You know what? I take it back. The Grimoire Extraordinaire is not bad at all.
I've been trapped in the pit for five days. Thankfully, I had a pack with several sandwiches that I was going to carry to other workers. So I had enough food until today. But I ran out about eight hours ago. All the practice I've been doing has left me quite drained.
Using Minor Strength and Minor Endurance has been a blast. Unlike the guidance I had for Light, The Grimoire Extraordinaire has been giving me what I could only describe as a training regimen.
I finish hanging on the rock formation I use as my sleeping base, the same one I found the Rainbow Skill Crystal on, and I sling myself over to the side, landing on a stony platform. I crack my shoulders and then look at another explanation written out in my mind—yes, I can read the grimoire in my mind as well—and then drop down, putting a loose rock on my back and slowly lowering myself on a one-handed push-up. I do two, then I stop. I could do a few more, but the rhythm of the grimoire set these three days has increased my strength exponentially.
I look at The Grimoire Extraordinaire's page.
Ding
Minor Strength (Bronze) Lv. 42
Grip Strength: 134 kg [Iron Grip +44 kg, Base 90 kg, +7 kg]
Upper-Body Pull: 110 kg, +40 kg
Upper-Body Push: 93 kg, +33 kg
Lower-Body Drive: 147 kg, +41 kg
Progress: 43%
Light Level 23 > Level 43
Iron Grip Level 23 > Level 43
It's an impressive increase for just five days of training, and I have only rocks all around me.
Now, I swim toward the rocky wall. I already tried this, but wasn't strong enough to pull it off despite the grimoire being exceptionally useful once again.
I touch the rocky wall and use the grimoire function, which apparently recognizes even such a rock formation as an object. The grimoire seems to know my intentions and that I want to climb the wall.
I guess it has to be expected from a Rainbow Skill.
Suddenly, all the rocks that jut out from the rocky wall start getting a green or a red halo. It also maps a path by creating a yellow line, and I brace myself for the climb.
What the skill description didn't mention, I suppose, is that the grimoire doesn't just find flaws. It also shows how to deal with them. The routines it created for Minor Strength, Minor Endurance, and Iron Grip strengthened me in such a short time window. And so, I put the first hand over a green rock and hoist myself up.
It comes pretty easily. I'm a light, rather scrawny person, despite having worked in the mines for so long.
Rock by rock, I make my way upward. The first time I tried this, I fell into the water when I reached the sloped part of the wall, and I couldn't use my legs anymore.
This time, while I'm extremely focused, I easily make it all the way up to the top. Only very few green rocks are lit around the pit's entrance.
Most of the rocks are red because they're too smooth for me to find any leverage on them.
This is the last one.
Still, despite the difficulty, I aim to jump between two rocks and make it to the pit. Once I'm in there, the weird cave is much easier to climb and I can stop to rest several times until finally I reach the tunnel.
I emerge from the tunnels looking rough.
Poor sleep, a rock as a mattress, and non-stop training means I've got more holes in my clothes than even the poorest inhabitant of Shit's Creek.
I see a few people on my way out giving me strange stares—they probably thought I was dead since I've disappeared for almost a week.
By the time I'm back in the small hut in the village, lying down on my cot, it takes me a few seconds to fall asleep.
* * *
I get to the mines in the morning, ready to pick up my shifts where I had left them. Despite having a Rainbow Skill, I still have to eat and explain things to the foreman.
On my way there, I find Benji and Sneeze behind Clayton.
They're all staring at me.
"What's up?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.
"Where were you, kid?" Clayton, a middle-aged miner, looks at me with disgust. He doesn't appreciate that I never had the terror he instills in others with his large frame and brutish looks.
"I got stuck in a tunnel. Survived by sheer luck."
"You missed five days of work, pipsqueak. Luthor said that you're one strike away from losing the job."
"Sure, Clayton," I reply, not bothered in the least.
Even if I lose the job, I have options now.
My nonchalance clearly bothers the man, whose jaw starts twitching.
"Well, I have a job right for you. And if you refuse, you're out."
I walk past the man and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Show me," I say with a smile.
Clayton leads the way toward the far end of the pit.
He swears and bumps into a few loose lanterns—there are oscillating shadows that accompany us now as a result of that.
The tunnel he picks is low, half collapsed, and marked with a red smear that means "unstable." A single timber support holds the arch. He stops, points, and grins.
"Clear that. Do it before the next bell or you are gone."
Every idle crewman hears him.
I study the scene without blinking.
The timber leans, and the grain has split along one side.
This tunnel is already half-collapsed, and he wants me to mine in it?
It's just a ruse to get me to give up and lose my job.
He must really hate me.
Clayton tosses me an old pickaxe. The haft shows a faint white line just above the head.
"Best tool I could spare for a future Knight," Clayton says.
Snickers scatter through the crowd.
"What do you want me to do, exactly?" I ask, regarding the pickaxe with a raised eyebrow.
"There's a large chunk of ore in there. We've already located it. Clear it, and I'll have someone bring over a cart to take it out."
"Sure thing," I say, not breaking a sweat.
I turn the pick in my hands, and the Grimoire Extraordinaire lights up behind my eyes.
Grimoire Extraordinaire: Rusty Pickaxe contains 4 distinct flaws.
Rusty Pickaxe.
Structural integrity sits at six percent.
The haft will fracture after three high-force impacts.
It needs to be reinforced with a metal collar.
I nod, walk past Clayton, and set the faulty pick beside a coil of rope.
No one notices when I slip a rusted hose clamp from the maintenance crate.
A guy rattles three coins in his palm and barks, "Three swings and the brat's pick snaps. Any takers?"
Another guy leans against a post and shouts, "I'll toss in a whole jug of lamp oil if he even crawls out on his belly!"
Sneeze, who hardly ever talks, still manages, "Roof comes down, his bones jingle like a sack of nails."
I ignore the noise and keep working. I crank the hose clamp over the splinter until the wood groans.
Clayton scoffs, "Quit stalling, Cloud. The bell's ticking! It's a lot of work for one Knight!"
I look at the support that is about to splinter with The Grimoire Extraordinaire, and without blinking, I grab a short plank from the scrap heap, snatch two spikes, and duck under the timber support.
I brace the plank and drive the spikes with three steady blows. Each strike deadens the creak overhead until the ceiling settles. The Grimoire's angry red glow drops to a dull amber. Clayton snorts.
"Support looks worse now that you touched it."
I now walk past the post and deeper into the tunnel.
The guys must crowd around the makeshift repair I just made to watch me.
One even whispers.
"Clayton, are you sure? The kid's going to be buried there. If it's bad, he's going to die."
"Let's see what that fool does," Clayton replies.
Idiots, I can hear you, I think to myself.
Now, I tap the wall where a large portion has been circled with chalk.
Whole lot of silver in here, I guess. However, they haven't mined it because the tunnel is too unstable. They're probably waiting for a crew from the guild specialized in reinforcing tunnels.
Green sparks flicker across my sight, and red sparks crawl along dead seams.
I swing thrice where the stone shines green, and a large crack immediately appears through the wall.
I chip again. Another large crack appears. No dust cloud, no warning rumble. Someone in back mutters, "That looked clean," and Clayton snaps, "Shut it."
Then, as stone gives, I see the vein and I start working it. A mound of silver rapidly grows at my feet. Clayton's earlier laugh turns into a cough, yet he still tries.
"He's just tickling it!"
No one answers him because they see the ore piling up.
Ten minutes bleed away. I brace my shoulder, set the pickaxe, and drive a single blow. A keg-sized block slides free, packed solid with bright silver. I catch it on my thigh, ease it down, and roll it into the open.
Silence hits the shaft like a slap.
No crash follows, no choke of dust.
Lamps flicker on wide eyes, still slowly swinging from before.
I heft the block to Clayton's boots, let it thud, and brush grit from my sleeves.
Clayton's face twists.
He snatches the pick, stomps into the hole, and bellows, "Watch how a man swings! There must be silver everywhere if you managed to get this much!"
He brings the tool down hard.
The clamp holds once. On the second hit, since he didn't hold the pickaxe properly, the split races through the haft, bisecting the tool, with the head whistling across the tunnel, clanging off the wall, and letting sparks fly through the dust.
Clayton swears as splinters sting his knuckles, and he staggers back.
"That's your man-swing, Clay-Clay?" I say, smiling widely, as the man bristles with fury.
A whistle slices the laughter. Foreman Luthor stomps in, clipboard clutched tight and scowl set deep. He scans the braced prop, the neat pile of silver, and the splintered stick in Clayton's grip. Then his stare locks on me.
"Cloud," he says, voice cold as cave water, "my office, now."