tristan continued. "A bleeding bard? That should have been our first warning. Bards aren't warriors. They're storytellers, musicians. We needed a warrior's blood, not more songs."

"Stop it," Heidi snapped. "You're not helping."

"I'm trying to make sure we don't make the same mistake twice," Sir Tristan said. "We have two vials left. Two more chances to get this right. We can't afford another error in judgment."

  *

As it turned out, Ted had made another mistake. He sat dejectedly on his bed, not knowing where else to go. He didn’t have the heart to face the others right now.

“Oops. I see that this room is taken.”

Ted raised his eyes and saw Gromorlig on the threshold of his room.

“Hey, lad. How’s it going? Were you taking a nap?”

“I tried,” Ted said, “but I couldn’t really sleep.”

“My body feels weird in all places.”

“Oh,” Ted replied. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” the dwarf replied, smiling and patting his belly. “There’s nothing to feel sorry for in Viscera.”

“Oh, okay,” Ted said awkwardly.

“You’re a bard, aren’t you?”

Ted nodded.

“Do you mind if I see that?” Gromorlig pointed at Ted’s mandolin, and Ted offered it to him.

“This beauty was made in Viscera,” Gromorlig said after inspecting the mandolin. “Fancy stuff. A bit worn down, though.”

“Yeah. I was kinda hoping we could, like, maybe find a blacksmith here who could fix it.”

“A blacksmith here?” Gromorlig let out a belching laugh. “Statues ain’t working metal, lad. Why don’t you play something for me?”

Ted was surprised when Gromorlig thrust the mandolin back in his hands.

“What?”

“Play it. That’s what it’s used for. Come on. Let me hear something.”

“Okay.” Ted played a few notes, but he kinda choked, a bit too nervous to play in front of Gromorlig.

“You’re still young,” Gromorlig said with a more serious tone.

Ted stopped playing and looked up. “What do you mean?”

“Do you know what bards do, lad?”

“No, dude. I have no idea. Like, they play songs to help in battle?”

“Is that so?” Gromorlig smirked. The dwarf patted Ted’s shoulder again, so strong that he almost made Ted fall off the bed. “Come here. Come on. Follow me.”

Gromorlig brought Ted to the dining hall where the young man had found the mural with a bleeding bard.

“What do you see?” Gromorlig asked.

“A bleeding bard helping other warriors.”

“Lad, do me a favor, alright?” Gromorlig said.

Ted frowned.

“Use your damn eyes. What do you see?” Gromorlig pushed Ted closer to the mural.

“I see—” he was about to say something plain. But then he heard Gromorlig—the dwarf had started humming a song. He wasn’t singing, just humming.

Now, turning toward the mural again, “I see—” He squinted his eyes and forcibly closed and opened them a few times.

“A battle,” Ted said, keeping his eyebrows scrunched. “They are fighting, and—” he had stopped. And finally, he noticed something. The entire mural showed dwarves coordinating very well. They fought in a weird formation. But what Ted had not understood up to this point was that the blood seemed to draw sort of a specific pattern. It felt more like the blood had rooted the dwarves in the right position than that it had just reached them.

“The Bard is guiding the fight.”

Gromorlig stopped humming and laughed. “There you go.”

Ted turned toward the dwarf, not getting what the man was hinting at. “I don’t really understand what you’re saying.”

“The blood,” Gromorlig said. “It was your idea, right?”

Ted nodded.

“You mentioned also Thraldrirlum’s pickaxe. Whose idea it was to sing the song?”

Ted opened his mouth, but Gromorlig raised a hand.

“Yes, lad. That’s what I’m hinting at. You’re good. You have a quick brain on that little noggin of yours. But we still can’t do anything if you don’t have your Skills.”

“Dwarves,” Gromorlig said, looking intensely at Ted with his deep brown eyes, “believe in things being earned. Elves, now, they believe in fate and all that crap. But when your people dig tunnels for a living, you start believing in pillars and doing your job properly if you don’t wanna die in a tunnel, under tons of dirt.” Then Gromorlig went silent.

“You can actually help,” Ted realized with his eyes going wide.

“If you deserve it,” Gromorlig smirked. “Gather the others. I wanna see you all fight.”

  *

Gromorlig sat on a broken pillar to watch. He kept humming that same tune from before.

"This is ridiculous," Sir Tristan muttered. "We're wasting time putting on a show."

"Just trust me on this," Ted said. "I think he knows something."

They got into position. Sir Tristan went first with his shield up and they proceeded to make short work of the group of four Corrupted Spider Constructs that Dotty had tracked down. 

The fight didn't last long. These spiders were weaker than the evolved ones. Monica killed two, Heidi burned one to death, and Dotty finished off the last one.

"Not bad," Gromorlig said when it was over. He was still humming.

"I leveled up!" Dotty said, startling everyone. "And I got to pick a new Skill! It’s two Level 50 Skills!"

Dotty shared the Skill choice with the others, including Gromorlig. 

Ding

You have earned a Level 50 Cornerstone Skill!

Ding

Two Skills have become available for your choice!

Ding

Skill Available - Shadow Step

Ding

Skill Available - Void Slash

Clearly, one could easily infer what they did just from their name. 

Shadow Step was a Movement Skill and Mana Cleave an Offensive one. 

It was Monica who first shared her opinion.

“You should probably Shadow Step. You need mobility. You’ve already gotten Magic Rend for offense.”

“Void Slash sounds great, though, dude,” Ted said from the side. 

That had been exactly Dotty’s thought.

Shadow Step sounded very ordinary compared to Void Slash. 

Dotty looked between Monica and Ted, clearly torn between the two options. 

"Both sound amazing," Dotty said. "But..."

"But nothing," Monica interrupted. "Think about the spider nest. What will help you survive better - another way to deal damage or a way to escape when those wires come at you?"

Gromorlig's humming grew louder. Ted noticed the dwarf was watching them intently, as if their discussion was more important than the Skills themselves.

"The mobility would help you stay alive," Sir Tristan added unexpectedly. "And survival should be your priority."

Dotty's fingers tightened around Twilight's Edge. "But if I can't deal enough damage..."

“The choice can wait,” Gromorlig said. “The lassie can take her time. Your teamwork isn’t too bad. And if you’re really after Machina, I suppose I could tell you a little secret about Viscera.”

“Everyone perked up.”

“I told you I was organizing our festival, but I also told you that I was responsible for Viscera’s defenses. Now, one of you has the perfect Class, actually, to do the nasty deed to all those spiders.”

“Who?” Monica asked.

Gromorlig pointed right in their midst.