Apocalypse Tamer

Chapter 120: Man vs Endgame Gear

Plato loved hunting things that couldn’t fight back.

Now, common wisdom would think that someone would get bored of the lack of challenge. But Plato was a simple cat with simple tastes. He would have been happy chasing after birds and mice—after napping eighteen hours a day of course—for the rest of his existence.

The apocalypse had changed hunting from a happy promenade into a time of danger. For the last few months, Plato no longer feared not coming back with a catch; he feared not coming back at all.

But now, at the end of the line, the tendency was inverting. Plato felt he had finally become strong to treat most enemies as mice. Hunting was once again pleasurable and worry-free.

“Twenty minutes,” Plato gloated as his half the party returned to the campsite. “I told you. In and out, twenty minute dungeon crawling.”

“They died in the blink of an eye,” Bugsy mused as he trailed behind Plato. The Apolloworm helped Rosemarine drag the fried corpse of Mount Olympus’ boss along the ground. The creature had been some kind of winged serpent man the size of Steve, though Plato could hardly remember the details. It barely survived thirty seconds before Bugsy’s sustained fire. “We’re getting good at this!”

“We came, we saw, we killed,” Rosemarine agreed happily. Mount Olympus’ aurora had turned into a bright shade of green after she claimed it for the HRA Guild.

“What was his level?” Plato wondered, pointing at the defeated boss with his paw. “I don’t even remember its name.”

“It was Ti…” Bugsy squinted. “Tui… Ty…”

“Tweety?” Plato suggested.

“Typhon,” Rosemarine said. “It was level seventy, Uncle Plato.”

“Seventy?” Plato was skeptical. “No way this critter was seventy. That was Apollyon’s level before he took a penalty.”

And since when did Rosemarine consider him an uncle?

“No, no, she’s right, I think it was seventy,” Bugsy insisted. “He was weak to fire, so it helped.”

“He was weak to death too,” Rosemarine added happily.

Damn it, we killed a level seventy Boss as easily as any bird, Plato thought. He felt as if he had lost all sense of reality. “The System must have given up on balance twenty levels ago.”

The long-awaited reward arrived soon after, as if to confirm that yes, the afternoon’s hunt indeed happened.

Only five levels to go before Plato’s long-awaited metamorphosis. He would never stop being salty about losing his chance to become a smilodon, but he would settle on becoming a god-lion of infinite power as a consolation prize.

The sheer amount of experience gave him pause though.

“Where does the bonus exp come from?” Plato squinted at Bugsy. “Did we kill bonus enemies along the way?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Bugsy appeared puzzled too. “I’m not good at math, so I can’t say.”

“Maybe we gained exp from destroying items?” Rosemarine suggested.

Bugsy immediately lowered his head in shame. “I’m sorry.”

Unfortunately, Bugsy’s incredible ability to pierce through Fire Immunity also applied to objects. Having set the boss’ room ablaze before killing it, his flames ended up consuming the loot in a heartbeat.

Bah, if a little fire could destroy the rewards then they weren’t good in the first place.

Plato thought he had received his answer when he smelled Basil, Vasi, and Shellgirl in the wind. Those three had finally returned from their shopping trip.

“About time,” Plato casually commented as the party regrouped under the shadow of Steve’s metal frame. “We raided a full dungeon while waiting for–AH!”

The terrible sight of Basil’s corpse laying in his own blood nearly gave Plato a heart attack.

Vasi and Shellgirl, who both appeared unharmed, had removed the Tamer’s armor and put him atop a makeshift feather bed. Had Plato not memorized Basil’s smell for years, he wouldn’t have been able to identify him. The left half of his face was covered in fourth-degree burns revealing the skull underneath. A fist-sized hole spilled a fountain of blood where the stomach should have been. The right knee was bent in a way that shouldn’t be anatomically possible for humans.

And those were only the most shocking wounds among many. Gashes left by axes, spears, and swords covered nearly every inch of Basil’s body. He looked as if an entire army had used him as target practice.

“Basil!” Plato immediately bolted to his owner’s side. “Basil, don’t die on me!”

For a brief instant, Plato was brought back in time to the terrible day of René’s death. He refused to lose another, especially someone who had become his closest friend. The first thought on the feline’s mind was whether he could transfer one of his remaining lives to Basil.

Fortunately, the Tamer’s chest slightly rose with his breathing. Plato’s relief didn’t last long. Basil’s current state demanded immediate healing.

“Mister!” Rosemarine dropped the dead Typhon in her panic, as did Bugsy. The plant immediately cast a healing spell upon her master. “Hera’s Grace! Hera’s Grace!”

Plato had seen Rosemarine bring back Bulgarian soldiers from the brink of death in the blink of an eye. This time, however, the spell barely appeared to have any effect. The hole in Basil’s stomach shrank by a centimeter at best.

“Is… this our fault?” Bugsy asked Vasi and Shellgirl with magma tears in his eyes. “Were you attacked? Did the Horsemen ambush you while we were away?”

Neither woman answered immediately. Plato suddenly noticed that neither of them looked wounded, or even horrified. Shellgirl was chewing her lower lip with a spooked face, while Vasi appeared torn between worry and annoyance.

“Fff…” Basil coughed more blood than words. “Fi… filth…”

“Basil?” Plato hurriedly lowered his head to better listen to his friend’s rattle. For all he knew, it could be his last request. “You… You want me to groom you? Is that your wish?”

“Filthy…” Basil inhaled louder than an asthmatic hippo. “Filthy casual.”

Plato blinked a few times as his mind struggled to register his friend’s dying words. He glanced at Vasi in confusion while Rosemarine kept spamming her healing spell. The witch let out a long sigh heavy with meaning.

“In the end… Walter Tye… he was nothing more….” Basil’s bloodied lips stretched into a parody of a smile. “Than a filthy casual.”

Plato finally figured out what had happened. “He played a hardcore game of Board & Conquest, didn't he?”

Shellgirl stared at him in disbelief. “This happened before?”

Plato nodded slowly, calmly, and meaningfully. From his experience, the underground B&C scene welcomed all kinds of dangers and excesses.

“Curse you, Basil! You frightened me!” Plato gently swiped Basil’s burned cheek with his paw while ignoring Rosemarine’s protests. “Did you win at least?”

His best friend responded by slowly raising his clenched right fist upward; an act that seemed to require herculean strength from him. On a closer look, Plato noticed a white miniature clutched within Basil’s palm.

“Good,” Plato nodded with pride before glancing at Vasi. “And his opponent? Is he dead?”

“Alive, short of a miniature and with his pride wounded.” Vasi gently caressed her boyfriend’s forehead. “Was it truly worth it, Basil?”

“Yes…” Basil Bohen answered without a hint of hesitation. “Yes, it was.”

Basil recovered late in the evening.

It took a constant diet of healing spells and golden applies for him to return to full health. Whatever magic Walter used as part of their intense, earth-shaking battle had proved resilient even in the face of miraculous sorcery. Remedies that would have healed thousands of HP only helped Basil recover a few dozen at most. Neither being crushed under Apollyon’s hand nor surviving Blackcinders’ meteors could compare to this particular harrowing ordeal.

But Basil didn’t care.

Though he had suffered through the pain of a hundred dead dwarf miniatures, the horror of undead trench warfare, and the agony of being transported across Greece while half-dead, he had walked away from the board victorious. The priceless Nidhogg miniature was more than a trophy; it was satisfaction made manifest.

“I can’t wait for the rematch,” Basil muttered as he folded leaves around a minotaur’s leg. It should make for a great dinner with potatoes.

“There won’t be one,” Vasi said sharply. His girlfriend prepared pumpkin soup in her alchemy cauldron. “Promise me you won’t play with Walter again.”

“What? Why?” Basil shrugged. “It earned us more experience than killing Blackcinders!”

“It nearly cost you your life, and ours by extension. We already have enough enemies to deal with, no need to add Walter to the list.” Vasi locked eyes with her boyfriend. “Promise me, Basil. Please.”

Since she sounded genuinely worried for his well-being, Basil surrendered with a sigh. Though he loved B&C, he favored his relationship with Vasi over his gamer’s pride.

That, and she had a point about Walter. Though the necromancer had walked away from the board less wounded than Basil—he had been playing more conservatively—the outcome had left him furious and awakened his competitive spirit. Pursuing this rivalry risked turning it into a grudge.

“Fine,” Basil said while grumbling. “But you have to admit the suicide dwarf catapult was a stroke of genius.”

“There are leagues between genius and madness, Basil.” Vasi’s serious expression melted away into a coy smile. “But it was well-played, I won’t deny it.”

Of course. Basil always gave his best. “By the way, are there Chronomancy spells among the formulas you purchased from Walter?” he asked while letting the leg roast over the campfire. “I’m considering taking Chronomancer levels next.”

“My grimoire does contain Chronomancy spells, but I doubt you'll ever be able to cast them.” Vasi gave Basil a condescending smirk worthy of the smuggest wizard. “Mine are Tier VII and up.”

“There it is, Class discrimination,” Basil mused. “Can you inflict five-digit damage with a halberd, Miss Yaga?”

“Can you stop time and drop meteors on your foes, Mr. Bohen?” Vasi put a finger on her lips as an idea crossed her mind. “Now that I think of it, my staff lets me exclude my party from a spell’s effect. I wonder if it applies to my time-stopping one.”

“I hope so,” Basil said with a grin. “Sharing is caring.”

He did wonder what else Shellgirl bought. The Party had stopped a few kilometers ahead of the infamous passage of Thermopylae, where an alliance of Greek city-states held back the might of the Persian empire. At their current speed, they should reach Athens tomorrow night. With the battle against Ashok around the corner, the team needed to refine its battle tactics.

Bugsy returned from his reconnaissance tour by the time Basil finished cooking. “How are you, Boss?” the Apolloworm asked as he landed near the campfire. “You look pretty spry tonight!”josei

“I’m fine,” Basil reassured him. “Sorry to have worried you.”

“I knew you would pull through Boss, but I admit I had my doubts.” Bugsy grabbed the reconnaissance camera around his neck and gave it to Basil. “I’ve detected Ashok’s Field on the horizon.”

Vasi looked away from her soup with a worried frown. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Bugsy confirmed with a nod. “I did not enter it, but I approached it close enough to gather information.”

Thermopylae was nearly two-hundred kilometers from Athens. If Ashok’s field extended far enough to be visible from the region, it had to cover all of Attica. Bugsy’s pictures, which showed a never-ending thunderstorm ravaging the Greek countryside across the horizon, confirmed Basil’s worst suspicions.

“Eighty… maybe eighty-five,” Basil counted in his head. From Rosemarine’s example, a God-Field covered one kilometer per level. “He’s pushing past eighty now. I hope our new equipment will let us cover the level gap.”

“We won’t benefit from surprise,” Vasi pointed out. “Hypathia tracked us down the moment we entered her field’s range. Ashok will detect our presence hours before we reach Athens.”

“I know,” Basil replied with a grunt. Besides risking an ambush, this would complicate the team’s ability to summon allies to assault Athens. “We need to figure out a counter before we reach the God-Field’s range. I hope Shellgirl can craft something.”

“Did somebody say my name?” Like a devil summoned from hell’s depths, Shellgirl exited Steve’s metal belly with Plato on her tail. The mimic wore featureless black gloves on her hands, while the feline carried a silvery mirror shield fit for his size. Basil immediately recognized the design. “Oooh, do I smell pumpkin soup? I love those!”

“It’s a witch's secret recipe,” Vasi joked. “Brewed with love and paladin souls.”

“Where’s Rosemarine?” Basil asked upon noticing his dear plant’s absence. She never skipped dinner usually. “Is she alright?”

“She’s resting inside,” Shellgirl replied. “After all the spells she cast on you, Partner, she more than deserves her nap.”

“Tremble, villains!” Plato drew Joyeuse and raised it to the bright, Incursion-tainted sky. Basil had to admit that between Charlemagne’s Joyeuse and his new shield, the feline honored the heroes of old. “Justice is not blind, for it has whiskers!”

“Can I bribe you with fish?” Basil mused before examining his best friend’s new toy. As he suspected, it was a copy of his own Moon Shield. “So you figured out the crafting recipe, Shellgirl?”

“I did, though it took a few times to refine properly.” Shellgirl raised her hands proudly. “These gloves are a real money saver.”

Now that he wasn’t fighting for his life over a B&C board, Basil took the time to study Shellgirl’s new acquisition.

“Busted, isn’t it?” Shellgirl gloated. “It cost us thirty percent of all our funds, but I say it was the deal of a lifetime!”

Basil’s surprise must have shown on his face. “Can it copy unique items?”

“Wanna see?” Shellgirl quickly swiped Joyeuse off Plato’s paw while ignoring his outraged shrieks. The moment her right hand grabbed the pommel, a perfect replica of the legendary sword materialized in her left. “I’m sure I could copy your halberd too!”

Plato sulked at the sight and stole the original back. “It looks better on me!”

Even though the replica vanished into golden dust the moment Plato recovered Joyeuse, the fact the device managed to copy a legendary artifact astonished Basil beyond words. The potential applications numbed the mind. The fact it also made her count as 'royal' for the purpose of wielding Joyeuse meant she could potentially use any item affected by the System.

“This is really the end of the line.” Basil had played enough RPGs to see the signs. “This is endgame-level gear.”

“And we suffered enough to earn it!” Plato hit his shield with Joyeuse. The blade appeared to sing as it touched the metal. “I’ve died more times for this team than anybody else!”

“I’m just so happy we all survived long enough to complete our Major Chicken DVD marathon,” Bugsy muttered with a sad noise. “Our evenings will feel empty without them.”

“Bugsy, there are always more series to watch,” Plato mused. “I can’t wait to introduce you to Policats Force after we’ve dealt with Lightning Butt.”

The nickname his former cat used for Ashok brought a smile to Basil’s lips. Yet, the rest of his words filled him with doubt. Plato sounded so certain about what they would do in the future, but Basil himself hadn’t found his own answer. If Benjamin’s idea of rebuilding the world after winning the competition held water, what kind of world would he create?

Basil knew it might be premature to ask himself this question. Reaching that moment would already demand extraordinary sacrifices without success being guaranteed. Yet the thought wouldn’t stop gnawing at his heart.

Should I turn back the clock as Benjamin asked? Even if Basil intended to evacuate his party outside of Earth in this eventuality, he felt conflicted over the idea itself. Perhaps Walter was right. A world unprepared to fend off the likes of Maxwell might not be worth saving.

He wondered if the Chronomancer class would offer more insight into the situation.

Basil waited for a flash of inspiration that would never come.

His team was about to confront an uncertain future soon… and he had no idea how it would end.