Buttopia
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Chapter 113: Floor Eight: Rabyn
🕑 Added 2025-02-20 00:24:48 +0000 UTCRabyn looked around the room the moment the door had closed. The item he had to bring to the finish had already appeared in the next room, but he wanted to be sure there was nothing worthwhile hiding in here first. It was always possible, and this would likely be one of the few places no one thought to search. A gleam of something metallic caught his eye, peaking from between two of the bricks.
He produced one of his many knives and slammed the hilt of it hard into the brick, knocking it loose. Behind it was a single silvery coin. He picked it up and examined it. It didn’t appear to be one of the mystery prizes they were sitting on, but he also wasn’t sure just what it was. It was entirely possible for any kind of magical item to be hidden throughout the Arena, but this seemed different somehow. Unsure of how to better identify it at the moment he placed it in his storage for later. He suspected someone was trying to send them a message.
When they finished with this floor, he’d consider asking Floor Master about it. At the very least, they should have the mystery prizes redeemed before leaving the Spire. With their own private waiting room, it was entirely safe to do that much now. If there was time, he also hoped to also have a private conversation with the spider. He wanted the man’s real opinion of his situation.
He may have given in to the idea that the whims of fate controlled his path now, but that didn’t mean he was going to sit back and let it push him wherever it chose without some pushback. There were things he had to do in his life, and while this new faction presented the best opportunity, possibly the only real opportunity he had ever seen toward accomplishing those goals, he was still wary of the situation. Wralf has been one of the most fundamentally stupid people he had ever had the misfortune of meeting, and while he bore no resemblance to Dave whatsoever, Rabyn needed to be on alert for other less-than-desirable traits out of the new faction leader.
So far, he liked Dave much more than Wralf. For example, Dave was right, not about the idea of finding a way to avoid his execution. No, he was right before that. For the part Rabyn had played in the decimation of Earth, he absolutely deserved to have his head separated from his neck, and he knew that. Someday, it was incredibly likely Dave would also firmly come to that realization, and that would be the end of his bloodline, the end of a quest for both vengeance and justice. But perhaps that isn’t how this would go. Dave was an odd man, the strangest faction leader he had ever met. It was entirely possible the man was willing to work with him to keep him alive and genuinely considered that as what was best for his people. It was a foreign concept to him, that much he was sure of.
He would trust to the advice of Floor Master, as without the man, he wouldn’t be here today. What Pryte hadn’t put together, and he wasn’t sure anyone truly knew anymore, was that while, yes, he was the only surviving member of the royal bloodline. He was not the only surviving member of their advisors. His great-grandfather, while still a baby, had been smuggled out of the palace as the empire came to an end, thanks to one of their most loyal staff. The grand chef of his people’s long-fallen empire had escaped the slaughter, only willing to do so after being begged by Rabyn’s great-great-grandmother. Floor Master had wanted to fight and fall with the people he had spent his life taking care of, but fate, it seemed, had started early with Rabyn’s destiny.
Rabyn had no idea how the man had earned his way through the ranks of Arena staff, but in doing so, he had been able to look after as much of his family line as he could. He had been the real one involved in selling him off the Singing Blades, a good way to keep him relatively safe after his father had been killed. Someday, Rabyn would find a way to repay the spider for everything his family owed him and more.
What he really wanted was Floor Master’s opinions on this Empire of Dave. Not that Rabyn had had much of a choice in joining them; it was that or death. But Floor Master had arranged for him to end up with the Singing Blades for a reason and he needed to make sure that this hadn’t thrown off any of his plans. Had the former grand chef realized just how much of an idiot the leaders of that faction were? Especially the one who led the doomed assault on Earth. No matter what the spider’s plans ultimately were, Rabyn had already decided he would not betray Dave. He wasn’t sure he would die for the man yet, but betrayal was out of the question. Dave deserved as much. He had survived an integration just to save his family. It was one of the most respectable actions Rabyn had experienced in his lifetime.
He took a deep breath and began to walk down the path. He wasn’t expecting anything quite able to challenge him, but it was prudent to be careful nonetheless. He had already made a drastic misstep with the Jesters, and that was something likely to cost him far more than he wanted to pay in the future. The idea of owing those monsters anything had been one of the newest nightmares haunting him, but he had no idea how to break himself free from that problem, so he pushed that thought back down as best he could. There were other monsters to slay at the moment. The Jesters would have their time.
In front of him stood some sort of slithering monster. Two of its several legs were being used to prop its head and upper torso into the air, far above his own. Fangs dripped a substance that sizzled as it hit the ground below. Rabyn hated centipedes, especially horrifying giant ones. He had yet to find a way to cook them that made the effort of fighting them worth it. Their venom had a habit of ruining anything it was paired with.
Its tail whipped out at Rabyn’s legs and was met with the slash of his knives, dropping it free of the body to the ground. The creature snarled, thrashing its head from side to side rapidly, causing the venom to fling everywhere. Several drops hit Rabyn’s arm, burning him at the impact. He met that pain with a flurry of knives into the creature’s torso. It crashed to the ground, all fight gone from it as the life left its eyes. Rabyn bent over it, reclaiming his spent knives, carefully cleaning each one of the potentially corrosive gore from the monster before replacing them in his storage. He stepped over its corpse, continuing down his path.
He was good at fighting, very good at in fact. When he dwelled on that reality he wondered just what his family would think about that if they were around to see it. Had he disappointed them? Or would they approve of whatever was needed at this point to secure their people’s survival? He hoped it was the latter, but he would understand if it wasn’t. He didn’t enjoy the killing, but he had long ago made peace with it.
Focusing on a list he had memorized as a child he ran through the litany of names and places as had been drilled into him. Was it time to start collecting his people? The Empire of Dave would need a real force, but Earth wasn’t the place to house displaced orcs, aggressors or not. They would be seen as enemies. No, for now, that collection of locations had to remain only in his mind. There was another way he could repay Dave for his trust.
While there wasn’t nearly enough of a mana flow on Earth to form a core outside of the near-disastrous way Maud had gained hers. It would be possible to form one here in the Arena if a person were quick about it. They would need a master to apprentice to. And it just so happened he had an extra war chef class orb ready for such an occasion. The trick would be convincing John to accept it. Perhaps the fact that Maud had gained a core could be useful here. No one wants to leave their partner facing dangers alone.
Rabyn smiled. He was sure this was the correct way. Fate had yet again guided him on a beneficial path. Pulling up his class progression, he looked over to a long-ignored branching pathway. He had assumed it was a path he would never explore, but now it was not only possible but likely he would be recruiting the apprentice chef needed for some of the more impressive meal choices.
He would need to speak to the giant when they returned. This called for a true kitchen to be designed and built. One where feasts worthy of emperors could be prepared. They would need a hall capable of hosting faction dignitaries. This of course, meant servers would be needed and someone to make the drinks. The proper pairings of drink to meal ran through his head. Alongside it, the idea of a life dedicated to the beauty of cooking for cooking’s sake, a fantasy long denied, flared to life.
For the first time in as long as Rabyn could remember, he found himself lost in a world of art. He was happy.
The Web of Eight-Legs is known to have produced some of the best covert assassins the Spiral has ever seen, but their names, as well as their planet of origin, have managed to be well hidden from the official record. So well that most speak as though the group is nothing but a myth. Likely, they prefer it this way. They are paradoxically some of the most dangerous and caring people to ever populate the Spiral, but what their ultimate goals are remains a complete mystery.
Orders, Both Secret and Public of the Spiral by Qquauqq
