A mantle.
It is what the Tower grants climbers upon reaching the third threshold. That is also the level requirement to go from the third floor to the fourth. And there is a lot to know about them.
Information flows into my head as it so often did, filling in the missing blanks about mantles. First and foremost, there is the detail that I already knew about them - they are a tool. One that is wreathed around the user’s body, allowing them to do… something. The unmaker’s mantle is a shroud of unweaving. It took apart corpses around them more easily, melding their flesh into defensive armament. The mindbreaker’s mantle was one of broken shadows, pale imitations of their feats that clung to them in a defensive shroud.
But they are more than that. Mantles, first and foremost, are meant for managing essence. Meant for claiming it, and also giving it. Every bit of essence distributed by the tower, whether in the shape of natural treasures or rewards for reaching levels or gaining classes, was generated by some living being. Almost always a living creature wielding a mantle.
In a lot of ways, a mantle is a living record of your deeds, while epitaphs are a living record of who you are. It strengthens naturally the more you do the thing it was designed to do, but it can also evolve to accommodate new concepts and feats, often being defined by class and job choices.
And finally, a mantle is a gift. Because it can be handed over to someone else.
A passing of the mantle is a sacred ritual in the tower, which requires approval from both parties, as well as the oversight of the tower itself. A mantle cannot be forced to be given. It cannot even willingly be handed over to someone tormenting you. There is one way a mantle can be passed on, and that is with reverence.
From one person to another, and only a stronger mantle to a weaker one. This ritual leaves the giver mantle-less, thought a remnant of their deeds remains. Some even go on to reforge their mantle, leaving descendants with all the inherited strength and forging a new legend for themselves. But that was rare, and usually, the passing of a mantle signalled a climber’s retirement.
In short, mantles were terribly malleable living legends that enhanced specific abilities and recorded deeds as a part of one’s strength. They could be passed on - even in fragments, actually - as well as worn with pride or hidden. With all that information filed away, I finally indulged my almost desperate curiosity and opened the menu.
[Mantle: Shroud of Shifting Shadows
You skulk in dark, you stalk and kill, you salt the earth, breathe in the thrill and prepare. A thousand traps, a dozen lies, a piece of bait, a dark disguise draws enemies into your jaws. Deceive and beguile, a web of half-truths and hidden bile, you draw in crowds, you stay in your shroud, as darkness welcomes you and I.]
[Mantle: Bearer of Broken Bodies
An army stands, before it falls, a siege upends, the world appalled, as corpses line the very streets you stand. Bones break, sinew shatters, flesh warped and skin in tatters. Death follows you in every step, you bring it to bear it without regret. So stand and look them in the eye, then break them, watch their last breath go by.]
[Mantle: Architect of the Assembled Archive
You watch, you break, you steal, you build. You kill and maim, and then distill, as people fall, then by your will, their parts shall be assembled, and in that semblance be remembered. Their skills unmade, their classes glimpsed, once witnessed they can’t be extinct. When parts are made part of the archive, they shall forever make you thrive. Be remade and then improved, their limits broken, their flaws removed; your path upwards shall be smooth.]
My eyes read over the description, drinking each one in. Shrouded, Bearer, and Architect. Those are my choices.
The first relates to my tactics, as well as Kuro being part of them, I think. Strangely, it seems to be almost stealth related. A mantle of shadows that grows ever denser, every time that I lie or kill someone with a trap. Which has been rather reliable, and I don’t plan on stopping it anytime soon.
Compared to the shroud, the second mantle looks more violent. Upfront and honest. It was very simple about making living bodies into dead ones, and I think its effects would be similarly honest. A penchant for death. Life around me would be snuffed out more easily, and my [Biological Restoration] would almost certainly gain a function for dealing harm, given the focus on bodies breaking. My [Deconstruction] would most likely start to be better at directly damaging others, too.
And then, finally, the Archive. A building library of skills that I have broken, classes I have taken parts of. It’s, I think, the most complex of them all, given that it uses the most of my skills. [Deconstruction], [Observation], [Memorization], probably [Selection] and maybe even [Intuition]. All in order to achieve the singular goal of gathering, understanding, using and improving skills used against me.
I want them all, damn it.
I want to shroud myself in darkness and hide away so that people don’t talk to me. I want the strength to break anyone who hurts my friends, and the flesh-shaping might go a long way to learning modification of biology and regrowing my arm. I want the archive of skills, I want to understand more of magic, I want to learn and grow and use it all.
And that final one is why I end up picking the mantle of the Architect.
A new section appears on my status, denoting it right below my job. I hold open the panel, and feel the change wash over me. With a breath, I call up parts of that page.
Name: Snow Okiyama - Ion
Floor: 3
Class: <Nullmage> - 19 (II)
Job: <Imbuer> - 14 (II)
Mantle: Architect of the Assembled Archive
The impact is obvious. Incredibly obvious. The mantle lays itself around my shoulders. It’s different from what I’ve seen, invisible to anyone but me unless I choose to manifest it. It’s crafted from geometry. Runic lines that move and shift, from one skill in my library to another. An ethereal, thin web, with the knowledge inside it.
Instantly, I can feel the change. How easy it has become to keep track of the skills I’ve taken apart, to modify them, and to even do false-casts of them. The mantle of the architects doesn’t do just that, though, it’s almost like the skills whisper to me about their function if I focus. A slow, leeching kind of knowledge that filters into me, one that I recognize.
Essence.
From each thing I’ve ever broken, a tiny trickle of essence flows into me. Each skill, each bit of a class that I’ve taken apart and reassembled in my memory sits there, providing me with awareness on how to shape and interact with it. The mantle is feeding me essence.
And, its final function of course. Like with all mantles, it’s manifestation. A physical conjuring of everything I’ve ever taken apart and understood. It’s not as effective as the true spells, but it also doesn’t really cost anything. It’s simply an inherent ability of the mantle, in the same way that my Abiding Apathy feeds me with mana whenever I take another skill apart.
I breathe, letting the changes settle, feeling my much solidified mental library. All of the skills sit there, in different stages of completeness, each modification I made existing as an added file. Like post-it notes in research books, or little pencil addons beneath a music sheet. Things that improve, things that are worse, little notes at points in the structure and what they do.
My healing skill sits in the middle as the one I have manipulated the most out of anything, by far. Jean’s skill is in the same category, a neighbour to my own, and the patterns of his are delineated, too. The loops and whorls that make it sticky, the bits I think supplement mana for calorie, the bits that might be reading the blueprint. Parts that are more suitable for permanent or lasting manifestation to increase regeneration, and bits that can be powered, then stored as marks.
And, finally, full organ restoration, like for my missing arm. There are dozens of iterations noted down, changes, approaches, different attempts. Each one just a bit better than the previous one, bringing back more healthy flesh with fewer deficiencies. It’s my greatest work yet.
Compared to the variety of that one, there is the simplicity of [Suppression] and [Selection].
The two skills I started with. I look at them in my mental library, the small addons I’ve made… and I still find them strangely perfect. Tailor made for me, where the only limit in application is how I actually choose to implement them. My mastery is the bottleneck - not the patterns of the skills. My ability to conjure them without the tower’s aid.
It also makes them supremely adaptable. An improvised musical performance. They let me invoke differing effects depending on my perspective. In the same way that [Suppression] can weaken a spell or slow its activation altogether, or [Selection]can be used to track, gain information, or act as a multiplier for any skill cast through it.
Looking at my library, the archive I’ve assembled, I smile just a little. There are new, tiny patterns, denoting the boss’ lightning skill, and even parts of that disruptive gas, which I’ve already filed away next to [Deconstruction], in order to include it in that magical toolbox. It’s wonderful. Having all these notes around and available.
Some have started to be distilled down into enchantable runes, too. It’s lovely. I love the library.
Taking a deep breath, I face the forest again, my mantle draped over my shoulders. Norman, Amelie, and Opal. We just had to make it to the fourth floor. That was the goal, now. And on the way, I’d break as much magic as I could, and grow my mantle as much as I could.
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