Lewd Ascent - A Futa LitRPG Ch. 016-025

2.01 Into The Wild

Zoey's skin went cold, her stomach sank, and the ground was thrown from her feet. For one never-ending second, she was torn apart, scattered to the wind like an urn emptied into the ocean breeze. Then she snapped back to coherency, reassembled in an instant.

She staggered and almost fell, if not for Rosalie's powerful grip steadying her.

"You really are a novice," her blonde partner said, amused.

"Woah. That was ... trippy."

Zoey blinked around at their new surroundings, eyes adjusting to the light. They had been wandering around dimly lit areas for so many hours that having the sun back above her was an almost painful experience. Sunset approached, streaking the sky with orange-yellow rays.

They stood in an autumn forest, leaves having shed from the twisted branches to coat the ground in a decaying blanket. The foliage crunched as Zoey turned in a circle. Crickets chirped and birds sang somewhere in the background. Zoey had gotten so used to the shard's eerie silence that the noise of a living forest caught her off guard.

The air was dry and hot. There were no landmarks in any direction. Certainly not anything man-made.

"Where are we?" Zoey asked.

"In the Fractures." She shrugged. "Where? Who knows?"

"So we're lost?"

"A Wayfarer is always lost. Now we seek an outpost." She chose a random direction—or what appeared to be so by Zoey—and walked.

Zoey jogged after her. Like usual, Rosalie spared not a moment before moving to practical matters.

It made sense to get moving. They could cover ground as they talked. "Right. So, what's the plan? How do we find ... an outpost?"

Rosalie heard the question in her voice: 'outpost'?

"The Fractures are scattered with them. We're hardly in a unique situation. They're rest points. We'll eat, sleep, then enlist a guide to aid us back to proper civilization."

"A guide?"

"The Fractures are too numerous, and shifting, for a Wayfarer to navigate themselves. Guides spend their lifetimes wrangling even a basic understanding of their local cluster, and still struggle. But they're more competent than we could hope to be."

That made sense. Zoey had gained a basic understanding of how the Fractures, and shards, worked in their previous talks. Haven, at the metaphorical 'top' of the ladder, was safe, but was a barren wasteland, lacking resources and arable land. Wayfarers—those granted runes—ventured into the Fractures, a collection of shattered pocket-realms, accessed through scattered 'Gates' in Haven, to bring back resources to feed and supply their civilian population.

The Fractures were littered with threats of their own, but not nearly as deadly and frequent as those found in shards, which swarmed with monsters. Though, danger levels varied. The realms of the Fractures were rated in the same way as shards, through an 'advancement' score which lined up to the rune system. First-advancement shards tended to expel Wayfarers into first-advancement pockets of the Fractures, so the place she and Rosalie had found themselves in was safer, overall, than the shard they'd been in. But not safe, necessarily. They'd need to be on the lookout.

Zoey didn't have a perfect understanding of how everything slotted together, but she had a foggy picture. It was a lot to take in.

"Okay. So, outpost, eat, rest, clean up, then set out to a bigger city. What's our future look like after that?" They crunched along the forest floor, picking over logs and avoiding low-hanging branches. Zoey wondered how long it would be before they found hints of a path, or something else that would lead them to an 'outpost'. Rosalie had pulled all manners of survival supplies from that chest in the dungeon, her 'inventory chest', so they had everything they needed for an extended period of roughing it. But Zoey would rather not be making a multiple-day hike. It sounded like Rosalie expected it to not take long.

"There's a repeating process to an efficient Wayfarer," Rosalie said. "Clear a shard, loot it dry. Equip what you can. Haul the rest back to a city, identify and sell it, then stock up on whatever supplies were expended. Perhaps take a day or two to rest and heal, if necessary. Then set out to an appropriate advancement zone and explore until you find a shard entrance. Rinse and repeat." She paused. "Things complicate with parties, but I've been working alone."

It would sound monotonous, if not for the implied variety in every adventure. "Why?"

"I prefer it." She shrugged. "I'd have eventually partied up, since it's all but a necessity as advancement raises, but for now ... I went solo."

"Eventually?" Zoey quoted. "How long have you been doing this?"

"Not long," Rosalie said, surprising her. "I'm only second advancement. This was my seventh trip. It's been ... two weeks?"

"Two weeks?" Zoey had figured Rosalie some kind of extensive veteran. She carried herself like one. Clearly, it was her upbringing. She'd been prepared for this from a young age. Which brought a question to mind, "How old are you, anyway?"

"Eighteen, and two weeks," Rosalie said, emphasizing the second part to point out she'd entered immediately on her eighteenth birthday. "Wayfarers aren't allowed into the Fractures until adulthood. That's when runes develop."

Zoey had figured Rosalie older than her, for some reason. The way she presented herself, so stoic and composed. Determined. Zoey had assumed she was in her early twenties at the oldest, based on her appearance, but eighteen? Younger than she'd thought. "Huh. I'm nineteen."

Rosalie shot her a look. "You entered late, then. I wonder why, when you were given such powerful runes."

Well. She hadn't been given them at eighteen, like the regulars of this world. She'd been given them a year and some change later, after being yanked through dimensions by a perverted goddess.

Not something she could explain to Rosalie. Even if Ephy's order to not do so hadn't hung over her head, she might not have wanted to. Rosalie wouldn't believe her. Who would? She'd rather come off as an amnesiac, or even secretive, than a crazy person.

"Not sure," Zoey said. "I've really got no clue what's going on with me." An honest statement.

Rosalie pursed her lips. "Are you going to seek out your family, when we make it to safety? Try to find someone you know?"

That would be a reasonable thing to do. Zoey wondered how to answer it. "Probably not." She didn't expand.

Rosalie didn't push. She, at least, understood not spilling one's heart or motivations out. She had her own secrets she was keeping—and poorly. Who her father was, for one, or who she was in general. Zoey didn't need to be a detective to see Rosalie was someone important, and trying to hide the fact.

"Will you be?" Zoey asked.

Rosalie paused, then grimaced. "Eventually, I'll have to."

"You should have already?"

"Yes. My family won't be pleased I dawdled."

"They're Wayfarers, too?"

"Of course."

"Why haven't you?"

A silence. Zoey wondered if she'd pushed too far—even though she'd barely pushed at all.

"I've been enjoying some time away," Rosalie eventually admitted. "My family is ..." she struggled for how to put it.

"Demanding," Zoey suggested. "Domineering."

Rosalie looked at her. "Precisely. How did you know?"

"You don't sound upset with them, but you want to be away. It's not that hard of a guess." And competence like Rosalie's, at such a young age, doesn't come from a soft, comfortable upbringing.

"Well, yes," Rosalie said. "I can avoid returning for a few weeks yet, before they become concerned. My sister did something similar. As long as I arrive having done something with myself—third advancement, preferably, nearing fourth—then the consequences won't be too dire."

Dire. That was quite the word to use, in reference to the reception of your family after some time away. Zoey frowned, making unkind judgments on what her parents must be like. "Okay. And in the meantime? More granular. What's the plan once we hit the city? Just trying to get a feel for things."

"Hm." Rosalie organized her thoughts as they walked. "First, drop the items off with an artificer so they can be identified, paying for expedited work. Better to be efficient, and have it ready in the morning, than maximize profit. After, we'll visit a clothing store and get some attire better suited to you."

The poorly-fitting shirt, underwear, and pants were pretty annoying. And she'd like a bra. Zoey'd never had that big of a bust, but now—uh, definitely more than most. She'd rather have had a smaller, but still shapely, chest like Rosalie's, as she'd had before. But Ephy had been insistent her body fit her status as her 'champion'.

"Following that," Rosalie said, "we'll register at the local guild, stock up on Wayfaring supplies, perhaps check the job board, then—since the items won't be ready till morning—we'll visit an alchemist shop. Get you acquainted to what a profession in alchemy would be like."

"Oh," Zoey said. "Cool. That's—" nice? Considerate of her? "Thanks."

Rosalie shrugged. "You sounded interested. And we'll have time while we wait for the items to be identified."

Zoey grinned at Rosalie's inability to reply with a 'your welcome'. She absolutely refused to admit that she was a sweetheart, despite the serious outward demeanor. Because arranging a meetup with an alchemist wasn't something she needed to do; or even should have, assuming they were looking to become Wayfarers.

"And the guild," Zoey said. "What's that about?"

Rosalie paused. "Wayfarers congregate in guilds. Most gather under one of the three highguild banners, but they're technically their own entities, with their own guildhalls and hierarchy. They serve as a places to rest, put together parties, stock up on basic supplies, so on. We'll rent a room there for the night."

"Highguilds?"

"The prominent political entities of the Fractures. Striders, the Deepshunters, and the Sovereign." She paused. "Though the last aren't a guild in the traditional sense. We're in Striders territory, assuming the shard didn't shunt us out exceptionally far, which it shouldn't have."

"Is that yours?"

"No," Rosalie said. "My family is aligned under the Deepshunters. I would suggest you don't mention the fact. Highguild relations aren't ... friendly."

Zoey didn't imagine a society composed of violent adventurers would have the most copacetic of diplomatic relations. And seeing how there was 'territory' associated with each, that implied disputes—of the 'warring' or at least 'skirmishing' sort. Even back on Earth, in modern society, people hadn't figured out how to be good to each other. No difference here. "I won't." That Rosalie trusted her enough to tell her was flattering, honestly. "Why aren't the Sovereign a normal highguild?"

"They have no subsidiaries. And you need to be seventh advancement to join, which is ... difficult. They have few members in comparison to the other two highguilds, and they're loosely unified. The name gives it away. They're powerful Wayfarers who wanted to be left out of politics."

"So they banded together and told the other two to fuck off." Zoey respected that.

"Precisely. Though for being allegedly 'out of politics', they exert their influence with annoying frequency."

Zoey frowned. With annoying frequency. That made it sound like their interventions were annoying in a personal sense, more personal than a low-ranking member of one of the guilds might view it. Zoey was making assumptions here, but she guessed Rosalie's family was high up the hierarchy of the Deepshunters, enough where the Sovereign's machinations were something her family griped over at the dinner table; that was the tone she'd taken, as if she took personal offense. She briefly considered voicing this observation, but decided not to. If Rosalie wanted to be secretive, that was her right. Especially when Zoey was being so herself.

"You said you had a sister," Zoey said instead. "Just one?"

"Two," Rosalie said. "One two years older, the other four. You?" She grimaced immediately. "You don't remember. I spoke carelessly."

Zoey shrugged. She was hardly offended. Though the fact she couldn't remember whether she had siblings was upsetting. "How are they?"

"Fine. I'd rather not talk about family."

Zoey had seen something of the sort coming, but she'd wanted to try, regardless.

They crunched along the autumn forest.

"Think we'll be able to sell the stuff we found?"

"The less appropriate items, you mean?"

"Yeah." Obviously the regular equipment and items would sell fine—or poorly, whichever was the standard for low-advancement items. "It sounded like you'd never seen anything like them, so wouldn't that mean they're valuable?" Rare usually meant expensive.

"Likely. Though ... distasteful ... it's possible we've found ourselves a trove of novelty items."

Sex does sell. Like that tongue stud she'd claimed for herself—she was sure that would find a buyer, if she'd been willing to sell. Zoey knew she herself would put a probably embarrassing amount of her funds down on it. Because giving magically enhanced head? That was awesome. She couldn't wait to try it out.

"How rare do you think they are?" Zoey asked. "Are they like, never-heard-of-before? Or just uncommon?"

Rosalie considered the question. "Truthfully, I wouldn't know. It's not a topic I've ever wandered on, whether shards provide erotic toys as part of their drop tables—" there it is again, Zoey thought, the seamless use of such game-like terminology, "—but they are known for having incredible variance. I'm sure there's been similar items collected. Perhaps it just never came up in conversation, being obviously unsuitable for polite company."

"But still rare, at least somewhat. It'll make good money."

Rosalie shrugged. "Sure. I don't know for certain. Money doesn't particularly matter, truth told."

"It doesn't?"

"A Wayfarer who relies on top-of-the-line equipment to advance through shards—and their runes—is hardly a Wayfarer at all. Items should be supplemental and nothing more. Doubly true at the lower advancements."

"Huh," Zoey said. "I like the purist attitude. How about you back your words up?"

"Sorry?"

"Let's do the next one naked, too."

Rosalie shot her a disgusted look, which Zoey only grinned at. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, you incorrigible woman?"

"Very much," Zoey said shamelessly. "Very, very much. To think I'll only get to see you naked sometimes, now ..." she sighed.

"Sometimes?" Rosalie huffed. "That implies you will again."

"Oh, I think I will," Zoey said. "And I think you know that, too."

Rosalie flushed and didn't reply. She did, however, pick up speed, forcing a laughing Zoey to jog after her.

2.02 Self Reflections

It was past dark when the outpost came into view. Zoey's legs ached from the walk. She hadn't been an inactive person back home, but she'd been exerting herself (in more than a few meanings of the word) constantly since waking ten hours ago, and the activities had taken their toll. Fortunately, she had magical assistance to lean on. The murky-yellow potions they'd looted provided a supernatural boost in stamina which eased her pained muscles, and the blisters she had started to collect were washed away by their red counterparts, the health potions.

Magic. Super convenient stuff.

They had stumbled on a dirt path after an hour of walking. Whether by providence or luck, Zoey didn't know. Rosalie said it was faster than usual, but most ventures back to town were short things. From there, a two hour's trip led them to the edges of a tiny outpost. She meant tiny; there were six or seven buildings in total. Outposts were scattered all throughout the Fractures, ready to host people in her and Rosalie's situation, and since the Fractures were already less populous than Haven—where the bulk of this world's society lived—these outposts usually held less than twenty people, and much of them were migratory.

Zoey admired the architecture as Rosalie beelined to the inn, where they'd be resting for the night. The buildings were well-made but distinctly medieval-European. She intuited a few answers to her earlier musings: the world's technology level wasn't quite caught up to Zoey's. That was bizarre to think about. She hoped she wouldn't be lacking too many modern amenities. Zoey would miss cellphones and being able to look up whatever she wanted, when she wanted, but it wasn't something she'd die without. Running water, plumbing, air conditioning, and such? She hoped Rosalie's world had figured out magical alternatives to those, because she'd feel those absences much more sharply.

Entering the tiny inn (at a guess, it could host up to four; these outposts weren't meant to be stayed at for long, or see traffic in general) Zoey saw they had at least figured out pseudo-electrical lighting: warm yellow lights hummed in the ceilings, some—what appeared to be—arcane symbol carved into the glass, and only visible because Zoey had squinted up at it in curiosity. The lantern left a black afterimage. Zoey briefly, and humorously, wondered if a health potion would make it go away faster, but she didn't test it; she simply blinked the imprint away while Rosalie greeted a heavyset innkeeper at the counter.

Emphasis on heavy-set.

For, uh.

A couple reasons.

The man was made of granite.

What the hell, Zoey thought. She had given thought to the possibility of other races existing in this world, but she'd forgotten about it, truth told. Until here, now, with an animated piece of rock hunched over the counter and speaking to Rosalie.

"One night, and a meal in the morning, if you please." Rosalie spoke to him with the dismissive nature of someone used to making these professional arrangements. The fact he was a person composed of chunky, interlocking blocks of stone didn't provide the slightest reaction; this was an utterly mundane sight to Rosalie.

The innkeeper didn't seem offended for Rosalie's brusqueness. He was blinking sleep out of his eyes, with her and Rosalie having arrived past when he'd settled down for the night. The bleariness was seriously odd for how humanizing it was. Zoey shook away the disorientation; she didn't want to be caught staring. This should seem normal to her, even accounting for amnesia.

"Two rooms or one?" the rock-man asked.

"Tw—" Rosalie barely started, before being interrupted by Zoey.

"One is fine."

Rosalie narrowed her eyes at Zoey, but after Zoey grinned at her, she conceded. "One is fine."

Coins passed hands, and the innkeeper handed them a key and gave directions. He ambled off through the door behind him. To his own quarters? Zoey stared at his enormous back as he went. The rock-man was built like a boulder, forgive the pun.

Rosalie and Zoey walked up crickety stairs and retired in a small but well-furnished room. Zoey explored the space, interested. With her first impression of the old building, she'd expected using the restroom would include an outhouse, but she quickly found that wasn't true. There was a bathroom in the inn room, their own, and it was furnished with running water, a sink, toilet, and a metal tub. There was even a shower head sticking from a pole. Zoey released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She wouldn't have to be dealing with medieval-times bathroom procedures. Maybe not quite up to modern standards, but there was plumbing. How? Magic, Zoey was sure. She didn't care. Hot water, and a shower, sounded heavenly.

She paused at the mirror above the sink. It was the first time Zoey had seen herself since the changes. A hand traced her cheek and nose as she inspected herself, an inexplicable feeling of dread settling in. This wasn't her face. Or even her. This person in the mirror was too beautiful, too flawless. There were hints of Zoey, sure. She recognized her features. The ratios and structure were similar. But anything that could remotely be called a flaw had been smoothed over. Her hair was a glossy, gorgeous black, almost comically attractive for how chaotic the day had been. It ought to be covered in grime, dirt, and tangled. Which it kind of was, but looked rugged for the fact. Good, not gross.