“But,” Marko countered, seesawing his head, “if we let him live, and if we don’t tell anyone, then we’d always have something on the rector prime. You know, there’s nothing that a little blackmail can’t fix.”
<We’ll call it leverage,> Inga sent, obviously shocked.
<Or extortion,> Treacle added.
Logan laughed. They would take the gem to Ned and Zed, and Rockheart could work with those rosebush doctors to get his body back. Because even now, the Blister Wart was doing damage to the stony body sprawled out in the inner sanctum.
Around them, a sudden wheezy voice, ancient and turtleish spoke: “And so, you four have passed your Winnowing. Again, the final battle reached the inner sanctum. However, you faced villains far above your level. You have done well, my friends, so very well. And as my dearest friend always says... You still live! You can do wonderful things!”
“Like loot the bodies!” Marko erupted. He was looking better. Already, he was using the Apothos in their combined pool to heal his badly damaged guardian form. He managed to get to his feet, only limping a little.
Zhen Ikgix, the venerable Threshing Tortoise, chuckled. “We’ll give you a couple of hours to put yourselves back together, gather your loot, and go through the magic items. Might I suggest you retrieve Linraist Erejam’s staff from the entrance room, hmmm?”
Logan wasn’t about to leave anything behind in their dungeon. However, he could let go of some of the corridors, rooms, and artwork. The walls began to tremble and turn back into sand and sandstone. Marko’s feast table wavered before vanishing, but they kept the two digestive pits working in overdrive, funneling sweet, pilfered Apothos into his core.
Logan shivered.
He was on the cusp of leveling again, and after all the kills and experience in the final part of the Winnowing? He was sure to increase his cultivation abilities at least to Rank 5, which would come with some benefits and new abilities.
He and Marko slid Rockheart’s and the rogue’s bodies into the digestion moat. Logan might not eat the professor’s core, but there was still loads of manifested Apothos in his guardian form, and that seemed like fair game. Treacle came staggering into what had been the feast room, drawing on the sudden influx of Apothos to repair his guardian form. He still looked worse for the wear, though, his head partially caved in, one horn hacked off. Inga joined them as well. She was missing some teeth and had some serious gashes covering her arms and chest, but she was up and moving about thanks to their colossal win.
But they were gloriously alive, and that was all that mattered.
The four went through the gold, jewels, magic items, and loot from the raiding party. Marko sighed over the cat man’s red pants. “They’re ripped beyond repair. I’m heartbroken. I loved those trousers.”
Inga threw him Erejam’s jeweled robes. “None of us would be caught dead in this. It’s not magic, but it’s gaudy enough for you to enjoy, I’m sure.”
“Gaudy? I think you mean great-y.” Marko slipped on the roseflower amulet. “And this little baby goes well with my new ensemble. Bam! I didn’t think I could be cooler or more awesome, but apparently even I am sometimes wrong.”
Inga took Erejam’s staff. They weren’t sure what it did yet, but she jumped at the chance to study it.
Treacle pondered the Wood Warden’s magical scimitar. “I’ll break this down, maybe get the blueprint so we can copy it. It’s relatively nice. I’ll also want the dwarf’s Terra hammer. I’m thinking I might be able to add it to my Internal Alchemy.”
“So you can drop the hammer?” Marko asked. “Will you get hammered with me on Friday night?”
Treacle let out an annoyed grunt. “Puns. Gross.”
Lyndagg the Skinner had a trio of magical throwing knives, which Marko called dibs on. No real surprise there.
As for Logan, he took Flynn Corry’s three magical rings. He’d be able to summon the silver short swords now, though the rusty dagger would always have a special place in his heart. It had helped him kill not just any raider, but Yullis Rockheart himself.
Logan had the idea that the Threshing Turtle knew what had happened but wouldn’t be telling anyone. In the end, Shadowcroft Academy for Dungeons was a utilitarian institution. Whatever worked was fair game. Rockheart had tested them to the best of his ability. Inga was pretty sure the rector prime had even crippled his core to do so—at least temporarily—since they wouldn’t have been able to best him if he’d been an A-Class cultivator.
Logan slipped on the armor ring, which expanded to cover one of his three thick fingers. He felt his core respond to it, and he realized in a flash of insight that he could customize his own armor, and it would look like the real thing. Finally, finally, he would have real armor to go with his exoskeleton. His friends—mostly Marko—helped him design his new look. Once done, he looked down, impressed.
An enormous leather war belt, covered in opal glyphs, concealed his gemstone core. The belt worked with a fur-lined leather skirt called a pteruges—Marko swore by them both for their maneuverability and for the breeze. Logan added a pair of light leather greaves and matching fur-lined bracers to cover his vulnerable legs and forearms. A single spiked pauldron also decorated his right shoulder.
Logan laughed. “I can always have armor when I want it. And I get swords, magical swords.”
“What about the third ring?” Marko asked.
Logan shrugged. “Not sure. Looks like we’ll have to do a little research. And since we have the best crafter at Shadowcroft with us, it won’t be long until we unlock its mysteries!”
Treacle sat, head bandaged, holding the hammer and scimitar. “Logan... my friends...” the big bull-headed man started. Then he couldn’t talk. Tears flowed down his cheeks.
That made Inga choke up. “Treacle, what is it?”
The minotaur blinked. “We’re alive. I didn’t think we would... that we would survive our freshman year. But we’re alive, my friends. My good friends.”
Marko, who wasn’t afraid of showing any emotion, leapt to his feet. He danced a little jig as tears dripped down his furry face. “You ain’t seen nothing yet, my bovine friend.”
Logan thought his smile might break his face. Their Final Exam dungeon was done, the Mad Party of the Dark Muse’s Depravity was now just sand, stone, and an inner sanctum with a bare stone pedestal. The only sign they’d ever been there at all was the two digestive pits, still burbling away. Everything else might’ve been gone, but what they’d managed to accomplish would stick with Logan forever. Choosing the fungaloid class had been a gamble, but in the end, it had been a jackpot. And Marko was right—this really was only the beginning.
And Logan was still only an Iron Trunk cultivator. They all were. Who knew what was possible once they ascended? The dungeoneering guilds would tremble, and he might even find a way to save his homeworld. Earth.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
LOGAN SAT WITH HIS friends in the Golden Serpent Hall for the graduation ceremonies. The seniors were leaving for their own dungeon assignment... Well, the ones who had survived their four years. There were fewer than fifty. Far fewer. It seemed the Winnowing had taken out a few of the seniors as well. And the four worst-performing students of each class had been expelled to become wandering monsters on far-flung worlds.