It had been three weeks now — or, more accurately, twenty-one days of waking up sore enough that even breathing ached him and aggravated the bruises that decorated every square inch of his body.
Blinking, Deacon pulled back the collar of his training suit with his free hand and used it to wipe his nose as he stepped back into the meadow hidden behind the illusory oven. Looking around, he noticed the countless footprints pressed into the grass—two sets of boots repeating the same movements again and again, in so many variations that almost every blade of grass within a ninety-meter radius of the stone doorway had turned yellowish green and pressed firmly against the rich soil.
Letting go of his collar, Deacon stared at his uncle, who stood a good couple of meters away from him, waiting for him to join him in their morning training session.
While I've grown a crap ton in both fighting technique and mastery with multiple types of weapons… Deacon trailed off as he glanced at his uncle, who looked at him with an insufferable smug expression as he saw the new bruise that had blossomed across Deacon's chin.
I'm pretty sure I've lost more than half my brain cells since we started training, he sighed, moving to stand a few meters from his uncle. This would be his sixty-third attempt to beat his uncle's time trial, and his last hurdle before he could finally undertake his first Quest from his uncle and get him one step closer to moving on past Floor Ten.
The Ulfberht in Deacon's hands, though technically it was the modified form of his Echoform Reliquary's Broadsword form, had changed after he and his uncle traveled to Floor Zero to meet Murdren.
Its material had been reforged from Inconel–Tungsten into Damascus Steel, its shape altered from a standard broadsword into the profile of an Ulfberht, and the final two weapon forms he'd wanted had been unlocked and added, bringing the Reliquary to its full limit of five forms in its Tier 1 state.
Feeling no need to upgrade it into its Tier 2 state, as it would be rendered useless to him as he would need to be a Tier 2 himself to wield it, Deacon kept the Custom Tailored Artifact Upgrade and Enhancement tokens he received from the Iron Scales Guild in his Spatial Sling Bag.
While he had reason to wait to use the Artifact Upgrade token that he could use to trade for a Tier 2 Upgrade Catalyst for Echoform Reliquary, it was not the same for the Enhancement Token he received for Echoform Reliquary.
He could use it now and obtain an item that would enhance the Echoform Reliquary, granting it an additional effect. But he chose to wait. He wanted to be certain of what effect he wanted before committing, because once applied, it would be permanent. And he had no intention of ruining his main weapon with a choice made too soon.
Glancing at Echoform Reliquary, the metal that made up its current form held the matte-lined ripple patterns of Damascus steel.
Item Name: Echoform Reliquary
Type: Weapon
Rarity: Artifact
Description:
Forged from Livingwood, Echoform Reliquary can shift between multiple forms stored within, seamlessly in response to the wielder's intent. Currently, it is made out of Tier 1 Damascus Steel. The Echoform Reliquary is designed to accept upgrades, allowing stronger materials to improve its durability and additional forms to improve its combat effectiveness.
Current Forms (5/5):
▸ Form I: [Broadsword – Ulfberht]
▸ Form II: [Dual Short Swords]
▸ Form III: [Crowbar]
▸ Form IV: [Double-Handed Axe]
▸ Form V: [Recurve Bow]
Effects: Soulbound, Self-Repair, Swap Form
Requirements: Humanoid
Material: Tier 1 Damascus Steel
Next Material Upgrade Requirement: Tier 1 Titanium
Additional Form Slot Requirement: 2x Tier 2 Artifacts & Tier 2 State
With the center of weight closer to the hilt, the Ulfberht carried its momentum differently; it didn't drag his arm the way the standard academy broadsword had when going for a slice or when he parried.
It felt like an extension of his own hand, far more than what the standard broadsword felt like.
At the moment, however, none of that mattered because Bjorn was actively trying to break his jaw.
Bjorn's blade met his own with a loud clang before the metals of their swords began grinding atop each other as neither side wanted to lose ground, the friction carrying that low, teeth-rattling vibration that made Deacon's molars hum with it.
Bjorn was the first to break the bind, tilting his wrist and stepping in almost lazily, except there was nothing lazy in the force behind the next strike that Deacon only avoided by letting his weight fall backward and turning the motion into a pivot that whipped his heel across the grass as a large arc of wind tore through the space of where he was previously.
"There are three known racial traits of the Jötunar," Bjorn said evenly as he began to deflect the throwing daggers Deacon sent his way with his own Ulfberht with such speed that it looked like a blur to Deacon. "And as I mentioned before, they don't have a set order in which you get them – but you always get two of those three when you unlock them as you Tier Up and unlock your Racial Milestone."
Bjorn lunged forward on the last word, the Ulfberht in his hands blurring for an instant before, to Deacon's eyes, it looked as though it had become fourteen blades — all stabbing toward him at once.
Deacon met the first few strikes cleanly, the impact shuddering up through his shoulders and rattling his bones. The next blows he barely managed to redirect them away from him instead of blocking outright – fully aware that he had nowhere near the stats required to overpower his uncle.
"One of those traits is Gigantism," Bjorn said with a smirk as his right arm, and the Ulfberht in his hand, suddenly swelled to seven times their previous size before swinging down faster than before.
Deacon barely managed to tuck and roll aside, all too aware of the feeling chunks of dirt splattering against his left side as his uncle's strike tore a massive gouge through the grass and deep into the earth where he'd previously stood.
"The other two are Skin of Jötunheim and Transformation," Bjorn smirked as his arm and blade went back to their normal size. "I'll also let you guess what the other trait I got was."
"How does that work?" Deacon asked as he got back up and charged at Bjorn.
He brought his blade down in a vertical arc, but Bjorn caught his vertical strike with a horizontal one of his own, as the grinding of both metals rang out, Deacon's slitted eyes gained a devious glint.
He stepped into the clash, his left hand moved from beneath his right and snapped forward to grip the bottom of Bjorn's hilt. With a sharp twist clockwise, Deacon tore the blade from his uncle's grip and held it in his own.
Deacon immediately jumped back several paces, his boots tearing up chunks of grass with each step. For a brief, stunned moment, all he could do was stare at the weapon now in his hand and his uncle in disbelief — his mouth pulling into a startled grin.
Bjorn let out a pleased laugh at Deacon's progress, grinning without bothering to hide his amusement as Deacon stabbed his blade into the dirt and leveled the Echoform Reliquary at him, attempting to goad him to attack.
Chuckling at Deacon's attempt at intimidation, Bjorn reached for the metal cylinder clasped at his hip and flicked it out. The bo staff extended to its full length with a flick of his wrist and let it settle under his arm.
"The traits we get when we reach the midpoint of Tier One and Tier Two will always end up with us getting two of the three," Bjorn repeated, already closing the distance with the same speed he had with a blade, the bo staff thrusting forward in rapid strikes that Deacon barely had enough time to get Echoform Reliquary to shift mid-movement into the Crowbar form to brace with both hands.
"So there's no order? And are there more than just three traits?" Deacon grunted, forcing the crowbar up and over his head just in time to redirect a downward staff strike that would have dented his skull. He kicked forward, dirt exploding underfoot as he pressed into Bjorn's space, trying to steal momentum rather than block it. "Not like humans always get Adaptive Aspirant at Tier One and Legacy of Blood at Tier Two?" He broke right, crowding Bjorn's left side as he spoke. "Or Skeletons getting Boneweaving at Tier 1 and then Osteomancer's Vessel at Tier 2?"
"No to the first one, and of course to the second," Bjorn answered simply, springing backward while spinning his bo staff into a reversed grip. "It differs for every Jötunn–."
And the moment his feet touched ground again, he slammed the endpoint of the bo staff into the earth with such force that the ground split like a plow had torn through it, and a jagged trench ripped outward toward Deacon.
"—on which one they get first. But by the time you reach the highest tier, you should theoretically have all seven Racial Traits. Just like every other race would, but ours are simply more personalized in the order we get them in," he continued.
Leaping sideways and tucking his shoulder, Deacon rolled just before the trench tore past him, feeling the rumble in the dirt under his ribs as he rolled back onto his feet. "Is there no way you can tell what you're going to get?"
"There are," Bjorn called out over the tremor of the trench that reached deep into the meadow, "-signs that Jötunung can display that can tell which one they'll get first, even before they reach sixteen and receive their Class."
The crowbar in Deacon's grip flared orange as he let out a huff, mana trailing along the upper half of the Echoform Reliquary seconds before he cast Flame Armament.
Just as he cast the spell, Fire erupted from just atop his hand on the hilt of the crowbar and spread upwards, licking across the ripple-patterned metal.
"The two most obvious ones are Gigantism and Transformation," Bjorn said as Deacon rushed him, boots tearing through grass and dirt in his wake. "If a child manages feats of strength beyond their peers, such as being able to lift up a microwave when they're four, or grows up to be much larger than those their age, we can assume their first Racial Trait will likely be Gigantism. Which, upon reaching Level twenty-five in their Race, they'd typically awaken that Racial Trait."
Deacon's flaming swing came down in a sharp diagonal cut, forcing Bjorn to sidestep the rush of fire that carved through the grass where he'd been a heartbeat ago. To which Bjorn countered with a clean sweep of his bo staff across Deacon's midsection that caught him off-balance and sent him tumbling backward through the dirt.
As his back scraped against the ground, Deacon gritted his teeth and forced himself into a backward roll, pushing up to his feet. His boots dug deep, carving twin gouges into the dirt as he steadied himself to face his uncle once again.
"And what about Transformation?" he grunted, lifting the weapon just in time to block another strike.
Bjorn's mouth quirked. "It's not like they wake up one day as a butterfly or wolf," he said, laughing under his breath as he stepped back and let the bo staff dissolve into motes of light. In its place, he pulled free a bow that gleamed faintly along the curve of the limbs. An arrow-filled quiver shimmered into existence across his back, the movement smooth enough that it looked practiced over decades.
"It's the rarest of the three traits, and the ones who get it… it's quite obvious to anyone in the village as it develops quite early on. They develop bonds with a certain group of creatures – a bond so deep that they are able to communicate with them without saying a word. And by the time they receive their Racial Skill, they gain the ability to transform into them."
Deacon barely gave himself time to absorb that before he flicked his wrist and forced the Reliquary to shift again. The flames folded inward as he stopped casting Flame Armament just as the Damascus Steel began contrasting and reshaping itself before it finished its metamorphosis into a recurve bow.
He reached back, drawing one of the arrows from the quiver over his shoulder, and loosed it.
Bjorn didn't bother drawing his own bowstring just yet – he sidestepped the first arrow and swatted the next one that came his way with the bottom of his bo staff.
"What about Skin of Jötunheim?" Deacon asked before firing a volley of three in rapid succession.
"Those who don't display signs of the other two are usually judged to have Skin of Jötunheim," Bjorn said, pulling an arrow from his quiver and letting it hum with mana before loosing it. The arrow met Deacon's mid-volley midair, detonating into a shockwave that cracked the dirt under their feet. "And when that trait awakens, the Jötunn who inherits it gains a substantial increase in both physical and magical resistance."
Deacon lowered his bow for just a moment, his mind catching on the thought before it could slip away. I wonder which one I'll get.
There was no time for Deacon to dwell on his thoughts — Bjorn's "second phase" had begun. He was forced to cycle through the Reliquary's forms just to keep up with his uncle's assault: bow to twin short swords, swords to axe, axe back to the Ulfberht. Each shift came with a burst of motion and the sharp clang of impact, every clash throwing sparks into the air.
By the time he found himself back on his ass, staring up at the sky, his lungs were on fire, his arms trembled, his breath came in ragged bursts that made the edges of his vision pulse. While above him, Bjorn, with one hand resting casually on the hilt of his blade, smirked at him.
"How close was I?" Deacon wheezed out.
Bjorn didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his manaphone, flicking the display to face Deacon.
The timer glowed across the screen — the numbers counting backward in the negatives.
Deacon blinked at it once. Then again.
An unrestrained, disbelieving cheer burst out of him as he rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself upright.
"Finally!" he shouted.
Bjorn only chuckled, sliding his weapon back into his Spatial Storage as Deacon turned and started sprinting toward the meadow's exit – seemingly forgetting how exhausted he was seconds prior.
"Don't forget the quest I gave you!" Bjorn called after him, raising his voice just enough for it to carry across the field. "And don't do anything stupid out there!"
"Got it!" Deacon shouted back without looking over his shoulder, one hand raised in a lazy wave as he disappeared through the illusory doorway.
Bjorn watched him go, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.