A Gamer's Guide To Beating The Tutorial

The day ends, and the next one arrives, as they always do. The monthly conference was a little under two weeks away, meaning that we had plenty of time to just hang around, not doing much of anything. However, that changed following a single, small discussion.

“So, assuming they’re okay with it…”

“Which they are,” I respond confidently. The rats I was trying to juggle to impress Goss struggle and fall out of my hands. “Damn it—just…”

“Right, okay, and… And if I do the killing rite, become a four-winged dragon… What then?”

I pause my frantic attempt to gather the rats again, turning to him slowly. “What do you mean, what then?”

“I mean,” he continues, “I’ll be a four-winged dragon, right? I’m not sure if I told you this before, but normal dragons don’t really like four-winged dragons. They’re of the same opinions as goblins in that matter—same as when it comes to mumblers and such. Four-winged dragons have a tendency to ravage ecosystems and cause general havoc, so they’re kill-on-sight even for normal dragons.” He quiets down for a moment, giving me an odd look as I stuff my face hole with two rats at once. “Since the killing rite will be attended by most of the dragons in Loathe Summit, it means I’ll be surrounded by a bunch of dragons, all wanting to kill me.”

“Really, now…” I say, slurping down a rat tail like it’s a big fat spaghetti noodle. “Well—that’s only if they can kill you, right?”

“What do you…?”

“I’m just saying,” I say, strolling up close to him. “Thanks to my skills, I’m basically unkillable. That’s why you had to let me live. If you were similarly unkillable, they wouldn’t be able to stop you from leaving.” Now that I’m close enough, I lean myself onto his folded arms. “So, in short, you need some training from a real master of unkillableness.”

“Training…” Goss breaks out into a small smile. “I like the sound of that!” His expression falters. “Though, there was one more thing I was thinking about…”

I use a rat tooth to pick at my teeth. “Hm? What’s that?”

“Well, it’s just…” Brows furrowed, he hunches down closer to me, eyes darkening slightly. “What if we go through all this trouble, I turn into a four-winged dragon, and then you don’t beat the floor? What then?”

“In that case…” I hum to myself. “Assuming you become as monstrous as four-winged dragons have been described…” I turn to him with a grin. “—I guess I’ll have to kill you, then!”

“Kill me—” His eyes flash wide, jaw falling slightly. “Would you actually…?” I stare at him blankly. Of course I would. He stares down at me. Something small shifts in him, and his frown twists into an uncertain smile, like a finch trying to replicate the grin of a crocodile. “W—well, if you train me like you should, I won’t let you! I’ll be so strong and unkillable that you’ll be laid flat before the power of my new form! A single beat of my awesome clawed wings will send you flying!”

“Oh, yeah?” I say back, matching the teasing nature of his words. “That’s only if you actually do turn into a four-winged dragon. As you are, I could take you on easily!”

His grin gains much-wanted sincerity. “Oh, you’re on!”

On I was. From that day on, during the course of the two weeks leading up to the monthly council meeting, we sparred on the daily. I call it sparring, but it was really more of a brawl, the two of us going at each other like a pair of siblings fighting over the last cookie. It was difficult to crown a winner since we weren’t exactly fighting with the intent to kill, but the one who ended up on top of the other by the end was always yours truly. Sure, we were both nigh-invulnerable to each other, but that didn’t mean that we couldn’t get tired. Or, more specifically, that Goss couldn’t get tired. By the end of a good match, he’d always be panting in the dirt, and I’d be the proud winner, telling him to give up or else I’d never stop tickling him.

…Does this make me a dragon-slayer? I have no idea what the specific requirements are, but it would be a pretty funny title to have. If nothing else, I’ve been able to ascertain a good number of weaknesses specific to dragons.

For one, when they gear up to breathe fire, their chests swell out, and in the seconds following the breath attack, a pair of small vents open up on the sides of their chest to let out residue steam and heat. These vents are about the size of my fist. When I tried shoving my hand in there, Goss actually retreated across the room in genuine fear and pain. So, in short, I’m not doing that, but if I were to want to kill a dragon, that’s where I’d put my claws. Of course, the sheer heat coming from them is enough to cook my entire hand and arm to braised perfection, but that’s not really an issue for me.

Other weaknesses include their featherless arms and legs, their heads, and their throats. You’d probably need some kind of RPG bazooka-type thing to actually lob off a dragon’s limb, but it’s still more realistic than going after their actual hide.

Finally, and I couldn’t prove this, but I think the bones, flesh and organs of a dragon aren't as strong as their feathers and skin. If you took a massive hammer and pummeled them silly, you’d probably be left with a perfectly unbroken bag of jellified flesh and shattered bones. Unfortunately, I’m not strong enough to wield such a hammer, and even if I were, I have a feeling that they might be in short supply.

We sparred, sometimes with the other whelps as referees, and we spent our time in a rather casual fashion. Hunting, going to mass, flying to new, distant places, and most enjoyable of all, talking to other people. I spent more time than I’d like to admit in Fr. Moonlight’s workshop, not always with him in it, training my tanning and leatherworking. It was… fun. Making things was weirdly enjoyable. The time-consuming nature of tanning leather was very suitable for my position, and I threw myself into it with zeal.

During the time I spent in the small workshop, Goss would intake a form of apprenticeship under Ymir, learning all about what it meant to be a type five. According to Goss, Kempt would often join them, but from what I can infer, their relationship wasn’t too close.

Either way, the end of the month approached with quick steps, and soon, the time for the council meeting had arrived.

“And you know what to say to them, right?” I ask Goss, adjusting the leather top hat I made for him. It’s comically small atop his massive head, but we need to be presentable for this. “You’re ready and willing, and…”

“—And I am under no duress or threat,” Goss finishes, completing the saying I drilled into his head. With the top hat properly affixed to his head, he cranes his neck straight, trying to make his back equally straight where he sits waiting in the tunnel leading into the dining room. Or, I guess, the general meeting room. He shoots a look down at me. “You’re sure it’s now? Maybe we should check the sundial just in case…?”

“I’m sure,” I say, one eye on the clock.

<21:38:40

Day 940>

2:21:20>

“Assuming everyone else operates on the same time frame as we do, they should be here in just under seven minutes.” At my words, Goss turns again to look down the tunnel, tentatively shooting out a little whistle, just in case. With no echo returning, it seems like there’s no one there yet. I affix my gaze onto Goss’ back. “Are you nervous?”

His head snaps back to face me. “Am I—” He forces a chuckle. “No, no, I’m not, I’m just…”

“What did I tell you about trying to lie to me?” I say, purposefully recreating the tone my own mother would use.

The words make Goss slouch a little. “S—sorry…”

I watch him for a moment. He’s such a kid. Sighing, I pat his hand. “There, there.” He raises his head slightly. I smile at him. “It’s okay to be nervous. Sure, I can’t see why they’d shoot it down when we’ve already gotten the green light from them all, but there’s always a chance. We’re only here to look pretty, remember? Whatever happens is outside our control, so there’s no use in worrying about it.”

“I suppose…” Despite my well-measured words, Goss still looks blue. I guess I’ll have to pull out my trump card.

“I’ll tell you what—how about, when this is all over, we go out, catch a few tarantulas, and I prepare them how you like them?”

Finally, Goss perks up, wings flapping with barely-withheld excitement. “Really? With that special sauce, too?”

“Of course!” I say. “Wouldn’t be grilled ‘tula if it didn’t have the special sauce.”

“Grilled tarantula…” Just the words are enough to get him to drool, and I can only relate. Food is the best. Ah, now I’m drooling myself…

I sniff. Down the tunnel, I can hear faint whistling. “Hey, Goss—they’re coming.”

“They’re—” Off-guard, it takes a second or so for Goss to pull himself up, back straight, tail curled around him and wings on half-mast. Without the wings and tail, I can’t really replicate the formal salute, so I opt to simply stand with my back straight and such.

Down the tunnel, the first of the nine party leaders arrives. By the smell, I’ll assume it to be Hart.

Goss bows his head as Hart sets his feet to the ground, folding back his wings. He nods slightly at the both of us before entering the dining hall.

As his back fades into the room, Goss lets out a breath. I catch his eye, giving him a thumbs up and a smile. He replicates the thumbs-up, though his smile trembles a little.

The remaining leaders soon arrive, dropping in one by one, their reactions to me and Goss ranging from total apathy to a pat on the shoulder. The final one to arrive was Ymir, who walked alongside the tunnel’s floor, his heavy tail dragging behind him, and—oh, so that’s where Fr. Moonlight went! Riding atop Ymir’s shoulder, no less. I can respect it.

They sidle up next to us, their eyes turning to us with more confusion than anything else.

Fr. Moonlight speaks first. “What are you sitting out here for?”

“Come, children,” Ymir says, waving for us to join with his wing. “This is no honor to give people such as us.”

Sharing a brief look, Goss picks me up, puts me on his head—my new preferred seat—and heads inside the dining hall alongside our mentors.

There, the monthly council meeting begins.