Return of the Tower Conqueror

Chapter 355

13 Days (VI)

Shawn collapsed helplessly, breathing as though he’d just ran a triathlon with nigh a day of preparation, looking at the wall he was simply unable to leap over.

Fifteen seconds, he was unable to endure fifteen seconds even after an exponential increase in his stats due to the items he was gifted, and a better understanding of Domin’s aura. What hurt his pride even more, however, was one simple sentence that Cain uttered shortly before his 44th failure: You have enough stats and skills to last 33 seconds.

This meant that the way he fought, the way he thought, even how his instincts behaved, was so far behind the pinnacle that he was lagging over twice the length of basic endurance--the gap that can be closed through pure skill alone. He didn’t want to believe... but a voice inside of him was telling him that it was true.

Looking at the extended hand and the potion in it, Shawn sighed and accepted it, drinking it whole in a few gulps. It was miraculous--his Mana Pool was completely restored in a couple of seconds. There were no potions in the world--no, that was a lie. A few would crop up here and there as epic rewards for insanely difficult quests. If sold, they reached the kind of price that Shawn couldn’t even comprehend.

And yet, this strange man that would still not share his identity had already taken out over a dozen of these Mana Potions. If he sold them out at auctions, he could earn the kind of money that would create generational wealth--for several people. But he seemed entirely unbothered. The party... is insane...

Standing up, he stripped down to his underwear and leapt into the pool, washing out the sweat that had started sticking to his skin. Swimming a few laps before leaving, he cleared his head a bit. He did start noticing a few places where he could optimize his healing more. If anything, repeated failures forced him to reexamine everything he had learned up to this day. It was as though it was all lies--mimicry of something far greater.

“You’re getting better,” Cain commented. The man spent his days lazing about the pool, drinking cocktails, and chatting away with his two supernaturally-charged pets that were likely stronger than every Conqueror in the world. Shawn had come to understand one thing in the two days he’d spent with the man--Cain was not benched. He was likely that long-forgotten, phantom figure that was buried in the vestiges of time and numerous new achievements. The man who woke the second sun above the L.A. The man who held the Earth’s nations hostage with chains of terror.

“Hardly,” Shawn commented in his dull tone. “I feel embarrassed, having thought I would be the light that would save the party and help it conquer the difficult fight. I did not feel such embarrassment even when Tim Meddel pulled down my shorts in fourth grade in front of the entire class. They called me ‘Tiny Pecker’ for a whole year.”

“... the more I hear about your life,” Cain said. “The more I wonder how come you haven’t become a serial killer. Man, we’ll have to get you a therapist at some point.”

“All those experiences are merely growing pains,” Shawn replied casually, pouring himself a cup of warm milk.

“In normal-people-language, we call it ‘abuse’,” Cain said.

“No,” Shawn said. “What the world underwent when the Towers first fell... that was abuse. There was so much death and suffering in such a short period of time it felt... like a dream. No, a nightmare. So many thought it was their chance to become heroes. Little did we know, heroes come at the expense of the thousands who pave the path for them.”

“...” Cain stayed silent, seeming to observe him for a while. Shawn didn’t consider himself particularly clever or observant, even less noble or heroic. Though he did his best to avoid harming others, it was impossible--others would come after him, and if he didn’t put their heads under his boots... he himself would have gotten trampled years ago. “There’s one universal truth that bounds time and space,” Cain said. “All that lives must die. The next best one is that people... never truly change. Stages, circumstances, places, hymns, banners, leaders... whole worlds rounding us could change, but we remained rooted in who we are. Good and bad. A lil’ bit of both, until a choice forces us to determine who we really are. And even then... we remain a lil’ bit good, and a lil’ bit bad.”

“I don’t hate myself for my actions,” Shawn stated. “Though I try to balance them out. For every man I let die or killed, I try to save one.”

“... everyone has their own personal creeds.”

“What’s yours?”

“Mine?” Cain chuckled. “All for those I love. Fairly simple.”

“... they must be blessed,” Shawn said. “To have you.”

“Here and there,” the man said, taking another sip. “Rest is over. Stand up.”

“Yes.”

Shawn did as told, walking over to the empty space beyond the pool and putting on his equipment once again. A mere second later, Domin, a creature who remained infinitely tiny just until a moment ago, grew back to the size of horror. Shawn had imprinted the picture deep inside his mind--the giant that towered over him completely, shrouded in dark smoke and shadow, the creature that was so strong... he could not inspect even its shallows, let alone its deeps.

Taking a deep breath, he welcomed the abrupt aura--healing through it. Five. Eight. Ten. Eleven. Twelve... thirteen... almost fourteen--and he was empty, saved once again from the brink of dying, collapsing to his knees, sweating, gasping, recalling. It was more than just the aura--it felt as though Domin simulated the circumstances of the battle itself. Shawn felt the certain kind of anxiety that he thought he was above, the skittishness of the body that he thought he’d discarded. However, it was all still there, just buried a bit more deeply than he could dig.

“You chain flashy heals too much,” Cain suddenly spoke. “Why are you saving Bell’s Grace for when you drop below 75%?”

“Because it grants me more Mastery based on missing Health,” Shawn replied, entirely unbothered by how Cain seemingly knew the intricacies of his Awakened Class that he kept close to his heart against everyone else. “Capping at 25%.”

“It’s a waste,” Cain shook his head. “Mastery boost that you gain is not worth devoting an entire second of cast time in the middle of the battle. Bell’s Grace is the kind of skill you use as a filler--but for some reason, you have made it fit part of your primary rotation.”

“Should it not be?” Shawn asked, stripping once again, but instead of leaping into the pool, merely sitting by its side and dipping his legs into it.

“Maybe, when you only just became ‘Gracefire Aemian’,” Cain replied. “You seem entirely too in love with Mastery in general. Just because it’s a stat you’ve unlocked through the Awakening doesn’t mean it’s your best one.”

“What is, then?”

“Intelligence, duh,” Cain shrugged. “And Wisdom. Duh.”

“...”

“You’re trying to be a stretched clothesline capable of holding up the laundry of the entire apartment block. But that’s moronic. It worked for the earlier floors because, well, if I’m being frank, fucking everything works for the earlier floors. The higher you climb, the more you’ll realize stretching yourself thin is one of those speedruns to becoming useless.”

“What should I do, then?” Shawn inquired expectantly.

“Aemians are at their best when healing people directly,” Cain replied, taking a sip. “Whether that’s through the short-term bursts of semi-decent healing, or with the long-term prep for huge heals when necessary. Yuki, our raid’s main healer, for instance, is facing the similar problem as you. That kid has fuck all faith in the rest of our Healers, so he tries to be a spot healer, aura healer, emergency healer, and has started inventing some other ways to be a healer, I think. Doesn’t work. Shithead runs out of Mana so quickly because most of his healing is simply inadequate for the stage they’re at. Except one part of it--death-prevention. Instead of specializing in emergency healing and death prevention, which would enable our damage dealers to be more reckless with mechanics and, in turn, deal more damage, he’s stretched himself too thin, helping nobody.”

“... I always believed a good healer is the one who can do everything,” Shawn said honestly. He wasn’t alone in the thought--it was universally accepted that the best healers could cover for everything.

“That’s funny, because no such healer exists,” Cain said with a faint smile. “What, do you think that every damage dealer is the same? That every tank is the same? No. Everyone has their niche. The key to climbing is to combine all those niches into one whole that works like gears in a factory. Take our two dumb tanks. They’re trying to do the same thing--be good at everything. The truth is, however, the raid depends on having two very, very, very specialized kinds of tanks--the kind that can tank consistent, even, predictable damage for long bouts, and the kind that can take a hit that would have both you and me shitting our pants. Same thing with damage dealers. Everyone likes seeing big numbers, but the truth is that the raid needs the kinds of people whose DPS never drops. It never spikes either, but it also never drops. It’s consistent. Even. Predictable. This way, you save those who like having galactic orgasms in the middle of the fight for when you absolutely need short, but insanely fat, burst of damage.”

“...” Shawn remained silent, imprinting lessons deep inside his psyche.

“But, as it’s the human nature, really, the whole world’s leaned into the flashy side of things. And so have you. Tell me--how does Wisdom react with your heals?”

“Uh... it increases their maximum and minimum potential,” Shawn replied after a brief thought.

“And?”

“And... increases potency dependent on how wounded the target is? Ah!” he needn’t have been told anything else, as he immediately understood. “Domin’s damage is predictable--it’s a constant. It doesn’t tick up or down. As such, I can let myself be harmed to the critical point and, instead of wasting several casts to bring myself back up to full... I can do it in one or two. In the meantime, I can use the ‘dead casts’ as means of setup.”

“Hey, you do have a brain in that skull of yours,” Cain said.

“I must try it immediately!” Shawn jumped to his feet, ecstatic to give it a shot, confident he would make it.

“... huh? S-six seconds? I... I lasted six seconds?” he mumbled in shock.

“Of course you did,” Cain scoffed. “You just reforged the core of how you fought. Do you think you’re that big of a genius you could just pick up a new style and have it mastered all in your mind with no practice? Man, you sure are confident...”

“...” Shawn didn’t get embarrassed by many things--in fact, one of the things he was most proud of himself was the fact that he never got embarrassed, no matter the circumstances. But... right now, he was embarrassed. He hung his head low in shame and hid his expression.

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