Chapter 32 : Link Start

"So that's what she meant by bookshelves," Emma realized as her new surroundings came into view. Every surface save for the floor consisted wholly of bookshelves, hundreds of cabinets containing tens of thousands of books, whilst the floor remained the same black surface as in the entrance hall, its dim red glow her only illumination. Despite squinting, Emma wasn't actually able to make out the titles of any tomes; a few bore runes that made her gorge rise, whilst many more were simply blank on the outside. "Decorative books?" Emma wondered, reminded of the tradition many wealthy homeowners indulged in; stocking entire shelves of books boasting elegant exteriors and blank pages in an effort to appear more sophisticated. "Of course, we wouldn't put actually valuable books here; this is a combat arena!" The overseer exclaimed. "Now, by the look of you, I clearly don't need to explain how to swing a sword, so instead let's get right into the calibration." In a flash of red light, a massive target dummy emerged, adorned in obsidian and standing easily thrice her height. "You have five minutes to do as much damage as you can to the target. Damaging the books on the walls or ceiling will incur a penalty for lacking control, but besides that, I advise that you hold nothing back. Accurately gauging your strength is to your benefit; whilst intentionally stunting yourself here will lower the difficulty of the first ten floors, you'll also grow far less facing weaker opponents, not to mention the mockery you'll receive from your peers once you get out. On that note, you may begin." With that, another hourglass appeared, this one far fuller than the previous iteration. Wasting no time, Emma summoned Epitaph to her side as the first grains of sand fell, swinging a two-handed strike as hard as she could at the target dummy. "Ow," She deadpanned, feeling a shock run up her arms as she pulled them back, seeing only the very slightest cut along the dummy's blackened surface. "What are you made out of, bedrock?" Emma joked as her next swings hit home, now beginning to be imbued with Death Magic as she ramped up her blows, sliding into a steady rhythm. The next five minutes were predictably monotonous, Emma having yet to develop any abilities for the situation beyond hitting as hard as possible, but then she'd never been afraid of a bit of hard work. Despite knowing that the target dummy was likely reinforced by magic, Emma couldn't help being a bit miffed when her time ran out, and the best she had to show for her efforts was a narrow groove, barely wide enough to fit a single armored finger. "Impressive, most novices don't leave so much as a scratch during calibration, whether by blade or spellcraft. Baseline enemy is set at Level 7. Now, before you reach the first floor proper, a final question for you. What is it you wish to develop within this tower? Are you looking to hone your mastery of the blade? Or perhaps looking to expand your horizons?" [Choose one of the following, skill selection within Scholomance will prioritize your choice: [Floor 1 has commenced.] "Finally. Games these days have so much hand holding, what happened to just tossing someone into a room and hoping for the best?" Smiling widely, Emma stalked out onto the fallen bookshelf, taking a moment to adjust her footing to favor the thin wooden rims over malleable paper. Then she rushed in to meet her foes, blade held high to do or die. [Memoria - Level 7] — "What do you mean she went inside?" Noah groaned as he clenched his fist, a sharp stab of pain immediately reminding him why that was a bad idea. "Did you put her up to it?" "We warned her it was a bad idea," Ryan rebutted immediately from his bedside. "Told her nobody who went inside ever came back. No dice though; I think she was gunning for the tower the moment she saw it, her first question was whether we were using it as a base. Maybe she knows something we don't?" "I need to see for myself-" Noah began, before the medic on duty jabbed him with another dose of morphine, his other hand tightening the straps binding Noah to his hospital bed. "What you need to do is rest up and heal," The medic chided. "A man with a dead arm will do no good in the field, so lie down and relax, medic's orders. Besides, you're a VIP now. If you get hurt doing something stupid, it's all our heads on the chopping block, you know?" Noah groaned again, trying to break the bindings to no avail. "Over a decade out of the forces and still allergic to medical treatment," The medic sighed. "Why are you meatheads all the same? Don't make me break out the tranquilizers!" That threat seemed to do the trick, as Noah finally sank into his bed for a proper night's rest.