Victor of Tucson-Chapter 33Book 10: : Almost Too Scary

33 – Almost Too Scary

Victor wasn’t sure what to expect in the dungeon this time around, as far as gaining levels went. Advancement had felt increasingly slow since he’d crossed into the upper half of tier eight, aside from his incredible gains after killing Drok the Skull. Nevertheless, if he’d been concerned that he wouldn’t claim that final level, his worries were for naught. It was after the third gate, as he and Arona finished slaying nearly a hundred waves of magma sprites that poured endlessly from a chasm of bubbling lava, that the System announced his triumph:

***Congratulations! You have achieved level 90 Warlord and gained 24 intelligence and 17 vitality.***

***Congratulations! Your Feat, Greater Warborn Mind, has become Peerless Warborn Mind, doubling its previous effect.***

***Level 90 Class refinement is available. Class refinement is permanent. Quinametzin Energy cultivators will next be offered a Class development opportunity at level 100. To view your options and make your selection, access the menu through your status page.***

Victor would have fallen over with excitement if he hadn’t already been knocked off his feet by the infusion of Energy he’d just received. He stared at the messages, focusing on the one about Warborn Mind, reading and re-reading it to ensure he hadn’t made some sort of mistake. There it was, though, as plain as could be: he was now getting nearly half of his intelligence attribute applied to his dexterity and agility. Just to confirm, he pulled up his attributes:

Strength:

680 (780)

Vitality:

957

Dexterity:

280 (445)

Agility:

303 (468)

Intelligence:

412

Will:

673

Much had changed since he’d gained level eighty. Most notably, his intelligence had more than doubled, and thanks to his Warborn Mind feat, his speed attributes had staggeringly improved. Meanwhile, his vitality had pulled further ahead of his will, which used to be his greatest attribute. The numbers were worth celebrating, but a voice in the back of Victor’s mind kept wondering if he’d be suffering from his current cursed predicament if he’d chosen a class at level eighty that focused on will.

“Spilt milk,” he said with a sigh.

“Did you gain your level?” Arona asked, reminding him that he wasn’t alone.

Victor nodded, shifting uncomfortably as his armor pressed against the curse. In frustration, he touched the aegis and sent it into storage. “Yeah—tier nine.”

Arona shook her head, summoning a plain, wooden chair to sit on. “So quickly! I still can’t believe you weren’t yet tier eight when you came to Ruhn. I know you have unorthodox means for cultivating Energy and gaining levels, but still, your Energy affinity must be high.”

Victor shrugged, nodding. He couldn’t deny that it was “high,” but that didn’t mean he’d tell her what it was; he’d been conditioned to keep those numbers to himself. “It’s true; I’ve been lucky in many ways.”

Arona cleared her throat and shifted, and Victor wondered if he’d made her uncomfortable with his blunt interpretation of her words. After a moment, while he sat quietly, trying to decide if he’d look at his Class refinements right there in the middle of the dungeon, she said, “I don’t mean take away from your accomplishments. I hope you realize that.”

“Thanks, Arona. It's true I’ve accomplished a lot, but let’s be honest. I was born with a potent bloodline, and some combination of my parentage and upbringing developed this Core that rages inside me. That part was good luck or, maybe, bad luck, but it was luck. As for what I’ve done with what I have…” He shrugged, smiling. “I guess I can take some credit.”

“You’ve made hard choices, and no matter the gifts you were given, your decisions were good. Think of the many powerful people on Ruhn and the thousands of other worlds connected to Sojourn. So many are born with everything given to them, yet most will never earn a name worth remembering. You, Victor, have made an impression on everyone you’ve met.”

“All right!” Victor grabbed one of her chair legs and shook it, rattling her. “You’re making me uncomfortable with all those sappy words.”

She laughed, gripping the seat until he stopped. “Fair enough. I shall stop.” She cleared her throat again, crossing one of her legs over the other. “Well? Are you going to tell me about your refinement options?”

“You think I should look now?”

Arona’s eyes bulged out as she stared at him, agape. “You haven’t looked yet?”

“Well, we’re in a dungeon, and—”

“When I reached tier nine, even if I’d been beset by a horde of unquiet undead, I would have found a way to peek!”

Victor laughed and nodded. “Okay, I take your point. Just a minute…” He summoned his status page and selected the Class refinement tab, scanning through the options:

***Class refinement option 1: Doomforged Tyrant – Mythic. Prerequisites: 1. Prior Class levels in Warlord. 2. At least two of terror, rage, despair, or related affinities. 3. A history of reshaping the fate of battles through your presence. 4. Sufficiently advanced will and strength attributes. 5. A Core tempered by conflict, bloodshed, and the cultivation of your foes. 6. Widespread recognition as a conqueror.

You are not merely a warrior or a leader—you are a force that cannot be denied. Rage fuels your strikes, and fear walks in your shadow. You do not need the favor of fate; you crush it beneath your heel and carve your own path. Every battlefield is your domain, every war another monument to your legend. Those who stand against you do so only until their spirits break, their courage drains, and their bodies crumble beneath your wrath.

Class attributes: Will, Strength.***

***Class refinement option 2: Cursed Dreadnought – Mythic. Prerequisites: Prior Class levels in Warlord. 2. Terror and Rage or their related affinities. 3. Lived and conquered while suffering under the malady of a curse—a strength of will proven by your refusal to succumb. 4. Sufficiently advanced vitality and will attributes.

Your body fails, but your will refuses to break. The curse gnaws at your flesh and wears at your mind, but it cannot stop you. You are the unyielding force, the battle-scarred warlord who marches through ruin, crushing all in your wake. What should have killed you long ago has only made you an immovable, unstoppable presence on the battlefield. Even when your body falters, your rage will carry you forward, refusing to let you fail. You are the cursed warrior who will not die, no matter the cost.

Class attributes: Vitality, Will.***

***Class refinement option 3: Warborn Titan – Mythic. Prerequisites: Prior Class levels in Warlord. 2. Titanic, behemoth, or other related, primordial bloodline. 3. A history of engaging in and triumphing against overwhelming odds. 4. A sufficiently high affinity for rage or a related attunement. 5. Sufficiently advanced strength and vitality attributes. 6. Widely recognized as a conqueror on the battlefield.

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You are no mere general—you are war itself, given flesh and power. Titans, behemoths, and ancients whisper your name, recognizing you as one of their own. Your sheer physicality dominates battlefields, and your presence alone shatters morale, reshapes tactics, and turns armies to dust. You no longer lead warriors—you stand as the vanguard of war itself, a juggernaut who strides through destruction unfazed. Where others command armies, you are the army.

Class attributes: Strength, Vitality.***

***Class refinement option 4: No Refinement - You are pleased with the path on which you find yourself and choose to continue until your next refinement option.***

When Victor failed to speak or move, not even blinking for perhaps an hour, Arona finally seemed to lose her patience and cleared her throat. “Are you unwell, Victor?”

“Um, no, not unwell.” Victor blinked, realizing his eyes were dry from staring at the System’s text. “I think I understand why the Warlord Class is so sought after.”

Arona smiled, nodding. “Ah! Did it open up some interesting refinements? Any legendary ones?”

“Not exactly…” He trailed off, unsure if he should even mention that he’d been given three “mythic” options. He could only assume mythic was better than legendary—

“Victor! Don’t be coy! I want to help you, and I promise I won’t share your secrets.” Victor looked at her, interested in her sudden insistence. She was usually quite deferential when he wanted to be secretive. His face must have conveyed his thinking because she sighed, shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I worry about you and am very interested in how this Class change might affect your…situation. I’m also something of a scholar and won’t deny my rabid interest in Class choices and descriptions.”

He smiled, waving a hand. “Don’t worry about it. The thing is, I didn’t get any legendary options, but I got three mythic ones.”

Arona snorted, clicking her tongue. “Fine, if you want to keep it to yourself, then go ahe—” She stopped speaking when she noticed his expression. “You don’t jest?”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not kidding.”

“Mythic,” she whispered. “Vesavo taunted us—his apprentices—with promises of a mythic spell. He claimed to know several. I haven’t heard of a mythic Class, though, Victor. There must be more to these offerings than your Warlord Class, no? Are there other prerequisites?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, “many.” Rather than make her drag the information out of him, he began reading his options aloud. When he finished, she stared at him for several long minutes, and he was content to stare back, his mind busy with the implications of his offerings. freeωebnovēl.c૦m

Finally, she said, “I’ve never seen such lengthy Class descriptions. Usually, it’s a sentence or two—maybe only a pair of phrases.” She inhaled deeply and slowly let it out as she leaned back. “How strange that you’ve been given an option that requires you to be cursed!”

“Heh, yeah.”

“Are you leaning toward any of them?”

“I like the sound of the last one, Warborn Titan, the most, but I don’t really have a choice.” Victor shrugged as though his decision were obvious.

Arona narrowed her eyes at him. “What do you mean?”

“I have to deal with this curse, which means cultivating my will, and the only Class that puts will as the primary, number one attribute is the Doomforged Tyrant.” He laughed, shaking his head. “As disturbing as that sounds.”

“But aren’t you going to battle your curse now? Your Class won’t matter until you make some levels to earn those improvements to your will. The second Class is based on you being cursed; perhaps it will come with skills or feats to help you cope.”

“Arona, that’s a thought I had as well, but I’m not looking to cope. I’m not looking to spend ten levels—which may drag on for years and years based on what everyone tells me—being cursed. I’m fucking sick of this thing.” Victor made the mistake of thumping his chest where the void curse lay under his shirt, and he hissed, pulling his fist away. He held it up, watching the skin regenerate over his thumb and forefinger.

She nodded, wincing in sympathy. “I can understand that. The third option also doesn’t offer any will. I can see your logic now—if you should fail in your first attempt to break the curse, you won’t have an easy path for building your will if you take that option. We shouldn’t contemplate failure, though.”

“Yeah, I know. But, as nuts as it sounds, Doomforged Tyrant is the safe bet.”

Arona smiled, chuckling softly. “Nuts.”

“You know what I mean, though? The System didn’t translate that to ‘crazy’ for you?”

Her eyes widened. “Ah! Crazy! I thought it was more of a curse.”

Victor shrugged. “Maybe the System did, too.” He wasn’t unhappy with the options—obviously, considering the “mythic” ranking and Arona’s excitement, he’d been given great choices. It was just that Victor was annoyed that he felt steered toward one option, and he knew it was the right choice; his gut wasn’t arguing with the logic he’d expressed to Arona. On top of that, his curse was bothering him, and he was just weary on a level that didn’t make much sense, considering his extended downtime before his duel and the enormous Energy infusions he’d received since.

“Are you certain, then?”

He nodded. “Afraid so.” Without waiting for his resolve to falter, Victor selected the first option: Doomforged Tyrant.

***Congratulations! You have refined your class: Doomforged Tyrant.***

***Congratulations! You have earned a Class Feat: Presence of the Tyrant.***

***Presence of the Tyrant: Your aura is heavy, laced with the weight of your fear-attuned Energy. Moreover, those who consider you an ally will feel the weight of your rage in battle and be moved by it, sharing a small part of its benefits.***

Victor didn’t realize it initially, but a change had come over him. He’d swollen with the power of his new Class—not physically, but somehow, his power was magnified and seemed to make him more formidable. To him, it felt like he was flooding his pathways with Energy, gearing up for a battle, but when he turned his eye inward, his Core was at rest, and his Energy was safely wound tightly in its usual formation.

Then he realized what it was; his aura had expanded, but rather than stretching out, slamming into Arona and anyone else who might be near, it had filled him with its extra density. Moreover, he felt a renewed control over it. He could expand and contract it with just a flick of his will, and, as he’d learned to do by accident back on Sojourn, he could wrap it around his Core space, shielding it from prying eyes far more effectively than before. As he did so, the System confirmed what he knew:

***Congratulations! Your Aura Veil skill has improved: Epic.***

“Huh,” he grunted. “So easy.” He looked at Arona to see that she’d shrank back, looking at him wide-eyed. “Does my aura cause you discomfort?”

“It’s not that. You—You’re different.” When he continued to stare at her, she added, “It reminds me of a veil walker, Victor. Should an iron ranker have such…gravity?”

“I’m holding my aura in…”

“It’s not that. It’s not pressing on me. It’s…like you’re pulling me! Haven’t you ever stood next to a great master and felt this way? I find myself feeling I should bow and back away, apologizing for troubling you!”

“Ah, what the hell? That’s not what I want. Relax, Arona. And yeah, to answer your question, I’ve been in the presence of people like that. Dar used to make me feel that way when we first met. Then there are others…” Victor’s mind turned toward Crystal, the ivid queen, and Azforath, the primordial titan. “Anyway, sorry if it’s uncomfortable.”

She rallied, leaning forward and smiling, her blue, gem-bright eyes glinting in the orange-red glow of the dungeon’s ambient light. “I just need to get used to it. Are you eager to try out your new abilities?”

Victor stood and stretched, realizing that his curse didn’t seem so bothersome. He lifted his shirt and looked at his chest, grinning at what he saw: the ball of void Energy was about half the size it had been, back down to something between a golf and tennis ball. “Hah!”

“That’s wonderful!” Arona leaned close. “Perhaps the weight of your aura provides some extra resistance!”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” Victor summoned his armor and shrugged into it. Then, he summoned Lifedrinker. As soon as his hands wrapped around her haft, she spoke, “Heart-carver! Champion of the blood typhoon! I feel your power has increased again! Your strength flows into me! Let us dance our bloody dance, heart-mate!”

Victor laughed, his mood buoyed as usual by his wonderful axe—his wonderful companion. “We will, chica, we will. It’s good to hold you and hear your voice.” He lifted her to his shoulder, resting her there as she continued to exude feelings of excitement, adoration, and pride. She didn’t need words to convey how much she loved being with him, and it brought moisture to Victor’s eyes to feel those raw emotions.

“Your axe is pleased with you?” Arona asked, looking at him sideways.

Victor blinked, clearing his throat and looking away. “Uh, yeah.” He nodded toward the gatehouse. “Shall we?”

Arona nodded, and they advanced. The rest of the dungeon went much the same as the last time they cleared it. It might have been a little more difficult, but with Victor’s renewed strength and the enthusiasm with which he waded into battle, the hordes of enemies fell to their combined might, and the final boss—another skeletal dragon—was no match for them.

Arona reported that his aura pushed her toward violence in the battles, and she had to fight to restrain herself lest she run out of Energy. When he asked if it was too much, though, she shook her head and grinned, claiming she quite enjoyed the vitality it bestowed upon her. Victor wondered if, when he was berserk, his aura would help her heal quickly, but she never received a single injury. Anytime she was in trouble, she’d create her Solar Shell, and Victor would cast Guardian’s Rescue, taking her place in the path of danger.

In the end, Victor learned what people meant by the steep curve of leveling requirements. Despite completing more than half the dungeon after he’d gained level ninety, as they finished, he was still level ninety. Worse, Du failed to provide any unique or seemingly potent artifacts. Their wealth increased, nonetheless, and Victor was still intent on challenging the curse when they left. He wanted a good night’s sleep, and then he planned to lock himself in his cultivation chamber and perform the Spirit Walk, which would hopefully mean the end to that irritating phase of his life.

“And if I fail,” he said, explaining his plans to Arona as they built the teleportation array, “at least I know how to build up my will some more—gain levels.”

She tsked. “You shouldn’t put the idea in your head that you can fail. You know that.”

He frowned. He did know that. Hadn’t he learned that since he’d been a wrestler? Always visualize the win! What had gotten into him with that damn curse? It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of battling it as an “attempt.” He looked at Arona and nodded, trying not to glower. “Thank you for that reminder. This curse wears on me in secretive ways.”

She placed the last crystal and then stood back, watching them charge. “I will always be truthful with you and say what I believe needs saying.” She looked at him and grinned, an unusual look of mischief in her eyes. “Even if you are almost too scary to look at directly.”