Adventurer: A Fantasy LitRPG Adventure

"Answer me simply. Are you willing to risk everything to learn the arcane? Willing to be tested for your worth?" The shining, outlined face of a hooded figure said as their voice was obscured by a mystical resonance that hid both their gender and varied their pitch between words.

Seven towering constellations, among which was the one that had just spoken, were arrayed above me in a simulacrum of a shockingly real-looking night sky. I saw planetary bodies, to include the twin moons and the daemon-bone planets, rotating around the raised circle of stone I now stood upon. The sun was notably missing in the bespelled audience chamber, but there was no lack of light.

Only minutes ago, I'd been usured onto a stone and rune-carved teleportation ring that had been placed just past the mithril gates of the Towers' ground-based receiving courtyard. I could only assume I was now atop one of the many floating and massive islands that circled in a refined, dancing clockwork pattern at all times above the mountain-side city of Highmount.

"You are young. Younger than most acolytes," another constellation face commented.

"No younger than any of the noble-blooded apprentices when they first train under a master before coming here," a more lyrical grouping of stars said as it slightly shifted its gaze towards the previous speaker.

"But he is here," the centermost constellation affirmed as a supernova rippled within its eyes, though it seemed to be weighing the situation aloud more than it was judging it harshly.

"He was trained by a master druid," a more slow-speaking voice commented from the far right.

"We do not teach druidry. It is a primal magic that is not easily codified. The results of its training are so varied," the constellation that had first questioned me spoke up again.

"One could say that makes it very versatile and robust," the slow-speaking constellation said back.

"But rather unscientific," the previous constellation half-agreed.

"Do you have an answer to what was asked of you? I can see magic within your veins; I see its flows and its ebbs," the centermost face leaned in towards the teleportation circle I stood upon. "You would not have even been teleported here had you not been deemed interesting enough once your feet had touched the transportation array. At such a young age as well. Whether you are allowed to stay will depend on whether this talent we see extends to the more arcane of magics."

I swallowed. I could see no end to the softly-shining stars and dark infinities all around me. The most unnerving part of it all, however, was that I sensed not a shred of mana in the air, despite the sheer display of its clear use. The magic before me was obvious, but it was so beyond me that I wasn't sure I could hope to detect it at all.

"I want to study here," I said. "I want to learn. What test do you have for me?"

"Hmm," my original questioner mused.

"A simple one, a test of resourcefulness and survival," the centermost face replied. "Do you know why Highmount can exist so easily here? Why, despite being a truly terrible place for crops and most agriculture, it is a thriving metropolis only rivaled by Crownhold to the south?"

I paused. "The dungeon complexes that lie beneath the city. They're near-infinite, and they recharge quickly. The gates within the network of ruins and caves can't be closed permanently, like most dungeons, so they're a rich resource for monster cores and spoils."

The constellation, which had spoken in my favor earlier, hummed in interested approval.

"Indeed," the centermost constellation agreed. "Not normal dungeons at all, really. They're planar dungeons, in fact. Very rare everywhere else. They can transport you to dimensional slices of what many suppose are sundered realities. Beyond the quest prompt suggesting a tier-range that you are presented when you try to enter one, there is very little to go on about what you might find on the other side. A ruin, a jungle, daemons, and outsiders even."

I was beginning to connect the dots. "You want me to go into one of them. Alone?"

"Yes and no. In that order, The winter solstice creates a dampening effect on all magic in Arden. It is when we are at our weakest as mages if we do not prepare countermeasures. However, it is also when the magical barriers that connect Highmount's planar dungeons and our own reality are at their weakest as well," the center constellation explained. "The dungeons' barriers usually block magic cast from the outside from affecting the dungeon environment itself. However, this can be slightly circumvented when they are weakened such as now. This allows us to go inside a dungeon and set up an array of sorts that will allow us to later monitor potential initiates and snatch them away from death if need be."

"Are you following, Peregrine?" the voice that had supported me before questioned me.

"It's a test. You're going to send me and the other petitioners into a planar gate and see how we do?" I answered and also asked.

"A test of survival, of teamwork, personality, and of course magic. Money and influence alone do not buy you a seat here. Potential and skill do. There are one hundred hopefuls worthy of even trying our trial this year. You will all be broken into teams of five, provided simple robes, allowed to bring a singular martial weapon of your choice if you so desire, be given shoes, and nothing more--not a bit of food either. If you and your fellow team of hopefuls survive a month in a planar dungeon of our choosing, then anyone who impresses a sponsoring master will be offered a spot among the initiates."

"And if we conquer the dungeon?" Pery asked.

The center constellation almost glowered, but there was a noticeable twinkle in its supernova eyes. "Then you will all be given admission."

"Even if we don't impress any particular master?" I asked.

"Oh yes," the center constellation said, "but, young mage, if we see that you are actively hunting the boss of your assigned dungeon and not merely being hunted by it, then we will not save you if it kills you. This is the one exception to our extended protection."

I felt a shiver run down my back. Survive and guarantee safety but not admission, or try to thrive and risk true death.

"Why is this the test for petitioners if you're a place of learning?" I asked the center constellation. "It's more like you're trying to see who can fight or just survive the best."

"It's a test of stress. It will tell me many things about each of you," the constellation replied. "Besides. No mage can become great without hunting for mana-attuned cores. It is the cruel way of things, and we must recognize that. A mage must know many things but also fight to gain the strength to be able to apply what they know."

I nodded. It made a kind of practical and detached sense. The test presented would probably scare off a lot of people, and I guess the really foolhardy and also untalented folks wouldn't even be given the choice to say yes to it. What the center, and seemingly head, master had said was also true. No one could reach the heights of power quickly without killing and cores.

"I'll do it," I said. "I need to become strong, but, just as much as that, I want to learn from you all. I want to know what I don't know. And if this is the only way to get that chance, then yes, I'll risk everything for your test."

The center constellation withdrew back slightly. "An answer from you, and now a vote from us, then."

There was a pause. Every massive, inhumanly composed face circled and appraised me. Passing comets soared so close, streaking between the huge head-shapes, that I could almost feel their heat.

"Aye," the constellation that had originally supported me said.

"Nay," the constellation who had first questioned me said.

"Aye."

"Yes."

"No."

"Perhaps; yes for now."

The center constellation swept their shining eyes over the others as they voted and then settled back on me. "My vote will not break a tie today, it seems, but I have one further question for you. What is magic?"

I didn't answer at first. I had the sinking feeling that something beyond the vote already being decided was at play. The person who spoke through the center constellation had a quiet gravitas about them; each time they'd spoken earlier and now the others had shifted their gaze either quickly or at least intently to them. If I answered wrong to the master the others seemed to defer to, would the earlier votes even matter?

I clenched my jaw. My father's face and words entered my mind and cast a shadow over my own.

"Magic is possibility and versatility. That's all it is: learning what's possible and if you even want it to be," I replied, my voice much stronger than it would've been only two months before.

The center constellation stared at me deeply in my eyes and drifted forward to what felt like within inches of my face, dwarfing me with its size. Then it chuckled. "Then onto your first test: to make friends, or rather to impress them."

"What?" I asked.

"Oh, how did you think teams were chosen? By us? Certainly not; being able to form a good party from nothing is a very important skill," the center constellation asked. "You have to be able to feel each other out somewhat before what we ask of you if you hope to assemble a good band, yes?"

"There will be a tourney between the prospects," the rightmost master said again, their voice booming. "You will choose teams by casting votes for who you want by your side. Voters who mutually choose each other will be matched together as well as can be managed."

"But the solstice will have passed by by the time that's done," I said.

"Did we ever say the solstice was required to keep the arrays set up on this day working?" one of the masters who had voted against my potential admission asked me.

"No," I replied. "I guess not. You just said the solstice allowed you to set them up."

"Six months, Peregrine. All one hundred of you petitioners will receive basic tutelage, free of charge, for six months before being put against one another and forced to cast your lots to choose your party for the initiation trial. Planar dungeons take over a year to break, thus why we must only accept students once a year to allow for us to lay our arrays in the dungeons and to give every one of you a chance to adequately prepare and be prepared," the center master spoke.

It sounded too generous to be true, but from what I'd heard from asking around, it was accurate. Supposedly, the founder of the Towers was a truly curious woman. She did not require payment from her students, like the Elven Principalities, or terms of military service post-graduation, as did the battlemage academies near Crownhold. She mostly only required that acolytes meet her standards or risk being ejected from her institution. Of course, she did impose that all mages who worked within Highmount, Tower-affiliated or not, had to pay taxes on dungeon clearing, or adventuring, to her organization—something that she'd somehow lobbied to make an official law within the city's domain.

"I expect only two-thirds of you will make it through the next six months," the one master who seemed to perhaps not like me said. "Even fewer will pass the trials. There have been years where nearly none did."

I looked at the starry face of the cynical-sounding master directly in their asteroid belt-lined eyes, or at least as much as I could manage to. "I'm not going to give up."

"A good first step," the other master who had supported me commented.

"A first one," the master, who I was staring down, answered slowly.

"Instruction starts tomorrow, Peregrine," the middle constellation chimed in dazedly. "Hold out your hands."

I tried not to raise an eyebrow as I did what I was instructed to.

Another of the starry faces asked me a question before the middle constellation could speak again. "You stand like a swordsman, so I'm assuming you want your legs free, yes? Not hampered by a long robe?"

The middle master tilted their floating face at me. "Is this true?"

My brother Bastion's wife, Samantha, had sewn me a nice outfit for exactly this occasion. I'd left my sword Mytharis at home out of politeness and was genuinely surprised the other master could read me so well. I knew mother could do things like that, but she was a master swordswoman.

"I would prefer that, yes," I said. "I want to be able to move well and not step on long, flowing fabrics."

"Robes are easier to cast in," another previously unspeaking master said. "Do you plan to not abandon the blade for the arcane?"

"Respectfully, master, no. My mother taught me the sword, and I want to keep learning it too," I said.

"Good," the master, who had originally asked me about not wanting a flowing robe, said with a tone of approval. "A good weapon will serve you well. Magic and the martial disciplines are not as different as you might think."

I noticed that a few of the other mages' extra-planetary faces seemed to shift as if to disagree.

I nodded to the one who seemed pleased by my statement. "Thank you."

"Very well," the middle mage said.

A flow of stardust swirled up from the endlessly descending pillar that I stood upon and coalesced into a shape above my hands. An almost coat-like garment that bridged the gap between outwear and a shirt, in the color of dull gray, fell neatly and folded atop my palms. A white sash and pair of black trousers appeared next, followed by a simple pair of black leather boots.

My eyes were a little widened by the display, if I were being honest. Had the middle caster, or one of the others, just created me a custom uniform from magic itself?

"Thank you." I forced myself not to stammer.

"That's your required attire. Be at the courtyard at dawn tomorrow," the middle master intoned. "We'll set you up with a room."

"I will," I promised.

"Go ahead and bring your sword next time too," the only face who seemed to approve of warrior mages, commented.

"Of course," I replied.

"Farewell for now. We have others to interview today," the middle master said.

Before I could reply, the circle engraved into the pillar beneath my feet was lighting up with a brilliant azure glow. I was engulfed in a distorting ripple of arcane illumination and of movement devoid of true motion.