The Path of Ascension 8: A LitRPG Adventure

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“For you have a single day within the Armory, and during that time, you may do as you see fit with any of the weapons within, save to harm one another. The Artifacts do not approve of such things, nor do I, and to raise a blade against one of your fellow candidates is to be instantly removed from the Armory. I will be watching, and I will see.

“Now, should you be chosen as an Inheritor, should an Artifact deem you worthy, the Mountains shall pour out upon you. Your strength will—in time—be second only to the Grand Knights themselves, and you shall forever have the strength to defend your ancestral halls, your home, and your nation. For it is a boon to be chosen, and your power shall be manifold.”

There was more, but Seasaìdh started to glaze over, seeing the projected image behind the Curator.

She wasn’t particularly drawn to the items inside but rather the hall itself.

It was majestic.

Seasaìdh wanted to inspect the pillars that seemed to stretch up to the sky. She wanted to check her reflection in the almost mirror-like floor.

It seemed to take an eternity, but when she at last entered the Armory, she nearly fell to her knees.

Being inside was an experience she would never forget, though she was certain she wouldn’t be chosen. Luck was never on her side, and even that wouldn’t be enough for her here.

While the others rushed and started picking up weapons or pieces of armor, she just wandered, paying more attention to the tables than to the items on them.

The craftsmanship was beyond her vocabulary, so she didn’t even try to put words to her feelings.

When she was miles away from the entrance, she started paying attention to some of the items in the Founder’s Armory; they were also important items, and she wanted to see what made them special.

Seasaìdh quickly learned that not all the Artifacts were equal.

Each was treated with reverence and each had its own place, but the weapons and places were far from equal. A rusty saber sat upon a velvet cushion, propped up like it was the most valuable thing in the room, while a golden axe studded with gems sat haphazardly upon a plain stone table next to it. A spear with a haft of ice balanced precariously upon its point, resting in a matching divot on the floor, while a plain longsword in a scabbard hung from a simple coat hanger.

It was all fastidiously clean, though there were a few places here and there where an Artifact had obviously been removed sometime in the past. A blade-sized hole in a stone, an amulet-shaped divot in a silk chest, a mannequin with nothing on it.

Checking her watch, Seasaìdh sighed as she realized she only had fourteen hours left. She wanted to spend the rest of her life here.

She wandered for another hour before she started to come down from her high and decided to lay down next to a glass case containing a jeweled scepter. The way it reflected the light was pretty and she wanted to enjoy it for a moment.

Before she knew what was going on, she was already asleep.

If she had been awake, she might have seen the Curator and two others hovering just feet behind her. One was a tall human man, an oddity in many ways, while the other a confused-seeming dwarf woman.

“Curator, you said she was going to bind, but I don’t see it. She’s just walking around, which is different from the others, but she doesn’t seem drawn to anything,” the dwarf asked.

The man merely smirked as the Curator answered, “Saint-Heir Aoife, I have been doing this for close to sixty thousand years. I know one who will bind. She wanders without a path, but she is not lost. There are millions of items here, but she keeps walking. She could pause at any time, but she does not. Her Artifact is calling her.”

It had been many, many long years since Aoife had first been in the Founder’s Armory, but it had never fully left her memory. What exactly the powerful artifacts within its walls were looking for was a matter of furious debate.

‘Worthiness’ of some metric was a common rumor, but the Custodian believed—and Aoife was inclined to trust—that perhaps the single most important factor was a compatible latent Talent, though just how much an Artifact could change a Talent was wholly unknown. Just as Ascension inexplicably improved the strength and Talents of those Awakened in its wake, so too were Artifact-bonded Talents substantially stronger than their peers. Though at the cost of usually being entirely focused upon their Artifact.

There were no Talents which merely provided Innate [Fire Manipulation]. Instead it would be the ability to use [Fire Manipulation] while bearing their staff, but with double the potency of normal [Fire Manipulation]. Those Inheritors nearly always developed their Domain around their Artifact, and when combined with the resources the Clan showered upon them, there were very, very few who could be said to be anything less than excellent.

Normally, only the Saint themselves was permitted entry to the Armory, but with just a few short centuries before his Ascension and her coronation, Hastor had invited Aoife to join him when the Custodian claimed a new Inheritor was to join their ranks. Her superior hadn’t said a word the entire time, but she had caught him looking longingly at some of the swords on display.

So, Aoife waited silently until the girl woke up.

These hallowed halls were impressive, and she understood the girl’s fascination. They truly were some of the grandest under all the mountains.

Seasaìdh woke up after only an hour and kept meandering around, but Aoife noted that the Curator was correct. The girl always moved in a specific direction, even if she thought it was simply wandering.

Seasaìdh frowned as she noticed a morningstar with a thick layer of dust on its handle. Clearly, the Curator wasn’t doing her job if a weapon was so dirty.

The weapon was rather ordinary, a simple leather wrapped metal shaft bearing a ball of steel covered in spikes.

She went to wipe the dust off, but as the dust came off, so too did the weapon’s steel, revealing underneath a burning star. Then, like dust, the metal shuddered and fell off, replaced by the burning radiance of the star that had just been born.

Seasaìdh was locked in a trance as the weapon bound itself to her, Awakening both the dwarf girl and its own power.

Above the girl, Aoife was stunned. That weapon had not had dust on it before the girl got close. She knew that for a fact. When she first entered the Founder’s Armory, she had inspected every inch of it and every weapon inside of it.

That morningstar hadn’t had dust on it, until it suddenly did.

Even she hadn’t caught the transition.

Looking to the Curator, the Tier 49 saw the woman’s smile. There was a trace of smugness, but Aoife could admit the woman earned it. The Curator had been correct even when she doubted. Hastor positively beamed, and the human stepped forward to study the resplendent weapon, taking in its majesty while being completely unseen by its Inheritor.

Aoife finally broke out of her amazement with a snort. “It’s a little on the nose, isn’t it? A morningstar being made from the core of a star?”

The Curator just shrugged. “Perhaps. I sometimes wonder if the Artifacts change themselves to be more compatible with their Chosen, just as they change those they choose. The Founder and The Smith are beyond my comprehension.”

Aoife turned to follow as the Curator teleported the girl out. The work of the Talented were always weird, but while beautiful, this place was odd to say the least.

A living armory filled with weapons that chose their owners from the unawakened.

Frankly, her ancestors could have made things easier for her. But then, if Artifacts were simple, one of the many attempts to create more would have succeeded by now, and the armory would not be slowly getting emptier over the millennia.

Being able to produce Elites was never easy by its very nature. The Inheritors of Artifacts were at least a marginally steady source of elite warriors, and they at least were set apart at awakening, meaning they could focus substantially more resources on them, without wasting time on candidates who ultimately fell short.

In another room, Seasaìdh slowly recovered from her stupor, and the reality of her situation set in.

She had been chosen.