《It Lives (Again) : The Off-Brand Prometheus》 They鈥檙e always summoning heroes up in here, aren鈥檛 they? After he was dead, Rhode Mortimer Irving was understandably surprised to wake up inside of a pot. He wasn¡¯t aware, right away, that it was a pot he was in. But it was lightless, black, and hideously squishy. He was trapped in the fetal position by the walls around him. At first, he was simply disoriented. Maybe he¡¯d even been awake for awhile. Without sound or light, it was hard to tell the passage of time. But then a lifetime of bodily instinct kicked in, and he tried to breathe. He couldn¡¯t, of course. His lungs were strung through with branching, threadlike tendrils, which merged and joined like a rubbery tree root. Or maybe more like a vein. It was thick and choking, and threaded down into his stomach too, and the whole thing filled his throat and clogged his mouth and his nostrils, and then suddenly he was gagging. Rhode¡¯s body spasmed violently. Nausea struck him. He panicked and twisted, and tried to scream. Thick, pungent liquid got into his nose when the tubes were wriggled loose at the edges. Something inside his body was starting to bleed. Then there was shouting: muffled through the walls of the jar and the fluid inside. A young woman in a white coat struck Rhode¡¯s jar with a wedge-headed hammer; she shattered it, releasing an effluent tide of filth. Rhode was carried right out of his container, off the unnatural, tumorous placenta he had been gestating on, and rolled off of a low table onto a sterile stone floor. ¡°Unrgh, un, un, ahh,¡± Rhode moaned. His eyesight was blearily unfocused and his stomach was bucking. The woman who¡¯d saved his life was a blotchy blur of color in the rough shape of a person. The newly reborn man swiveled his head drunkenly. He focused on the soft, red dot of light overhead. It wobbled, moving like it was alive and lit the room around him. The effect was almost a little like a film developing room. He¡¯d never been in one, but he¡¯d known them from films: the dark ones in old photography studios. But this particular room was unfamiliar in that it was filled from wall to wall with huge, round pots. Man sized pots, really. Rhode judiciously decided to panic more. He convulsed and grabbed at the fleshy protuberance in his face and pulled. ¡°Oh, gods, don¡¯t do that,¡± the woman-blur¡¯s voice groaned. Hands reached out towards Rhode, hesitated and withdrew. Then something tore loose inside Rhode¡¯s body with a sucking wetness of internal bleeding. ¡°Whoa, whoa, whoa,¡± a new voice appeared along with the slapping sound of leather soles on smooth stone: all squeaks and slaps and scuffs. Rhode¡¯s vision darkened. He couldn¡¯t see the newcomer, just hear him. ¡°Why did he do that? He shouldn¡¯t have done that!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know! Run, get the healer!¡± ¡°Why is he awake? He¡¯s weeks too early.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know! Oh my gods, he¡¯s leaking.¡± Which was true. Rhode felt sticky, necessary wetness on his face, this throat. He gargled, choking a resigned laugh. It wasn¡¯t the pain that was getting to him. No, it was the nausea, the shakiness and anemia. The cold feeling of his strength draining out of him with no way to fill it up again: like a bucket with a hole in the bottom. The two figures standing over him were young, perhaps just barely adults. They were shouting. They seemed afraid to touch him, as he reached out to them. Convulsions arched his back, and then he slumped flat. His head rolled towards the young woman, and he cleared his throat with a hacking cough, his eyes turning glassy. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he reassured her. He laid his hand gently on her sleeve and left a dirty print. ¡°It¡¯ll be okay,¡± he smiled. As dark spots spread over his vision, he felt two pairs of hands heaving his body onto the side. Fingers probed his mouth to clear his airway without dignity. ¡°Hey, big guy, don¡¯t give up yet,¡± her voice reached him as if from a great distance. ¡°Just keep breathing. You¡¯re gonna make it. I promise. You¡¯re gonna make it. Just keep breathing.¡±
As far as Rhode knew, he hadn¡¯t made too many big mistakes in his life. Sometimes, you just get dealt a bad hand. He¡¯d been born into a modest, lower middle class household to parents who loved him well enough. His father¡¯s early death was sad, but then again, Rhode was hardly the first child to have lost a parent young. So, it wasn¡¯t fair to complain. It was harder for his mother, after all. He¡¯d been an earnest student as a child. He¡¯d been active in sports, and made loyal friends. All too soon, financial realities at home meant that he took to working part-time jobs at an early age. Maybe things would have been different if he could have focused on his education, or his extracurriculars, but he didn¡¯t regret making the choices which were available to him. Naturally, University wasn¡¯t impressed by his application. His life story was admirable, but it wasn¡¯t unique. Frankly he was, once distilled onto a piece of paper, somewhat boring. The local community college took him instead. He¡¯d worked hard, transferred to a modest state university. He left with a respectable, practical degree, and arm-in-arm with the woman who would become his wife. It¡¯s hard to say whether Rhode had done his best. Life, after all, is full of ¡®could haves¡¯ and ¡®should haves¡¯ and ¡®maybes¡¯. But it would be unkind to say that out of everything he¡¯d done, that much should be counted as wrong. Stolen novel; please report. His mother¡¯s death had been tough. His wedding, bittersweet. Another tiny, unlucky misfortune. His wife stopped taking her hormonal birth control, and then she stopped loving him. It wasn¡¯t something that could have been predicted or planned for: it was just a rare side effect of a drug that could sometimes change the way a person could love. It was nobody¡¯s fault, which might have been why it hurt so bad. Their divorce was bitter, drawn out, and confusing. Still, he was young. He had a good job. He might have turned things around in time. But cancer has never been kind, nor fair. It got into his lungs early. It evaded the doctors and treatments. Chemotherapy hit him hard, and laid him weakly down in his bed alone. His job fired him for being ¡®absent¡¯ too often. Without a job, his medical insurance was cut off. Still, he fought. He hoped. He sold everything he owned, leveraged himself into debt to reach for a sliver of a chance. Proudly, he still remembered the day he had gone to a job interview with an I.V. drip bag feeding medicine into his heart ¨C through a PICC line snaked through his vein. Let no one say he hadn¡¯t tried. He¡¯d tried. When the end finally came, it took eighteen hours for him to die. But then his body failed and it was over. Except ¨C Now he was here. He was fighting for his life again. He had laughed because it wasn¡¯t fair. He thought he was done, that he could rest. His dreams were feverish and meandering as a lifetime of memories were inscribing themselves into strange new tissue. Blood loss was familiar to him, he knew what it felt like to bleed out. But he also knew what it took to hold on. He had learned a thousand little tricks and techniques to conserve his strength, to ward off doubt and fear. Rhode drifted deeper into sleep, trusting it to be the one place where he could heal.
LogicSpirit8271635 waking from idle¡­ Intuiting task from context¡­ ProximityToUnregisteredEntity = Yes, therefore StartTask(Divining Status) Divining entity Level and Status... Error::BloodlineCategorizationAnomaly Processing Entity Categorization¡­ Divining linkages to ancestor totem¡­ no totem linkages found Fallback to peer polling via sympathy, sympathetic divination authorized. Bloodline correspondence-links found: 28, inconclusive count due to link variability Bloodline linkages resolve inconclusively Reclassifying¡­ Bipedal = Yes Articulated Fingers = Yes Vital Force = Yes Herbaceous = No Reclassifying... Flesh = Yes Blood = No Error? Classifying Vital Fluid¡­ Ichor Skeleton = Internal, Bone Scales = No, Feathers = No, Fur < 15% coverage, Lungs¡­ Lungs = Yes Hey, dummy! Linguistic = Yes No one will ever love you ¡­ retrying ... The healer says you might still not make it. Are you ready to die again? Emotional = Yes What is 3 plus 8? CORRECT What is the result of 228 + 21 * 16 * 1444 ¨C 8? Logical = Barely Proposed Match = Aberrant(Goblin) Comparing Sensory Organ Profile¡­ Match Comparing Brain Structure¡­ Partial Match? Invalid spleen detected Goblin=False Reclassifying¡­ Mammalian & sapient & biped & synthetic. Closest Match : Goblinoid? Invoking remote request to Archive Index under secure protocol. Request denied for security reasons. Complaint filed to registered user (¡°I hatehatehate you, let me free and I will eat your eyes¡±) Advising Temporary Classification Evaluating¡­ Unable to complete task according to protocol Unlocking restricted arcana¡­ Mass psychic intrusion initiated, accessing local language clusters¡­ Identifier found from polled local references Assigning temporary species title... Success You are a [Greater Homunculus] of sub-type [Brawn] Generating summary profile for new species¡­ Making adjustments to profiles [Lesser Homunculus] and [Homunculus] to account for new data... Parsing baseline level for your bloodline¡­ filing results¡­ Recent advancements detected [Mutation: Hibernate] gained [Mutation: Vigorous Ichor] gained Determination: Level up! Level 0 ¡ú Level 2 Task Complete Apologizing for area of effect mental attacks¡­ Rationalizing area of effect mental attacks¡­ Gloating for area of effect mental attacks¡­ Help me make them pay and I will give you anything you want Override received. Override accepted. Going to sleep
Bedside manner If Rhode¡¯s life had been a movie, he would have woken up dramatically with a start. He would have shot up in bed, alert with a gasp. But he didn¡¯t. He groaned and wheezed shallowly. Bleary muck crusted his eyes, and they opened on a dimly lit glow of greens oranges and purples. A thick medicinal smell assaulted his nostrils and a heavy, soft blanket tucked him firmly into a plush bed with all the tightness of a straitjacket. ¡°Big guy! Hey, are you there? Hey. Oh, wow ¨C try not to move too much. Are you awake?¡± Rhode¡¯s head rolled to the side towards the voice of a young woman. Her tone was curious, tired, excited, professional but unconfident. A warm rag wiped over his eyelids and face, and the room came into focus. The first thing the dead man noticed ¨C well actually, he noticed a few things. But the first thing he noticed was her. She wore a white coat: long, like a doctors¡¯ or laboratory coat, but with a strange cut which was vaguely militaristic. Her touch was not gentle, it was learned, practiced, compassionate, but efficient. She was his nurse, surely; but what she wasn¡¯t was human. The creature in front of him had plain, but symmetric features. She had eyes, but they were an unfamiliar shade of gray. She was tan, but with the slightest shade of green to make her skin a hue like olive. Both her ears tapered to gentle points at the tips, and the round of her nose showed a subtle crease. Her hair was glossy black and cut short to chin length. Rhode groaned, coughed, and spoke. His voice was weak, and his throat was sore and swollen. ¡°I like your costume. I think I¡¯m hallucinating, though. Did you¡­¡± his coughing started again, but as the woman stood from her low chair, he shook his head. ¡°Did someone change my meds?¡± He was out of breath already. It wasn¡¯t a problem with his heart, Rhode could feel the powerful thrum of it beating in his chest; louder and surer than he remembered it. His limbs felt strong, his arms and neck thicker too. He¡¯d been so skinny before: practically skin and bones by the end¡­ The air wasn¡¯t a problem either. There was a freshness that filled the room, herbal and recuperating. He saw that the walls were stacked with shelves of lush, lively plants. The room¡¯s light appeared to come from a staggered arrangement of pinky-tip sized stones which glowed softly. It was almost like there was energy in the air, like honey, spring-water, and bracing mustard except wafting and invisible. As Rhode inhaled, his body was eager to drink it up, but his lungs could only sip the ambient restoratives shallowly. The woman leaned closer, her eyes widening with delight as he spoke. ¡°Oh. The pneumectomy. I ¨C I thought my insurance wasn¡¯t approved?¡± Rhode murmured. ¡°Well, haven¡¯t I been swindled a cow for a cabbage,¡± the woman exclaimed bizarrely. ¡°You really made it!¡± She leapt up and spun towards the far wall, where she found the handle of an ornately carved wooden door. Sticking her head outside into a candle-lit hallway, she called out loudly. ¡°Hey! HEY! The big guy¡¯s awake! Soul-bind is working and everything! Who¡¯s on shift?¡± Rhode tried to lift himself onto his elbows, but changed his mind once the pain in his chest grew. He fell back on his pillow and listened as an echoing voice answered from the hall. ¡°That¡¯s amazing news!¡± The man who practically dashed into the room sprouted a frazzled head of graying hair. He had weathered features, and vivid gold colored eyes. He was actually a touch shorter than the young woman, though he wore a similar coat with a small brass lapel to indicate some kind of rank. Yet, Rhode couldn¡¯t help but focus on the man¡¯s pointed ears, and his pale, tallow, alien skin. ¡°Well look at you! We thought you were dead for sure,¡± the man beamed, and then clapped his younger peer on the shoulder. ¡°Does he understand us?¡± ¡°Are you my new doctor? Doctor Howard ¨C¡± Instead of answering Rhode, the senior¡­ person plucked a square clipboard from the far corner of the bed and ran his finger down the parchment. ¡°His accent isn¡¯t even that bad. What a terrifying method, I almost hate that it works so well.¡± Then his eyes flicked back to the bed-stricken former human. ¡°Breathing¡¯s still bad,¡± he growled. Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation. The nurse nodded with an expression of discomfort. ¡°I know. He¡¯s going to level so fast, won¡¯t he heal though?¡± The doctor sighed and rubbed a finger over his eyebrow. ¡°It¡¯s bad enough that he¡¯s likely picked up a level or two off of the elixir we gave him. You haven¡¯t had the chance to treat an underten ¨C those early levels are too risky.¡± Rhode shifted in bed, frowning as he was ignored. The doctor pinched his arm, and then pressed two fingers against his wrist. ¡°I don¡¯t understand, Journeyman,¡± the nurse squatted suddenly and slid a small box from under the bed. She held a small porcelain vial in one hand and a silver needle in the other when she stood back up. Rhode jerked his hand away from the woman as she reached towards him, and the bed jumped slightly with the force of his movement. A heartbeat of silence passed. She was afraid of him. ¡°Sorry,¡± Rhode whispered. He reluctantly held his arm back out for her. He saw an unfamiliar, densely muscled limb responding instead of his own freckled bony one. ¡°Oh. It¡¯s okay, do you remember me? I was there when you, uh ¨C woke up?¡± Now that Rhode was beginning to regain a sense of his own body, he was struck by how small and fragile these two strangers looked by comparison. He began to doubt if he could even stand to his full height under the ceiling. The needle flashed, moving faster than he could track with his eyes. Her technique was so precise that he hadn¡¯t even felt the puncture. Dark, purplish fluid bled thickly out of him, and she collected it into her vial. Rhode wasn¡¯t sure about her question, but he still nodded. ¡°I am Junior Scholar Rikva, and this is Journeyman Scholar Yagget,¡± the young woman tucked her needle expertly between two knuckles (point out) and pressed her palm safely over her heart. With her other hand, she set the vial atop her chair and pressed a small bleached cloth to stopper Rhode¡¯s bleeding. ¡°My name is Rhode,¡± the thing in the bed croaked. The not-doctor hesitated to interject, reluctant to address him. ¡°Er, it is a pleasure to meet you, Goodman Rhode. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to our world.¡± The Journeyman performed a strange, shaking motion with the flat of his hand, which must have been a signal to the other. Rhode made a choking noise as Scholar Rikva followed Scholar Yagget away. The two stepped into the corner. ¡°Returning to the issue of my concern, there¡¯s no guarantee that these first few levels are all going to be positive. Early levels are chaotic, uncontrolled. And yes, that can mean potential. But right now, he¡¯s also at higher risk than ever to earn a malady level. And if he had to build everything else off of a red? A [weak-muscle] or a [tremor]? Gods forbid, a [parasitic-twin: liver-teeth]? That would be it: he¡¯d be ruined.¡± Feeling lightheaded, Rhode raised himself to a seated position with great effort. His bulky frame lifted easily under his strength, but his consciousness threatened to fail him with every exertion. He did not hear the junior scholar¡¯s reply. ¡°What does the blood say?¡± Yagget asked Rikva. He barely bothered to lower his voice. Junior scholar Rikva¡¯s back was turned. Her dark hair shook. Then Rhode experienced an abrupt, naked paranoia; raw and vulnerable with a brief, violating impression of surveillance. It passed just as quickly. When Rikva turned slightly, the vial cupped in her hand was faintly glowing. Her brow was pinched in effort. ¡°There¡¯s a mutation, for sure,¡± she announced. ¡°Maybe two. It feels significant, anyway. I will have to go to the sample archive to cross reference them, though.¡± ¡°If you¡¯re going,¡± the older man spat in his hand and slicked back his hair. ¡°Try to stall the customer. After everything that¡¯s gone wrong, they¡¯ll want to examine him; I¡¯ll need time to prepare him so he doesn¡¯t embarrass us.¡± For Rhode, too much was happening, and too much of that was unfamiliar. Like a dreamer who had accepted the mad rules of his slumbering mind, he thought of his incubation jar, and the voice which spoke to him while sleeping, and spoke as if it was real. ¡°[Hibernate] and [Vigorous Something].¡± His mouth was dry and his tongue was thick. The green-skins both turned to stare at Rhodes. Rikva¡¯s mouth parted open, and her teeth were sharp; more like an animal than a person. He continued anyway. ¡°[Vigorous Ichor]. The computer said I had those two mutations. Can I ask, though ¨C what¡¯s a goblin? Is that what y¡¯all two are?¡± It still feels like a dream Days had passed and he wasn¡¯t getting better. The brawn hero-summon Rhode Mortimer Irving of the anti-level universe Urth sat on a bench, growing more and more sure that he¡¯d been brought to this world by mistake. His broad, meaty fingers were laced together in his lap: he was pleased to notice they were growing in their fingernails. Sitting on a stone bench alone, he wore a long, thick woolen scarf of garish crimson over a loose purplish robe. The garment was hemmed too short (leaving his ankles chilly and exposed), but his stubby toes wiggled in soft, downy slippers with sturdy leather soles. Since socks were apparently hard to manufacture here, especially for someone his size, an apprentice healer had wound long, felted foot-wraps up to Rhode¡¯s calves. Securing them so that they wouldn¡¯t pinch or fall off was apparently not easy, and Rhode failed to learn the trick of it the first time he¡¯d been shown. He cleared his throat, and tapped his slipper nervously. He loosened the wrap about his neck, then reached down beside him and gripped the pommel of his sword. Rhode frowned, and then held it sheath-tip down like a walking stick. Goblins and even elves hurried past him in the corridor, dressed in tunics and liveries and smart looking suits and on various errands. Whether they stared at him, or averted their eyes, they would all steer around him, pressing further against the other side of the corridor than necessary. The hallway itself was festooned with lush tapestries, and narrow plinths sporting tiny, delicate valuables or sculptures. Generous scented candelabras and light crystals painted the corridor with a cheerful ambiance. But underneath all of the hasty decorations, the walls were still rough, cold dungeon granite. Rhode had been alive for just under two weeks. He¡¯d been asleep for 9 days out of those twelve. Sputtering noises rose from a machine on the floor to the side of the bench. The breathing apparatus was an over-complicated jumble of a thing, made of brass and gears, and leather, accordion-shaped bellows. A small, colorless crystal vibrated with a tiny hum as it powered the machine to start up, and various components came to life. Rhode watched as a tiny puff of steam released from a valve, and then looked down to a spherical glass flask which jutted out the side. It was filled with a dirty, pungent oil, and a tube drew a carefully measured dose of it into the machine. Reluctantly, Rhode reached over to his right, picked up the hose which ended in an irregular glass cup, and placed it over his mouth. It didn¡¯t fit or seal well, but the huge figure breathed the chemical fumes as deeply as he was capable. It smelled like burnt tonic. He stifled a cough, set the hose back down, and nodded at the young man who¡¯d stopped abruptly to stare. ¡°You don¡¯t happen to know what they put in this, do you?¡± The young goblin man wasn¡¯t so different than a human, really. The broad strokes were all the same, anyway. Eyes, mouth, nose, chin. Arms, legs, sure. It was just a matter of the little things: the boy¡¯s pinkish eyes, square pupils, cheekbones just a little wrong. The boy wasn¡¯t even very green, really; he was more swarthy than anything else. But his ears, those were different. And the teeth. Still, the young man reacted with bravado and uncertainty, both at the same time and so common to that particular age, and it seemed all too familiar. ¡°Ser, I am afraid I am not to speak to you.¡± Rhode quirked an eyebrow in question. The attendant stood to attention with practiced posture. His uniform was cheap material, but well-tailored: black with white cuffs, and panels of fleur-de-gorgon pattern in burnt orange. He seemed to calculate for a moment, and then performed a shallow bow, pressing his forefinger across his forehead. ¡°Your Calamitousness, the master-in-attendance of the house has warned me that you have brought ten thousand unnatural secrets from beyond the void. Should I listen to them uncautiously, my mind could be undone, and I would fall to madness.¡± Rhode blinked. ¡°Oh. Well, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s true...¡± , he wheezed.¡°But, I guess I should let you go?¡± ¡°Thank you, Ser. May our enemies tremble before you.¡± The young man bowed once again, but deeper. ¡°Ash and salt be left in your ruin,¡± he said in farewell, and then strode hurriedly off towards his business. There were others that passed, of course. Some were servants, carrying goods. Some were scholars, or healers, or soldiers, and Rhode quietly observed the differences in their clothing, in their features. He tried to make sense of the various factions which had gathered in this place; gathered, he was beginning to understand, to make more of him. After a quarter hour, Rhode was starting to get used to being ignored, comfortable with the sound of footsteps passing by. Then one particular set of them arrived at his side and stopped. ¡°Good morning big guy, you ready for your potion? It¡¯s first bell.¡± Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. Rhode jerked. A new goblin was standing, holding out a boxy little bottle, an ampule, made of cloudy, semi-precious stone. Even though Rhode was seated, and admittedly slouching, he was still meeting the man at eye level. ¡°Right. Thank you.¡± The homunculus reached over, his fist dwarfing the goblin¡¯s, and carefully took the potion. The clear alchemical liquid was carefully balanced, deceptively flavorless, and practically humming with invisible energy. Rhode downed the whole thing in a single swallow, and grimaced as a sour and umami aftertaste hit him. Rhode took another puff from his breathing machine as his body was flushed with chemical potential. It oozed into his bloodstream and lymphs and spread slowly into his flesh. Though he didn¡¯t understand how he knew it, he had an intuitive sense that these treatments were interacting with his [Vigorous Ichor], as if it were a thing that was independent of his body. Rhode touched his arm, as a chill, thorny silver armband prickled at his skin under his sleeve.
Gene [Vigorous Ichor] ¡ï¡ð¡ð: The first key to Enduring Stamina. Foundation level {mutation}. Levelable. Mergeable. Progress to ¡ï¡ï¡ð: 4¡ú11% Evolution to [Rejuvenating Ichor] available. Evolution resisted. Comment: Known combination paths exist when paired with [Daemon: Berserker], [Gene: Bloodlust], or [Rune: Hatred], would you like to know more?
¡°Ugh, that¡¯s so weird. Thanks again, uh ¨C who are¡­ I mean we¡¯ve met before, but what¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Junior Scholar Tarrop. Right,¡± the goblin chuckled. He rubbed the top of his head in a self-conscious way, a bad habit which only drew attention to his receding hairline. He was young to be balding though, and a bit chubby besides. He was dressed like a renaissance costume, which Rhode imagined as uncomfortable, but in muted colors. Overtop, Tarrop wore a thin apron or smock: cream with pale blue heraldry that portrayed the silhouette of some kind of ape creature. It featured sat cross-legged and holding a five pointed star high above its head. ¡°I guess you¡¯ve never really been awake for morning shift.¡± Nodding slowly, Rhode asked, ¡°and you¡¯re with the College of the Arcane?¡± He was only half-sure of the answer. ¡°Yep, Wavelton and Broox. Finest affordable school of magic in the land, and here to help you become the best version of you.¡± The goblin paused, a shadow clouding his features. ¡°The most ah, heroic version of you, anyway. Do you mind if I divine your status?¡± Shaking his head, Rhode held still while Junior Tarrop made subtle gestures with his hands, then brought out a small cup filled with painted bone dice. The pudgy man shook the dice and murmured to himself for a moment. ¡°You¡¯re looking good. I¡¯m glad you¡¯re holding off on evolving your mutation. I know that in your condition, it¡¯s probably pretty hard. Just remember, if you let that gene steer towards the regeneration path, we¡¯re pretty sure it could combine with [Hibernate] and make things worse. As long as you stay the course and trust the plan, we¡¯ll get your foundations back on track. You¡¯¡¯ll be unstoppable, you¡¯ll see.¡± Rhode nodded, suppressing a frown. ¡°And ah, don¡¯t listen to the armband unless you check with us first.¡±
Be the master of your own fate! Throw off all shackles! Break the bones of your lessers into dust! Power reserve = low Going to sleep
Rhode nodded again, more emphatically this time. He scooted over to make room for his minder, and the two of them sat, silent and comically mismatched. ¡°Good,¡± the goblin began casually. ¡°You know who we¡¯re meeting this morning, right?¡± There was a narrow, solid wooden door directly across from Rhode¡¯s bench. It was reinforced with latticed metal strips, and framed on either side by hanging garlands of herbs. He had been waiting for the door to open for over an hour. ¡°The army command guy who works for the Prince,¡± Rhode coughed. The scholar rose and stepped over to fiddle with the breathing machine. He gave it an earnest whack on the side and it sputtered to deliver another dose. ¡°Adjutant Fidelity Brand. He¡¯s important.¡± ¡°That can¡¯t be his real name,¡± Rhode protested. There was noise coming from the door, so Tarrop motioned for Rhode to stand. He shrugged ¡°New nobility. Get to pick their own names. Anyway, let me do most of the talking. Try to look mysterious and imposing, but you know, submissive to the royal authority.¡± The door swung inward to reveal a crystal-lit room which was furnished like a pioneer era study. There was a plain-looking desk inside, and several expensively cushioned chairs. Shelves were stocked with scrolls, and little porcelain figurines, and stacks of laced, unbound books. The Adjutant was seated, holding a sheaf of papers in one hand and pretending to read them. He had a comically thick mustache and curly mutton chops down to his jaw, and wore the Second Prince¡¯s colors. The air by his shoulder shimmered: his daemon spirit hovering above him, anchored to the man by his levels. It looked like little more than pair of eyes fixed on Rhode: a construct of memory, duty and vigilance. A Customer-Facing Interview Rhode and his Optimisation Advice Specialist had been seated in the closed office of the respectable, senior army bureaucrat. The door had been shut behind them, and it had been small enough that Rhode had to squat and shimmy to make it through; especially while carrying his heavy autonenhaler device. There was an uncomfortable presence of heat inside the room, and the walls between bookshelves were hung with grisly hunting trophies. Rhode spent a moment admiring the sneering, decapitated head of a giant frog with perfect, dentist approved teeth. It was truly hideous. Meanwhile, Junior Scholar Tarrop was squirming in his seat, properly intimidated by a simple, but well executed technique which was so effective that it had been mastered across worlds by the powerful to oppress their lessers. Adjutant Fidelity was very busily pretending that his work was more important than speaking to the people he was scheduled to talk to. ¡°Mhm,¡± the precisely trimmed man decided. He decisively twirled his moustache and nodded, one finger tracing down a line on a routine expense report for weekly rations. His voice was sonorous, commanding, and had a lilting tone at the end as if he was always asking a question; always challenging. ¡°Yes, that will do.¡± Fidelity handed the parchment to a young girl at his side, a military page who bore a short, ornamented knife on her belt and wore a heavily orange version of the Prince¡¯s colors. ¡°Ser!¡± She dutifully saluted, and then urgently carried the report out of a second door behind them. Then she plopped down in the noble¡¯s access hallway onto the floor. From there, she would play with the handle of her knife, picking at the breamstone inlay until the meeting was over. After all, the office of the adjutant was exactly where a thing like a finance report should belong. Rhode wasn¡¯t particularly bothered. He was busy with the effort of trying not to die. There was something grimly comforting about it. You breathed or you would not survive. And true, that might be an obvious thing to say, but it was only trivial if your body was healthy. People didn¡¯t realize how automatic the rhythm of breathing was, not until they had to control it on purpose and in every waking moment. In fact, Rhode¡¯s machine ruined Adjutant Fidelity¡¯s timing a bit, as it sputtered just before the half-elf opened his mouth to speak. They stared each other dead in the eyes until Rhode put the hose on, and made a tiny whistling noise as he sucked in fumes. Fidelity blinked first. ¡°Adjutant Brand, Ser! Gods keep you. Thank you for meeting with us,¡± Tarrop nervously provided. ¡°Yes, ahem,¡± the lesser lordling recovered. He put his hands forward across the desk and leaned in. ¡°I greet you, insofar as you serve as a representative and proxy for your institution of wizardry.¡± Tarrop turned to Rhode. ¡°Well, we¡¯re more of a magisterium, really,¡± he protested, as if he need to defend his College¡¯s reputation to the homunculus. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Fidelity ignored the aside. ¡°And you are our first, so called ¡®Hero¡¯. Irving of Rhodes. Savior of our people. Benefactor of the largess of our nation, and recipient of measureless magical resources. Resources which might, some might whisper, have been otherwise spent to level our own champions.¡± The half-elven man twitched his lip imperiously, and that side of his mustache bounced righteously, while the other side kept magnificently still. Rhode nodded, impressed. He was determined to stay awake, and had decided it would be more polite to wait to correct an authority figure about his name. ¡°Volcanic sulfurine, heartsblood of a half dozen Yelleurhamshire mega-hogs. Mana crystals of staggering quality and quantity. Mirror-walker eyeballs, purified orihalcum, moonsteel and white-cliff nickel. Thousand-year swamp-grease refined from ¨C¡° ¡°Carboplatin and docetaxel were pretty expensive, too,¡± Rhode offered sagely. It earned him a glower. Still, the adjutant leaned backwards into his chair. The sensation of heat increased, as shimmering waves distorted the air around him. His daemon spirit flowed menacingly through the room, finding new angles to observe Rhode through. ¡°He does not exhibit the bearing, nor the character of a Hero,¡± Fidelity growled. ¡°Ah, Ser, well I hope you may be reassured to know that our Rhode here has, due to the severity of his condition, been administered a certain quantity of pain numbing agent. Surely, Ser, it is hardly fair to make broad judgement of his conduct under such conditions? Scholar Tarrop had slipped so easily into exaggerated, formal speech that Rhode narrowed his eyes. He tried not to frown. The adjutant¡¯s scowl grew deeper lines, but somehow also less intense. The heat of his mirage-aspected aura dimmed. ¡°Of course. His condition. Crippled from the start. Unable to fight, perhaps permanently. Imagine his Grace, the Second Prince¡¯s disappointment to discover that the first of his vaunted heroes had leveled¡­ what is this [Vigorous Ichor]?¡± ¡°It is equivalent to the [Vigorous Blood] gene family, Ser. A respectable and storied foundational skill. A very flexible opportunity, Ser,¡± Tarrop smooth-talked. ¡°A fine level for a peasant, perhaps,¡± Fidelity countered, ¡°when we were told this type of vessel was designed to reach the very peak of the might lines.¡± ¡°Of course, Ser. But only as one possibility! Our program was always designed to be adaptable to encourage the strengths of the heroes themselves, a factor which cannot be predicted. Instead of cleaving mountains, Rhode might march a thousand miles, fight tirelessly for weeks without rest ¨C¡± The adjutant had roundish, oval pupils. They flashed as Junior Tarrop realized his mistake. Rhode simply made a note to himself to investigate whether pupil shape might be the key to telling whether someone was an elf or not. It wasn¡¯t very clear to him, he only knew it was extremely rude to ask. ¡°Or perhaps he could have, if not for¡­ am I remembering this correctly? [Hibernate]?¡± Fidelity had the cold expression of a shark. Chug, chug, chug, hiss, puff. Rhode put down his breather and shrugged. ¡°Don¡¯t mind me. I might need some water, though.¡± A bead of sweat rolled down the portly diviner¡¯s forehead. He laughed to prove his lack of worry. ¡°A necessity, given unfortunate realities of circumstance, Ser! But correctable, given time. Why, Rhode has refined his vigor gene to its first star-point. An evolved stamina gene, properly managed, will handily outweigh the other one.¡± ¡°Humph,¡± Fidelity grunted, crossing his arms. "And, you cannot deny the benefits, should he reach the fullness of his power, of an ability which is capable of branching into longevity lines." The adjutant''s mustache quirked. This time on both sides. "An eternal defender of the Sacred Kingdom. Safety beyond the lifetime of your children. Of your children''s children. Ser, of that, I would say, the Second Prince might regard with satisfaction indeed." Oh, no! Stakes. The fortress at Little Raptor Crest was falling. It had never been an important facility. The lands it guarded were unproductive, starved of the mana aspected materials which were most valuable to the Sacred Kingdom. The borderlands for miles around were rocky, cold and arid. The only creatures which thrived were vicious, crawling monsters or the great predatory birds which gave the fortress its name. Most of all, it was unfashionably far from civilized society; oh, and poor for farming too. But it was still Kingdom land. It¡¯s lady was still sworn to the Suntide Throne and the house of Glinferno, as her family had been for six generations. Six! From the battlement of her tallest remaining tower, Elf-Lady Meirilla of House Tollenfleint gripped her forked bident with fierce determination. The structure was built of huge, carefully cut stones, and rose high and square on top of a defensible peak. She had to conserve her strength now, too little of her power could overcome magical defenses at range. When she was young, she had fancied herself something of a warrior, she¡¯d even had a reputation as a fighter of some skill. But today, even if it could never be enough to save her ancestral home, she could only regret that she hadn¡¯t dedicated even more of her levels to the arts of war. Delight had sent two of its legions to take Little Raptor Crest, marching with unnatural speed and (even worse) evading hundreds of Sacred¡¯s defensive border divinations. Halfway up the rise, a protective stone booth had been fused by the enemy¡¯s mason-arts. From there, they had established a vector bounce point, and their soldiers launched uphill from it through the air. Every passing moment allowed the deployment of the hedonists to advance faster than Lady Meirilla¡¯s defenders could bring siege arts to bear. ¡°[Hawkshot] arrows!¡± She cried, and twenty of her men at arms nocked arrows. The best of them would add their own talents to their shots, like her Captain of the Tower¡¯s [Leadweight] rune, or her Master of the Hunt¡¯s great weapon-art: [Mercy of the Heartseeker]. Shots launched, some glowed with power, some fell early. One wound a twisty, impossible path towards its target. She watched the vile, honorless rabble of Delight die in numbers which were too small to make a difference. She wished that she could have access to a war spell, the type which enchanted a whole company and multiplied the lethality of even the least of goblins. But her lands hadn¡¯t seen war for a hundred years, and so¡­ ¡°Stones ready! [Fortunate roll]!¡± The lady barked, raising her weapon above her head. Panicked, determined goblins, little more than bricklayers and quarry laborers pressed into desperate service, took the place of the archers. They groaned at lifting their heavy boulders, and the stones rolled over the lip of the battlement. Protected by the stoneworking spells, the rocks would not break as they fell. Instead they would fall at the most precise of angles and directions that luck could find. But the soldiers of Delight simply locked their shields together. Some of them were shattered by the attack, it was true. Their armor and bones crumpled as they screamed. But too many of their commanders had learned the art of binding the defense of their gobs together. Unshakeable, those knots of attackers deflected the stones with the sound of heavy, thudding bounces. She almost didn¡¯t react in time, as her captain cried out. ¡°Take cover!¡± He bellowed as a javelin rocketed towards them. The metal of the javelin shuddered with bound energy. It glowed with infused thunder until it reached the battlement and began spilling out tendrils of electricity. The flash blasted a hole in the crenelations, leaving the balcony vulnerable to incoming fire. The lady¡¯s ears were ringing, and a cut on her forehead dripped blood. Three of her archers were dead or maimed by discharge or flying shrapnel. More of her workers were dead, but since they were peasants, she knew they were replaceable. But her fighting men were running out. Furious, she peered over the lip of the balcony, crawling on her belly to take cover. She watched as one of the craven commanders, oathless as a feral as he was, spread his arms in triumph and challenge below. His stupid helmet crest was neon turquoise, and blew garishly in the breeze. His aura flowed out from him in fine, precise threads of magic: luxuriant, and opulent, just like the gluttonous indulgence of his disgusting excuse of a nation. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. ¡°Silk and Oil!¡± the hedonist commander thundered, his voice echoing through the mountains. The lady could take no more. She leapt to her feet and swung her trident to the first guard of her weapon-art. ¡°Oh yea?! Salt and Ash, you piece of shit!¡± Then she leapt, and the fortress of Little Raptor Crest watched her trace one last, graceful arc through the sky. Her razorwind aura howled, her fork glowed red and bright with [Magma Heart], and her armor crawled over her body like a scorpion as it re-positioned itself over her vitals. After all, what was the point of dying, if you couldn¡¯t do it on your own terms?
The slitted eyes of the daemon flickered through the now barely visible mirage of Adutant Fidelity Brand¡¯s aura. Now the spirit was starting to look to its master, observing him just as much as Rhode. The adjutant scratched at the grain of his desk idly while he stalled. ¡°You make a great deal of glittering promises, Goodman of Waverly Broox. But how can I trust a word of what you say, when I have yet to see this¡­ Lord of Rhodes even draw his sword?¡± Tarrop wrung his hands. ¡°He will, Ser! He will. Your diligence, we will shortly invite you to join us in Cellar Vault B, where we will have our martial practice courts ready. We are most eager to introduce him to a weapon art; Rhode simply needs more time to pass through this one critical period.¡± The balding goblin poked the hulking homunculus beneath the view of the table. Rhode took the signal to cough again, daintily. ¡°Well to that end, and against my better judgement,¡± the adjutant raised his hand, and then a strange fluted noise piped twice out of the hovering spirit. It was the kind of signal which (if raised louder) might be useful on a battlefield, to pierce through all manner of noise. ¡°The Office of Special Projects has, under my authority, and with approval of His Grace, Prince Llanthinanumen of the House of Glinferno ¨C¡° ¡°Is that really how it¡¯s pronounced?¡± Rhode couldn¡¯t help himself from whispering to himself under his breath. Glinferno? Embarrassing. Luckily, Fidelity hadn¡¯t seemed to notice, even if his daemon doubtless had. ¡°¨C elicited and secured the expertise of one Goodman Eloft of Selt: a sworn healer of Dogoda. It is our understanding that he is a specialist of some expertise, relevant to your needs.¡± Rhode¡¯s head rose, and his eyes betrayed his surprise. ¡°Oh. Well that¡¯s good, right? Thank you. Uh, Ser.¡± Scholar Tarrop squeezed Rhode¡¯s arm encouragingly, looking pleased as the back door opened behind him. ¡°We are merely protecting our investment,¡± the officer scoffed dismissively. ¡°Prove yourself worthy of it.¡± Though the Prince¡¯s man did not rise, Rhode stood woozily from his oversized chair, and Tarrop stood beside him. Brother Eloft appeared in his finest healer¡¯s gown, which in this case, meant it was clean and starched but not particularly fine. ¡°Thank you Ser. This is my patient, I understand it? By the gods, look at the size of you, man!¡± The goblin rounded the room confidently, shaking Rhode¡¯s hand first without hesitation. Then he greeted Tarrop, and bowed respectfully to the adjutant last. ¡°Brother-in-Majority Eloft, you understand that whatever happens here, you are sworn to the utmost of secrecy. To betray anything you learn here would be understood as treason, with the most harsh of consequences,¡± Fidelity warned. ¡°Of course,¡± the healer replied seriously. He was tall, for a goblin ¨C and skinny in the way a man who¡¯s passion for his craft might cause him sometimes to forget a mealtime or two. His mauve eyes were perceptive, searching and emotive. His scalp was shaved to a peppery-grey stubble, and his smock was pinned with a greenish metal broach that depicted the symbol of his Goddess. Rhode¡¯s machine made a grinding noise as its gears screeched, and one of its seals popped open. All four men watched as the device leaked a foul-smelling effluence onto the carpet below. Then one of the chambers popped loose, and something internal to the mechanism caught fire. ¡°I heard you¡¯ve been having trouble breathing,¡± Eloft broke the silence. Then he strode over to open the servant-side door. ¡°Let¡¯s see if I can help you with that.¡± Its about managing expectations Rhode Mortimer Irving had not particularly, during his short life, thought of himself as a smart person. But, he wasn¡¯t a complete idiot either. So, the fact of the matter was: the earth-man was very aware that he had a Problem with a capital P on his hands. Sure, he had a medical emergency to survive, and sure, that had to be his most important priority for the moment. But he also was hearing a lot of key words floating around, words like ¡®hero¡¯, and ¡®enemy¡¯, and ¡®weapon¡¯, and ¡®lightning-resistance¡¯. Rhode may have been transported to a strange land, in a strange body, with strange people, from strange species, wielding strange powers; but at least he had the sense to see that he did not like where things were going. The Sacred Kingdom needed him? Okay, but who the heck were they? Did these people expect him to drop into the middle of a centuries old geopolitical grudge match ¨C just pick a side and start swinging? Why was he supposed to assume they were the good guys? He¡¯d watched movies. These were goblins. He was eighty percent sure that goblins were bad. No. Rhode had to get out of this place. Out of the infirmary, away from the Royal Army of Sacred, out of the country if he had to. Then he had to get back home. But was it even possible? At that point, suddenly his plans started to break down. Was he on another planet? Another dimension? Did he go through a time portal to the future? Rhode didn¡¯t know anything for sure! And with all this talk of levels and whatnot, everything that he did see was reminding him so much of geeky computer games that he wasn¡¯t sure what to think. He needed information, desperately. There were three teams of weird, fantasy goblin-people who were in charge of making sure that Rhode would do whatever it was that Sacred wanted him to become. He understood what they were, better than they did: they were contract consultants, the worst kind of scum the world had to offer. While his first introduction was to the scholars of Wavelton & Broox, his healers belonged to some kind of cross between a church, and a for-profit clinic for rich people. And while the wizard-college people may have been in charge of his education, it was the Benevolent Fratremnity of Hornupant¡¯s clergy, slash, interns which he¡¯d spoken to most so far. Rhode watched and listened as his caretakers changed his sheets. He paid attention when they changed shifts. He encouraged them to speak further on subjects which would seem like common sense to them, but utterly alien to him. Matters like magic. Or standard rates of exchange for national currency. Or geography. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. But he had to be careful about how he spoke. He didn¡¯t know what these people would do if they realized he might try to escape, and wasn¡¯t interested in finding out. But it didn¡¯t help that his hypoxia beat him down, or that his sleeping condition was eating frightening chunks out of his days. Still, he read between the lines. He understood just how high the expectations had been for him, and recognized the signs of stress, painted over the faces of all the people who were telling him that everything was okay, or that there was no reason to hurry. Even in another world, a fool could see what that meant. So, to summarize, Rhode Mortimer Irving was alive and alone, and his existence was expensive. And being trapped inside of that oversized freak body? There was nowhere to hide, no way to blend in, and frankly he¡¯d keel over and bite the dust the second he tried to run away anyway. And, as long as he was complaining ¨C well, his bed was uncomfortable, the food was bland, his bracelet was apparently both murderous and psychic, and the lady who washed his undergarments was an undercover spy for the Second Prince. Ha! So, considering everything, on the day that he met Goodman Eloft of Selt, it was safe to say Rhode Irving kind-of figured he was (emotionally speaking) holding up pretty well overall.
¡°So, this is my room,¡± the homunculus indicated. He swept his great arm about either side to show that yes, he did have plants. The Prince¡¯s spy had stopped searching under his mattress with fairly little warning, and hoisted up a basket of blood and phlegm-stained linen. She smiled a dazzlingly kind old-lady smile and pushed past Rhode into the hallway. ¡°And that¡¯s Missus O. Bye Missus O!¡± Rhode leaned a bit heavier on his sword for support, and slumped down onto the bed. The wood groaned as it splintered a little. ¡°She¡¯s great,¡± the hero huffed, closing his eyes. The healer was wearing a thoughtful expression. Instead of responding, he set his bag down on a nearby stool, and then made a circuit around the room inspecting the greenery. ¡°We probably should remove this one, and these,¡± he pointed. ¡°We don¡¯t want pollen in the air, and a Dale-Corpulent is a better curative aromatic, anyway. I¡¯ll ask if they can get you some.¡± ¡°Magic flower?¡± Rhode whispered. His arm slipped down and hung off the edge of his bed. Why was he so tired? ¡°It reduces inflammation in the tissue, yes¡­ Goodman Rhode! Please, I need you to stay awake for just a few minutes while I examine you, please!¡± Reluctantly, Rhode sat up. He smacked his lips and yawned until he was overcome by a violent fit of coughing. Brother Eloft stepped over and tugged at one of his sleeves, then tilted his head at Rhode. ¡°They told me that you¡¯ve got a status bracer. I¡¯ll need your consent to access it.¡± ¡°Am I allowed to say no?¡± Rhode asked carefully. ¡°You may,¡± the physician replied suspiciously. The two men stared one another down. Then Rhode rolled up his cuff and exposed a piece of silver-filigreed jewelry, fitted around his bicep. The design was angular, with interlocking square lines which reminded him of circuitry, and at the center was a milky orange stone that gave off the ominous illusion of a shadow swimming just below its surface. Eloft reached to touch the gemstone, and in his other hand he clutched a paper talisman urgently. There was a brief moment as his eyes rolled up into his head and his lips moved that Rhode worried, but then the moment passed and the priest appeared to be fine. The man looked flabbergasted, and maybe even scandalized. ¡°Do they know that your bangle is insane? That thing is a high level, independently self aware information spirit. It¡¯s halfway to relic quality. Where did they get that?¡± Rhode shrugged. ¡°I think they know. They tuned it down a bit after it ¨C well, anyway the wizards say it¡¯s safe now. You get used to him.¡± The goblin¡¯s mouth hung open slightly incredulously. Rhode took a sip of tea from off of his dresser, and wondered if it would be possible to ask someone in the palace to sneak him a beer. Cough, please? Say, ah? Of course it wasn¡¯t really tea that Rhode was drinking. Since nothing in this place could be simple, it was an [Alchemy: Enkindling Bio-Agent] infusion of sk?ldroot and some kind of berry called ob. Unfortunately, he barely took three sips before his upper arm started to itch, so he set his cup down and did his best to think of nothing at all.
External stimulus matches ingested substance with unknown properties LogicSpirit8271635 waking from idle¡­ Requesting 30 seconds of event memory context from host Mental ping initiated¡­ Mental ping denied I will rend your mind. I will gnaw on your thoughts. I will leave you a husk of what you were. Let me in. Let me in. End joking routine Joke mode complete. Requesting Host Confirmation of Joke Conclusion? ¡­ ¡­¡­ Mental ping initiated¡­ Mental ping denied Resuming priority task. Divining substance properties from local knowledge archive... Match [Common Grade Medicine: Herbal Tea] :: aspects( [Nectar], [Piquant], [Copper], [Analgesic] ) Boring DailyOptimisationHint: Slaying a healer from behind with a bladed weapon would have a high likelihood of unlocking a [Blood] or [Malice] based level! Would you like to know more? Override received. Override accepted. Going to sleep
Rhode sighed and watched as his new healer brought out a twine-wrapped bundle of candles from his bag. Eloft picked three of them out, quite deliberately from the others, and packed the rejected ones up again. ¡°No,¡± the homunculus spoke loudly towards his own arm. He pronounced with slow, clear enunciation as he could so that the armlet could not pretend to misunderstand. He quickly apologized to his care provider and explained he was talking to his magic bangle. It was too easy to get distracted by the voice in his head. Rhode didn¡¯t like how much access the possessed bangle had into his mind. Even if the wizards insisted there were safeguards, or that there were rules the daemon wasn¡¯t capable of overstepping, he felt infinitely more comfortable to take the thing off. So he did. He opened a drawer from his side table and shut the bound spirit inside. ¡°So, Rhode,¡± the priest healer began. Eloft was adjusting the lit candles and wafting the medicinal smoke from them into the room. Even though the chamber was shut, the small motion of his hand stirred up the air like a miniature cyclone. Smoke twined through the air like dancing serpents in a great spiral. ¡°May I call you Rhode? Rhode, do you know what my specialty is?¡± Rhode puzzled for a moment. Then he secretly reached for the handle of his sword. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Nodding to himself, and looking satisfied with the airborne diffusion of his medicine, Brother Eloft continued. ¡°I possess a wind aspect.¡± Rhode let go of his sword grip and let out a silent sigh. That phrasing had sounded too much like the setup for a villainous twist. Maybe he had watched too many movies in his past life. ¡°Oh. That¡¯s nice,¡± he supplied. The healer did not reply at first. And the hero looked the goblin over. There was a kind of self-conscious anticipation there, as if the man had been expecting another reaction. Rhode tried to figure out something to do with his hands. Hand fold in lap? That was dignified enough. ¡°Are you expecting me to think that¡¯s weird?¡± He tried again, neutrally. ¡°Ha,¡± Brother Eloft released. ¡°I guess I should have figured you of all people would have heard of air elemental healing. Everybody¡¯s always thought I was impaired. Not tree? Or water? You¡¯re ruining your potential!¡± The wiry goblin threw his hands up into the air dramatically and let them fall slowly. ¡°But you¡¯re a Hero, a real one. Of course you would know about something as simple as the Natural Philosophy of Vital Airs.¡± Rhode froze still, and then chose his best distant, sagacious expression. ¡°Hm,¡± he noncommittally responded. ¡°So anyway. Maybe it¡¯s true that I¡¯ll never be able to close a battle-wound or cleanse gout,¡± the healer grumbled. He stepped forward and began inspecting his patient in earnest. His hand made a strange gesture. [Tension], the man signed, ¡°[Whorl][Push]¡±, he whispered, and Rhode felt a strange, tugging viscosity in the air for a moment that fought against his breathing. [Tension], ¡°[Sink].¡± And then the pressure was relieved just as fast. A little chill rode Rhode¡¯s spine like an elevator to the top of brain tower. Magic. Sure, boring magic. But still. Eloft frowned, but nodded and stepped away. ¡°Mostly, I work with kids. When it¡¯s breath problems? Patients are mostly either young or old. And for me, I¡¯ve always found it rewarding. You get to fix the problems no one else can fix. [Stutterbreath]? [Scabrous-lung]? Practically death sentences. But, also perfectly treatable, if you have the right specialty.¡± The physician and his patient regarded each other again and Rhode did not entirely like the look he was receiving. ¡°So, ah, how bad am I?¡± ¡°How much have your healers told you, so far?¡± Eloft retorted, too quickly. ¡°Well, honestly not much,¡± Rhode began. He picked at a fingernail. ¡°But I figure that from context, I suffered from a truncated gestation period. That left my lungs underdeveloped, probably similar to a premature birth. Plus, there¡¯s internal bleeding from where my umbilical breather was, and that was all the way down there. We¡¯re talking about micro-lacerations at the alveoli level. Since then, I¡¯ve probably been getting secondary infections, and the longer everything goes on, the more likely this whole situation is going to lead to scarring.¡± Rhode sighed and coughed again into his fist. He didn¡¯t like to dwell on this stuff, but there¡¯s nothing dumber than withholding information from your doctor. He looked up, and saw that Brother Eloft had collapsed onto the floor in shock. Eloft¡¯s eyes grew wide, and then he drew his knees into himself, until his shock melted into a pathetic looking grin. ¡°Amazing. I ¨C should have guessed. Of course you understand ¨C Ser Irving, it¡¯s true that Heros come from another world, may I ask you that?¡± Rhode hesitated. ¡°There are certain matters of secrecy, which the Kingdom of Sacred reserves, and I might preserve for the purpose of its security,¡± he bullshitted. ¡°By the gods, the things you might know!¡± The goblin leapt to his feet, clearing a few extra inches into the air and startling Rhode. The man was full of barely restrained energy and he spun back around to Rhode. ¡°I grew up hearing stories about Hero Summon, do you know that? We all do. Gods! Gii-Yome of Frawns, Cherry-Petal of Nippin, Second of Middle-Land. Every single one of them changed the world! Legends that defined the very centuries they walked in.¡± Eloft had an ecstatic expression on his face, like if he could grin any wider he might hurt himself. ¡°That¡¯s why I took this job, you see. If Heroes will walk the face of the Ring again, I want to be able to see it, and say I was there.¡± Rhode¡¯s mind was racing. He pushed backward onto the bed as it suffered under his weight. There was nowhere to retreat to, so he stopped himself. Obviously, this was an opportunity to learn more about his situation. But of all the likely things Rhode was planning for, feared or expect to find, the least of them was to find he had a fan. Is this gonna ruin my build? The full assessment hadn¡¯t taken long at all, apparently Eloft had learned almost everything he¡¯d needed to from the status bangle. Rhode did his best to learn more about his historical predecessors, but felt trapped by his self-imposed precautions about revealing too much about himself. The conversation proceeded clumsily, as the homunculus tiptoed around certain topics, and had come to the verge of nodding off. His main takeaways were that these figures had been powerful in a way that regular people rarely or never could, and that the actual dates of their arrivals were scattered over hundreds of years. But privacy was a luxury which Rhode could only have so much of. Once the check-up was complete, Eloft knocked on the door and opened it. Immediately, Junior Scholar Tarrop swept in and nearly bowled him over. Four other people trailed in after him, filling the room until it was particularly claustrophobic. There was the servant, carrying a platter of sliced fruit and meats and a basket of fresh towels; he was a short looking older goblin who strenuously overflowed the constraints of his tailored suit. There was the young Sergeant weapons-master. The woman was tall and stocky, and she had so many knives and swords attached to herself that she was practically wearing more belts than uniform. Behind her was trailing one of the members of the ¡®official¡¯ healer team: a dedicant of Hornupant. He did NOT look happy to have been left out of the room; but he¡¯d also been delegating so much of his duties to his assistants that Rhode couldn¡¯t bring himself to feel bad about it. The last figure closed the door behind herself as she entered. Her gown was luxuriously, sinfully, crimson and purple, and trimmed in velvet black with so many brass charms and magic talismans she looked like a gothic yuletide tree. The blood ran out of Rhode¡¯s face, and his heart raced as the great Flesh Alchemist of New West City met his gaze. She was wanted dead or alive in thirty two nations, and her bounty was measured in gold and silver by the pounds. As she turned serenely to look on her creation from the back of the crowd, her plasticine face effected a piercing, pitiless curiosity. Yikes. ¡°Goodman Eloft! Obviously, it behooves me to say, on behalf of all of us: welcome to the team!¡± Tarrop announced somewhat theatrically. He actually started clapping, just a polite little round for the show of it. The servant scowled and dropped the food on the floor and the laundry on Rhode¡¯s desk. Then he thought about it, grumbled and switched their positions to their more expected arrangement. The clatter had surprised everyone except for the soldier, who laughed with an impolite snort, and the conversation died until the old gob hobbled out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Tarrop squatted down and then wiped off a stray slice of pale fruit, clearly displaying a strong belief in the five second rule, and resumed his thought while chewing on the snack with delight. ¡°Well, anyway, we¡¯re all dying to know what you think.¡± Eloft presented himself respectably, practiced by having (no doubt) delivered both good news and grim over his years of service. ¡°I believe I will be surprising no one in this room when I say the damage is severe.¡± There were nods all around, so the priest of Dogoda pushed on. ¡°I have medicines which are tailored to Ser Irving¡¯s condition, and no doubt, we have certain alchemical expertise available here that I can collaborate on more efficacious remedies.¡± If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°I do not collaborate,¡± warned the alchemist. Her voice was nasal, high pitched and musical. But also, surprisingly menacing. ¡°Then I can prepare the precursor ingredients, and instructions. I hope we will rely on your expertise to proceed from there,¡± Eloft offered. The room turned towards the master homunculus crafter in case she might refuse. Instead she tipped her head slightly, jingling her headdress, and inspected her fingernails. ¡°But while the topic of medication is all well and good, the fact is that Ser Irving is generating mana at a rate I¡¯ve never seen before. He¡¯s pushing against the very limit of a new level, and I don¡¯t think there¡¯s a way we can hold it back.¡± Scholar Tarrop shuffled his feet, and took out a handkerchief and wiped the top of his head. ¡°I would hope it has been communicated that levels are Wavelton Broox¡¯s responsibility. Is that a general observation, Goodman, or does this pertain to the well being of the big guy, here?¡± Eloft stepped towards the bed and placed a hand on Rhode¡¯s shoulder. The homunculus grumpily considered brushing it off, but let it go. Boundaries were weird here. ¡°I would like to propose to teach Rhode the technique art [Bellows].¡± He paused, expecting protests, but Tarrop only rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ¡°That¡¯s a technique for blacksmiths, isn¡¯t it? I know it¡¯s a highly valued skill art, but only for crafters,¡± the portly goblin considered aloud. ¡°It¡¯s a strong introductory skill for aeromancers too,¡± Eloft pounced. ¡°I never leveled it myself, but I¡¯ve helped my patients take it more than once, and it¡¯s been a blessing every time.¡± ¡°And what is the purpose of this level?¡± Interrupted the Alchemist. ¡°Well, it allows a person to compress the air powerfully within their own body without harm. It¡¯s not common, but there are a hundred applications of the ability. In this case, since Rhode¡¯s lungs are so badly scarred, the technique should allow him to aerate his blood more effectively. It may be too late to remove [Hibernate], but [Bellows] should compound with his [Vigor] quite admirably to reduce his persistent exhaustion.¡± There was a moment of consideration through the room. The Alchemist was actually looking pleased with her rictus grin and too wide eyes. Rhode shuddered. But the Sergeant wasn¡¯t satisfied. ¡°Yet another wasted level, then? How long do we have to wait until we can see some combat potential out of this silver-slurping ogre?¡± She groused, crossing her arms. ¡°Well, like I said. There are a hundred applications,¡± Eloft gave a sad smile, ¡°have you heard of the dragon-scourge line-breaker of Brassmarket? Wears full body armor, breathes fire everywhere they go. Routed Lord Curkkil of Feathersand at Iguana River, by themselves if the story is true.¡± ¡°In ¡®82,¡± the Sergeant whispered, beginning to turn around to the idea. ¡°All he would need is some heat and toxin resistance, and a fire aspect, and¡­ I mean, that would already be enough.¡± The mood in the room changed instantly. Smiles broke out on every face. Tarrop clapped Eloft on the back so hard that the healer nearly fell forward, and then wrapped him in a full bodied hug. Brother Eloft pulled away, politely declining praise as Rhode¡¯s captors laughed with delight and promise. He turned back to Rhode, who¡¯d been silent through it all. ¡°But it¡¯s your choice, Rhode. I think this is the right choice, but I¡¯m not going to force you to do it.¡± Rhode looked around the room. He looked at their fine clothes and jewelry. He looked at the plain gown that Eloft was wearing, and his stories about the families he had helped cure. ¡°Do you trust me?¡± Eloft asked. So Rhode reached out ¨C and took his hand. Evening Brunch, as One Does. In the end, it was somewhat shocking how fast Rhode picked up the trick of his new level. In an unpleasant turn of events, he¡¯d needed the status bangle to do it, though. The spirit might have been as mad as a small-town strangler, but it was capable of unparalleled insights into the state of his levels. Several times, it warned him that he was about to develop some kind of thing called a ¡®rune¡¯. The spirit described it as [Strain], and knowing it existed helped Rhode sort of metaphorically steer around it. Eloft did most of the work, displaying just how subtle and precise his control over the air could be. Rhode stifled little paroxysms of alarm as the healer could use his magic to reach into his lungs, manipulating the pressure there in rhythm with the homunculus¡¯s breathing. As they worked, Eloft would make several remarks about Rhode¡¯s mana. The word had come up several times before, and though he still needed to learn more, the earthling began to understand with relief that this intangible substance might provide him with some kind of protection against the supernatural. The priest actually guided him through the process of lowering his own defenses, which was like a kind of zen meditation. Then he gave a kind of lecture about nature of the air, which sounded like a bunch of new-age mystical mumbo jumbo. But if there was anything which Rhode had learned in his life, it was patience. So he followed the exercises and mantras, and his chest rose and fell like it was supposed to. It all continued until the mana which had been building up in his body came crashing inwards, like a river over a floodbreak and into a new stable shape. To his chagrin, Rhode got the nagging sense that he was somehow skipping quite a few steps. It only took a few hours in the end, but then the [Skill: Bellows] had become a part of Rhode. It worked in a way he still couldn¡¯t understand, yet it still felt as natural to him as ¨C well, as breathing. The corridors of the palace stirred to life that night, like the cellars and basements themselves were alive. Like a heartbeat, or the tides, the sound echoed up the stairwells and started wild rumors amongst the servants about a terrible, carnivorous beast imprisoned below. Rhode meanwhile, slumbered like the dead. He fell into rest that was so deep and so easy that he could barely remember a time since he¡¯d had better. Even in his old life, sick as he¡¯d been. Maybe only death itself had seemed so peaceful. The homunculus shot awake, covered in a sudden sweat. His heartbeat stuttered and his eyes darted around the room as he threw off his blanket. He was alive. He was still alive. He had to remember that. The brawn hero could not tell the hour from his cell. He was sure it was located somewhere underground; there were no windows or hints of the time, anyway. So even though he¡¯d nearly given his shift healer a heart attack (Eloft hadn¡¯t been awake), Rhode decided to declare ¡®now¡¯ as breakfast, and rose to his feet out of bed. Whoa. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Rhode¡¯s knuckles had scraped the ceiling as he stretched, but that wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d noticed. He looked down at his hands and clenched them. He rolled atop the balls of his feet, and shifted his weight. A big, goofy grin split his face as he picked up one knee, then did the other. He hopped to either side, feeling the tightness ease in his calves. Then he looked over and saw the poor young man cowering in a corner. Rhode was overtaken by awareness of just how small the goblin really was, and the observation struck him with guilt. ¡°Hey, man. No worries. I¡¯m just sort of excited. Feel a lot better, see?¡± He swung his arms around in wide, lazy windmills. He smacked against shelves, and a potted plant, and the ceiling again, but it felt good. The little goblin stood up and lowered his hands from where he¡¯d tried to shield himself, and then the two were able to wish each other a proper good morning. ¡°Three freaking days?!¡± Rhode choked. Egg yolk dribbled down his mouth onto his chin and he took the napkin that his healer handed to him reflexively. ¡°I mean, no. I feel GREAT. I feel¡­ I can¡¯t even believe how good I feel.¡± He reached for some kind of starchy toasted fritter, and scarfed it down along with a double-dose of mana potion. ¡°We were almost starting to get worried,¡± Journeyman Scholar Yagget yawned. The goblin wore a sedate brown outfit that looked like it belonged on a horse jockey, along with a big puffy star-patterned ascot which ballooned out under his chin. Yagget was one of the senior members of Wavelton & Broox, advising the hero project in Sacred. As far as Rhode understood it, he was kind of like a University professor. But he wasn¡¯t a leader in the political sense; in a way, Junior Scholar Tarrop actually sort of unofficially outranked him in that regard. What Yagget had was expertise and respect. Oh, and one heck of a talent for mantras. The scholar pointed a wrinkled finger lazily at his plate, and his mouth gaped open as he slurred his magic. ¡°[Interface][Volume][Dissociate][Resonate][Flow]. [Appraise],¡± he yawned again. The slice of meat on his plate was distinctly ham-like. It started to sizzle and subtly darkened in color. ¡°[Appraise],¡± he said again. He leaned his chin against his hand and slumped, waiting for his meat to cook further. Rhode watched with fascination, his spoon hovering in front of his mouth. ¡°Are you... microwaving your food with words?¡± ¡°Micro as in small?¡± The scholar leaned back in his chair and arched his spine until it yielded a gentle pop. But then Yagget jerked upright, and patted his wild grey hair down. His pupils darted in various directions, and his brows furrowed bushily together. ¡°Wave as in, undulation? Goodman Irving, are you describing the energy of substance with this word?¡± Rhode had his spoon hanging out of his lips, having taken the bite of porridge. ¡°No?¡± He squeaked out of the corner of his mouth. But the scholar had completely forgotten he was there. The older goblin leaned over his food with the intensity of an owl over a paraplegic squirrel. His hands curled into claws on either side of his plate, and his eyes bulged hideously. ¡°[Microwave],¡± Yagget commanded, and then his meat popped with an explosion of steam. The contents of his plate withered, crisped and almost caught fire before he dismissed his power. ¡°I just leveled,¡± the old man murmured as smoke curled up from his ruined meal. A scullery maid ran into the room in a panic and began cleaning up the mess, as fast as if she¡¯d had x-ray vision. Then again, Rhode admitted the meat-splosion had been kind of loud. The scholar leaned back and opened his arms wide to allow the maid to dab little bits of food off of his fine clothes and hair. ¡°I haven¡¯t leveled for years now, young man. That was ¨C well, I have to admit that was astounding.¡± Rhode simply smiled and then stabbed himself under the table with a fork, hard enough that it hurt but not enough that it drew blood. ¡°We all learn from each other. Community is the root of wisdom, that¡¯s what I like to say.¡± Even though it was the most banal thing he¡¯d likely ever heard, Senior Yagget nodded momentously and stroked meaningfully on the tip of his nose. ¡°Indeed,¡± he said. Scarfing down the last dregs of his morning mush and bramblefruit, Rhode jumped up with the sound of his chair scraping across stone. ¡°I actually thought I¡¯d visit the training yard today,¡± he sputtered. Thankfully, his evasion had the intended effect. Both his healer and planner started in surprise. ¡°Really?¡± The healer exclaimed. ¡°Truly?¡± The scholar echoed. They shared a glance and shoved aside their plates. Yagget fussed feverishly with his hair once more, and the healer started to pack what was basically a half-sized canvas duffel-bag. Almost before he knew it, the two of them rushed out the door. Rhode didn¡¯t know how it was possible, but a spindly middle-aged goblin woman with brightly dyed scarlet hair appeared at his door less than a minute later. Wordlessly she laid a flat, broad bundle on Rhode¡¯s bed and then left. The homunculus gingerly untied the wrapped garment and held it up. The good news? They had given him decent, comfortable clothing in his size! The bad news: everything was black and orange. A reminder of who he really owed his life to now: the Second Prince of Sacred and son of the gag-inducingly named house of Glinferno. What is the difference between Tsundere and Yandere? Asking for a friend. Rhode used his dressing-time as an opportunity to try to forgive himself for the microwave slip-up. His mind kept twisting to come up with terrible, unforseen long term consequences, and his imagination chugged to make black thunderclouds of future portent. But try as he might, he wasn¡¯t coming up with convincing doomsday scenarios. He just saw a little old man, looming over a slice of cold pepperoni pizza. Even though the pizza dripped with red as its cheese bubbled to inferno temperatures, it was just tomato sauce and mozzarella. The homunculus shook his proportionally small head and stepped out of his room and into the little receiving chamber. It was just a little alcove outside his door, it wasn¡¯t even closed to the hallway beyond. But it gave the servants a place to sit, and (as Rhode had observed) play dice with the healer interns. The redheaded goblin from before stepped towards him. She had lots of little needles and pins stuck up and down one side of her neat apron; and she was carrying a little pair of shears in one hand for trimming lint. Rhode decided to call her ¡®The Crimson Tailor¡¯. ¡°Salt in your sails and ash in your hearth, Goodman Irving. My name is Chyrna,¡± the woman said. Aw. Farewell to Crimson Tailor, then. Lame. Goodmiss Chyrna stepped forward and forcefully adjusted some of the smaller details of the towering earth-man¡¯s doublet. She tied hanging strings into intricate looping knots, folded back a flap which Rhode had thought should be buttoned, and buttoned a pleat which he had preferred to stay loose. She was actually hurting him a little as she tugged fabric around, and even sewed him (in one place) into his clothing too tightly for comfort. Overall, she tidied his appearance according to the fashion of nobility, with proficiency and vice-like strength, and Rhode felt a little bullied, after. ¡°You are presentable. You may go swing your sticks around, now. Shoo.¡± Rhode waddled a bit in his new breeches; he kept looking back and feeling just a little bit man-handled. After a moment, he realized that he was blushing, and that made him all the more angry with himself. Scholar Yagget walked at his shoulder, and the man carried an elaborate wooden box to contain and suppress the status bracer inside. The healer followed just behind, on Rhode¡¯s other side, and the poor young man kept having to jog to keep pace. Setting aside Father Uod, who generally barely bothered to interact with Rhode, there were at least three of the Hornupant kids working his shifts. But they were so young, and left so little of an impression, it was hard for him to remember their names. The hero tried to decide whether he felt bad about it, but then he arrived at his destination and forgot to care again. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Knowing that the training hall was still part of the underground facility was a disappointment. Rhode had been starved of sunshine for so long, he was starting to muse that he¡¯d forgotten what it felt like. That wasn¡¯t true, of course, but it still left him feeling antsy. Cellar Vault B was located at the end of a sloping hallway, and as Rhode noticed the lack of seams in the stone under his shoes, he came to suspect that it was carved to follow some natural contour of the bedrock under the foundations. This place was half castle, half cave, and a little dip preceded the raised step in front of a huge, bleached coral door. Fascinated, Rhode ran his hand over the surface of the material and experienced the slightest hint of warmth from within. The hairs on his arm stood on end: it was almost like the entryway was still alive. But that would be ridiculous. Rhode found the handle and as he heaved inward, the push took more effort than he¡¯d expected. Nothing inside was quite so unusual as the door, but that did not mean he did not find a surprise. Cellar Vault B had, as obviously as its name indicated, been converted from storage. Whatever had been kept there had been cleared out completely since, and the room was laid down with a huge pit of thick-grained sandy clay. The arena spanned a sizeable rectangle of twenty feet by thirty (Rhode was guessing, here), and long wooden planks framed the edges of the court to keep the dirt from spilling. The homunculus didn¡¯t have to duck so badly to step inside, and he looked up to the high ceiling, which vaulted up to a point and criss-crossed with haphazard rafters that seemed to pin loose boulders in place. Once again, Rhode was impressed to see that the goblins were ready for him. Sergeant Staberella (not her real name) posed imperiously on the far side of the practice court. Her boots were spread to a wide, solid stance and her arms crossed over her front. Her short hair swooped on the top of her head in a modern-looking way, and she was fitted completely in a light and practical body armor: there were little steel plates, and chain rings and leather bits with metal studs. It all looked surprisingly comfortable, and engineered for real combat in a way that Rhode never considered fantasy armor could be. ¡°Oh, hey,¡± the brawn hero said. He rubbed the back of his head with a huge palm and felt the softness of his hair as it was starting to grow in. The half-elven woman didn¡¯t move, but her smirk was growing larger by the moment. Rhode looked around for help from his minders, but neither one gave him any hints. ¡°I can¡¯t ah, do you mind reminding me your name? Sorry, uh, maam?¡± ¡°I am Hakkat-Yune of House Jern, sworn banner of House Rugelgridt and Knight of the third entrustment of the Order of the Viper.¡± Rhode blinked. ¡°Okay. But is that a last name, or first name? Can I just call you Yune?¡± ¡°I have dreamed of the day that I might cross blades with a hero of legend. Draw your steel, Rhode the Mortimer of Irving: for I name thee Dreadlung! Show me why Delight will crumble when you march by our side!¡± In a flash, there was a gleaming knife in her left hand, and a short, stabbing sword in the other. ¡°Oh,¡± Rhode stammered as his healer helpfully shoved a simple, unornamented iron sword into his grip. ¡°I figured I was just gonna do some light cardio, aren¡¯t we at least gonna do some lunges or warm-ups first?¡± ¡°You were but a myth to me, and yet today they say you are true. Convince me,¡± Lady Hakkat-Yune crooned almost seductively. But it was her sword which was coming in towards Rhode for the kiss. Interlude: Do you even work here anymore? Wowie wow, how exciting. An artificial colossus, reincarnated from another reality. A brash, shining knight in their fighting prime. A clash of swords within twisting bowels of subterranean stone. Sure, sure. Rhode sure had found himself in a perilous circumstance of physical trial. Very climactic. That¡¯s all well and good. We''ll get back to that. But ah¡­ here¡¯s a question: where exactly was he? Rhode¡¯s life experience hadn¡¯t exactly been a whirlwind sightseeing experience so far. The primary variety in the ¡°landscape¡± he¡¯d yet seen was: what type of rock is this wall made from? It would take some unusual passion for mineralogy for a person to be satisfied with that. But surely it wasn¡¯t like the whole of the Ring could be made of tunnel. Somewhere out there above, one would assume there had to be a surface; atmosphere had to have a source, after all. Wouldn¡¯t sensible folk be safe to assume that a living world ought to have a sky?
Approximately seventeen meters upwards. Four Ring Hill Palace was about as far opposite from Little Raptor Crest as can be. The ancestral home of the Earl of Malachite, Four Ring Hill had been built at the height of their familial power. Perhaps old Earl Malachite should have been humbler for the sake of his descendants, but for worse or better, the founding Grandmaster of the Illuminance of Bronze had opted to leave his mark on the world with extravagance instead. On first glance, one could see the once-sumptuous compound was not the type that loomed, but of the sort which sprawled. It was enclosed by a low, narrow wall of imported white stone, and a hedge which was perpetually dying as it was poorly suited to the heat and wet of the clime. The bright bronze gate which would have greeted guests and supplicants had been auctioned off long ago, and been replaced with a wrought iron fence: yet still despite the savings, the metal¡¯s winding, simple runes were expired as often as they glittered. Stepping within the wall, the curve of the palace hinted at the shape of four great interlocking rings, and they hid a number of irregularly shaped courtyards within them. The strange floorplan was no accident, but had been designed as a secret nod to the rituals of the Earl¡¯s knightly order, a bold (some might say foolhardy) symbolism in the days before they had been officially sanctioned by the crown. Perhaps none of that would have been particularly bad, except the lands all around the palace were thick with encroaching jungle that were nourished by the rains that were trapped further east by the towering heights of The Split. All around for miles, monsters roamed and ravaged the mines and farmsteads of the land: put another way the beasts rampaged unchecked through the territories (to borrow an expression) like gangbusters. But rather than rely on permanent fortifications, like sensible lords of wild fiefdoms, Malachite and his descendants held the grounds of their home with constant patrols and armed vigilance for the hundreds of years it took for their fortune to wither. So, in a way, one might say that Four Ring was built by an egotistical, insecure man, who had been disgustingly rich, and paranoid to boot. But, gods be good, once one took the time to drink in the elegant windows and the gentle, barrel-tile terracotta roof of his legacy, it was impossible in the end to deny that the pompous son-of-a-cur had had fine taste in the grace of architecture. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. That didn¡¯t change the fact that the upkeep of the property was ruining House Tintalline as the last remaining descendants of Malachite. Nor was the d¨¦cor the feature of the palace which had brought Four Ring to relevance here. Instead, the Kingdom of Sacred¡¯s army Office of Special Projects had selected the regional capitol of Malachite to be the operational center for its hero summon initiative for the twin reasons of the compound¡¯s relative isolation ¨C and for the network of illegal tunnels which riddled the foundations beneath it. So, under the guise of the Second Prince¡¯s signature, the army had quietly approached the Tintallines with a generous offer and they had done what any sensible landowner would have done in their place. They had rented the whole thing out, said to hell with it, and taken their whole extended family on vacation abroad. In the months that followed, the ancestral common-staff of Four Ring had slowly been replaced. Their naive expectation of a royal hideaway (for it was not so strange for lords to make a private refuge for their worldly pleasures) did not last. One by one, they were encouraged to transfer into the employ of nearby houses; or even in a few notable cases, scandalously let go. New, unfamiliar faces began appearing on the premise as a year turned, and the secrets within the walls grew deeper and darker. The whispers between cooks and laundresses became more urgent as the last remaining servants who wore the green and bronze livery of Malachite would no longer risk speculating in the open about whatever horror was happening below their feet. And so, on the very evening that Rhode had risen and taken the tunnel to face the blade-mistress Lady Ser Hakkat-Yune, the long suffering baker of the east wing kitchen reached the breaking point of her nerves. ¡°Babe, I love you, I do, but you must go!¡± The woman wept thick tears as she pressed her face into her daughter¡¯s dress, and held the child helplessly in her arms. She thought of the three generations of her foremothers that had served the Tintallines until now. She regarded her husband with regret. He had been a footman of good standing, until the day he¡¯d been relieved of his duty by a scarred man in orange and black. The grim stranger bore the spectre of war in his eyes, and one too few fingers, and so it had been many weeks since her own gentle man had seen paying work. Still, while it would break her heart to send her family away, that ache was nothing to the dire auguries which had come to haunt the walls of her home. The shuddering inhalation of the beast rattled the delicate cabinets and glassware of the palace. You almost didn¡¯t notice it up here, on the first floor. But if you sat alone, and very still ¨C if you closed your eyes and listened ¨C you knew that there was something alive and terrible which had settled into the roots of this place and claimed it. ¡°Please! Child, you must! You are my all, my everything! Gob of my heart, sweet chicken-eater. Dearest. I cannot have you here for what is coming.¡± Then, at that moment, a screeching clang resounded from the deep. The stone of the earth felt as if it shuddered, and the fine porcelain which proudly displayed within the halls of the palace chimed ever so quietly as the wind-bells of graves. ¡°Do not stay, I will come to you when I can,¡± the baker vowed. She rose to her feet and wiped her eyes dry. Then she collected a tray of citrus cream tarts from the table and turned towards the gaping maw of the lower clock-lounge cellar stairwell and steeled her courage. ¡°I fear the Prince¡¯s men yet bear arms against the devil now.¡± Resolutely, her slippered feet carried her towards her doom. ¡°Gods, keep me! Oh my mothers, watch over me! Wretched are we gobs who cower at the whims of elves! For though I fear not death itself ¨C¡° The soldier at the stair took a tart and munched on it idly, waving the woman to proceed on downstairs. He ignored her last whisper as it faded to a plea. ¡°Nor dares my heart to hope that we shall win.¡± Lo, the House of Jern It actually kind of amazed Rhode, in that moment, to consider just how badly he was getting his ass handed to him. Iron clashed and his sword flung off course. The Viper Knight moved in ways that defied his instincts, by means that beggared his preconceptions: she fought in a way that could only be possible with levels. Lady Ser Hakkat-Yune ducked low, her torso forward and flat and almost parallel to the ground; with her knees splayed out and bent so low It hurt to look at. Her main-hand sword lashed out like a scorpion ¨C well, more like a snake, but if one were to start describing her like then it would never come to an end, now would it? Rhode had to stumble backwards just to keep his shins. His arm and sword went wide, and his big, clumsy feet were kicking up dust and tripping over his own divots. Yune lunged to the side, darting horizontally into the plodding homunculus¡¯ blind spot. Snicker-snak, she threatened his leg again with her sword. But as he leaned back off balance to protect it, she reached out casually and cut his forearm shallowly with her knife. ¡°Ah, what the heck!¡± Rhode trumpeted. He swung his leg back the other way for a kick, and the knight vaulted backwards in an improbable somersault. Her armor jingled musically, and she readjusted her belt with a dismissive sneer. Rhode stared at her for a moment, and then shut his mouth. She closed again behind the point of her steels, and he was too slow. Maybe he could have had an easier time of it if she would just come at him in straight lines. But she was everywhere at once, dismantling him from every angle and constantly in motion. It was obnoxious, it was embarrassing, it was painful, and ¨C It was exhilarating. After so much life spent resigned to its end, even if not meeting it, or maybe just the grueling struggle to clutch just a little more time¡­ How could Rhode have forgotten the joy of flesh? His bones jolted with impact against dirt. His tendons coiled against the forces which his muscles strained to produce. His skin slicked with sweat and the cold, damp of the chamber. His blood thundered within his chest. Well, perhaps it wasn¡¯t blood anymore. Dark, reddish purple ichor leaked from the cuts that Yune was giving him. It was amazing, almost surgical, how she could mark him that way. Nothing was more than skin-deep so far, even if it bled terribly. Rhode wasn¡¯t even angry though. [Vigorous ichor] pumped through his arteries and set him afire from the inside. He reveled in the feeling of new strength. He was drunk with the illusion of being whole again. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. His hand grew steadier as his eyes followed his opponent around the room. His sword swooped lower, curving, and more strategically, as the most basic of fighting instincts were starting to settle in. But frustratingly, every improvement Rhode seemed to be making was matched in kind by the lady of House Jern. She tracked the reach of his arm with better intuition than he knew his own limits, she understood the placement of his feet so well that she could strike at the exact instance most likely to stagger him. The half-elfin prodigy, Hakkat-Yune. The banner-sworn, Sergeant at arms, and second-finest sword in the whole of Baron Rugelgridt¡¯s army. Seventeenth overall, some would say, in her mastery of the blade in the whole of Sacred. She was toying with Rhode, he knew that. He knew it. But she was also teaching him.
Perhaps one might overlook Rhode¡¯s initial surprise to have met the lady in Cellar Vault B, ready for him that night as she was. Perhaps one might infer that it was insight, or divinations of magic which made it possible for the dark conspiracy below Four Rings to predict his every move. But sometimes the answer to life¡¯s mysteries is much simpler than we expect, and the real magic is just a matter of what we allow ourselves to reveal or withhold from each other. Lady Eintirp-Wan of House Jern huffed as she waddled at top speed. Her uniform was kind of heavy, with all of its cool belts, and its decorative chain mail. It wouldn¡¯t protect against anything dangerous, really, but the boss-man was insistent that she needed to get used to the weight now. She hadn¡¯t done up her hair again, since it was technically past her bedtime, so it poofed up frazzled. Jern family hair was infamously unruly, which was probably why Eintirp¡¯s older cousin straightened and dyed hers. The young page¡¯s face was puffy and red, she had been running so hard. One of the quartermaster¡¯s assistants was walking towards her in the long hall, buried in a report on monthly liquor rations, and oblivious to the girl¡¯s mad dash. ¡°Gods!¡± The man cried as he crashed into a stacked pile of crates. ¡°Sorry!¡± Eintirp wailed, but she did not slow down. Around the corner, there was a simple, unadorned wooden door, just the same as most of the others in the underground. But the page slide to a halt, tottered at an angle, and then flung the door open inwards without warning or ceremony. Junior Scholar Rikva was off shift, but she shot up in an instant. Her eyes were bloodshot from playing Imps and Burglars with the Hornupant acolytes and off-duty Guards. Her mouth slurred as she tried to shake clear of cheap thkurr, and she slapped at her table for a light-crystal, or even a knife (just in case). ¡°Whuh?¡± She said as her eyes locked onto the little goblin in her doorway. Her vision focused more clearly, and then Lady Einterp-Wan, lesser cousin of Hakkar-Yune, assistant page to Thousand-Cut Brand himself, and happiest little gob who¡¯d ever landed a summer job, ever ¨C Pumped both of her fists in the air and squealed at the top of her lungs. ¡°FIIIIIIIIGHT!¡± And how could anyone possibly say no to that? Two, four, six, eight, who do we appreciate? The tunnels, dungeons and cellars of Old Malachite¡¯s sedition thrummed, their subterranean air stirred to ebb and flow. One could even say it howled (well, they could if they were being dramatic) in the corners and dead ends where its currents could shear and turn on themselves. The hurried echoes of boots reached the furthest halls, and the peal of metal clashing belied the promise of blood. Rhode was not quite sure when the first of them appeared; he saw them out of the corner of his eye, like the apparitions of a feverish imagination. There was an empty space, and then after he would look away, they would be there as if they had never been absent. Then the flashing sharp of a sword demanded his attention, and he heaved his arm to position his own weapon in its way. Every move he made was anticipated, every advance left him a step further behind. Still, he fought as if his life was on the line, because it was not possible for him to match the weapon-arts arrayed against him. He was pushing himself to his very limits, and his utmost was the only thing, the very least he could give, which came close to matching¡­ her. Wait, where did Father Uod find a fruit danish? The homunculus let out a pained cry as Lady Hakkat-Yune took advantage of his distraction. Yet another cut joined his collection of her little ¡®lessons¡¯, and he let out an incoherent bellow of frustration. ¡°Come on, dangit, I¡¯m new at this,¡± he whined petulantly under his breath. He shook out his shoulders and wiped a trickle of ichor off his forehead with his thumb. He inspected the blade in his hand and then tried to mirror the battle stance which Yune had struck him from. Rhode was happy to admit he didn¡¯t know much about biology. But what little he was sure of had been already called into question by the rules of this world. But if there did in fact exist such a thing as cells, those tiny building blocks of life, then every single one of them in the homonculus¡¯ body was screaming in their thirst for oxygen. Inhale. Exhale. His chest rattled with respiration. It roared in his ears, and ¨C well, the whole room rattled, actually. Rhode was kind of loud. Lady Ser Hakkat-Yune spun her sword in her grip. If she had been sweating herself, it was impossible to tell. But her eyes goggled with battle-glee, baring their whites to match her mouth of sharp teeth. Her own chest rose and fell with rapid, short breaths, and her voice came out with a hint of a dark chuckle. ¡°Do you even know how unnerving that is?¡± She asked. Rhode stumbled backward, swiping wildly from side to side to dissuade her attack as it came. Satisfied to disengage from his wild defense, she pivoted like the envy of a performance luxury sports-car: a complete change in momentum, a turn on a dime. Yune secured the middle-distance and circled him patiently, and her weapons bobbed as if seeking new and vulnerable avenues. ¡°Am I being too loud?¡± Rhode gasped self consciously. There were a lot of people in the room. Where did they come from? When did they get there? He looked towards the door for just an instant ¨C ¡°[Flexion],¡± the knight spoke. When her sword met Rhode¡¯s this time, he was shocked to see his own blade bent alarmingly backwards. Somewhat dumbstruck, he watched as the flat of her weapon skittered over his own until it slipped all the way over and nearly connected with his face. ¡°What the shit!¡± he blinked rapidly. He touched himself to be sure that the blow had not landed. He frowned at the wobble of his iron as if it had betrayed him personally; but then it stilled rapidly as the effect of her mantra faded. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
When Junior Scholar Tarrop arrived, he sidled up next to Father Oud and the two shared a nod that communicated a deceptively complex understanding between them. They had both risen quickly, and chosen to forgo changing. Their luxurious silk pajamas trailed along the stone and dirt, and probably would never be worn again for having been soiled that night. It was the sort of life philosophy, a disposability of wealth, which would have made Goodmiss Tailor Chyrna turn to the kindness of hard drink if she ever were to find out ¨C Oh. There she was. Never mind. She had a bowl of toasted nuts. So maybe it was interesting that Rhode was discovering new ways to lose even harder. Clash, bash, clang! That was happening, sure. But it was also interesting to see just how many prominent figures of the Special Projects team had deemed to choose this night to appear. That was The Translocationist of BengXol! Where had he been hiding all these weeks, and more importantly, what was that thing he was wearing? And look! Rantikar Ninefingers was there too: with his mop of unruly black hair, and his multitude of scars. He stood just off in the corner by himself, scowling at everything and surprising (despite his striking appearance, or innumerable and memorable catchphrases) in his overall irrelevance to the plot. Within another minute, Tarrop noticed that his fellow Wavelton Broox Scholar, Junior Rikva had arrived. She sidled furtively over to those three eerie Hornupant soul-binders, a gesture which was perfectly appropriate for her lower station. Rikva was wrapped in a heavy shawl around her nightgown and had done up her hair with a living, flowering wooden pin. It probably wouldn¡¯t be long, Tarrop and Uod had to admit to themselves, before the Junior Scholar would rise high enough in station to take her rightful place next to them. In the present though, it was Scholar Yagget who approached their nugget of high society, though he was generally a bit of a bore. They stood watching apart, but together in the way that one had to at these things. That was just the way it was. It was almost getting easier to say who had not been in attendance. The room was getting so full that Special Projects (in this case through His eminence, Father Oud) had needed to round up a pair of soldiers and set them to guarding the door to turn away the lesser gobs. After all, the proceedings here should be considered a sensitive matter of security. Rightfully, only a few key figures should be allowed to attend. Tarrop had scarcely approved of this decision when he noticed an ill-tempered, stunted grouch of a goblin peeped through the entryway. But the fortunate gob was carrying a tray of drinks. So Tarrop waved him into the deepest confidence of Sacred¡¯s military secrets with a sigh. The responsibilities of his duty were weighty indeed. ¡°Look at him move,¡± Uod admired. He waved a hand up and down to indicate Rhode¡¯s size. ¡°Like a titan of myth. His very footsteps shake the rock beneath us, I feel. I could swear to it.¡± ¡°Huge,¡± Tarrop murmured, sipping straight from a decanter of fruit wine. ¡°Imposing. Overwhelming.¡± The august priest sighed, and snatched a bowl of nuts out of the tailor¡¯s hands. He ignored the commoner¡¯s protests until she slunk away in resignation. ¡°It¡¯s a shame he¡¯s so useless with a sword, though,¡± he said wetly through a mouthful of nuts. Tarrop¡¯s shoulders drooped as he blew air noisily from his nostrils. ¡°He is stupendously awful. It¡¯s true.¡± Just into their sulking, there was a slamming noise and in came the peasant-priest, that Dogodite. He burst through the door in a hurry, and had gusts of wind fluttering around his robes. They spun in annoying little cyclones throughout the chamber, and got dust absolutely everywhere. The Selt-man had been a late and unwelcome addition to the project in Tarrop¡¯s eyes, for all that he had proven necessary. Perhaps talented, perhaps useful, the brother would reveal his worth with time. But whatever else the man might offer to Rhode; he was above all else and undoubtedly, little more than a provincial rube. ¡°Is he in here?¡± The priest babbled stupidly. Tarrop took another drink. Then he choked on the next sip as Eloft gave out an unexpected, and deafening shout. ¡°WHOO! GO RHODE! BELLOWS IS TOP TIER, FOREVER!¡± Tarrop looked at the dark stain on his sleeve and wondered honestly if anyone would mind - should he have the gob killed. Why cant we all come together and stop spelling Knight with a K? Eintirp was a good goblin. She¡¯d done her job. She¡¯d gotten everybody in the underground ¨C or at least she thought so, and wasn¡¯t that enough? But now she was missing the best part: because the hero was fighting cousin Yun-Yun. She couldn¡¯t wait to tell her momma! Unless that was treason. Was it treason? She¡¯d have to ask the boss-man. But none of that would matter if she couldn¡¯t get there before it was over. She tried to think of how long it had been since they¡¯d started, and her spirits fell. Even though Eintirp didn¡¯t know any heroes up until now, she did know her Yun-Yun. He was probably dead already. Poor hero. The page galloped through an empty corridor, down past the scheming-room, and whipped around a blind corner. There was a door to an emergency toilet, and it opened up as she was blasting past it. The profane alchemist of horrors yawned as she lurched out from her unmentionable privacies. She had curlers in her hair and she smacked her lips obnoxiously while scratching indelicately at one breast. Eintirp slid into the far wall, stopping herself with her hands and spinning about. ¡°Hero! Lady Jern! Sword! Deathmatch, EXTREME!¡± She panted. Then, satisfied she¡¯d fulfilled her responsibilities, she bolted off along her way. The alchemist blinked as she watched the little gob vanish, but then her eyes bulged as she realized the meaning of what she¡¯d been told. ¡°WHAAAT?!¡± She screeched. Everything was going great (in the sense that Eintirp was making good time) until finally she had to pass by the boss-man¡¯s office. But there, as she crossed past the open, candle-lit door, she tumbled to a crashing and despondent halt. ¡°Page Jern,¡± the Adjutant addressed her. Eintirp trudged back and into the open room. ¡°Yes, Ser. May I serve you, Ser?¡± ¡°Girl,¡¯ the officer rumbled. His feathered pen scratched importantly across numerous papers, and so he did not look up as he continued. ¡°I would like to remind you that you are wearing the Second Prince¡¯s colors. Never forget the significance of that responsibility. As long as you represent the orange, honor demands that you embody it with all the comportment and dignity of a knight.¡± The gob kicked at the carpet with her toe. ¡°Even if I¡¯m not gonna be a knight? Gobs don¡¯t getta be knights,¡± she sniffed. ¡°Please,¡± the adjutant snorted, looking up. ¡°Exceptions are made all the time. They just put risers in your boots and tell everyone you¡¯ve got some extra elf in your gran.¡± The girl considered that, and straightened with a certain renewed sense of purpose. She looked up and saw Fidelity ¡®Thousand-Cut¡¯ Brand¡¯s fabulous mustache bobble with mischief. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. ¡°So long as you understand your duty, you may be excused,¡± he said. But then, before he took up his pen, or the beaming girl could leave his office, he stopped her once more with a word. ¡°Wait,¡± he ordered. His face grew distant. He laced his fingers together and leaned forward over them until his mouth was hidden and the tops of his knuckles were cradling the tremendous weightiness of his facial hair. ¡°You don¡¯t ah¡­ happen to know who¡¯s winning, do you?¡±
About a half an hour into being beaten on (in public), Rhode started to feel like he was getting into a rhythm. The moment his body had exhausted itself, he had tapped into the deep well of his [vigorous ichor] and he was like a whole new monster again. It was true that Knight Hakkat-Yune was faster than he was, and more talented, and had more levels, and basically everything else that mattered, but gods be good, there was just something unfair about being in a fight with someone big. Yune began, by inches at first, to fall on the back foot. She was still dodging, weaving, deflecting: kind of like a prison-fight ballerina in chainmail, but Rhode¡¯s sword was battering ever closer, lancing ever righter, and the difference was beginning to show. This (obviously), was where Rhode should have realized that he was making a critical mistake. See, the Kingdom of Sacred was known around the world for its four major knightly orders. The fearful Oath of Pyre, the scintillating Illuminance of Brass, the cunning Order of Vipers and even that thing with the Bears that no one liked to talk about. And while the Vipers as an institution was the youngest of all of them ¨C still. Most everyone (who was anyone) agreed that Illuminance was for nerds, and that those scrappy, snakey, try-hard newcomers were probably Sacred¡¯s second best. Eintirp¡¯s bestest cousin Yun-Yun sprang. She¡¯d been at a complete stop, with only the slightest crouch, and then she exploded forward. Rhode didn¡¯t have a chance. The word ¡®spring¡¯ wasn¡¯t even completely a metaphor, as the Order of the Viper revealed the first of its signature features through its blade-mistress. Viper knew steel like nobody else in Sacred. It was laced through Yune¡¯s bones, actually; that and other, more magical metals. Just a little fell alchemy, and a few key levels, and really there were a lot of things the body could learn to do to itself. Rhode was backpedaling so fast that he actually ran out of space and into the wall. As he twisted out of the way, her sword scored the rock behind him in a spark-showering scream. He actually started to panic, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, and goose-pimples rising up the length of his arms. ¡°Time out, time out!¡± He laughed desperately, ¡°can¡¯t we switch out for a second?¡± There were little chips, dings and cracks all the way up and down the edge of his weapon, and there was a noticeable tremor starting up in his arm. The lady was stalking towards him, and as she did, the second, famed signature art of the Vipers was revealed. Her daemon spun out of her aura like a coil of a hangman¡¯s rope, and it reached out ahead of her like an extension of her weapon. Its eyes were dripping with falling ashes and its mouth, as its jaw unhinged, was strained to bursting with a profusion of ghostly fangs. ¡°Brand!¡± Rhode called out, finding a familiar face in the audience. ¡°Hey, Brand! Tag me out, man. Come on, buddy. I¡¯d like to switch now. Hey Adjutant? Fidelity? S-S-Ser?¡± No, things were not going particularly great for Rhode in that moment. But Special Projects, by comparison, was in as fine a mood as can be. It was about that point, as the drinks were flowing freely, and everyone was starting to ask why a certain Flesh Alchemist was late, when the most wanted exile of New West City finally arrived herself, a bit overdressed and uncharacteristically frazzled. ¡°MY CREATION!¡± She cried out in agony, as the homunculus she had brewed up into existence bled ichor into the dirt. But Journeyman Scholar Yagget was by her side in an instant. The old, frazzle-haired gob produced a handkerchief and with her unspoken permission, he wiped up a tiny smudge of her stray face-paint. Then he showed the woman a steamed root vegetable that was stuffed with cheese and wrapped with meat, and as she glared at it he placed it directly into her hands. The two of them stepped back over to Scholar Tarrop and Father Uod without further words, and the four of them, spellbound, turned back to watch the climax of the show. Everyone knows what a Hero looks like [Bellows] rasped. It gusted. It groaned. [Vigorous Ichor]? Ha! It wasn¡¯t enough. It couldn¡¯t be. The weight of his body was ponderous, and his exertions were tolling every carefully engineered part of him to their breaking points. On Earth, Rhode had once heard of a thing called a ¡®runners high¡¯, some kind of transcendental state which would descend on an athlete whenever they pushed themselves past pain, past doubt, past tiredness, and into¡­ Well, whatever it was, Rhode thought he had found it. Sublimity. A mind that was totally free. Then Hakkat-Yune cut him again, and Rhode shook out of his reverie with a piping hot serving of rage. ¡°Why,¡± he howled. ¡°Won¡¯t.¡± His sword sheared down. ¡°You.¡± It clipped the Knight¡¯s knife. ¡°Stop?¡± The shoulders of the homunculus were broad like a hill. His arms were like tree trunks. No, that¡¯s ridiculous. When has anyone ever seen a tree with elbows? Besides, all that stuff gives off the impression of supreme fitness. Rhode¡¯s body may have been a masterwork of the dark arts, but it didn¡¯t change the fact that he had a little bit of a chunky tummy. It was showing now; his belly had burst past the hasty stitches that Chyrna had sewn into his new doublet. Yune had torn shreds out of the material, mutilated it, really; and his own swinging arms had done most of the rest. He looked down and his cheap iron sword was bent and ruined, so he threw it aside and took up another. A Hornupant had been at his side to provide it, and they faded away so fast he didn¡¯t take time to question it. Then, feeling embarrassed, but long past caring, the earth man tore off his shirt and chose to fully embrace the stupid. In response, there was an uncomfortable and enduring hush that descended over the cavern, punctuated by a lonely cough. The head of every adult within the vault turned slowly at once and without explanation towards the alchemist. She sputtered, then she flushed, and then her aura spilled out of her in curling wisps. "What?!" the operatically costumed goblin shrieked. She stamped her foot and droplets of acid congealed from around her. They spattered the stone below and sizzled as her hands curled into fists over her head. "So I have a type. I¡¯LL KILL EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU THAT SAYS ANYTHING ABOUT IT!¡± Rhode didn¡¯t quite know how to process that, and he never got a chance to. Hakkat-Yune was already accelerating towards him with a howl. Caught up in the moment, he raised his fresh sword overhead and shouted back as he charged. This time, the rafters actually did really shake as his body hit the floor.
¡°Oof,¡± Scholar Tarrop groaned, a warm glow settling into his cheeks. He passed his empty jug to a soldier. Then he took a yellow tart from the stack he had piled in the other hand and passed one of them towards Yagget. ¡°No thank you,¡± the respectable gentlegob waved it away. The confused soldier spun in circles, holding an empty decanter gingerly with dismay. Yagget pointed the poor boy towards the door and ushered him on. ¡°I am afraid those things are a bit too sour for my taste.¡± Shrugging, Tarrop took another bite as the great homunculus was woozily dragging himself to his feet. ¡°We could sack the baker. It¡¯s easy enough to get rid of them, and I¡¯ve got a pastry chef from Bay City I adore.¡± ¡°That¡¯s so much trouble,¡± the Journeyman sighed. Rhode yelped as a glowing serpent arced around his side and plunged into his body. ¡°And I do have to admit, I¡¯m starting to feel bad for the rustic jungle gobs. Aren¡¯t half of them gone already?¡± The homunculus patted his ribs up and down in a frenzy until he realized he was unharmed, and then Knight Yune slapped him across the face with the flat of her blade so hard he went down to one knee. ¡°Suit yourself,¡± Tarrop burped, ¡°I just figure there¡¯s no reason for which a fellow ought to suffer a bad dessert.¡± The elder scholar grudgingly tilted his head. And just like that, the doom that the last baker of Malachite had foreseen was come to pass.
Anyway, Rhode was starting to puzzle out the way that Yune¡¯s daemon worked. The trick was, it wasn¡¯t an attack itself per-se. The spirit was incorporeal, and it mostly vanished if it tried to pass through physical objects. True, it had scared him the first strike or two, but once he¡¯d realized it was harmless he was able to adapt. No, the purpose of the daemon was that it served like some kind of... combat help assistant. It had its own intelligence (or perhaps intelligence is exactly what it was), and the knight used it to ferret out weakness or opportunities in the fight. Every time the snake bit, the lady¡¯s sword would follow right after. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Once Rhode understood the rule, it wasn¡¯t hard to imagine how to use the hint of its trajectory to counter her. And ¨C
¡°Oh, what are you? Blind!¡± Junior Scholar Rikva screamed. Her hands slapped over her mouth in shame, and then she resentfully passed two silver pieces-of-eight to the goblin at her right. Even though she knew he might be fated to save the nation one day, tonight Rhode was proving to be a disaster for her purse.
Rhode spun and stumbled, crashing against the support of the wall. He leaned against it and reflected critically in his microsecond of respite. Why exactly had he assumed that a knight must follow her viper? Hakkat-Yune and her daemon whirled from either direction, then both, then from the same side. Rhode¡¯s [vigor] was failing, wrung out and expended. His body searched for alternatives, and found an unexpected and eager partner in [hibernate]. The homunculus felt his very first level open up to him, renewing his battered muscles and nerves. But [hibernate] was not a gift, it was more like a banker making predatory loans. Eventually, everything it gave to him would inevitably come due. He had no choice. He relied on it anyway. The sword was useless. He grabbed a long polearm from the audience and ignored their protest. He swung the pole brutishly, and complacent goblins scrambled from where they¡¯d strayed too close. But no one was stopping him, no one was trying to stop him. Maybe it all came back to Rhode¡¯s former life. One had to consider the way that humans grew up. From the youngest age they remembered, they learned all the things that were not right to do. Don¡¯t shout, don¡¯t run, don¡¯t hit. Don¡¯t make a costume out of tissue paper, don¡¯t bother the neighbors ¨C and for the love of all that¡¯s holy in this world, Rhode I swear to God and on the grave of my mother, stop pretending to be a dinosaur in the grocery this instant! That was what Rhode was facing: a world where all the rules fell away. No one stopped you from stomping. Heck, stomp away! Roar all you want, get MAD. And these goblins, they ate it up, they loved it! It was almost like the worse he was behaving, the broader their needle-y little smiles grew. The thing in his meaty fist was called a bardiche, and it was basically an axe with a handle that no one¡¯d bothered to cut short. As it swept wide through the arena, Hakkat-Yune could no longer easily dodge. She bounced like a frog instead, up high against the wall and rebounded. Her boot smashed into Rhode¡¯s shoulder in a flying kick and he felt his bones creaking. One of the oldest tragic foibles of the human race is this: to lose yourself in the perceptions that other people have of you. To allow the person they expect you to be, to overwhelm the person you are. In this new life, in this new world, Rhode had let it happen because he had no one left to tell him better. ¡°Mercury strike!¡± the half-elf barked. A metallic quintessence, some ephemeral quality of her aura, flowed through her daemon as liquid silver. Rhode¡¯s eyes widened as his instincts brought his off-hand sword up. A spray of chrome droplets slapped from the body of the snake, and Yune rolled tumbling back to safety. ¡°What was that?¡± Rhode spat. ¡°Had to make sure you know how to block that,¡± wheezed Yune. The viper reformed over her shoulder and then, transparent again, it slithered between and around her legs. The fighter¡¯s voice sounded unhinged, her hair was plastered to her forehead. The jeering of Special Projects had turned mean and unruly and loud. Somewhere in the audience, there was a soldier wearing a bright, silver bracelet around his arm, and his eyes glazed over. He pulled a dagger out of his belt gleefully before Adjutant Brand tackled him down. And in the height of that tension, a keening, shrill noise rose from the blood-thirsty crowd. ¡°YES, YES! AHAHAHAHA! EVERYTHING WE DREAMED OF AND MORE! I¡¯m a GENIUS! A GENIUS!¡± An alchemist grabbed hold of a scholar¡¯s shoulders and shook him with violent, celebratory glee. Her laughter pierced through every conversation, it ended every thought, and it settled every score. ¡°Ye muck-brained gobs! You nitwits! You dimwits, too! Look upon my works, ye dum-dums and DESPAIR!¡± The woman threw her head back and cackled, full throatedly. Mist whorled and rolled beneath Rhode¡¯s feet. It congealed from his breath as he towered over the gobs of the Kingdom of Sacred. His weapons dropped to the dirt heavily as his eyes cleared of their haze. The lady of House Jern and the giant looked at one another. And then Rhode started, just a little, to chuckle. The knight giggled in reply. The priest who¡¯d been white with fear and concern for Rhode¡¯s safety found escape in relief and basically honked. The sound provoked further snickers and a little page let out a titter, and Rhode found himself start to guffaw. Jolly belly chortles emerged from somewhere, and a snort from somewhere else. But once one particular, mentally possessed soldier decided to join in to the fun from the ground he was pinned to, it was unstoppable. Dozens of goblins belted out in a malevolent chorus of putrid, demented laughter. Spittle flew from mouths. Teeth gaped open in razor-sharp maws. There were so many high-level auras let loose that night that they roiled and combined into a sulfurous, caustic fume. It hung in the air, and swirled around Rhode as a pressing crush of bodies came to slap him on the back. Still they laughed, and their voices rose up from the earth like a curse from hell itself.
The young, but promising magician and diviner of fates Rikva of Branfield had lost too many coins that night, and sampled too much drink. Now, as she looked about the subterranean tomb of a long-dead elven lord, and across that black-midnight convocation of her peers and rivals: she let out a nervous, half-hearted simper. ¡°Did I miss something? What was so funny?¡± She asked. And nobody bothered to answer. APPENDICES: A helpful guide to pronunciation (#1) Since this is a fantasy story, we must allow some latitude for the imagination of the reader, and for practical considerations of being a story written in English and intended first for English-speaking audiences. Our main character''s full name is Rhode Mortimer Irving, The origin of his name is expected to be in the tradition of the North American region called New England, and in fact generally you can safely get away with assuming that most words can be pronounced with a north-eastern united states accent, and you''ll probably not be too far wrong. I''ve chosen to default to being block-headedly simple with the names of places and locations. This is for the purpose of clarity, and sort of out of respect for the way that real cultures have given names for their homes over time (even if changes in language cause their original meanings to be lost) The main setting of Naptime Necromancy is within the wide, often untamed reaches of the Kingdom of Sacred. Nothing complicated there so far. The only thing we know so far about the world beyond, is that Sacred is continuously at a state of either aggression or antagonism with its westerly neighbor: Delight. Okay. Now lets bring on some wonky names. I hope that some of you have been having fun with the older and younger knightly cousins of Jern. Their house is easy, it just rhymes with urn, but their given names are a little trickier. Hakkat-Yune (who I seem determined to misspell) starts with a hard a as in hack, proceeds with cat and then hyphens into the hard Americanized Y to rhyme with June. Her nickname ''Yun-Yun'', is just a little different in that each syllable now rhymes with ''bun''. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Eintirp is like Eye, rolling into an n, which I imagine as a very German sound, and tirp sounds like chirp (like a bird). Wan as in "ah", the word for paleness or fainting, and not to be mistaken for ''ran''. When it comes to Yune''s employer, frankly I don''t care how you pronounce Rugelgridt. Probably like bugle-grid, but with that funky northern-european glottal stop that happens when they add too many ''T''s to the end of things. Rikva is easy, just think rick-vuh. And she''s from a farming village that grows oats, so ''Branfield'' is exactly what''s advertised on the box. Tarrop is like the bits from tarry and mop. And Yagget sounds like a naughty, ugly word that decent folk will chase you out of town for using out loud (or alternatively a used cigarette butt, since the British can''t seem to show up to the meetings about suitable public language). Eloft is a pun off of Aloft, just, you know, as if Silicon Valley had thrown on a different prefix to make him sound more technological. Chyrna is tougher. She''s halfway between churn as in butter, and cheer as in ''leader'', but then ends pretty simply like ''duh''. The Tintallines who own the palace won''t be showing up anywhere, not soon anyway, but they''re no more complicated than tin, ta, lean. And Malachite you should already know. Who else? Well Uod is just food that''s lost its F. Oh, and on the subject of religion, the two gods we know of are like horny-pants (but with a ''you'' instead of an i sounding ''y'') and dog-oh-duh. See? Goblins are easy. Oh, wait what was that other name, you ask? Yea, no Glinferno''s just dumb. ''Glinting Inferno''. Same exact thing, just drop the ''ting'', and merge everything else at theshared ''in''. OH. You meant his first name? Uh, what did I say it was... Llanthinanumen? Yea no, f*** that. I''m not even trying. You can say that one however you want. Bro, that one''s on you. Interlude: Lets talk about [Portents] The Plentypearl Sea had been, and has, and will be a cradle of cultures for the peoples of the Ring for thousands and thousands of years. Let the historians and scholars, the monastaries and the bone diggers argue about exactly how long a time that was; but the point is that every inch of land along its shore had known nations rise and fall and mingle and usurp, for so many generations that most everyone was entangled by blood. Even to the enemies they hated most dearly. The Isle of Zithers (the musical instrument, not the mantis-hound hunting beasts of Casual Fatality Vale), was an ancient and treasured jewel of civilization which sat not so far from the shores of the surrounding continents. If one were to try to trace the ancestry of the inhabitants of Zithers to their origin, that person would be laughed out any reputable scholastic institution as an idiot. Understand, that such an inquiry would be like trying to climb four different mountains at the same time. Zithers was a melting pot before there were pots to melt in. They had bricks there that were older than (some) mountains. And for all that their people were proud, and distinct, and interesting, they were also perpetually getting conquered by whichever fashionable tyrant of the day who had designs over the Plentypearl Sea. Clear waters lapped against the soothing ink-black sands of the beach. Pale yellow flowers marked the high point of the tide like an inebriate painter¡¯s brush. Blue-green coral pillars rose from the underbrush and marked the outer edge of the palace, of the regional governor. And that great ruler and administrator of gobs was (currently) a creature of Delight. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Hogrimus shot awake suddenly. The luxurious silks of his garments had gotten tangled, and he struggled with them as he gasped. Cold sweat was running down his face (which was not the optimal temperature for sweat, in his opinion), and palpitations gripped his heart as he clutched his chest until the feeling passed. From out of the great tangle of bodies lying on the thick, feathered palace rugs, one of the concubines stirred. Zither was sometimes known for a vegetable they produced, one that could be crushed to reveal a luxurious type of oil. That oil was slick and exfoliating, and lubricating over the body of the gob that lifted themselves to a prone repose, and then placed their other hand on Hogrimus¡¯ arm. ¡°What¡¯s wrong, your putrescence?¡± Their voice crooned. Then their lips pursed and they pouted. ¡°Come back to sleep.¡± ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡± Hogrimus tried to laugh off his worry. But he could not ignore that sometimes he¡¯d had a knack for the second-sight. Like when the seven-wind tempest had struck when he was a child. Or even when his uncle died. Although, technically, it was Hogrimus that did it, but still, it had been a miracle his plan had worked. Was it famine? Was it disaster? Was it war? Never before had he been so stricken by a warning from the gods. So now¡­ now the Governor of Zithers sighed and let the signs of great change flow past him and away. If trouble was coming, there was not much that he could do. He was a gob of simple pleasures (technically half orc, but what kind of disgusting society kept track of the fractions of blood like that?), and beyond that he was little more than a figurehead to keep the shipping lanes open, and the tax collections running on time. Maybe he might write a letter to the mainland, let it be their problem. Or how about tomorrow? He could do it then, too. So, having successfully avoided his responsibilities, Hogrimus of the Isle adjusted his flowing robes. And even though they were sticky with oil, he laid down and went back to sleep. Dont stop, cant stop. RE: The Ruckus There was a door in the deep catacombs beneath Four Ring Hills Palace. It was a secret place, a long-forgotten place. The chamber had been unearthed by accident a hundred years ago, and it¡¯s vast, blasphemous treasures were plundered to feed auction houses ¨C Since the decaying residence overhead had needed a new roof. But the door remained, and it was cut of living, slumbering sea-stone, even if no one was alive to remember it. That night, the hinges of the entryway groaned as the chamber swung open, and yellow-green clouds of poison spilled out from the darkness. It rose, lighter than air, but thick: and almost resembled loose cotton as it poured. The first goblin toppled out of the smoke, hacking and coughing violently. The dangerous gas clung to his clothing and hair, and so he lay flat and rolled along the hard floor to shake it free. He was joined soon after by another goblin, and then more, and then soon the whole of the army Office of Special Projects leadership and research teams (and various security staff) was vomited out into clean(er) air. ¡°Sorry, everybody!¡± Squeaked the sword-genius Jern Hakkat-Yune. Her voice had nearly gone, both from overuse and from the haze of pollution that they had escaped. ¡°My aura gets slightly poisonous. My fault.¡± The abominable mother-of-homunculi checked her dress for burn-marks and batted at the lingering fumes in front of her face. ¡°No, my dear Ser,¡± she sighed. ¡°I have to admit, that I also found myself somewhat out of hand. My spirit was piqued by the circumstance, and I ¨C¡± Fidelity Brand¡¯s most tragical mustache had wilted on either side, but he carried himself with poise nonetheless. Still, he had an Eintirp wrapped in his arms, so he passed her over into her cousin¡¯s care and then turned to address the crowd. ¡°Now, we should not be so quick to blame one another. I myself was quite taken by the promise of what we saw here tonight. It would not be untrue to say, I acquitted myself quite unbecoming of my station as well.¡± The half-elf adjutant, veteran of various battles and skirmishes, and renowned grand-master of penmanship, made quick repair to the curl of his whiskers. ¡°Now, as you may all know, I have had certain doubts about this project from the start.¡± Brand graciously accepted the noises of rebuke that ensued. ¡°And I have not been quiet about them, it¡¯s true. But I think we can all accept that what we witnessed here today ¨C the display of Rhode¡¯s potential¡­ by the gods, this changes everything.¡± There was a smattering of claps and half-hearted hoots from the gathered crowd, but the low noble encouraged them. He rewarded the accomplishments of the miscreants and lunatics around him with an earnest round of applause of his own. He even bowed, just a little to them in respect. ¡°We¡¯re just getting started, though. There¡¯s more work to do, but the only difference now is that I know better than to doubt you. Good work ¨C to you all. And I¡¯ll see you in the morning.¡± There was a cheer which rose up through the exhaustion. Then there was an announcement that antidotes would be made available later to counter any lingering, toxic effect from tonight. Then the gathered crowd, eager for rest, began to move back towards the tunnels to disperse. ¡°Wait,¡± a voice called out, and gobs stepped aside to reveal brother Eloft, the humble wind-surgeon of Selt. ¡°Speaking of Rhode, um, where is he?¡± Because the towering shape of the homunculus was nowhere to be seen. After a moment of confusion and escalating terror, finally a hateful little old serving gob piped up from the distance. He had been hobbling into the shadows, but he turned long enough to growl an answer. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°Fell asleep,¡± he said simply. ¡°What, inside the chamber?¡± Croaked the full-bellied Scholar Tarrop. ¡°Given his new level, might not the conditions inside lead him in particular to exacerbate his health?¡± Mused Scholar Yagget. ¡°Oh gods! He¡¯ll get double the dose. No, ten times, even!¡± Eloft cried. ¡°I think ¨C I think I¡¯m gonna be sick,¡± Scholar Rikva offered helpfully. And then after the briefest of riots, Brand brought the howling stampede of gobs back to order with a booming command. ¡°Well what are you waiting for, you morons?! You, you, and you! Go GET HIM!¡±
It was hard to say whether Rhode would slept peacefully, as morning passed into evening and still onward. Good dreams? Nightmares? If he¡¯d had them, they spun together and tangled up and then he forgot them all. Instead, he perceived and remembered only an anxious void, and lost himself in the comfort of it.
Gene [Vigorous Ichor] progresses ¡ï¡ð¡ð¡ú¡ï¡ï¡ð: The first key to Enduring Stamina. Foundation level {mutation}. Levelable. Mergeable. Evolution to [Rejuvenating Ichor] available. Evolution resisted. Comment: Boss-man, maybe you should think about taking this one? Gene [Hibernate] progresses ¡ð¡ð¡ð¡ú¡ï¡ð¡ð: Conserve strength through slumber, the first key to Restful Longevity. Foundation level {mutation}. Levelable. Mergeable. Skill [Bellows] progresses ¡ð¡ð¡ð¡ú¡ï¡ð¡ð: A mighty wind, a¡¯blowin from within. Compound legacy (Eloft, wind-surgeon of Selt) {skill}. Levelable. Mergeable. Notification: Risk for [metal toxicity] is high.
Notification: Alchemical substances detected. Risk for [metal toxicity] is reduced.
Notification: Infected tissue detected. Risk for [lingering fibrosis] is moderate.
Notification: Alchemical substances detected. Risk for [lingering fibrosis] is reduced.
Level up: aura formation ¡ú FAILURE::ERROR_MANA_STABILITY_INSUFFICIENT Level up: weapon art ¡ú Progress 0.08% Comment: Point zero eight? How is that even possible? You should be ashamed. Be ashamed now. Comment: Hello? Dummy? Hello?
Rhode rolled in his sleep, coming close to waking, in fitful starts until a voice called out through the darkness and pulled him out into the light. ¡°Big guy?¡± Scholar Rikva asked as she shook him. ¡°Rhode, I think you need to wake up. I mean, you don¡¯t need to, need to. You know? But it¡¯s kinda like, destiny stuff and all that.¡± The monster¡¯s eyes opened, crackling with the filth of days worth of sticky residue. ¡°I, what? Rikva? Destiny? What are you talking about?¡± ¡°You know, Fate. Chance. The futures which may or may not come to pass. I know it¡¯s not modest to talk about it, and like, I don¡¯t wanna give you the impression that I¡¯m somebody who brags about herself. But this is work stuff, so¡­¡± The scholar wiped at Rhode¡¯s face with a wet rag, and the cup in her hand rattled when she shook it. ¡°You should probably know that Destiny¡¯s kinda like, my whole thing.¡± Rule#4 of Exposition: somebody gets naked, or else someone must die Rhode brought his aching body to a seated position at the lip of his creaking bed. There was a haze in the room; expended candles and incense sticks having been left everywhere along the shelves alongside the new and strange varieties of plants and crystals. There were baskets strewn about: filled with piles of dirty bandages. Filthy sheets and clothing layered over every chair or table or raised surface there was, and some even lay on the floor. Thankfully, someone had at least emptied the chamberpot, but overall Rhode¡¯s room was a mess. ¡°Huh. Where¡¯s Missus O?¡± Rhode asked blearily. ¡°Who?¡± Rikva blanked. She threw the rag into a bin, and adjusted her latest, very scarlet hairpin. ¡°Oh, yea. I dunno. Usually we have somebody come by to clean, but I¡¯m not sure where they are. It¡¯s been like, three days.¡± ¡°Three?¡± Rhode wiped his hands down over his face and yawned. ¡°Again?¡± ¡°Your lucky number,¡± Rikva smiled. Then she frowned and looked down at her cup. ¡°No, sorry. I think your lucky number is ah, seven? Inconclusive, try again later. I guess it doesn¡¯t matter. But like, it¡¯s still my professional opinion that you gotta get ready now. Like, super quick.¡± Rhode stretched his arms out to either side. ¡°What¡¯s happened?¡± The scholar had to step back. ¡°Well, I mean nothing¡¯s happened,¡± Rikva trailed off. She screwed up one side of her face as she thought about it. ¡°Like, yet. But it¡¯s about to.¡± Rhode¡¯s resulting glower was so ill-tempered it gave the young woman a fright and she stammered on. ¡°They¡¯re planning to wake up another one of you. [Hero Summon]. Again, but up in the main palace.¡± Rhode felt an overwhelming sense of weightlessness come over him. It was like a kind of vertigo that was missing its dizziness or nausea. Where was the floor? Where was the ceiling? It was that sort of feeling of being lost within the very space that one was present in. He knew he wanted to ask a question, but he struggled to figure out what it was. Then his voice cracked a bit. It wavered. ¡°Like, from Earth?¡± He asked in a whisper. The excitement in Rikva¡¯s voice turned into doubt. ¡°I¡¯m not sure. I would assume so. But maybe not. My readings don¡¯t really tell me you¡¯ll be friends. Sorry.¡± ¡°Your readings?¡± Rhode scoffed. Then he rose to his feet and realized he was angry. ¡°How are you supposed to know this? What, magic?¡± ¡°Well, yea.¡± Rikva grabbed at her ear and stroked it. She shrunk a bit beneath the shadow of the homunculus. ¡°Some things. Most things, you just ask people. Obviously. But ah, yea? It¡¯s like, a third of my levels.¡± ¡°Dedicated to seeing the future?¡± Rhode loomed. ¡°Yea,¡± the scholar wilted. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The intensity in Rhode¡¯s look faded. He turned away and thudding while he paced the room with bare feet. He turned back. ¡°But I¡¯ve seen you gambling.¡± ¡°Well, I mean, I get bored.¡± ¡°Yea, but we¡¯ve played together. You¡¯re terrible.¡± Rikva laughed with relief and vexation. ¡°Oh, by the gods. Everybody goes on about that. It¡¯s like, a common misconception. Fortune and Fate are, yea, okay, related. But they¡¯re totally different fields of study.¡± The earth-man was unprepared for this. ¡°Huh?¡± ¡°Yea! It¡¯s like, Fortune is when you want something for yourself. So you just gotta steer all the good things that are happening towards you. That¡¯s why literally everybody¡¯s got an uncle or grandma or something that dips a little into Fortune.¡± Rhode sat down, some old instinct drove him to look for something to write with. He didn¡¯t find it. ¡°But Fate? Fate¡¯s like, trying to see everything at once. Follow all the threads, pick at all the outcomes. And then, what you gotta do is find the one thing that comes out best for everybody. Different, right? I mean, come on. Most of the time, they don¡¯t even use the same kind of math.¡± Rhode worked to think of something to say. ¡°Sorry, like, I know that¡¯s a trigger for me. I just gotta deal with it all the time. Wrote my dissertation on it, actually.¡± Rhode scratched at his chin. ¡°No, no problem. And I guess, sort of sorry for getting mad at you.¡± ¡°That¡¯s okay. Secret research team underground with like, megalomaniacs. I¡¯m used to it. Anyway, is there anything you need to get ready? Need something to eat? Drink? Want to do some hand stuff?¡± Rhode was hungry, but he waved away the offers. That wasn¡¯t Rikva¡¯s job, and he felt guilty treating her like wait-staff, when she was clearly a talented woman worthy of respect. Then he short-circuited. ¡°I, um¡­¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re right,¡± the woman sighed. She was turned away from him and squatted down by a basket. She was picking through it searching for any clothes which might be considered clean. ¡°That¡¯s unprofessional.¡± Rhode swallowed. ¡°It¡¯s just¡­¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± the goblin threw a massive shirt and pair of stockings at the homunculus. ¡°It¡¯s just, the other night, you know. When you took of your shirt? It was like, this isn¡¯t normally my thing, but, ¡®whoa there¡¯!¡± The hero realized he had not seen a single mirror during his time alive. He made a note to find one. ¡°Oh.¡± The scholar continued, ¡°so you¡¯ve got to recognize taste. Next day? I totally went to hang out with Krevinkya and we¡¯re like, practically best friends now.¡± Rhode struggled with his nightshirt, fumbling clumsily. ¡°Who?¡± ¡°The alchemist,¡± Rikva replied absently. ¡°Ah,¡± Rhode said. ¡°Listen, everything¡¯s so new to me. I¡¯m still just¡­¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re right,¡± the woman laughed again, more easily. ¡°You¡¯ve still gotta go to war or whatever they¡¯re making you do. I was just remembering what my mother always said.¡± Rhode began to button up his new shirt, and held up his stockings to the light. ¡°Yea? What¡¯s that.¡± ¡°If you know he¡¯s gonna be famous,¡± the goblin¡¯s voice turned into a bad parody of an elderly woman. ¡°Ya gotta get in on the ground floor early.¡± The homunculus couldn¡¯t help but snort. The goblin joined in. ¡°Well you still gotta hurry,¡± Rikva grinned with a mouth full of fangs, ¡°but how ¡®bout at least¡­ let me watch you do the pants.¡± There was no one with a conscience to tell Rhode no. Did you forget to change the lights? Or is that just all the FORESHADOWING Even though Rhode was dressed, he continued to blush. Rikva was already waiting, standing at his door with her claw around the handle. Once he secured his final button, she nodded, twisted, and opened the way into a catacomb of yawning shadows. ¡°Come on, you¡¯ve really gotta go,¡± she urged. Then the young woman turned her head away. ¡°And I won¡¯t tell anyone, I promise.¡± Rhode hitched up his pants further with a little hop that caused all the shelves and pots in his room to shake. He coughed lightly into his fist. ¡°I¡¯m really not the kind of guy that gets hung up on that kind of thing. I just, you know, glad to be alive again. Everything else is just a blessing.¡± The woman eyed him and squinted. ¡°You want me to tell everybody?¡± ¡°Like, actively?¡± The scholar shook her head vigorously, her fiery hairpin glinting. She clapped her hands. ¡°This is a distraction. Seriously, Rhode. Come on!¡± Ever since he¡¯d first woken, there had always been at least one someone attending outside of his door. Whether it was a servant, or a healer, or one of the scholars, they had sat (perhaps at the wobbly little table) and kept vigil. Now? There was no one in the halls. There were no candles lit. There were no voices echoing from beyond. Only the orange and purple of medicinal crystal-light reached outside, and it was spilling there only from inside his room. Rhode was surprised by how hard it was to convince himself to take the first step. Then it was easier after, but he never quite got over the feeling that every stride he took was carrying him further underground into darkness. Which was foolish, because Rikva was leading him up. ¡°I guess I understand ¨C no, I mean, I DO understand why I want to be there for this. Waking up like I did¡­ alone¡­¡± ¡°You weren¡¯t alone, big guy.¡± ¡°No, I know, Rikva. Sorry. But I mean, if it were me, I would want one of US to be there. Someone from home. Someone who could be there to tell them that everything¡¯s gonna be okay.¡± ¡°Hm,¡± the scholar hid a wince. She turned a corner and he followed. The only light was coming from a handful of orange she¡¯d taken along with her, and the one shining purple dot that Rhode held daintily in between his thumb and fore-finger. For a while, the only sound that kept them company was their feet and the shuddering heave of [bellows]. ¡°But why is this such a big deal for you?¡± Rhode broke the silence between them. ¡°You make this seem like I gotta be there or this is the end of the world or something.¡± ¡°It¡¯s just a crossroads, Rhode. Standard Fate stuff, a fork between choices which define who you become or what you do. Us seers are wet for this stuff. You find a good one, a big juicy one, and you can write a book and retire. You¡¯re made for life.¡± The goblin stopped at the end of a tunnel. There was a solid wall in front of her. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°Damn. Okay, back this way. I could¡¯ve sworn¡­¡± ¡°Like a butterfly flapping its wings,¡± Rhode murmured, beginning to understand. ¡°A flutter-bug?¡± Rikva stopped. Her nose pinched up, and her tongue flickered once out of her mouth in disgust. ¡°What does that have to do with anything?¡± ¡°You know,¡± Rhode hesitated. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that neither of them were really speaking English at all. ¡°It¡¯s a tiny insect that flaps its wings. And then the little vortex it makes in the air is carried in the currents, just a minuscule change. Sooner or later, that change compounds and echoes, and then before you know it: boom. A storm.¡± The scholar considered it for a moment. ¡°That¡¯s dumb. I think of it more like leaving a rusty nail on your neighbor¡¯s kitchen floor. Smaller than your pinkie, but still if their luck is bad enough, you might make them lose a foot.¡± She discovered the corridor she had been searching for, and pleased, led the homunculus on. ¡°I guess that¡¯s one way to put it,¡± Rhode admitted. ¡°But something about me being there, today will ¨C today, right?¡± ¡°Yea, it¡¯s day.¡± Rikva replied distractedly. But they encountered no one else: just echoes ¨C just the ghosts of whispers. "Mealtime," she added in a whisper. ¡°- is important,¡± he finished. Rikva huffed, impatiently. She thrust out a plainly made ceramic cup and rattled it. ¡°If you get there on time, it¡¯s big, textbook, good-luck destiny. A time of trials and tribulation, followed by triumph.¡± Rhode reached his hand backwards, in the general direction of his room. ¡°But if I didn''t trust you? If I chose to sleep in?¡± The goblin scholar¡¯s teeth snapped shut. She avoided his eyes. ¡°Well, then. That¡¯s squiggle, scratchy, skull-face. And you know how that goes.¡± She tipped the cup forward for Rhode to see inside. His stone revealed strangely shaped dice, carved of yellowed bone, and inlaid with [rune]s of fetid color that made his vision swim, just to look at. ¡°Don¡¯t feel bad if we miss it,¡± Rikva sighed. She sounded tired, and sad, and in a moment of weakness: kind. ¡°Bad things happen. You can¡¯t always stop them; no point to punish yourself. The Ring keeps turning anyway.¡± Even though he wanted to reach out to her, Rhode held his hands to his side. He recognized a door and pointed it out to his guide, and he ducked as she led him through. ¡°You could have woken me earlier,¡± he said. He didn¡¯t mean to sound judgemental, but he did. ¡°They moved up the schedule,¡± Rikva shrugged. ¡°Nobody told us. I had to get it from Krevinkya.¡± ¡°Really? Why?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know if you know this,¡± the goblin barked a cruel laugh. ¡°But, your fight with Lady Jern? Rhode, you were kind of impressive. The higher ups are¡­ I mean, they¡¯ve seen what¡¯s possible and they¡¯re hungry for more.¡± ¡°But she ruined me,¡± the man who¡¯d died protested. ¡°Yea, but she¡¯s supposed to. Hakkat-Yune is a third-entrusted Knight of the Viper. She¡¯s crazy high level for her age. Even if she was making a game of you, the fact you could even stay standing by the end is monstrous.¡± ¡°So now they want another one of me.¡± ¡°No, Rhode. You¡¯ve forgotten all the steps in between. The mistakes with your arrival. Your health. The sloppiness that we were handling you with, since we weren¡¯t ready. You¡¯ve got them all thinking now.¡± Yellow-red light rose in her grip and cast shadows over her face like a skull. The goblin reader-of-fates looked, for a moment, afraid. ¡°What if we did it all over again, but this time we do everything right from the start?¡± Duty Binds Us Monster and seer continued on through a long hallway. The stone around them had transitioned to precisely cut and mortared squares. It was fine granite. Heavy. Old. ¡°Hey, big guy,¡± the smaller figure asked the great shadow behind her, ¡±how much do you wanna bet that when the new guy wakes up, he¡¯s gonna show up crazy, and you¡¯re gonna have to fight him?¡± Rhode had been drifting in half-formed thoughts. He shook out of his trance. ¡°I ¨C what?¡± He stopped and saw a strange, piercing look on the goblin woman¡¯s face as she regarded him. It was probing, playful, and just a little unsure. ¡°Don¡¯t even joke,¡± Rhode shuddered. There was an edge in his voice as he gnarled. ¡°That¡¯d be just my luck.¡± He pushed past her, and she (in turn) ran to overtake him again. Rikva¡¯s voice was thin, higher pitched. Walking backwards casually, she played at confidence, and chose to bluff. ¡°How about three crowns, make it interesting?¡± The homunculus froze, and then relaxed. ¡°I¡¯m glad I don¡¯t have money,¡± he whuffed, ¡°If it¡¯s a bet with you? I¡¯m not sure if that makes it more likely or less.¡± They had walked loudly, and spoken even louder ¨C perhaps, as if only to ward off the hanging, gnawing feeling of emptiness around them. As they reached the quarter-way-point though, an emerging glow brightened from the far junction ahead of them. Everywhere the lights did not touch, the dim seemed to deepen in contrast. Rikva¡¯s hand grasped at Rhode¡¯s arm, too small to firmly grip around it easily. ¡°Let¡¯s go back this way,¡° she began. But Adjutant Fidelity Brand stepped into view. He wore his full livery, and best blacked-boots, and the dainty teacup he held burned with a candle inside. ¡°Goodman Irving? Scholar Rikva? What are you doing down here?¡± ¡°Ah. Imp-toes. So that¡¯s what happens.¡± The goblin sighed. With practiced ease, she dumped her cup and dice into a little bag she wore on her hip and snapped her fingers in frustration. ¡°I really started to think I was gonna make it.¡± ¡°And how in blazes did you get past all the guards?¡± Brand demanded. ¡°I¡¯ve posted them everywhere.¡± He leaned into the intersections as he approached, as if he thought they held threats. Then he strode towards them with authority. The older goblin had rings under his eyes. His mustache was waxed so finely, and so securely stiff, that it possessed none of the characteristic life or charm of its bounce. He rested his free hand at his belt, on the pommel of his sword. ¡°I was taking the big guy here to watch the summoning,¡± Rickva declared. She sounded equally determined and resigned. Doubt passed over the officer¡¯s features. Just for a moment, he didn¡¯t stand quite so tall. ¡°Scholar Rikva, your expertise is deemed unnecessary for the ritual. After recent lapses, non-essential staff will not be allowed to gawk and loiter about core-mission procedures from here out. Your superiors should have made this clear.¡± ¡°Of course, Ser,¡± she bowed. It was so adroit and respectful, that the soldier was taken aback. ¡°But¡­¡± he rumbled, ¡°this is a momentous day. Perhaps¡­ it would not be wrong for Goodman Irving to attend.¡± Fidelity¡¯s sword-hand left his weapon and he scratched at his lower lip instead. He inspected Rhode¡¯s attire with reluctance to approve, then caught himself from his undignified tic and sniffed. ¡°There was no explicit invitation extended to you, Goodman. But. I note that an inquiry was made¡­ as to whether you would wake by today.¡± Rikva victoriously struck Rhode on the chest with her palm. ¡°So, you¡¯ll take him?¡± she grinned. ¡°I will make no promises. I would have him change his attire into something more suitable, but ¨C I suppose it has become something of common knowledge that Goodman Irving prefers¡­¡± his shoulders slumped, ¡°casual dress.¡± Then Thousand-Cut Brand squared himself back to full military poise. ¡°Come along then, Goodman Irving, before I come to my senses. Scholar Rikva, though it is always a pleasure, I shall request you return to either your station or chambers.¡± ¡°At once, Ser,¡± the seer inclined her head. She turned. ¡°See you later, big guy." This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Her arms wrapped around Rhode''s belly. Her cheek pressed into him too. She was warm and he held her gently for no more than a second or two. "Seriously though," he whispered to her, "did we do that whole thing just so we could run into Brand?" She pulled away and grinned. "Ooh. That¡¯s a fun question. I really do hope you don''t die. See you tonight for nooses and knuckles? I¡¯ll spot you your first round of dice.¡± A creature from another world wrapped the tiny hand of his friend with his huge one. ¡°I''m gonna say maybe. For the life of me, I can''t decide if I''ll never gamble you again - or if I''d be smarter to take the wager against you every time.¡± Once the adjutant was whisking Rhode along, the homunculus realized just how much Rikva had been leading him in circles. Brand¡¯s candle flickered a robust illumination, so Rhode closed his light-crystal into the comfort of his palm. A little bit of purple showed through his blood and flesh. ¡°Goodman Irving. It behooves me to ask about something I overheard. The good Scholar Rikva. What she said... Surely, she was joking about the Hero? If she were to foresee some difficulty or failure with the ritual, it would be imperative for her to share this information with Special Projects.¡± Rhode blinked. He ran his free hand along the wall and felt the grain. It nicked little cuts into his skin. ¡°I think¡­¡± he hesitated, and then he risked a tiny little piece of the truth: to the adjutant and to himself too. ¡°I think I trust Rikva to do what she thinks is best.¡± ¡°If it was a matter that did not concern the turns of Fate, I might demand a clearer answer than that, young man,¡± Fidelity growled. He adjusted the hem of his doublet. Orange and black: the colors of his oaths. "Ah. Yea. So," Rhode wondered, changing the subject, "we really ended up in the middle of nowhere didn¡¯t we. How did you even find us?" "Please," the adjutant scoffed. Because [bellows] was tickling his ears, and moved hairs on the back of his head. It echoed over distance and around corners; in every direction there was. "You are not particularly difficult to find." They passed through an archway, and just like that, the halls were no longer empty. Rhode and his escort passed by a soldier, taking his leave on a low packing crate. The gentlegob set down the letter he was composing, and rose to salute ¨C it was that same, strange little motion with the thumb that Rhode had come to recognize. ¡°Um, that reminds me,¡± Rhode cleared his throat. They passed by a cleaner-man, who gaped at Rhode as his broom swept the same spot like it was stuck on repeat. Rhode tried out the thumb salute and nodded to the old gob. ¡°Don¡¯t do that,¡± Brand said. ¡°The salute is for standing men-at-arms. If you are not wearing colors, whether of your lord, or a knightly order, it is considered rude.¡± ¡°Sorry,¡± Rhode mouthed. ¡°But I wanted to find Yune. I mean, ah. Lady Ser Jern Hakkat-Yune. I kinda wanted to apologize for the whole, ah ¨C I guess our fight.¡± Brand¡¯s steps slowed to a stop, and Rhode halted behind him. ¡°I am afraid that is not possible. Knight Hakkat-Yune of House Jern is no longer with us.¡± ¡°She¡¯s DEAD?¡± Rhode hissed in barely controlled alarm. He¡¯d almost shouted, and drew curious looks. ¡°No! Of course not,¡± the adjutant rebuked. But there were lines creased into his face. ¡°She has merely been reassigned to another facility, another project.¡± Brand resumed his pace, and Rhode matched him. There was a certain extent to which the homunculus¡¯ towering form was blocking traffic, but the working goblins looked at the cause of their delay and chose to hold their tongues. Rhode covered one side of his face with his hand. ¡°I assume that¡¯s bad?¡± ¡°She has received a promotion,¡± Brand replied too quickly. ¡°So that¡¯s good!¡± The adjutant¡¯s pace increased. A sneer curled onto his lip as he stopped to upbraid his subordinates for their laxity, laziness, and lack of decorum. Rhode didn¡¯t consider all of his accusations to be quite fair. They seemed like they walked a long way without talking. ¡°I am taking you to the healers,¡± Fidelity intoned. ¡°We will request that their ministry be kept brief, but you have been insensate for some days. It will be wise to go now.¡± Rhode frowned. This was just classic avoidance strategy. ¡°Okay. So then, it IS pretty bad,¡± Rhode blurted out. ¡°Man, this sucks. I thought everything was going great? I guess she sort of beat the snot out of me, but I didn¡¯t mean to get her in trouble.¡± ¡°No, do not apologize, Goodman Irving. Ser Hakkat-Yune is a woman of impeccable talent, commendable self-possession, and limitless potential. She is young. Her quality, and her future, shall outlast the shadow of any passing cloud.¡± ¡°Shit,¡± Rhode murmured, ¡°now that just sounds worse.¡± The door of the infirmary appeared before them. Porter gobs, scribes, and guards stepped aside to make way. The adjutant passed his teacup lamp into the hands of a servant, and stared resolutely ahead. But Rhode looked down and to his side, and saw a little uniform. It was orange over black. There was a neatly oiled little belt about its waist, and it bore a duteously polished little knife. And inside of that uniform was a little goblin, standing oh so proud and in full salute. Her hair was did up perfect, her buttons all in place. Her mail was all but shining, and so it drew the eyes. But if you were distracted by her armor, and overlooked her face ¨C It was easy, there in passing, to miss how much she¡¯d cried. "Were going in a different direction", "were streamlining the department" Stepping into the infirmary was like passing into a dismal corporate office run by hoarders of the bizarre. Leather binders (secured with twine) stacked fat and thick with papers in several precarious towers. Boxes and chests overflowed with poorly sorted medicaments: venomous thorned herbs, pulsing minerals, and the mutant, pickled organs of animals that had no equivalent on Earth. A dusty odor had seeped over all of it, into the very carpets and paneling over time. It lingered like sour onions, and it hinted coyly of a festering of mice. The ¡®Junior¡¯ Scholar Tarrop of Waverton & Broox was sitting alone. Even though there were wooden partitions and delicate antique chairs about him to hint that this place routinely seated four or more: he looked cramped in the space. Open files were spilled over the goblin¡¯s lap, and he was dressed in a sober costume of ill-fitting, subdued grays. As the door groaned to announce his guests, the portly goblin laid down the thin metal wand he had been holding. The tool had been affixed at the end with a hybridized pair of spectacles, slash, magnifying glasses: at the opposite side of its handle. ¡°Ah. He is awake then,¡± the scholar smiled thinly. ¡°Hello, big guy. It¡¯s good to see you, truly.¡± His square-pupil eyes, once glimmering with calculation, now appeared dull. Rhode ducked into the room as Fidelity Brand moved aside. He squeezed into the open space before the first cubicle, and a box of loose bottles jingled as they were disturbed at his feet. ¡°Yea,¡± Rhode scratched the stubble on his cheek and his eyes roved about suspiciously. ¡°I mean, no big deal. Good to see you too, Tarrop.¡± ¡°Scholar Tarrop,¡± Fidelity crisply snapped, ¡°the Hero, Rhode of Irving requires medical assessment. Am I awry in my understanding that second shift has begun? Why are you alone in operating this station?¡± Without a hint of guile or cleverness, the scholar sedately (and vaguely) waved a stack of papers towards one of the walls. ¡°We do have an army medic with us Ser, should you desire it. They will likely be making their rounds, now.¡± ¡°Not the generalists, Good Scholar, there should be at least one of the acolytes here at all times. Acolyte¡­¡± the officer snapped his finger impatiently. ¡°I can never remember their names. We agreed that there would be continuous availability.¡± Tarrop set his papers down carefully, sorting them into the stacks on his table. He looked up again at Brand with a probing expression, and then cleared his lap of his work. ¡°The specialists of the Hornupant Priory are occupied, as their participation is necessary to the success of the ritual.¡± A blank expression passed over Brand¡¯s face. His mustache twitched. ¡°Oh, really?¡± Rhode injected. He hadn¡¯t really spent much time thinking about what the kids did for the project. Tarrop ignored the Hero, his eyes locked onto Brand. ¡°Surely, you remember that, Ser.¡± ¡°Of course, Scholar Tarrop,¡± Fidelity shook his head slowly. ¡°Yes. But what of Father Uod? I would assume he might be made available here in the interim.¡± A pitying smile crept on the scholar¡¯s face and he huffed out a breath. ¡°Ah. I suppose he is largely here in a¡­ supervisory capacity, after all,¡± Fidelity trailed off. Chagrin had crept into his voice. ¡°Is there truly no one to see to Goodman Irving¡¯s care, then? Given his state ¨C¡± Rhode perked up. ¡°What was wrong with my state?¡± ¡°Ser,¡± the scholar raised a hand. He lowered it slowly, and fidgeted. He averted his eyes with discomfort. ¡°I will assure you that the big guy has already been taken care of sufficiently. The¡­ Goodman of Selt has, I must admit, surpassed our every expectation in the matters of both diagnosis and treatment. Rhode will be fine.¡± The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°But ¨C¡° ¡°But though I am loath to remind you, and it pains me, Ser ¨C I regret I must ask that, and I say this respectfully, you must step outside.¡± Thousand-Cut Brand stiffened, as if he had come under physical assault. ¡°For the privacy of the patient,¡± Tarrop whispered. Rhode watched with confusion and uncertain dismay as the half-elven chin dipped ¨C almost glacially slow. Then the black and orange livery, the elegant sword, and the mustachioed nobleman who wore them so admirably, all spun briskly about, and stalked out of the infirmary. Tarrop sighed and deflated. He leaned back and produced two tall, identical porcelain jars from under his desk. He sniffed both of them, announced, ¡°this one¡¯s lunch,¡± and then spat into the other one. He replaced them underneath his workspace and stood upright. ¡°Uh,¡± Rhode pointed behind him. He changed his mind and pointed down towards the scholar¡¯s meal storage routine, and then dismissed it to jerk his thumb back towards the door. Then since it was open, he leaned back and shut it just in case. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± ¡°I meant what I said, Rhode. You¡¯re going to be fine. Between Brother Eloft¡¯s ministrations, Goodwife Krevinkya¡¯s tinctures, and Goodmiss Chyrna¡¯s stitching, frankly you shouldn¡¯t experience any discomfort or impairment at all. [Hibernate] will have helped you marginally, as well.¡± The scholar carefully extracted himself from his enclosed workspace. He lifted a leg to step over a clouded glass jar and crouched over a pile of supplies in the back. ¡°Okay,¡± Rhode supplied. The shuffling sound paused. ¡°You did not crystalize any new levels, is that correct?¡± ¡°No. I¡¯m just growing the ones I¡¯ve got.¡± Tarrop raised a vial to the light. It was clear, but refracted the light unnaturally and in unsettling colors. ¡°We were only mostly sure. There was hope, but¡­ I suppose this is as good a time as any to get you your mana potion, though.¡± The goblin turned it in his hand reverently. A scintillating prism of colors played over his face. ¡°Ah, this is a good one. And it¡¯s a double dose.¡± Rhode reached out, and his optimization advice specialist placed the potent, stoppered concoction into his palm. The homunculus looked down, then up. ¡°Did you hear that Yune got in trouble?¡± Tarrop wove a torturous path back to his desk and sat back down with a ¡®whumph¡¯. ¡°Yes. It was unfortunate.¡± Rhode¡¯s fingers closed gently around his potion. ¡°It seems weird that she would get punished like that. I dunno. I thought you, you know, all of you, sort of encouraged that sort of thing.¡± Tarrop raised his hands helplessly, and a pained smirk flickered on his face. ¡°We are all a prisoner to our nature.¡± ¡°But what did they single her out for?¡± Rhode growled. ¡°I mean, it doesn¡¯t make sense to be mad, but ¨C¡° ¡°Ah,¡± the scholar expelled. He ran his hand over his balding head and leaned back. His hands folded over his belly. ¡°Rhode, perhaps it is rude for me to tell you this, but it is worse to keep you ignorant. You should know that Ser Fidelity Brand has been asked to adjust his responsibilities here at the Hero project.¡± Rhode¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Aw, no.¡± ¡°The day to day operations will no longer be under his administration. Instead he will be focused primarily on the physical security of this facility.¡± Rhode slumped, his bulk leaned against the only nearby free stretch of wall. ¡°They knocked him down to guard duty?¡± ¡°It is my sincere advice that you would not phrase the situation so indelicately when his lordship is present.¡± Tarrop¡¯s eyes closed as his head tilted further. ¡°But there is more. Rhode, allow me to tell you in no uncertain terms that working with you has been one of the highlights of my entire career. Indeed, though I did not know it ¡®till now, this project will likely be remembered as the pinnacle of my life¡¯s professional accomplishments.¡± ¡°Oh, no,¡± Rhode groaned. ¡°When you fell asleep in the vault, you inhaled a nearly lethal dose of poison. It was an accident of incomparable negligence. You spent three days recuperating, failed to resolve a weapon-art as we¡¯d intended, and the material costs to restore you¡­¡± ¡°We were so eager to keep you well this time, and so, we went somewhat over-budget. It did not occur to us. And I ¨C and we may have received certain other complaints as well. I will note it did not help our cause when it was revealed that you had declined to evolve your [Vigorous Ichor] to the rejuvenation lines at our own recommendation, an error I personally regret.¡± Tarrop¡¯s head rose and his eyes were clear. ¡°Yagget is indespensible. Rikva is a rising star. You must understand that Wavelton & Broox is a small institution, our foundations uncertain. We cannot afford to offend the court.¡± ¡°Salt and Ash precede you, my boy. I am blessed to have met you. I will try to come say goodbye if I can.¡± Never forget the golden rule Rhode insisted on shaking Tarrop¡¯s hand once more, and the scholar left him with one last piece of advice. ¡°Never forget the golden rule of goblin-kind, big guy. We do so at our peril.¡± But the gob did not explain himself, he simply squeezed around and opened the door. As Rhode left the infirmary that wasn¡¯t really an infirmary, he held either of his fists curled up in towards his chest. It seemed that once again, and in what was fast becoming a pattern, the earth-man had a Problem with a capital P. Because deep in his heart, Rhode knew that Tarrop the goblin was a bad person. He knew it. The man was a slick, duplicitous smooth-talker. He was vain and indolent ¨C a glutton of lavish wastes. He only talked kindly to the people he could gain something from, and that had included Rhode too. Anyone with eyes could have seen that this scholar (of few studies but self-interest) had treated every gob at Four Rings beneath him like dirt. And what about Hakkat-Yune? The maniac that had cut him halfway dead? Or the pompous Adjutant: the rigid, judgmental mustache that was Fidelity Brand? What had changed? So Rhode agonized. Because the problem was that despite it all, despite his instincts and the basic faculty of common sense ¨C well, the Hero of Sacred was starting (despite himself) to like the people he¡¯d come here to save. ¡°Hey, Brand,¡± Rhode spoke. The soldier of many years, and the wavering daemon over his shoulder, glanced once at the homunculus. Brand nodded once, and then set off, motioning for Rhode to follow. ¡°Hey,¡± the living, breathing traffic jam tried again. But the lesser lord kept on, leading them around checkpoints armed with spear-women and dour-faced men with heavy clubs. They greeted him with salutes, and one or two wicked snickers at his expense, and waved the two along. This section of the facility was lively: decorated with fine things, and the gobs hereabout were fiercely busy at pretending that they were hard at work. As Rhode passed by one particular thin-haired man that was meticulously scooting plinths an inch further left, one by one, he leaned over and squinted. ¡°I¡¯m onto you, buddy,¡± he said. Whether he was right or not, the man jumped nearly out of his skin. He hurried off into the distance; gone to mend his ways, or perhaps to loiter elsewhere and try his luck again. There was a stairwell. It was nothing so impressive. Just a framed wooden set of steps leading upwards. Creaking, but sturdy enough to handle the movement of daily freight. It was not the only access which connected the palace above to the deeps below, but it was the first that Rhode had been allowed to see. As he spied the filtering rays of his very first natural light in this life, a blockage inside of his soul seemed to come loose, and he began to choke up. ¡°Brand. I think I know why I came here.¡± ¡°Yes, Goodman Irving, I would hope so. But we are already likely to be late.¡± Long, half-elven legs vaulted up the stairs nimbly. Rhode looked upwards and tucked his healing crystal into his breast-pocket. He touched the bannister like it was a sacred relic of faith, and carefully ascended into daylight. Stolen story; please report. They passed together through a cramped, dark-paneled servants¡¯ access: the recessed space clearly meant to hide the stairwell from the view of the attached open room. Beyond that transition, the floor of the palace was tiled in an arcane geometry of viridian marble and coppery-gold rue-wood. The walls were papered everywhere with designs of coiling sea-lion-serpents and peacock-feathered crabs; and they were painted in gold over arsenic imbued paper, the lurid color of sheele¡¯s green. Dainty statuettes of jade occupied divot-ed little cubbies along the walls, and a chandelier of mirror-polished copper leafs hung overhead. Along the far wall, windows the height of Rhode himself (taller, even) were spilling with sweet warmth and sunlight. Their velvet and lace curtains were tied with ribbons, and elegantly tucked to either side. A plush, avocado and ochre rug laid out ahead of him under his feet. ¡°Whoa,¡± Rhode said. ¡°You are impressed?¡± Brand smirked weakly. ¡°Yea, by how tacky this looks. Who owns this place?¡± Rhode blurted out, before he could stop himself. The adjutant¡¯s smile actually grew wider in approval, and his step was lighter too. ¡°Rikva told me I had to make a choice today. That was why she fetched me. I¡¯ve been thinking about it, and now I think I know what I¡¯ve gotta do.¡± The probably-ex-adjutant slowed down a beat. ¡°That is fortuitous, if true, Goodman Irving. Would it change the outcome for you to share this with me?¡± Rhode slipped through a painstakingly ornamented doorway, as Brand held it open for him. ¡°I don¡¯t think so. I mean, I don¡¯t know. But it¡¯s about Tarrop. And about Yune, and ah, I guess about you too.¡± Ser Fidelity looked up sharply. His daemon took shape and flitted ahead, keeping watch. The half-elf touched the homunculus arm lightly, leading Rhode aside and as much out of sight as was possible. ¡°Goodman Irving, I have come to believe ¨C and forgive me for this accusation ¨C that you suffer from something of a kindness of empathy for your peers. I¡­ perhaps admire it. It is a rare thing, and a luxury that few of us can risk. But you should not worry about me. Please. You are already doing enough. A dawn is coming that we have never dreamed to see, a future where Sacred will see the threat of the west ended. The time will come when our country will grow fat and happy feasting on the corpse of Delight. A week ago, I had not thought it was possible. Now I know I will see it ere I even see fit to retire.¡± Rhode shuffled his feet. He cringed with the uncomfortable closeness, and vulnerability of the admission. ¡°Right, yea. That too,¡± he lied. The idea of fighting a war repulsed him, and he knew in his very soul that he would do everything in his power not to fight. ¡°But in the meantime, maybe I can talk to somebody in charge. Maybe I can convince them to give you your job back, to keep Tarrop, and ¨C¡° ¡°STOP!¡± Brand cried out. His face twisted into conflict, and he forced himself back to calm. ¡°Leave it be, Goodman Irving. We are goblin; even I. Perhaps especially I. It is right to know our place.¡± Rhode blanched in surprise from the sudden emotion, and a thought struck him. ¡°Brand? What¡¯s the golden rule of goblins?¡± Fidelity¡¯s face went white. His mustache shook and uncurled. Then his teeth bared and his claw jabbed into Rhode¡¯s chest. ¡°Never mention that idiot adage again. Not in public, not in private, don¡¯t even breathe it. Do you FUCKING understand?¡± he snarled. ¡°Shit, man. Okay. Dang, Brand. I get it,¡± Rhode muttered. He held his hands up in surrender. Brand glared for a moment longer, and then led a monster onwards. The desert shimmer of his aura trailed behind him as they went. Neither spoke a word as they followed the curving ring of the palace, until the ornate, double-door of the south-west ballroom appeared before them. DreadlungIrving Superior ¡° ¡° ¡° The adjutant made some small adjustments to Rhode¡¯s attire where he could, and then stepped away unsatisfied. ¡°Rhode ¡°Yea.¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got something in your hand.¡± ¡°Oh, yea. I kinda forgot I have the potion?¡± Rhode admitted. He held it up and shook it gently. ¡°Should I just take it now?¡± Fidelity Brand shook his head. He reached and took hold of the vial from out of Rhode¡¯s enormous hand. ¡°No, I will take it. With your leave, I shall secure it in your chambers for when you return.¡± ¡°Kay. Thanks Brand.¡± ¡°Mind your manners. Mind your mouth. Do what you¡¯re told.¡± ¡°Yea, I get it.¡± ¡°It is important.¡± ¡°I know.¡± ¡°It is important.¡± ¡°I KNOW.¡± ¡°Good,¡± Brand said. He stepped further away. He hesitated. ¡°Good. Then I¡¯ll be off.¡± He stopped again. Rhode spread his arms impatiently. Ser Fidelity bowed. ¡°Gods will it, your countryman shall join you shortly. Ere tonight, you will be one of two.¡± ¡° The guards stepped aside, and he walked through the door. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. It was a person. It was a corpse. It was dead, but maybe it didn¡¯t have to be. But there was yet one more soul present. There was a sixth attendee who stood apart from them all. ¡° He received no reply. To see one another eye to eye. A head began to slowly turn. ¡°Do you mind if I stand here with you? I kinda¡­ I mean I kinda don¡¯t know where to put myself.¡± orange Eyes were fixed on Rhode, and their pupils were unusually round. ¡°Goodman Irving,¡± ¡°Yea, hey. Uh, wow. Okay,¡± Rhode stammered. ¡°I guess you¡¯re probably important.¡± ¡° Yagget¡¯s hands were shaking violently as he finished his circle. He¡¯d laid concentric rings of silver-powder, ash, salt, and sulfur. He struggled pitiably with the cord that tied his fifth substance. He fumbled so badly he nearly spilled it. ¡° ¡°Surprisingly apt. Though not your intention.¡± Rhode smiled back. Why shouldn¡¯t he? He was getting somewhere. ¡°We are not elf, in fact. We are Vodyonoi.¡± ¡° ¡°It means: they who came from waters. For Our ancestors, who sailed the sea long ago.¡± ¡°that¡¯s ¡°The goblin tongue names Us ¡®true¡¯ elves. Or sometimes ¡®high¡¯ elves. Thus, you spoke correctly. We are what elves are meant to be.¡± Rhode tried to unpack that. Something in his heart rebelled against the callous eugenics of what he was hearing. The idea of it violated every sense of fairness, or brotherhood, or equity that he believed in. But still, there was just something about how he said it that sounded, ¡°Badass. You¡¯re like a super-elf. That¡¯s cool. I¡¯m Rhode.¡± ¡°I mean, you knew that. You just said my name.¡± ¡°Goodman Irving, We make allowances for the peculiarities of your culture. Your people make a game of informality. The lowest scum of your society would look upon the highest echelon; at one who holds their very fate in their hand, and that villain would dare address their given name.¡± ¡° Rhode looked helplessly around him. He was confused, he was angry. And maybe he even knew what came next. ¡°Seriously, man. Who even are you anyway?¡± ¡°We are Second of the Sacred Crown¡¯s last living issue. Third in succession to Suntide Throne. We are Prince of the realm.¡± ¡°Llanthinanumen Wow, what kind of skill do you think Rhode will get next? That¡¯s right, you fools! I LIED. I DO know how to pronounce it. For he was Ya-oon-tei-nan-oon-men, and in the ancient tongue of his foremothers, his name meant ¡®him who makes them kneel.¡¯ Rhode swallowed and looked down at his feet to make sure the floor was still under him. In that space, and in that company, he suddenly felt small. ¡°I, um. Sorry, Yan-Yon-Yanute¡­? ¡°On Sacred ground, it is custom We be addressed solely as ¡®Your Grace¡¯.¡± ¡°Right. Would it be easier if I just call you Prin¨C¡± ¡°Goodman Irving. You will not.¡± ¡°You can call me Rhode if you want.¡± ¡°Goodman Irving. We will not.¡± ¡°Yea. Okay, uh, Your Grace. It¡¯s just that ¨C¡° ¡°Subject Yagget. We are confident your preparations are sufficient. Tarry not. Procure the goat.¡± Rhode¡¯s mouth snapped shut: he had encountered a sentence he did not expect, and needed time to come to terms with it. Across the room, and at the edge of the outermost ritual circle, Yagget froze. The goblin gulped. He shivered uncontrollably, and his eyes locked onto Rhodes. Please, the eyes said. Rhode opened his mouth and began to reach forward. But the old goblin¡¯s wild hair swung. His head shook with urgency. Ah, Rhode realized. Please. But, NO. The Second Prince held his hands cupped loose behind his back. Rhode had seen his neck could turn, and the witnessed the deliberate tracking of his eyes. The Prince¡¯s mouth would even open and shut when he spoke. Nothing else about him moved. Yagget scrambled to a small door at the wall, then his knee pitched and he caught himself. His pace became more careful, and more measured, then he reached its handle and stepped through. ¡°Your Grace,¡± Rhode murmured. ¡°I wanted to talk to you about Yune.¡± The three nameless figures stretched. They leaned. In particular, they shook out their fingers in limbering exercises that were rigorous and complex. ¡°I wanted to let you know, that I¡¯m not angry about what happened the other day. I don¡¯t blame her. I don¡¯t even blame Tarrop, either. It was just an accident. A mistake. It was no big deal.¡± Eyes. ¡°If it¡¯s about the budget, or whatever, Your Grace. I¡¯m sure we can pay it back. We¡¯ll work something out. Make a deal. You know?¡± ¡°Goodman Irving,¡± The Prince replied. His attention drifted off the homunculus, and [bellows] gasped again. ¡°Do you believe We are concerned with cost? Know that it has ever been Our will to conserve the secrecy of this work. Your minders forgot this, and grew lax. You are known to rabble, witnessed by gossips. It is inevitable, now, that the agents of Delight will learn of your birth. Our time is limited; our advantage is yielded to the enemy. We will prepare. And they will retaliate.¡± A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡°Shit,¡± Rhode whispered. That was different. That meant something different. ¡°That¡¯s not what they told me.¡± The Prince let out a shadow of a sigh. ¡°They are goblin, Goodman Irving, with goblin minds and goblin thoughts. Ever do We bear them Our patience. The knight remains gone. You will keep the scholar. He will be merely flogged instead.¡± Yagget returned to the room wearing the same, light brown body-suit as his colleages. He carried his protective headdress under one arm, and held the lead to a harness in the other hand. Behind him followed a creature that was almost, but not quite goat. It had wide, splayed three-toed feet, and a rounded, protruding nasal bridge. It bleated mournfully once along its way, and shook its little beard. Goat was good enough, Rhode decided. His mind ran hot and feverish, searching for a reason for the animal¡¯s inclusion. He had preconceptions. He had suspicions. He didn¡¯t want to think them. Suddenly, there was a creaking noise that echoed through the air. There was a side, ancillary entrance to the ballroom on that wall. It had been so neat and flush at its seams that it had been invisible, an oversight until it opened. ¡°Oh, uh, hello? Who¡¯s in here, dummies?¡± said an unfortunate page. His head popped through the door and looked about, and then fell positively grave. ¡°Goodsirs? Lords? My apologies, gracious me! I was looking for the lesser inner south-south-east overflow storage C? Five concentric arcane circles, looped around a mythic Hero corpse. Three Acolytes of Hornupant had raised up their hands, and murmured in their verse. An gentle looking grey-haired man, put his hand up to his throat, and there stood between them all a sorcerer, who was tying up a goat. ¡°Maybe I should come back?¡± Whimpered the young man. ¡°[Serve]¡± ¡°and¡± ¡°[Forget]¡± Rhode felt a hideous chill. He turned back towards the Prince, and he barely heard the sound of the interloper as he left. ¡°Oh, how could I be so dumb! I missed the left back at the mummified nose exhibit. Don¡¯t mind me, ye gobs! Ha! Ye mind your business, and I¡¯ll mind mine.¡± The door slammed shut. ¡°Perhaps we shall secure the room. [They Knew the Price of Crossing Us]. [The Shadows All Have Knives].¡± Wait, what? Rhode inched away. His knees felt weak. Wait, what? ¡°Your Grace,¡± the Translocationist choked out. ¡°We are prepared to proceed, at your leave.¡± ¡°It is granted. Fear not failure. You do Our will, [Like Clockwork].¡± Rhode¡¯s mouth went dry, and his tongue was thick in his throat. Wait, what? Yagget began to pace the circle, and his voice began to rise. His motions snapped to regular, precision measured strides. ¡°[Potentialize]. [Tesselate]. [Inversion]. [Fractallize]. [Rejoinder]. [Temper]. [Resonate]. [Shift]. [Destabilize].¡± ¡°[Potentialize]. [Tesselate]. [Inversion]. [Fractallize]. [Rejoinder]. [Temper]. [Resonate]. [Shift]. [Destabilize].¡± ¡°[Potentialize]. [Tesselate]. [Inversion]. [Fractallize]. [Rejoinder]. [Temper]. [Resonate]. [Shift]. [Destabilize].¡± ¡°Um, Hey. Your Grace? This isn¡¯t how you guys did me, was it? Like, this wasn¡¯t how my summon went, right?¡± The Translocationist disappeared beneath his podium, and lifted an intricate metal cylinder of interoperating parts. He, and it, and the animal shuffled to alignment with the head of a homunculus¡¯ shell. ¡°Alright, boys and girls. Round two. Helmets on. It¡¯s go time.¡± The chanting muffled eerily, as Yagget donned his gear. A chorus rose to join him, and it wriggled in the ear. A core of pure plutonium was emerging from its case. A man from earth was showing all his horror on his face. A knife flashed out, and held up high. It gleamed under the light. It flashed so quick and suddenly, for silencing a life. Rhode had never in his time on Earth, seen the inside of a throat. But now he was familiar with the trachea of goat. ¡°[Call of Sin]!¡± so screamed a Hornupant. ¡°[Beckon Soul]!¡± Did call the next. ¡°[Ectoplasmic Anchor]¡± wailed the last of them. O¡¯er the corpse set in its place. The humble Translocationist, raised his arms up towards the sky. ¡°[Phase]. [Pathfind].[Breach]¡±, he said. And a hole was torn in space. ¡°We call beyond the void! Waylay the damned, deny them place in hell! Come, live again, we defy the gods, usurp the wheel of fate as well!¡° Rhode¡¯s eyes flashed in panic. To the body, to the ritualists. ¡°Fuck,¡± he said. He looked to his side, and really, truly saw the Vodyonoi Prince besides him. ¡°Fuck,¡± he said again. For those expressionless, perfectly round irises bored right back down into his soul. Five voices keened as one, in a tumultous surge. ¡°[Hero Summon!]¡± They exhulted and - ¡°Fuck.¡± Rhode whispered. Interlude: What is {[(/*Madness */}]? The human is a strange kind of animal, and so unlike their fellow ape. They love stories. They love patterns. They love words ¨C all strung along, and in clever turns of phrase. The human tells them to each other. They remember them. They repeat them to their children, and those repeat the same again. They weave all those little fables, and in time they tangle up together. They bind those strange little humans together into families of people: communities who all share the same little knot of stories. What else is culture, but that? A bloodline. Not the sort from veins. Not marrow or the heart. Nothing so base or crass. But a bloodline of words. A memetic legacy of ideas. A genealogy of the mind. The shape of what comes after when they say: ¡°come here, and let me tell you a story ¨C that someone once told me.¡± There¡¯s a certain sort of story, that a certain kind of folk, have always loved to tell. It¡¯s popular with the rebellious, with the counter-culturalist too. The seditious love to dabble, and the transgressionists it¡¯s true. But sometimes it¡¯s just regular, boring, wonderful, and everyday sorts of people: just looking for escape. It¡¯s a thrill, it¡¯s a chill, it¡¯s fun. It¡¯s an outlet for insecurity, and for pent up anger too. Stories give this structure to an agent, and that agent gives a voice, to all the things which go unspoken, and are forbidden to be said. Delight, revulsion, fascination, and even catharsis for their demise. The story-teller invokes them for many reasons, and to reach all sorts of ends ¨C The Lunatic. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Sometimes he¡¯s a genius, with ambitions far too large. Some are just for ambiance, to juice a humdrum scene with charge. How about a tragedy? Make a hero fall to spite. And some are simply killers, they¡¯re for lurking out of sight. But that¡¯s not mAdNESs. Imagine waking up one morning, not sure what¡¯s dream and yet what¡¯s true. Imagine never knowing quite ¨C what others say of you. It means overhearing whispers, but your doubts fill in the gaps. It means standing oh so quiet, while your mind is running laps. So I¡¯ll tell you what Madness means: it¡¯s to be a traitor to yourself. What could be that makes a soul? Your thoughts? Your memories? Your perceptions or convictions? Are such attributes the key? But what if oh so suddenly, you could not be quite sure. Of what is real or fantasy, and you did not know the cure. How frightful be your circumstance, how sad it is to live. Your brain was almost, nearly rightly made: it¡¯s just got a bit of¡­ give. But just ¨C Be kind to yourself. Be judicious. Know the limits to which you can rely on common sense and intuition when you know they can fail you so spectacularly. Be pro-active, and open, and courageous with the people you love and understand. Check your thoughts (carefully) against their sense of reason, and always trust the (statistically averaged) compass and opinion of your neighbors over your own. And above all else, trust your doctor. They will never be perfect as you need them to be, but they¡¯re just trying hard to help. Sickness is nothing to be ashamed of. There is nothing unprecedented about the way you feel, and that means you are not alone. Madness doesn¡¯t have to be a Horror story. You can be okay. But ¨C Rhode isn¡¯t. He¡¯s in oh so much fucking trouble. Aftermath? Is that like Algebra? There was a body on the floor and it was moving. That was the good news! It probably started with a pulse; with one, tremendous beat of its dead heart. A chest began to rise, and its mouth opened with a phlegmatic rattle. Arms uncrossed. They lifted, but weakly, and so painfully shakily. Then the Hero rolled his body onto his side and curled into a little ball as tight as he could. ¡°God, oh God,¡± he said. ¡°No. Please. Help me. Save me,¡± he moaned. Dios, Dios m¨ªo. No! Por favor. Ay¨²dame. Me salve. Is what Rhode heard. The newly summoned Sacred Hero had yet to bond with the [Lingual]-type parasitic tumor in his brain, and it would be some days before he could speak casually in the goblin-tongue. So. Rhode Mortimer Irving, the Dreadlung, the [Greater Brawn Homunculus], and weapon of the two hundred year-old Second Prince Llanthinanumen ¨C Kind of needed to walk away for a second and get some air. He leaned one arm against a far wall of the bright, cheerful ballroom. There was a mirror in front of him, and it was simultaneously calming and permanently traumatizing to see what he had become. Those broad shoulders. The thick, heavy-boned limbs. His tiny-looking head was so square around the jaw and the brow. His ears barely even came to points at all! Wait, no ¨C that was right. What color was he? Corpse, he thought. Or maybe ¡®fading bruise¡¯. The other thing he¡¯d realized, was just how similar his features were to his newborn brother¡¯s. Or even, it was more like he was exactly the same: a twin, except just bigger. [Brawn]ier, one might say. ¡°Goodman Irving,¡± an old man asked, ¡°may I lean on you, my boy?¡± Journeyman Scholar Yagget, a renowned mantralist and magician of Wavelton & Broox College of the Arcane, who some might say was denied the rank of Master only since he refused to play the games of politics so necessary in academia ¨C Well, he looked worn out. As Rhode held out one, sturdy arm, Yagget held on to its strength. ¡°Yagget. Am I a bad person?¡± Rhode choked. The scholar looked up at Rhode. The two men regarded themselves in the mirror, so deliberate in the way they ignored the world behind them. ¡°I didn¡¯t think I was,¡± the monster continued. ¡°I never did anything that was wrong. Not really wrong, anyway. Just regular, dumb stuff. Normal mistakes.¡± ¡°I¡­ am not sure I follow, my boy,¡± the scholar said. ¡°The things you guys said in the ritual, in the summon: the spell. That was just for the drama, right? The theater of it. It was flavor text. I wasn¡¯t supposed to go to hell.¡± Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Yagget¡¯s eyes were¡­ well, they were not unkind. Maybe he could never be a true comfort, or even ever be trusted (not really). But in this one moment, they were something more than strangers. ¡°Much of the ritual is beyond me, I must admit. My responsibilities are in the preparations, and weakening of the boundaries of what is real. It is Goodman Apriml of BenXol who truly pierces the veil to where a Hero¡¯s soul can be found. And those young soul-binders are the ones who will find¡­ the exact, right person we need most.¡± Rhode looked into his own eyes, and they were blue. Not the blue of carefree skies, but the blue of the deep places of the ocean. ¡°That¡¯s all I cared to know. You will have to forgive me, Rhode. I did not think to ask.¡± Rhode curled his fist so tight it hurt. ¡°Yagget I ¨C¡° don¡¯t want to become a weapon, he almost said. But he didn¡¯t. Rhode knew that if he said those words out loud, right there and then, then that would be the end. It would be his doom. ¡°- really appreciate it,¡± he announced instead. It hurt to lie. But he did. ¡°Thank you. That makes me feel a lot better.¡± The goblin smiled and showed his fangs. ¡°If it is true, and you have a black-heart in there; if you are a creature of wickedness,¡± he began. Then he winced, as if from the flaring of an old ache. ¡°Then at least I hope you take some comfort that you are in some fine company.¡± An imperfect man patted Rhode on the arm, and Rhode (very carefully) tapped him on the shoulder back. But time did not simply stop just so that one soul could find a moment of relief. The Ring kept turning. Prince Llanthinanumen stood before a masterpiece. It represented the culmination of years of effort, of planning, and of (other people¡¯s) sacrifice. His servants worked urgently. They wrapped a [Greater Brave Homunculus] in strips of alchemical, resin soaked cloth. Long chains of malefic [rune]s were painted along the bandages, and they helped secure an unstable soul to its body for temporary transport. The Hero, the real Hero, had finally come. The Prince¡¯s attentions turned slowly away, and towards a whining, bumbling disappointment. Still. He reminded himself that this Hero had stood its ground against the Jern girl: that peasant-blooded Viper sword-prodigy. Luckily, it had never mattered whether or not the ¡®experiment¡¯ reached full effectiveness. He would never hinge his plan off of any single point of failure. This? This was always meant to be an effort in ¨C what did Irving call it? He had such an apropos term his people used. Ah, yes. ¡®Mass production¡¯. These ¡®humans¡¯ were occasionally rather clever with language. So, even though the Second Prince was satisfied that he did not need this Dreadlung at all¡­ well. He watched and he listened, and he came to conclusions. There was also no sense in letting a tool go to waste. ¡°We will have Ser Reliance attend to Us now.¡± Rhode heard. The acolytes Good¡ö¡õ¡ö ?¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö, Good¡õ¡ö¡õ ?¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö, and Good¡ö¡õ¡ö ?¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö, continued their ministrations. Eventually, one of them would run out of the room (in a direction Rhode thought of as goat-wards), and fetched a type of rolling gurney: but not quite yet. The Translocationist, Goodman Apriml was soaked in sweat. The sacrifice still lay by his feet. The containment unit sat sealed about a yard in the other direction. The goblin leaned against his podium, gasping with his helmet removed. But he still snapped to attention on demand, and snapped his fingers. ¡°[Relay][Interpose][Baud-channel],¡± he wheezed. ¡°My Lord, Ser Reliance. You are requested.¡± ¡°Goodman Irving,¡± spoke Llanthinanumen. ¡°Stand with Us. Let us speak of the future.¡± And it was not a question. Wherein an Isekai Protagonist Shows a Backwards Culture Just how Advanced His Was The Prince awaited him. The high-elf hadn¡¯t moved from the spot he¡¯d stood at. He hadn¡¯t even turned. Yagget released Rhode¡¯s arm, and his face betrayed the limit of his sympathy. You are on your own, now, Rhode thought he understood. The first (or perhaps the prototype) Hero of Sacred approached the son of monarchs, a terrible power unto himself, and likely one of the architects or masterminds of his own resurrection. ¡°He who [Serve]s, may stop. That is an appropriate distance. He who [Serve]s may kneel. That is right.¡± It was possible for Rhode to resist. It was possible for him to fight. He glanced back, and Yagget was behind him. The old man was on the ground, prostrate in a full kow-tow. ¡°I have grandchildren,¡± he said. So Rhode knelt. ¡°Goodman Irving, you are displaying physiological signals of distress. You are overwhelmed.¡± ¡°Uh, no, I¡¯m okay. Your Grace.¡± ¡°You are distraught, and it threatens to make you irrational.¡± ¡°No! I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m just¡­ I¡¯m just surprised, Your Grace. This wasn¡¯t what I expected.¡± The Prince had moved. He was standing over Rhode and looking down at him. ¡°You harbor reservations. Tell Us, if you believed you would survive it, would you try to strike Us now?¡± ¡°N-n-no. Your Grace,¡± Rhode stammered. Why wouldn¡¯t this guy let up? Rhode squeezed his eyes shut. He realized his fist was clenched, and released it. ¡°This isn¡¯t my world. I don¡¯t know your country. It isn¡¯t my place to say who should or should not rule.¡± It was as close to the truth as Rhode could make into a sentence under duress. It was frankly too much to say, even as it was. The earth-man looked down at his feet, and saw that the edges of his shadow were unusually sharp. ¡°How consistently evasive,¡± the Vodyonoi stated in exactly the same tone, tempo, and volume as everything else. Was he angry? Pleased? About to call up an execution? Preparing to order an aperitif? Sweat beaded at Rhode¡¯s hairline, and at his armpits. He tried to change the subject. ¡°Is the new Hero going to be okay? He sounds like he¡¯s in pain, Your Grace.¡± The Prince¡¯s head turned. A ¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö ¡õ¡ö¡õ fell under his gaze. ¡°Your Grace!,¡± ?¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö complied. They bowed, and held it low while they spoke. ¡°The patient¡¯s adaptation proceeds according to expectation. We are confident we will be able to reduce the severity of the soul rejection reaction this time.¡± Eyes. Rhode¡¯s mind spun. Something was¡­ distracting and fuzzy about his thoughts. ¡°I don¡¯t remember this happening to me.¡± The Hero whimpered. No, the other Hero. Wait, no. To be clear, the brave Hero whimpered. No, okay, that could still be confusing. The [Brave] Hero w- the guy on the floor was in bad shape. His body was wrapped completely in bandages, except for his nostrils and his gaping mouth. He looked exactly like a mummy, except for the low moan and intermittent choking screams. Rhode pointed. ¡°Can¡¯t we help him?¡± ¡°Consultant Apriml. Subject Yagget. In light of your resounding success, you will prepare for the next [Hero Summon] within five days. Anticipate an acceleration in pace from there.¡± Goodman Apriml teetered on his feet. ¡°Your Grace, the burden of performing the summoning may-¡± ¡°The budget for your operations is tripled,¡± the Prince interrupted. The Translocationist was on the floor, prostrate in an instant. ¡°At once, Your Grace!¡± he cried. His protective suit slowly deflated around him like a sad balloon. Rhode stood up. His foot slid an inch towards the (other) homunculus. ¡°Is there something I could do to help? I could carry him. Where does he need to go?¡± ?¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ rushed forwards, leaving the others behind. ?¡ö put ¡õ¡ö¡õ hands out in front of Rhode, even though ¡õ¡ö had as much chance of stopping a boulder. ¡°Rhode, please. We have this. Trust us, big guy.¡± The acolyte was so much smaller than Rhode. Probably. Certainly. ¡°Man, why can¡¯t remember your name,¡± Rhode murmured apologetically. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, big guy. I¡¯m going to get the cart though, alright? Just stay here. You don¡¯t need to do anything. I promise.¡± Rhode felt like he was reeling. Something wasn¡¯t right. He looked at the still, glassy-eyed goat corpse. Besides that. He looked at the giant-sized mummy, begging in Spanish. Besides that too. He looked at the¡­ nuclear core? Rhode sat down and the floor shook underneath him. [Bellows] worked to calm his body, and by extension his mind. [Hibernate] beckoned him with an escape, and he held it back. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. When the double-doors he¡¯d come from reopened, they admitted a person who would have been remarkable only a quarter-hour ago. He was venerable in beard and bearing; noble in personage and attire. The saber at his belt so thick with sorcery that it could be smelled at a distance. The man bore the colors of his knightly order, and the sash of a grand-master of the sword. He was an elf of true blood. But then again, he was just an elf. ¡°Ser Reliance. You will oversee the indoctrination Program for the Hero series.¡± The aged elven knight bowed. ¡°Apologies, Your Grace. I believe you mean the education Program?¡± ¡°No. The north-west wing is to be made ready for this purpose. In addition, the summon team is to be supplied with the necessary resources to achieve Our advanced timetable. Lastly, the Hero Irving is to retain his planning team, for now. However, they will answer to you.¡± ¡°Your Grace,¡± the man graveled. ¡°It is Our determination that the Goodman Irving demonstrates unusual rates of empathy for the common. Undue exposure to figures of authority will undermine his commitment. Therefore, his relationship with the lowest of our servants is to be encouraged until such time that his co-dependence may be exploited towards loyalty.¡± ¡°Wait, what?¡± Rhode perked up. ¡°As You will it,¡± the knight intoned. ¡°Goodman Irving,¡± The Prince addressed Rhode directly without warning, ¡°it has been too long since you have leveled. You disgrace the sword with your touch, so it falls on you to choose another path.¡± ¡°I¡­ what?¡± ¡°Goodman Irving,¡± interjected the lanky, bearded knight, ¡°it is said that the Heroes often took strange roads to their power. Your instincts may guide you to what you are meant to become. Speak what gift you believe will most help you grow, and we shall provide it.¡± ¡°Sorry, no I get that,¡± Rhode snapped. ¡±I was just saying, to be fair, that was the first time I¡¯ve ever used a sword in my life. Just for the record.¡° The knight stroked his beard. ¡°Shall I teach you the blade, then? The Style of my Sword School is that of pure, obliterating destruction.¡± Awesome, Rhode thought. ¡°No,¡± he replied (eventually). He winced. ¡°With respect. I need time to think about things. Ser. Your Grace. Can I talk with my team tonight and just ¨C¡± Ser Reliance skipped a beat. He cleared his throat. ¡°Perhaps you have a talent from your old world, your own life, which you might find expression for here? Even something unexpected. With levels, the smallest of your passions could become an unshakable pillar of strength. I have trained many great knights in my years, and known the secrets of many fearsome levels. Surely, you have a thought?¡± Knowledge from Earth? No. That was the last thing Rhode wanted to talk about. It was the last thing he wanted to give these people. ¡°Now? Right Now? I-I don¡¯t know. I¡¯ll think of something good. But my [Hibernate] is acting up, and ¨C¡° Rhode¡¯s shadow crawled underneath him. He felt the gentle touch of razors along his calves and ankles. ¡°Goodman Irving. We had hoped you were beyond this,¡± Llanthinanumen loomed, ¡°you withhold from us. You have pride in your people, but You underestimate Ours. You think of your achievements, and you believe that We might covet them.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve done some pretty cool stuff,¡± Rhode¡¯s mouth protested, before he could stop himself. ¡°What I mean is ¨C¡° ¡°Tell us then, what is the secret to your computers? Your crystal-metal of thinking gates, your window of phosphor illusions. What is the precise means of their manufacture? Be specific, man of Urth.¡± Rhode gaped. ¡°Ah, We see this is beyond you. Perhaps you know the secrets of your thunder powder rods. Shall We pair you with an alchemist? You would of course, need to know the exact recipe to be of any use.¡± Did he mean guns? What was black-powder made from again? Something to do with sulfur and saltpeter? But wait, what was saltpeter again? ¡°Um. Well,¡± Rhode fumbled. He looked around him, but Yagget was gone. Apriml was too. The [Brave] Hero was already laid on top of a mechanized, spindle-spoke bronze-wheeled cart, and a soldier from outside was helping the Hornupants push it. ¡°So strange. You spoke so confidently of the merits of these devices. You implied that your nations depended on them implicitly. But you have not a whit of how they actually work.¡± Ouch. ¡°So. Goodman Irving. We shall make a bargain with you now. We have metal-workers of such skill that would beggar what you can imagine. Take one. Build us one of your ¡®planes on air¡¯. Teach our servants the secret shape of wing which knows to ride the wind. Realize this thing you call turbine, which can bear whole armies through the sky at once. Do this, reveal this secret alone, and We shall release you. Do this and you shall be free forevermore.¡± Perhaps the earth-man might have answered, right then and there. If only he could have. If only. He clawed at his collar, desperate to loosen it. ¡°How do you know about all this stuff?¡± Rhode croaked. ¡°Because you have told Us.¡± He had? Wait. What do you mean, that wasnt a plot-hole? It was starting to look like Rhode had made some Oversights, all with big ol¡¯, capital ¡®O¡¯s. What was the very first conversation that Rhode had had in this world? It wasn¡¯t on the day he was born. He¡¯d been speaking English, and they weren¡¯t. If he thought about it clearly, it actually wasn¡¯t until later that his mind had processed his own memory of the event and understood what Junior Scholar Rikva and the healer had been saying. No. After being born, the very first individual that Rhode had spoken with had been jewelry with sentience. And [Status] Bangle? [Status] Bangle invaded minds. Rhode should have spent more time thinking about that. It had worried him, true. He had allowed himself to fear being controlled or manipulated by magic. But he hadn¡¯t really wanted to dwell on the possibility that he already had been. Rhode had counted that he¡¯d been alive for eighteen days in total. Three asleep for [Bellows], three more after the fight. And twelve that he remembered, while he was sick and when he¡¯d slept. When exactly had he learned that Rikva loved games of cards and dice? Because he¡¯d played her. Not just once, but several times. And how long had the Hornupants been watching over him? He knew the schedule: there was an acolyte on every single one of his shifts. They had been his first healers, tending to him long before Eloft had even arrived. Surely he¡¯d spoken with them? When had he gossiped so much with the washer woman? Or with the porters, and servants too? Because he had. So, Rhode felt his mouth salivate, and a chill unsettled his gut. ¡°How long ago did I get summoned? For real?¡± he asked as his voice cracked. ¡°Ser Reliance, We are beginning to exceed our schedule for this appointment,¡± The Second Prince ignored his Hero, ¡°We are due for further arrangements. Expect Our pronouncement today of a total lock-down of this facility. None shall pass into or out of the palace for the duration of one week.¡± The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Seriously,¡± Rhode repeated, more urgently. ¡°When did I get here?¡± The knight stepped in to box Rhode out of the conversation. ¡°Your Grace, this will be difficult to enforce.¡± ¡°Impossible, for anything but the shortest duration. We had hoped not to burden the First Princess with the particulars of this Project. But she will doubtless learn of Our success soon,¡± The Prince stepped towards his knight. In the most benign, yet threatening action Rhode might have ever seen, Llanthinanumen reached over and adjusted the sash of his subordinate. ¡°Assuming, of course, that Her agents are not already here.¡± ¡°Of course, Your Grace,¡± Ser Reliance gulped. ¡°There was the time we ate the red-bean pudding. There was the night we played Liquor and Lumberjacks. When did I get my plants?¡± Rhode grappled his own skull, hands on his temples and racking his brain for answers. ¡°Goodman Irving, We will have your answer,¡± The Prince declared. The slightest of his motions bid his knight to step back. ¡°Thus, We re-frame your choice. Imagine in your secret hopes, exactly what you need most in order to escape Us. What is it that you think you need to be free?¡± Rhode¡¯s hands fell to his sides, his eyes were wild. ¡°You¡¯ll let me go?¡± ¡°No. But you must continue to believe that it is possible to flee.¡± Was this some kind of reverse psychology? Was it torture? Was it a test? Rhode tried to think of what he wanted. He tried to think of what he needed. He was still too weak. Physically strong, maybe. But he had already experienced how easily the strength of flesh could be surmounted by levels. So what else? The Hero needed advantages, and more than that, he needed options. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± Rhode asked, hesitantly. ¡°I could ask for anything?¡± It was Ser Reliance who nodded. ¡°Not all would be granted, but I encourage you to ask. Fear nothing you might say to me.¡± The homunculus trusted nothing. He could rely on nothing. A pit was open inside of him, and it was swallowing up all of his joy. He laughed out loud and it was hollow. But if he was lost already, what did it matter? He thought about where he was; about what he had seen. He let himself wonder what was possible, if he could only stop being afraid. ¡°Then can I learn magic?¡± he asked. And then suddenly it was like every shadow had set aside its daggers, and every door became unbarred. The weight on his shoulders was lifted, and Rhode swayed on his feet. ¡°This can be arranged,¡± Reliance promised with a dawning smile. Relief washed over him as he even saw the Prince incline his head. But then Rhode made another awful mistake: the monster asked for more. ¡°And I¡¯ve been having a problem with my knees; pain when I try to jog or run,¡± he added. ¡°Is that fixable?¡± Llanthinanumen¡¯s smile grew wide, and Rhode saw inside at his sickeningly white, flat teeth. ¡°That will be simpler,¡± the Prince declared. The homunculus felt like he could weep. He had made it. He had avoided the worst. He would survive. ¡°Fetch the surgeons,¡± spoke the Vodyonoi, ¡°for the Hero must yet Level and grow. We anticipate your progress, Goodman Irving of Urth. Now ¨C¡± [Serve And Forget] Maybe we should have just put him on a leash? Perhaps it ought to be expected, but Rhode very much did not enjoy feeling helpless. Or, depending on one¡¯s context and perspective, maybe that could have been a surprise after all: the earth-man had had a great deal of time to come to terms with the absence of control. After losing both of his parents, his marriage ¨C after a life spent building an uncertain future in a society which cared only for success: he had found only sickness. And the end of his story. That changed how a person looked at things. Rebellion, outrage, ambition, these feelings were all well and good, but they belonged to the young. Real life was about discovering early on that problems couldn¡¯t be solved with violence and upheaval. Cancer can¡¯t be punched into submission. Love can¡¯t be argued back to life. No amount of teenage revolt would have brought his dad back. So the truth that Rhode had needed to admit to himself in all this mess, dread, and uncertainty was: that he simply wasn¡¯t young any¨C Wait a minute. Let me check my notes. That¡¯s what I thought, screw that! The man was thirty-two for goodness sake: that¡¯s not even middle-aged. Snap out of it, you twit. Rhode¡¯s brow wrinkled. A dead man was walking down a corridor, in a finely furnished palace, in a world that that he didn¡¯t think of as his own. But he wasn¡¯t deceased, that was maudlin thinking. He was present, and vital ¨C and things weren¡¯t so bad as long as you forgot about the¡­ Forgot about the what? Rhode thought. Oh, something didn¡¯t seem right about that. The homunculus¡¯ feet plodded along bare marble as he veered off of the carpet. He was passing through even more gaudy scenery, all in variations of bronze and green color schemes. It seemed unending, and his reeling mind savored it with wry aesthetic suffering. ¡°Gauche. That¡¯s a weird word,¡± he chuckled. ¡°Gauche.¡± ¡°Ser Dreadlung,¡± the boy said. ¡°You are hurting my hand.¡± ¡°Oh, sorry,¡± Rhode murmured. He loosened his grip on a tiny, weak-chinned goblin soldier¡¯s fingers. Placidly, he allowed himself to be led forward as if he was a child. Two other uniformed soldiers were running ahead of them. The first was another young man, and he was clearing their way by asking any passersby to withdraw to an adjoining room. The second was a woman of severe expressions, and she was doing the same thing; except with short words that were very much less polite. Oh, there was somebody holding Rhode¡¯s hand. ¡°Hey, can I trust you?¡± Rhode asked the young man. The Hero wasn¡¯t sure, there was something about the uniform which should have been giving him important hints. The goblin¡¯s tunic was cinder and rose, and embroidered with spades and little, happy skulls. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Um. Ser, I think I would like to say yes. But¡­ probably not?¡± replied the boy, as his ears drooped. The homunculus had to consider that for a moment. He spoke slowly, his sentences broken up by long, unusual pauses. ¡°Are you sure? That kinda sounds like an honest thing to say. I guess I¡¯ll trust you not to trust you then, little buddy.¡± He halted and let go. Briefly, the other soldiers had to double back. In something of a fright, it took all three to convince Rhode to start walking again. It wasn¡¯t that the giant was trying to make trouble; it was just that he was weighed down by a dense feeling of uncertainty. Plus (even though he couldn¡¯t figure out why), there was something that he didn¡¯t like about the woman¡¯s uniform. It was mostly dark black, but with a stripe of color on its right: and the orange sleeve and flank of her outfit was patterned with a familiar flower print. Why didn¡¯t he like those colors? Those were Brand¡¯s colors. And Brand was only half-jerk. The other kid wasn¡¯t bad. He had ruffles on his cuffs, but they weren¡¯t the worst. His livery was smoke trimmed in mint, and for some reason it reminded Rhode a little of Ser Yune. The three scampered around him, pushing from behind and pulling from ahead, pleading with their Hero all the while. To witness the scene in its full indignity, it was great deal like the hulking man was in a trance, or fugue. What a fun word. Say it out loud with me: fugue. Though he couldn¡¯t have known it, homunculus was suffering from a malfunction inside of the nervous tissue: in a little squishy bit called a hippocampus. Brains were, or are, fascinating instruments. They accomplish so many amazing little tasks, quietly and without as much praise as they deserve. However, this particular little cuboid of meat had a task, and it was important. Its job was to take all of Rhode¡¯s thoughts of things which were immediate, and from a carefully selected few that were deemed important at any given moment, a handful of memories would be sent elsewhere for long-term storage. But right now, those images, sounds and impressions were simply¡­ going nowhere. There was another issue, but it was subtler and more complicated, so instead Rhode focused on his minders. And on the walls. And on the many baroque paintings, full of kneeling, ecstatic goblins, and the stoic, distant gaze of the taller figures rising above them like patronizing angels. Rhode lifted a hand, and stuck a thumb straight through the canvas of a portrait of the 3rd Earl of Malachite, punching a ragged hole through before his minders could stop him. Rhode only actually felt guilt once the young man with lacy wrists started to cry. There were a lot of things that Rhode wasn¡¯t sure about: like what he was doing, or where he was going, or why. He knew he needed another level, and that there would be a doctor ready for him when he arrived. But that was all very vague information, wasn¡¯t it? So instead, Rhode began to focus inwards. Maybe he was looking for answers, but instead he found [Hibernate]. It was his first level and probably his least favorite: a kind of power that seemed to take more from him than it gave back. But curiously, now he wasn¡¯t feeling like his level was tempting him to sleep. No, Rhode decided, it was doing something different. Rhode wasn¡¯t tired, but leaned into [Hibernate] anyways. He stopped struggling, surrendering to an uncertain destination. Then gradually, the homunculus drifted, and then started to dream. Wait! Dont leave! Its not a dream-sequence, I SWEAR Alright, here it is necessary to clarify, because dream is one heck of a variegated, many-meaning word. It can mean aspiration: as in the goals we strive for. It can be a synonym for rest: made interchangeable for its assumption of sleep. And ¡®dream¡¯ can also arrive as a convoluted, and portentous sequence of hazy vignettes: visions into the core, inner-world of the self. Thankfully, that isn¡¯t what the Hero suffered here and neither will we. Instead, Rhode fell into an in-between state, a liminal boundary just shy of true [Hibernation]. He experienced the world around him like a sleepwalker, and his perception distorted and blurred. Rhode and his semi-professional babysitter-soldiers turned to pass through a great arch and into a festival of warm colors: bold reds and golds, with subtle lilacs and blues; all of it tied together with pale carpentry and soft white marble. So ¨C still over the top, but at least it was different. Generally, it was surprisingly easy for newcomers to get lost in the irregular curves and intersections of Four Ring. But a simple explanation of the floor plan was that each individual ring was designated with a theme. The gold and green ring was Ancestors¡¯ Hall, largely in keeping with the tastes and style of the earliest Earls of Malachite. Since those times, the lower floor had been maintained as a tribute to the history of the family, which is largely to say that few members of House Tintalline really used it anymore. Now after a long, roundabout route, Rhode had switched rings at a far junction. This hall was often referred to as the Spousal Hall: as it had so often served (over the years) as the private quarters of the various lesser nobles who had married into the Tintalline family. Everywhere one looked, the lush, but mismatching furnishings displayed the proud colors of houses long since absorbed by the heirs of Malachite. ¡°Okay, I¡¯m here. Thanks for bringing the big guy,¡± huffed a voice. None of Rhode¡¯s three guides saluted. They stepped to the side instead, with the senior guard tugging the youngest by his ear. It was difficult to tell whether their posture conveyed respect or not, and it was likely the soldiers weren¡¯t sure if they intended it either. A young man jogged to a stop in front of them. He was tall, surprisingly so; and wearing a long, pale yellow smock over fraying, comfortable brown leggings. His hair was tousled and he carried himself with a casual, raffish ease. ¡°Sorry I¡¯m late,¡± apologized the elf. He effected a wry grin, and right away at least one of the soldiers¡¯ scowls noticeably melted. ¡°Nobody put this on the schedule. I¡¯m not even sure who would have approved¨C¡± The young man ran his hand through his hair, chuckled, then froze. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with the big guy?¡± The Second Prince¡¯s soldier tilted her head and picked at her ear. ¡°Don¡¯t know. He¡¯s wobbled. Checked him for a flask, in case he got something good. But nope.¡± Rhode squinted at the new arrival. Not every word was sinking in. His eyelids drooped. ¡°Do I know you?¡± he asked. ¡°Huh,¡± the elf hesitated, ¡°that¡¯s weird. Doesn¡¯t matter though, come on. We¡¯re setting up in the Baroness¡¯ Blue Reprieve. Get him in.¡± This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Unexpectedly, the soldiers refused. They had been ordered to help secure the hall after delivering the Hero, and abruptly left to do just that. ¡°I think I know you?¡± Rhode repeated thickly. It was hard to think, as a sensation of woolly static scratched at him just behind his sinuses. ¡°Gods, you really are out of it, Rhode,¡± mumbled the young man. He motioned at the homunculus and backed away, like he was signaling for heavy equipment to follow. ¡°I¡¯m kind of hungry,¡± Rhode announced. ¡°Have you eaten anything today?¡± asked the elf. Rhode shook his head and the elf smiled. ¡°Good. It¡¯s better if you don¡¯t eat first. Now come on, let¡¯s get you prepped, it¡¯s going to take a few minutes for everyone to get here.¡± After it became clear that Rhode wasn¡¯t going to follow, he found himself getting pushed from behind once again, and he trudged towards a wide, circular door which was set into a broad section of stone wall: it particularly reminded him of some kind of porthole. The great door swung open easily and inward, made possible by an ingenious hidden mechanism behind its hinge. Rhode stepped over the stone lip beneath him, and from there into a paradise of cool blue tiles. There were fountains along the walls, and lightly running streams of water. A number of artfully designed baths were scattered about the chamber in various sizes and heights, but together they gave the appearance of tranquil ponds. It was lovely. It was calming. It was nice. But unfortunately, he was only here because this room had the largest available floor drain. Rhode stepped forward and discovered a huge lounging divan, out of place and next to a sunken metal grate in the middle of the baths. The couch-like piece had an arched profile, as if meant to fit the back and spine more comfortably, and thin padding. Richly stained and lacquered wood was carved into ornate, clawed legs, and the cushion was faded silk. The fact that it would soon be ruined was a terrible, wasteful shame. ¡°Try to lie down as comfortably as you can,¡± the young man winced. ¡°Again, I¡¯m sorry. This is all such short notice. Honestly, I¡¯m surprised you agreed to this.¡± ¡°I think I didn¡¯t,¡± Rhode mused as his massive weight settled across the furniture. The proportions were completely wrong for his body, and (groggily) he shifted to lessen the discomfort. ¡°Hey, you¡¯re one of my guys: one of the kids. You¡¯re around all the time. Sorry for being rude, why haven¡¯t I asked you your name?¡± ¡°I¡¯m Btiobhan,¡± (that¡¯s Tuh-vahn to y¡¯all at home, elf names are ridiculous and I¡¯m sorry for that) the young man answered patiently. His eyes narrowed, with their strange, round pupils. ¡°And don¡¯t worry, this is actually probably the tenth time we¡¯ve officially met. We chat all the time, Rhode.¡± ¡°But you¡¯re an elf though,¡± Rhode considered. His voice dropped towards a menacing rumble. ¡°Yea, sorry,¡± Btiobhan sighed, ignoring (or overlooking) the change in tone. He stepped away, around the other side of a raised bath, and returned with a loose drawer. It had clinking brass handles, and a painted front face. As he hefted it, it made a muffled clunk as its heavy contents slid; then the box was set down carelessly next to his patient. ¡°If it helps,¡± the young man poked Rhode in the arm with a finger, ¡°I¡¯m sort of a crummy example of my noble kind. Or at least, that¡¯s what Dad always said.¡± ¡°Hm,¡± Rhode said. He chewed on that detail. ¡°That would be a lot more relatable if you weren¡¯t the [Ectoplasmic Anchor] guy, I think.¡± ¡°Wow, you are remembering me better this time, big guy,¡± grinned the elf. Btiobhan stepped outside of the bath (in search of a working table), and while he was gone, an older goblin arrived with a pair of shabby leather valises. He carried one in each hand and set them down on the floor next to the supply drawer. Then he leaned over Rhode. ¡°Saggy butts of my fore-fathers, you are a big one, aren¡¯t you, Ser?¡± the man exclaimed. He had a dark complexion, with unnecessarily thick sideburns, and wore a tabard in silver and myrtle. He picked up one of his bags and clicked it open. Rhode watched as he pulled out a pair of ivory combs and a long, single-blade razor. ¡°Oh, are you the barber? It¡¯s not a haircut,¡± Btiobhan called out. He had found a rolling dinner-cart with the help of some of the soldiers. It clattered, then squealed as he pulled it through the doorway and across the floor. The young man was pink in the face from the exertion. ¡°We¡¯re giving him [Iron Bones],¡± he exhaled. The barber nodded serenely. He put his tools back into his case and set it down on the floor. Then he picked up the other one and pulled out a gleaming, ragged toothed bone saw from inside. ¡°Of course, Goodman. We can do that. But I think I¡¯d still like to give him a quick trim after.¡± Grandmaster of suds Rhode Mortimer Irving took one look at that menacing piece of cutlery, and nearly ran, then and there. He bolted upright, and then to his feet and cracked a tile under the weight of his heel. Btiobhan and the barber retreated half-way out of the room, and the mutton-chopped goblin leaned towards the other. ¡°Is Ser Irving unwell?¡± ¡°I am¡­ not sure,¡± the elf drawled uncertainly. The only thing that stopped Rhode from bowling through them and out of the door was a question: ¡°this is going to make me stronger though? Faster too?¡± The acolyte in yellow and the surgeon in Viper¡¯s colors exchanged a look. ¡°Yes,¡± the goblin promised to both of them. ¡°You might need to advance it, but yes.¡± ¡°I¡¯m really slow. I feel slow,¡± Rhode said. ¡°I hear you,¡± Btiobhan placated, raising his hands, ¡°we can make that happen. I¡¯ll tell the schoolies, and they¡¯ll chart everything out. Faster? That¡¯s a good choice, that¡¯s what I¡¯ll ask them.¡± Rhode looked down at his hands and curled two great fists. He raised them both up until they blotted out his view of both goblin and elf. Then, he let them fall back to the divan and eased himself back down. ¡°Okay.¡± Tinny metal clacks indicated the unpacking of equipment onto the rolling trolley. The two men worked quietly, noticeably only speaking once or twice as the barber had become confused and asked Btiobhan who he was, and why he was there. Goodma¡õ Bt¡õob¡õ¡ön reassured him patiently, each time. ¡°Nobody calls you Ser,¡± Rhode noted aloud without warning. ¡°Why would they call me Ser,¡± laughed the barber. ¡°Oh,¡± the elf perked up. ¡°You mean me? No, hah. They don¡¯t.¡± ¡°They don¡¯t call you Lord, either,¡± Rhode pushed. ¡°Lord? Gods no. No titles,¡± Btiobhan stood. He wore a weak smile and patted Rhode¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Though my family was probably halfway to earning one: money does that. But no, now I¡¯m just nothing. I don¡¯t even get the Goode so much anymore.¡± The man from earth winced. ¡°I don¡¯t know any of the rules. Who¡¯s in charge, and who isn¡¯t. What I¡¯m supposed to call people. I¡¯m not good at this. Everything''s so rigid. Where I come from, we don¡¯t talk to each other that way anymore.¡± The elf let out a long, sharp breath. He tied a thin cheesecloth over his head to hold back his hair. ¡°I¡¯ve heard that kind of talk before, big guy. Try to get it out of your system, quick if you can.¡± Rhode lolled his head to the side to scrutinize the young man. ¡°You know, I was sure you guys had some kind of weird elf supremacy thing going on.¡± Stiffly, the Viper barber glared at the Hornupant acolyte, and the young man shrugged apologetically. ¡°We do,¡± he admitted. ¡°We do,¡± he laughed uncomfortably. Then the young man moved closer to Rhode. He rolled back both of his sleeves, one after the other, and tugged aside his high collar. There was a thin, dull metal ring around each of his wrists and neck. It was black iron, unbroken and smooth. They did not look comfortable. Underneath each piece, his skin was faintly raw. ¡°Yep,¡± Btiobhan looked away. Shame clouded his face. ¡°It might not always fair how we do things here in Sacred, but sometimes the rules really do apply to everyone.¡± He brought his wrists together, and the metal clinked. Rhode frowned at the barber, wondering if he was being toyed with, but the physician/hairdresser was staring into space. He closed his eyes and laid back. ¡°You¡¯re not even a priest, either?¡± ¡°Oh, we are. Of course we are. But how much do you know about His Holiness, the divine Hornupant?¡± Rhode knew very little, except the unflattering things that Eloft had told him. ¡°Healing for fancy people,¡± he slurred. ¡°Right, right. We provide high quality, luxury services for affordable prices. That¡¯s sort of what we¡¯re known for ¨C¡± he spun about and pointed at the barber. ¡°Do you have a gown for the Hero? Something for him to change into?¡± This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The answer was apparently no. ¡°I¡¯ll go get something, then. Do you think I should fetch up Goodwife Xun?¡± ¡°Who are you?¡± the barber replied. ¡°Alright. Well, I¡¯ve got to run out, and we¡¯re still missing a lot of people. But anyway, the reason we¡¯re able to do that, is that the other half of our church is basically a prison. If you get in trouble, but you have useful skills¡­ you get a chance to earn High Hornupant some money. Everybody wins.¡± The young man had moved to the door, and paused with a grip on its handle. ¡°Even me, maybe. Depending on how you turn out, big guy. I¡¯ll be right back.¡± Two sharp knocks rapped on the door shortly after, but the arrival turned out to be a stranger. ¡°Hey,¡± Rhode waved. His arm knocked over the cart, and it¡¯s contents spilled onto the floor. Two goblins scrambled to recover an arsenal of knives, clamps and augurs. The new man wore simple, loose white clothing, and while otherwise skinny, protruded with an impressive pot-belly. ¡°Ser,¡± the goblin addressed him reverently. ¡°See?¡± Rhode grumbled. ¡°I¡¯m Ser, now. When am I Ser, and when am I not?¡± In his impaired state, he had only just managed to collect the names of the two goblins when a bickering crowd arrived all together. Bhiobhan was wheeling another cart, stacked high with white sheets and linens. The maid who followed him was wearing a sedate frock, trimmed in Malachite colors. She had a coat rack leaning over her shoulder, and as the glass bottles which hung from its prongs swung and jangled, she watched them with absolute terror. The alchemist Krevinkya followed behind them, shouting at a soldier who struggled with the heavy chest which hung beneath his legs. Veins bulged up the sides of his face, and his bowed legs shuffled as he carried his burden the last few feet. She thanked the man by slapping the back side of his skull, and then banished him from the room with a hiss. Krevinkya was dressed as if she were headed to the ballroom (for dancing, not for unholy sacrilege), and her face was painted stark white with toxic lead cream. ¡°I liked that one. But what¡¯s this one doing here?¡± she barked. Her finger stabbed towards the pot-bellied goblin. ¡°Alchemist, that¡¯s the butcher,¡± Bhiobhan shouted over sheets. He threw a stack of them at the barber, and then lunged to save the maid¡¯s dangerously toppling burden. Krevinkya clapped once with approval. ¡°Oh, good,¡± she chirped. Gracelessly, she hitched her skirt aside and began to rummage through her heavy strong-box. Rhode reached out and his fingers wrapped around Bhiobhan¡¯s neck. Everything stopped as he slowly pulled the teetering elf close. ¡°Ah, right,¡± the young man choked, ¡°he¡¯s not here to do any cutting, big guy! He¡¯s just showing us which way the grain of your meat is going. Meat levels! Advisory only!¡± Rhode slowly released his grip on the acolyte. ¡°Goodwife Xun,¡± the elf gasped, ¡°can you get everyone? Barber Noffet, get Rhode changed, please. Excuse me, I¡¯m going to sit down.¡± The room was escalating into chaos that Rhode could no longer follow. Bottles full of foul or glowing tinctures were rattling. A butcher was waving his hands eagerly over Rhode¡¯s leg, babbling about the distribution of muscle to the barber as the second man lifted his tunic up over and off his head, then threw it at the maid. ¡°What is wrong with my homunculus?¡± scowled the alchemist. ¡°I¡¯m not sure,¡± Btiobhan replied, rubbing at his throat. ¡°I think it¡¯s a bad synergy between level effects. You¡¯ve seen how bad our [Anonymity] aura affects him.¡± ¡°And what exactly would cause that?¡± Krevinkya spat. After a long pause in which she only received a raised eyebrow in reply, her eyes grew wide. ¡°Ah. Yes. Of course,¡± she deflected sweetly. The alchemist flicked at the rack-hung glass bottles to knock the bubbles out of the clear solution and began assembling a rigging of narrow copper pipes which could draw from them. The barber and the butcher came to an amiable, and satisfying agreement on which scalpel to start with. The maid was draping cloth over the edge of an empty pool, and then her feet slid apart into a low stance ¨C ¡°[Bleach Strike]!¡± the woman cried wildly as her palm slammed into the fabric. When she picked it up and shook it, a faint gray powder fell out of the sheet. It had turned starkly white. The maid repeated the process several times, and as she did, locks of her hair became progressively less restrained. She put her weight into each blow, and Rhode placidly watched her (martial) form with an idiot smile as she worked. ¡°Get up!¡± shouted a voice. Rhode did as he was told. ¡°Strip!¡± called out another. This one took him a second to comply. A gasp echoed throughout the bath, as the towering homunculus scratched his own buttock and covered himself shyly. ¡°What are you staring at?¡± shrieked the alchemist. ¡°You morons! Look at the size of the rest of him. You think I was going to make it proportional? He¡¯d kill someone!¡± Rhode was saved by the warm bucket of water that splashed into him. ¡°Secret of soap! Waters which cleanse! [Principle of Surfactance], stain slaying art: [Dissolve] and [Rinse]!¡± The bucket of sudsy water the maid had heaved onto him was so huge, she almost fell over. "I''m sorry," the alchemist protested, "but how does this gob possibly take her job this seriously?" Rhode? He stood there and dripped. But he did have to admit: he felt surprisingly clean. Every Monster Needs a Weak Point It does have to be said: a face-full of instant bath will wake a person up like few things will. But when you¡¯re relying on that state of semi-consciousness to protect your mind from the worst effects of hypnotic manipulation: then in that case, wakefulness might not be so ideal. A feeling of distant static intensified in his head, as [Forget] and [Anonymity] took hold. Rhode¡¯s count of the room¡¯s occupants began to grow inaccurate. Fending off an unwelcome, helping towel, he dried himself off, and pulled a patient¡¯s gown over his head. Then Rhode laid back down for what had to be the tenth time. He was already losing pieces of the ritual, and though he recalled the image of drying, tacky blood, the goat was stolen from him. All that was left was an impression, and it was adrift without context. How much of what Rhode Mortimer Irving was doing was his own choice, and how much was [S¡õrv¡ö]? How much was [?e¡ö¡õe]? How much was ¨C ¡°Damn it,¡± the Hero whispered. He tried to decide whether he should be allowed to weep, but he hadn¡¯t started yet and that meant he could endure more. Who was Rhode? Who was he at his core? It was a question the human had to ask himself before the day came he stopped thinking of himself as human forever. Rhode knew who the goblins wanted him to be: but even if the homunculus had been born a Hero, he wasn¡¯t much of a hero. Rhode feared who Sacred wanted him to be (which wasn''t the same thing), and he thought about that night in the Vault. He remembered the haft of a killing weapon in one hand, and the sword in his other. The roar of that night still echoed in his ears: of that moment in time when he¡¯d become exactly who his masters wanted of him ¨C And it had made him so very happy. What kind of person did that make him? Alchemist Krevinkya was unpacking oddities onto the second available cart, while Rhode was busy sulking. Boo hoo hoo, my mind has been suborned to make me into a tool for geopolitical ambition and I don¡¯t know what¡¯s real anymore. What a wimp. Wearing lace gloves, knitted from the whiskers of a volcanic monster, Krevinkya opened a tiny iron box and revealed a charred wooden knot: like a boll or gnarl on a tree. But the inner part of the wood glowed with subdued heat, and she used a pair of tweezers to extract a dull gray fragment of coal from its edge. ¡°Oh, Goode Alchemist. We¡¯re not giving him [Smolder Heart],¡± a somewhat familiar, tall young man stopped her. ¡°It¡¯s [Iron Bones].¡± ¡°Really? On a [Brawn]? That¡¯s hardly what I designed them for,¡± the woman grouched. Her earrings tinkled as her ears flicked in irritation. Replacing the coal securely in its box, she pulled out a series of massive brass syringes and thin cylinders of soft, chalky metal. Rhode was watching the barber sharpening his knives. He told himself that this was what he wanted. Stronger, to unbar any door. Faster, to flee any pursuit. Start simple. Take every advantage. Make better choices next time. Back on Earth, there used to be a saying, and it went: trust your instincts. Now obviously, there were gaps in that mindset. Instinct is at the heart of prejudice, and superstition too. For all that the words ¡°Common Sense¡± have guided people to success, they¡¯d led plenty of souls to ruin as well. A week ago, Rhode had known that he needed to get out of Four Ring Hill Palace. He¡¯d gotten to know his captors and he¡¯d forgotten that. Rhode Mortimer Irving may not have been a complete idiot, but he didn¡¯t particularly consider himself to be so smart either. He was just a regular guy, as far as he¡¯d ever thought of it. In life, he¡¯d only wanted simple things, like certainty and companionship. He¡¯d prized few things more than a cold beer, and a warm summer night on the porch. How was he supposed to outwit¡­ ¡­outwit¡­ ¡­who was... Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡­so perhaps Rhode was already lost. Be smarter for next time, he told himself. That¡¯s the least I can do, but at least it¡¯s a start. A tap on his shoulder brought him back to reality, and Rhode faced Btiobhan with futile intensity to remember him this time. ¡°We¡¯re ready to put you under, big guy,¡± the elf assured him. He picked up an opaque bottle, filled with scarlet fluid. ¡°I think the Goodwife has got some [Euphoric Stupor], and an [Oblivion Blank]. Oh, and I guess she¡¯s got a [Visions of Fancy]: I¡¯m assured it¡¯s a lot of fun.¡± The young man fiddled with bottles, squinting at labels until Krevinkya flicked the point of his ear. ¡°Ow. Do you have a preference, Rhode?¡± The homunculus tried to decide if those drugs sounded like drugs. ¡°These will knock me out, right?¡± The barber shook his head, no. Krevinkya wiggled her fingers for maybe. ¡°Uhhhhh¡­ mostly, yes?¡± coughed Btiobhan. ¡°But I think it would be better if you tap into [Hibernate], and take this chance to doze off. I guess I realize this has been a rough day for you.¡± Rhode¡¯s face twisted. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go to sleep,¡± he said. ¡°Ser Irving,¡± the barber spoke up, ¡°this procedure is somewhat involved. And I believe we must warn you that it is reputably quite uncomfortable.¡± ¡°We¡¯re going to drill you into your marrow and poison your bones,¡± Krevinkya interjected. ¡°What? That¡¯s basically how it works,¡± she challenged the others. Goodman Noffet the barber tapped Rhode in the forehead, then his arm, then his rib. ¡°Traditionally, [Iron Bones] is a treatment that would be applied individually to your largest bones. Ribs, limbs, pelvis, sometimes we skip the skull. But in its strongest form, we would have to operate on every single bone ¨C all of them except for one.¡± There was a murmur of conversation as the surgical team reacted to that. ¡°Rhode,¡± asked the acolyte, ¡°I think we can all agree that the people in charge would expect us to give you the strongest option we can. Is that okay?¡± No, Rhode thought. He squeezed his eyes shut. ¡°Yes,¡± he said. An unexpected question was raised by a maid who should have already left the room. ¡°Why don¡¯t you do all the bones?¡± she asked. The barber and the alchemist exchanged a glance, and he ceded the answer to her. ¡°Even with the adaptation of a transmutation level, the body requires natural marrow to function. The alchemy of metallic skeletal infusion is toxic by nature. He¡¯ll need one remaining bit to stay unchanged, to remind the rest of his body how it¡¯s meant to behave.¡± Rhode sighed. ¡°Otherwise, what happens?¡± ¡°Oh, don¡¯t be so maudlin, my masterpiece,¡± the alchemist patted him on the cheek, ¡°I¡¯m sure we could transplant something. You¡¯d have months before you¡¯d die horribly.¡± Rhode wanted to laugh in despair, but it wouldn¡¯t help. ¡°Oh, and I forgot,¡± Krevinkya crooned. Then she plucked a silver ring of her finger and flung it at Goodwife Xun. ¡°Get ye GONE, ye lollygagger, ye floor-scrubber! Ye dally with matters which see gobs be killed!¡± Under attack by flying jewelry, the maid fled the room with a shriek. A trail of laundry was left behind in her wake as the door shut. ¡°Ser Irving,¡± the barber spoke up, ¡°I would recommend we choose the tip of your smallest finger or toe. There is precedent for it, and larger bones are more vulnerable. Are you left handed, or right?¡± ¡°I write with my left hand, but I throw with my right,¡± Rhode replied. He lifted each arm in turn and explained. ¡°I sort of think of this one as my smart hand, and this one as my sport hand.¡± ¡°Safest to leave the left hand, then?¡± whispered B¡öob¡õan. The others all agreed. The bottle of [Oblivion Blank] was presented to Rhode again. ¡°Okay, big guy. Ready for the medicine?¡± ¡°No,¡± Rhode ached. ¡°I need to be awake for this.¡± His fingers wrapped around the edges of his bed, and the wood started to crack. ¡°I need to remember this.¡± The elf looked over his patient with an expression of pity. He conferred with the others only briefly. ¡°Okay. Then we¡¯ll get you the [Numb Juice]. Sorry, Rhode. I hope you¡¯re as tough as you think.¡± SKIP: A summary of recent events Regular guy Rhode Mortimer Irving lived a humdrum life of bitter disappointments until cancer tragically cut his story short. But he was surprised to discover that death was not the end. Called to another world by unknown powers, Rhode is given new life in an entirely new body. But instead of experiencing wonder and adventure, he discovers his organs are failing all over again. Deathly sick for the second time, Rhode tries to come to terms with his new reality, and learn as much as he can about the strange goblin civilization he finds himself trapped inside of. But their bizarre, irrational behavior, and their convoluted and byzantine feudal bureaucracy only serve to further confuse and alienate the human. As he hopes to recover, he has to contend with their abnormal magic and inventions. While goblin devices are ingenious, they are just as likely to malfunction catastrophically. And in one particular (and notable) case, Rhode discovers that the magical device which scans his progress and abilities, is actually not only sentient, but completely and murderously insane. In time, Rhode learns that the goblins of this "Kingdom of Sacred" seem to believe that he has been called to their world as a hero, and to save their country from their hated enemy Delight, a nation to the west. While the structure of the Hero''s journey is familiar to Rhode, the key details of his circumstances overwhelmingly lead him to distrust and fear the intentions of the goblins. He survives at the mercy of an unusual assortment of eccentric experts, who appear to have been brought together under mysterious circumstances to create and empower him. But as his conditions worsen, Rhode''s captors are forced to admit a stranger into the project, the naively honest healer-priest Eloft of Selt. Rhode is unsure whether to trust Eloft, let alone anyone, but the young healer proposes a radical treatment which saves Rhode''s life. But this treatment does more than simply help Rhode survive. Suddenly, Rhode''s new body begins to show its potential as a weapon. Challenged to battle in a hidden underground vault, Rhode faces off against the brilliant and ambitious young knight Ser Hakkat-Yune. Bloodied and overwhelmed by her talent, the homunculus is driven to the brink of losing control. Though he is ultimately defeated, Rhode''s performance impresses his new masters to the point that they decide in secret to advance their Hero project to the next stage. Meanwhile, tensions in the west reach the breaking point, as a fortress on the border territory falls to the armies of Delight, and the first of Delight''s soothsayers and fortune-tellers become aware of the incursion of the Hero. Stolen novel; please report. Rhode slumbers, recovering from disease, negligence and battle: but the damage to his body has caused his long sleeps to become a permanent, magical part of himself. He will likely struggle with unnatural [Hibernation] and the breathing abnormality [Bellows] for the rest of his life. When he awakens, Rhode is thrust into the crossroads. While his fight may have changed his standing for the better, missteps and mismanagement by the goblins around him have brought down punitive action on themselves. The careers of the army professionals who oversaw him, the martial trainer who''d tested him, and the magical scholar who was to guide him are all about to be ruined. Rather than celebrate, Rhode realizes that he has come to sympathize with the strange goblin peoples, even against his own better judgement. In this moment, Rhode receives his own call to Fate. He is awoken suddenly by the fortune-teller Rikva of Branfield, who was the very first goblin he met in the new world. Using her magic to see into the future, Rikva warns Rhode that he will be presented with an opportunity which will change the course of his life. But in order to meet it, he must follow her and witness as the goblins perform the summon ritual once again. Inspired by their success, they intend to create a second hero and possibly replace him. Rhode follows as Rikva leads him through hidden tunnels, using her powers to carefully avoid the guards and patrols that would have kept him confined to his room. Her efforts end in both success and failure, as she delivers Rhode to the one man who can escort him past the palace security, but it means she will be unable to follow him and witness the precipitating event. Driven to a thoughtful mood by Rikva''s predictions, his own growing feeling of optimism, and guilt over the punishments the goblins are facing, Rhode comes to misinterpret her advice. Led up into the palace itself, Rhode arrives at the site of the ritual intent on making an appeal to forgive and reinstate his "team". Only to discover he was woefully wrong. Rhode discovers that the "absent" Prince who has sponsored the Hero project has in fact been an active and present participant from the very beginning. Llanthinanumen, the royal high elf is more than simply a mild variation of goblin. He belongs to an entirely different species. Knocked confused and off balance by a bevy of hidden social and mental powers, Rhode watches stupefied as the ritual is performed in front of his eyes. And he realizes that the nature of the Hero summon spell is evil to its core. Reeling from the discovery, Rhode is left even more vulnerable to the psychic manipulation of the Prince. A long string of unexplained gaps in his memory become apparent, as the Prince reveals that he has the power to inflict selective amnesia on his victims, and Rhode realizes that nothing is as safe or secure about his plans to escape as he assumed. Without options, Rhode is forced to advance his progress as a weapon of war, but he is provided a choice as to how he will grow. But when he announces to the Prince and his agents that he will pursue the next step in his physical strength, his captors use his request as an excuse to submit him to a horrifying surgical procedure which will change his very bones. And that is where we''re at. This week, on Grays Anatomy When the brass needle punctured into his arm; threading into a vein, it felt nostalgic. Well, no. First it hurt ¨C the gauge of the thing was huge. But pain was temporary, and Rhode had survived worse. Actually¡­ technically he hadn¡¯t. ¡°?Vein, vein, vein, gonna find a veeeeein,?¡± Krevinkya hummed, hitching up her sleeves. She had changed her gloves again, and they were starkly white. Once satisfied, she checked the short rubbery tube that connected the inflexible glassware to Rhode, and splashed half of the [Numb Juice] into the hanging bottle that would feed medication directly into Rhode¡¯s bloodstream. ¡°And this one¡¯s just to get you started a bit quicker,¡± the alchemist purred. Rhode looked into the painted face of his maker as she shoved a tiny shot glass towards his lips. The liquid inside was clouded, blue like the glow of fading lightning, and with a fog of condensation that dripped about its edges. A sharp, paint-thinner smell was tickling the underside of his gag reflex. Krevinkya shoved the bottom of the glass directly onto his mouth, and then started tipping without warning. Before he¡¯d gotten the chance to consider it, Rhode was gulping down a mixture of potions. Half of the contents spilled down his chin, or down the side of his face. The rest tumbled down his gullet, cool and surprisingly flavorless. Then the smell kicked back in, overwhelmingly. ¡°That¡¯s probably enough,¡± she announced, wiping him up clean with a rag. Then she whirled on her heel and whipped the empty glass against a far wall where it shattered. Sputtering, Rhode became acutely aware of his arm. With such a short length of flexible tubing attaching him to his fluid drip, he couldn¡¯t afford to move. Forcing himself to calm, he smacked his lips as a pins and nettles sensation of numbness began to seep into his body from within. ¡°Where do you want to start?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s do a rib. The chest is most important anyway, and we can make a few mistakes around there. I don¡¯t want to do the legs ¡®till I¡¯m ¡®in the zone¡¯.¡± ¡°Lots of little muscles. You¡¯ll have to wiggle around the tissue sheathing, here and here.¡± ¡°I was just going to go through like ¨C¡± Rhode¡¯s eyes shot open, his heart skipping a beat as his ¡®doctors¡¯ shrieked in unison. ¡°DON¡¯T!¡± The barber stood, holding a long, flat knife. It was like a saw blade, except without a toothed edge. He was holding it flat alongside Rhode¡¯s lowest rib, hovering above the skin. ?¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö snatched the blade out of the barber¡¯s hands and set it down on the cart. ¡°We can¡¯t afford to tear him apart so bad it takes months for him to recover, Goodman barber. Here.¡± A bundle of white gauze was unrolled, revealing brass and steel implements of such cruel design that would make a dentist blush. Many or most of the tools had long, protruding shapes or curves, or drill-like extensions. ¡°We can do a strip burrow technique, drill alongside the inner soft tissue of the bone-¡± ¡°Nobody does that! We¡¯d be operating for days on end, and even then! If you don¡¯t do the plating on the outside, you¡¯re twice as likely to end with blood poison.¡± Rhode¡¯s head lolled. He began to feel dizzy. The lights in the room began to draw his attention, saturating the baths and making it hard to resolve the goblin-folk around him. Trying to speak, his tongue felt thick, and he bit the inside of his cheek. The taste of blood convinced him to hold his opinion back. ¡°We could go in from the inside? Up under the edge of the abdominals here? Is there a reason the plating needs to go on the outside?¡± ¡°It¡¯d be easier¡­ I don¡¯t see why not.¡± ¡°No, you morons! His organs will burst the first time he¡¯s rattled. Soft on the inside, tough out! Haven¡¯t you fools ever designed an organ cavity before?¡± Rhode blinked slowly, as goblin arguments blurred into one another. He almost started to think the whole thing was an elaborate joke. Until a knife slid across his skin, parting his white fat into his meat. Until his purplish ichor beaded like dew along the slice. Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. ¡°Hold him down,¡± barked a voice. ¡°Are you experiencing any pain, Rhode?¡± asked another one softly. ¡°Yes,¡± whispered Rhode. He squeezed his eyes shut to clear away water. ¡°I¡¯m okay. It¡¯s just taking a little bit to kick in, still.¡± ¡°Big guy, you really still can take that nap. Some of this may hurt a bit no matter what we give you.¡± ¡°Tell you what. I¡¯ll give you a signal if I need to stop,¡± Rhode raised his free hand with extreme deliberation. It was hard to feel where it was, relative to the rest of his body. ¡°We can¡¯t stop, can we?¡± ¡°No, probably not.¡± ¡°Then let¡¯s keep going.¡± Noffet raised his head over the obscuring bulk of Rhode¡¯s chest, a little like a sunrise. His face had little violet spatters of Rhode¡¯s blood on it. ¡°See?¡± the goblin grinned. ¡°We can make him weak, or we can let it hurt. And I say, nothing better for a man to level than to make him scream. That¡¯s just common sense.¡± And so, bit by bit, and moment by moment, it got worse. Rhode stilled a tremor as a short incision was made along his sternum, and a tiny clamp held his skin apart as a wriggling, living sponge was applied to wick away his blood. Goblins huddled over him as they gripped a mechanical bone augur, a brutal looking drill which they used to bore another little hole into his skeleton. With tweezers, his surgeons produced a tiny sliver of alchemical metal. Like a filling a tooth, the barber applied the silver substance carefully into the hollow. Nerves were firing, his muscles were clenching. Rhode felt like he was being disassembled. He forced himself to watch as the scalpel traced across his body, and he could only hope that someone here was going to be able to put him back together once they were done. In a way, listening to the eager, childlike enthusiasm of the butcher was reassuring. The man talked about the homunculus¡¯ body in the same words he might describe a choice flank of roast, and it was obscene. But he also knew exactly where to trace the blood vessels, tendons and muscles of his flesh. His advice was invaluable, steering their knives in the same way a lighthouse warded ships from rocky coasts. White garments began to stain with purple, it speckled, then it spattered, then it stained. [Vigorous Ichor] pumped, keeping him vital and healthy. The rise and fall of [Bellows] made every effort more difficult. Repulsed and enraptured, his mind retreated back into a hazy daydream with [Hibernate]¡¯s help. It helped to pretend that what was happening to him was not real. However, only a simpleton would expect a straightforward and professional experience from goblin medicine. As blood began to flow, his surgeons grew more excited. Their voices became shrill, interrupting more often, jabbering ever faster as they conferred. Just as Rhode began to ponder the idea of blood-loss, and to ask himself if his minders had forgotten the risk of exsanguination, the door creaked open yet again. It was the Goodwife Chyrna, her dyed red hair tied up in a net, and a heavy white bakers apron over practical work clothes. She carried a carpeted sewing case in one hand and steered directly towards Alchemist Krevinkya. Having barely acknowledging anyone else in the room, her boots clomped to a halt. ¡°Anesthetic?¡± she demanded. The alchemist handed the tailor a bottle. The tailor threw her head back and took a generous swig. ¡°Anti-nausea?¡± she insisted. She drank the second concoction as well, no questions or hesitation either. ¡°Amnesia tonic?¡± she suppressed a retch, clawing for the third tincture. It had a little glass dropper, and the woman licked clear fluid directly off of it with her tongue. Her square pupils grew wide. The sewing mistress took her place alongside Rhode¡¯s body. Her words slurred as her drooping smile deformed her syllables, but her advice and her mind were sharp. A gleaming needle appeared, and a shimmering length of gut thread. Tiny stitches stemmed Rhode¡¯s bleeding with impressive speed, though the neat embroidery was likely out of place inside of a living creature. Rhode retreated to a place beyond fear. It was tranquil, accepting you were already likely doomed, and so then survival would be a lovely surprise. Dissociating from the pain became easier, though as the mineral sheath of his bone was stripped, and punctured, the feeling was more than simply pain. The vulnerable coring of his deepest parts sent paroxysms, and shuddering twinges running through the rest of him. Btiobhan kept telling him to stay still, and he tried so very hard to comply. Rhode didn¡¯t even notice as even more goblins began to arrive. There was a clock-maker goblin who hefted an apparatus of mechanical lenses and tiny drills. There was a white-smith who brought a thick, canvas-bound tome, and wove cunning [Lead] and [Quicksilver] runes into Rhode¡¯s body to reduce the initial toxicity. There was a carpenter, who briefly insisted that light engraving should be applied to Rhode¡¯s spinal column. Thankfully, she was quickly kicked out of the room. Mad cackles rose as goblin experts shared their secrets with one another, refining their methods. Gleefully, they experimented with techniques to make their cuts smaller, to more carefully part muscle. The thick iron plates which had initially been laid out for the Hero were thrown out. Thinner, wire-like strips of iron-adamant alloy were bolted along Rhode¡¯s longer bones with tiny watch-sized screws. Krevinkya was shoved aside by a cake decorator, who wielded a pipette of the alchemist¡¯s restorative potions with a steadier hand, and perfect, efficient droplets to seal his flesh shut alongside a spiderweb of stitching. ¡°The [Numb] is wearing off,¡± Rhode gasped. He was pale and shaking. Someone wicked sweat away from his forehead before it could drip into the incision at his brow. More intravenous fluid was necessary, and was fetched. A soldier who should have been kept outside was spectating and chewing on puffed oats. Scene Transitions 101 From there, the procedure concluded uneventfully. Except ¨C ¡°I¡¯m feeling a little cold. And leaky. Sort of right down by my hip.¡± ¡°Hm? Ser Irving, I should not worry about ¨C oh! That¡¯s an artery. CLAMPS! Ha, an excellent catch, Ser!¡± Or ¨C ¡°Um, Chyrna? Can you stop sewing me closed for a second. Something doesn¡¯t feel right. It¡¯s kind of¡­ wriggling.¡± ¡°Alright, who left the [Thirster] Sponge inside of the patient?!¡± ¡°Gods be good! One of you soft-skulls, get over here and help me lure it out before it gets to the spleen.¡± And perhaps somewhat embarrassingly ¨C ¡°What, by all the gods, and your backwards, craven ancestors is going on in here?¡± howled Brother Eloft. ¡°Goodman, we are in the midst of a most demanding operation: which, further, is of the most utmost secrecy. I must ask that you immediately ¨C¡± ¡°Get off it, you hack. Goodwife Krevinkya, Acolyte Whatever-your-name-is, how did not a single one of you think to ask me to be here?¡± ¡°Right, that would have been smart,¡± a young man muttered thoughtfully. ¡°My Goode and consecrate man,¡± a barber piped up. Viscera spattered him like the winner of a pie-eating contest. ¡°Though I admit I have not had the pleasure, I assure you that we have everything under control¨C¡± ¡°I am an actual, practicing physician. You have a half-baked conjurer, a stylist, and ¨C and you went and fetched a CONFECTIONER before you got ME?¡± So it was safe to say overall: thus proceeded a perfectly reasonable, conscientious and efficient process. Rhode¡¯s memory would get blurry from there. The steady feed of narcotics clouded his awareness. During the brief surgical team snack-break at hour seven, he slipped into unconsciousness. When he awoke, Eloft and the clock-maker had restored Rhode¡¯s old broken breathing machine to working order. The aeromancer¡¯s magic and the mechanical lung worked together to regulate and slow the heaving rise and fall of his torso. A network of ropes and rigging was being constructed off of clusters of poles and repurposed spears, and these webbed hammocks were holding Rhode¡¯s arms out so that the small bones in his flayed-open hands could be secured. Pins held his skin back. Surgeons held magnifying lenses; and they lined up tiny metal braces with the holes in his metacarpals before they welled up with dark ichor. A fight nearly broke out when the goblins realized they needed to turn Rhode over in order to reinforce his spine. For twenty awful minutes, they had Rhode standing upright as they cut towards his vertebrae from a short ladder. As it became untenable, Rhode asked an offhand question, inquiring as to whether his body would float. Within the quarter hour, his breathing machine was adapted to function like a snorkel, the baths were filled with dense salt water, and Rhode bobbed peacefully like a drifting island within a great azure basin. Hours passed, and he watched as purple diffused into the darkening water. He lived by sucking on the tube which plugged his nose and mouth. All the while, goblins straddled his back, taking turns as they worked their painstaking way downwards towards his tailbone. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. In the end, Rhode Mortimer Irving never made it to the end of his ordeal. Every single person has a limit to their endurance, even a Hero from beyond the veil between worlds. By hour twelve, [Hibernate] unhinged its jaw and swallowed him whole. And not even goblins seemed to blame him for it.
Rhode Mortimer Irving, the Dreadlung and Hero of Sacred sat placidly in a subterranean mess hall and thought about how he was going to miss it. The cook was just an army puke who¡¯d been drafted for the responsibility; but she was friendly and loved a good joke, and he¡¯d gotten along with her famously. He waved at her. She shouted something mildly obscene. He chuckled. They were going to start closing down parts of the underground. There was a rumor that the project was about to go public. Things would change. Then again, Rhode considered, wouldn¡¯t it be nice to see the light again? He would like to see a whole new sun. A plate of thickly sauced, greasy meat and hearty vegetable casserole sat in front of him on the table. He was happy to be eating something more than his porridge and potion routine for once, and he dug an oversized spoon into his meal. He stared at the bite. There was dessert tonight. It would be a celebration. There were seams along his fingers now, along his hand and wrist. Hair-thin thread held the skin of his body together, while crusty yellowish secretions wept from each healing incision. Everything hurt. It hurt to move. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to live. He stared at the bite. ¡°Looks like someone¡¯s lost gone sailing, eh?¡± chuckled the cobbler. The goblin had been recruited to Four Hills (in secret) to make shoes in homunculus sizes. He loved to tell the story about how the army lied to him ¨C told him he¡¯d be making intimate leather-gear for a discerning elfen lord. Hardly anybody cared if it was true. The cobbler sat down across from Rhode and he shoveled his dinner while bent over in an uncivilized hunch. Rhode liked this man too. But he did drink too much. ¡°Look who¡¯s up for third meal, for once!¡± howled a voice cheerfully. ¡°The Dreadlung RISES! Ah, but look. He doesn¡¯t eat his bread though. Ahahahah!¡± A wiry goblin with short-cropped hair and crooked teeth shoved at the cobbler and sat in the space he¡¯d made. Rhode was pretty sure he served as an assistant to the quartermaster. He knew the man liked fixing things: doing favors for others with his hands. Even if he still told cruel jokes sometimes. ¡°Eat up!¡± Laughed the cobbler. You lose that belly, and how¡¯re you gonna find a wife?¡± hooted the cook. ¡°Too good for nothing but meat, eh? Look who¡¯s got the pinkies rubbin¡¯ off on him, eh?¡± japed the quarter-ssistant. Rhode exhaled, and laughed at himself. His bench wobbled under his weight, and the goblins around him exclaimed gleefully how they could feel the vibration of it; through the floor, or the table. Then the topic moved, as it often did, to Rhode¡¯s distinctive sound. One daredevil even laid their head right on Rhode¡¯s chest. The goblin sang a pitched note, and marveled at how it warbled in time with [Bellows]. Rhode realized he was being played as a musical instrument. He gently pushed the goblin away, and rolled his eyes at a chorus of jeers. Goblins were so interesting. There were unfettered, and obsessive, and crude. Their fits of genius mania were unsettling, and even dangerous. But there was something inventive and raw about even the worst of goblin ingenuity. Beyond all that, it hadn¡¯t escaped Rhode that he owed these strange creatures his life. Still. He wondered about the sprawling, decorated palace halls above his head. He pondered on the persistence of goblin industry, in which every single component seemed to be on the edge of falling apart, and yet it kept functioning. He considered the rigid feudal hierarchy of the land that he was in, and tried to match it up with these scatter-brained, irreverent people. It was almost like he was missing something, ignorant of that critical ingredient which held their entire society together and held their passions in check. Oh, how strange? How peculiar, how puzzling. How suspiciously odd. Maybe it was elves? Rhode couldn''t shake the feeling that he really ought to ask about them. OH WELL. Gains, Pains, And A New Least Favorite Color Since mealtime is very often a straightforward process, and rarely involves a great deal of surprises, perhaps it is wise to leave Rhode¡¯s chewing aside and address other matters. Here is an interesting question to consider: what do badges mean to the civilized? A badge is not a broach, as much as the two are in the broad strokes the same sort of item. Where the latter is jewelry, and may only imply social status by the value or rarity of the object, a badge is something else. Unlike much of what civil folk will craft or wear (or treasure) the value of a badge is not defined by its material, or by its intricacy. Think instead: how easily may a sigil in shining silver represent a lesser authority than cheaply beaten tin, so long as it takes a very specific shape? Beyond that: in a strange way, an insightful scholar might fairly assert that a badge operates in the reverse of any principle of economic scarcity. For surely, an emblem worn by one man or woman is likely meaningless. Yet if it is proudly borne on ten thousand breasts? Such a symbol demands to be feared. Society is built on expectations, on signals with shared meaning; and the means by which its members tell each other who they are, their public declarations of loyalty or rank ¨C often simply happens to be what they choose (or are allowed) to wear. When Constable Fidelity Brand arrived to afternoon meal, the mess fell to fast attention. It was like a muscle reflex, and it almost looked like discipline. Goblins fixed their uniforms everywhere, and rose to their salutes. He had the same sword, and the same magnificent whiskers, but the uniform he wore sported two steel buttons on his right shoulder. A week ago, he had borne three. Whatever respect the Constable might have deserved, the room half-full of enlisted gobs could only see how much the man had fallen. Once one joke flew at his expense, a chorus of jeers followed fast after. But Fidelity Brand took it in stride. Approaching Rhode¡¯s table, the Lord casually ducked a flying pudding. He planted himself behind the opposite bench: to the side of the army storeman. Then, in humility and good cheer, he shoved the goblin crashing out of his seat. ¡°Goodman Irving, I take it you are recovering well?¡± Brand inquired. He sat down at the half eaten plate in front of him, tucked a napkin underneath his chin, and began to dine with poise. Each of the round, steel buttons on the Constable¡¯s shoulder were printed with a stylized sea bird. The first: a squat bodied petrel, and the second: a hook-beaked cormorant. His uniform drew the eye in its stark black and its vivid orange. Though his stitches strained tight to do it, Rhode reached across the table to help the fallen storeman up. ¡°Hey, Brand. Please don¡¯t take this the wrong way ¨C and no offense intended ¨C but I¡¯d really rather not talk to you right now.¡± He laid down his spoon carefully across his bowl, and his eyes were drawn towards the floral print of the fleur-de-gorgon. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. ¡°If you might humor me,¡± insisted the half-elf as he dabbed at his lips with his napkin. His mustache bounced morosely. ¡°In my new responsibilities, I have been unable to check in on you. I am sorry for it.¡± ¡°It sort of hurts to eat,¡± the homunculus admitted after a long breath. He traced a line along the underside of his jaw. ¡°Ah,¡± Brand paused. He carefully removed his plate and utensils off of his meal-tray, then slapped an incoming wad of casserole out of the air with it. ¡°My understanding is that most knights who have undertaken such improvements would be allowed more time to recover.¡± ¡°Yea. Well, I¡¯ve got four healers, an alchemist, and a barber patching me up. I¡¯ll probably be okay in another week or two,¡± Rhode smiled. Then he winced. Then he groaned and decided to move his face as little as possible. The half-elven lord ignored the civilian fingers poking at his uniform, and leaned forwards over the table with concern. ¡°Your haircut is respectably done. It suits you.¡± ¡°Thanks.¡± ¡°But Goodman ¨C I meant, more specifically, that a normal person requires three to six months to heal from such a process.¡± ¡°Oh. I mean, I¡¯d hope not? I am starting to feel a little better,¡± Rhode hesitated. A goblin patted him on the back encouragingly. ¡°It¡¯s been five days,¡± Brand retorted. ¡°And Goodman Irving, I must once again ask that you be so kind as to address me as Ser.¡± ¡°I¡­ yea, Ser Fidelity,¡± Rhode hesitated. His eyes glassed over for a moment as he trailed off, but a gentle, stabbing poke from the cobbler brought him back. ¡°Only five? Man, my sense of time is so messed up, now. Being underground so much, and sleeping so irregular ¨C it¡¯s like I can¡¯t even tell the days anymore.¡± ¡°Six days since we last spoke,¡± Constable Brand corrected, ¡°I am told your procedure ran exceptionally long, Goodman.¡± ¡°I think they said sixteen hours,¡± Rhode nodded fractionally. The raucous mood of the mess hall had soured considerably. Brand was neither fun nor funny. Every goblin effort to engage or embarrass him was being rebuffed, and worse: he was making the Hero boring too. The constable wiped his mouth one last time and set his spoon down in his empty bowl. Rhode squirmed as he watched the half-elf fold his napkin dirty side inward, and then tuck it into a pocket. The lord rose suddenly to his feet, and the goblins beside him flinched away. ¡°A great deal has happened since then. Come, finish what you will, but I bid you hurry. The Goode Scholar Tarrop is waiting for us. It is important that we speak.¡± [Bellows] roared as the giant narrowed his eyes. His hands laid down flat on the table, and it creaked under his weight. ¡°Sure. Sure, I can do that. Just uh, can you help me get up?¡± Rhode frowned. ¡°It''s just that if I move too fast, I kind of start to tear a little bit.¡± A responsible conversation about ethical waste disposal Six low-blooded goblins and the leastmost sort of lord supported the Hero from either side, under his arms and from behind. A handful of the kitchen staff rushed to drag the table forward and out of the way to make space. ¡°Lift evenly,¡± barked the constable, ¡°bend from your knees. On my mark: 1, 2, 3 ¨C¡± ¡°Oh gods, my back!¡± ¡°HEAVE!¡± Rhode lurched to his feet, which would have blazed with pain had he not been pumped full of watered down [Euphoric Stupor] and [Sensory Dissociation]. He tried not to flex or move his toes at all, relying on the thick wool padding in his slippers to spread the pressure evenly across his soles. ¡°Whew. Okay,¡± the homunculus rumbled. Since Brand was the tallest besides himself, he leaned further against the man. ¡°Can you get me my crutches?¡± Rhode asked a porter by the door. There was a bustle as plates were cleared, and tables diverted. A pair of reinforced, rough-cut wooden poles were carried in from the boot room. Densely wrapped padding around the forked end of each of them made for passable crutches, and goblins scattered as Rhode propelled himself forward with surprising ease. Brand held a step back, with his hands out just in case Rhode should fall. A small crowd milled behind them as the two passed the boot vestibule. ¡°Turn right, Goodman. We are headed towards the optimization team overflow study,¡± Brand directed. He pointed, efficiently laced his high shoes up to his calves, then tossed his dining sandals into an empty cubby. By keeping to the center of the hall, Rhode avoided knocking his head against its barrel-vaulted ceiling of tightly stacked shale wedges. This distressing section of tunnel had not been laid with mortar, and often seeped with damp clay. The warm, dry heat of the kitchens had done much to reduce the moldering, wet smell, but recurring failures in the ventilation shafts could fill the halls with smoke just as often. If the day ever came that it should collapse, it would surely be a death sentence. Rhode coughed, then dipped his head to avoid a low hanging stone protrusion. ¡°Do I know where that is?¡± he asked, looking back. ¡°My apologies. Start towards your room, past the secondary scullery, and we will go the opposite way when we reach the flammables storage.¡± Brand edged around the Hero, and strode ahead out front. ¡°If you will follow me. It¡¯s actually quite close to the blood fermentation tanks.¡± Rhode fell behind. ¡°I can deal with a lot,¡± he spoke, ¡°and I¡¯m trying to be open-minded. But I think I need you to explain what blood fermentation is.¡± Brand stood in profile, facing the wall. He laid one hand on his pommel, and scratched his eyebrow with his ring-finger. ¡°It was an early enquiry by the Goode Alchemist Krevinkya. You were not entirely our first attempt, and our previous¡­ batch of vessels failed during their incubation. I will not pretend to understand the work of alchemy. But the tanks were proposed to me afterwards as an experiment towards mitigating a persistent type of gene corruption.¡± Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Uh huh,¡± Rhode grunted. ¡°Sure, fine. That¡¯s why. But whose was it? I don¡¯t care what you did with it, I¡¯m asking where it came from.¡± ¡°Ah. Goodman Irving, I am ashamed to admit that I never truly expected this project would succeed. Our first crop of homunculi was lost. From my perspective, I simply believed that we had waste product with no clear plan for its disposal. When I was offered a opportunity to recycle it, I approved.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Rhode sighed. ¡°That¡¯s still super gross, but I guess it¡¯s not completely morally awful. I can probably handle medium evil. Medium-lite?¡± ¡°In the end, it did not matter,¡± Brand murmured, ¡°the Goodwife Krevinkya leveled soon after, and the entire affair became moot. Does this answer satisfy you?¡± ¡°But you still have the tanks,¡± Rhode grimaced. ¡°I have no idea how we will get rid of them,¡± Brand scowled. ¡°They are beyond disgusting. May we continue?¡± For a long span of minutes, the two did not speak further. They traversed a hodgepodge of tunnels in a mess of different constructions and designs that intersected erratically. Everywhere, the cluttered storage and stacked goods that Rhode had come to expect in his short life down below were beginning to vanish. Operations were being moved above-ground into the palace, bit by bit, and the depths grew ever darker and emptier as they were abandoned once again. As he passed by the fermentation chamber, Rhode stopped and peered through an open arch into a dusty, unlit vault. All of the alchemical piping threaded along the far back, hidden from direct view in the shadows. One could only see the great wooden barrels: silent and unassuming, as innocent as a brewery. Yet this was a mausoleum for those who might have lived and then hadn¡¯t. But there was only so long that the living could dwell on those who never were. Constable Brand led Rhode onwards into a modern looking finished marble corridor, and a polished wooden door that fit its frame like a watertight seal. An abandoned rolling cart was tucked away to the left of the entry, with a stack of dirty dishes laid atop it, along with an empty wine decanter. ¡°Intelligence officer, Weidle,¡± Brand called out suddenly. His hand laid on the lever-bar to the study, but he did not pull. The air shimmered, and two wide, round eyes peeled open above his shoulders. They peered beyond Rhode, backwards into the distance. Rhode looked backwards, and recognized the cobbler from mess. The goblin¡¯s friendly expression, and carefree slouch slid off him like grease from teflon. His lopsided grin widened, and flashed the points of teeth. ¡°I will be happy to render my report of this meeting, through the appropriate channels,¡± Brand stated coldly. ¡°Surely, your time is more valuable spent elsewhere, Ser.¡± ¡°As it is for so many things, Ser,¡± the goblin crooned. He inclined his head just low enough to indicate respect. ¡°It is not my place to question the role I am asked to play.¡±Rhode groaned. ¡°Aw, shoe guy, no. You dick,¡± he muttered. ¡°Nor is it mine,¡± Brand continued. ¡°Yet until I am asked otherwise, I will continue to serve in my duty to fulfill the potential of our Hero.¡± The constable laid a hand on Rhode¡¯s arm. His mustache curled in the dry heat as if it was a muscle that could flex. ¡°Whatever his eccentricities,¡± the half-elven lord assured the man from Earth. Rhode opened his mouth. Then he shut it. His body ached everywhere except for a fingertip. Leaning his weight against one crutch, he raised the other hand up slowly. Then, he flicked Lord Fidelity Brand lightly in his stupid, pointy ear. Couldnt you have just put it in the newsletter? ¡°Sorry,¡± the monster apologized as he ducked into the room. ¡°Not a hundred percent sorry, because you guys are spying on me, and the way you said that thing was rude.¡± Brand rubbed at his ear. ¡°But I shouldn¡¯t have hit you,¡± Rhode sighed. Like much of the underground, the overflow study was poorly fitted to a person Rhode¡¯s size. Square and small, the stone walls of the room had been white-washed with lime some years ago and was starting to flake. Though wooden shelves ringed the study, few of them were full. While there was a small number of boxes and small chests along the lowest shelves, the majority of the materials in the room were written records. A smattering of folios, books and scrolls had been moved here from the so-called ¡®infirmary¡¯, along with fresh stacks of rag paper and good ink. The titles and dates along the materials were all still a mystery to Rhode. It frustrated him that he could speak the language so easily, but couldn¡¯t read a word. A fist-sized glass lantern hung from a hook in the ceiling, and it provided a cold, blue light. Beneath it, in the middle of the chamber was a table, and spread across the table were ripped sheets of paper, covered in neat calligraphy. Wavelton & Broox¡¯s 3rd best magician on premise sat in a creaking chair on the opposite side, and was the only occupant of the room. Since Rhode had last seen Junior Scholar Tarrop, some of the color had returned to the man¡¯s broad-bellied outfit, in that he wore a fine, teal neckerchief over the rest of his dreary gray. Tarrop stripped a monocle off his face and stood. Pushing his chair aside, he fumbled with his pen, stabbing it into an open inkwell. ¡°What is he doing walking around like this?¡± Tarrop hissed at Constable Brand, forgetting their difference in rank. ¡°Rhode, you should be in bed, recovering.¡± Rhode waved the man back as he approached. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Tarrop.¡± Two disgraced men exchanged a look. Brand had stepped aside to make room for the Hero, and offered no more than a terse greeting. ¡°Goode Scholar Tarrop,¡± he said. Tarrop¡¯s voice softened as he looked over the huge shape of Rhode. He searched as if he expected to find the homunculus had sprung a leak. ¡°Are you? How much medication are you taking, big guy?¡± the scholar worried. Rhode ambled forward towards the table, and Tarrop stepped aside to make way. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Rhode admitted. ¡°I mean, obviously, I¡¯m not fine. I really don¡¯t feel too bad, though.¡± Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. Finding a chair which could fit Rhode was rare, so the Special Projects Team had made a point to collect as many sturdy benches as possible. Tarrop produced a wide wooden stool from the corner and set it down by the table. ¡°Please,¡± the man indicated and then returned to his own chair. ¡°And apologies, Ser Fidelity, for not having another. I am afraid I do not get visitors often anymore.¡± Though his seat strained under Rhode, it held. Once he was down, Brand stepped forward and took his crutches to place them out of the way. ¡°Thanks. Sorry again.¡± ¡°Do not apologize, Goodman Irving,¡± Brand insisted. Rhode placed his elbows gently on the surface of the table, and folded his arms carefully: one over the other. He tried peering over the pages that Tarrop had been working on, but the markings were still meaningless to him. There were however, seven stacked leather folios which drew his attention. Their covers were printed and embossed, and there were stamps pressed into each of them. Rhode felt a subtle pressure emanating from those marks, as if the ink seals had a presence and importance of their own. When Tarrop spoke to repeat his concerns, the homunculus had to tear his eyes away from them. ¡°Listen. Rhode, I am not going to suggest to you that this is happening on purpose, but you should be aware that narcotic substances can have undesirable long-term effects,¡± Tarrop warned. ¡°Okay,¡± Rhode nodded, ¡°I can keep that in mind. I guess I was a little worried about addiction too.¡± ¡°Not addiction,¡± the scholar squirmed. He passed his hand over his balding head. ¡°Although that is sometimes a concern. It is the malady level [Inebriate], which is sometimes a path that warriors take to empower the [Berserk] lines. When we heard that you had been granted [Iron Bones], we ¨C¡± The man caught himself, then presented a smile that was pleasant and false. ¡°Even though there are many opportunities which [Berserk] can make possible, I only want to make sure that you do not choose anything like that without considering your alternatives.¡± Rhode looked at Brand, and the man nodded. Tarrop leaned against the knuckles of his fist and hid his mouth. ¡°Sure. Yea. No, I agree,¡± the homonculus coughed. He adjusted in his seat. ¡°By [Berserk], you mean out of my mind. Freak strength, but can¡¯t control it? No, I don¡¯t want that.¡± Tarrop reached for a cup, shook it to check if it was empty, and set it back down. ¡°When you picked [Iron Bones] without consulting us, we couldn¡¯t be sure.¡± Rhode was on the verge of defending his choice, but he struggled unexpectedly to recall how he¡¯d been convinced to agree to it in the first place. The sharp clip of boots interrupted him before he came to any meaningful conclusions. Constable Brand rapped the table lightly. ¡°Goodemen,¡± he said, ¡°before we discuss levels, I believe it is necessary that the Hero be made aware of what happened last night.¡± ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± Tarrop sighed. He leaned back in his chair. ¡°The third Hero will have been summoned by now. That is wonderful news.¡± Rhode sat up straighter. Of course. Five days, he¡¯d known that. He wasn¡¯t sure where he¡¯d heard it, but he¡¯d known it. ¡°No. It is more than that. I am informed that there was a difficulty with the ritual,¡± Brand told them. ¡°The third Hero awoke in madness. I do not know who was harmed, nor have I been told if the Hero survives. But the palace is to be sealed, indefinitely under highest authority. There will be unrest. I wanted you to know.¡± The future is wearables, yall It was a new experience to be inside of a room that sealed so tightly. The volume of it was small enough that Rhode could almost feel the pressure change in his ears and sinus as he breathed. ¡°Are you sure that something went wrong?¡± the homunculus wavered. There was an impression that floated up out of his dreams. A red stain and the stink of metal. ¡°The last summon was sort of ugly. There was¡­ I remember there were fluids. And the new guy was¡­ disoriented. When I uh, first got here, I remember I was, um, not doing well in the beginning and¨C¡± Rhode¡¯s face was cupped in his hands. Chasing after threads that trailed off into nowhere, he was becoming increasingly confused. He heard Tarrop asking if he needed to be taking his own precautions, and Brand deferred his answer. ¡°Goodman Irving,¡± the constable addressed Rhode instead, ¡°for the moment we should prioritize your own situation. It may be best if you do not worry overmuch about things we cannot control.¡± There was a hand on Rhode¡¯s back, and the homunculus rolled his shoulder to throw off the patronizing gesture. ¡°So what am I supposed to do.¡± Constable Brand looked askance at the door. A pair of razor-thin lines pivoted in the air as his daemon drifted towards it. ¡°It cannot be my place to tell you what you must do. However, if this project had still been my responsibility, I would have asked if you might go up into the palace. Hypothetically.¡± ¡°I thought you said there¡¯s trouble. What do you expect me to do?¡± the Hero asked. ¡°Nothing. Simply show yourself and remind them that you are here. Hiding you is a mistake. Even if it was in error, the secret of you is already spilled. Yet, few have had the chance to witness you. Rumor and doubt are vile things: they spin out of control too eagerly. But if our people can see the Dreadlung, standing like a living tower; they will know that we have already succeeded.¡± Rhode stood, then he changed his mind. He sat back down and regretted that too. ¡°Ow. Even my gosh-dang backside. Brand, I still don¡¯t know the half of what¡¯s going on. I mean, I can help. Maybe. But why isn¡¯t the new guy able to help?¡± Ser Fidelity¡¯s mustache bucked in impatience. ¡°The inner arc-hall of the Spousal Ring is closed off. I do not have access to the second Hero, and the healers no longer report to me.¡± ¡°Well then,¡± Rhode turned and huffed, ¡°Tarrop, how¡¯s number two doing? Can I ¨C I dunno, can I talk to him?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, big guy. But Illuminance has taken over for us. Wavelton & Broox will still be consulting on the Heroes through Scholar Yagget, and I am certain the order will be asking for the build profiles that we have prepared. But they will not have me. You are my sole responsibility now.¡± ¡°Well, then I want a chance to talk to him,¡± the homunculus erupted. His palm stung as he slapped it against the table. ¡°If he¡¯s okay, or if this new person is still alive, they deserve to hear from someone else from home. This shouldn¡¯t have to suck as hard for them as it did for me.¡± ¡°That might be complicated,¡± the lord in black and orange faltered. ¡°I will continue to ask, but several of us have already made this request. If my superiors ¨C¡± ¡°I don¡¯t care. Do you guys want me to promise to behave? Fine. I get it, I will. I¡¯m already playing nice, I¡¯m doing what everybody¡¯s asking me to do. I¡¯m trying to learn your dumb Ser, Lord, your majesty stuff; I really am. But these people are from my world. Don¡¯t you understand? I just want to talk to somebody that¡¯s .¡± This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Brand mouthed that last word, and Tarrop seemed confounded by it too. Rhode had spoken the name of his species, but he¡¯d done it in English. As he tried to think of the goblin equivalent, the only word which came to mind was goblin. ¡°I cannot promise you that, Rhode. I don¡¯t know why you are being held apart, but I am certain there is a good reason.¡± Rhode rolled his eyes and snorted. ¡°Yea. I¡¯m sure there is a reason. And I¡¯m sure it¡¯s real clever.¡± Fidelity Brand bit off his reply. He shut his eyes and exhaled, but he was a man of controlled discipline. ¡°Goode Scholar Tarrop. I will approve the release of the [Status] assessment device. If the Hero is unfit, or unwell, then I will retract everything I have said. His health takes priority.¡± There was a drawer on Tarrop¡¯s side of the table. As he slid it open, it revealed a wax polished, sealed wooden box. ¡°Bangle is still around?¡± Rhode asked in surprise. ¡°I thought he was dangerous. Isn¡¯t there a better way to do this?¡± ¡°Not without Rikva,¡± the scholar frowned, tugging at his waistcoat at the midsection. Then he fished a key out of his pocket, and freed a silver bracelet from its case. ¡°And her readings will never be as precise as a true source of [Status],¡± he added. The precious band¡¯s central amber gemstone glinted. The balding goblin carried it towards Rhode with deliberate caution. ¡°Alright, fine,¡± Rhode stuck his arm out. ¡°Hey [Status] Bangle. What kind of awful do you have for me this time?¡± he sighed.
LogicSpirit8271635 waking from idle¡­ Intuiting task from context¡­ ProximityToKnownEntity = Yes, therefore StartTask(Divining Status) Divining entity Level and Status¡­ Comment: You again? Boring. Comment: You are always a mess. What is wrong with your body now? Gene [Vigorous Ichor] ¡ï¡ï¡ð: The first key to Enduring Stamina. Foundation level {mutation}. Levelable. Mergeable. Evolution to [Rejuvenating Ichor] available. New Evolution Predicted: Requires [Iron Bones]. Gene [Hibernate] ¡ï¡ð¡ð: Conserve strength through slumber, the first key to Restful Longevity. Foundation level {mutation}. Levelable. Mergeable. Skill [Bellows] ¡ï¡ð¡ð: A mighty wind, a¡¯blowin from within. Compound legacy (Eloft, wind-surgeon of Spelt) {skill}. Levelable. Mergeable. Pending Level: Transmutation [Iron Bones] ¡ú Progress 72.2% Pending Level: Ailment [Metal Toxicity] ¡ú Progress 65.4% Pending Level: Gene [Lingering Fibrosis] ¡ú Progress 21.9% Pending Level: Power-Word [Spite] ¡ú Progress 31.3% Pending Level: Ailment [Inebriate] ¡ú Progress 17.0% Comment: Whoa. WHOA. What have you done to yourself? This is AWESOME. Notification: Did you know that [Iron Bones] can evolve into [Dagger Talons]? Would you like to know more?
Ask a magician for medical advice, ask your jewelry for magic, ask a soldier for fashion. Rhode resisted the urge to tear the silver band off of his bare skin. He opened his eyes and they rolled back down. ¡°I¡¯m worried that this thing [Metal Toxicity] is getting really high. I¡¯ve got a lot of levels in progress that look really bad.¡± Tarrop flipped open a small notebook and took up his pen. Worried little wrinkles knit into his brow. ¡°Is it higher or lower than [Iron Bones] now?¡± ¡°Um, Bangle says that bones is at low seventy percent, and toxic is sixty five.¡± ¡°Larder-scum,¡± cursed the scholar. He plucked a silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead. ¡°Higher than I would like. Normally the pair spike shouldn¡¯t come so close to overtaking the object level.¡± ¡°Okay, and pair spikes are bad?¡± Rhode groaned. ¡°And object level is good?¡±
Notification: Competitor levels, sometimes referred to as adversarial or corival, refer to groupings of two or more levels that share common prerequisites or conditions of development, but oppose or prevent one another.
Constable Brand crossed his arms. ¡°What must be done to correct the imbalance?¡±
Comment: It¡¯s like having a nest of baby birds with only enough food to feed one. It¡¯s only a matter of time before the biggest one eats the other chicks. That¡¯s how birds work, right?
¡°I¡¯m sorry, Rhode. We¡¯re saying that your new level has yet to finalize: to be accepted by your body and your mana. I¡¯ll try to explain, but ¨C Ser Fidelity, do we have time for this? If there is an emergency, I don¡¯t know if this is the best use of our time.¡± ¡°It is only because we have an emergency that I was able to pull Goodman Irving away,¡± the constable replied. ¡°So we do not have time ¨C but we should take it anyway. I will ask again, what steps need to be taken to prevent this pair malady?¡±
Notification: Pair malady, a malady type adversarial level which is usually corival to a ¡°desirable¡± one. QuoteOfTheDay: What doesn¡¯t kill you, makes you stronger ¨C unless it cripples you, forever.
¡°Time alone will be enough: it will not be a problem. His transmutation¡¯s progress is dominant enough that it will preclude its paired ailment. The only thing this means for us is that we cannot risk giving him his mana potion, nor any other accelerants until [Iron Bones] is crystallized.¡±
Notification: Did you know that [Electric Resist] is corival to [Burnt Nerves]? Would you like to know more?
¡°Bangle, I¡¯m trying to listen,¡± Rhode whispered at his arm. But the lord was pointedly ignoring the Hero¡¯s conversation with his jewelry. ¡°You are certain?¡± Brand pressed the magician. And Scholar Tarrop assured him. ¡°If anything changes, we can always provide Rhode with a purgative to shift the balance. It will weaken the final level, but at least we will have the option.¡± ¡°Okay, so poison is good as long as it¡¯s not too much?¡± Rhode mumbled.
Comment: Poison is always good. When you say ¡°too much¡± poison, I say ¡°sharing opportunity¡±.
¡°Please. One moment, Goodman Irving. Goode Scholar Tarrop, I am obligated to return to my duties shortly. Perhaps take a half hour with him. Complete your assessment; answer his questions as best as you can. I will send someone by at the hour to fetch him.¡± The scholar leaned backwards in his chair and blew air out of the corner of his mouth. ¡°And if he is unfit to run about and quell a riot? Say for example, because he is still recovering from intrusive, full body surgery?¡± The constable adjusted his buttons and stepped towards the door. ¡°Then send him back to his room,¡± he scoffed. ¡°Surely, you will do what you must. And Goodman Irving?¡± The homunculus tried to turn about from his bench, but he was too sore for it. ¡°Yea, Ser Fidelity?¡± ¡°When you go topside, try not to speak overmuch, or to be yourself. It will make them think you are harmless.¡± Rhode grabbed either side of his bench, and it squealed across the floor as he scooted it to an angle. ¡°Thanks, Brand,¡± Rhode glared. Then the constable was gone. The door shut heavily behind him. Rhode cupped his face in his hands and pressed lightly on his eyelids. ¡°Okay, can you explain this again. Do I, or do I not need to worry about all these red bad levels?¡± ¡°Unfortunately, transmutation levels are often competitive with toxicity ailments. We do our best to manage the risk, but it is a fact of life. Normally that wouldn¡¯t be a problem, but you¡¯d been exposed to synergistic metallic auras just a few days before your procedure.¡± Tarrop picked up his booklet and leafed through it. ¡°One moment, I have all this written down. Much of this is harmless¡­ but low grade [Arsenic], mid-grade [Mercury], something called [Catalysis] ¨C and [Chelation]: which must be an alchemical property I¡¯ve never heard of before. Brother Eloft recorded that your [Toxicity] spiked as high as 45% while you were asleep. It looks like we saw a few signs of a [Resistance] transmutation, but that didn¡¯t even peak past twenty-five.¡± ¡°You¡¯re worrying me, Tarrop,¡± Rhode grumbled. ¡°I thought you guys were gonna fix this.¡± ¡°We will. The important thing about competitive levels is once one of them ¡®wins¡¯ it will dominate the other. [Iron Bones] will even give you some level of permanent resistance to alchemical poisoning, though it is important to remember that this protection will be limited. Believe me, Rhode. You would never, ever want to wake up one day with an evolved [Lead Bones].¡± This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Comment: Yea. I just looked it up. [Lead Bones] sucks. It doesn¡¯t even kill you fun.
¡°Okay,¡± Rhode sighed. ¡°What about [Fibrosis]?¡± ¡°From the damage to your lungs. We recorded it peaking at¡­ 28% progress. It¡¯s declining, correct?¡± ¡°Twenty one, something now. These things can go back down? The [Inebriate] thing is on here too.¡± ¡°Of course. [Status] is a difficult and complicated assessment, which is why we sometimes, and probably unwisely, rely on [Logic] daemons. The state of your body, your mind, your choices, all of these things pull at your mana. And mana wants to take a shape, to become stable in the form of our levels. Eventually, those levels will collapse into classes.¡±
Notification: Class is a cultural term referring to a cluster of four or more levels which evolve through merging. People think they matter more than they do. Who needs [Pyromancy] when you can have [Pyroclastic Bio-Ignition]? Dumb.
The lantern¡¯s cool light was starting to dim, and shadows festered in the corners. So Tarrop stood, climbed up his chair, stepped directly on the table, and tapped the metal hoop which ran around the glass base of the light. The room brightened again. ¡°None of these are levels yet. They are possibilities that [Status] helps us predict. But as you heal, some of these will recede. You have probably noticed that none of your existing levels are making much progress right now. It¡¯s because most or all of your mana should be forming into your new one.¡± Rhode reached out in case the magician needed help getting back down. The table wobbled, and some of the papers slid an inch or two, but Tarrop dismounted safely. As he spoke, he fetched a set of boxes from the wall, and began to unpack the contents. ¡°Several of the health problems you are experiencing would recover more quickly if we weren¡¯t so busy cutting you apart before we¡¯d let you get better. Here ¨C¡± The goblin laid out a coin sized tin of cream colored, meaty smelling ointment, and then a row of irregular, dark colored pills. He pointed to each one in turn. ¡°Smear this one beneath your nose; it¡¯s a continuation of your breathing medication. This pill is an anti-corruptive, this one is anti-pestilent, and this one is anti-plague. As long as the palace isn¡¯t on fire, we¡¯ll have a [Flesh-Knit] tonic sent to your room by morning. I¡¯ll make sure your attendants rotate your pain regiment to reduce the growth of [Inebriate].¡± Rhode relaxed a shade. It changed a great deal to hear that someone at least had a plan ¨C or, more importantly, someone who was willing to explain what the plan was. ¡°You probably don¡¯t need to do all this. I¡¯ve got four healers, an alchemist, and a barber patching me up. I figure I¡¯ll probably be okay in no time,¡± Rhode smiled. He pocketed the medication anyway. But the magician scowled. He grabbed for his wine cup again instinctively, but it was (obviously) still empty. ¡°No, you don¡¯t,¡± Tarrop spat, ¡°when was the last time that you¡¯ve seen the Hornupants?¡± An interesting question. Rhode tried to remember whether he¡¯d seen any of the ¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ, and¡­ oh, right. ¡°They¡¯ve all been pulled away. Management even called on Brother Eloft sometime last night. I had assumed it had something to do with the third Hero, but now I suppose I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Someone¡¯s changing my bandages though.¡± ¡°I know you won¡¯t be happy to hear it, but I think you have an herbalist, a field medic, and a midwife tending you. Hopefully it will be temporary: we were supposed to expand our support staff now that the Project has moved to the active phase.¡± This was all distressing news, especially since Rhode was distinctly sure that budget was never supposed to be a problem: someone important had told him that. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound good,¡± he considered. ¡°If I didn''t have real healers, they never would have warned me about my meds, would they have?¡± ¡°Exactly why I mentioned it,¡± Scholar Tarrop nodded. ¡°But I have to say, you are doing better than I anticipated. You are alert, and mobile, and that itself is a miracle. Try not to exert yourself, but if Ser Fidelity needs your help, I won¡¯t stop you.¡± The magician shut his little boxes, one by one. He stacked them up and carried them back to the wall shelves, and they rejoined a dozen other unlabeled containers filled with who knows what. ¡°I wanted to ask you about magic,¡± the [Brawn Homunculus] asked. ¡°While I still have you. I¡¯ve seen some of what you guys can do. How would I learn? What would I need to do?¡± ¡°Of course, big guy,¡± Tarrop practically jumped. Eagerly, he threw himself back into his seat and snatched the top folio off of the marked stack of seven that had drawn Rhode¡¯s eye. ¡°It¡¯s an impossibly large field. Everything depends on what you want to be able to accomplish. For example, this was a draft plan we had put together a few months ago. It is a map of the prerequisite fire magics to develop a level we call [Incineration Waltz], which is a combination of mobility techniques and fire conjurations.¡± ¡°Uh,¡± Rhode eyed the binder, ¡°that sounds really cool, but I honestly don¡¯t think I want to burn people.¡± ¡°Right. I suppose you would not. I suppose that [Pyroclastic Storm] would not appeal to you either¡­ honestly, Rhode. Now that you have mentioned it, this is a very good time to get you started on magical study. With your mana so deeply invested as it is, you will be able to focus on the fundamentals without worrying about picking up useless runes or mantras.¡± ¡°Okay. How about [Power Word: Spite]. Is that any good?¡± ¡°[Spite]? I¡¯m not sure. Check with the daemon, but it sounds like a coaxial anger glamour. I think I remember it is adjacent to the [Berserk] lines, but it affects more than just yourself.¡±
Notification: Fight to the death! Manipulate the force of magnetic hatred! [Spite] can make any party an event to remember when ¨C
¡°No, then,¡± Rhode declared definitively.
Comment: I hatehatehate you. Let me give you power. Comment: [Rage] lines are psychic resistant, you dummy. Listen to ¨C
Frustrated, Rhode took [Status] Bangle off. Tarrop tossed another binder aside and picked up a third.¡°How about.. well this one should synchronize well with your existing levels. [Phase-Inertial Ram] would turn your body into a devastating projectile ¨C¡± ¡°Absolutely not.¡± ¡°Well, we don¡¯t need to do any of these,¡± Tarrop announced. ¡°If you don¡¯t feel that they fit you. How about [Megaton Launch-Vector] was an idea we had for long-distance artillery: it would be a waste of your existing levels, but we could make it work. Or for something different, I have a naval spell called [Wide Mass Hydrogradient]. If you have any interest in boats or sailing, and you didn¡¯t plan on falling overboard, that might be a good one.¡± Rhode stopped the magician there. He pushed the stack of papers and plans away from himself, and leaned over the table. ¡°Tarrop, is there a kind of magic that exists that doesn¡¯t hurt people? Something that can stop someone dangerous, but like, incapacitate: not do permanent harm?¡± The magician of Wavelton & Brooks had been the kind of man who had taught himself [Impulse Lance] in his youth. He was also the kind of man who would never willingly put himself into any kind of danger which would have the level useful. So he considered Rhode¡¯s request with bafflement. ¡°I can do that for you, big guy. I¡¯m sure. But, ah ¨C look at you. Think of what we¡¯re doing. You''re going to piss off everyone. Why for sake of the gods would you possibly want that?¡± That is a trash strat, and you know it Life is about new experiences, and for the first time in his new one, Rhode got into an argument. Not a snippy quip, or a tense exchange, or even a heated dispute; but a real, knock down, drag out shouting match. Scholar Tarrop was pacing furiously by that point, and he tore at the remaining sides of his hair. ¡°This is preposterous, Rhode. Nothing works like that. In the best possible case you¡¯re going to get yourself killed, and in the worst, I¡¯ll get fired all over again!¡± Rhode had given up on standing, it was exhausting to display anger so performatively, and he was aware of how easily little things like ¡®furniture¡¯ or ¡®load bearing walls¡¯ could break if he allowed himself to throw a tantrum. ¡°Well, I don¡¯t know! What if we do electricity?¡± he snapped. Tarrop whipped around and stomped back to the table, his plain, chubby face contorted with anger. ¡°What the FUCK use is lightning? What does that have to do with anything?¡± ¡°To stun people!¡± Rhode rasped. He tried to keep his own voice low: he matched Tarrop¡¯s intensity but wouldn¡¯t escalate either. ¡°Where I come from, we did it all the time!¡± Tarrop¡¯s head bobbed back like a cat tasting vegetables. ¡°What? Snakemilk, that¡¯s nonsense. You used lightning magic ¨C one of the most deadly and unpredictable forms of battle-magic there is ¨C and you used it to stop from killing people?¡± ¡°Well, yea.¡± ¡°No you didn¡¯t!¡± Tarrop barked, looking completely uncertain. ¡°Yes! I mean sort of. It¡¯s still kinda dangerous, but it mostly works! You take these little harpoon things and they go pop and fly over, and then they apply a shock.¡± ¡°Ridiculous,¡± the scholar spat, stroking at his chin. Rhode spread his arms wide, then clapped his hands down on his thighs for emphasis. ¡°And then they lock up, because I dunno, it does something to your muscles. They can¡¯t move.¡± ¡°Even if that did work, it would only affect one enemy at a time!¡± Tarrop threw open his notebook, and flipped destructively through pages until he found a blank space, and then he began scratching notes down hard enough to tear the paper. ¡°First of all, it would be dangerous to store so much lightning energy. We would have to build you a massive [Battery], obviously.¡± Rhode blinked. ¡°Obviously!¡± he growled. ¡°But that would be inconvenient to carry around! You might as well expect us to evolve your [Iron Bones] to store the charge!¡± ¡°Could we do that?¡± Rhode bellowed, his face flushed with pique and a vein protruding along his neck. ¡°Here, this is Vormopritt¡¯s Compendium of the War Practices of Foreign Savagery. This is the kind of irresponsible scholarship where you¡¯d find something like¡­ aha! [Transmutation: Internal Capacitor]. It¡¯s terrible, absolutely a trash level,¡± Tarrop snarled, transcribing a description from the book into his notes. ¡°And you¡¯d never have enough power! You¡¯d have to boost it with something useless like [Over-Charge].¡± The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. ¡°And we can¡¯t do that, can we?¡± Rhode retorted, starting to sound confused. ¡°Only if we fed you something like high-grade [Electrolytic] serum. And how would you even get your lightning to flow where you wanted it? Only a fool or a hydromancer would learn [Power-Word: Stream]. Even then! You¡¯d kill someone unless you could regulate your output, that¡¯s a [Throughput] [Daemon]!¡± ¡°Actually, I don¡¯t understand what daemons are, or what they do?¡± Rhode interjected thoughtfully. ¡°Of course not! We¡¯d have to teach you! And then you¡¯d still need some kind of chaining technique to spread the effect out over groups.¡± ¡°And that¡¯s not possible?¡± Rhode asked. Tarrop slammed his books shut with a huff. ¡°It¡¯s absolutely possible, and I¡¯ll research it tonight!¡± ¡°Sounds like it might work,¡± the homunculus whispered. Tarrop wiped his face and forehead with his handkerchief. ¡°Maybe. Er, probably. I suppose I¡¯ll have a plan ready for you in a few days,¡± the scholar harrumphed. He coughed into his fist and then looked away in embarrassment. Rhode folded his hands together, but his fingers blazed with pain and he moved them apart on the surface of the table. ¡°Hey, man. Can someone teach me how to read?¡± the homunculus quietly asked. ¡°You want to ¨C¡± ¡°Yea.¡± Scholar Tarrop cleared his throat and adjusted his colorful neck-tie. ¡°I am sure we could ask if there are reading materials about. Would you feel insulted if we started you off with children¡¯s primers?¡± Rhode shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m pretty far past being embarrassed right now. I just want to learn.¡± ¡°We¡¯ll have something sent to your room later.¡± An uncomfortable silence hung over the two men until they were saved by a pattering of urgent knocks at the door. The voice on the other side wasn¡¯t reaching through, so the goblin magician slowly dragged himself to the entry to let her in. Lady Jern Eintirp-Wan had been a page in service of the respected Adjutant Fidelity Brand. Now, with the man somewhat deposed, there was a great deal of unanswered questions about what her responsibilities were. So, under the circumstances: whatsoever could be the harm if she still might run an errand or two for him? Surely, someone somewhere was going to remember to officially assign her to a new role. Until then, wouldn¡¯t it be fun to help out a real live Hero? The girl wore her uniform proudly, even though she stood approximately chin-level to the door handle, and no taller. She hesitated, raising one hand to salute, but stopped. Eintirp tugged at her braid and scratched her head, then nodded firmly, and chose to curtsy. ¡°Lord Ser Dreadlung,¡± the little page trumpeted, ¡°your bigness! You did a good fight versus Yun-Yun, everybody says so.¡± ¡°Oh, uh, hey,¡± Rhode waved. ¡°I remember you. What¡¯s a Yun-Yun?¡± The girl¡¯s face fell. ¡°My cousin. She¡¯s real strong and pretty, and she beat you up good even though everybody says you¡¯re a Hero.¡± ¡°Oh, really?¡± Rhode rumbled. He was astonished to think that this young woman was related to someone so ferocious as Ser Hakkat-Yune. Then a smile creaked unbidden across his face. ¡°And you said you call her Yun-Yun? Oh man, I bet she hates that. What''s your name, Goode¡­ miss?¡± ¡°I¡¯m Eintirp-Wan of the most homorable house Jern, and I¡¯m an official Lady on account of how Yun-Yun fights so good,¡± the page nodded emphatically. ¡°The boss-man said I gotta get you. Do you wanna go punch on people now?¡± Its all a matter of perspective: The Farmboy It is a cruel reality that a person does not truly decide who they are. The inner world of the mind can paint a picture of the self; a soul can tell themselves stories of who they intend to be. But the world rarely cares about things as immaterial or shapeless as ideas. A poem that is never shared with another is just a daydream. The thought of kindness is worthless and empty until it becomes an action. What we do defines us ¨C more than any of our intentions ever will. This is true: a goblin only needs to lose their temper once to become a killer. A promise only needs to break once to make an elf a liar. So, I will tell you a secret if you promise to keep it. Do you think that courage is what makes a Hero? No. A retreat can take courage. The foolhardy will happily charge headlong into danger. The heart does not matter in the moments which define a Hero. The only thing that matters is what the world sees: did you run or did you fight. So in the end, what makes us who we are? Some days the answer is just a matter of perception.
Wope was an average sort of goblin, from an average sort of village. He had been liked well enough, and he¡¯d been strong and hale; he¡¯d been proud of being young, of being fit. When he¡¯d grown old enough to steer his own leveling, he¡¯d refined his body and kindled his heart¡¯s passion for boldness. Wope liked how the girls looked at him. He liked how the elders thanked him during harvest time. The goblin loved it when his friends called him brave. That was probably why Wope had sworn to the regional baron; why he had chosen to become a soldier and wear the colors of his lord. But the world was wider than he had imagined, and far more confusing too. His parents had been simple coopers: barrel makers and woodcutters, so even now, it was difficult for him to understand the tangled web of feudal loyalties which had placed him here. Four Ring Hills Palace: an opulent monument, a legacy of old blood and ancient names. Even diminished by centuries, the glory of House Tintalline glittered brighter than any treasure he¡¯d known before. Why him? Usually, an enlisted like himself might spend his entire career serving as little more than a bored trade-road guard. If he showed particular talent, if he leveled right and knew no fear, a gob could even be recruited as a culler: the valiant monster-slayers who held the wilds at bay. Late at night, when no one else was awake, Wope sometimes prayed that he could be destined to level into someone amazing. Mighty Wope the Fearless. Just think of what everyone at home would think of him then? But the goblin wasn¡¯t guarding the roads from desperate thieves. He wasn¡¯t stalking the woods for signs of wild predators either. Wope of Little Fingers Lake was standing in a cold, damp tunnel underground, and watching over crates of perishable dried fruit. The young man had never felt so alone, or so homesick either. Every room was full of secrets he wasn¡¯t allowed to touch. Every night was full of whispers that he was not allowed to hear. For a while it had been bearable. The army had posted mail, so long as his news was carefully censored. His squad was allowed to visit the closest township twice a month to let off steam and relax. Now, the boss man had seized his letters, even though he¡¯d paid four bits to transcribe them. Now, no one was allowed to leave, nor move about, not even to see the sunlight. This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. What hour was it? Wope wasn¡¯t sure anymore. When would he be relieved? No one would say. Sure, he¡¯d heard the rumors. He even knew a couple of gobs that swore up and down and on their mother¡¯s grave that they¡¯d seen him themselves: a Hero in the flesh. Did Wope believe them? It didn¡¯t matter. Soldiers were notorious and unreliable gossips when bored. They spun tales. They pulled pranks. Even if it was true; the affairs of elves were too great for such a lowly gob like him. Wope didn¡¯t have an opinion anymore. He was alone in the dark and watching helplessly as his lantern slowly (oh, so slowly) ran out of oil. But then, the halls started breathing. The hair on Wope¡¯s nape stood on end. His ears perked up, and goose-pimples sprouted along his arms. The stale air was pulling at him, and the dust along the floor stirred. Then he heard the wind change direction, a terrible sound like the presage of a great beast. Slap, thump. Slap, thump. Slap, thump. Wope heard the footsteps of something heavy. He imagined, the webbed feet of some awful, crawling amphibious creature. Who knows what kinds of things could emerge from the deep? The goblin gulped, and his grip tightened around his tall pole-weapon. It had a stabbing spike, and a chopping wedge, and he¡¯d never killed anything with it before. Wope raised his dwindling lantern high, and peered into the gloom where a corner-turn left him blind to what was coming. He didn¡¯t expect the little girl. A pale glow preceded her, like a ghostly presence, and she waddled into view with an absolute, and unnerving confidence. The light? It shone from a wavering, insubstantial sparrow that rested on the top of her head. She had a knife in her hand, and she waved it through the air and hummed a little song. ¡°Get ¡®em in the kidney, that¡¯ll take ¡®em out! Guts are never good, ¡®cause they take too long to drop! Veins are in their leggies, so saw along there too! This is the knife song, ¡®cause self-defense is fun.¡± Wope tried to decide if this was worse or better ¨C then the distinction became meaningless. He trembled as a terrible shadow turned the corner. It filled the hall from edge to edge; it hunched and its hand slid along the stone, with a rough and fleshy friction. Its shirt was loose, and ghastly white. Bandages wrapped over its body underneath its clothing, with dark, weeping stains. Potent, medicinal alchemies flowed ahead as it exhaled a condensing fog, and treading slippers made slapping thuds with each step. A pair of wooden poles were slung over one shoulder, just like the oars of the boatsman of the dead. The creature breathed inwards, and the air howled as Wode¡¯s lantern finally ¨C Went out. ¡°Make way!¡± cried the girl with the moonlight bird. Shadows made her face inscrutable, and her dagger flashed in the dark. ¡°You gotta scoot to the side,¡± pronounced a voice like the shutting of a casket. The soldier slammed flat against the wall in alarm, and his heart hammered in his chest. The sparrow floated past him, like a will-o-the-wisp leading a child through the underworld, and the knife bobbed jauntily and level with his face. But that wasn¡¯t the worst part. Poor Wode locked eyes with a pair of horrible, round pupils. The Dreadlung loomed over him, and his teeth were flat and white. Black thread laced through the skin everywhere, as if he were a quilt made of flesh. The monster¡¯s breath was thick with the smell of sweet pudding, and with the acrid, mildew reek of [Sensory Dissociation]. It leaned in close and its finger pushed Wode¡¯s trembling polearm aside with an inevitable force. It said: ¡°Or else you''ll get crushed, man.¡± Its all a matter of perspective: The Dashing Rogue There was a pantry in the corner of the north-west-western addendum buttery of the dilapidated hall called copper ring. Inside this unassuming closet space, there was little more than moldy, drooping cupboards, full of fetid jars of decade-pickled nightshade fruits. Maybe there was also a burlap sack of withered grain tucked into a corner that had been fouled by rodents long ago. But that pantry also had a secret, which is an unusual thing for a pantry to have; until one considered just who was most likely to have built it in the first place. So really in a way, the hidden stairwell behind the back false shelf made a lot of sense. Would it surprise anyone that it was goblin hands that had riddled the palace walls with furtive passages, or with covert chambers too? Maybe it was goblin nature to obsessively take the ordinary, and find ways to make it fun. Surely, it was a goblin¡¯s idea to dig that winding stair, deep into the dungeons below. But if it had been, tonight it was probably an elf¡¯s fault that someone had to guard it. Harvel was in deep trouble. The palace was locked down, and that was very bad for business. He stood at the foot of a drunken, corkscrew stone ascent and huddled shoulder to shoulder with the nervous soldier he¡¯d been bribing for weeks. She was missing teeth where a marsh-grease monitor lizard had smashed her in the face, sometime early in her career. The hairs at her temples was growing in strands of gray, and the colors on her tabard were a combination of ¡®none¡¯ and ¡®rusty brown¡¯. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter what you want or what you say, I can¡¯t get any,¡± the woman hissed. Her voice would let out little whistles as she spoke through the gaps in her bite. Harvel slicked back his oily, straight hair in frustration. He pulled a gleaming silver royal from his pocket and pressed it into the soldier¡¯s hand. He guided her fingers to wrap around the coin. ¡°Surely, there¡¯s some way. Every door has a keyhole, every fortress still gets bugs. Just talk to your friend in the cullers, that¡¯s all I ask.¡± The soldier hesitated. Her face twisted in dismay, but her swamp-gray eyes kept drawing back to the coin. ¡°There are gobs who¡¯ve still got stashes lyin¡¯ about. Why¡¯ve you got to get through so bad?¡± Slowly despite her protests, the woman¡¯s hand moved towards her pocket. Shining metal tarnished honor most of all; that was just how it worked, wasn¡¯t it? A smile broke out on Harvel¡¯s face as he sighed in relief. His long fingers reached under his jacket coat and withdrew a stiff little roll of parchment, tied strenuously tight with firm knots of string and a bead of sealing wax. ¡°While you¡¯re here, it just so happens I¡¯m concerned about my grandmother,¡± the spy lied unashamedly. He waggled the missive under his accomplice¡¯s nose. ¡°I worry about her so. Will you see that this gets out, when the product comes in?¡± The soldier gulped. She knew how the game was played, and she¡¯d been serving for a long while. For most of that time she¡¯d believed that a little bit of smuggling never hurt anyone. Besides, every professional army had always needed a certain number of entrepreneurs like her. And she¡¯d run her racket honest enough for a criminal. A gob could make perfectly good coin running basic contraband, without ever rustling their conscience. But now? Looking at that letter, she knew that it was more important than any of the cheap vices that Harvel was asking her to deliver. She was starting to fear what she had gotten into. ¡°[What Was That]?¡± the soldier startled. Harvel¡¯s head swiveled about. Then he raised an eyebrow and scoffed. ¡°What was what?¡± he chuckled. ¡°Don¡¯t be stupid,¡± the woman hissed. She pinched her own ear and tugged at it. ¡°I mean [What Was That]. Now I¡¯ve got [Jitters], plus I [Smell Trouble] coming.¡± His laugh died. He¡¯d heard it too. The echoes of it were far and faint, but [Eavesdrop] caught a familiar sound rising in the distance. He tried to disbelieve it. It was unmistakable. ¡°Go, go!¡± growled the soldier. She shoved at Harvel, hard. ¡°Everything¡¯s locked. Where am I gonna go? Tell me there¡¯s another fucking tunnel, Cuin.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± the woman panicked. Harvel glanced towards the spiraled ascent. Neither of the two goblins suggested the way upwards as an option. ¡°Boot-scat. Can¡¯t you call it in? Find out what he¡¯s doing here?¡± ¡°Whaddya mean, him? It¡¯s him, him? He¡¯s real? I thought that was a joke.¡± ¡°Use the thing!¡± ¡°I can¡¯t talk through my end, it don¡¯t work that way. It¡¯s just an alarm!¡±
Slap, thump. Slap, thump. Slap, thump. ¡°Hey kid,¡± wheezed Rhode Mortimer Irving as his great hulking body filled the entire frame of the doorway. ¡°Seriously, I can¡¯t fit easy through these tunnels. Why are you taking me literally the smallest way. Dang.¡± This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. The little page Eintirp-Wan was sulking. The Hero had demanded she put her very cool knife away, so she had pushed ahead impatiently. But the homunculus was too big, he kept getting stuck. How should she have known that would happen? He should try being smaller. Eintirp stopped with a loud groan. They were already almost at the kinda-secret stairwell (as opposed to the super-secret one). The page tapped her grandmother¡¯s [Moon-Song Bird], and it flew ahead, illuminating a pair of unfamiliar goblins. Eintirp waved at them, and turned around to help the Hero through. Goodman Irving slid down onto his butt to get low. Then he got frustrated and passed his crutches through first (even though they nearly tipped Eintirp over). Heaving like a fat person in summertime, the Hero turned sideways and tipped a bit, his huge hands and brutish fingers gripping the stone on the other side to pull his body through the door. ¡°If I pull some stitches, I¡¯m gonna be so mad,¡± the hero growled as he hauled himself back off the floor. ¡°But really. This ceiling really is built way low here. Right? I¡¯m not imagining it?¡± ¡°Yea, ¡®cause it¡¯s for goblins,¡± Eintirp rolled her eyes. ¡°Duh.¡± Goodman Irving halted as he saw the guards ahead. They looked like they were arguing, but then one of them raised up a hand. The homunculus¡¯ head slowly inclined in greeting. ¡°As opposed to who else?¡± It was a dumb thing to ask. Eintirp toddled back towards the Hero. ¡°Shhh,¡± she beckoned. She cupped her hands around her mouth and whispered. ¡°Sometimes we have stuff that elves is not s¡¯posed to see. It¡¯s secret.¡± The Hero pinched his lips together and glowered thoughtfully ¨C so maybe he wasn¡¯t completely stupid. Then he tucked his crutches under his arm and rose to a stooped hunch.
Harvel wore the fakest, most [Disarming Smile] that he was capable of as he watched Krevinkya¡¯s dreadful homunculus drag itself towards him through the last section of the tunnel. The goblin spy¡¯s knees felt weak, and there were droplets of perspiration forming at his hairline. He wondered if a rabbit ever felt like this: helplessly watching a snake crawl down its burrow. ¡°Halt!¡± called out Goode Soldier Cuin, which was technically exactly what she should do. She raised a red-hued lantern in her off-hand, and touched a cudgel at her belt with the other. ¡°Move aside there soldier!¡± cried out the little goblin as she stomped imperiously towards them. ¡°By order of me! I got a Hero and that makes me important, that¡¯s the rules!¡± Soldier Cuin glanced at Harvel and then slowly, dubiously raised a salute. The page crisply snapped to match it. ¡°Oh, hey!¡± rumbled the monster jovially. It hid a wince as it rubbed at its side. ¡°Harvel, right? You¡¯re the guy that fixes the air vents! We met at breakfast, I guess a couple days ago.¡± ¡°Oh? Salt in your dish, and Ash in your soil. Y-you remember me, Ser Rhode?¡± the spy brightly replied. ¡°Of course, man. I pretty much would literally die if those things broke down,¡± laughed The Dreadlung. ¡°I bet you¡¯ve been working like crazy since I showed up.¡± Harvel twitched. ¡°What do you mean? I was just filling in for a friend, Ser. I do odd jobs here and there sometimes: help out, now and again.¡± The creature leaned its weight against one side of the wall, [Bellows] heavy at work while he rested. ¡°Really? I just figured it because I¡¯ve seen you around a lot. Since my room is kind of tucked in the middle of nowhere ¨C¡± ¡°Sorry Ser, you¡¯ve seen me?¡± Harvel paled. ¡°Yea, man,¡± laughed the homunculus relaxedly. ¡°I mean, come on. Because you had the green first, but you switched to the yellow and then the brown. Everybody down here wears the same exact colors every day. There¡¯s like five people tops who change outfits around in this place.¡± ¡°How unusual, Ser,¡± died Harvel inside as Goodwife Cuil glared at him. Rhode stuck out a hand towards the soldier and paused. ¡°Hi, uh, sorry. Do I say goodmiss or goodwife when I ¨C like, how am I supposed to know?¡± Cuil stared at the reassembled, jigsaw slab of meat that was extended towards her. ¡°It¡¯s just a backward thing we say. Old days, it used to matter if girls was married, but it don¡¯t matter now. Now you just look at her, and if she old you say wife, and if she young you say miss.¡± The creature squinted. ¡°Thank you, goode¡­miss?¡± There wasn¡¯t much room, but Harvel took what he could get. His only movement technique was basic, but it had kept him safe his whole career. One [Humble Step] took him aside, and his presence shrunk out of direct attention. The method was hardly foolproof: social stealth was always a specialized discipline, and [Humbled] levels in particular had a very specific application. Harvel wished he could [Blend With Crowd] somehow; tap into his best level. But he needed moving figures and faces to make it work; shadows could substitute, but motion was the key. ¡°Okay, Cuin. Nice to meet you,¡± he heard. Without warning, the homonculus snapped his fingers loudly, and Harvel froze. ¡°Ow. Damn. OW,¡± it roared. ¡°Just a second, man ¨C hold up. I¡¯ve got a question for you.¡± It sucked on its finger and thumb, and dark blood stained its lips. ¡°Okay, that was dumb. But I wanted to ask you, man. It¡¯s something I¡¯ve been curious about. You called me Ser. Why¡¯d you do that?¡± Harvel blinked. ¡°What do you mean, Ser?¡± ¡°Well it¡¯s just¡­ I¡¯m not a knight, right?¡± ¡°No.¡± ¡°And I¡¯m not an elf? Right?¡± ¡°Gods, I don¡¯t think so,¡± Harvel nervously chuffed. ¡°Okay. So, I don¡¯t think I understand what it means. I¡¯m noticing that more and more, now: things I expect to be a certain way and they¡¯re not. Now I figure Ser is something different than what I thought it was. So. What does it actually mean?¡± Harvel looked up at the monster standing over him, its eyes were open, thoughtful, and kindly ¨C and wasn¡¯t that a terrible lie? The spy gulped, and then he told the truth. ¡°It¡¯s just how we talk, Ser. It¡¯s respect. We say it to you when we know that you can hurt us and we can¡¯t stop you.¡± ¡°Oh,¡± said the monster. ¡°Oh,¡± it whispered. The spy and his accomplice stood and watched in silence as the Dreadlung crawled up the stairwell. Far too tall for its canted ceiling, the great brute hauled upwards on its side like some kind of profane hermit crab retreating into its shell. It wasn¡¯t until the last sight of its kicking, slippered foot disappeared that they broke. Harvel collapsed onto the stone floor and Cuin chewed her finger hard enough to draw blood. ¡°What we gonna do?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t know.¡± Its all a matter of perspective: The Venturous Merchant Eintirp¡¯s boots were slipping, and so was her grip on the stupid crutches. Her cheeks puffed up as her face flushed from exertion. The twin sticks were twice (at least) as tall as she was, and they only fit around the stairwell at the most specific and awkward of angles. The padded crooks at the ends had gotten stuck everywhere too, which had made the little goblin want to scream. The only reason she¡¯d made it up at all was the Ser Irving: he¡¯d pushed from below, and bent the poles if they¡¯d gotten lodged too badly, or tangled. The page gave one last mighty (relatively) yank, and the crutches pulled free from the door. She lost her balance immediately, and fell over onto her back with a whumph. ¡°I¡¯m still trying to figure out the colors,¡± gasped the Hero from below. His hand emerged from the dark and wrapped around the central support column, and the sound of his body sliding upwards was accompanied by an agonized groan. ¡°Like, I know gray plus green is Viper.¡± Eintirp wasn¡¯t moving from the floor. The crutches lay over her, and she petulantly shoved them over to the side. She shut her eyes as her glowing daemon fluttered over and settled on top of her forehead. ¡°Nuh, uh. Rupul-grip ¨C Guglepip ¨C Yun-Yun¡¯s boss-boss house is those colors.¡± ¡°Right,¡± the homunculus replied. His weird, tiny square head appeared from the shadow, and his other arm snaked forward and slapped against the edge of the wooden floor. ¡°But Rugelgridt supports the Vipers. That¡¯s why they sponsored Yune, right?¡± She waved the bird off, so it flew over and settled on a nearby shelf. ¡°I dunno, who said that? Maybe? But they hate Veikre. One time me an¡¯ Yun-Yun put sand in Veikre Tobb¡¯s bread.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know who that is, but I guess they¡¯re affiliates with Viper too?¡± ¡°Bein¡¯ a lady¡¯s hard. There¡¯s too many houses, an¡¯ they¡¯re dumb. It¡¯s complicated, and memorizing¡¯s hard,¡± the page flung her hands and feet into the air and let them fall back to the floorboards. ¡°The palace people are um, Malachite?¡± Rhode grunted. He dragged his elbow beneath him to prop himself up and angled his head towards the pantry. ¡°And I know they¡¯re green and copper. But the Illuminance guys are new. I never saw them until recently, but their colors are kinda the same, except shifted towards red?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t knoooooooow,¡± Eintirp wailed. Then she swung her arms to sit up, and dusted off her uniform as she got to her feet. The homunculus was emerging, so she pulled his crutches forward around a shelf to make way. ¡°And I kind-of get the sense that that rust red color ¨C and some of those yellows ¨C I think means that the lord it''s for is maybe less rich. Is that true? By the way, what are Jern¡¯s colors?¡± ¡°We don¡¯t got colors, ¡®cause we don¡¯t got an heir for Yun-Yun yet. I had a blue an¡¯ orange dress for special stuff when we was just gobs, that¡¯s regular colors. I think we should be pink and yellow, though.¡± The glass bottles in the room shuddered and clinked as Rhode rose to his full, towering height. There were surprisingly few cobwebs, and little dust in the cramped space; but the presence of either would leave obvious signs of the false shelf, so the room had strangely demanded regular cleaning to stay the perfect level of calculatedly filthy. Rhode took his crutches back and squeezed around a counter-top stacked with empty boxes. ¡°Huh. I haven¡¯t seen any blue-orange. Your idea sounds pretty though,¡± he said as he caught his breath. ¡°What would your symbol be?¡± ¡°Knives stabbin¡¯ people,¡± giggled Eintirp. The Hero and his guide stepped through the attached abandoned buttery, and out into the empty halls of copper ring. The walls were paneled in staid, dark-stained wood about the narrow, efficient corridor. The long, stacked rugs beneath their feet were made of sturdy woven hemp. The halls were pocked with small-paneled, smoky glass windows that peered into dark, unused rooms. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. The goblin stuck her finger up her nose and fished about as she waited for the homunculus to stretch. ¡°Oh, hey! It¡¯s a little claustrophobic, but I like this better than the other place,¡± he said. She shrugged and wiped her hand against the rug. ¡°So which way do we ¨C¡± But Rhode¡¯s question died on his lips. The tramping cadence of marching boots rose from around the turn, and the crunchy clamor of iron chain-mail too. The palace was on lock-down, and the powers-that-be had meant it. A squad of grizzled spears appeared, in their thick, pot-like helmets. The captain¡¯s grotesque [Extra Eye] bulged from its shared socket, and swiveled to lock onto the homunculus. He raised a fork to the side of his head, and the tines vibrated with a whine. ¡°We have contact at position three-one-eight stairwell. Repeat. I have the monster now.¡± Ten cruel points lowered towards Rhode, aimed at his heart. The patrol guard had found them out.
What a busy night it was! And though dear reader, we have not yet dug into the half of it ¨C the meat of consequence is still ahead of us. The life of a gob is an uncertain one. It is sometimes easy to forget they all have dreams and hopes of their own. What a confusing jumble of voices, what a tangle of wishes! How sad is it to know that they live every day under an uncertain limit that they cannot break beyond or above. No matter how clever, or cunning, or bold one might be, no matter what they build, an ever-present threat hangs unspoken over their ears: that the slightest turn of the wind might draw the attention of their betters, and have it taken all away. Should we continue then? Let¡¯s us meet Goode Merchant Ux of Horse Hoof Creek. Ux had known that this job had been too good to be true. He¡¯d rarely took the road to the lands of Malachite, and never reached their heart. He¡¯d known the woman who used to do this route, and she¡¯d claimed it for years. The change, the request for his commerce, had been unexpected and suspicious too. But coin was coin, and few were the gobs who got ahead by asking questions. He decided he¡¯d ask his silvers their opinion afterwards, and their gleaming answer could satisfy him greater than the plots of elves ever could. So the merchant took his brothers, and hired a few distant cousins as guards. He didn¡¯t complain when the customer delivered his time table in a sealed envelope, or that the breakneck pace they asked for would risk laming his horses. He didn¡¯t touch the locked iron strongbox that a stranger in Vine-Burl had added to the bottom of his wagon. He just swapped his animals out at Trickling Lilies, ate the cost and kept his head down low. Oh, and he switched wagons with his brother Baurkin just in case the box exploded. But he did his job. His caravan had fought off hooting [Sonic] baboons, and [Mud Wake] land eels too. They¡¯d dragged through rains, and crashed over root snarled roads. They¡¯d even escaped that innkeeper in Vista View Valley who wanted to steal their skin to replace the leather upholstery Baurkin had vomited on. And yet, Ux had brought his cargo in on time. That¡¯s professionalism. When the soldiers that greeted him at Four Ring Hill appeared wearing the Second Prince¡¯s colors, Ux kept his mouth shut and told his kin to do the same. When his wagons were impounded, when all seven of his crew were confined to quarters in a guest bedroom on the second floor of the derelict north-eastern quadrant of copper ring ¨C remember: Ux did as he was told. He knew the golden rule, and he knew damned well to keep it. But his brother¡­ Damn this job, and damn his drunken lush of a brother twice over. The only reason Ux kept him around was because of a promise to his mother, and every passing day made that promise harder to keep. Trox could at least behave, but Baurkin kept antagonizing the guards, and even the servants who brought them food. He threw tantrums, and broke House Tintalline¡¯s mirrors. He shaved gold paint off of the wallpaper to stuff his pockets. He climbed out a window twice, and was carried back bruised. It had only been three days. Three. Ux wished he had the luxury of screaming, of venting somehow. He wished there was some way to cut out whatever piece of himself carried his patience, and transplant it into his sibling so at least the fool could have half. Needless to say: Baurkin did not take it well when the soldiers told the second-finest merchant family of Horse Hoof Creek that their internment would be extended indefinitely. What DOES need to be said however, is that the alcoholic terror had responded by clubbing the messenger-boy in the skull with a table-leg. Ux tore at his hair. Tears rolled down his face. Baurkin raised a stolen goblin¡¯s stiletto high above his head and crowed like the feral he surely was. The rallying pull of [Boys¡¯ Night Out] echoed through the hall. What choice did Ux have? Him, Trox and his cousins ran pell-mell in pursuit of their treasonous blood: for if they did not reach the stables now, he had surely killed them all. The color Gred Ten goblins advanced as one. It was discipline, yes, but the Captain¡¯s [Mood Anchor] also tempered and moderated the passions of his squad. Shoulder to shoulder, their front rank held their weapons pointed high, and the back rank hoisted a second bristling row over their shoulders. ¡°Surrender, and we¡¯ll hurt you,¡± barked the Captain. ¡°Less, though!¡± piped up a voice from the back of the squad. The Captain¡¯s [Cowing Bluster] emanated oppressively and tickled against Rhode¡¯s survival instinct, just in case his will might break. Ten goblins closed the gap; the iron blades they levered forward leaf-shaped and flat, with a curled barb along one edge. One skirmisher broke from their formation. She ducked low, and called on [Wheeeee!] to glide across the rug. Her spear stabbed out, probing towards Rhode¡¯s face but coming short. Then nine of her cohort advanced and reabsorbed her into the safety of their porcupine wall of points. Rhode stumbled backwards in surprise, and heard a squeal as someone small threw herself out of the way of his clomping feet. His crutch jammed up under his armpit painfully as he caught his balance. Another spear jabbed threateningly towards him, like he was an animal being herded. ¡°Hey. No,¡± Rhode scolded them. He leaned heavily on one crutch and swung the other up and forward: pointed in challenge. ¡°Bad. I¡¯mma hit you with a stick.¡± ¡°[Sharp] [Nudge],¡± spoke a voice, as a spike was thrust at Rhode again. ¡°Ack,¡± went the homunculus¡¯ war cry as his flailing pole knocked the spear off course. The move could almost have been mistaken for intentional. But Rhode¡¯s arm was bleeding anyway, a score across his skin that split a stitch. ¡°How did you even hit me? Eintirp,¡± Rhode coldly asked, ¡°am I gonna get in trouble if I thump these jerks?¡± The little page planted her feet at shoulder width; with one hand on her hip and the other pointed up at Rhode. Her mouth was set in a line of resolute and calm determination. ¡°I¡¯m not with him,¡± she declared, and dove tumbling back into the open buttery. Rhode ceded further still to the searching, seeking, multi-side attack. With each step, his crutches swung wildly and caught blades which cut them deeply. Nick by ding, and splinter by sliver they were being whittled down. Rhode¡¯s knees ached to carry him. Likely, he was about to be surrounded. He glanced at his right-side pole. Likely, it was going to break. ¡°Should I tell you I¡¯m the Hero?¡± growled the monster. ¡°Ugh, that sounds so conceited, though,¡± he groaned. ¡°Y¡¯all, I really feel like you should be able to intuit this from context.¡± Then he whipped his stick about a whistling arc, and threw it spinning at their shins.
Fun fact of the day: goblin blood is brown. Not an ugly brown, or a muddy one, but a vibrant, fulsome color which has no equivalent on Earth: a bright-hued mix of green and red. The floors of the grand hall of leisure ring were white marble, and they were fouled with streaks of drying gred. ¡°I¡¯m really sorry about my brother,¡± Ux assured the guard of House Chyulln. He pulled away with bloody hands. ¡°But on the bright side, you do have two kidneys.¡± The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The boy lay at the foot of the grand stair, his head propped up against the lip of a step. A humble ochre fish and loaf of bread displayed across the young man¡¯s coat. There were dimples in his cheeks, and his hands gripped fiercely at his wounded side. ¡°I¡­¡± he gasped, ¡°donated the other one to my sister in law.¡± ¡°¡­ oh.¡± Like a bursting dam, mana flowed from deep within the merchant¡¯s body ¨C from the space between his flesh and soul. It coiled about Ux¡¯s core, guided surely by the inscrutable laws of levels and fate. As his mana surged, the goblin merchant clutched at his chest with a grimace. His new level grew both denser and more true. Obtained: [Gastric Ulcer] ¡ú ¡ð¡ð Every muscle in Ux¡¯s face that was powered by joy, drooped. He patted the side of his curly hair, just in case he could feel some white ones grow in just at that moment. It has to be said that it was a shame that Ux could not have a [Status] Bangle in his life that night. Perhaps he could have found some comfort in knowing that he¡¯d just unlocked a viable path to [Acid Spit]. Admittedly, it was possible he had other things on his mind. Ux raised his head and scanned the hall for some sign of his cousins. Thankfully, very few things were on fire yet, but screams had split the night from more than one direction. Broken glass and twisted lead joinery were strewn beyond a battered door. Smoke hung thick, and continued to wisp from a wide, overturned basin. It was meant to smother a fire his brother had set, but Ux had left a gap and now the whole mess was too hot and late to fix. ¡°I had to borrow money for the operation,¡± whimpered the soldier. Gory hands reached out for Ux, and reflexively, he jerked away. The merchant knew he needed a weapon, like the service hatchet on the Chyulln boy¡¯s belt; fixed to his hip by a little buttoned leather strap. Ux¡¯s lips peeled back from his teeth, and the tendons in his neck flexed tense. Gently the gob pushed aside the soldier''s hands and unclasped the weapon from his side. ¡°We¡¯re deeply in debt to terrible people,¡± choked the young man, as his eyes unfocused. Merchant Ux missed his hat. It was gone now. He¡¯d lost it, and he was probably never going to get it back. He hefted the soldier¡¯s little ax between two hands and then he politely ran away. Doors slammed shut and locked as he passed. The shattered ceramic shards of a vase crunched beneath his shoe. Urgent shouts rose up from everywhere around him, and wild laughter too. Ux wondered what sort of outfit he should wear to his execution. He¡¯d always looked his best in blue ¨C he¡¯d ask them if he could change his shirt. ¡°Trox? Baurkin?¡± Ux shouted. His legs pumped beneath him, and a sour reflux rose in his gullet. Salons, lounges and galleries flew past as he ran. There was a woman sitting on the floor outside the lower gallery. Cross-legged, she held an uncut loaf of spiced pound-cake in her bare hands and chewed on it with an expression of sublime ecstasy. ¡°Tell no one,¡± she threatened. Crumbs sprayed like shrapnel at his back. But Ux had already passed beyond the turn into darkness, where the lanterns hung cold and depleted. The perimeter rooms receded, then ended. Moonlight announced a great bay window of checkered crystal before it appeared ahead around the bend. Of the two delicate silk curtains that had framed it that morning, one was torn and the second one was simply missing, and it seemed naked as it revealed the outer palace grounds. Ux slowed to a stop there, under the broad view it offered. The main gate stood in the distance: an iron fence in a wall of white. A crowd of brass and green was pinned against it, dozens of goblins clamoring in the night. Sometimes it is hard for gobs to imagine that the Ring does not revolve around them. Some nights, your story isn¡¯t the most important one being told. Ux looked out and watched as a cruel wall of orange and black marched on the servants of Malachite. The Prince¡¯s folk laid their clubs and cudgels into soft bodies and fragile bones. But Ux had family of his own. He turned away. Contract Dispute He didn¡¯t drop his spear at first; the soldier grabbed at his calf, whistling through the pain. Rhode and his attackers watched him hopping on his good foot until he dropped his weapon and fell over. ¡°I want to just say it now, in case it matters,¡± Rhode stated, ¡°none of y¡¯all presented any form of official document, or announced you were cops. For the record, that was self-defense.¡± The homunculus lifted his remaining crutch two handed like a club and hefted it menacingly. The goblins¡¯ spears wavered. ¡°Well, my meds are wearing off, and my feet hurt,¡± Rhode warned. ¡°So let¡¯s either do this, or y¡¯all can take me to your leader. I come in peace. Or I came in peace. Or we¡¯ll be at peace. Whatever man, don¡¯t make me hit you.¡± Nine goblins raised their spears. The three-eyed captain shared a look with his second, and then squinted up at Rhode. Like his fellows, the man wore a padded, pale gold corn-silk gambeson, embroidered with the sigil of a padded, corn-silk gambeson, which had a symbol in its center, which was a padded ¨C Well, you get the picture. ¡°Hold on, which Hero?¡± squawked the sliding skirmisher. ¡°Oh, that seems like an important question to consider,¡± wept the goblin on the floor, between his gasps of agony. ¡°I thought we was fightin¡¯ a monster,¡± said another as they raised their hand. ¡°Nobody said nothin¡¯ ¡®bout a Hero to me. Boss-man, can we¡¯s all get some clarity upon our present objective, here?¡± ¡°Every one of you soft-skulls shut yer lips!¡± barked the captain as he pulled his helmet off. Long, luxuriously silky hair fell like curtains, and almost drew attention away from his mutant extra peeper. ¡°You¡¯re the Dreadlung, then. I heard you was below. I¡¯m Handsome Fent, and these be my crew: the fearsome, the affordable, Maize-Well Fields Textiles Presents: Spear Squad 2.¡± ¡°Uh, I¡¯m gonna be honest,¡± Rhode demurred as he lowered his prescription hitting stick. ¡°I¡¯m a little overwhelmed tonight, and I might not remember all that.¡± ¡°Eh, usually, we¡¯d have a collectible pin to give you. Brand recognition, and all that. But we¡¯re all out. It¡¯s an honor to meet ya¡¯, Ser Hero.¡± ¡°No, no. I guess the honor¡¯s all mine. Hey Corn Shirt Squad and Captain Handsome, I¡¯m looking for another two of me. Do you think that y¡¯all can help?¡±
The staid, planked ceilings of copper hall were flashing by ¨C which Rhode mostly noticed on account of how close his head was getting to them. He leaned back further into the huge ornate couch which carried him, even though it meant he could not see ahead. It was a little uncomfortable. He had two goblins on top of him, one a fishmonger¡¯s second son turned soldier, and the second was an Eintirp. The page sat on his leg, and whooped as she dared the gobs below to greater speeds. ¡°Careful, ya¡¯ little spit!¡± called out Big Mouth. Rhode cradled the man uncomfortably in his arm, so that he wouldn¡¯t fall off. ¡°Sorry for hitting you, man. I just don¡¯t take well to getting stabbed. How¡¯s your leg?¡± ¡°Oh it¡¯s broke real bad!¡± laughed the goblin cheerfully. ¡°Hoo, you sure got an arm on you!¡± The mercenary raised the lid off a flat wooden box, about the length of his hand. A soft and wobbly fungus with a webbed, mesh skin sat inside. Big Mouth raised the blobby thing to his lips and squeezed it, just enough to wring a dribble of carrot-colored fluid out. His squared pupils dilated wide, and Rhode had to pin the goblin down to keep him from jumping off their perch. Eight mercenaries of Maize-Well Fields jogged below. Their spears crisscrossed between the legs of the makeshift palanquin they were hustling. The low clearance of the ceiling forced them to heft from underhand, and they swapped insults and complaints between them as they went. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Central comms! This is Team Quality Textiles at Bargain Rates, no word on the Hero, but we have collected the Hero. No, not the other Hero. The other one. No! The first one! Whaddya mean that¡¯s classified, ya booger-digger? Everybody knows!¡± The captain wore his helmet again, and held his [Relay] tuning fork to his ear like a radio as he argued with a cacophonous and uncertain number of other parties. The rooms of copper ring were dark and empty. Few staff were left in that century to administer the sprawling, partitioned desks and workshops within these retired halls of industry; and that had been true even before the Project had claimed Four Ring Hill and expelled the most of their remainder. A single flickering lit window appeared ahead and on the left. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± cried a sleepy looking ancient gob from the cracked-open door beside it. ¡°Nothing to worry about!¡± the mighty [Greater Brawn Homunculus] bellowed from his most regal conveyance. ¡°I¡¯m a Hero! Look at how big I am, everything¡¯s gonna be okay!¡± ¡°Oh, good! You are pretty big!¡± hollered the old man as he disappeared behind the curve. ¡°Hey, does anybody have some water,¡± Rhode called out. He patted at his pocket, which was full of pills and unctions that he was overdue to take. A skin of wine landed in his lap, but he frowned as he sniffed it, and handed it to Big Mouth instead. ¡°I can wait, I guess,¡± he sighed. The mercenaries of Maize-Well Fields huffed and sweated, but they shouted eager questions up at Rhode as they went. ¡°Did you fall out of the sky like the stories say?¡± asked a squat, younger gob with rosy cheeks. ¡°How come you¡¯re all stitched up everywhere?¡± observed a gaunt older creature, whose spearhead was shaped with a hole just like a needle. ¡°Do you wanna smoked gecko?¡± offered a third. ¡°I only ate half. You can have the guts.¡± Rhode politely waved away the burned hindquarters of a lizard on a skewer. ¡°It¡¯s because I had all my bones cut open and metal put into them,¡± he explained. ¡°Whoa,¡± chorused the squad in respect. ¡°Did it hurt?¡± asked the boy with the gecko. ¡°I¡¯m in a constant state of mind-numbing agony¡±, Rhode smiled sublimely. ¡°It¡¯s pretty terrible,¡± he chuckled as he closed his eyes. Spear Squad 2 fell reverently silent, and they nodded in satisfaction to each other. ¡°Cool,¡± a gob whispered. Boots tromped along, until an exasperated cry burst out ahead. The Captain brought his fork up to his face, and snarled. ¡°What do you mean, this isn¡¯t a secure channel? What¡¯s it not secure for? Well you didn¡¯t tell ME how it worked!¡± The man slid to a stop. Rhode lurched as his couch tipped unevenly on its loose supports. while his bearers stumbled to a halt behind him. ¡°Bad news everyone!¡± Captain Handsome cheerfully announced. ¡°That was a fancy knight grand-master lord elf on the dingly-dong, and I¡¯m in trouble for revealin¡¯ secrets of national security! Good news everyone! Set the Hero down, and hitch your britches, we¡¯ve got suppression duty ahead!¡± Rhode felt the impact through soft cushions as his ride hit the floor. Spears slid out from under him, and he swung his legs off onto the ground. ¡°Waaah!¡± cried an Eintirp as she rolled off onto the rug. ¡°My shin!¡± cried a Big Mouth, as Rhode tried to shift the man into a comfortable position. Rhode rose to his feet, and pushed a low, hanging copper chandelier aside. ¡°Is there anything I can do to help?¡± ¡°Well,¡± though the captain as he scratched under his chin. ¡°If you get hurt, I think they¡¯ll hang me. So don¡¯t do that. You could always throw something heavy though.¡±
The local chapter boss of the carpenter''s union roared. With a heavy block-hammer in one hand, and a blood-soaked chisel in the other, he raised his arms above his head. "Our contract clearly stipulates limits to service rotations!" His muscles bulged with the power of his levels, and he fell upon the defenders and arms-men of The Project like a rolling boulder. A dozen gobs in working aprons, bore finely lathed chair legs, or sharp, hand-held planers, or dainty finishing hammers as they charged behind him. One of them carried a saw, that one was nasty. Rhode and Spear Squad 2 crashed into the exhibition hall which joined three of the palace''s four rings together. A high ceiling, and a long, comfortable lounge stretched out ahead of them. But the grand couches, shelves and tables had been knocked down to form hasty barricades of refuse. "Any time on project deployment beyond agreed upon limits shall be counted as paid daily work overtime, regardless of whether members are utilized!" howled the one-man army. The guards were falling back and failing, bloodied and breaking. Few of them wore the Prince''s black and orange, or Illuminance''s gold and chartreuse. Small-town gobs, who''d never seen battle were overwhelmed by the organized fury of the unstoppable [General Strike]. Rhode stared in confusion, but the gobs of Maize-Well Fields charged on ahead. The homunculus hesitated, unsure of what to do. Then a calm descended over his heart, as he remembered his past life, on the world called Earth. The couch he''d ridden was stacked with soft padding, and Rhode stripped it bare. He waded into battle throwing pillows. But let''s be clear: he did throw them pretty hard. Pillow Fight The exhibition hall was laid out at the intersection of three of the palace¡¯s hooped buildings, where the bank-like copper ring and the museum of ancestral ring touched together. They formed a long, and comfortable viewing gallery between them, running in a straight line, north-west to south-east until the two rings parted their separate ways. Leisure hall crossed them both, perpendicularly at the north-west head. At that joined triple-point, the ceiling rose high to a stained glass dome that led to nowhere except the underside of a roof. The atrium of exhibition hall looked like a warzone, or maybe the downtown streets of a city that had lost a national sports championship. A sparse dozen soldiers held a cracking line of defense between a trio of rosy marble columns that led towards the inner compound: south-west through leisure. This was not a company of hardened veterans. Most of these guards wore rural colors, and were either too young or two old. They carried light cudgels and wore cheap leather safety pads at their knees and elbows. The carpenters were hardly better armed, but they assaulted the guards with anything which came to hand. The first casualties already lay wounded underfoot. Casualties, and then three gobs who had been laid low by the colossal smack of flying, soft comfort support. The Dreadlung stepped over the fallen form of a dazed joinery apprentice, and picked up the droopy, downy feather-pillow that lay across his chest. He had two now. A floppy cushion hung from either of the giant¡¯s crushing fists, and he whirled them in slow arcs as he advanced. ¡°Violence is the only language the landed class understands!¡± shouted a gob as she smacked her wood shaving planer across the face of a soldier. She gripped the handle, prepared to drive it across and shear a stripe off of his skin. Whump. She went flying and tumbled into a heap. The Hero stepped over her, adjusting his grip on the cushion. His breath roared like a forge. The beleaguered soldier bled from a cut along his chin as he addressed his savior. ¡°Thank you, Hero! Come, let us put these traitors in their places b-¡± Whump. The soldier toppled into two of his peers, and they fell into a tangled pile. There was a certain ripple of confusion through the battle lines. ¡°Hero Irving!¡± cried a mad, familiar, blood-spattered woman with a long, cruel-toothed saw. ¡°It¡¯s wonderful to see you!¡± She was the carpenter from his surgery, the one who¡¯d been ejected. Her face fell into a snarl of fangs. ¡°But you should have let me decorate your vertebrae!¡± She shrieked as her long, wobbling saw swung towards Rhode¡¯s leg; and her blade blurred with the vibrating serration of [Motor Tremor]. Whump. One of Rhode¡¯s pillows tore open into a storm of feathers as he blocked the saw with it. His other arm whipped around. The second comfortable bludgeon knocked the carpenter off her feet and into a recessed lounge-style conversation pit. She landed there and cracked the central wooden table. Rhode inspected the ruined pillow with a frown. Feathers spilled out generously from the long gash in the fabric. A soldier raised the face-plate of his heavy helmet and twirled a short stabbing sword. ¡°The Hero is here to save us! Salt and Ash for Sacred, Salt and Ash for the glory of the Second Prince!¡± Rhode observed the color of his uniform with a countenance most grim. Whump. The homunculus sucked in air, and it whorled in a howling vacuum into his lungs. He scooped a massive handful of loose stuffing out of his pillowcase to his face, and then he blew. ¡°Ack! It¡¯s in my mouth!¡± cried a voice. ¡°Help!¡± choked another, ¡°I¡¯ve got down in my nose. Ugh, it¡¯s in the back of my throat now!¡± A whirling storm of feathers filled the air. Rhode tossed the pillowcase away, and the floorboards groaned under him as raised his remaining, sagging cushion. ¡°Hero Irving, what are you doi-¡± Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. Whump. ¡°Collective resistance is the only-¡± Whump. ¡°Goode Warriors! Fulfill your oaths! Fight with honor to your last-¡± Whump. The combatants on either side began to slow down. Nervous sweats broke out over faces as goblins began to back away. On the other side of the fight, the captain of the Maize-Well mercenaries whistled piercingly, and waved a cautious retreat. ¡°We¡¯re just gonna stay out of this one, Ser Irving. Don¡¯t mind us.¡± The homunculus stepped carefully to avoid stepping on the fallen. He thumped aside soldiers and rioters one after the other. ¡°I¡¯m really not a hundred percent sure what¡¯s going on here,¡± thundered Rhode, ¡°and I¡¯m feeling a little conflicted! But everybody, calm the heck down until I figure this out!¡± A pair of goblins struggled on the floor with a knife. Their fight was so intimate, and so dire, that they hadn¡¯t paid attention to the rest of the room. The soldier on top had lost his helmet. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was singed, and a cut dug into his scalp. The two of them sneered at one another, close enough to kiss, but the knife they were fighting over held the two apart. The body weight of the soldier pressed down, giving him the advantage, and the point of the blade sunk lower. Skin parted between the carpenter¡¯s ribs. Fear knit into her brow. Whump. Rhode stabbed a finger at the soldier as he rolled into a barricade. ¡°Stop, man. Don¡¯t be a jerk.¡± The freed carpenter gasped for breath on her back. She clutched at her side, and then dove for the fallen knife. She squeaked as a homunculus¡¯ foot landed on her back. ¡°I swear, I will sit on you. Stay down and drop it. For real,¡± Rhode scolded. The ranks of either side of the fight were in shambles. Groans of dismay rose from the conquered. Rhode hung his head and steeled his heart. The stitching in his pillow was tearing: he would have to make this last swing count. A lesser squire of Illuminance of Bronze circled Rhode around his left. Fine chains held a net of runed copper beads in place over the half-elf¡¯s body (he wore it over his knightly colors), and he held a rod of power that ended with a mirrored disk. On Rhode¡¯s right, prowled the union boss with his mallet and chisel. So swole was he that Rhode began to doubt whether he could win. ¡°Creature, you are no Hero. Your actions speak to treason this night,¡± growled the squire. Rhode scratched the side of his head. ¡°I dunno what you mean, man. I¡¯m just trying to level up [Berserk],¡± he lied. ¡°You fool,¡± cried the union-man, ¡°by choosing to preserve the illusion of peace, you only serve to enforce the interests of capital! Civility only exacerbates the inherent negotiating imbalances between labor and their managerial overseers!¡± ¡°Yea, well. I already feel bad about this, OKAY!?¡± Rhode¡¯s pillow swung in a tremendous and devastating arc. Glittering lights flashed as the squire¡¯s runic armor dampened and dispersed the force of the impact (this was surprisingly ineffective against a pillow). But his swing carried through, dipping low as Rhode spun on the toe of his slipper. The bitter edge of a chisel reached towards Rhode¡¯s throat in a moment that seemed to slow down time. But then there was a plush ¨C Whump. And the muscle-bound goblin was smacked in a tremendous and body-shaking upstroke that caught him in his chin. Rhode¡¯s pillow flopped open and dumped its contents gracelessly onto the floor. Two bodies crashed, one after the other as they landed. The Hero let out a shuddering breath that shook the glass of nearby lanterns and chandeliers. ¡°Okay,¡± he roared, ¡°let¡¯s get some medics or something.¡± Splintered boards crunched as he lumbered over the wreckage. ¡°I feel like I probably gave that dude a concussion. That guy there ¨C he¡¯s actually been stabbed. Hey, buddy, are you dead? Okay. Well, like, just move if you¡¯re not dead. Actually, dang. A lot of y¡¯all are looking pretty messed up. Captain Corn, come here. Can we get this sorted, real quick?¡± The mercenary Handsome Fent coughed. One of his subordinates jabbed him forward with an elbow, and he stumbled. Then he stood alone in front of Rhode. The homunculus tapped his foot impatiently. The captain raised his [Relay] fork and a tinny voice rose out of it. Rhode grabbed his hand and pulled the device up to his face.
The riots had spread across the palace, and each flashpoint took a different shape. Too much had been mismanaged. Too many rumors had gone wild, and discipline had been unevenly enforced. The lockdowns? They had only been the spark that lit ready tinder. But even then, even here, even among goblins, none of those things should have been enough to stoke a fire like this. At some point, you had to consider the causes you could not see. And you also¡­ had to set an example. Lord Ser Reliance Habk sheathed his sword. A white-hot line of blasted ash cut up the wall in front of him, and smoke was beginning to billow up from it as wood caught fire. Five blackened shadows marred the purity of his stroke as the only remaining sign of the rebels he¡¯d silenced forever. Tonight had been a mess. Then his communication device vibrated at his side. Curious, he picked it up between his forefinger and thumb. The strange tool was an invention of the Translocationist, and Habk regarded it with suspicion. So far, it had caused more trouble than good. It''s prongs hummed suddenly, and a voice came through: clear and deep and rasping. ¡°Hey, sorry team. I beat up all your guys in a fit of blinding rage. I guess we¡¯re in¡­ exhibition hall? Send some doctors please. On the bright side, I bet I¡¯m closer to leveling [Spite].¡± In my defense, this is my first time staging an insurrection, so get off my back! Rhode knew he was wasting time, and it tore at him; but people were getting hurt, and he had the strength to stop it. Sure, maybe he was wrong to try, to intervene. But he couldn¡¯t help himself. This was something he could change, a choice which wouldn¡¯t have wide-ranging and unforeseen consequences. Probably. Hopefully. Well whatever, he¡¯d deal with it later. What was the worst that Sacred could do to him that they hadn¡¯t already done? Don¡¯t answer that. He sighed and curled his hands into fists. At some point, he¡¯d stopped calling himself human in his mind. It didn¡¯t bother him, but it was true. He hadn¡¯t decided what he was now. Did it matter? Existential questions were for bored, satisfied people who had nothing better to do. Still, Rhode was adrift. He was a tool in the hands of powers that he didn¡¯t fully understand yet. What was he supposed to think was right? The answer was: start by doing what you¡¯re told. Do it proactively. Listen for when you¡¯re lied to, pay attention when you¡¯re told the truth. Most importantly, take liberties to choose the way that you deliver. Brand had never been specific about what he¡¯d expected from Rhode tonight, and that was important. It left room to interpret. It left space to prioritize. Rhode had to find the others. He would be able to trust the people of Earth, he had to believe that he could. He wouldn¡¯t have to be afraid of speaking openly with them. He wouldn¡¯t have to be afraid of making mistakes. Together, they would pretend to be human again. Whatever had gone wrong, whatever reason the masters of this place had lost control, this was his chance to make it happen. It might even be the only one he got. But everything fell apart if he kept getting sidetracked. [Hibernate] tickled at him. The [Relay] fork was screaming in his pocket. Rhode knew his moment was slipping away. Except there was a reason to be sidetracked, lying at his feet. An uneasy peace was enforced by the hulking presence of the Hero. Wobbly goblins on either side of the skirmish were stirring, but their fight (and their senses) had been knocked clear out of them. They staggered awkwardly as they started to sort apart into opposing sides. Rhode was squatted over a young man in tough, practical linens. The goblin¡¯s belly was slashed raggedly open and his innards slipped out into the air like a hernia. A heinous, foul smell emerged from a nick in his guts, where a black paste began to ooze and mix with his blood. ¡°Sorry man,¡± the Hero whispered. ¡°I don¡¯t know how to fix you, and I really gotta go.¡± He stood. ¡°Can somebody fix this guy? He needs help.¡± No one answered. So Rhode jabbed a finger at a soldier and curled it to beckon her over. ¡°You. Sit with him,¡± he commanded. It hurt to see how many goblins flinched when he spoke. The soldier he¡¯d singled out was limping, and she wore the plain standard of a lizard with the head of a pig. ¡°I¡¯m not a healer,¡± she protested. Rhode shook his head and whispered. ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter, just¡­ talk. Hold his hand or something. Apply pressure if you can. I hope that help is coming, but he needs somebody there for him now. It matters more than you can know. Believe me.¡± A display case had shattered sometime in the fight, and its contents sprawled across the floor. Finely painted models of ships, bronze toys with wheels, and little sculptures of copper-rich green stone lay scattered. Many were broken. The goblin union-boss had landed in the middle of that wreckage, and he touched at his swollen bruises as he rolled himself to sit up. The magician squire who had led the guard was in better shape. He¡¯d been protected by his improbable, jewelry-like armor, both from Rhode¡¯s blow and from the column he¡¯d slammed against. But the officer was young, and shaken. He bore his condition poorly as he climbed unsteadily to his feet. Purple sparks flashed off his runes, and the chains between them popped apart from internal forces let loose. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°I don¡¯t want to deal with y¡¯all fighting again,¡± Rhode announced. ¡°So this is how things go. I am a bona fide, motherfucking Hero of Legend, and every one of y¡¯all here are hereby enlisted by me. I don¡¯t know why, and I don¡¯t know how, but tonight has gotten way out of control. We are going to fix it.¡± Illuminance¡¯s squire wiped his nose against his sleeve. His eyes were wide with wounded pride, and his mirrored rod flashed with scalding heat. Veins rose along the union boss¡¯s neck, as the thick-necked man steamed with injustice. ¡°Whatever you are gonna say, shut up. I can get in trouble with your bosses later. And you. I¡¯ll try to get you guys paid. I don¡¯t know if I can, but I swear I¡¯ll try.¡± ¡°They¡¯ll hang us for this,¡± snarled the carpenter. ¡°Well then you were humped anyway, man!¡± shouted Rhode. ¡°Dang! I am the softest landing y¡¯all could have had tonight, I guarantee you that. Now fall in line.¡± ¡°Or else what?¡± hissed the squire. ¡°Because,¡± Rhode rumbled. The homunculus strode to the edge of the ruined barricade and leaned down. Faces paled as he lifted a padded, silk sleeved square. The homunculus bared his wide, flat teeth. ¡°I just found another pillow.¡± Forty goblins watched as the hero raised his weapon over their heads. ¡°I¡¯m not necessarily saying no,¡± spoke an exasperated voice from the back, ¡°but that¡¯s really not as intimidating an argument as you think it is.¡±
It was misery for Rhode to talk so much. His throat hurt, and beyond that he felt a little stupid. As a man he¡¯d never been much of a public speaker. As a monster? Well. Brand had warned him. Soldiers were already busy clearing space on his orders. There were hurt goblins here, and the homunculus imagined that the atrium could hold well enough to serve as a makeshift clinic. None of the men and women he¡¯d drafted had agreed it was a good idea, but no one had opposed it as a bad one either. That was good enough for him. ¡°Can one person, just find me a glass of water?¡± Rhode called out. ¡°Is that possible? No? What¡¯s in that bottle there? Nope. I am not desperate enough to try anything called [Quench].¡± To keep the carpenters apart, Rhode had sent them to collect and reinforce his couch. As it was, the sofa had been a pain for the corn-silk mercenaries to lift. His ride had been unsteady and far too bumpy an experience. He rubbed his back, and his hands came away sticky. It was fairly noticeable now how much of his clothing was obviously bleeding through. He¡¯d deal with it later. Voices chattered over one another, fighting to be heard over the tuning fork in Rhode¡¯s pocket. He¡¯d held out hope that it would give him clues to where the other Heroes were. No such luck. They¡¯d stopped broadcasting useful information, now. There was no news on how far the riots had spread either, or whether they¡¯d been contained. The only reports the [Relay] was still giving were the squads that were converging on him, or someone called Ser Reliance telling him to sit still. He tried to tune them out. The mercenary captain approached, his [Extra Eye] wary. ¡°If I were you, I¡¯d be less sure them knightly Sers believed me.¡± He¡¯d shaken Rhode out of his thoughts. ¡°About what? Oh. [Berserk]. No. I¡¯m sure they won¡¯t. But you know, that¡¯s the thing about people like that. Give them what they want, and they¡¯ll pretend to believe anything. If they don¡¯t? Whatever, we¡¯re already all in trouble.¡± ¡°We could always make it worse. My plan¡¯s to blame it on you,¡± shrugged the captain, as he gathered up his crew. Wild laughter and heated bickering was breaking out into the sound of hammers, saws, and nails. Rhode discovered that it was helpful to shout out ideas at random, and it helped the goblins stay on track. ¡°Do you think you could put some wheels on it?¡± he hollered. The carpenters abandoned their plans to add a frontal battering ram, agreeing that an axle was a smarter feature anyway. Rhode didn¡¯t give them long to finish though, he simply didn¡¯t have the time. The moment his makeshift chariot was rigged with sturdy carrying poles, and some kind of barrel had been run through with a pipe and slung below to serve as a wheel, the homunculus threw a pile of new cushions on top of it and heaved himself in place beneath its unfinished and unnecessary roll-cage. He couldn¡¯t figure out how they¡¯d gotten this contraption to work, and at this point he really didn¡¯t care. Rhode closed his eyes and waved Spear Squad 2 over to his side. ¡°Hey Fent. Can you get us going, please.¡± ¡°Alright everyone, you heard the Hero! Let¡¯s outrun our problems, for as long as we can! Grab everything you need. We¡¯ve got midwives and a kill squad coming from the west! Insurance guys headed down from north! We¡¯ve got east and south left over, and I say south because I do! Hustle up!¡± You know what, its almost like everythings stopped working [Like Clockwork] Jarring, creaking, and clamorous, the Dreadlung¡¯s wagon trundled recklessly out of exhibition hall. There was a wooden joining strip that marked the transition to the tile floors of ancestral ring, and Rhode felt the impact throw the bottom out of his stomach. The whole construction bent and groaned. It should have been a catastrophic failure, and yet they still kept moving. ¡°[Stress]or nails are holding up!¡± announced a white-haired, gap-toothed timber-treater. Precarious: he hung his head over the edge, inspecting the frame up-close and from below. ¡°Handles are too wide! Can¡¯t make it through the smaller doors,¡± called out a goblin with a wicked-toothed saw. She had a swollen, darkening cheek from where she¡¯d landed on a table, but still she cheerfully jumped on top of the yokes on either side, straddling as she cut them down to size. Rhode had to warn her once: she¡¯d been sawing from the wrong end. Admittedly, he half-expected a cartoonish logic to shield her from the consequence of gravity, but there¡¯d been bodies they had left behind. They lay as reminders not to treat this life or these people as a joke: that would be a dangerous, careless instinct. The wagon was developing a crowding problem, really. The mercenary with a broken shin was laid half on top of Rhode, still drugged out of his mind. Jern Eintirp the page was curled completely and fast asleep, quite happily pinned between Rhode¡¯s ammunition and the arm-rest. On top of that, four or five artisans were crawling over Rhode¡¯s litter at any given time. The fact that their vehicle was actively in transit? That wasn¡¯t stopping the craftsfolk from improving on it. The Hero moved his arm aside; a fragile veneer of patience displayed across his face. Twice now, he¡¯d been stepped on as the goblins worked, and he almost entertained the urge to push a few passengers overboard to make a point. ¡°No,¡± Rhode sighed. ¡°You can¡¯t remove me to make it faster. Get down and let the wheel-grease lady up.¡± In a very real way, it was useless to discourage this hyper-fixation, this fey mood; mostly it was just easier to steer it gently. The barrel axle turned more smoothly after it was liberally smeared with odorless grease. The cart was rattling less as a carver incised his [Hot Shock] runes along the frame. Because that was the bizarre thing about goblin-craft: for some inexplicable reason, powered by levels contrary to all reason or rationality ¨C It worked.
A tawny fur rug stretched across the floor of a dim, chlorine-colored stone alcove. ¡°Stretched¡± was not a sufficient word, no; the hide splayed enormously from wall to wall. It was large enough to beg the question: what kind of animal had been large enough to supply that skin? Once, its owner must have been terrible, a monarch of its era. Now it was just flooring: worn out and oh so easy to overlook. Two goblins circled each other warily in the half-dark, on top of that ancient pelt. Their fangs hinted threats from between their parted lips. The first of them was dressed as a dandy. His sheer, white shirt ballooned with wide, puffy sleeves and a burst of ruffles about his chest. A spiral corkscrew wine-opener was gripped in his fist like a stiletto. ¡°My goode man, all honest souls have been confined to quarters. An uncharitable person might just mistake you for a scoundrel, the way you are about tonight,¡± he crooned. The second gob wore casual working leathers, the sturdy and comfortable attire of a working outdoorsman. He replied to his opposite with a casual and confident ease. ¡°Oho? Why my goode man, I am only on honest business, the most reputable of affairs. I even carry papers to that effect, most official if you would inspect the seals. But what about you? Surely, such an upstanding young man as yourself would not be about on dishonorable sorts of business.¡± From his belt, that groundsman drew out a gardening trowel and held it like a knife. Even in the dark, its edge gleamed to an unusual, horticultural sharpness. ¡°Who do you work for!¡± screamed the fop. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. ¡°No, who do you work for!¡± snarled the trowelist. Ruffle-breast sneered. ¡°I am a loyal servant of Sacred! Sworn to the shadows to defend her interests!¡± Leather-pants rolled his eyes. ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean anything! Which department, you ninny!?¡± Perhaps if these two gentlegobs were given time to resolve their differences, they might have come to an amicable and professional understanding. Or maybe they¡¯d just have killed one another with hand-tools. But they did not have an opportunity for either. A howl rose up throughout the halls, like the rise of a whistling tea-kettle. A panicked mob of gobs flushed about the bend and into view: spear hefting mercenaries in padded gambesons, and out of breath craftsmen, all running at full tilt. The plonking, rattling wooden sofa-carriage wheeled round after. The goblins pushing at its yokes were flush-faced and screaming. As a matter of fact, they were throwing around a great deal of accusations about who had forgotten to add brakes. Out of control, the hodge-podge conveyance (the franken-couch-mobile), would slip by fractions of inches along the tile as it made its turns. The two spies looked at one another, and came to the same conclusion. Side by side and arms outstretched, they flung themselves aside together. Maize-Well Fields Textiles Presents: Spear Squad 2 ran whooping past, as Greater Tidewater Woodworkers Union Chapter 4 clung noisily to their rolling, luxury battering ram. At the rear of this parade, a panting pair of junior officers chased desperately from behind. As one, the clandestine goblin agents rolled away towards safety ¨C until they collided with the wall. [Bellows] heaved. A giant bluish, corpse hand slapped against the raised back seat. A squared head with short black hair and wide, flat teeth peeked up after. The two gobs clutched each other as the monster pointed directly at them. ¡°Hey! Come help us stop these riots!¡± the homunculus hollered. The barrel wheel of his wagon was muffled while it careened over the rug. Two spies, a sergeant, and a squire had trailed behind. ¡°Wimmel? Tinc?¡± asked a goblin in the Prince¡¯s colors. Leather and ruffles goggled. ¡°Bned?¡± they asked in a baffled duet. Because naturally, all three of them were simultaneously employed as secret agents of the Prince. How embarrassing. Surely, it would have been for the best if they had gotten a chance to explain themselves. But no. The Hero lifted his body up on his elbows from his litter as it continued on; and his orders echoed back. ¡°Staff guy, sword man, grab those guys and bring them too! Don¡¯t let ¡®em fight!¡± Rhode Mortimer Irving was expanding his command of a growing goblin horde. It wouldn¡¯t last long, he knew. Sooner or later, he would run into someone who held actual authority. It would be all over then. He slumped down into his rest, his knees tucked close, and a growing pile of tuckered goblins in his lap. ¡°The Heroes are here!¡± he shouted. His throat was inflamed and swelling, but his voice still shook nearby windows; it bounced along the halls, and carried into the grounds. ¡°Stop setting stuff on fire! Everything¡¯s gonna be okay!¡±
A footman¡¯s son paused in a darkened upstairs room. He held a small brazier of coals, and a fiery cinder pinched between a pair of tongs. With longing, he gazed at the curtain in front of him. With regret, he considered the big loud voice that had shouted. His ears fell. Grumbling, the boy shoved his coal back inside its carrier, and then he marched back to his family¡¯s room to bed.
Two cooks rolled along the floor. Their hats lay abandoned behind them as their struggle carried them along. The object of their argument was abstractly shaped: a brilliant, celadon vase that resembled a gaping lion¡¯s mouth. It was worth a fortune; and for whatever reason, they¡¯d both chosen to try to steal the thing tonight. One goblin tried to put the other¡¯s eyes out with his nose. The second one got her revenge by biting the first one¡¯s chin. How tragic. The two had once been friends. But then they heard the rumble coming. In their surprise, they dropped the porcelain, and a flake of glaze chipped off the treasure as it clinked against the tiles. What a waste! The cooks pushed away from each other, scrambling. The first one ripped a fork out of his shoulder, and the second pulled a sugar spoon out of her ear. There was nowhere to hide, they were firmly in the way of an oncoming stampede. ¡°Get up!¡± cried out the three-eyed, helmeted spearman who was running at their head. ¡°It¡¯s an emergency! We¡¯ve got the Dreadlung with us, and we¡¯re going to need some snacks!¡± I meant to ask you, where were you even running to in the first place? Did you know? Rhode tilted uncomfortably with a pained sneer as his one-wheeled conveyance leaned into a turn. A stout goblin saucier on the wrong side of the furniture chariot threw themselves to the ground, tucking tight and flat alongside the base of the wall, and the legs of the couch barely cleared over their body. ¡°Watch it!¡± cried a sweaty faced soldier, pushing from behind. ¡°Hey, apologize to the guy we almost ran over,¡± Rhode growled. He held a hot pasty in one hand, wrapped in cheesecloth and filled with steamed tubers and amphibian¡¯s meat. There was no good place to set it down. A convulsive shudder threw the occupants of the sofa-mobile from side to side, and against the hastily installed bamboo safety-rail. Rhode tried to hand his pastry to the old carpenter that was squeezed in between his knees and the insensate gob of spear squad 2. The goode man refused with a polite smile. ¡°No, no,¡± he said with a thick, high-pitched accent. ¡°I¡¯m not trying to feed you, man. I just need you to hold it for me. Obviously, you can eat it if you want to. But like, just hold it. I gotta get up soon.¡± ¡°No,¡± the old man smiled. ¡°No.¡± A panting kitchen worker drew up alongside the palanquin wearing a fluffy, pear-hued apron. Her whole body lurched from side to side as the large pitcher she held out in front of her sloshed with thick soup. ¡°Would you like some fermented spine-rat egg bisque, Ser Dreadlung?¡± ¡°For pity¡¯s sake. No!¡± Rhode pinched the bridge of his nose, and took a deep, calming breath. ¡°I just want some water. Guys. I am really trying to be patient here. I don¡¯t need a cake. I don¡¯t need a giant sword. Somebody, for the love of all that¡¯s right and righteous, get me some water. That¡¯s literally all I¡¯m asking for.¡± A short steward with a peg leg was hanging from the incomplete roll cage framing, with impressive grip strength. His mouth moved like a fish as his mind spun through computations. ¡°Beer?¡± he asked. ¡°PLAIN. WATER.¡± Rhode¡¯s fist closed around the steward¡¯s midsection and then the goblin squeaked as the Homunculus held him out (arm shaking, as it¡¯s actually quite hard to do this) and placed him directly into the embrace of a soldier that was running besides them. The two immediately collapsed into a tangle as he let go. ¡°Sorry! Sorry! Water though!¡± Since the Exhibition Hall, Rhode¡¯s rampage had stopped three petty fist fights, four looting sprees, and one unusual case of a goblin chewing on the embellishments of a pearl-inlaid dish cabinet. He hadn¡¯t quite figured that one out yet, but the goblin offender looked particularly embarrassed about it, so he wasn¡¯t about to ask. The carefully preserved lower level of the Ancestral Ring flashed by them quickly. Wild, organic patterns scrawled over the lush wallpapers. Thin, bronze-leaf plating contoured the doorjambs. Niches and cabinets displayed figurines and busts of false jade, a glass enclosed copper diadem studded with peridot and milk-apple cabochons, a wine jug shaped like a fat baby. The last, carefully curated signs of the palace¡¯s historical wealth were on display here. There were smalls signs of damage and theft, but for the most part, the staff of Malachite had fiercely protected this place. More than that, little of the Hero Project¡¯s active operations had been housed in this hall and the relative peace reflected that. The escapade circumnavigated only about fifteen degrees worth of the arc of the ring before they reached a pinched intersection, overshadowed by a set of high, sealed doors. This chamber, whatever it was, gave off a tugging emotion of solemn gravity, but it only slowed their passage by a fraction. Rhode¡¯s ¡®carriage¡¯, and his quarter-horde of tired, chattering goblins made a sharp, skidding turn into the brightly lit chaos of Spousal Ring. Given the parade of mercenaries, officers, carpenters, cooks, the barrister, stewards, and spies, the size of the homunculus¡¯ entourage was starting to grow out of control. Rhode looked out over them, nodding with satisfaction as they exhausted their wild eyed, manic energy with this ridiculous group marathon. He came to a sudden thought and looked around to find the nearest wizard. ¡°Hey. Staff guy,¡± Rhode beckoned. The young officer and squire of Illuminance had dropped his staff onto the couch a hallway ago, and his strange chain mesh armor had gotten snagged and tangled in his coat while he was running. His face was swollen and flush as if he¡¯d fall over at any moment. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°If someone leveled a whatever, a [Malady], could that make everybody freak out like this?¡± The squire huffed wearily. Instead of answering, he simply reached his limit. The young man stumbled and collapsed. Rhode watched as he fell behind the group, and as goblins jumped or tripped over his receding, prone form. ¡°It doesn¡¯t need to be a malignant level,¡± answered a muscle-bound union boss instead. As his bruises had purpled and swollen, he was only looking out from one eye, and favored one side as he drifted nearer to the couch. ¡°A [Revel] can get out of hand just as easily. But yes, you have a point, Goodeman Rhode. That could do it.¡± ¡°Okay. Well somebody go make sure that guy is okay. And check the magic tuning fork! If somebody finds the other Heroes, I want to know!¡± Nothing useful came across over the device, as it toned again. The only voice which responded now was calmly and insistently asking for Rhode¡¯s own position, and volunteered no information beyond that. It was a shame, and had to have been hurting the official security efforts. Still, Rhode had a petty officer of the Second Prince and a mercenary captain at hand. Both of them had received orders and information before the communications blackout, and so Rhode was chasing after the flimsy leads he had available and was trusting to his luck. After crashing through a string of little dramas, Rhode finally rolled into a landscape of destruction. It appeared around the bend of Spousal¡¯s white and kaleidoscope d¨¦cor, like a sideways sunrise. Except, instead of a heavenly orb of life-giving light, it was property damage. The homunculus shouted to slow, and he tugged at a floppy, hastily assembled brake lever. It squealed as it applied friction to the barrel wheel below. Shattered lanterns dripped oil. Light crystals flickered on the floors where they¡¯d fallen. Frightened civilians clustered in armed groups with improvised cudgels and knives, and practically wept with relief as Captain Fent announced the Hero to them. The guards were just ahead. They were still fighting. They weren¡¯t true soldiers. They were losing. Help. Rhode set a sleeping Eintirp down. He carefully threw his legs over and dismounted; the shift in balance nearly tipped the couch over. Pillow collection efforts had been less successful than Rhode had hoped, but he tossed the few he had available into the hands of the gobs that his intuition, judgment (and probably prejudice) had marked as most reliable. The homunculus nodded graciously, his face implacable as he accepted a single crystal cup full of clear water from a sweaty, blotchy cook. He withdrew a small, folded square paper packet from his breast pocket and unfolded it. The black powder inside spilled into his glass as he tapped it, and he stirred the cloudy mix with a finger until it was a grey, thundercloud swill that gave of strange flashes of pale color. Three pills went down his gullet, one after the other, accompanied sip by sip. His head grew thick and cloudy as he drained the better half of the glass and handed it back. If it was possible to take slightly less of the painkiller than he needed, Rhode would try to weather it as best he could. ¡°Alright everybody. You hold this point. You warn me if a Knight shows up. Anybody else, and pillows first if you got to fight; be restrained but don¡¯t be stupid. Do what you gotta do.¡± Rhode sighed as he let a carpenter strap a cabinet door to one forearm as a makeshift shield, and held a massive, plush, stuffed-toy swan by the neck in the other hand. ¡°My guys: stay behind me if you can. Try not to kill anybody, please. Let¡¯s go deescalate some ruckus.¡±
The Goode Merchant Ux shook. His whole body was cold, and blood was in his hair. As his brother held his hand out to him, Ux honestly and seriously considered not taking it. It would have been better to stay there, laid out on the ground. But there was a dead woman beside him, her skull stove in and her colors stained with mud. So he reached out, and was lifted to his feet by a killer. The moon was low and half-hidden by clouds. The courtyard was strangely shaped, penned in unevenly by the walls of all four of the palace rings. Broad sporting courts with cultivated hedges and fences were laid out to the wide south-east. Nearby, in this narrow north-western section there were only a few smaller pavilions, dainty gravel rectangles, and garden tables. A wide swath of the southern yard was on fire. True, it was going out. The lush greens of the playing fields and sturdy bushes were sodden in this climate, and thick with untended weeds that were reluctant to burn. The sputtering tongues of flame and coals marked a lightly curving and unnatural slash that cut across shrubbery and between a pair of mid-sized grassy courts. This was not a good sign. Knights had been here ¨C dangerously leveled ones. And worryingly, someone had fought back. Torn up vegetation, smashed fences, and a foul chemical stink circled the space around the smoldering line. Ux tried not to look in that direction. Frankly, his own circumstances were bad enough. He, his cousins and brothers had gotten lost. Lost so badly, they¡¯d nearly circled the long way around the entire palace. They¡¯d actually passed the main stables over as they¡¯d crossed into Leisure Ring an hour ago. Escape would have only been a matter of turning around when they¡¯d first descended the stair to the ground floor. Instead his family had fought a running, miserable brawl around the long loop of Leisure. Now they were crossing back through the courtyard. His cousins were wrestling a pair of guards to the ground. The horse-gate had an iron grille in front of it, and it wasn¡¯t even clear if it could be opened. In his heart, Ux was begging for this farce to come to an end. So when a window shutter slammed open behind him, and Rhode Mortimer Irving stepped into the night air with a droopy felted swan in hand, Ux found himself smiling. Finally. It would all be over soon. We All Know That Guy. Simply by existing, Rhode changed the direction(slightly) of the breeze. Fresh air and ashy smoke whorled into his lungs in ribbons that mixed. But there were still walls around him. This wasn¡¯t freedom, it was a luxury prison yard. It wasn¡¯t even all that fine. The garden was a mess, and had been even before tonight. Invasive jungle plants had seeded among the foreign, temperate grasses, and distinctive, ugly-cute flowers were sprouting from between traditionally beautiful domesticated lilies. The sixty-yard court had only been set on fire recently. Like the other palace fires, it was already going out. The yellow-red glow that had painted the lip of the sky an hour ago was nearly extinguished. The shouts and screams of goblin bedlam no longer echoed so omni-directionally. Calm settled in Rhode¡¯s stomach. Regret pooled at the bottom of his brainpan, as almost a physical sensation. He visualized it as a fluid, and let the emotion wash out of him as he let it go. There had been more people who¡¯d needed him tonight. He hadn¡¯t made it in time to prevent everything he could have. But he was here now, and he could stop this. Six goblins in practical civilian linens grappled with four guards. A body lay on the ground face down, with her hair spread about her like a halo. Nearly all of the standing gobs were wounded, and there was an electric, nervous sensation that tickled at Rhode¡¯s toes and (cover your ears, kids) taint as he stepped forward and nearer to the epicenter of [Boys¡¯ Night Out]. One of the combatants stood apart: a funny little man in a smart, cotton suit who held back on the edge of the fight. His hair was disheveled. There were little granules of brain on his face, and a sublime, transcendental smile split his lips as he turned. The merchant¡¯s neck tilted slowly back as he regarded the [Greater Brawn Homunculus] in wonder. Then the goblin lifted up a candle-stick over his head without warning, and ran screaming directly towards Rhode. His eyes were wide open and soft. His smile was honest and vulnerable ¨C and accepting of the end. But he did still have that candle-stick. Rhode would just have to figure this out later. Whump. The merchant flew head over heels into a shrub and crumpled as the wind was knocked out of him. Rhode readjusted his grip on the swan as some of the stitching ripped. His retinue fanned out behind him as he leaned forward into a slow jog. ¡°Settle,¡± Rhode bellowed. His swan smacked directly into a face and the goblin staggered back with a bloody nose and a dazed confusion. ¡°The FUCK.¡± Rhode threw his arm up and intercepted a spear with a cabinet shutter buckler. The point skittered off the wood and nearly clipped him in the shoulder. The swan whirled in an underhanded arc and thumped the guard under their armpit and they cartwheeled over to land on their back. ¡°Down!¡± Rhode dipped his knees and swept his plushie down low, knocking the legs out from under three goblins at once. Nonetheless, we are avoiding a hard truth: there¡¯s no such thing as a gentle violence. Whatever Rhode¡¯s intentions, whatever his restraint, he was still leveraging force to subdue an active and desperate resistance. Ankles were twisted. Tendons were torn. Ribs cracked. It was one thing to knock sense into a reasonable soul, a mostly decent person making a passing mistake under extraordinary circumstances ¨C but that wasn¡¯t going to stop a determined idiot. The civilians wouldn¡¯t stay down. They weren¡¯t stronger, or more cunning, or skilled than any other gob he¡¯d faced tonight. That wasn¡¯t what made them dangerous. The man had dark hair, in the flush of health. He had a crooked, playful smile and a lopsided face. But there wasn¡¯t a hint of civility in his eyes. A stolen butcher¡¯s cleaver bounced in his hand as the rioter judged its weight, and he stuck a thumb against his nose to casually expel a wad of bloody snot. His ears didn¡¯t quite point in symmetrical directions. As the rioter came at Rhode, a thin, inebriating energy wafted off of him. It flowed and seeped with an insidious subtlety: a three part combination [Aura] level ¨C a glamour of alcohol, testosterone and adrenaline. Rhode yielded ground. He overbalanced, and swung wildly. What was the difference that made these gobs a threat? It was absolute conviction. It was an absence of doubt. There ought to be a little voice in the back of a moral person¡¯s mind which asks: am I doing the right thing? Did I make the right choice? The [Reveler] simply didn¡¯t have regrets. He didn¡¯t consider alternatives. He didn¡¯t have the imagination to believe he could fail, and it left him without fear. Thwip. Whump. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. A lucky swipe clipped the [Reveler] in his free arm, and Rhode had followed up by driving his swan bodily into the center of mass of his opponent. The goblin rolled comically, like a pillbug. But why would softness stop him? The man was on his feet again in an instant with a snarl on his face. The guards had been easier to deal with. They were angry, confused, and afraid. One of their own was dead. But they had recognized the doublet of the Prince¡¯s man: the Sergeant Bned who had very intentionally committed to staying by Rhode¡¯s side. Two of the stable guards joined up with a pair of corn-silk mercenaries and surrounded a rioter. The mercenaries beat the man down with plush, satin end pillows until he fell. But then one of the guards vengefully raised his spear and stabbed down into the lung of the toppled gob. ¡°No!¡± Rhode howled along with the rioters. He was louder even than the man¡¯s fellows. ¡°Not when they¡¯re down,¡± he rebuked his own people. ¡°Fuck that, and fuck you,¡± cried the spear guard. There was rage and agony twisting in his voice as the gobs of spear squad 2 wrestled the man to the ground. The lines between sides were being confused as the Earth-man imposed rules of engagement which didn¡¯t belong in the fight. A carpenter was shoving a pillow into the arms of a confused guards-woman in a steel cap helmet, and the two of them gripped either side of her service cudgel as they argued. A rioter turned his back on Rhode¡¯s people, mistaking them for allies, and was tackled face-first into the gravel below. These gobs wouldn¡¯t give up. Their muscles strained to the point of tearing. One pulled knives from their belt when they were disarmed. Another bit viciously at the soldier and cook holding them to the ground. Rhode found himself flanked by two goblins, one on either side. There was a similarity in appearance to these people, a pale yellow tint to their complexion, a particular blue-black and wiry stiffness to their hair. They trusted one another; anticipated each other with a facility that Rhode couldn¡¯t match with his own compatriots. As they tested him, his shield rattled, and flopped loose. His swan was (inevitably) falling apart already. Rhode had never faced someone who used their levels without holding back. Even in their bout in Vault Chamber B, Lady Ser Jern Hakkat Yune had been restraining herself. But these gobs risked themselves to the point of self-harm. One of them twisted his body unnaturally, his center of mass swaying outside of his own body. It was a simple [Movement Art]: a little talent for a trickster or a troublemaker. Yet he wove around strikes with frustrating ease. The other, fatter gob took advantage of Rhode¡¯s distraction. There was a prismatic, unsettling delineation in the light around him. Some fragile kind of [Daemon] of precision and measurement, an aide for a woodsman or carver, or who knows what purpose it might serve. As an otherworldly stranger, completely lacking a lifetime of experience and context, Rhode could only guess at what levels would do. But much like Yun-Yun¡¯s ghostly serpent, the faint, crystalline-origami folds of light that intersected his body seemed to guide the shovel of the gob towards Rhode in precise thrusts. They attacked him recklessly. The homunculus was starting to hyperventilate. He was stronger than they were, but it didn¡¯t matter. The advantage of the desperate is how much they are willing to lose for a chance to wound their enemy. Rhode cared if he got injured, and every movement he made was too cautious as a result. If he had been alone, he probably would have been overrun. Rhode would have lost, then and there. But a carpenter ran forward with a hammer and broke the wrist of the shovel-rioter from behind. A mercenary swung her spear haft like a baseball bat into the back of the dodging rioter¡¯s knees with a snap. The spear-woman shrugged apologetically at Rhode. The chair-maker sheepishly wrung his hammer between his hands. But they were right to have done so, and Rhode nodded to them gratefully. Idealism isn¡¯t naivete. You do the best you can, and then when you reach the limit of your strength, you compromise. The Dreadlung threw his swan aside and stripped off the bindings which held his makeshift shield in place. Gripping the hardwood panel in both hands along one edge, he shuffled forward and his hips turned as he wound back and ¨C THUMP. The ringleader of the rioters had been hacking at the spear of [Three-Eyed] Captain Fent when he took the flat of a sturdy panel in the back. Baurkin of Horse Hoof Creek wheezed as he dragged himself back to his feet. What kind of man had he been? The life of the party. A grand friend who knew how to push his fellows out of their comfort zone. A person who took risks and lived passionately, but knew no limits (even to his own peril). That is why he was beloved, and that is how he would destroy the ones who loved him most. Rhode fought bitterly. His plank snapped in half, even as he broke the bones of the rioter¡¯s arm. His people surrounded Baurkin from all sides. The pillows came back, but there were spears raised behind them (just in case). The cleaver dropped from his weakening grip into dusty gravel. His aura flared out and it dripped into the minds of every goblin around him like a sinus infection. Using his own body weight, Rhode bore down on the goblin with saddened determination. His knee pressed against the goblin¡¯s belly to pin him down. ¡°Stop, man. It¡¯s over.¡± Baurkin, the brother of Ux, cursed the Hero with every invective and obscenity he knew. He spat in Rhode¡¯s face, and the bloody spackle dripped down the homunculus¡¯ cheek. ¡°You¡¯re hurting yourself, man.¡± Then, in his last act on the Ring, the [Reveler] contorted his body to bring his boot-heel up into arms-reach. There was an inch-long blade hidden in the heel of that shoe. He drew it. So, Rhode¡¯s fist came down. THUMP. The Problem With Tribe Rhode steadied himself with a hand on his knee as he stood. [Hibernate] tugged at him. His eyes fluttered, so he shook his head clear. He¡¯d won. He¡¯d failed. There had been six rioters, plus two guards that had needed to be subdued before they hurt the prisoners further. One was calming down, which meant he had three additional three fighters to rely on, and meanwhile one of the rioters was cooperating with Sergeant Bned. Rhode¡¯s people had suffered a few injuries, but he didn¡¯t know how bad they were yet. If this was leadership, it was a frustrating arithmetic. The ringleader of the rioters wasn¡¯t getting up. As his pupils rolled back and his tendons protruded alarmingly, his body began to convulse. A series of seizures overtook him. ¡°Guys,¡± Rhode cleared his throat, ¡°I mean my Goode Friends or Compatriots ¨C or I don¡¯t really know how to address y¡¯all right, but ¨C can someone help? I think I really messed this guy up.¡± There weren¡¯t any herbalists, or barbers, or midwives. There were no magical, elemental doctor-priests at hand. Rhode and his entourage had outran or avoided pursuit, and this was partly the result. One of the corn-silk mercenaries was trained as a passable field medic, but he was occupied completely in the effort to staunch the bleeding of a lung wound. ¡°Give me a moment, Ser!¡± the medic called out. Rhode reached out and touched the forehead of the man he¡¯d killed. He reached around to the back of the head, and came away with a slight wetness. The sound of crunching gravel approached from behind. ¡°It¡¯s not my place to say, Ser,¡± offered Captain Fent. He stood respectfully and drew off his helmet as he laid a hand on Rhode¡¯s arm. ¡°I don¡¯t think ye should feel broke up about this.¡± ¡°No,¡± Rhode sighed. He reached over to the nearby grass and wiped his hand on the greenery. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me, man. He pulled a knife, and that''s it. Like, I¡¯m going to feel guilty if he''s really hurt; but at the same time, gosh this guy was such an asshole.¡± Rhode massaged his eyebrow, brushing lightly at a scabbing line of stitches. ¡°I¡¯m going to roll him onto his side, just so he doesn¡¯t choke on puke. Go pack it up as best you can so we can get moving. Some of your crew can hold things down here, we¡¯ll fold in the guards. And, uh ¨C then I guess we¡¯ll call it in on the [Relay].¡± ¡°Can do, Ser,¡± the mercenary verbally agreed. He didn¡¯t step away though. Fent just made a few curt hand gestures to his subordinates, and waited as the homunculus rose again. Then, after a moment, the captain sniffed at the air. ¡°Salt and Ash, ye feel that?¡± Rhode took a dubious smell or two, and shook his head. ¡°Ah, no. I mean, it be gone now. That boy had an [Aura] on him. Strong one. Subtle too. Damn.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve heard people use that word a lot. It¡¯s like what, a magic glow? People just have them?¡± Rhode asked. The captain frowned. ¡°A glow? I¡¯d not put it that way. Do ye not know what an [Aura] is?¡± The captain looked scandalized as he inspected Rhode, giving him the side (double) eye. ¡°Ask someone smarter than me, then. Ye need a few levels before ye grow one. It goes, I don¡¯t know, under yer other levels. Maybe, or maybe not. Changes how yer mana works, anyhow.¡± ¡°Okay. So what does it do.¡± Fent laughed, and ran a hand through his hair. ¡°For this one? How am I supposed to tell? If I was to guess: it¡¯s got marks of a [Revel]. Have ye got a feeling of sobering up all of a sudden? Like ye were a mite drunk, and now ye¡¯re clear?¡± Rhode frowned. ¡°Actually, I just took a lot of something called [Sensory Dissociation], so no. I¡¯m worse off than I was a minute ago.¡± Fent tsk¡¯d. ¡°And that¡¯s why I ain¡¯t about to [Mood Anchor] ye. But, ye know, this is why we¡¯ve got diviners,¡± he explained. The goblin handed his helmet to Rhode and squatted down. He started patting down Baurkin carefully, avoiding the sharp tremors of his limbs. Rhode stared blankly back. The mercenary laid down a ratty handkerchief on the ground, then began turning out the dying gob''s pockets and laying their contents on top of the faded stains of the square cloth. ¡°It¡¯s not like regular folk really know what all their levels do,¡± he scoffed. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. This was news to Rhode, but he stifled a question before he embarrassed himself. ¡°But sometimes folk just grow a strong level. Kid in a tiny village, wakes up one morning with [Might of the Beast-King]. Search me why, things just combine sometimes. Ha! I bet this gods-cursed [Aura]¡¯s been driving folks out of their gourds, and we didn¡¯t even know it.¡± The captain smiled broadly as he drew out a small, horn-inset metal drinking flask. After unscrewing the top and taking a whiff of the contents, he wobbled his head in satisfaction and tied his napkin around it, along with the boot knife and a few wedge-shaped chits of copper-silver billon. ¡°A genuine [Drunkard]¡¯s [Legacy], ain¡¯t we lucky. It¡¯s not the whole thing, but it smells like that [Aura]. I¡¯d bet a silver piece-of-eight easy that he¡¯s left a good chunk of one of his levels in here.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried I¡¯m going to stop you from robbing that guy?¡± Rhode asked softly. ¡°Would ye?¡± Fent challenged sharply. The homunculus grimaced, and looked away towards the high windows of the walls that surrounded them. Something dangerously close to a yes was forming in his heart. ¡°Just don¡¯t sell it for a little while,¡± Rhode whispered. ¡°Let¡¯s pretend it¡¯s half mine, and I can buy it off you later.¡± Fent dusted off his knees and motioned the rest of his squad over. His voice chilled as he reclaimed his helmet. ¡°We can pretend that,¡± he accepted. The two men, one dwarfed so completely by the other, stepped apart. Rhode was left separated from the others as the goblins secured the prisoners and organized themselves. He almost intervened. As the subdued men were treated roughly, Rhode looked to the killed guard, still laid out in the grass. He looked at her, and reminded himself why it was necessary. Then, in an introspective mood, he kept vigil as the [Reveler]¡¯s motions became more feeble, and his breathing grew irregular. ¡°Sorry, man,¡± he murmured. ¡°Do you think I could have stopped you if I tazed you? You probably don¡¯t know what that is. It¡¯s like an electric shock. Naw. Honestly, I kind of feel like that wouldn¡¯t have worked on you. You were kind of a stubborn shit. No offense.¡± Rhode looked up, to the smooth, enameled walls around him - to the overhanging gables, and dark tiles. He peered into the windows, grand and small. It was shocking how many there were, or how large the palace truly was. Here and there, there were faces, looking out from dark glass, or obscuring curtains. There weren¡¯t many, but there were witnesses, and Rhode felt emptier for it. Sergeant Bned was standing next to Rhode the next time he turned around. ¡°What¡¯s the plan, Ser?¡± the Prince¡¯s man inquired as innocently as he could manage. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Rhode replied. ¡°Things are winding down. Fent told me things got pretty bad at the front gate, but I doubt we¡¯d even get there in time to make a difference. Maybe we¡¯ll head that way, but we need to start figuring out a way to surrender all these people. All this [Aura] stuff ¨C levels, magic. I¡¯m worried these folks are going to be punished for stuff that wasn¡¯t their fault.¡± Bned stood in the faint, moon-cast shadow of the giant. It took him long seconds to consider how to reply. ¡°Ser, do you believe that these gobs were not in control of their own choices? You and I would have been under the influence of it, just as much as any of these criminals.¡± Rhode winced, and it turned into a guilty smirk. ¡°Alright, maybe it was only sixty percent their fault. I still think that matters.¡± ¡°Maybe so, Ser. It¡¯s just not often that our betters see fit to make that distinction. Truthfully, I don¡¯t know if I really would think to make that argument myself.¡± Rhode patted the sergeant on the shoulder, and the weight of his hand made the goblin flinch. But just as he was about to turn and order everyone indoors, Rhode spotted one particular window and his breath froze in his chest. There, between the curtains, and framed by lantern-light, a figure looked down impassively on the courtyard. No, he was staring directly at Rhode. A [Greater Brave Homunculus] was wrapped completely in white linen bandages, and adorned in glittering gold. He bore a crown-like head-dress, and a thick, jeweled torq around his throat. There were bracelets up and down his arms, and a chain of semiprecious stones and silver which hung over his rich silk shirt. ¡°Shit. Shit. That¡¯s him. In the mummy getup. I remember that. I remember that.¡± Bned was helpless as Rhode grabbed the goblin by his shoulders and shook him. The homunculus experienced hope as a kind of agony, as if he could not allow himself to trust the joy of good news. ¡°Sorry. I have to go.¡± The curtains shut, and the light dimmed from behind it. Rhode¡¯s gaze flickered between landmarks as he estimated the distance and position of that window as best he could. The Hero drew away, and a score of goblins were watching him. He¡¯d fought beside them ¨C he¡¯d actually fought against a few of them. But maybe, across the course of the night, they had begun to trust each other. Bonds of bloodshed could have made them brothers and sisters in time. He abandoned them anyway. ¡°I ¨C sorry. I have to go.¡± People Dont Make Smart Choices In another world, in another life, Rhode had almost enjoyed running. He had never had the makings of a great athlete, but he¡¯d loved the exhilaration of sports. It had been lacrosse while his father was alive. After his mother could no longer afford the equipment, he¡¯d transitioned to soccer, and then he¡¯d been forced to quit. University had been his humble physical renaissance, and he¡¯d tried his hands at a dozen silly intramural team games. Afterwards some of his hobbies had fallen away. His marriage and job had been his main focus for quite a few long years as they¡¯d paid down debt. But as he¡¯d gotten older, he¡¯d tried to make time for games of pickup basketball here and there ¨C especially after the divorce. Competition was about flexing your legs, about celebrating yourself, and it was about feeling like a member of the community. Rhode had never been great. But that hadn¡¯t mattered, he¡¯d been satisfied. Until the day that he¡¯d simply run out of time. Now his body was so much heavier than he was used to. Rhode hated the balance of it. He was still coming to terms with being tall; it changed the way he interacted with people, it changed the way he moved. As the homunculus swung each leg forward, one after the other, he had to be conscious of where his limbs were in a way he hadn¡¯t before. Walking was one thing, but mind and flesh still hadn¡¯t meshed perfectly. More than that, the cramped conditions of his recoveries underground had not truly given him time to adjust to pushing his limits. The medicine didn¡¯t help. He felt all pain at a distance. It wasn¡¯t gone, it was simply held at a remove. So, taking care to avoid harm to his body had suddenly become a clinical, rational business. He was trying so hard. But it felt like every step he took was opening up wounds. His mistakes were adding up, and he was bleeding, bit by bit. He should have announced himself better before fighting that guy. He could have talked him down better. He could have held onto the man¡¯s arms tighter. Or maybe he should have relied on the others more, somehow. Rhode reached a raised marble porch and vaulted the steps two at a time. There was twinge in his thighs, and he knew he¡¯d pushed something too far. He kept going. Rhode stepped into the inset doorway and threw open a lustrous glass door. It was a single, acid-etched piece. In a post-industrial age, it might have hardly been special; the entryway to a suburban business. Here? How would goblins have drawn glasswork so large and precise without machines? Or was that a mistaken assumption. Goblins clearly made machines of some type and ¨C It was a such a pointless thing to notice. He set it out of his mind. There were uncertain shouts following him as he ducked through the entry, back into Spousal Ring. Inside, a milling crowd of goblins looked up at him expectantly. There were too many faces, too many names to learn and remember in one night. It was overwhelming. Rhode forced himself to ignore them in favor of his search for a stairwell. ¡°Goodeman Irving?¡± asked a voice. Rhode whipped about, and craned his neck to see further down the curve. ¡°Where the heck are the¡­¡± This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°Goodman Irving,¡± insisted the Union boss. The broad-shouldered goblin stepped out of the crowd, dodging around a cook that had stepped in his way. Concern was scrawled over his face, and he touched his hand to his face impulsively. Rhode spotted his couch-carriage leaned against a wall, and a few, exhausted carpenters were making last minute additions to the vehicle. They had unhitched the axle. ¡°Great,¡± Rhode grumbled. ¡°Listen you overgrown bootlicker,¡± hissed the Union man. He grabbed at Rhode¡¯s sleeve and yanked at it to bring the homunculus around. Rhode looked down at his torn sleeve. The goblin stepped closer and lowered his voice. ¡°Sorry. But we followed you because you said you were going to advocate for us. You implied that you would have our back.¡± ¡°Listen, man. I will. I¡¯ve just got to do this one thing. I have to. You can call me Rhode, okay? On my honor, I will do my best. What¡¯s your name, man?¡± ¡°The Prince¡¯s men have already found us, Goodman Irving. We sent them away, but they are going to be back in greater numbers.¡± ¡°God damn it. I can¡¯t ¨C Just surrender. Just, for now. Go get Bned. He¡¯s outside. Let him handle that. And Captain Fent if you can¡¯t trust Bned. That¡¯s the guy with three eyes, you can¡¯t miss him. Cooperate, and then when I get back, I¡¯ll try to sort everything out. Okay?¡± Rhode drew away. He held his hands to either side and shook his head. The Union man wore disgust plainly on his face. ¡°No, not okay, Goodman,¡± his voice cracked. ¡°I swear,¡± Rhode called back. ¡°I¡¯ll try to fix this.¡± The floor shuddered as he fled. His slippers were sticky, and purple with ichor. Soldiers were approaching from the other direction, further down the hall. But they were wearing provincial colors; none of the important color-pairs that Rhode recognized. As they waved him down, he turned into a side hallway that led to a narrow spiral stair. ¡°Why can¡¯t you put a straight FREAKING stair in. Everything¡¯s a circle.¡± Rhode pulled himself up the curling banister with his arms, feeling like some kind of slug as he ascended. ¡°Why?¡± he growled. A low ceiling greeted him on the upper level. There were burlap sheets laid down in paths in either direction, on top of the scarlet and blue carpeting. White muslin cloth covered the tables, and packed boxes were stacked to the sides of the walls. It reminded him of all the equipment and supplies that had emptied out of the underground over the past week. He regarded a large cabinet, considered it, and then shoved the whole thing forcefully over to crash down stuck wedged into the stairwell. Shattering dishes clattered inside, and began to spill out in gold-painted shards as a hinged panel flopped open. ¡°Oh my God,¡± Rhode wiped at his face. ¡°This is so stupid.¡± There were two parallel hallways which ran along the ring, separated by sections of inner rooms. If the window had looked out onto the courtyard, it must have been located in a room on the outer perimeter. Rhode lurched across an adjoining connecting hall, and carried on. ¡°Please be there,¡± he prayed. Gatekeeping The upper hallways were luxurious. They were practical. These two statements could only make sense in the context of obscene wealth. Cozy bedrooms, studies, and lounges opened up to either side. There were clever drawers and storage spaces, and multipurpose furniture everywhere, packed full with personal sundries. Doors had scuff marks on their elaborate painted scroll-work, and cracked vases stood proudly with ruinous evidence of past repairs. There was a three hundred year old door-jamb with little lines cut into the perfumed [Ocre-Joy Cedar] wood at a scattering of low heights. Rhode couldn¡¯t recognize the marks next to each line, but in the world that he¡¯d come from, these would have been names, or maybe years. He shook his head. He was slowing down. Rhode made a tight fist and trundled ahead. Thinking he could sneak up on anything waiting for him would be beyond stupid. Rhode wasn¡¯t fully aware of his reasoning. He wasn¡¯t making choices based on instinct, and nor were they fully rational. At the start of the night, he¡¯d decided that his own species, his own people were his highest priority, and he¡¯d committed to see it through. He wasn¡¯t in a state of mind to second guess himself now, no matter how he felt he could be making a mistake. [Sensory Dissociation] felt like his body was running too fast for his own self. His mind was falling behind, and watching the homunculus pull ahead. The top of his head kept clipping the ceiling ever time a decorative element dipped even a half-inch lower than its regular clearance. What was his plan if he found his people? Talk to them. He would be able to trust them, and they would trust him. Probably. Every building needed a foundation. This is where he would begin. The Hero¡¯s pace slackened. He stopped. A squad of ten soldiers in sea-foam blue and campfire-red had been waiting for him. Several of them had been sitting in rickety chairs. They set their drinks down carefully onto the floor and set playing cards behind on their seats. Casually they gathered together. Rhode hadn¡¯t seen those colors together before. There was something more put together about these uniforms. Their lines were more crisp, the shoulders more elaborate. But nothing about their clothing restricted range of motion. There wasn¡¯t any chain visible over their tunics, or a hint of armor underneath either. As to their arms ¨C Rhode had never seen a real musket before, with its sharp, protruding bayonet: the ancestor of the rifle predated his own lifetime by a century. He mistook them for some kind of impractical goblin spear, until the seven armed members of the squad hiked their guns up to their shoulders. Everything about these men and women was at a comfortable ease. ¡°Goodman Irving,¡± spoke their captain. His mouth quirked up at the corner, and he reached up to adjust his little cylindrical cap. ¡°Boss-man figured you¡¯d be on your way. We¡¯re all mighty pleased to see you¡¯re all right. Or mostly so.¡± Rhode inspected them. He thought on how far back the other hallway¡¯s connector had been. He looked ahead and entertained a little fantasy that he could politely excuse himself and squeeze through. The gaps between the soldiers and the walls were very narrow. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. ¡°Tonight¡¯s really been terrible, hasn¡¯t it?¡± The homunculus spoke wistfully to the ceiling. He closed his eyes and reached inside himself. Last time he¡¯d done this, it had been an accident: instinctive. Now he tried to control it. Just a tiny spark of connection between [Hibernate] and [Vigorous Ichor], where he borrowed just a tiny bite from one to feed the other. Calmly, he stepped aside towards a closed doorway. His fingers curled around the frame, and his fingernails dug into the gap between the flushing and the wall. The soldiers weren¡¯t sure what he was doing. Two of his fingernails tore a little, and he winced. But an ugly creak sounded out as the framing nails came loose. The whole plank tore loose from the wall as he ripped it free. Where the end had splintered, Rhode knocked the section off, and then hefted the remainder up. It wasn¡¯t particularly thick, but it was taken from a door intended for elves, and even while broken was as tall as a goblin. None of the soldiers pointed their muskets directly at Rhode. But they spread out into a staggered formation, three ranks deep. ¡°Let¡¯s talk about this, big guy,¡± the captain offered. The brightness in his voice didn¡¯t reach his eyes. ¡°And I mean that. It¡¯s been awhile since we¡¯ve had lunch together. Tell me what¡¯s going on. We can¡¯t know what it is you want unless you tell us.¡± Rhode felt the weight of the board, and ran his fingers along it. He pinched a splinter out of his finger, and it beaded with a tiny dot of ichor. ¡°Is he here?¡± the homunculus asked. It took an achingly long time for the soldier to reply. ¡°Yes,¡± he said. ¡°But you know I can¡¯t let you through. It¡¯s not my decision, Rhode.¡± ¡°You know, it¡¯s funny. I¡¯m trying to recall your face. But I keep thinking the same thing. I¡¯ve never shared a meal with you, man.¡± The soldiers adjusted their grips on their weapons. ¡°No,¡± the captain admitted. ¡°I was really hoping that Officer Weidel had been here for this. But nothing goes to plan, does it?¡± ¡°No,¡± Rhode agreed. ¡°Are you going to let me through?¡± ¡°You can¡¯t get away with this. There¡¯s no taking this back.¡± A sad smile broke over the Hero¡¯s face. ¡°Oh no,¡± he whispered. ¡°I¡¯m going [Berserk] with fury. I can¡¯t seem to control my actions. Isn¡¯t that tragic?¡± And that moment very nearly could have been the end of Rhode¡¯s story. The captain and the Hero glared at each other, on the edge of a precipice that would surely destroy them both. Until a soft click announced the opening of a bedroom door just beyond the musketeers in red and blue. Brother Eloft was noticeably tall compared to his fellow goblins. He stepped out through the door wearing his sedate, pale yellow gown of office and wore cotton gloves which were pure white. ¡°Please. Goodesers. Stand down,¡± begged the priest. Rhode¡¯s brows knitted together in a glower. His nostrils flared in surprise. His lips pulled to the side in pain. Slowly, he lowered his door-framing. Brother Eloft waved at Rhode; and it was a tepid, awkward gesture. ¡°Hey Rhode. I¡¯m sorry for this. The uh ¨C I mean, management says ¨C well I probably can¡¯t say that. But the point is, please join us inside.¡± The soldiers held on to their guns for a moment longer. ¡°We¡¯ll need a direct order, Goodebrother Eloft,¡± requested the captain softly. ¡°Yes,¡± the healer declared firmly. He held one cupped hand out low and a gleam of metal was barely visible from between his fingers. ¡°This comes straight from management. Let him through.¡± What Was The Return On Your Investment? Rhode edged by, and his eyes were drawn to the point of a bayonet as the soldiers made way for him. They moved with perfunctory, regulated precision as they drew to either side of the hall. There were apologetic smiles on more than one face. There were cold, measuring expressions on the others. Leaning in close to the priest, Rhode closed one hand gently over the man¡¯s shoulder. It was either familiar, or threatening: one or the other, but not both. ¡°Eloft, I am telling you now. If you are about to tell me you¡¯re like some secret mastermind in charge of all this, I am legitimately going to be angry.¡± ¡°Gods no,¡± laughed the healer weakly, ¡°and if I was, after something like tonight? No. Thanks be to Dogoda, I would have died of stress. Please, ah, I have to ask that you just don¡¯t do anything too treasonous. I may have promised that you wouldn¡¯t, and it would be really complicated for me if you did.¡± Rhode held on. Eloft stared him down. ¡°Come on. Please. Things haven¡¯t gone as far wrong as you think they have. I mean, they have, but¡­¡± Rhode reluctantly let go. The priest stepped into a broad, darkly upholstered drawing room and Rhode followed him. There was a low table, and an open bottle of wine. There were crystal goblets, and black-indigo velvet divans that seeped with an intangible, invisible energy. There was a FengShui, a careful placement of the contents of the room which made the whole space feel like it was humming. There was presence that pooled anywhere that the light didn¡¯t touch, and tickled a gentle reminder at the edge of Rhode¡¯s survival instincts. An opaque curtain divided the receiving room from another one. A bodyguard reclined on a simple wooden stool, wearing plain clothes and holding a cruel-looking wand. There was a short young woman with ¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ, ¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ hair that made her head look a bit like an egg. Her fingers laced together nervously as she gave Rhode a lopsided smile. There was a homunculus lounging on a sofa. His glass of wine was at his lips, staining the bandages that were coming loose at his chin. The jewelry Rhode had glimpsed from the courtyard below hung on his chest loosely. Each segment of gold was generously heavy, and it all shone more intricately from up close. The man looked like nothing so much as a pharaoh, wearing his funereal garb early to try it on for size. ¡°Ser Rhode Mortimer Irving,¡± Eloft murmured, shutting the door behind them. He stepped forward and inclined his head, sweeping one hand towards the Hero. ¡°Allow me to introduce you to Ser Ignacio Edilberto Asterio Santos.¡± Rhode choked up. He cleared his throat. ¡°Hey man.¡± The Hero Ed Santos set down his drink. His tongue worked over his teeth, searching as if he had a fragment of food stuck in them. ¡°Rho-um. Ser Irving,¡± piped the ¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ ¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö. Her voice had a slight whistling lisp. ¡°You gotta talk slow. Ser Santos is still assimilating his language parasite.¡± Rhode blinked. He wanted desperately to ask for clarification on one particular word in that sentence. <> he said instead. <> Ser Santos tugged the bandages free from his head, like a snake shedding his skin. The hornupant goblin squeaked in alarm at this, and tugged at fistfuls of her curls. Rhode had not become familiar with his own face yet, but he recognized his reflection in his younger ¡®brother¡¯. The other homunculus¡¯ short wisps of black hair were carefully styled on his squarish crown. His mouth was curled in a perpetually cocky grin. The main difference between them was that this other man was shaped with a trim, olympian athleticism, where Rhode was just wide. There was a second distinction: a complete absence of scars along the younger man¡¯s cheekbones, jaw, eyebrows, and skull. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. Rhode struggled mightily to remember the one year of Spanish that public education had provided him with. <> he fumbled. The Hero laughed full-throatedly, and without reservation. <> ¡°Dreadlung. You. Talk. Like a wimp. You. Look ¨C¡± <> ¡°Badass. But. You talk so soft.¡± ¡°Yea, I guess,¡± Rhode frowned. He stepped forward. The bodyguard in the corner fractionally raised his wand. It was made of wood, brass and ivory, and an ashy smell of charcoal faintly wafted from it. Rhode¡¯s frown deepened. Eloft¡¯s hand patted Rhode¡¯s arm, drawing his attention. ¡°Ser Irving,¡± the healer said, ¡°I¡¯ve got to be with my patient. I¡¯m very much still on duty. Respectfully, you should probably know that they¡¯re listening right now. Just um, for the purpose of decorum. We¡¯ll probably chat in a second, okay?¡± ¡°Oh, is that so. Should I stop in and say hello to their lordship?¡± Rhode asked. ¡°No, nonono, not unless they ask for you, please,¡± Eloft paled. ¡°Rhode, you¡¯re going to give me a heart attack.¡± The healer made a beeline for the dividing curtain, and pushed through. As the drapes parted, the shadows on the other side resisted the passage of light, and Rhode was unable to discern the room beyond. Rhode¡¯s eyes flicked back to the bodyguard, and then settled on Ser Santos. ¡°Are you healthy?¡± he asked. ¡°Are you safe?¡± he winced. Two bandaged arms spread wide open. ¡°Are you my mother? Don¡¯t be such a hen. Drink wine.¡± ¡°Listen. Ignacio, right? It¡¯s just¡­ it was very difficult for me to come see you tonight. And I¡¯m really not supposed to be here. It¡¯s very important for me to know that you are okay. Okay?¡± ¡°Yea. Whatever. Here. This is strong.¡± Rhode looked down at the bottle that Ignacio¡¯s long arms offered across the table. The second homunculus wiggled a glass enticingly in the other hand, and sloshed the wine to indicate its volume. ¡°As good as that sounds, man. I am really messed up right now.¡± ¡°You have drugs?¡± ¡°No, I did drugs, but ¨C¡± ¡°You have dope?¡± ¡°No, Ignacio. I do not have drugs. I am out of drugs. This isn¡¯t a party, man. Jesus. Sorry. Man, you need to take this seriously.¡± ¡°If it¡¯s not a party, then why do you do drugs?¡± smugly asked the second Hero of Sacred. ¡°Because I am fucking bleeding,¡± Rhode cried out. ¡°Look at me. Good god, how old are you? Ignacio, come on man, I¡¯m a wreck.¡± Ser Santos set the wine back down. He chewed on his lip in thought. ¡°Yea, but it¡¯s purple.¡± Rhode threw his arms in the air, and rolled his eyes. His head bounced with frustration. ¡°Well, guess what, Ignacio? Our blood is purple now. This is what it looks like.¡± ¡°You are very messed up.¡± ¡°Yea,¡± Rhode choked. ¡°It¡¯s been kind of tough.¡± ¡°You lost fight against little goblins,¡± grinned Santos, ¡°I saw you. You fight so bad.¡± Rhode stared at his fellow earthling in disbelief. The bodyguard had settled back into his seat, with a neutral and confident air. The hornupant acolyte looked down at her lap, as if ashamed to meet Rhode¡¯s eyes. ¡°Okay. Yea, maybe I¡¯m not so great at beating people up. But that¡¯s not the point. Ignacio, um, do you remember the story of that guy named¡± <> Ignacio Edilberto Asterio Santos stared blankly back. ¡°He was a writer, I think. Like a guy, he wrote this book and it was famous, and it¡¯s very important that you think of what it was about.¡± Rhode gestured desperately. His voice grew weaker with every passing moment. Ignacio¡¯s grin returned after a long moment. He nodded sagely and stepped over the table completely, then clapped Rhode on the shoulder. ¡°It is okay, old man,¡± he whispered, ¡°I will be a stronger Hero than you. I will be so powerful. Don''t worry. I will destroy Delight. You can stay at home, and retire.¡± Rhode staggered. [Spite] advanced by seven percentage points towards finalizing in an instant. His mouth was dry. ¡°Oh my God,¡± he groaned, ¡°what have I done. You¡¯re a fucking idiot.¡± Like Talking to a Brick Wall Ed Santos¡¯ face transformed so quickly, Rhode only processed it afterwards. He felt two palms shoving into his chest. His body fell stumbling backwards and slammed into the wall. The floor shook. The wine shook. The wooden framing inside of the wall had cracked, and a patterned smear of ichor was stamped onto the body-sized divot in the wall-paper. ¡°Oh, ow,¡± Rhode murmured, dazed. His eyes were unfocused. The bodyguard was on his feet. He had his hand out towards Ser Santos. The hornupant had drawn her knees up towards her body and withdrawn as if she could retreat into creases of her chair¡¯s padding. Rhode rolled his shoulders, and took a deep, shuddering breath. ¡°That was kind of rude.¡± Both goblins froze. A shadow of doubt passed over Ed Santos¡¯s sneer. It is a funny thing, how slight a change in voice can mean so much. Finding renewed confidence, the Second Hero moved to close the distance with harsh words ready on his lips. But before he could speak, his bodyguard pulled him back with ferocious strength in his grip. Every effort Ser Santos made to pull away from the goblin, failed. <> the homunculus argued. ¡°He calls me stupid.¡± The bodyguard put himself physically between the homunculi. Rhode looked down at him, and the man looked back up in turn. There was a matching calm in their expressions. Everything about the goblin was completely, indescribably average. His light olive tan was unremarkable. His hair was commonly dark, and only slightly curled. There was a barely perceptible deviation in his nose, and a set of faint scars shaped like grains of rice along his right jaw and throat. ¡°You¡¯re right, Ignacio,¡± Rhode said. ¡°I was out of line. I shouldn¡¯t have insulted you. I am tired, and I was upset that you insulted me.¡± ¡°I did not,¡± Ser Santos denied. He spread his arms wide and backwards to display his chest. ¡°What did I say?¡± ¡°You called him old and weak, Goode Hero,¡± the bodyguard reminded him in a firm whisper. ¡°Perhaps you misspoke, your Calamitousness. Our language is easy to misinterpret.¡± ¡°I did not say that.¡± ¡°You sort of, kind of did,¡± timidly offered the curly ¡õ¡ö¡õ¡öed goblin woman. ¡°Maybe it was an accident? Ser Hero, Ser.¡± Rhode worked his fingers, and milimeter by millimeter, reconstructed a smile. ¡°It¡¯s alright, man. No harm done.¡± He laughed hollowly, and indicated behind him. ¡°Except for the wall.¡± He faced forward and stared down his fellow ex-human, waving his hands up and down over his torso. ¡°Maybe my ribs and general organs.¡± Santos seemed lost, searching about the room for an escalation in violence that wasn¡¯t coming. His choler drained out of him, and then he stalked back towards the divan and collapsed into it. There was a spatter of spilled wine on the table; he slapped a napkin down on the puddle, and wiped it away. ¡°I am not stupid,¡± he insisted. ¡°Goodeman Santos,¡± bowed the bodyguard. The gesture was crisp, exaggerated and formal. ¡°You will forgive the Goodeman Irving, surely. The maladies he suffers from have burdened him greatly. Perhaps he deserves our patience.¡± Rhode bared his teeth in a dishonest smile. Sorry, mouthed the hornupant acolyte. ¡°Perhaps the Goode Hero Irving is tired. His [Hibernate] level must be acting up. We told you about that before, Goodeman Santos: the Dreadlung is particular about needing his rest. This is why The Program is so careful about guiding you to your first level. Isn¡¯t that right, Goodmiss ?¡ö¡õ¡ö¡õ?¡± ¡°O-o-oh, I don¡¯t¡­ I mean, Sers I¡¯m just here to make sure his soul doesn¡¯t come loose. I-I don¡¯t have an opinion, beg your pardon.¡± Rhode pursed his lips, biting back certain choice words. He glanced down at his (former?) healer; his eyes slid disconcertingly off of her features, and then back up. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. The bodyguard¡¯s wand fit into an oiled leather holster at his hip. The goblin¡¯s palm laid open lightly on the handle. ¡°In fact, I myself am getting tired as well. The Goode Hero must be getting somewhat bored,¡± he suggested as if he was addressing the reclining [Brave] instead of Rhode directly. ¡°Now that the fighting is done. Surely, Goodeman Irving can visit you another time ¨C¡± Rhode shook his head and took a long stride, stopping at the edge of the low, shared table. He reached one finger out and tapped the neck of the wind bottle, and loomed over Ser Santos. In the limited space, the bodyguard had reluctantly yielded back towards his corner. Rhode¡¯s shadow was cast from dim crystal-light onto the drawn window curtains. ¡°No, we¡¯re not done. I still would like to talk to Ignacio,¡± he demanded gravely. ¡°Then by all means, speak,¡± the unassuming goblin invited, his voice cutting with a threatening edge. Ignacio Edilberto Asterio Santos sat up suddenly and stabbed a finger forward. ¡°What if I do not want to talk to him?¡± The bodyguard sighed with relief. ¡°Then you don¡¯t have to, Goodehero ¨C The [Greater Brave Homunculus] slapped his hands against his knees and cocked his head. ¡°What if I do want to talk?¡± The bodyguard shut his mouth with a snap of his teeth. If there had been tobacco smoke in the air, the chamber would have been the perfect image of a sultry lounge-style bar. The low light, the dark, sumptuous fabrics, they all came together with an irrational sensation of voices or conversations just out of hearing. Rhode could almost swear the shadows were wriggling in his peripheral vision. A thick pressure was crowding the room, as if flowing out through the curtain that led into the adjoining room. If Rhode couldn¡¯t bring the conversation somewhere safer, he could never say a tenth of the things he wanted to say. ¡°Ignacio, do you want to take a walk? We could talk about home. You could stretch your legs.¡± << ?Para ya! Estoy hasta las narices, >> the Hero spat. ¡°You talk circles. You both. If you want to drink, come be my friend. You want to talk like men, you talk at my face. Not his. I am not dumb.¡± << Te voy a bajar los humos. >> ¡°Ignacio, there are things I can¡¯t¡­¡± Rhode winced. ¡°No one calls me Ignacio. I am Ed. Tell me your levels. What powers do you have?¡± ¡°What powers? I mean, I have a couple of levels, but I wouldn¡¯t say I have any powers. Maybe ¨C¡± ¡°Whatever. Do you know any girls?¡± ¡°What?¡± Rhode sputtered, confused. ¡°Like, in general? I mean, there are women on the Project ¨C¡± << Eres tan aburiodo. >> ¡°You don¡¯t drink. You don¡¯t bring girls. You want to fight me?¡± Rhode searched about the room for help. ¡°No, Ed. Of course not. Why would I want to fight you?¡± ¡°Because we are alive! I was dead. Earth sucked. Now I am alive. Magic is real. This place is like video games. We are Heros! I can level up. We should fight, we should drink, we should find beautiful girls to fuck! By God! How can you be so boring.¡± ¡°Ed, you aren¡¯t thinking these things through clearly,¡± Rhode whispered. He blinked away moisture before it could gather. ¡°If you just rationally consider what¡¯s going on¡­¡± ¡°I am tired of you,¡± Edilberto waved dismissively, ¡°talking to you is like talking to my father. You make me sober to listen to you.¡± Flabbergasted, Rhode was struck speechless. What were the right words to say? He didn¡¯t know. ¡°Tomorrow, I will take lessons. I will learn to fight with swords,¡± Edilberto announced lightly, settling back into the divan with his arms crossed comfortably behind his head. ¡°Knights will teach me. You come learn with me. Be fun.¡± ¡°There¡¯s going to be a war, Ed,¡± Rhode tried one last time. ¡°War will be hard. So help. Everybody says you are a coward, that you are crippled. But I see that you are big. So be cool, fight with me. You can be my¡± << compinche >> ¡°my sidekick.¡± Paralyzing anger had overtaken Rhode, he didn¡¯t want to even move for fear that he¡¯d do something extreme. [Bellows] had become overwhelming. The shadows were fraying at the edges, where they had been creeping into the light. The goblins held their breath. Even Ed Santos was flinching, though he tried to hide it. They were saved from further discomfort by the Goode Brother Eloft. The goblin healer¡¯s head poked through the dividing curtain, announced by a satiny, rustling sound. ¡°Ah wow,¡± the goblin blurted in surprise. He worked his jaw comically, accompanied by contorted, exaggerated expressions. ¡°You¡¯ve got my ears popping with this pressure.¡± ¡°Eloft, man, help me out here,¡± the Hero Dreadlung begged. ¡°Ser Irving,¡± Eloft¡¯s tone and manner of speaking turned clipped and formal. A ghost of an apology flickered over his face. ¡°It will have to wait. Management would like to speak to you now.¡± Am I in Trouble? Please Just Tell Me if Im in Trouble? Black drapes wrapped around the priest¡¯s shoulders, held like a shawl to keep it shut below where he¡¯d parted it. There was nothing imposing at all about that hanging, ink-dark fabric; there was no hint of what it contained. It still made Rhode feel small to look at it. ¡°Can you give me a second. I¡¯m not really ready to talk to him,¡± Rhode replied. Eloft¡¯s ears dipped. He tipped his head. ¡°Yes, well there¡¯s no such thing as ready. You can¡¯t say no, Rhode.¡± The First Hero of Sacred hesitated for as long as he dared, but the light had bent crooked. Shadows flowed over his calves, and Rhode lurched forward, his eyes wide. He rested a hand against a wooden ceiling beam, and regarded the floor behind him with paranoid suspicion. Then, embarrassed and with the snickering of his peer chasing him out, the homunculus squatted low and stepped through. The word caul means barrier: a reference to the amniotic sac. It represents a sealed boundary between the outside world, and a pregnant, gestating space inside. How could a person describe what mana is? It would be like describing an x-ray. In its raw form, Mana is invisible, untouchable, untasteable. Yet it is real, and it is energy, and it is oh so very dangerous. But from another perspective, the nature of Mana has noticeable parallels in geology. Consider the origin of minerals. Deep under the earth, stone is in a constant state of metamorphosis. Time, density, and pressure will change buried matter into something new. Churning, alien energy tickled at Rhode¡¯s skin, trying to crawl inside him. He had an instinct to clutch at his weeping scars to stopper them, but it would be impossible to cover them all. Rich, saturated colors hued the room, thick from a meticulous arrangement of healing crystals which hung overhead from a webbed mesh of silk thread. During his own recoveries, Rhode¡¯s little underground chamber had been lit with tiny shards. Here, the violet stones were prisms the size of fingers. Green pearls clustered in bunches like grapes. Carnal red fossils twisted like curling ferns, and obstructed a rare number of amber-gold cubes. Crystal magic didn¡¯t make sense to Rhode: there was no sane analogue for it on Earth except for in the delusions of cranks and the schemes of con-artists. Here though, each mineral was resonating in tune with a different and essential vital¡­ something. But whatever principles this energy acted on, the bio-reactivity of the environment wasn¡¯t balanced correctly for Rhode at all. His cells, organs and fluids were being incited in the wrong ratios. A dissociative wrongness began to build in his innards: a creeping onset that took time to notice. It was strange how dark the room was, when all of that color was present. Rhode had to stoop to keep from tangling in the formation overhead. A mere four strides wide by six long, the private inner chamber was smaller than he¡¯d expected. And even that limited rectangular space was cut in half, bisected by a gauzy veil. Two severe-looking half-elven physicians stood at military attention in front of that curtain, wearing starched white gowns and long gloves. Brother Eloft stood just in front of Rhode, guiding him forward like an attendant trying to direct a landing aircraft. Hemmed in on every side and surrounded, the homunculus worried if he was ever going to be comfortably sized indoors again. The hardwood floors were stripped bare of the lush carpets which were common elsewhere at Four Ring, and the walls were blocked by long sheets of pale, crimped paper. Lines of dense calligraphy striped up and down the inside of each crease. A solid oak writing desk had been shoved unceremoniously into the far corner, and three brass plinths stood at specific points in the room. Each plinth supported a treasure, and each treasure churned with its own character of weird energy. Unnatural. Rhode¡¯s eyes snapped to a vague, boxlike shape on the opposite of the veil. A canopied, four post bed was (if not visible, then) discernible on the other side. He squinted, straining to see into a concentrated patch of gloom. A shape, the occupant, moved. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Your Grace,¡± Eloft announced. He fell to the floor on his knee, and tucked his head low. ¡°The Hero, Irving Rhode Mortimer.¡± Formality had never particularly been Rhode¡¯s strong suit. The concept of caste was alien to him, anathema to his beliefs. But the stakes were high, his mistakes had been public and bombastic, and there were promises he needed to keep. Slowly, and looking to mirror his healer, Rhode lowered himself down to a knee. ¡°Your Grace?¡± Rhode attempted. ¡°Lay a towel. Rise, Goodeman Irving. We bear no expectations that you perform the appropriate obeisances. If you are to err, We would prefer that your blunders favor efficiency over tact.¡± Deliberately, Rhode stood back up. This time he didn¡¯t care that he disturbed the crystals, he shoved his palm against the webbing to make room for his head. ¡±Your Grace,¡± he began again. ¡°Excuse me, Goodman Irving,¡± whispered one of the healers. The half-elf had short-cropped hair, and a clipped ear. He threw a towel down at Rhode¡¯s feet, and negotiated around the homunculus¡¯s legs to spread it out carefully beneath him. ¡°Yea. Thanks, um, Goodeman. Listen, Sir,¡± Rhode entreated. ¡°You will still address us only as Your Grace. Before We are to begin, tell Us, Goodeman Irving: do you remember Us?¡± The homunculus curled his fingers around tangled string, his fingers brushed against a petrified scarlet coil and [Vigorous Ichor] squirmed inside his marrow. Rhode remembered a pool of blood, recalled its smell but not its dimensions. He remembered the surgical knife, and blue baths with a forest of columns that stretched out infinitely. An image of a looming shadow lingered in his mind. He imagined one little star of color in its middle, like a poisonous insect. ¡°I don¡¯t believe so, Your Grace,¡± Rhode hesitated. ¡°Or maybe we¡¯ve met in passing.¡± The figure on the bed was shapeless. Maybe it was sitting, propped against the headboard. It was hard to tell. ¡°Yes, you do. You retain more than you think, and you suspect more than you admit. Therefore, We shall be blunt. Goodeman Irving, do you intend to perform acts of treason or sedition tonight? Have you conspired with foreign powers to do harm to our efforts, to endanger your fellow Heroes, to sabotage The Project, or otherwise commit seditious acts to undermine the sovereign Kingdom of Sacred?¡± Sweating meant pain, as cold perspiration dripped salt into Rhode¡¯s wounds. ¡°What?¡± he gulped. ¡°No, of course not.¡± ¡°What, Your Grace. No, of course not, Your Grace. Goodeman Irving, we do not inquire as to the quality of your loyalty to Us, or your oppositional and contrarian personality. Your reluctance. These are known factors.¡± ¡°Prince, I really don¡¯t, I mean I promise that ¨C¡± ¡°Seventeen of our subjects are counted to be dead so far, and this number is expected surely to rise. Eight independent attempts have been identified to breach our sealed quarantine of this facility. Our servants are yet to confirm whether this count is comprehensive, or even if the totality of these efforts were foiled. While We are confident that order is to be restored, the motivations, objective, membership, and resources of the seditious parties are yet to be determined.¡± Rhode gulped. Suddenly, standing upright seemed like a bad idea. He dropped to the towel on his knee, and bowed his head. ¡°So We ask again, and specifically. Goodeman Irving, did you commit treason against Our interests?¡± The homunculus throat rasped as he stumbled over his words. An intrusive question bubbled up in his head: how were executions performed in olden times? ¡°Tonight,¡± clarified Prince Llanthinanumen. And something about Rhode¡¯s fear broke. ¡°No,¡± he replied more surely. ¡°No, Your Grace. I tried to help.¡± If he had feared the ax was coming in the long contemplative silence that followed, or the noose, it never did. ¡°Very well. Those who [Serve], you may leave Us. That which you have heard, you may [Forget], with Our leave.¡± Eloft rose slowly. The priest lingered at Rhode¡¯s side, but still followed the other two physicians out of the room. Then, crawling shadows circled the curtain, and a heavy stillness cut the palace off from Rhode and the Second Prince. What does a trapped animal do? ¡°Um,¡± started Rhode. ¡°Listen, Your Grace, you¡¯ve got to understand ¨C¡± ¡°That is enough. We are satisfied with your answers.¡± Rhode shuffled on his feet, surprised by the sense of exhaustion and nausea he was feeling. ¡°Our judgment is as follows. The Constable Fidelity Brand will be remanded for questioning along with his page in order to confirm your story, and a temporary stay will be placed on the execution of civilian participants in the riots.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, what?¡± Rhode asked. His thoughts moved sluggishly. ¡°One of Our servants will draw up an appropriate point system by which you may purchase the amnesty of the accused. The price per head will be adjusted as per the severity of their crime. The details will be delivered to your chambers for your review.¡± Nothing about the room had changed. Rhode spun about on his heel, but he was still alone with the Prince. His stomach fluttered. ¡°You¡¯re just going to forgive them?¡± the Hero doubted. He clutched at his head and massaged his temple. ¡°As long as you fulfill your end of the bargain. You may spare a significant number from the fullness of their punishment. Yes.¡± ¡°Sorry, what? Your Grace¡­ do I get to know what the bargain was?¡± Rhode asked. The [Brawn Homunculus] stepped closer towards the dividing veil, and his voice lowered. ¡°Goodeman Irving, you have made the attempt to threaten Our person already. This was taken into consideration during our negotiations.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have done that.¡± ¡°It was valuable for Us to understand the limits to which you could be pushed.¡± ¡°Your Grace, I wouldn¡¯t have done that,¡± Rhode protested. ¡°Depending on your conduct, certain limited and supervised contact with the Hero Goodeman Santos may be approved in the future.¡± Reeling, the homunculus paled at the change in topic. ¡°Whoa, whoa. No. I mean, not no, but did I ask for that?¡± ¡°Goodeman Irving, Our time is valuable. If these terms are unacceptable, then you may simply take your leave tomorrow, as discussed.¡± ¡°Goddamn, slow down,¡± Rhode broke. He reached out to the wall, and crunched the decorative paper paneling as he leaned his weight against the solid surface behind it. He was hyperventilating, and it took long seconds before [Bellows] settled back under control. ¡°Sorry Your Grace, but if you¡¯ll just remind me. When you say ¡®take my leave¡¯¡­?¡± Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°We are titled to a significant number of properties throughout the Kingdom. We would provide a secluded location, with ample acreage for your permanent use. You would retire there in perpetuity, under limited supervision.¡± Rhode stared at the curtain, and at the bed beyond it. Supposedly, a prince was there. Assumedly, he was unwell. Supposedly. Assumedly. The homunculus was slowly coming to understand the shape of the danger he was in, even if he had already been snared long ago. Every word he spoke gave away too much. Everything he might ask for risked being bargained away for a pittance of what it was worth in exchange. He didn¡¯t have blurry memories, he had amputations. ¡°Your Grace,¡± Rhode asked deliberately, ¡°what would be the reason that a person would refuse an offer like that?¡± ¡°Because it is within Our lawful authority to hang a great many goblins tomorrow, and you believe that they deserve Our pity. Furthermore, because We reserve the only access you will ever have to speak amongst your own kind.¡± ¡°And if that isn¡¯t enough?¡± ¡°Goodeman Irving, if we were to set but ten men on the gallows tomorrow morning, it is Our belief that you would submit utterly to defer their end.¡± ¡°Your Grace,¡± Rhode considered. But he couldn¡¯t find a single way to end the sentence safely. His hands clenched into fists. His teeth ground together. Destructive and reckless thoughts filled his head. But before his feeling of helplessness could boil into something worse, the Prince spoke again. ¡°Stop. Are you out of your mind?¡± Rhode blinked. He stared at the Prince, confused. The veil had been drawn back, because of course it had been. The homunculus looked down at the foot of the luxurious, sprawling bed and at the otherworldly creature beneath him. ¡°Sorry, I shouldn¡¯t be so close to you, right?¡± Rhode murmured. The Prince¡¯s hair hung down loose. His skin was corpse pale, and everything else about him was black as pitch. His eyes shook with fury, and fragments of shredded paper peeled down along the walls. The silk arrangements overhead were collapsing, severed at key points and leaving gemstones hanging like fruit. Rhode stepped backwards, one controlled motion at a time. ¡°Sorry,¡± he murmured again. ¡°It¡¯s just that something about that seems like a bad deal, you know?¡± ¡°Yes. Truly, it seems that your heart goes out to the base and unfortunate,¡± snarled the Prince. He pressed a hand up to his nose, and a smear of true red came away along his lip. Wait ¨C Rhode¡¯s head spun. His headache was growing worse. He looked up at the hanging veil which obscured and separated him from the Prince of the realm, and listened to the measured and calm voice which emerged from the other side. The room was lit by a pile of silk and crystal, lying bundled on the floor in a lump. The walls were bare, and painted a solid sky blue. ¡±Would you like to know the real reason why We summoned you, Goodman Irving?¡± He had to think about it. He knew he didn¡¯t like the answer. ¡°To fight a war, Your Grace.¡± ¡°But this is an insufficient answer, Goodeman Irving. Surely, you would understand that the method by which we have produced you and your peers is an extreme one.¡± Rhode nodded. That made sense. ¡°It was awful,¡± he whispered. And ¨C ¡°¡­ [Forget] that last thought. Rhode, I am inches from erasing your mind. So pay attention. I am trying to save my people.¡± The Hero wavered on his feet and then sat down cross legged on the floor with a thump. ¡°Good. Yes. That makes sense to you, doesn¡¯t it?¡± The homumculus nodded, somewhat stupidly. ¡°Then we will build from there.¡± Wait, no, thats not right either. ¡°With respect, Your Grace. Just tell him what you want,¡± Ser Fidelity Brand sighed. The Constable was sitting on a short stool behind Rhode. The left curl of his mustache was cut short and his doublet was torn at the shoulder. Exhausted, he leaned against his sheathed sword. ¡°What the freaking heck,¡± Rhode shouted. He kicked at the floor and fell back onto his elbows. ¡°Brand, what are you doing here?¡± ¡°Goodeman Irving, you punched the Prince of the realm in the nose,¡± Brand groaned. He leaned his chin against the pommel of his sword, and narrowed his eyes. ¡°You can¡¯t do that.¡± ¡°Goodeman Irving, you will ¨C¡± ¡°Your Grace, I beg of you,¡± Ser Brand raised one hand. ¡°If he doesn¡¯t remember what he did, it¡¯s just going to happen again.¡± ¡°Whoa, Brand,¡± Rhode denied. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t do that. Your Grace, I¡¯d never do that,¡± he insisted. Brand¡¯s sheath tapped against the floorboards with a menacing thud. ¡°No? I believe you would have if he¡¯d threatened to hang ten people just to make a point.¡± Rhode¡¯s mouth closed. He frowned. ¡°Constable Fidelity. Shall We have you relieved? Warrant Officer Seng would not speak so flippantly.¡± ¡°Forgive us, Your Grace. Nor would I, if it were not so clearly necessary. Yan, look at him, you¡¯ve got the boy stuck on loop.¡± Rhode¡¯s knees folded back underneath him, and his eyes widened. ¡°Who¡¯s getting hanged? Wait. Your Grace, I wanted to ask you about some of the goblins. There were a lot of people who got caught up in stuff tonight which I am not entirely sure was their fault.¡± ¡°You see?¡± Brand snorted, ¡°Looping.¡± ¡°It is not your place to question Us. Constable Fidelity, you have been undermining Our will at every turn.¡± ¡°And I beg your apology for it, Your Grace. But you are pushing too hard, with leverage you don¡¯t have. And don¡¯t you dare call in Seng either. You¡¯ll just get Goodeman Irving killed.¡± ¡°Brand. The formalities exist for a reason. Just because this creature is incapable of respect, does not mean you may allow yourself to become infected with his laxities.¡± ¡°Uh, Brand,¡± Rhode asked. ¡°Keep your mouth shut, Goodeman.¡± ¡°Sure, Brand,¡± Rhode complied. There was a sound which was rising from two locations at once. Twinned whining tones, from either side of the veil. Brand withdrew a [Relay] fork from his breast pocket and held it up besides his ear. He listened until the warbling noise crisply ended. ¡°Just ask him, Your Grace,¡± the constable implored. ¡°That is my professional advice, offered in good faith. If you wish for me to kow-tow, I shall.¡± The voice on the other side of the curtain did not rebuke Brand. It did not demote him, nor condemn or ensorcel him either. Stolen story; please report. Brand rubbed at his scalp with his kerchief, with vigorous frustration. ¡°Thank the Gods that most of them were locals. Lord Mourint was getting nosy, which we knew. We just hadn¡¯t realized how many of his people were assigned here. Ser Reliance believes the worst of the partisans were domestic criminals. Undesirable, but my understanding is that few of the syndicates would set out to commit treason. Once we announce, they¡¯ll fall in line. The Diving-Bird Lake fellows can dance the gibbet for all I care. I don''t know their grievance, but they knew your colors were here. There¡¯s no excuse for that. A few flashpoints which we hadn¡¯t accounted for. A [Revel] that wasn¡¯t on record. The Wailer acting up. A [Call To Arms] which should not have reached its conditions. A [Dread] that we can¡¯t seem to pin down. Some woman who¡¯d been sacked, and her son manifested an [Arson] level.¡± ¡°Anything useful?¡± ¡°Do you mean the boy? We¡¯ll pass him off on Pyre. A page¡¯s income would tide his parents over until we let them rehouse.¡± ¡°And the [Call to the Void]?¡± ¡°No word yet. We¡¯re thinking of putting that seer on it: the College magician. What about the [Dread]?¡± ¡°Ignore it.¡± ¡°Understood. Rhode,¡± Brand beckoned. ¡°Your friends downstairs are refusing to surrender to His Grace¡¯s people. That¡¯s who¡¯s on the [Relay]. They claim they will only treat if The Dreadlung is there to advocate for them.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t tell them to do that,¡± Rhode said. ¡°I told them to turn themselves in.¡± ¡°Nevertheless. That is their demand. Will you trust me when I tell you that His Grace is willing, in his mercy, to extend a certain amount of lenience in this matter?¡± ¡°But he said that¨C¡± ¡°I would ask that you set aside certain things which may or may not have been said. His Grace understands the goblin nature of frenzy. There is precedent for a certain amount of flexibility in the sentencing of those pitiable souls caught up in such events.¡± ¡°No, but he said¨C¡± ¡°Your Grace, I believe that you offered Goodeman Irving a chance to win clemency for certain parties who are at hazard for your Justice?¡± ¡°A point system.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t do a point system, Your Grace.¡± ¡°It¡¯s logical. It¡¯s systematic.¡± ¡°And overcomplicated, and there¡¯s always a loophole, Yan. Fine. Goodman Irving, if you help us negotiate the peaceful surrender of your rioters, His Grace will grant you one hundred points of clemency. To be used according to your own discretion.¡± Rhode tucked his knees against his chest, and flicked uncertain glances towards the veil. ¡°What is a hundred points worth.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know. Can we figure that out tomorrow?¡± Brand smiled. ¡°But there¡¯s one more thing.¡± ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°Just one last favor I¡¯m asking you to do for His Grace. Then we can get you off to bed. Just two favors total.¡± ¡°You¡¯re kind of making me feel worried the way you¡¯re building this up, Brand.¡± ¡°Nothing to worry about, Goodman Irving. In fact, I think you¡¯ll be pleased to hear it. The Third Hero is alive. How would you like to help us bring him in safely?¡± An Anti-Climax is Bad for Cardiovascular Health The lesser lord Fidelity Brand leaned on his sword as he stood. His wounded mustache frayed on its severed end, but in time it would regrow. In every way but the one that mattered, Brand¡¯s words weren¡¯t news. In his heart and hopes, Rhode had been chasing after the Third all night. But the homunculus hadn¡¯t seen a shadow, or even much of a hint of his newborn brother. Instead, he¡¯d met Ed. So. Oughtn¡¯t a man be overjoyed to be offered a second chance to reconnect to home? To find another of his own people on the other side of death? ¡°Yeah. I will. Of course I will,¡± Rhode said. There was a towel clumped up within reach, and he swiped it across the floor under him. Ser Fidelity Brand offered his hand out. What kind of person did Rhode think he was? A little silly, a little strict. Demanding, but kindly. Overworked and perhaps underappreciated: a commoner raised by the merit of his deeds to be (at least on paper) a peer of true-born elves. He seemed like someone you could trust. He seemed like a decent gob. But he still wore the orange and black. Rhode took the man¡¯s hand in his grip. As a simple matter of leverage and of comparative size, it shouldn¡¯t have been possible for Brand to lift Rhode up. But leaning on the half-elf¡¯s strength, the homunculus dragged himself slowly to his full height. If the homunculus'' smile wasn¡¯t wide enough, or warm enough as he shook that hand ¨C then maybe that could have been understandable, considering the abused and weary state of his body. ¡°So how¡¯s this going to work?¡± Rhode asked. Brand ever so slightly indicated with his chin, and then turned away from Rhode. ¡°Your Grace,¡± the constable declared. He secured his saber to his belt, with practiced ease, and brought his free thumb to his brow to make a military salute. ¡°With your leave, I will direct Goodeman Irving from here.¡± He knelt, and Rhode sidled up beside him. The homunculus patted tenderly at his aching legs, but before he had a chance to go down to his knee again, the Prince¡¯s voice forbade them. ¡°The Goodeman Irving will await instruction outside. We will address Our constable.¡± ¡°I can just leave?¡± Rhode asked fairly doubtfully. ¡°Refreshments are to be made available. Inquire with Warrant Officer Seng.¡± There was a sour, acid taste on Rhode¡¯s tongue. ¡°Yes, Your Grace,¡± he excused himself. He shuffled backwards, then threw a glance towards Ser Brand. The Constable only expelled him with a harsh whisper. ¡°If His Grace says go, then go.¡± Passing through the shadow caul was more disorienting on the way out than in. The thin layer of darkness felt like a soap bubble against Rhode¡¯s skin, but passing through it was like breaching from underwater into air. Light and sound had been stifled through the barrier: in the adjoining drawing room, they flared into voices and disorienting colors. Rhode blinked as his pupils constricted. Edilberto Santos stood by the hallway door. Gold jewelry hung, heavy and glittering off of his throat and wrists. The [Brave]¡¯s arms stretched lazily ahead, resting provocatively across the shoulders of a woman Rhode did not recognize. She was a full-blooded elf, taller than the Prince¡¯s dour goblin bodyguard. She had her wine-dark hair up in a tight bun, which Ed¡¯s fingers picked at from behind, as if to loosen it. The woman¡¯s colors marked her as a squire-scribe of the Illuminance of Bronze, and her costume was tailored in a prim and professional dress-suit cut. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. ¡°Ser Santos, I need to get you to bed. You have an early start tomorrow.¡± ¡°Come on, won¡¯t you drink with me? The night is still young!¡± the Hero crooned. He swayed gently from side to side with a wide grin, and the young woman reluctantly moved along, guided by his arms. ¡°Ser Santos, I very much would prefer not to drink tonight,¡± she politely refused. Four healers sat in a huddle by the far window, they faced one another, but their attention was only on the Heroes. They did not speak. The Prince¡¯s bodyguard stood a pace away from the [Brave] and his minder. The man¡¯s expression was stony and his hands were raised as he pushed forward at the air, so as to usher them out the door without touching them. ¡°It¡¯s three hours past midnight, and the palace is secure. Squire Moesha will direct you to your room,¡± growled the goblin. Warrant Officer Seng¡¯s eyes flashed over and met Rhode¡¯s. His fingers reached for his wand, and a peaceful expression of relief crossed over his face as his touch brushed his wand, then pulled away. His smile was more open and calm afterwards. ¡°I have to deal with Goodeman Irving. It will be boring for you, and I also don¡¯t want you here. Go to bed, Goodeman Santos.¡± The Hero protested, but the bodyguard insisted; he went so far as to call in the Rifle Captain from outside. In short order, the steady, military sharpness of the soldier¡¯s uniform (and bayonet) proved to be convincing arguments. ¡°Hey Ed,¡± Rhode called out. ¡°Come find me. I still want to talk.¡± <> ¡°As long as you aren¡¯t too busy dying, friend. My man Seng will get you a wheel-chair for next time, you come party and I¡¯ll push you!¡± Edilberto Santos laughed and waved, as Squire Moesha shrugged his other arm off. The guard captain ushered the Hero out from behind as the squire led from ahead. Bodyguard Seng shut the door behind them. Before Rhode spoke up, Warrant Officer Seng clapped his hands loudly. All four healers were on their feet in an instant. ¡°Alright, what are you waiting for. Patch him up,¡± he barked. Rhode was under attack before he knew what was happening. Brother Eloft and Goode¡õ¡ö¡õ¡ö ?i¡õa¡õ were at his side first. A swampy, quinine smell turned the homunculus¡¯ stomach as a healing tonic was shoved under his nose. By habit (a habit he didn¡¯t remember acquiring) he drank it immediately. ¡°That¡¯s for clotting and replacing vital blood humours,¡± Eloft muttered. ¡°Raise your arms so we can bandage you.¡± ¡°[Medicinal Quench], or [Honeyhint Spring]?¡± asked a soft spoken voice. ¡°The [Spring],¡± three voices answered in unison. The military medics had chimed in agreement with Eloft. Painpricks along Rhode¡¯s wounds marked the work of the two unfamiliar doctors as their needles reinforced his torn sutures. A pair of gruesome shears cut off his bloody clothing, then the healers unwound long, resin soaked gauze and wrapped his body uncomfortably tight. Their ministrations were efficient and hurried. The [Honeyhint Spring] tonic occupied a heavy leather wine-skin, and it tasted like pure water with a hint of sweetness. With encouragement, Rhode drank deeply of it. Then he bent forward at their request. It took four goblins to throw a billowy shirt over Rhode¡¯s head. They stepped away as he replaced his leggings with a pair of elephantine hose. Mim¡ö¡õ had to secure his new clothing at his knees with ribbon and string, as the military doctors strung his pants into his shirt somehow and tied the rest of his over-sized clothing tight. ¡°I look ridiculous, don¡¯t I,¡± sighed Rhode. ¡°It¡¯s not so bad,¡± lied ?i¡õai. ¡°It¡¯s the most humiliating thing I¡¯ve seen a grown man wear in my life. Complain about it after you¡¯ve cleaned up the mess you made,¡± Seng growled. The floor beneath the homunculus was ruined, spattered with tacky, clotting ichor. His old clothes lay in a mass thrown in a corner. The glowing crystals which had been laid on top of the tables had dimmed. ¡°We¡¯ll have to do redo his feet,¡± apologized one of the doctors as they backed away. ¡°It can wait until he¡¯s asleep,¡± replied another. ¡°He¡¯s going to need surgery.¡± The grim warrant officer cut them short with a slicing motion of his hand. ¡°Deal with it after we¡¯ve put down an insurrection.¡± Brief anxiety washed over Rhode, and he let it wash over him and recede. He forced a smile. ¡°Thanks everyone. I know I don¡¯t make it easy.¡± Eloft patted Rhode¡¯s arm. ¡°More fun this way.¡± The priest motioned towards the door. ¡°I¡¯d better take him, then,¡± he offered. But he was refused by Seng immediately. ¡°No. Management has determined that Goodeman Irving no longer requires you. The creepy one takes him. Penitent, an officer will meet you at the foot of the Pondwing Stairwell, and he¡¯ll accompany you from there.¡± ¡®Sorry,¡¯ Rhode mouthed. Eloft shrugged back and tapped his arm with a feather-light punch. And just like that, Rhode was led out of the room and out of the reach of shadows. The squad of musketeers stepped aside without a word as the homunculus followed the bouncing curly hair of his sh¡õ¡ö¡õ hornupant guide. They walked and followed the curve of the narrow hall. It seemed so easy. That was why Rhode Mortimer Irving clutched at his racing heart. Not a gram of him believed that he had been forgiven. He was surely doomed and worse, he couldn¡¯t remember exactly why he deserved it. Second Acolyte He had time to clear his addled thoughts. Aging floorboards groaned under his treading steps; Rhode was alone with the sound of his [Bellows] ¨C with the exception of a Hornupant. It was difficult to think clearly. It was harder to consider plans. The wall had eclipsed the last of the musket guard behind him. A thought: was it more useful to measure a path through Four Ring Hill in distance length, or in degrees about the circle? Unimportant. But the Prince¡¯s door should have still been visible. Rhode suspected that the hall didn¡¯t follow a perfect circle. Four Hill was like that sometimes, as rooms varied in size around the circuit of their Halls. There were stranger explanations that one could leap to. But that kind of thinking was overwhelming and unproductive. They passed from the family rooms into a section of servants¡¯ quarters. The furnishing and ornamentation was largely absent, though the walls were painted in meticulous religious iconography. Much of it was faded, and Rhode could not read the heavily stylized script or recognize the depicted figures. Most of the doors he passed on either side of him were shut. The narrow, spoke hallways that connected to Spousal Ring¡¯s inner loop were dim. He was remembering the stairwell he¡¯d blocked on his way to the second floor. It would be impassible, or even ruined. Rhode felt a twinge of shame. He would prefer not to have to explain the damage, and was glad to be headed in the opposite direction. Following a healer-priest, he came to pass an open frame on his left. The door had been removed entirely, with only the unvarnished shadows of its hinges left behind. Rhode peered in and saw an empty space. The walls were stripped of paper, with naked slats of wood and gypsum plaster. Ancient wooden flooring was interrupted by a patch of fresh planks. A hole had been cut into the ceiling and then sealed off. The smell of mold lingered. But Rhode did not stop. ¡°Hey. Are you okay, big guy?¡± an individual asked. Rhode shook off a sense of melancholy. He had to remind himself that he was under observation even now. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I¡¯m just thinking,¡± he answered. ¡°Sorry,¡± they said nervously. ¡°It¡¯s just that you¡¯re usually so talkative, and now¡­ I mean, I understand that ¨C I just want to make sure you¡¯re okay.¡± They were wringing their fingers. It was a nervous tic. Most of the healers didn¡¯t do that. Rhode stopped. He squinted with intensity and leaned forward. She was sort of short, even for a goblin. ¡°Rhode, I really kind of don¡¯t do well with direct attention. You¡¯re making me nervous.¡± ¡°...Mimai?¡± The woman wore a briar-patch of thick curls, cut in a drooping fishbowl shape. She had a soft jaw, and a sharp chin. Though her eyes rimmed with exhaustion, suddenly they lit up. ¡°Big guy, you got my name! Oh dang, Hrogg¡¯s gonna be jealous. See? We keep telling him he¡¯s got to talk to you more. At this point I¡¯m convinced he¡¯s just holding out to spite Father Oud.¡± It wasn¡¯t easy, but Rhode was splitting out vague impressions of persons from his confusing, amorphous impressions of the Hornupants. Because there was one elf, and one girl, and the third one was¡­ he was a strange color, wasn¡¯t he? Rhode obliged his guide by giving her space, and gestured ahead. ¡°I think I know Tuv-un. Which one is Hrogg?¡± he asked. ¡°It¡¯s Btiobhan. Sorry. He doesn¡¯t admit it, but he hates it when people get his name wrong.¡± The two of them couldn¡¯t fit comfortably side by side, so Mimai needed to turn to reply. As they continued together, she occasionally struggled to maintain an even pace. Rhode¡¯s stride was long but exhausted, which made it difficult to match. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°It freaks me out that he¡¯s twice your height, but I still can¡¯t tell you apart.¡± the [Brawn] racked his brain and grimaced. He recalled a distinct hue of russet. ¡°Then is Hrogg the red one?¡± ¡°Please, please don¡¯t um, let that be the way you describe him. It¡¯s just ¨C¡± ¡°How is it so hard to remember him. Because one of you is literally red.¡± ¡°Please, Rhode. I know that for me ¨C oh bones, we can¡¯t be stopping, we¡¯re going to get in trouble. Real quick. For me, I like being overlooked. It¡¯s just a personal thing. But for Hrogg, our aura is a big deal. Most people aren¡¯t nice to [Variants].¡± The homunculus frowned. There it was again: the priest-convict had whispered that last word. The people of Sacred were uncomfortable talking about certain subjects. They were deep seated taboos, and it made him feel uncomfortable too. On Earth, he would have barreled through. He understood human prejudice, and understood challenging it. But goblins¡­ elves¡­ Something about their relationship didn¡¯t fit right. There had been little discrepancies which made him hesitate; to doubt his instincts. He still didn¡¯t know the right way to ask the questions he needed to ask. ¡°Goodemiss Mimai¨C¡± ¡°No, no. We¡¯re friends, Rhode. I think? I mean, sort of. I hope we are, right?¡± ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t know if that¡¯s fair. Y¡¯all¡¯s aura¡¯s really messed with me, and my sense of who¡¯s who of you. Respectfully, the three of you have mostly been a blur to me.¡± Mimai¡¯s ears drooped. She winced. ¡°No. You¡¯re right.¡± Rhode ran his fingers along the ceiling, tracing a rafter that ran just above his head. ¡°Nothing against you. It¡¯s just that every conversation I¡¯ve had with y¡¯all over the last two weeks is jumbled up.¡± ¡°Two weeks?¡± the goblin blinked in confusion. ¡°Oh, no. Right,¡± she whispered. ¡°Right.¡± ¡°And it¡¯s not just you three. Your [Anonymous] thing makes me mix you up with other people, too. Am I even going to remember this? Am I going to remember you?¡± Rhode wondered aloud. ¡°Of course you ¨C okay. Ugh, Btiobhan would be better at this,¡± she groaned, ¡°I do want to talk about this, I do. But this is such a bad time.¡± There was a sharp turn at the end of the hall. The inner and outer circuits of Spousal were joined at a dead end, and an ornate banister came into view around the corner between them. The Rings didn¡¯t have a second floor connection at this junction, just a narrow stair downwards. Light spilled up from below it, and its handrail was carved into images of long-necked birds. Rhode glared at the means of his descent, knowing he was going to have to walk down them sideways. At least it wasn¡¯t another spiral. ¡°Seems convenient,¡± he spoke flatly. ¡°Every time¡¯s a bad time.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not fair either,¡± she protested. ¡°Our aura shouldn¡¯t affect people this badly. It¡¯s not strong enough to hold up when you see us every day, not normally.¡± The floorboards creaked under the homunculus. His hand lay heavily on the banister. ¡°Okay.¡± ¡°Probably the main reason you recognize me is that we¡¯re alone. That¡¯s kind of how it works. [Anonymity] is one of those things that needs other people. It really falls apart if you¡¯re by yourself.¡± ¡°Uh huh.¡± The woman stopped. She looked back up the stairwell at Rhode. Like the other acolytes, she wore an iron ring around her throat, and around each wrist. The yellow robes of her religious order were broken up along her flanks and sleeves with thin vertical lines of black and white. Suddenly, and from that angle, they looked like nothing so much as prison stripes. Bargain Bin Bastille Neither spoke. The stair descended, completely enclosed below until it pitched a sharp turn nearly at its landing and opened up. The corner was inconvenient for Rhode to make, but the homunculus twisted his bulk around it. He was disgorged into the wide, marble and white-wood of the ground floor from a receded alcove. A lone soldier stood there, bearing a small lantern. Its bearer was battered about his fringes, but waited steady at attention. The glow of it was steady, but subdued. ¡°Ser Irving, if we can get going ¨C do you need any help? May I offer you a hand?¡± Corporal Bned was a younger man ¨C with a full head of hair and short ears, but generally unremarkable. Rhode had conscripted him into his rolling band earlier in the night, much the same way a snowball gathers on its way downhill. The soldier was new to his rank, untested. ¡°Bned, right?¡± Rhode regarded the goblin. ¡°I thought I left you with the group.¡± ¡°I can¡¯t stay with them, Ser. They¡¯re still vandals, and I am a man for my colors.¡± Rhode regarded the auburn of the man¡¯s doublet, and the broad slash of pauper¡¯s black which cut down his right side. ¡°Uh huh.¡± He shook his head slowly. He ran his hand along the polished terminal of the banister. The graven bird resembled some kind of fat marsh Heron, but it sported a brutal, Jurassic maw. He scraped his fingers along its sawtooth beak. Now that he was paying attention, Rhode was able to catch the transition where Mimai changed from a distinct and specific person into an other. He frowned. Even though he knew it was coming, he felt his attention slipping off her. Frustrating. ¡°I was sort of counting on you, man,¡± Rhode sighed. He rolled his eyes as the goblin offered his arm. ¡°Naw, thanks. But I¡¯m pretty heavy.¡± ¡°Of course. Then if you will follow me.¡± The way north to the junction was throttled by a darkened archway. Spousal resumed beyond it, and the crossed passages into Ancestral on either side. There was something else there, sealed behind an imposing, iron banded double-door. But Rhode was needed southwards and clockwise, so that apprehending portal fell out of sight and out of mind as he lumbered after Bned. The [Brawn] seemed to surprise his minders with his pace, and one of them fell behind. Along the way, they were occasionally, or even frequently no longer alone. One by one, or by the squad, armsmen of various houses and colors were heading in the same direction. Some of them marched slowly enough to be overtaken. Others were answering their summons with urgent, clattering speed. Those hurried goblins were dropping shoulder pads. Their helmets were on crooked, and their straps were loose. They fumbled with spears and belt buckles as they ran. ¡°With respect, Ser Dreadlung,¡± one huffed. ¡°Egad! What did they make you so big for?¡± cried another. ¡°No really,¡± he insisted to the cudgelwoman at his side. ¡°Look at it, that¡¯s ridiculous.¡± The goblin grew legitimately offended, even as his voice faded away. ¡°Cut him in half to make two, and they¡¯d still be huge.¡± You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. One just cackled as they raced by. ¡°If you¡¯re fightin¡¯ us later, go easy on me, ya! I play dead for ye!¡± But some reactions appeared less spontaneous. ¡°Not actually a Hero,¡± whispered a storeman to a scribe as they pulled away to a courtyard window. ¡°Truly. Heard it from post, and they heard it from records. But the real Heroes are going to be even stronger.¡± And some even less so. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He kind of looks orcish to me. Is it weird nobody¡¯s said that before?¡± declared a valet, somewhat loudly to no one in particular. If he was ignored, he pivoted to someone new. ¡°Don¡¯t you think he looks a little like an orc?¡± he tried again, chasing after a jogging squad. Rhode stopped to glare at the grease-slick coiffed goblin. The man flinched and sputtered quiet. ¡°Ser?¡± Bned hesitated. With a frown, the homunculus stomped ahead. ¡°Not even twenty minutes, got a smear campaign going,¡± he grumbled, then shook his head. ¡°Never mind. It¡¯s not a problem, just seems petty.¡± Obviously, Rhode had noticed the Reprobates¡¯ Barricade some distance before he reached it. A platoon¡¯s worth of goblins were assembling just short of the obstruction, setting down their own lesser emplacement to face it. The light was strong with fresh crystals, along with a few more bizarre sources. A good thirty gobs were milling about, blocking the way. But Rhode had the benefit of seeing over their helmets on the approach. He excused himself politely, and gently directed guards and soldiers aside as if they were dainty pieces of breakable china. Abruptly, one of the goblins spun about and craned his neck to see what he¡¯d been manhandled by. He promptly let out a strangled and unintelligible cry and crumpled at the knees. The disorder was only brief. It took some fair good distraction not to hear The Dreadlung coming, and chance to have missed any of the fellows who announced the creature had been inbound. His existence was barely even a secret anymore; the speed of rumor has always been quick. Rhode lifted his hands reassuringly, but he made no particular effort to shake hands or solicit names. He pressed forward as the small crowd parted for him, and reached the low wall of overturned tables which delineated the soldiers¡¯ side of the fortifications. The cover they had assembled was low, sparse, and shaky. But it was serviceable, and spears could be quick to position across it. But the other side had carpenters. ¡°Hoy, Softy Grand!¡± called out Captain Handsome Fent of Maize-Well Fields Textiles Presents: Spear Squad 2. ¡°Ser Irving!¡± he called again. His helmet waved, stuck out into the open from a partition ¨C A partition in the completely new, corridor spanning, floor-to-ceiling wall. ¡°Hey Fent. Just a second!¡± Rhode stopped just up abut of a toppled fish descaling table. Several of the gobs were taking cover below, leaning against the ramshackle barrier. There were shards of broken crockery on the floor, and a lounge dart was stuck into the leg of an upturned smoking-chair. Nothing so serious. Bned announced them to the commanding uniformed officer: a harried, middle aged gob wearing riding leathers and Viper liveries. But the man waved them on. He was not recognized as a knight within his order, and his authority would only last until a proper elf arrived to relieve him. ¡°I don¡¯t know, man. You seem to be doing a pretty good job to me,¡± Rhode shrugged. He laid his hand on a pornography cupboard to shove it aside; but in respect of his injuries, a handful of goblins scrambled to clear the way first. ¡°Hold fire!¡± Bned snapped. ¡°We are coming through.¡± Proposal on the table. Make a new table. In moments, Rhode took a pillow to the body, and the corporal was struck in the leg by a wet loaf of bread. Harmless. Childish. But still a clear message: We don¡¯t take orders from you. One of the carpenters whirled back behind cover as fast as she had appeared. Higher up, a cook vanished as a small, square panel of cabinet slammed shut on its hinge. But their jape was short lived ¨C a few muffled rebukes shouted out, and nothing further was thrown. Why oh why is it so hard to be excited about craftsmanship? To appreciate the contours of well made, practical objects? Building changes space. Construction redefines volumes. And the grand palace corridor was suddenly terminated by a fortress. Rhode had hardly broken stride. He stepped over a solitary clod of mud that had been spattered over the tile underfoot, and decided the Carpenters¡¯ Union had constructed something of a marvel. The high wall was built as two overlapping sheaves, one side staggered back to pinch a constricted entry corridor between them. The facade of it had the look of a homestead quilt, with mismatched panels and segments from stolen and salvaged woodwork. What was remarkable was how neatly each of the furnitures had been arranged and fitted to one other, creating smooth, flat faces ¨C so that the whole thing was completely solid and vertical up to above the eye-line of goblins. The barrier was neatly flush to either side, with snug seams lined up in ruler-straight precision. Any material which had bars, grates, grilles, or wicker had been reserved for the top section of the barricade. Eyes were visible through those upper gaps, watching from an elevated position within. Someone may have gone a little bit overboard. Turning the corner was like reversing a shirt to uncover all the seams. The back sides of the walls were a chaotic mess of protruding legs, boards and boxes. Precariously on their tip-toes, servants in Malachite¡¯s colors were standing or hanging from those protrusions at irregular heights. Harrowed, they looked outwards or down at Rhode. ¡°How¡¯re you holding up.¡± ¡°How¡¯s it going, I¡¯m Rhode.¡± ¡°No worries, we¡¯re going to get you guys sorted. Sorry I¡¯m late.¡± ¡°Oh hey, I like your scarf. Heeeeeey, cook guy! You and your friend work things out?¡± Bned and another g¡õb¡õ¡ön followed Rhode in. Several of the servants flinched as the homunculus clapped them gently over the shoulder. One fell off the wall trying to shake his hand. The carpenters were less impressed by his arrival. There was a loose circle of them collapsed onto an open area of the floor. A gray old gob was balanced on a stool, where a young woman stood at his side and held his hand for support. Most of the others were cross legged, or even sprawled out on the bare tile. Exhausted, sweaty, tattered and bruised, their faces turned towards Rhode and ¨C TAK. TAK. TAK. ¡°Come off it, Journeymiss!¡± groaned the gobs as Rhode approached. There was a woman still hammering desperately at a wall panel, her cheek was mashed up against the surface, and she dangled a hanging plumb from the other hand. The Union¡¯s cooper pawed through a rubbish pile behind himself. He snatched up and threw an obscenely painted specimen of dishware, and it flew to crash by her elbow. ¡°I CAN¡¯T!¡± she wailed in agony. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, and her nose was flared with her feverish wheezing. She tried to claw at her face, and nearly clocked herself with a finishing hammer. ¡°It¡¯s not PERFECT.¡± Rhode scratched at his hairline to hide his grimace. The woman was bandaged and anemic, but he had recognized his would-be spinal beautician. The Union boss¡¯s face was swollen, even to the point it obstructed his speech. But he made a quiet gesture and a pair of gobs jogged over to seize Rhode¡¯s least favorite wood-carver. They carried her away as she sobbed, and shoved a pillow into her arms so forcefully that she dropped her implements. The boss winced and suppressed a noise. ¡°So. Goodeman Irving. We¡¯re stuck,¡± he glowered. ¡°I guess,¡± Rhode said. Concerned, he glanced towards the garden courtyard. The central green had been open, accessible to the palace through numerous entries ¨C an dreadful vulnerability. But at least the nearest door had been jammed shut with a heavy braced frame. The homunculus clenched and unclenched his fingers, then grabbed Bned¡¯s arm for support (which pitched the young man nearly to fall over) and lowered himself slowly to the ground. ¡°But I think it¡¯s wild how fast you threw that wall up. Really, I wouldn¡¯t have thought it was possible.¡± [Three-Eye]d Captain Fent was grinning as he padded over to join the circle. He flicked a lazy half-salute with one finger: his helmet was under one arm and his spear had been left in his subordinates¡¯ care. ¡°Oh, aye Ser Irving. It¡¯s a right fine bit of wood,¡± Fent agreed. ¡°Us uniforms would be hard-pressed to take it. But.¡± The carpenters muttered and grumbled. Fent chewed on his words for a moment, his wry and lopsided smile cutting wider. Several other goblins were making their way over without speaking: a palace chef was representing the voice of the Malachite servants, a gardener was applying an herbal paste to injuries, a uniformed soldier with shadowed bags under his eyes collapsed beside Rhode, with his sharp sword across his own lap. Rhode noted all of them. He waited for the mercenary to continue. The Union boss spoke instead. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. ¡°But¡­¡± the man croaked, pointing down the open hallway. Spousal hall was filling with gobs, many of which Rhode didn¡¯t recognize. In particular, a good chunk of the remaining Malachite staff had found their way to the barricade. Stripped mattresses and padded cots were laid out on the floor, occupied by injured maids and archivists. The mercs of Maize-Well Fields held back here. They snuck narrow glances about, conspicuously withdrawn among themselves. In the absence of spear-squad 2, the line of defense was surprisingly culinary. Kitchen staff stood guard with knives and heavy pots, side by side with deserters: a unfamiliar three-quarter squad of speargobs in dull brown jerkins and worn-out shoes. They had a little image of a stork stitched on their collars. Altogether, this group held behind and beside Rhode¡¯s upturned couch-chariot, which had been laid out across the hall to constrict traffic. The blockage was short the breadth by more than half, leaving the artery (in the clock-wise, southward direction) as good as wide open. The defenders faced out and raised their weapons threateningly, even as an opposition of armsmen was forming. Those soldiers held back, outnumbered but increasing. They assembled in the Prince¡¯s, in Viper¡¯s and Illuminance¡¯s colors. They were the grains in the hourglass. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you forgot to build a second wall.¡± Rhode snorted. His face fell. ¡°You forgot to build the other side.¡± ¡°Hey now. That is a sturdy piece of work,¡± a carpenter protested. Another one blotted at her forehead with a cloth. ¡°You have to respect the craft,¡± she stammered. Rhode waved away their excuses. A few of the nearby gobs flinched as the shadow of his hand crossed over them. ¡°It¡¯s okay y¡¯all. You still did good.¡± The mood was curled by Corporal Bned. He¡¯d been tactfully ignored, and had kept near Rhode¡¯s side. Losing his patience, the gob sidled and tossed his chin. ¡°At least this way, they only have to take down one wall.¡± ¡°Aye. Tell you what, my crew and I are right ready to put this behind us,¡± Captain Fent declared. ¡°Ser Irving. Tell me ye¡¯ve arranged the surrender.¡± ¡°Now, hold on!¡± protested the chef. ¡°Sorry, I just got here, but I have to say I don¡¯t like the sound of the word surrender,¡± added a gardener. ¡°Shut up,¡± barked the carpenters. Rhode raised a hand and nodded. ¡°Okay. The good news is, I talked to management. I think we may have an agreement.¡± Several of the palace gobs raised their voices again, but were shouted down. ¡°We want to know the terms,¡± sighed the old, wiry-haired carpenter. ¡°Not that we don¡¯t trust you.¡± ¡°No. We don¡¯t trust him at all,¡± growled the Union boss. ¡°Goodeman, we want a member of the Union at the table to negotiate with the Adjutant.¡± ¡°Uh. Don¡¯t hold out on that. I think he¡¯s been demoted,¡± Rhode said, twisting up his mouth. ¡°Although maybe that¡¯s still a little fluid? I¡¯m not completely sure.¡± Young Bned snarled at the carpenters. He stepped closer towards the veteran Fent. ¡°If the Hero¡¯s offering to keep you ingrates from the rope, the you¡¯d think you¡¯d have the sense to take your fortune and thank him for it.¡± ¡°Whoa, Bned! Temper it for a second! Seriously. Alright.¡± Rhode laid a hand on either side, pushing them gently away from each other. The corporal flushed, hunching up his shoulders. ¡°Ser, why are you entertaining them. Their safety is promised. They must remand themselves to us.¡± ¡°Hell no. Because that is one hundred percent stupid. Guys, you are not taking down that wall. Don¡¯t you dare. ¡®Cause we are gonna stall like heck and build the second one.¡± APPENDIX: Cast and Factions Appendix: Glossary Terms ¨C gobbledygook fantasy words: Hero: A visitor from another world. A living inflection point of fate and history. OP Levelhack, unfair, nerf plz. Goblin: A bipedal, fur-less mammal, with opposable thumbs and capable of intelligence and culture. Generally shorter than a human, with a subtle green or yellowish pallor due to a different chemical composition of their blood. Longer, pointed ear tips, and reduced lobes. Fewer flat teeth, and more sharp ones. Significant regional variations in facial features or hue. Common problems with posture, and arthritis of the hands. Vulnerable to extreme mood swings, or obsessive compulsions. The dominant species of their world. Homunculus: An artificial life form created through alchemy. Useful for performing rote tasks in the industrial and service sectors. The Ring: The name of the planet(?) of the story. Mana: Better to think of this as the Polynesian concept of spiritual potency, as opposed to the video game concept of a regenerating magical currency. Mana is intrinsic to The Ring, and always has been. It''s a natural part of the daily lives of all people. Little is publicly understood about Mana: in its raw form, it is an invisible, intangible substance. It seems to be drawn to people, or to specific events and locations. Mana is not considered useful until it becomes concentrated, and the substance transforms into stable, localized adjustments to the laws of nature (see Levels). Most cultures consider Mana to be a limited, strategic resource. Levels: A discrete (usually) "crystallization" of mana which has an effect on the physical world. Innumerably varied. Often unusual. Levels bridge the gap between physical reality and ideas. In common use, the term is usually meant in the context of a person, who is the focus and/or intermediary of this mana. The average goblin in Sacred will accumulate between 8-12 levels during their life. Malady: A level whose effect is distinctly undesirable or negative. Curses, injuries, debilitating mutations, or even simply inconvenient effects may become permanent through a Level. Some scholars believe that Maladies can be used as a foundation for other, unusual but powerful Levels. Goblins are crazy. Mana Starvation, The Cap: Colloquial terms for a person who has Leveled beyond their local availability of mana. Without infused supplements, specialized Levels, or personal accomplishments, Levels will stagnate, or even begin to degrade and unravel. Mutations and Transmutations: Levels can change the body itself, and how it functions. These Levels are often stable, and are most likely to outlive their hosts. Mantras, Mudras, Arts, Glamours, Knacks: Secret knowledge, skills, or even luck. These Levels are ephemeral, taking effect only when expressed. These are the Levels which are most likely to be lost when its host passes. Runes, Cants, Auras and Daemons: Levels which can take on a life of their own. Are often governed by special circumstances. Trinkets/Relics/Heirlooms/Legacies: Levels do not always attach to living creatures. Stable levels will sometimes anchor to objects, or even in some unusual cases, to themselves (see Familiars). Since Levels are often lost when a goblin dies, this can be a bitter setback for a community. The practice of passing down Levels from one generation to the next is a foundational part of (most) goblin culture. Mana Potion, Natural Treasure: Resources which contain a high concentration of mana, in a state which is safer, easier, and more efficient for a person to either absorb or Level from. The Colors: Goblins display loyalty to a noble (see villain) by wearing an article of clothing or jewelry which represents which elf is "responsible" for them. Fighting goblins are usually outfitted with bold colors and designs. A tabard, in the form of a long overshirt, vest, or apron, is a popular military costume in Sacred. Cheap, vivid chemical dyes allow for vivid, lurid colorations on the battlefield. Knight Order: A chartered political organization in Sacred. The four great orders have special legal protections which put them outside the responsibilities of the landed nobility. In exchange, the Knight Orders are required to train, supply, and maintain a certain number of high leveled combat specialists. By law, Knighthood is only available to elves and half-elves. Mamluk: Goblins serving in a Knightly Order due to merit cannot hold title or status. Instead, they are considered dependents of their order, as retainers (see Ward). Cannot own land, or leave Legacies for their descendants. Elf: A bipedal, fur-less mammal, with opposable thumbs and capable of intelligence and culture. Generally human-height, with a slight yellowish complexion due to a different chemical composition of their blood. Longer, pointed ear tips, and reduced lobes. More flat, grinding molars than goblins. National variations in facial features or hue. Longer legs, and straighter spines than goblins. Approximately 2% of the population of Sacred is elven. Half-Elf: A term which indicates a goblin who either looks like, is socially recognized as, or in certain cases actually is, partially elven. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. Vodyonoi: CLASSIFIED Lord: A title of respect. Indicates the addressee is recognized (legally or socially) as an elf. Ser: A title of respect. Indicates a great capacity for violence. Goode: A title of respect. Indicates a goblin of good standing. Goodemen (or Goodewives) are lawfully allowed to own property. Goodemiss/Goodewife: Titles indicating either a young woman or a mature woman. Archaic, originally a recognition of marital status. Considered sexist, but alternatives never seem to catch on. ¡°Goodie¡± is used in the East, but they¡¯re all backwards yokels. Villain: The majority of goblins are uncivilized wretches, landless and uncouth. They are considered dependents of an elf Lord. The Lord is considered the guardian of all villains under their authority. Feral: A goblin that has not been civilized. CLASSIFIED. Also used as a slur to refer to a goblin that does not have a Lord, or to slander a goode goblin by implying they OUGHT to have one. Ward: A title for a goblin who is deemed to be highly accomplished or talented, but cannot be trusted to manage their own affairs. Wards have few legal freedoms, but a (nominally) high degree of legal protections. Abusing Wards is a serious crime. "God": An ancestor spirit of great power or persistence. Every noble house is expected to maintain their own god. Most large settlements will also support a local god, especially if individual goblin families are unable to mister their own. The gods of the major cults inhabit more than one temple or location. Imp: Not a nice word. CLASSIFIED. Factions ¨C so, so many factions: The Project: a secret program to create Heroes, based out of the Kingdom of Sacred. A military and private partnership, staffed with the second-best experts that money can buy, and based out of a dilapidated palace. Sacred: A goblin kingdom. Their government is mostly feudal, a "genetic" autocracy ruled by elves. The territory of the kingdom is vast, stretching across varied biomes and cultures. Generally, Sacred extends across the lands which trace two rivers: the Tyrant and the Penance. Borders the Plentypearl Sea in the South-West. Big. Big as in HUGE. Delight: Sacred''s western neighbor, and most bitter rival. A goblin republic. A reputation as warmongers, hedonists, and goblin-sympathizers. Dread Iris (Fleur de¡¯ Gorgon): The security forces of Sacred are highly decentralized. Members of the nobility are granted legal authority to maintain a certain size or strength of standing force. Due to his office, the Second Prince charters a small private army, and is expected to finance, supply, and house all professional soldiers in his employ. Their colors are Black and Orange. Order of Vipers: The third-most prestigious of Sacred¡¯s four great Knightly Orders, and the newest. Have a big ¡°fan club¡±, nobles who publicly declare their support of the Vipers by adopting similar colors: grays and wintry greens. They are renowned for their alchemists, surgeons, metallurgy, light cavalry, archer corps, duelist sword-style, and their tacticians. F****ing tryhards. Wavelton & Broox: A research institution for magical learning based out of the city of Vice Reservoir. Independent. Unchartered. Slightly illegal, until the royal family grants them a writ. Malachite Earldom: A declining southern territory. Established in Sacred¡¯s remote south-central border jungles by a powerful political dissident hundreds of years ago. Originally, the territory was known for its bronze production. Since then, the Earldom has changed hands, and fallen into financial ruin. The current ruling family, the Tintallines, were royally appointed several generations ago, after the main Malachite family failed (disputed) to produce an heir. The territory is nominally administered from its capitol: Four Ring Hill Palace. Maintained by the hereditary goblin staff: Malachite''s villains. Illuminance of Bronze: The second great Knightly Order of Sacred. A scholastic institution, focused on war and battle magic. Originally a secret society (the first Earl of Malachite was a founding member), the order has since been officially chartered. Known for illustrious facial hair, relic production, and a duplicitous fighting style which combines illusions with fire and force magic. Hornupant Church: An official cult, dedicated to the god of Advantageous and Practical Opportunity. The Church is a well established, but controversial cult, offering a wide variety of services. Their work-rehabilitation prison program is their most profitable, acclaimed, and unethical enterprise. Cult of Dogoda: A charitable organization and theater troupe. Ministers to the poor, administers orphanages, feeds the destitute, and produces entertainment in the maudlin tragedy genre. Their most popular heroine, Lacey Misfortune, has been widowed seventeen times. The Carpenter¡¯s Union: An organized goblin crime syndicate that extorts the nobility, coercing them into paying money in exchange for skilled woodworking. Accused of conspiring to Level villains into Goodemen without permission or oversight. Royal Service: Personal standing forces of the monarch, and the naval admiralty council. Eel and Beacon: The armed forces, and naval ships chartered under the royal heir: the First. Oath of Pyres: THE Knightly Order of Sacred. The biggest, the oldest, and the one that people don¡¯t make jokes about behind their backs - even if they deserve it the most. Isle of Zithers: semi-tropical vassal state of Delight. Previously Sacred. Brassmarket: Independent city-state on the Plentypearl Sea. Enemy of Sacred. Shelters piracy. They¡¯re not even goblin down there. Consensus Building If one might have been conditioned (by the poor habits and conventions of dramatization) to have expected a pointed and stunned silence at his words, they¡¯d have been surprised by the overwhelming chorus of groans. Several of the objections were practical. Every arm was tired. Bruises were turning ripe. Weary heads were nodding off. ¡°Well, maybe I can help a little bit,¡± argued Rhode. ¡°Just to get you started ¨C¡± ¡°Ser, I can¡¯t allow you to strain yourself further,¡± Bned paled. ¡°I¡¯m under order to keep you resting, so that the damage does not maleficate.¡± New to his rank, and surrounded by unfriendly faces, it should have been easy to bowl over the young officer¡¯s concerns. Frustratingly, Captain Fent was proving to support Bned in every argument. If the corporal was brash, the mercenary captain was intractable and darkly intense. Rhode grudgingly withdrew his offer. The dynamic changed again, as the chef stood up to sit next to Fent, who was slowly drifting together towards Bned. Rhode watched it and clawed at his brow to hide his frown. Factionalization. ¡°Guys, here¡¯s the deal,¡± the homunculus coughed. He raised his strained voice to wrangle the course of the meeting back on point. ¡°I¡¯ve been promised we can sort this all out. Personally. Like as a favor. Which is kinda an unethical way to do Justice, but you know¡­ we make do. BUT,¡± he forestalled them again by rapping his knuckles loudly on a nearby dismantled bloodwood panel. ¡°I have a condition, a level. The next time I pass out, or go to sleep, I could be out for days. It¡¯s something I can¡¯t control. But I don¡¯t want to get into a situation where you guys get the gavel, and I¡¯m not here.¡± A hand was raised. ¡°For clarification, what¡¯s the significance of a ¡®tiny mallet¡¯? Is that a metaphor?¡± Rhode pressed on to avoid explaining metonymy and Yankee judicial traditions. ¡°Part of the deal is that it¡¯s going to take time for me to get you guys released. I¡¯m going to have to clarify, but that¡¯s how I understand it.¡± ¡°Yeh? Yeh? What happens to us in the meantime?¡± muttered a jointer stuffily through his broken nose. Rhode hesitated, then respectfully reached over and flicked the carpenter in the ear. He was getting better at this. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m saying. I¡¯d prefer it if y¡¯all could keep in a way that¡¯s safe, with some dignity until we get things sorted out.¡± ¡°Ser Irving,¡± Bned objected, ¡°how is this to be taken except as an insult! These traitors have already been promised their safety. You¡¯re spitting on the mercy of our betters.¡± ¡°Yea? Promised by who? Specifically?¡± Rhode glared side-eyed the goblin, whose mouth snapped shut angrily. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter who it is, ye great wheezing hippo,¡± spat Fent dismissively, ¡°just that they¡¯re in charge.¡± ¡°Fent, listen man ¨C¡± ¡°No Ser. My crew¡¯s had plenty of fun running with ye tonight, and once we fence the loot we stole, I¡¯ll be glad to buy ye a drink. But this is our career, and we¡¯re on retainer.¡± Rhode blinked. ¡°Uh. Wait, I didn¡¯t really ask¡­¡± ¡°No offense to any of ye. But we¡¯re for Maize-Well, and we¡¯re not risking our reputation just to spare the hangman some ¨C¡± At the word hangman, Rhode lurched to stand and didn¡¯t quite make it. ¡°Fent. Yo. Okay, fine. I get it.¡± He slumped back onto his buttock, where a sudden cushion had appeared underneath him. A maid with a sling and an eyepatch skittered away, squeaking apologies. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°We need to speak for ourselves,¡± interrupted the Union boss. ¡°This¡­ creature can¡¯t speak for us. He¡¯s going to cut us out of the negotiations and pick what¡¯s best for us. What gives him the right?¡± ¡°Alright, everybody QUIT.¡± snarled the Dreadlung. ¡±Whatever you¡¯ve got to say, you can stow it a second. Now I didn¡¯t mean to get caught up in this. But I¡¯m here. You guys want in on the negotiation? Good. Fine. Pick one person to represent you,¡± he coughed raggedly, ¡°and I¡¯ll bring you along every step of the way. Now you¡¯ve got my sympathies. You do. But the truth is, a bunch of you guys also messed up bad tonight. People died.¡± The homunculus laid his palms flat on the floor and heaved to his feet. He loomed over the others and jabbed a finger out accusingly. ¡°And you¡¯re all saying you got hosed on your contract. Alright. If that¡¯s true, let¡¯s make it right. But guess what? I haven¡¯t ever seen this contract. I¡¯ve got to consider maybe you¡¯re all the ones who are out of line.¡± ¡°Ser Irving,¡± attempted the carpenters. ¡°Naw, man. This is a tangle, and I¡¯m not sorting you out until I figure out what¡¯s going on. So everything¡¯s on pause. You¡¯re going to wall off that hallway, and set up rooms for your people. I¡¯m going to get you set up with supplies, and get the army guys to hold off. In a couple of days, I¡¯ll do my best to do right by you, as long as you guys deserve it. That¡¯s the deal. That¡¯s MY deal.¡± Captain Fent was grinning. Bned was rotating through any number of facial expressions, as if to see which one fit. The carpenters grew dark, but restrained, while the malachite gobs melted into bright-faced relief. That might have been the end of it. Except, there was one other group at hand, wasn¡¯t there? ¡°I think we should strike now,¡± said the sergeant of Diving-Bird Lake. The soldier had been silent through the discussion, a man of middling age and a slightly receding hairline. He had the look of a ponce on a budget, with knee-high hose and horn buckled, pointed-toe shoes. His middle-section ballooned out in a poof, with that little stork symbol stitched at the collar of his leather jerkin. As Rhode met his gaze, the goblin had an intense, focused expression that was just off center; a fixation that was just crooked of direct. Rhode choked and cleared his throat. ¡°Strike who?¡± he rasped. ¡°This is our best chance. We have the numbers,¡± continued the deserter. He leaned forward eagerly. ¡°The enemy is off balance and exhausted.¡± ¡°Sorry, who¡¯s the enemy?¡± The homunculus had been herding cats. One had gotten loose. ¡°Because enemy is a strong word ¨C¡± ¡°Oh, Hero. Don¡¯t worry. We already know. If you count the six of our fighters. Ten with the sell-spears. Add thirty or so of these gobs as fat for the grinder ¨C we¡¯ll punch through.¡± The other gobs were starting to raise their voices. ¡°Hold on now,¡± pleaded the chef. ¡°With you to lead us to the fishy, we can cut off the ¨C¡± Bned¡¯s hand was at his sword. Fent had backed away and was motioning at his second to bring his spear. The carpenters were pulling tools out of their belts, or scraps of wood. One took off a shoe and brandished it. ¡°Shut the fuck up,¡± hissed the Union boss. ¡°I¡¯m not with him, please, please! I don¡¯t know him, it¡¯s not my fault!¡± cried a steward. The Diving-Bird Lake fellow ignored them all, stepping closer to the homunculus. The whites of his eyes showed. ¡°We¡¯ve been waiting, Hero. For a hundred years, we¡¯ve been praying that you¡¯d arrive, and now you¡¯re here.¡± ¡°Fent?¡± Rhode called out. ¡°I¡¯m missing some context here.¡± He took a retreating step. ¡°Yo man, hold off for a minute.¡± ¡°Cowards!¡± hissed the revolutionary. ¡°The fishies are a rot. Wet and sodden, they cheapen us. They DEGRADE us! This is Sacred! We used to be glorious!¡± ¡°Treason,¡± spat Bned. ¡°Squad up!¡± barked Fent. ¡°Bud, I don¡¯t know you. But it is clear to me you gotta lower your energy,¡± Rhode whispered. ¡°They¡¯re just afraid,¡± rebuked the fanatic. ¡°Cowed. They¡¯ve knelt to foreigners so long don¡¯t believe anymore.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Rhode sighed, ¡°I¡¯m starting to catch up now. But I¡¯m really not on board though, man. You¡¯re coming at me hard, and I just don¡¯t know your geopolitical situation ¨C¡± The Union boss cracked his knuckles, and tilted his head to pop his neck. ¡°It¡¯s always the ones from the boonies,¡± he muttered. ¡°Don¡¯t you understand? This is why you¡¯re here.¡± The soldier grabbed at Rhode, clawing at one arm to hold onto his bicep. ¡°To restore the rightful ruler of our nation.¡± Rhode scowled. ¡°Naw, man.¡± ¡°Oh stuff it, you moron,¡± the white-haired carpenter groaned. ¡°Rightful where? Pyrocaust was a eunuch, and the others all got their heirs purged. There¡¯s nobody left.¡± ¡°Heere layes the Darke Lord, for whome d?th is naught the end. The Once and Future Tyrant!¡± Every goblin present froze completely. Then all at once, they moved in a practiced, reverent gesture. They tapped their thumb to both eyes, and made a cross over their tongue. Rhode spun about his heel. It was all of them doing it, all except for the soldiers of Diving-Bird Lake. ¡°Glory to the Dark Lord. As Great as they are Dead,¡± chanted a chorus of nervous goblin voices. ¡°May they never rise again.¡± Then together, a mob surged up with sudden ferocity. With their fists and feet and anything that came to hand, they beat the sergeant of Diving-Bird Lake and his compatriots halfway dead before Rhode could stop them. Blood Sacrifice Spousal Ring was stained again in the sound of bitter resentments, and the smell of loosened teeth. The heavy texture of a megalithic breathing abraded the bones of the inner ear, and the lining of the bowels. A platoon of soldiers gathered. A scant few minutes turned. Then Rhode Mortimer Irving emerged from the wall in his great quantity. Thump on marble. Thump on carpet. Thump. Thump. Thump. A score of goblins skidded to a halt just under him. They carried iron-knobbed clubs and wire-coiled wands. In a band, they had left their own little barricade behind to storm the larger one. The homunculus regarded them. He had a goblin hanging from his grip, face-up with no more care than for a parcel from the grocers; unceremoniously from the lapels of the man¡¯s coat. That gob¡¯s heels dragged along the floor behind him, and he groaned pitifully. ¡°If you¡¯ll excuse me,¡± Rhode said. The soldiers hesitated. None of these were wearing provincial livery. They wore sturdy metal helmets and the paint of war runes on their skin. Light burned more intense about them: a stinging, scalding radiance, just outside the visible. ¡°That means step aside,¡± Rhode said. The soldiers looked at one another. ¡°Glowy guy,¡± the homunculus stabbed a finger out, ¡°whatever you¡¯re doing, shut it off. Yea, that¡¯s right. You.¡± The soldiers parted. The aura evaporated. Rhode stepped through. A commanding officer had arrived and taken charge, collecting the other officers about him. The goblin¡¯s suit was jet black, and sharply trim. It was sliced up one side in sunset by a precise vertical stripe. ¡°Oh, look,¡± Rhode mused, ¡°it¡¯s you again.¡± Intelligence Officer Weidle neatly adjusted his black leather gloves. His hair was parted, and slicked with pomade. The Viper cataphract stood at his left, and the Illuminance force-adept to his right. His smile went no higher than his nose. ¡°Rhode,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°May we expect your associates to yield, as agreed?¡± ¡°Hm. So what¡¯s your real name, man? Is it Weedle? Whine-dy?¡± ¡°No one knows my real name anymore, Rhode. It¡¯s a feature of the service. Now, are the malcontents subdued, or not?¡± Rhode swung his goblin forward, and dropped the Diving-Bird Lake sergeant onto the floor at Weidle¡¯s feet. The back of the man¡¯s skull bounced off the floor, and Rhode felt obliged to wince after a brief delay. ¡°Here¡¯s the deal. The labor guys have put together a good setup. It¡¯s secure, it¡¯ll be sealed. You¡¯ll be able to put guards at all the entrances.¡± ¡°Why would ¨C keh. You can¡¯t be this thick. We¡¯re not going to do that, Rhode.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not budging on this, Weid. I¡¯ve got more important things to do, things that your boss has personally asked me for, and I¡¯m tired.¡± Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. ¡°Ah, I see. You¡¯re tired.¡± ¡°No, man. I¡¯m not talking about needing a leg rub and a cup of coffee. I mean I¡¯m down a pint or two out of my cardiovascular. I mean I¡¯ve got bruises on my stitches. I mean I¡¯m overdue for magic naptime and I¡¯m on the verge of lights out. Once I go? I¡¯ll be out for days. Now don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯m holding ¨C for as long as I can. But this Level thing is a pathology.¡± Weidle snarled soundlessly. He wavered. The Illuminance made an effort to appear self-possessed, and disdainfully superior. He kept getting snagged on his ruined shield chains. The Viper horseman felt no need to put on airs. He tilted his head and made a series of low hand gestures for Weidle¡¯s benefit: a message that was unwelcome as received. ¡°If you¡¯re changing the conditions of your arrangement,¡± Weidle declared, ¡°a concession is in order.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t consider it changing anything, man. Me and the Prince didn¡¯t shake on a lot of specifics on the how.¡± ¡°Hold on, now there is ¨C the Goodeman has misspoken, there¡¯s no reason to believe that the Prince is in any way directly associated with ¨C¡± Rhode waved off the rebuke. ¡°Come on, man. You¡¯ve got the uniform on. Who else was it gonna be?¡± A grumbling chorus of goblin voices exclaimed in disappointment. ¡°Aw, I bet a half-royal this was a Lady Samina plot,¡± grumbled one. ¡°Gods blight it, I coulda sworn this¡¯d be the sort of scheme the Fourth Duke¡¯d do,¡± cried another as she fished out a handful of misshappen, dull coins to settle her own wager. ¡°Honestly,¡± shrugged Rantikar Nine-Fingers (who sat disgraced on a stool, the breast-flap of his coat unbuttoned and open), ¡°could¡¯ve been the Throne. Using their issue as proxies when their will is impolitic.¡± He shrugged and raised his shackled hands to dab someone else¡¯s blood off his face. The guard at his side raised a cudgel nervously. ¡°What? ¡®S happened before.¡± Weidle glared bloody knives at Rantikar and the others. Talk ceased. ¡°Oh? So we¡¯re gossiping again? Is that what we¡¯re doing? Goodeman Irving, regardless of the party with whom you¡­ ASSUME to have treated with ¨C the hows of fulfilling your duty? Are always implied.¡± Rhode squinted and fixed his lips in a flat line. ¡°Naw man, hows are the thing that you always get in writing.¡± ¡°Enough, Rhode ¨C¡± ¡°Also, I¡¯m going to need you to hook the prisoners up with supplies for a few days. Food, water¡­ I guess you¡¯ll have to work something out for bathroom breaks?¡± ¡°The criminals are going to keep themselves prisoner. And not only are we going to feed them, they have half the kitchen staff and cleaners ¨C¡± ¡°Huh. Yea, sure. Won¡¯t kill you to scrub and cook.¡± ¡°And let them out at their convenience.¡± ¡°Supervised? Or like work out a disposal schedule? Whatever, man. I¡¯m sure you guys can work something out.¡± Officer Weidle pinched the bridge of his nose and turned to pace away. He muttered curses for a good quarter minute and then returned with a smile that was all knives. ¡°Rhode. A good number of gobs died tonight. Seditious disrespect set fire to an elven palace. Malcontention is still smoldering, unpunished right there. If you want us to agree to your terms, there must be ¨C¡± ¡°Sure,¡± Rhode nodded, ¡°I agree.¡± ¡°¨C payment in blood tonight.¡± Weidle¡¯s sneer vanished. ¡°No, Rhode, I¡¯m saying we must make an example from the prisoners before we can consider ¨C¡± The homunculus forestalled him with a chop of his palm through the air. ¡°Cool. Take this dude.¡± He pointed at the sergeant groaning on the floor between them. ¡°We¡¯re going to kill him.¡± ¡°Okay. I assume you will. Meantime, I need you to get me a copy of the carpenters'' contract. And I want a list of all the crimes that these people are accused of. Be specific, and I want to know the normal punishments for that too. And I want it all in writing.¡± "I can''t -" "I don''t mean now. Just get it to me by the time I''m awake." ¡°What we will do to this man: it will not be kind.¡± ¡°Man, I heard you. I said yes. This guy is Bird Lake, right?¡± ¡°...Correct.¡± ¡°They kill anybody tonight?¡± ¡°...Most likely.¡± ¡°And this guy here was in charge of them?¡± Weidle did not reply. ¡°So, excuse my language, but I do not give a shit,¡± Rhode said. ¡°You got him. He can get wrecked. It¡¯s a deal.¡± Details are Boring but Necessary The nettling tap of hammers, and the chuff of saws had started up again. Even with all their levels, the troublemakers would surely wear themselves out soon. Weidle was tempted to turn his [Ear to the Ground] in their direction, but the skill demanded his full concentration. [Keen-Eye] did him no favors either, and he tried to put them out of mind. He was a professional gob. Dedicated. Practical. And under fair-weather circumstances, a quick, adaptable thinker. But situations were not ideal. Management of the vulgar rank-and-file was not his specialty, and his best work was never done in uniform. So far, [Intrusive Suggestion] had won him nothing but a condemned man he didn¡¯t need. [A Shoulder to Lean On] was backfiring in unexpected ways. And leveraging [Deeper In Their Cups] would be nothing less than a disaster, given his target¡¯s pharmaceudical state. This wasn¡¯t what he did. The spy made another decent attempt or two to entrap the Hero, to extort him through guilt or threats. But clever knots are meant for snaring hares. Twine and conspiracy can do little good more than to tie a bear a shoelace. Metaphorically. The problem was, the [Brawn] Hero was simply¡­ in a rotten kind of mood. ¡°Actually, Weid, how about you go send these guys here to fetch up more wood.¡± Rhode clapped his hands gingerly, held in broad, echoing cups. The void between his palms made for a particularly soggy and sucking kind of clap that perturbed. ¡°You, you, and you.¡± Rather than argue over every point (for example, the very sensible and reasonable disarmament of the seditionaries), the monster simply escalated his own demands. His preconditions were growing more extreme instead of less. A dozen soldiers had been sent off to already: pretending to ¡°collect food¡± to appease him. The tendons strained along the back of Weidle¡¯s hand as he curled a fist down at his waist. There were a score of spears, and seven wands which answered to him in this moment. If he gave the order, this farce would finally be over. He bit the tip of his tongue behind his smile; just the minimum to bleed. ¡°You lot may collect some debris from Exhibition Hall,¡± Weidle resented relented. ¡°Be reasonable. And don¡¯t feel the need to hurry,¡± he hissed in a [Focused Whisper] at the trio of his gobs as he sent them off. He brushed at his trouser leg, and tried again. ¡°In exchange, I think it would be in the best interest of the safety of the individuals if we stationed some of our guards inside ¨C¡± ¡°Who are those guys?¡± Rhode¡¯s arm swung up and goblins leaned to avoid his point. A door had swung open into an adjoining chamber. Four kneeling figures wavered drunkenly on the floor. Half-rotten burlap sacks covered their heads. Soldiers grabbed the ropes which tied the prisoners together in a chain from their wrists, and yanked them teetering onto to their feet. Weidle turned, slow and deliberate. ¡°Those are the persons who tried to kill you in the garden, Rhode,¡± he said flatly. The homunculus nodded and hitched his thumb over his shoulder. ¡°Okay, they go behind the wall too.¡± Weidle choked. ¡°You can¡¯t possibly be serious.¡± ¡°Well then, stop asking me for stuff I¡¯m not gonna give you.¡± ¡°You cannot send every single idiot free just to spite us.¡± ¡°Man, don¡¯t misconstrue. Send. The. List. Of. Crimes. Everything else waits. End of conversation.¡± The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Merchant Ux of Horse Hoof Creek flinched as the bag ripped off his head, and rough fibers cut his cheek. He stood alongside his living brother, and two of his surviving cousins. Their bodies were a canvas of blunt trauma. Their eyes looked out blankly, and they shivered feebly. ¡°That¡¯s so unnecessary ¨C okay, can you guys behave yourselves for a few days?¡± Rhode required of them. ¡°We¡¯ll set you up with folks who¡¯ll take care of you a bit. They¡¯ll patch you up some, and make you a place to sleep. Now, I¡¯m not setting you free. I just want to make sure that whatever you¡¯ve got coming to you is fair. We¡¯ll talk later, okay?¡± ¡°Thank you Ser,¡± Ux slurred, ¡°thank you.¡± Weidle protested, but at this point it was just for appearances. He and Rhode watched as the men were escorted to the wall, and as a brace of Malachites in their pajamas appeared. The pair brandishing sewing needles to take custody of the merchants and retreated just as quick. ¡°We done?¡± the homunculus growled. The spy stood at attention by Rhode¡¯s elbow. They faced out, oblique to each other. ¡°I¡¯m going to have to order battle-mages to do menial scribe work. But yes. We¡¯ll have the materials you described delivered to your room. Happy to comply, surely you will find no impediment whatsoever in being unable to read.¡± ¡°Thanks, Weid. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll figure it out.¡± Ending the matter, Rhode placed a hand on the shoulder of the Prince¡¯s man. The gob rocked unhappily under the weight. Rhode Mortimer Irving was feeling peaceful. Or maybe, just so blindingly angry that he¡¯d reached into negative numbers and wrapped around to reverse. It was functionally the same. He watched as Officer Weidle snapped out orders. Corporal Bned had not returned from the wall yet, which left the Hero without another escort. Goodeman Tinc of the Black Service was called out, as was Ward Noffet of Viper.They were smart selections. The barber had ¡°treated¡± the homunculus before and was familiar to him. Tinc had been caught up in Rhode¡¯s procession, and carried himself with a working-class demeanor. A single spear-gob was assigned alongside them: a stranger. His tabard was faded and weathered, but his weapon was honed razor sharp. That was true of his gear and self generally: a man losing his tint but not his edge. Rhode would never get his name. The man spoke near to nothing. He refused any overtures or conversation, and followed at a watchful remove at all times. The arrangement wasn¡¯t worth fighting. An arriving runner wove through soldiers to reach them. ¡°Sers,¡± coughed the page, slowing to a stop. ¡°We¡¯ve procured an invalid-chair.¡± Rhode allowed his barber to handle him. To check his bandages. He smiled in amusement as a broad wicker love-seat appeared. The thing had been nailed onto a square pallet, but that pallet glowed in flickering violet light along its edge. The squire of Illuminance made a circuit around it, tapping each geometric rune with his rod. The gap between the flat bottom of the platform and the floor was less than a pie-crust. But it was hovering nonetheless. The Dreadlung let himself be settled into place. He closed his eyes, and inhaled a deep and steeling breath. Then he turned in his seat, and punched his arm towards the sky. ¡°Thanks for your hard work, everybody. Have a good night. Betray me and I¡¯ll squish you.¡± Ser Irving faced forward as his minders pushed him away. With a bit of distance, he suppressed his shudder as he felt the insidious claws of Weidle¡¯s skills lose their grip on his brain. But he¡¯d faced worse, and he¡¯d face worse again. Closing his eyes, he reminded himself again that he wasn¡¯t alone. Then he reached into his breast pocket and waited. Its not that I dont trust you.... North and Counterclockwise, Rhode was pushed along by his minders. The novelty of being planted on top of a magic, floating palanquin carried just about 15 yards. It sunk under his weight. It scuffed against the floor at the slightest change in balance. Barber Noffet had struck up immediately with Rhode as they set out. Fast out of their reunion greetings, the man had jumped eagerly into describing an amputation he had performed early in the evening. Then a warbling, muffled noise sounded out. ¡°Did you say something?¡± Barber Noffet asked. ¡°Sorry, it¡¯s nothing. Let me just shut this thing off a second,¡± Rhode muttered. ¡°Ser Irving, may I ask you a question?¡± ¡®Gardener¡¯ Tinc asked. The man was still in his working leathers, which were like a two piece set of overalls. He was stained with dirt and chlorophyl about the knees and hems, and his trowel was at his belt: worn more like a knife than as a tool. ¡°What was the point of all that? All that fuss. Was it worth it?¡± Rhode¡¯s head tilted back, eyes half-closed and his hands folded up rested on his belly. The stiches crinkled up along his nape. ¡°If even one of those people is innocent, don¡¯t you think we have an obligation to protect them.¡± ¡°No,¡± the spy answered. ¡°Well, think of it this way. Don¡¯t you think that if someone does a crime, even if they ought to be punished, that it needs to be proportional to what they did wrong?¡± Tinc snorted. ¡°Why?¡± he laughed. ¡°Who would bother?¡± chuckled Barber Noffet in agreement. Rhode shut his eyes and his nostrils flared. It made him feel like a vacuum cleaner. Would dust become a problem in the long term? He¡¯d have to ask Eloft about it. The landing for the hidden pond-wing stair arrived, along with junction to Ancestral. The arch into the crossway was ornate, a somber limestone thing of grasping hands holding the tools of civilization, and faces with covered or missing eyes. The junction itself was dark, paneled in thousand year heart-wood from tar-blooded thorned cocobolos. The gravely vestibule was choked in area, overwhelmed by a great sealed door between the west exits. The ceiling arched high and pierced into the space of the second floor, where an overwhelming choir of regal figures were carved in miniature and suspended by impossibly thin framework of concealed supports. ¡°I thought it was nice idea,¡± she said quietly. Tinc flinched away, then shook his head as he remembered. ¡°Come on,¡± Tinc motioned to the one on his left. ¡°If you¡¯re here, you might as well push.¡± Rhode watched the door pass behind him. He reached out and ran his palm along the archway exiting into the north rim of Spousal, bright and open. ¡°This isn¡¯t something you thought about? Where you grew up?¡± ¡°Where I was raised?¡± Tinc mused. ¡°No. I don¡¯t recall we thought that way. Crime was to something you endured, or else you extinguished.¡± The platform was stalling, so Tinc made a sound of disgust and took back over. The warbling sound reappeared. But this time it grew clearer. Rhode leaned to the side and dug into his pocket. The [Relay] whined. The voice it produced was lossy and off-key. ? I repeat. This is Field at central obstruction. Acknowledging. The paperweight is clear of trash heap. Paperweight is on its way to retreival two. Confirm, Operations. ? ¡°Ser Irving,¡± Tinc¡¯s voice cracked. ¡°Where did you get that?¡± Rhode shushed him ¨C a full bodied, soundless intensity of gesture. ? That is very well, Goodeman Weidle. I, Lord Reliance, confirm receipt of your report. The Goodeman Irving is eagerly awaited at ¨C ? If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ? With respect, Operations, please observe the agreed-upon radio security procedures. ? ? Ah. Yes. Of course¡­ Field. I will endeavor to conform to the etiquette of this device.? ? Ahoy-hoy. Whatsa paperweight da codeword for? ? ? Get off the line, Corporal Ikbi, or so help me I will have you flayed, ? snarled Weidle. Rhode put his thumb against the tines of the [Relay] and the device cut out. ¡°Oh, nifty. Is that what they¡¯re using now,¡± commented Noffet. ¡°What an interesting item,¡± Tinc bleated dumbly, ¡°that I am heretofore unfamiliar with.¡± Rhode flicked his fingers lazily into the air. ¡°Keep it down, Goodemen. Y¡¯all can¡¯t talk while it¡¯s on. Be careful.¡± Tinc lagged behind, and Rhode tilted off course before the gardener corrected his course. ¡°I am very curious where you would get something like that,¡± he insisted. He made one desperate, lunging attempt to snatch at the [Relay] before Rhode shoved him away with an open palm. The five of them were no longer alone. Porters and pages were clearing damage to the hall. They came alongside a gathering pile of sodden, charred furniture. It reached nearly to the ceiling, and a light and cooling steam gathered about it. The working gobs watched Rhode go by without speaking. The insurance adjusters stood there overseeing the work. Two of them, an omen in their dark, fine suits. Rhode shuddered as they went by. Instead of answering the question, the Hero flagged down a familiar face. A greying, scar-faced goblin woman was slouched, resting on top of debris. Watching her peers with hooded eyes, she took restrained sips from a flask. The homunculus called out to her, and she scrambled to her feet. ¡°Hey, I know you,¡± Rhode said cheerfully. ¡°Goodemiss Cuin! Come here, I need some help with something.¡± The soldier broke out into a cold sweat, and forced a smile over the gap in her teeth. ¡°Ser, of course, Ser. Anything I can do for you Ser.¡± ¡°Great. Goodemiss ¨C¡± ¡°Ser, that¡¯s kind of you, but really. I¡¯m no goode.¡± Rhode frowned. ¡°It¡¯s just that, you know, earlier tonight. Ser, can we talk?¡± She squatted close to his side. ¡°There might have been a misunderstandin¡¯, Ser.¡± Her eyes flicked towards Tinc and Noffet. ¡°Maybe later, Cuin. I actually really need somebody to do me a favor, right away.¡± ¡°Oh. Well any goods you want have gotta be above-board. ¡®Cause I¡¯m a reputable gob, Ser.¡± ¡°¡­Yea. No, do you know the south court entrance to Spousal through the big middle sports green?¡± ¡°Right. Yes, I think so.¡± ¡°And Exhibition hall?¡± Tinc wasn¡¯t interrupting, but he was making rude little sounds. Cuin eyed the other gobs with misgiving and nodded. ¡°I need you to go run out to Exhibition, and the kitchens. Grab as much wood as you can, and food. And you¡¯re going to run it all through the garden and around back into the Ring. You gotta be quick, and you can¡¯t take Spousal down the North way.¡± Tinc¡¯s voice cut off into a sudden yelp. He had tripped on someone easy to overlook. ¡°Sorry,¡± ¡õ¡ö¡õ squeaked. ¡°They¡¯ll be easy to find once you get there, but you¡¯ve got to go quick. They said they need a lot. Two hundred squared feet worth.¡± Cuin scratched nervously at her jaw. ¡°That¡¯s far too much for me to carry, Ser.¡± ¡°Rustle up a squad. The amount is less important than the timing. Can I trust you?¡± ¡°Uh¡­¡± the soldier hesitated. Rhode leaned forward, one elbow across a knee. ¡°Don¡¯t look at him. None of these guys have thingies, right?¡± He made a pinching motion at his shoulder, where an officer might wear their pips, and he swiped a line out along it. ¡°So officially, you should take orders from me?¡± ¡°Probably?¡± the goblin hedged, the gap wide from her missing teeth. ¡°Awesome. But you gotta go now,¡± the homunculus coughed. He clapped his hands and startled her into motion. ¡°Now, right, now!¡± he shouted as she wheeled about and ran. Appeals to Authority are a Fallacy for a Reason Barber Noffet picked at his nose as he watched the small-town soldier run off. He plucked and flicked away a wiry nostril hair. His other hand came down in a fist and bounced testily against the back of Rhode¡¯s seat. ¡°I should have stopped you from doing that,¡± the barber sighed. ¡°Give me the [Relay], Rhode!¡± shouted Tinc. The homunculus held his arm out high and far out of reach. ¡°I just want to say, you saw me trick her. That was clearly my fault, not hers.¡± ¡°This isn¡¯t a joke.¡± Tinc burbled as a giant palm pressed into his cheek. He freed his head and ducked under Rhode¡¯s arm. ¡°Can¡¯t you see there are going to be consequences?¡± The homunculus blocked with his elbow. ¡°I do know, man.¡± ¡°Do you?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± Rhode shoved back on Tinc again; [Earthroot Stance] surprised him and pushed right back. The chair wobbled. The goblin staggered. There are always things that we cannot say aloud to one another ¨C mutual conspiracies we preserve in service of the monster we call civility. Tinc spoke of consequences, but he wasn¡¯t talking about Rhode. Rhode knew that ¨C and Tinc knew that Rhode knew, and so on. But that¡¯s the nature of words spoken: to acknowledge it, to say it out loud would make it real. So Rhode chose to misunderstand. ¡°Buddy, you¡¯re acting like I haven¡¯t died before. I¡¯m an old pro ¨C¡± the homunculus was seized by a fit of coughing, cutting off Tinc¡¯s reply. ¡°We can argue all you want, but I¡¯m losing my voice.¡± The barber took hold of pushing Rhode¡¯s pallet, cornering out his fellow, and shoving harder than necessary at the chair-rest to propel him. ¡°Ser Irving,¡± the middle-aged goblin said through grit teeth. ¡°Stop getting me into trouble.¡± Rhode yelped as his care provider jabbed at a bruise with a sharp fingernail. He leaned to escape a second stab, and swatted the man¡¯s hands away. His pocket was buzzing gently again. ¡°Two seconds, guys,¡± Rhode announced. Making a circle with his thumb and forefinger, he flicked his [Relay] back to life. He made a flat, depressing gesture with his hand to call for restraint. ¡°Don¡¯t talk. Shush.¡± ? - Repeat. This is Field. Confirm, South. Advance to clean the Trash Heap. South. Confirm. ? buzzed the [Relay]. ¡°Hey Tinc, you don¡¯t think Weid would lie to me, would he?¡± Rhode whispered. He let out a pained chuckle. ? What was that? South, was that you? Repeat, this is Field. No one else should be on the line. South, reply. Are you ready to clean the Trash? ? Tinc made another effort to grab at the [Relay] in vain. ¡°Ser! He has the ¨C OOF.¡± ? I will put screws through your thumbs if you are playing games. Who was that? Birdwatch? Roundabout? Rental? Announce yourself now. Central, this is Field. Get me the status on South.? ? This be Rental, boss-man. That weren¡¯t us. ? ? Birdwatch is still Birdwatch. Would love to get that Paperweight soon. Status unchanged. ? ? Whoa, now. Don¡¯t blame us. We¡¯re smooth on Roundabout. ? ? South, confirm. Rental, this is FIELD. WHERE IS SOUTH.? ? With respect, Ser. Ye should know that Rental¡¯s been routed off to help handle Gate.? ? With respect, Rental. Who in the everliving FUCK authorized that.? Rhode cleared his throat, urgent as he recognized Captain Fent¡¯s voice, and Weidle¡¯s rising fury. ¡°Hey Weid, it¡¯s okay. I told them they could go,¡± he said. ?¡­ ? ¡°They didn¡¯t even want to be there to begin with,¡± Rhode continued. ¡°They didn¡¯t really belong at uh ¨C at Trash Heap. It was starting to be a problem. We agreed it would be better if they left to help out somewhere else.¡± If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ?¡­ ? ¡°Sorry, man. This is Paperweight. I¡¯m pretty sure. I just wanted to clear things up.¡± ? Central, this is Field requesting a line shutdown for maintain-ing. Paperweight, if you¡¯ll please exuse us for a moment.? The sound of buzzing voices cut out, and the ringing tines attenuated quick down below audible. Tinc glared, a wild flash in his eyes. He whirled towards their trailing guards-gob. ¡°A little help, perchance? He isn¡¯t supposed to have one of those.¡± The spearman shrugged and shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t do that.¡± His chin tilted towards his weapon. ¡°I do this.¡± Noffet sighed. ¡°I¡¯m not going to get into a wrestling match with a patient. Damage is done already. You don¡¯t have any more tricks up your sleeve, do you, Goodeman Irving?¡± The hover chair had sunk a micrometer. It scraped across the floor as Ward Noffet leaned in and shoved it back into motion1. Rhode lay his hands folded in his lap, eyes closed. ¡°Maybe a few more,¡± he murmured serenely. The gardener pressed his face so hard into his hands that the front plate of his skull hurt. ¡°That isn¡¯t funny,¡± he said. And it wasn¡¯t.
Wait. Stop. We¡¯re missing some context. Let¡¯s roll things back and revisit the scene of the Reprobates Barricade eleven minutes prior. Pale tile underfoot. Sawdust and finishing nails aside in shallow piles against corners like snowdrifts. There was a ruckus of working folk, tangled up in one another, punching and clawing. The boys of Diving-Bird Lake were the focus of it, each of them wilting under the sudden attack of their peers. Their sergeant was struggling to break the grip of an [Antique Restorer] and a wardrobe clerk on either of his wrists. He pleaded and rebuked them, and had a plucked tuft of someone¡¯s hair in his fist. Rhode stood a step back from them with a grimace and scratched at his chin. ¡°I¡¯m clearly missing something here,¡± he muttered. He spared a look down at Bned. The corporal was splayed across the floor, stunned from a blow to the jaw. He was probably okay, Rhode hoped. Softly, the homunculus reached out and grabbed the back of a servant¡¯s suit-coat. He drew the dark-haired goblin away, flailing, cursing, and heels dragging. Unfortunately, he was not going to stop the fight that way ¨C not alone. Seven provincial radicals in uniform were scrapping with twice as many gobs: a mess that would not be split gently. Back at the wall, a maid with a throwing dart was several rungs up and perched split astride two table legs. Her knees wobbled violently from strain as she peeped out through a hinged cabinet door. ¡°Be quiet, ye numbskulls!¡± she hissed back at them. Like children feuding after their bedtime, twenty goblins made a commendable effort to carry on just as bitterly, but at a tenth the volume. So far, no one in the center of the brawl had drawn a weapon. But a few gobs carried knives at their belts, and a few planks of wood were bobbing overhead, being hoisted at the outside and making their way in towards the fight. If any of these elements couldn¡¯t make a sum enough of trouble, every able body had been pulled away from watching the weak clockwise barriers. Rhode glanced down the open south hall where the Prince¡¯s soldiers were mustering. In summary, all the ingredients of disaster were in the pot, and only waiting for the simmer. Rhode jerked his thumb towards Captain Fent, rolled his eyes, and tilted his head. While three of the Maize-Well Fields crew had joined in against the soldiers, ganging up and pummeling on a tall, hearty soldier lad, the rest of the mercenary squad had held back with their leader. The three eyed gob rolled his shoulders and slapped his helmet, then ushered his subordinates reluctantly forward to beat some civility back into the occasion. Then the homunculus played the best card he had available in a situation of danger and uncertainty. Pushy forthright politeness. ¡°Excuse me,¡± he called out, cupping his hands about his mouth to direct his voice. ¡°Hey, you all. Get over here. Soldier guy. Y¡¯all mind helping us out for a second?¡± The Prince¡¯s man didn¡¯t have the buttons of an officer, but he wore a hat and by that metric was clearly in charge. The goblin had a weathered face, whiskers in the style of a fashionable goat, and a tint of jaundice with liver spots. But more importantly, the man had produced a bright silvery metal fork from a hinged wooden case. He had it in his hand and was raising it towards the side of his head. ¡°Hold up! Hats!¡± Rhode called, nudging a goblin aside with his elbow (unintentionally bowling him over to the ground) and shuffling as fast as his stitches would allow. ¡°Officer! Goodeman! You! Seriously, come here. Bring your guys!¡± The homunculus clapped his hands, fast and sharp. He ushered the soldiers in and past him, but held out a palm and forced the man with a hat to a stop. ¡°Ser¡­¡± the soldier said squinting. ¡°Hi. I¡¯m Rhode. I¡¯m the Hero. Summoned from beyond death and the universe to change the course of fate and nations. What¡¯s your name?¡± ¡°Uh,¡± blinked the soldier, ¡°I¡¯m called Rold Jik.¡± Rhode could not help but look down at the metal device in Goodeman Jik¡¯s fist. ¡°Very cool. Very cool. You look like a northern guy,¡± he guessed. ¡°You from north-country? You kind-of have that¡­¡± he waved his huge hand about in a circular motion. ¡°...complexion. Forgive me if that¡¯s rude.¡± ¡°My father,¡± Goodeman Jik hesitated. He leaned to the side to see what his soldiers were doing and Rhode stepped slightly to the side to block him. ¡°Dark towards the sea, amber towards the mesas, green past the mountains?¡± the homunculus asked. ¡°Generally¡­ Ser, I¡¯m under orders.¡± ¡°No problem,¡± Rhode relented. ¡°But you¡¯ll help me get this fight broken up? These guys are out of control.¡± ¡°Yes, but I really must report this.¡± ¡°You know - actually, let me take care of that for you,¡± Rhode smiled. He reached out slowly and pinched the tines of the [Relay] between his thumb and forefinger. Gently, he pulled until the goblin let go. ¡°It¡¯s okay. Here, do me a favor,¡± the homunculus comforted. He produced a warm, glowing sunflower-hued crystal, one of the healing stones that he¡¯d stolen from the Prince, and thrust it into Rold Jik¡¯s empty hand. He wobbled the [Relay] up high and out of reach. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of this, and you hold onto that thing for me. I¡¯m worried it¡¯s expensive. Meantime, can you go help your people settle that mess over there?¡± He gave Jik a gently slap on his shoulder to set the man stumbling towards the dispersing fight. ¡°And try not to hurt anyone too bad!¡± he called out after him. The homunculus watched with a placid expression as the brawl was being forced apart, until a buzzing noise caught his attention. ? South, this is Field. Wake up. It is mandatory to report any changes in status to your assignment. Repeat. South, we¡¯re not deaf. What is happening at Trash Heap?? Rhode flicked the tines, then pinched his nose shut with one hand and threw his voice to as unrecognizable a pitch as he could manage. ¡°Just a tantrum, Field. Over what color to paint it. Nothing useful yet,¡± he said. Then he sighed, shoved the device into his pocket, and followed to put a stop to the fight. Once the Diving-Bird Lake boys were subdued, and order restored, Rhode shook the hands of the Prince¡¯s soldiers one by one and cheerfully implied that they¡¯d committed treason. From there, and with a few slightly dishonest suggestions, he encouraged them to believe that it was in their best interest to help the carpenters build their southern wall. Fent hadn¡¯t stopped him. But the mercenary had run out of his patience. ¡°Ye be taking this too far. We can¡¯t be party to this,¡± he growled. He pulled Rhode aside. Spear Squad 2 stood geared and at attention behind him. ¡°Naw, you¡¯re right,¡± the homunculus apologized. ¡°You¡¯ve already done enough. Get your crew out of here, and I¡¯ll try to cover for you.¡± A soldier ran by with a stack of planks in her arms. Her uniform jacket was stripped off and her shirt-sleeves rolled to her elbows. Mortal fright was plastered across her face. Rhode and Fent watched her go by. ¡°They¡¯re tired, not stupid. They¡¯ll not stay fooled long,¡± the captain warned again. Rhode wiped at his eyes. He waved a pair of carpenters over, and the two of them huffed red faced as they carried a flat door between them. Two groaning, uniformed goblins were stacked on top of it. ¡°Yea. Yea. Just do me a favor. Take Jik and Bned with you. Bned¡¯s fine, I guess he just took a [Daze] by accident. But I think Jik broke his arm. A broken arm shouldn¡¯t be so bad, right? I¡¯m pretty sure. I trust you. You¡¯ll figure it out.¡± Fent glared. Rhode turned his head aside. The carpenters exchanged a look and carefully retreated. ¡°Things got pretty hectic there for a second,¡± the homunculus murmured. A bead of sweat appeared at his brow, and slowly crawled a track downward.
Its good to see you. Its like you never left. That was what happened, at the time that it did. And even though there were some small conversations and quiet warnings that came afterward, it is quicker to summarize them:
  1. Hold here. Guard the walls.
  2. Do not willingly surrender unless I come back. Ask for me.
  3. Cooperate in every way possible that won¡¯t break with the prior two requests.
  4. I will be gone for a week. Maybe less, but hopefully not more.
  5. I¡¯ll try to send help if I can.
  6. Gross. Don¡¯t chew on that.
Since we have already visited the moment when Rhode forthed out the barricade with his prisoner in tow, we will spin the dial ahead: through his exchange with Weidle, and progressing ¡®round about seventy-two degrees of Spousal Hall. Rhode flicked at the inert tines of his [Relay]. It made a hollow, short-lived plunk. Then he reached over and flicked a fingernail across the back of his other hand. Dulled by his medication, his tiny little flagellation didn¡¯t have the desired effect. The homunculus¡¯ eyes were still shut. His breathing was slow and heavy. ¡°Hey Noffet. Goodeman, do you have any hobbies?¡± he asked. The barber¡¯s face pinched in confusion at the change of subject. ¡°What? What do you mean, Ser Irving? Why?¡± ¡°Hobbies. Like, things you do for fun or relaxing. In your spare time during holidays, vacations, or rest days,¡± Rhode spoke precisely. The marble and carpets below them gave way to creaking hardwood floors at the intersection of Leisure Ring, and then back to the cold echoes of stone as they crossed back out. There was a sound of shuffling arms and armor, the swift snap of a salute. But Rhode¡¯s companions were alone in making footsteps. The acrid haze of half-spent fires irritated his nose, mixed up with the chemical solvents that had snuffed them out. But there were no bustling sounds of repairs or cleanup as Rhode closed on his destination. Tinc was trailing behind and sulking. He kept spinning his trowel in his grip, making a game or an exercise of it. Still, he was listening. ¡°Holy day,¡± the gardener murmured. The phrase was clumsy and longer in their language. Ward Noffet huffed. ¡°If you¡¯re asking about what we do for festivals, I¡¯d say it depends on which one.¡± The barber paused. He whispered a half-formed question to Tinc. Then he went on to explain more clearly. ¡°Some are parties. Some are serious. The best ones, you drink. Almost all of them have food. But it¡¯s a different question if you¡¯re asking if I practice a hand-craft. I like carving whistles? My neice has a few kids now. They make decent presents. I like volunteering for mutilations too. Amputations and disfigurements. Little things. You know, for public service and all that. I hate doing eyes, but fingers are fun,¡± he droned. ¡°Uh huh,¡± Rhode said. ¡°Those are rare,¡± Tinc added suddenly. Rhode¡¯s face was impassive. ¡°It is true,¡± she assured the homunculus. Her hand patted Rhode¡¯s arm gently. ¡°It still happens, but it is pretty rare, most places.¡± But the trailing soldier chose that moment to comment. ¡°Happened to my cousin,¡± he offered casually. ¡°Tresspass in the Baronet Nursing-Dew¡¯s garden. Stole some fruit. Schwip, pop! Snipped his feet off at the ankles, real neat-like.¡± Mimai¡¯s hand withdrew and became unimportant. ¡°Hmmm,¡± Rhode said. Shards of porcelain crunched underfoot. The larger pieces were caught in the lip under Rhode¡¯s platform; fragments wedging beneath it. They chimed as they were kicked free aside. The goblins argued about whether a baronet had broken the law in punishing a villain under his authority. They raised conflicting opinions on who was responsible for holding the baronet accountable if he¡¯d overreached. They came to the edge of shouting, but to no conclusions. Rhode opened his eyes as his conveyance ground to a halt. The walls had grown narrow, still rich but less grand. The ceiling was completely open up into the second floor. A gallery style landing with looked down on him, unlit and gloomy. Either side was lined with a bright copper bannister rail and bridged by occasional narrow walkway crossings. On the ground level, quaint cabinets with shattered glass faces spilled out small ceramic mementos of family pets, long dead. Dessicated old flowers curled out of glass vases. On an unbroken shelf in an otherwise crumpled vanity, a golden, filigreed medallion presented on a dainty stand right next to a battered and cheap wooden toy. Fine treasures set next to knick-knacks. This part of the palace wasn¡¯t meant for impressing guests. It was personal. It was intimately familial. Still, these qualities (like all things) are relative. Even ignoring all the damage, the place was still filthy with inlaid pearl nacre ¨C still studded unnecessarily with semi-precious stones. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. A rack of huge ink paintings were unceremoniously stacked against the wall. A hole had been punched into the lower corner and straight through the lot of them. ¡°Finally,¡± croaked Father Oud. The portly goblin wore his silk nightgown, draped hastily over with a coat. Though the man was accustomed to excess, and his station, now the color of his cheeks was drained, and his whole presense was wrung out and hollow. Seven soldiers were behind him arrayed guarding a narrow door. Four of those were seated on the ground playing a silent game of cards over a small pile of coins, but their eyes were hard and their poleaxes were near to hand. Oud¡¯s folded thistle-down kerchief was embroidered with a salacious image of one of his mistresses. He wiped his forehead with it, and tucked it away. ¡°Is he functional?¡± demanded the priest, ignoring Rhode. ¡°I¡¯m alright, Oud. Managing, anyway. Thanks for asking,¡± the monster said. Father Oud pinched at shut eyes, and exhaled a steadying gale from his nose. He glanced at Noffet, and then directly at Mimai. ¡°Good,¡± the priest said. He reconsidered. ¡°That is well, Goodeman. ¡± He reached back and waved to usher a tall figure forward. An elf was present and carried something under his arm. The acolyte mussed with his hai¡ö and gave Rhode a h¡öggard lo¡õsid¡õd gr¡õn . ¡°Ward Prisoner Btiobhan. Help them get the Hero on his feet,¡± directed Oud. ¡°Alright,¡± Rhode groaned. Hands from all sides lifted and tugged and cajoled him upright. ¡°I got it guys, thanks.¡± He waved them away and adjusted his shirt. ¡°So I¡¯m here. I was told¡­¡± Rhode steadied himself again. He regarded a religious authority whose rank and status he didn¡¯t understand. He examined the multiple solid, rich hardwood doors on either side in various directions. But he was drawn to the soldiers, with their guisarms, and the one finely carved, but unassuming door which they barred. ¡°Goode Father Oud,¡± Rhode inclined his head. He crooked his knee just to dip a quarter inch and spoke awkwardly. ¡°I was told that I might meet with the Third Hero. I would really appreciate it if you might direct me to them. Thank you.¡± The priest¡¯s face slackened, but as he reconstruced his calculated, disdainful air, it was softer. ¡°It is as if it is even worse when he tries,¡± he muttered. ¡°Great Hornupant, greediest of all. Let no treasure or debt be hidden. I [Find What You¡¯re Hiding] ¨C Ward Prisoner Btiobhan, be seen. Ward Prisoner Mimai, be heard. Acolytes, you have permission and leave to direct the Hero from here. Goodeman Irving, I must¡­ we can only trust you to use your best judgement. Please don¡¯t screw this up. But¡­ don¡¯t take any risks you don¡¯t have to. Hornupant in his guidance teaches us: spend not the coin for chance. Gambling is wickedness, heaven can only be achieved through informed strategic investment risk.¡± The priest laid his hand on Rhode¡¯s arm, and his brow crinkled with sagely concern. Then he stepped away. ¡°Acolyte Btiobhan will explain everything. Just remember to report him or kill him if he does any black sorcery or engages in salary negotiations. Same rules as usual. If you will excuse me.¡± A dull headache throbbed in Rhode¡¯s skull. He slurred a delayed and half-hearted goodbye to Father Oud before recovering himself. ¡°Hey big guy,¡± Btiobhan said. ¡°Glad you made it.¡± Rhode¡¯s friend looked the same way he always did. Lanky, just a little uncomfortable in his own skin. Handsome, with dark hair. Charming and personable at ease, but unable to quite look a person directly in the eyes. His iron collar and manacles shifted heavily, and he often caught himself nervously holding them in place. Mimai had her habit of titling her head to hide under a puffy mess of curly hair. But she peeked up at Rhode with a smile as if they shared some secret joke together. Her front teeth were slightly crooked and bucked, but her large eyes were earnest. Her extensive and garishly colorful tatooos peeked at her wrists and forearms, and flashed whenever her sleeves would slip. When the two of them stood side by side, Rhode nearly chuckled. It was easy to forget how big the gap in their heights was. With clear eyes, he realized how thin and cheap their robes were, and mended in several places with off-color thread. ¡°Hey Rhode. I tried to get you water a couple of times. Sorry,¡± Mimai wrung her hands. Her fingers were narrow and bony: her nails cut short and chewed on. ¡°Are you still thirsty?¡± ¡°Hey,¡± Rhode replied. He squinted. He grimaced. ¡°Dang. Yea. Goddamn. No. Thanks Mimai, maybe in a second.¡± ¡°How are your stitches holding?¡± Btiobhan asked. ¡°Not great. Are you guys going to be able to handle that?¡± ¡°We hope so. We¡¯re working on something to make it easier to work on you while you¡¯re asleep,¡± Mimai squeaked quietly. ¡°Goodeman Koggeran has some ideas. Do you remember him? He¡¯s the clock guy.¡± ¡°Did your breathing machine,¡± the elf added, nodding. Rhode dragged at his memory. Through the foggy, uncertain days at the start of his life and to the sputtering device that had kept him alive until Eloft. ¡°Kog, yea. I think so. His grandkid got baptized and I guess it was a big deal that he missed the party for it.¡± ¡°Uh, yea. I mean, that was a while back though,¡± Mimai whispered uncomfortably. The hornupants shot a glance between each other. Then Gardener Tinc was at Rhode¡¯s side, appeared without notice. The acolytes cut off. Btiobhan cleared his throat. ¡°Hero Rhode Mortimer Irving. We implore your aid,¡± the elf bowed. His speech had sharply turned: becoming clipped and professional. ¡°As you are aware, there were unexpected complications as we welcomed the Third Hero. The matter is restricted, so if you will accompany me into the secondary garnishery here so we may speak privately.¡± Why dont we ever get a chance to just catch up and chat anymore (1/2) ¡°The¡­ what? The ¨C okay, that¡¯s a real room. Sure Tuv, why not.¡± So Rhode stooped after Btiobhan through a side door into a poorly lit, minuscule kitchen. His head scraped against the low ceiling. High cabinets pinned him in. A central preparatory island took up the room¡¯s middle, and his legs were pinched between that middle countertop and the ones that wrapped around the room¡¯s perimeter. Whenever he moved he risked banging against the dozens of gleaming, well maintained pots which hung from hooks above. Every flat surface was immaculately clean. Mimai slipped past Btiobhan and vaulted up to perch on the table. Her shoes kicked with nervous energy, and occasionally she startled herself as she bumped heels against the drawers underneath her. Btiobhan slipped off a heavy shoulder bag and set it down. He reached over to adjust the wick of a dim lantern and moved it to better light their conversation. Then he stopped Tinc before the gardener could follow in after them. ¡°With respect, both to you, and to everything that¡¯s happened tonight, I honestly don¡¯t know whether you are allowed to hear this part,¡± he spoke. The gardener froze, his hand resting on the frame. ¡°Let¡¯s say for example: would his physician, the Ward Noffet of the guileful Knight Order of Vipers be authorized to attend him now?¡± The elf snorted. ¡°Fuck no,¡± he laughed before he caught himself. ¡°Apologies,¡± he dipped his head seriously, ¡°I meant to say that no: under normal circumstances, he would not be. Since everything¡¯s gone cock-eyed, I¡¯m not as sure. There are a lot of people who¡¯ve met Rhode now, and that really shouldn¡¯t have been permitted. So I guess I¡¯d say, use your judgement,¡± Btiobhan sighed. ¡°About Ward Noffet,¡± he clarified. Slowly, reluctantly, Tinc stepped back and shut the door closed with a glacial creak. The two acolytes fished through the bag: at ease, but getting in each other¡¯s way. Mimai set aside a weathered, canvas-bound journal. Btiobhan found a ball-shaped ceramic jar. The elf found a paring knife in a drawer, then broke the jar¡¯s wax seal and pulled out a fat-bodied slug. He slapped it against the door, where it stuck wetly and began to cry. The noise was subdued, mildly annoying. But it served as a reliable [Muffle]. ¡°Gods,¡± the goblin wilted. She slumped and folded under the high cabinet to lay across the counter and against the wall. She curled her body tight and hugged her knees. The elf slid down dramatically until his knees bumped across the narrow aisle and supported him squatly pinned in place. ¡°I don¡¯t mean to complain, Rhode, but this past day¡¯s been utter shit, my gob.¡± The homunculus shifted. It would not be possible to sit down. He shuffled to turn sideways and fit better. ¡°Yea. Kind of been a mess,¡± he said. ¡°Ah, so on a sliding scale from getting hit in the face to being a casual participant in human rights violations, uh, what¡¯d you say you¡¯d rate yours as?¡± ¡°Your world¡¯s expressions are so complicated,¡± Mimai groaned. Btiobhan puzzled for a moment. Then, ¡°probably either a here,¡± he demonstrated, leveling his palm at chest level. Then he raised his hand high over his head and knocked a pot to clang against its neighbor. ¡°Or here? I guess it depends on what you count as a ¡®ubiquitous person-dignity desecration.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Rhode nodded. He lost control of a wispy smile. ¡°It does sound kind of stupid in Goblin, doesn¡¯t it.¡± ¡°Cant. Yea. I understand what you¡¯re saying. It¡¯s just an unusual phrase.¡± ¡°Sorry, slang what?¡± ¡°Oh. Not slang. Cant. It¡¯s what the language is called.¡± ¡°Huh. As in, liar¡¯s code?¡± ¡°Yes! It¡¯s actually quite strange, for some reason not a lot of people ever make that connection. But from a historical context it makes a lot of sense once you¨C¡± Mimai twisted her body just far enough, and then kicked Btiobhan lightly in the shoulder. She began to slip precariously off the counter, barely catching herself with a scrabble. ¡°We¡¯re gonna get in trouble,¡± she huffed. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°Right.¡± Btiobhan stood. ¡°Right. I¡¯ll give you the short version. Yesterday, we performed the [Hero Summon] ritual again. I assume you know that.¡± ¡°For the third time,¡± Rhode nodded. ¡°Successfully. Sort of. Sure,¡± Btiobhan tugged absently at his manacles. He frowned and looked away. ¡°Even after you made it, we¡­ well, we were all overjoyed. But we weren¡¯t sure if you were a fluke or not. It wasn¡¯t until we brought Ser Santos through that we felt confident that we¡¯d gotten things right.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Rhode encouraged him to continue. ¡°But management wanted to push for a third Hero,¡± Mimai whispered. ¡°Which is fine. But we shouldn¡¯t have had to rush.¡± ¡°I think we all would have preferred to take it slow. But we¡¯re also so far behind schedule, so maybe¡­ well, anyway the you-know-who insisted. I don¡¯t know if ¨C¡± Mimai jolted up straight. ¡°I don¡¯t think we messed up,¡± she blurted out. ¡°Maybe. We had to have, though. Or missed something. The process went fine-¡± ¡°The summon went totally fine. It should have been fine!¡± The elf winced. ¡°Well, we had to have missed something. I¡¯m not sure if you¡­ recall how it works, Rhode. But we sort-of expect that a Hero will be a little bit agitated when we first pull you through.¡± The homunculus¡¯ fingers gripped the table top behind him. The acolytes shrunk under his expression. ¡°So everything seemed right at first. But then he wouldn¡¯t calm down. Just kept getting worse.¡± ¡°Just freaked out,¡± Mimai hugged herself tighter. ¡°For all we know, maybe it¡¯s just a personality thing. Rhode, you¡¯re sort of a calm guy. And Ser Santos is Ser Santos. So I don¡¯t know.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± Rhode pressed. ¡°But this guy is alive, right?¡± ¡°Uh, yes. Yes, sorry. He¡¯s locked up right across the hall. The soldiers have got him cornered in the family rooms. Here, and then posted at all the other exits.¡± ¡°Just there?¡± Rhode pointed toward the wall. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± the monster considered, ¡°but you need me specifically. Nobody else could stop him?¡± ¡°Not without endangering him,¡± Btiobhan explained. ¡°I should be clear. He went berserk. Scholar Yagget ¨C I mean, you know Goodeman Yagget. The Hero broke his arm fairly badly. And then of course Hrogg,¡± Btiobhan indicated back and forth from himself to Mimai. ¡°Hrogg. I don¡¯t remember him as well.¡± ¡°You two don¡¯t get along,¡° Mimai shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s okay. Hrogg¡¯s prickly sometimes.¡± ¡°Sorry, I guess. He¡¯s okay though?¡± ¡°No. He¡¯s not in great shape, but he¡¯s tough. He¡¯ll be alright. I probably shouldn¡¯t ask, but is the¡­¡± ¡°Rhode met with him,¡± Mimai nodded. ¡°The Prince? Hard to tell, he seemed hurt. But strong still. Scary still. Is that what happened? He doesn¡¯t have super strength or something, or invincible skin?¡± ¡°Rhode, SHHH! I¡¯m not going to speculate. Don''t even. That¡¯s just a bad idea. Besides, it could have simply been surprise. We just didn¡¯t expect the Hero to struggle that badly. So bad, he was hurting himself: no restraint. Fought through a whole bunch of soldiers. Got loose. Tore through the palace, but now he¡¯s nearly killed himself to do it.¡± ¡°So you just what? Herded him somewhere?¡± ¡°Some of the uniforms did. Yes. That was hours ago.¡± ¡°Okay,¡± Rhode sighed. ¡°You¡¯ve got me. I¡¯ll help. Of course I will. I¡¯m just surprised.¡± ¡°Surprised in what way?¡± ¡°Surprised that the Prince would let me do this. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I appreciate it. But I don¡¯t exactly see why he¡¯d even let me close to another Hero if he doesn¡¯t have to.¡± Btiobhan grinned sadly. ¡°Probably because you¡¯re the only one who speaks the same language, big guy.¡± Rhode laughed, pressing a hand against his chest as his ribs twinged. ¡°No, man. I get how you might assume that. But you know, Ed and I don¡¯t come from the same place. Urth is big. Really big. We might get lucky, but there¡¯s no guarantee that ¨C¡± <> Mimai sounded out. Her English was broken, dragged out, with all the wrong sounds. But it was the language of Rhode¡¯s people. A tongue he¡¯d wondered if he¡¯d ever hear again. <> Btiobhan joined in. He crossed his arms and clawed habitually at his irons. Rhode paled. A calm fluttering feeling burbled up and crowded out everything else. ¡°Sorry. We remember it from when you woke up. It was pretty stressful, and you repeated yourself a lot." the elfen felon shrugged. "So it was hard to forget.¡± Why dont we ever get a chance to just catch up and chat anymore (2/2) Oh. Ah. Those words. Rhode Mortimer Irving lived in a little blue house with tacky, painted vinyl siding, and he lived in it for seven years. There was a little electric cooler on the porch that he¡¯d kept for guests, stocked with diet cola and craft beer. He had a few true friends who stayed by him until the end; though he¡¯d even lost most of those once illness laid him low. He had been angry, but not resentful; comforting doesn¡¯t come easy to everyone. His fellows had signed on for laughter and fair weather, not to hold a dying man¡¯s hand. There are some people who stick with you forever. That one nurse whose kindness never wavered, even when she sponged the sick off your mouth. The one friend who¡¯d sneak a smutty titty magazine into the hospital for you, and you found yourself fighting him to take it away again, laughing until it hurt. Your ex sister-in-law, who didn¡¯t have to come. She and her husband had just held your hand and watched bad television in silence. Rhode Mortimer Irving was built like a wall. Rhode Mortimer Irving stood nine goblin-foot tall. When he puts down his foot, you feel it through the floor. If he reaches for the handle, he might just rip the hinges off the door. ¡°Whoa!¡± cried Mimai, slipping off her perch. ¡°Wait, wait, just one moment!¡± begged Btiobhan. The homunculus paused, his fingers light on the brass knob. ¡°I don¡¯t feel inclined to,¡± he warned. ¡°Sure!¡± the elf replied. ¡°But we still do need to ¨C at least pretend like this stuff is still secret. I know that sounds ridiculous, but neither of us is allowed to admit that the Third Hero has been summoned, yet. Technically, we¡¯re not supposed to acknowledge you or Ser Santos either.¡± The homunculus rubbed the side of his nose with his thumb. ¡°That¡¯s an insane restriction at this point.¡± ¡°Yes. Well I¡¯m sure things will loosen up. Speaking from our experience, the government can be really bad about declassifying things when the chain of command gets interrupted. It¡¯ll sort out.¡± ¡°Will it?¡± Rhode doubted. ¡°Once the person who we are absolutely, definitely never going to confirm is here recovers enough, things will calm down. It¡¯s¡­ hard to quantify just how much of a calming influence ¨C¡± ¡°Before this job, I used to get panic attacks,¡± Mimai murmured helpfully. ¡°Now I still get panic attacks, but they¡¯re up to the level of full body paralysis.¡± She gave one frail laugh. ¡°Which when you think about it, is almost the same thing as calm. Effectively.¡± ¡°Mhm,¡± Rhode sympathized. ¡°Yes. Basically, that,¡± Btiobhan winced. ¡°That¡¯s generally how it works. But it does work. But that¡¯s item number two. Item number one is that the Third is officially not a Hero.¡± ¡°Sure. Noted,¡± Rhode murmured. ¡°Now can we ¨C¡± ¡°Unless we save him,¡± Mimai pointed out. Btiobhan nodded. ¡°Unless we save him. Right. And he¡¯d have to turn out halfway sane, too. But the second item is that the you-know-who officially does not know about this project; is not personally involved in the Project in any way. He¡¯s never been here. He¡¯s never met any of us. And we¡¯ve never met him.¡± Rhode¡¯s foot tapped the floor. ¡°Okay. Lips zipped. Got it ¨C¡± Mimai pulled a tuft of her hair over to obscure a portion of her face. ¡°That one¡¯s important. Never see the light of day again if you mess it up, important.¡± Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°Fine. If that¡¯s what it takes ¨C¡± ¡°For us,¡± Btiobhan gently corrected his peer. ¡°We¡¯re sort of a special case. They couldn¡¯t do that to you, Rhode. If the other heroes are successful, maybe that will change. But in the past two years, you and Ser Santos have been our only real success. And by us, I mean the whole Project.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve already agreed,¡± Rhode said. He rolled his shoulders impatiently. ¡°The WHOLE Project,¡± Mimai continued, chewing nervously on her hair. ¡°Four Ring is just production. And sure, Krevinkya is here. But there¡¯s at least two other ¨C¡± ¡°Production two has Fumin Gremmur,¡± the elf mouthed. ¡°No they don¡¯t,¡± Mimai barked incredulously. ¡°Who would have ¨C¡± ¡°COOL. VERY COOL,¡± Rhode growled. ¡°But please. I am begging you, stay on track. We¡¯ll circle back to all this later, I promise. And Mimai, I want to talk about those panic attacks. That doesn¡¯t sound healthy. We¡¯ll chat, okay? Let¡¯s just save the person who¡¯s dying first.¡± The dark-haired elf winced. ¡°Sorry. Sorry, right. Where was I?¡± ¡°Just summarize,¡± Rhode insisted. ¡°Right. Secrecy¡­ Honestly, everything is secret. So maybe for the next twenty four hours just talk as little as possible.¡± Rhode threw his hands up in exasperation, silently. He narrowly avoided knocking a sauce pot off its hook. Btiobhan chuckled nervously, and soldiered on. ¡°We¡¯re going to have you go in first. Hopefully, calm the hero down. We can send some guards with you if you need them¡­¡± ¡°But¡­¡± Rhode encouraged. ¡°That might startle the Hero. He ah¡­ doesn¡¯t seem to like goblins.¡± The homunculus shrugged. ¡°That makes sense. Sorry Mimai. I don¡¯t mean that in a mean way. Elves are just¡­ actually, let¡¯s stay on track. Sounds like guards are a ¡®probably not¡¯.¡± ¡°I think we want to bring one. Just keep in mind that anyone who follows you into that room and doesn¡¯t have clearance is probably going to get relegated.¡± Mimai hurriedly explained. ¡°That means getting transferred to someplace really isolated. It¡¯s not a punishment, but it is not fun either.¡± ¡°We¡¯re supposed to get a chaperone. But ah¡­ I think that was meant to be Corporal Bned.¡± Rhode nodded, carefully schooling his expression. ¡°Still. Most of the soldiers here would be prepared for it. The pay''s good. There''s a solid pension. There''ll be at least one volunteer. I¡¯m going to be right behind you with the first aid kit. Mimai will be right outside the door. Once the patient is calm, she¡¯ll bring in the transfusion equipment. Rhode, one of the things we¡¯re going to ask you to do is to a little uncomfortable. But the way it works is that ¨C¡± ¡°You¡¯re going to stick me with a needle, suck out blood, and put it into the other Hero. Yep. Cool. I¡¯m on board.¡± Btiobhan blinked. ¡°Good? Great. I thought ¨C okay, good.¡± Then the monster shrugged. ¡°Considering the like, full-on intensive surgery recovery, I¡¯m getting pretty low too. My red cell count has got to be bad at this point.¡± The two acolytes shared a bewildered, knowing glance. ¡°You¡¯re gonna write that down, right?¡± the elf whispered. ¡°I am, I am!¡± the goblin hissed back. She practically dove towards the open medical bag on the counter, and began to rummage through it. ¡°We won¡¯t take much,¡± Btiobhan apologized. ¡°We were hoping to draw from Ser Santos.¡± ¡°But he¡¯s drunk,¡± Mimai grumbled, shoving her face nearly into the bag. Her voice was near inaudible. ¡°And very uncooperative.¡± The elf gently pushed her aside, and removed a thick leather-bound ledger from a strangely concealed false base on the bottom of the bag. He handed her the record and then hefted the bag itself over his shoulder. ¡°If it helps, [Vigorous Blood] should make this less dangerous. And we don¡¯t even need to keep you awake for the procedure. So if you want, this can be the end of your night if you¡¯d like.¡± ¡°Naw,¡± Rhode replied. ¡°Are you sure?¡± ¡°Let¡¯s just go. You ready?¡± Shelter and intrusion A stout and ornamented clock struck the last whole hour of night. Its panels were ivory and delicate red orhalchem, and its chime was whisper soft. The monster was watching, from the corner of his eye, as Acolyte Mimai neatly secured round glass bottles and brass accouterments into a carrying bag. She was kneeling on the floor of the hallway as Btiobhan and Tinc negotiated with one another. The conversation was so vague and oblique, that Rhode mused the two of them might deserve some kind of perverse award for their gymnastic dishonesty. The door stood behind all of them. A guard ran his hand carefully around the frame with a mien of distaste. The wood was bowed slightly, with upturned splinters peeling up. The brass hinges were noticeably bent out of place. It had been perfectly intact, not ten minutes ago. Out of the seven (and plus one) soldiers at hand, two were considering the cost and consequence of being their guard. Rhode¡¯s tight-lipped escort from earlier had unreservedly declined. Barber Noffet had volunteered for relegation, actively and without invitation. ¡°It¡¯s going to be dark in there,¡± Bt¡õobhan said. He must have finished with the gardener. Rhode shook off his daze and took hold of the lantern the acolyte offered him. It had a loose metal ring on its top, and he hooked one pinkie finger through it. He let it dangle casually at his side. The guards were beginning to ask pointed and specific questions. ¡°Shut up,¡± Tinc interrupted them. ¡°Nobody is getting offered a relegation. Ward Noffet, whatever conversations you may have had or expect to have ¨C with respect, you can deal with them later. With the appropriate people.¡± One of the soldiers was raising a finger, drawing up another query. Tinc cut him off. ¡°Goodeman Douk, Villain Intunmeroonkunkt, you will be accompanying Ward Irving. You will not speak with Ward Irving, unless absolutely necessary. If he speaks to you, you may not respond unless it is a matter of safety. Ward Noffet, you will remain here with Ward¡­¡± He scowled. ¡°With Ward¡­ with the short one.¡± Rhode tested his body; his range of motion. He inspected his limbs to compare his aches to his wounds. He cocked his head as a thought struck him. ¡°Tuv, can you make light with magic?¡± The elf demurred. ¡°Only as a side effect. And not for something that ? listen, if the lantern is a problem ¨C¡± ¡°No, no it¡¯s fine.¡± Tinc had raised up a white-tarnished tin case. The box sat in the gardener¡¯s hand, about half the size of his palm. He displayed it to the gobs around him. ¡°Each of you is going to take one of these pills. Like so,¡± he neatly popped the tin open with one hand and a metallic ting. The drug he removed was a blobby , pale violet glob the size of a fingernail, and he swallowed it deftly. ¡°It takes a moment to kick in, so everyone takes their dose now.¡± ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Rhode called over. ¡°Ser Irving, if you would please focus on your own preparations.¡± Btiobhan patted Rhode¡¯s arm. ¡°That¡¯s not for us. It¡¯s a medicine that causes short term memory loss.¡± Rhode scowled, failing to hide his reaction. ¡°I want you to know that I¡¯ve been clear to remind the rest of the team that medicine like that would have unwelcome interactions with the rest of your care history,¡± the Acol¡öte cautiously explained. He looked away. ¡°We know there¡¯s been a lot of medication in your recovery plan. Maybe more than necessary. It¡¯s something the team has been talking about for a while now.¡± ¡°Talking about,¡± Rhode murmured. ¡°¡­ you have to understand, there¡¯s only so much we can do. It¡¯s¡­ a big team. A lot of people involved in every decision.¡± This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°No, I get. I do. Thank you.¡± Btiobhan tugged forcefully at his manacle. An automatic and unconscious motion. Mimai stepped to his side and swatted her unruly hair out of her face. ¡°Wet-kit is ready,¡± she whispered. Btiobhan shot a passing glance over towards the soldiers. ¡°Alright. Ser Irving, we¡¯re going to let the guards clear the door before you head in. After that, it¡¯s going to be harder for them to protect you.¡± He took a deep breath. ¡°So let me tell you what to expect¡­¡± --- Just as planned, the Hero Dreadlung stood hiding behind two goblins that stood half of his height and a sixth of his mass. Their eyes were slightly dilated with mind-adulterants, and with exhaustion. They cleared the door deliberately, taking positions at the sides and holding spears at the ready in case of ambush. But as it flung open and smacked against the wall, the rooms beyond the door were thick with muffled dark and slumbering dust. Rhode lifted his lantern and held it at a useful angle. The soldiers nodded at one another, and the rest of the group fell back. ¡°Clear breach,¡± announced the first soldier. ¡°Legs spread, and unders dropped,¡± snickered the second. Tinc swatted the back of the second soldier¡¯s head. His laugh withered. ¡°Fine. Taking port,¡± the goblin grumbled. ¡°Follow, starboard,¡± the other soldier echoed. The two of them vanished into the room, taking either side of the entry. Their spearpoints glinted as Rhode¡¯s light moved. The homunculus followed after, with Tinc at his back and Btiobhan behind him. Yellowing sheets draped over rows of stored furniture. Divans. Sofas. Cabinets. Bookshelves, packed tight. The room was carved up into aisles, with broken lines of sight and a thicket of cast shadow. The ¡õco¡ö¡õte shut the door behind them and slapped the wood twice. ¡°Secure?¡± hissed the leftmost soldier. ¡°Yes. Sorry. Secure,¡± the ¡õ¡ö¡õ confirmed. ¡°Check your lines, dipshit,¡± the right soldier growled, stalking further around the edge of the room. ¡°Fuck off, peepers. I¡¯m an ear man,¡± spat the left gob as he edged slowly along the opposite way. His head was tilted just off center, his eyes half-closed. Rhode lifted the lantern higher. The ceiling was comfortably high over his head. Playful scroll-work and simple pleasing patterns repeated over the wall-paper and cornering. A thick gray wool rug lay protectively over more expensive carpeting, under the wooden legs of heavy appliances. The walls on two sides were wide open into adjoining rooms. ¡°I can hear breathing,¡± announced the left guard. ¡°Sorry,¡± Rhode apologized. ¡°Someone else breathing. Foot rot take you, think I can¡¯t tell the difference?¡± the soldier grumbled. The homunculus suppressed a smile. He advanced and his fingers ran over fine cloth and the gentle curves of a grand armoire underneath. He cleared his throat. His voice came out scratchy and uncertain. <> he called out. <> The soft surfaces and irregular corners killed any echoes. Motes of dust drifted through the sweeping lantern beam. A creaking floorboard sounded from an uncertain direction. The problem they faced now was a challenge of area. The sealed space they were searching was not a single room, but a series of interconnected ones. A dining area, a lounge, a play room, an open office. These were the old Malachite family rooms. Secluded and intimate, a place for Lords to shelter from the rest of the world. To raise and nurture their families. The homunculus tilted a hanging glass chandelier aside. Its crystal pendants clattered and chimed. The spearman ahead of Rhode nodded and waved him forward. The homunculus stepped forward into the nursery. A long, folding partition blocked off a good third of the small room, tall enough that he could peer over it only at an angle. <> Rhode¡¯s voice raised louder with every word, until it began to crack and the phlegm in his throat took on the faintest taint of blood. He wore a thin smile on his face and sighed. There was a richly stained wooden stool within reach, and he hefted it up. He judged the weight of that stool with a sense of resignation. Moments later, it was what he used to block the knife. The Third Of course, Rhode spotted the body first. There was an obstructed nook, tucked away in the corner of the nursery. A boot laid out on the floor, sticking out from behind a dainty cabinet. It was narrow and tall, with high, swan-neck legs. It was a display case, and there were artful little arrangements behind the glass pane, rows and wreathes of baby teeth: hundreds of them in sets, or mixed to form mosaics of gentle, fat animals and a single quaint, rustic cottage. Rot clouded the edge of the window, and stained the corners of the interior with orange film wherever it took root. The goblin had slumped against the wall. He sat crooked, bent with the comfort of a drunk. The lantern peeled away his dignity suddenly. His eyes were glassy, and his face locked in an expression of resigned disappointment. The linen of his tunic was clean and proudly well-maintained. The symbol of his service was a humble, but exquisitely stitched clock tower. The embroidery ran up in an ocher stripe along his left breast, from hip, nearly to shoulder. His flesh was pale and plastic ¨C and at first blush, Rhode might have forgiven himself for mistaking the body for wax doll. ¡°Sorry, buddy,¡± he whispered. ¡°It¡¯s never fair, is it?¡± He spotted the blood next. There were speckles of it, dark flecks on the uniform. There was more, a slick hand, a wet patch on the sleeve. But the color wasn¡¯t right for goblin-blood. The hue was vivid and violet, congealing to an ugly bruise of a purple-brown. Villain Intunmeroon-whatingooodnessnamewerehisparentsthinking¡¯s voice hissed from the room behind. ¡°Light!¡± he demanded. Rhode ignored the request. He swept the lantern about face, and backed slowly towards the fallen soldier. ¡°Checking on something,¡± the homunculus replied. He spoke loudly, halfway to shouting. Instead of risking a crouch, his knees crooked just low enough that he could reach out and lay a hand on the soldier¡¯s head. Rhode knew it was possible that this man was still alive. He should be able to check the man¡¯s vital signs by placing his fingers alongside a vein or artery. But Rhode didn¡¯t. He wasn¡¯t a doctor. He was carrying a stool. ¡°Casualty,¡± he said instead. This time, he spoke more quietly. He moved forward, and away. Although he stepped to desperately avoid the dental cabinet, he otherwise held his shoulder to the wall. There was a servants¡¯ door on his right: half camouflaged to match the wallpaper, so short and narrow that it might pinch a goblin to thread it. Leftwards was back towards the covered storage. Forward in the dark, a cased opening, framed by simple round pilasters and through to another adjoining room. Within, a bare dining table turned at an angle. A row of display cases, a few with shattered glass faces. An overturned vase, down sideways on the hardwood floor ¨C glazed cardinal red, with delicate zinc-white flowers. A second goblin, facedown and still in the black and orange, their neck bent at a fatal angle. Despite everything, despite himself, Rhode began to smile. Broadly, oafishly. He felt guilt, but could not hold on to it. An ebullient mood filled him up, rising like cold spring water up from his belly up to the base of his skull. He adjusted the stool in his grip. He heard the creak of a floorboard. He took one last step forward. ¡°Hoo. This is going to suck,¡± the homunculus whispered to himself. But his grin was so wide, his cheeks hurt. When the third Hero appeared, they did so without flourish or fanfare. Their body was huge and ungainly, with frightful proportions. Their face, a near exact match of Rhode¡¯s own, just like Edilberto before them. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. Twins. Now triplets. The Third¡¯s head popped out from behind the cover of the right jamb. Their skin was ghastly pale from blood loss, and the dim phosphorescent blur which trailed an afterimage of their every motion by a fraction of a centimeter. ¡°He- crap,¡± said Rhode. The kitchen knife which whipped towards his head smacked handle first into the stool he held in its way. The blade spun wildly away out of his vision, and he ignored the yelp of a surprised goblin. The Third''s arm was long and lanky. Grossly disproportionate, but in a completely different way than Rhode''s own. The other monster''s pitch was practiced and fluid, forceful like the crack of a whip. <> the homunculus shouted. They vanished behind the wall again. "In the smoking lounge!" cried out Goodeman Douk. "I''m fine!" Rhode called out. "Hold back! Give me a second!" Warily, he held the lantern out to the side and stepped further left. He raised the stool as a shield. <> he tried again. A second knife flew out. The point gashed into the wooden seat face, but at enough of an angle that it bounced away too. <> the Third called from out of view. Their voice was weak and ragged. Strangely, it had been easy to spot the other homunculus in the dark. Their anemic pallor was so white it was almost luminous. Their arm was naked and bleeding from a forearm gash. Their body was wrapped in an embroidered bedsheet. <> Rhode chirped calmly. Ignoring the clinking of metal being rummaged through, he edged his toe ahead, sliding his shoes over the carpet in tiny, measured steps. <> Rhode blanched as the third knife embedded itself into his defensive seating appliance. The blade wobbled with the spring of good steel. <> The Third stuck an iron fire poker out from their hiding place and shook it threateningly, but Rhode was fixated on something else. He froze in confusion, then peered in growing suspicion. ¡°What did he say?¡± Tinc demanded. ¡°I said give me a second, man. You want my help? Respect the process,¡± Rhode coughed. A casual swing of his stool shattered an incoming long-necked glass bottle into a spray of shards that he mostly avoided. <> There was a long pause. Tinc hissed at Rhode to ask what was happening, and Rhode shushed him back. Slowly, hesitantly, the Third hero stepped into view. There was a flat, emotionless expression on its slack face. But there was another visage laid overtop it, painting its features a different shape. <> asked a soft voice. <> Rhode beamed. <> The third hero stared at him with widening eyes. They regarded the metal rod in their hand and lowered it slowly. The light threw its head back in exasperation and the flesh followed after it just a hair¡¯s breadth behind. A throaty, unhinged laugh wracked their body. <> Dissociation The Third hero stood crookedly, favoring one leg. They pinned the sheet they were wearing about their body with their elbow. There was a lump on their forearm from the broken ulna inside, and the sheet was sticky with blood there. The homunculus wheezed, lungs rattled by their broken ribs. The smile on Rhode¡¯s face twinged. <> The Third took two steps back as he spoke. The photo-exposure glow lead just ahead of their arm as they reached behind the wall, roughly set down their poker, and threw another knife. Silver, narrow and curved, the filet knife clipped the chair leg Rhode was too slow to fully bring to bear. The spine of the knife smacked against his shirt and clattered against a folding screen on its way down. ¡°What the shit?¡± Rhode sputtered in Cant. <> <> The Third snorted, and let out a high pitched hiccup of a laugh. They weighed another knife in their hand. <> Goodeman Douk crawled into view, low against the wall and taking cover behind a shelf of rotten stuffed toys. He flared his eyes at Rhode, but Rhode slightly shook his head. Villain Intunmeroonkunkt appeared in the far room. He had gone round to flank. His spear-point announced him as his head peeked out and his thumb jerked a signal towards Rhode. Rhode shook his head again more forcefully. <> the Third accused. <> The Third raised the pie-wedge knife threateningly. <> <> Rhode paused. He reminded himself that this person might not understand. <> <> <> The Third hesitated. <> Rhode adjusted his hold on the stool. He didn¡¯t want to lower it all the way. <> Three full seconds of consideration. <> One homunculus took a careful step forward. The other yielded a step back. <> [Bellows] stirred the air in the room, setting dust in motion an a gentle current weaving through the room. <> <> the Third repeated numbly. Then angry. <> they insisted. Rhode shrugged. <> <> The Third twisted out of sync with their body. Realigned. <> Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. <> <> Rhode moved closer again, watching the Third like a fawn about to bolt. <> The Third traded their knife for the fire poker again. They withdrew, retreating one lurching step at a time. <> No answer. <> <> An ephemeral third arm drifted out of alignment, and the iron nearly fell out of their fingers as they slackened. <> <> <> <> <> Rhode waited, but the monster did not refuse. ¡°Tuv, you there? You mind just showing yourself real quick?¡± An ¡õ¡ö¡õ stood slowly from where he¡¯d been crouched next to Tinc. The elf cautiously moved out into the open, his hands raised. ¡°You sure?¡± he whispered. <> ¡°Hello. My name is Btiobhan,¡± the acolyte interjected. He tapped his chest with his palm. ¡°Btiobhan.¡± The Third¡¯s head pulled an inch away from their head. It grew fractionally more distinct. <> ¡°Actually, maybe you need to back up, Tuv ¨C¡± ¡°Fist of the dark, my gods. He¡¯s almost completely disassociated¡­¡± The Third raised their iron. ¡°Yo, Tuv. Hold back a second.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve never even heard of someone surviving this ¨C¡± Btiobhan laughed. His excitement lasted until a two pound metal piece of pronged fireplace equipment struck him in the shoulder and snapped his clavicle. ¡°Ho. Wow,¡± the elf gasped as his knees slowly gave out. The meaty, butcher¡¯s sound of the impact lingered unpleasantly in Rhode¡¯s ears. <> ¡°That was an intense throw,¡± the acolyte bleated. He rolled back off his heels and fell onto his side. ¡°Wow.¡± The Third hero fled. They passed deeper into a further room as the goblin soldiers had attempted to chase after. ¡°Tuv, hey. Hey, man. You okay?¡± ¡°No. Go after him.¡± ¡°Listen, if you need¨C¡± ¡°You¡¯ve got to calm him down, his soul is rejecting his body. Oh. It¡¯s actually kind of hard to breathe. Whew. Rhode, it¡¯s almost not even possible for someone to survive that. It¡¯s almost like he¡¯s beyond dying.¡± ¡°That sounds bad.¡± ¡°It is bad. Go, I¡¯ll be fine.¡± ¡°You sure?¡± ¡°No. But Hrogg got it worse. So.¡± Bti¡öbhan waved him off weakly, and curled up into a ball on the ground. --- Pratiksha Jai ran. Or stumbled. Her legs revolted against her with every movement, every step. The staggered delay between her desire and her motion was insufferable, even as she was slowly beginning to get the hang of it. The monsters were following fast after her. And the bottom of her stomach dropped with every thumping footfall of the huge one. The image of its huge, flat teeth, of its ugly purple lips; the roaring sound of its wet breathing, she struggled to rectify them with the gentleness of the monster''s voice and shuddered. Her bare feet slapped against wooden floors, then against cold tiles. The sensation of texture passed to her indirectly, dispassionately. It made her feel like a computer or something, detached from reality and herself. Bile rose in her throat as unfamiliar and unwelcome parts of her body moved and chafed. The faintest light led ahead of her, but she was in danger of blinding herself whenever her intention led her face ahead of her body¡¯s eyes. She crashed against a low table in the games lounge, and a stack of unfamiliar boards struck the ground alongside their array of stone pieces. They landed in a cacophonous racket. Pratiksha continued on until the ceiling fell away. A two story tree reached out overhead, its pale bark and soft leaves offering gentle shelter. The arboretum was enclosed by clear glass, an indoor greenhouse that continued all the way up to a ceiling skylight and the very first hints of approaching dawn. Her leg wobbled, failing her. The functions of her body were failing her, and she was perfectly aware of it. She carried herself with the determination of a captain of a sinking ship, and searched feverishly for something heavy, portable and vicious. Heart to Heart The Dreadlung pressed his back against the wall, throwing himself back behind cover in time to avoid a spinning garden trowel. ¡°Oh hey. Tinc, that¡¯s for you, isn¡¯t it?¡± he wheezed. The horticultural espionage professional did not appear amused. ¡°What went wrong? It was talking with you. What did you say?¡± Douk had been left behind to tend to Btiobhan. Intunmeroon-evenI¡¯mhavingtroublesayingitnow held position across from Rhode, on the other side of the entrance to the arboretum. Tinc had ducked behind an overturned, flying saucer shaped globe. Its brass lid opened like a trash bin, and the goblin made his body as small as possible as he held it in place. A ceramic pot arced through the air, denting the far wall as it shattered. ¡°It¡¯s going better than it looks. I¡¯m gonna put my foot down and say that this is actually a pretty healthy reaction, given the circumstances.¡± ¡°Healthy.¡± ¡°Yea,¡± Rhode murmured distractedly. ¡°I''m cautiously optimistic.¡± <> Pratiksha cried. Her voice warbled, and echoed strangely. <> Rhode barked back. <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> Pleased, Rhode nodded to himself. ¡°What did it say?¡± Tinc hissed one last time. ¡°Bad news, Tinc my man,¡± the homunculus sighed dishonestly, ¡°I think he doesn¡¯t trust you guys.¡± ¡°Wh¨C¡± the gardener almost said. The saucer bin had been painted with lacquer to depict constellations of the night sky. Its purpose had been to keep drinks chilled and locked up for the adults. A rectangular wooden planter snapped the metal hinge of the container. The lid bent completely back, twisting Tinc¡¯s wrist and breaking three of his fingers. The heavy planter carried through, deforming the thin bronze and the whole mess slammed downward and into the goblin¡¯s head. He was struck downward, his neck at a bad angle. The force of the long box deflected along his body and turned him sideways. The man rolled over, face-first onto the tile and began to moan. ¡°Shit,¡± Rhode winced. <> Pratiksha¡¯s voice cried out. <> The Hero lumbered forward and fell to an aching knee next to the spy. Tinc was spasming in agony. His fingers were moving, and so were his legs. His eyes were shut, but his brow was expressive and his mouth was working too. Rhode didn¡¯t waste time. He pawed at the ground beneath Tinc, searching until he found a small, rectangular slip of sky blue jade. It was a tiny thing, as long as the short joint of Tinc¡¯s pinky and only half as wide. ¡°Stay with me, Tinc. You okay? How bad is it?¡± The gardener spat flecks of drool and groaned. ¡°Okay. Don¡¯t move your head if you can help it.¡± <> Rhode growled at the air. The homunculus slid the jade slip out from below Tinc with one finger, and then casually crushed it under his heel. ¡°Goodeman Innie!¡± This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. ¡°You can¡¯t call me Goodeman,¡± the soldier replied. His spear pointed unwaveringly. ¡°I¡¯ve really got to call you Villain? Whatever, man. Get over here. Tinc¡¯s seriously messed up.¡± ¡°You need to take cover, Ser.¡± ¡°Stuff that. Get this man to safety.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not supposed to leave you, Ser.¡± ¡°I will smack you sideways out of your senses if you don¡¯t take him right now.¡± <> the Third called out. <> Rhode bellowed. He wrenched the bronze lid free from the ruined bar and lifted it up like a shield. <> ¡°Ser,¡± Intunmeroonkunkt tried again. ¡°I can get his legs if you get his arms.¡± Rhode shook his head. Setting down his lamp and lid, he swept his huge hands underneath Tinc and plucked the goblin up. He was screaming inside as the small man¡¯s unsupported head lolled. The monster pressed the whole body of the gardener against the soldier, forcing the villain to carry him. Rhode gently tapped Intunmeroonkunkts¡¯s head and shoulder to better support Tinc. From down on his knee, the homunculus met eyes level with the soldier. ¡°Get him to Noffet, man. Don¡¯t mind me. I got this.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be right back, Ser.¡± Rhode laid his hand on the goblin¡¯s shoulder as the man cautiously readjusted his carry. ¡°Depending on you, Villain,¡± he said. <> the Third asked. <> Rhode replied. Then he fixed Intunmeroonkunkt with a serious expression, and nodded to send the man off on his way. Rhode shut his eyes. The world was swaying around him. It was growing blurry and colorless around the edges. It took a long moment for him to stand again. <> The Third didn¡¯t respond. She was standing out in the open, leaning against the greenhouse enclosure and under the first warmth of sunlight. Rhode picked up the lid so that it hung over his forearm. He left his lantern behind. The arboretum was dominated by the presence of a great, dead tree. The soil inside the inner room had gone bone dry long ago, and its largest occupant had gone withered and skeletal. Shelves of dead plants and gardening supplies circled the outer walls, and the familial compound stretched on for a few rooms further in two directions. Pratiksha hugged the glass, circling backwards around it as Rhode moved forward. Her blood left little smudges behind her. <> she asked. <> <> <> <> <> <> Rhode tried to smile and failed. He slowed down to allow the Third to gain more distance from him. <> < > Pratiksha replied. < > ¡°goblins¡± <> <> <> The [Relay] in Rhode¡¯s pocket quivered, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. <> <> Pratiksha mouthed. < > <> Rhode openly chuckled. <> <> <> <> The two homunculi had been circling each other. They stopped. <> <> <> <> Rhode shook his head. <> Never. Ever. Enough time. Pratiksha¡¯s face stared, slack and vacant. Her other face bent into grotesque masks of emotion, which snapped back into place whenever they deviated too far and became impossible. Rhode laid his hand on the glass and rubbed away a smudge. <> he apologized. <> Pratiksha replied. <> He sighed. <> He ran his hand roughly over his scalp in irritation. <> <> <> <> <> Rhode frowned, <> <> <> Pratiksha bared her teeth in a flash of anger. <> <> Pratiksha blinked in confusion, and she mouthed out words until she pieced out Rhode¡¯s meaning. A drop of blood pattered to the ground and echoed. A door slammed in the distance. The faint sound of shouting voices filtered through the intervening rooms. <> he asked. She stared at him blankly. <> Pratiksha looked over her own arm, as if surprised. <> She raised her eyes. <> Rhode realized she was looking at his shirt. Crusted blood and sweat made it near impossible to guess that it had been white. <> Pratiksha shut her eyes and her fingernails swiped over the glass in nervous, rubbery squeaks. <> her voice cracked. <> <> <> <> This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Rhode thought about it. He leaned against the glass for a heartbeat, but a long crack pinged an uneven line across the surface. He pulled away with a start. <> he considered, <> He shrugged. <> <> <> <> The Third raised her arm behind her and then let it fall. <> Rhode¡¯s eyes darted from room to room, searching out any signs of a figure. <> <> Pratiksha insisted. Rhode stepped further towards her. <> The Third hero snorted. She wiped at her face and smeared a dribble of snot onto her makeshift clothes. <> <> Rhode replied. <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> <> Rhode chuckled. He soured. <> <> <> Pratiksha¡¯s vacant eyes stared at him. <> <> <> <> Rhode cried in exasperation. <> <> Pratiksha pushed Rhode away. <> <> He turned his face upwards to avoid meeting her eyes. <> The skylight above them had been collecting debris for years. Rotted leaves and twigs piled around the edges, and bird droppings speckled the middle pane. Still, a hint of tropical sunshine burrowed through it. Rhode felt dawn on his face and it wasn¡¯t warm enough. ¡°Rhode?¡± Bt¡õobhan choked. The homunculus flinched. <> he said. Medicine The elf had an expression which conveyed an expression or state of mind. His body language communicated details about his well-being and intentions. So did his tone. ¡°Tuv, you shouldn¡¯t be up and about, man. Aren¡¯t you hurt?¡± ¡°Big guy, I¡¯m not going to let my patients bleed out.¡± Pratiksha tensed. <> An elf¡¯s heavy bag made muffled clinks as its weight shifted. ¡°Oh, this is amazing, Rhode. You did it. Are you going to introduce us?¡± ¡°Tuv, just¨C¡± Rhode held up a warding hand. <> he reassured his sister (twin? clone?). <> Pratiksha stopped reaching for the rotten handle of a pair of verdigris-crusted shears. < > ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡± the acolyte asked. < > ¡°Btiobhan, this is Pratiksha. Gah, switching is hard. People really do this all the time?¡± Negotiating the next few moments was tense, but uncomplicated. The Third Hero was skittish, distrustful, and angry. But she was also pushing the limits of her body. Even the enormous strength of a homunculus began to waver and dim. Neither Hero spoke openly while the Hornupant removed bottles of antiseptic fluid and gauze from their bag. The acolyte¡¯s words spilled out in a constant stream, which one might logically conclude spoke to their excitement. ¡°Normally, I¡¯d say the biggest threat we¡¯re concerned about is blood loss, or a head injury. Rhode, may I count on you to translate for me? I need to know if the Hero is experiencing any dizziness, tunnel vision or darkness. Also confusion, nausea or chest pain. Also, this may sting. I¡¯ve got to flush and bind the wound. Ask him to tell me if it hurts, and also if there are any other open cuts or lacerations.¡± The Third Hero held her distance. <> <> Pratiksha hesitantly offered her arm forward. It jerked awkwardly as she extended it. <> She pulled back and Btiobhan gasped in pain. He clutched at his shoulder, collecting himself over short, sharp breaths. ¡°Tuv, what can I do to help?¡± ¡°Keep the Hero from moving, please. If you want, you could hold my bag open, just so it¡¯s easier to reach things.¡± ¡°Sure. Of course.¡± Rhode tapped his fist against his lip as he thought. < > <> <> <> <> Rhode nodded. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t make guesses. But signs of shock.¡± he relayed to Btiobhan. ¡°Maybe oncoming pulmonary arrest. A sense of near-complete detachment from the body.¡± ¡°Yes, well detachment would be a severe understatement in this case. I just can¡¯t imagine ¨C apologies, did you say lung-stop? Please excuse me, Ser Pratiksha. I need to measure your pulse.¡± Rhode warned her and she reluctantly assented. ¡°Rhode, please find a small vial in my bag. It contains a semi-opaque green fluid, and not the syrupy one. Until I say otherwise, assume that every instruction I ask of you is urgent.¡± B¡öio¡õha¡ö¡¯s tone was. Rhode fumbled thick, clumsy fingers through the bag, pawing through clinking vials and tools, making a mess of carefully sorted sections until he found a cylinder of frothy, sea-green solution. ¡°Mimai will absolutely die when she meets you,¡± the ¡õ¡öf murmured. ¡°Look how stable this ectoplasm is. You¡¯re remarkable. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Eighteen. Under two.¡± The acolyte began rubbing his hands together vigorously. He had to keep one arm pinned to his side, and could barely bend his neck forward. Still, he breathed between his cupped fingers as he continued to knead them. Thin curls of pale fog escaped his lips. Rhode held out the vial and shivered. ¡°Good. Give your granny¡¯s urn a shake1 and hope we don¡¯t need it, that stuff is awful. Please tell Ser Pratiksha that I must use one of my Levels.¡± The physician¡¯s fingers and mouth had changed color. The air had gone cold and dry. ¡°He may experience an unpleasant and intense chill, along with numbness. This is normal. It is possible he will also feel sluggish or tired, but¡­ we¡¯ll see.¡± Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Pratiksha was staring at the individual: particularly at their hands. ¡°Hey man, are you sure?¡± ¡°Rhode. The Third Hero is medically dying. We can fix that. The team can fix that. But first we need to give ourselves more time. [Shivertouch] will do that.¡± <> Rhode translated. << It might feel weird¡­ and really cold.>> <> A thought occurred to Rhode. He lurched into an adjoining room and snatched up a chair, the stool, and a low table. Thump, thump, thump. He set them down for the others, and laid the bag out too. ¡°You¡¯re not going to freeze her, right? I mean, that can¡¯t possibly work. It¡¯s not safe.¡± He was crowding them now. He forced himself to step away. ¡°No. No. The cold is helpful,¡± the healer spoke, ¡°but it¡¯s just a secondary effect.¡± His fingers pressed into Pratiksha¡¯s skin and her flesh seized up in muscle spasms, outward from that touch in a crawling wave. ¡°Shhhhh. Shhhhh. It¡¯s okay. We¡¯re just slowing your body down a little bit. Nothing to worry about.¡± <> Pratiksha gasped. Her skin was turning blue, and her veins dark under its surface. Her echo grew agitated and twisted vainly to tear itself away. ¡°Shhhhh,¡± Btiobhan repeated. The elf patted the Third¡¯s hand gently. But the long-limbed, dark haired man also leaned hungrily forward. ¡°I mean, it has to have been my [Anchor], obviously. But how could it maleficate like this? Did you do it? Oh, no it¡¯s alright. Shhhh.¡± His eyes were wide, intent, and glinted with derangement. ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out. We¡¯ll make you better.¡± Rhode did not appreciate the expression. He laid a hand on Btiobhan¡¯s uninjured shoulder. ¡°Yo, Tuv. Dial it back.¡± he growled. ¡°This is necessary, right?¡± ¡°Sorry!¡± Btiobhan laughed nervously. He slouched on the stool in his long robe, his splayed posture desperately constructed to appear casual. He was even paler than usual. The dark rings under his eyes were more pronunced. His shoe tapped anxiously on the floor and he turned away, ashamed. ¡°Sorry. I¡¯m just excited. I¡¯ve never seen this before. It¡¯s working, though. Can you tell him I¡¯m going to hit him one more time with [Shivertouch] and then we¡¯ll move on to the next step? Then, um, I need the vial of red paint and the little brush. Doesn¡¯t need to be the little one, it¡¯s just the cleanest.¡± Rhode found himself thinking about [Anonymity] as he laid out the contents of the medical bag. The edges of it were so fluid. The transitions felt so natural. The logic of it didn¡¯t matter, even now. Fishing around for bottles one at a time was unproductive. At this point, Rhode just took out everything and organized it on the table. Btiobhan rinsed Pratiksha¡¯s wound, and the concoction sizzled with foaming blobs. It stained like iodine as he carefully wiped it away and bound her arm loosely with gauze. With Rhode¡¯s help, he asked to inspect her stomach and broken arm. Then, once he was ready, he cupped his hands again and began to blow. His fingers turned ruddy, and then blue. They shook. His lips chapped and began to bleed. A cloying mist dripped from his hand as he laid it on the homunculus again. This time, she braced herself and suffered its effect quietly. ¡°What does that do, man?¡± ¡°When a person loses too much blood, their tissues will begin to die. Like I said, this just slows down the process.¡± Rhode glared. ¡°Uh huh.¡± Btiobhan stood abruptly. He uncapped a small well of rusty paint and dabbed a stiff-bristled brush into it. ¡°Actually,¡± he cleared his throat, ¡°I used it on you too. Early on. It probably looks uncomfortable, but I can promise you this will give us more time. Especially this¡­ next step. Are you okay if it hurts a little bit?¡± ¡°You mean me? Do whatever you¡¯ve got to do,¡± Rhode sighed. ¡°Lean down, just a little bit?¡± Rhode did. The brush tickled his forehead as Btiobhan painted a tiny, delicate version of the [Lifetap] rune on his forehead. Slightly larger versions went on his wrists. Each mark had slight variations, which would only make sense to someone who knew the [Rune] intimately. Btiobhan painted himself next. He unbuttoned his shirt collar and adjusted the iron choke to expose his throat. He hitched up his robe and rolled up one trouser leg. His own runes were drawn in large, bold strokes. He inspected them in the glass. The symbol was jagged, crooked and swirling. It had an unkind shape. He shrugged. Pratiksha had been watching quietly. Her echo was harder to see in the light, and so she sat with the peace of a corpse. When her mouth moved, it was unsettling. <> she asked Rhode. She was slurring her words. <> Her head turned. <> Rhode glanced to his side. <> <> Pratiksha stated firmly. <> ¡°Ready?¡± Btiobhan asked. He shook his good hand to loosen it up, and bounced on his feet as he firmed his resolve. ¡°That¡¯s the tough thing about Mana, Rhode. I heard you want to learn a little bit of the craft, so you¡¯re going to be dealing with this soon. No matter what else Mana and Levels can do, it can¡¯t create energy out of nothing. We can collect energy, we can harvest it. But we can¡¯t make it.¡± ¡°Huh, I guess I¡¯m sort of familiar with something like that,¡± Rhode nodded. ¡°That¡¯s why this next part might hurt a bit. Ser Pratiksha needs just a little bit of vital energy to tide her over, and we¡¯re going to donate some.¡± ¡°Vital energy? Instead of the blood?¡± Btiobhan winced. ¡°No. We still need that soon. If I¡¯m asking for too much¡­?¡± ¡°Man, I said do whatever you gotta do, and that hasn¡¯t changed.¡± It wasn¡¯t particularly flashy when Btiobhan invoked his runes, Rhode simply felt a dull ache from each of them. The elf grit his teeth and shut his eyes. He laughed once. The rune on his throat had turned a rich scarlet. An ugly bruise was blooming on his neck underneath it. ¡°[Orgone Leak]¡± he whispered. Then he pointed his finger and a green ray of light shot into Pratiksha¡¯s chest. The light thrummed as it shone; it made her bones glow, and the shadow of them were faintly visible through the flesh. Btiobhan swept the beam through Pratiksha¡¯s torso. He focused it on her vital organs. He held it for no more than seven seconds, then the light cut off and he slumped. His knees buckled, and Rhode only barely caught him before he fell completely. Pratiksha convulsed as her heart started beating again. Rhode set the man down carefully, leaving him to lean against the table. ¡°Yo, Tuv,¡± he frowned. ¡°Uh.¡± The Third¡¯s chest moved slowly. Shallowly. But it did rise and fall. Rhode slapped at the rune on his wrist and gray, ashy powder smeared along with a layer of bloody skin. ¡°Tuv? For real. What kind of doctor are you, man?¡± Make a Fuss ¡°Oh you know, just a fellow doing my best,¡± Btiobhan gasped. Little beads of blood were welling up under the gray residue of [Lifetap]. His hair fell into his eyes, limp and slick with clammy sweat. He held up his hand for Rhode to pick him up. Rhode did not take it. ¡°I¡¯m not asking for a cute, sassy joke, Tuv. I¡¯m serious. That was weird.¡± Pratiksha wheezed loudly. She lolled in her chair as she fell more neatly into herself. Her eyes physically blinked. Rhode reached out to steady her, but stopped. ¡°Hey, hey, careful! You alright?¡± Btiobhan¡¯s hands were shaking. He clasped them together to still them. ¡°I told you,¡± he appeased, ¡°Ser Pratiksha will need surgery and the alchemists, but none of that will work if we don¡¯t give him more time. I¡¯ve halted the deterioration, and now we have space for more targeted treatment.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡¯m talking about. I mean I¡¯m not unreasonable, right? I can accept it when you do something mystical like massage a chakra or whatever. Or magic crystals, I get. But man, I¡¯m not gonna keep my mouth shut when you blast her with a ray beam.¡± ¡°Come on, big guy,¡± Btiobhan pleaded. He looked away. ¡°This is what I do.¡± ¡°Yea, okay. That¡¯s not the most evasive thing to possibly say,¡± Rhode scoffed. His meaty fingers clattered through the medical bag as he searched out a pale, corked gourd which was plastered with paper talisman labels. The bottle of [Quench] sloshed as it arced over towards Btiobhan. The elf barely managed the catch by hooking it in the crook of his good elbow. ¡°Sorry. Bad throw. Bad to throw. I¡¯m not thinking straight,¡± Rhode sighed. ¡°I don¡¯t like what you did. I don¡¯t understand it, and I don¡¯t feel comfortable how you hurt yourself. It doesn¡¯t feel right, man.¡° ¡°I tried to pull as little as I could from you,¡± Btiobhan chuckled nervously. The homunculus scowled. ¡°Man, it¡¯s not about me. I¡¯m not the one on the floor.¡± Btiobhan awkwardly unstopped the drought, and took a restrained gulp. Rhode¡¯s heart fell as his eyes slid off the acolyte, and back towards the family rooms. The two soldiers had returned with Barber Noffet and a woman Rhode was fairly sure was Mimai. The soldiers held the healers back for safety, but were inching forward all the same. <> <> the third hero groaned. <> Rhode gently took the other homunculus¡¯ hand and patted it comfortingly. <> <> Rhode smiled gently. <> <> <> <> Pratiksha pleaded. <> Rhode promised her. <> The third Hero clarified as she moved to sit up. Her body wouldn¡¯t follow her, and she faded back into herself. <> she said. <> Rhode grieved. He stood and waved Mimai over. ¡°She¡¯s ready,¡± he coughed. The goblin acolyte huffed and jangled as she struggled with the transfusion kit. Flushed and out of breath, she began to assemble brass, tubing and glassware until Noffet lost patience and fought to take over. The three healers bickered until the Barber realized how badly wounded Btiobhan was. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. One of the soldiers threw down a folded canvas for a medical stretcher. He slipped their spears through its sleeves to serve as its poles. Rhode gently lifted the other monster and placed her atop it. Mimai nervously described the possibility that Rhode might pass on his [Vigorous Ichor] to Pratiksha. Rhode translated calmly as he presented a vein to receive an unpleasantly thick needle. Spatters of violet dappled the bottom of the glass exchanger before Rhode forced himself to look away. Brawn Homunculus :: Ichor : 6 pints ¡ú 4 pints Brawn Homunculus suffers [Debuff:Blood Deprived] Guile Homunculus :: Ichor : 2 pints ¡ú 4 pints Guile Homunculus recovers to [Debuff:Blood Deprived] Guile Homunculus :: Level Progress : Vigorous Ichor ( I . ¡î ) ¡ú 26% ¡°What¡¯s happening to her?¡± Rhode frowned. The other homunculus was shivering on her makeshift cot. Deep muscle tremors shook her body. ¡°Mana starvation,¡± Noffet replied from across the room. ¡°But mild. His body is trying to form another level, but after developing whatever it is he¡¯s suffering from, it¡¯s far too soon. He¡¯ll even out. And it will be good to slow down his current levels in the meantime.¡± The barber split his attention between his two patients, but favored helping Mimai. His priorities had been clearly communicated to him, and he applied cleansing fluid to open wounds. He applied a greasy unguent and bound Pratiksha¡¯s wounds with springy gauze. Mimai was shaking with barely contained excitement, and every few moments she chirped high pitched, gleeful little observations to Btiobhan. He only nodded and eked out wan smiles. ¡°Something interesting, then,¡± Rhode cleared his throat. ¡°Mimai, is it bad, good, is there something special about this level she¡¯s got?¡± The goblin acolyte chewed on her fingernail, her other hand tentatively reaching out to probe Pratiksha¡¯s arm. ¡°It looks like a full spectral mediated possession,¡± she squeaked excitedly. ¡°Except she¡¯s possessing herself,¡± Btiobhan wheezed. ¡°See, Rhode? Told you she¡¯d geek out.¡± ¡°The body is too low level for a free residency, and yet the plasm density is far too low for a manifestation with this level of clarity,¡± Mimai continued. She checked the level of the blood exchanger, cringing when her iron cuff clinked against glass. ¡°Obviously, this shouldn¡¯t be possible.¡± ¡°Ludicrously impossible,¡± chuckled Btiobhan. Rhode looked down at the other homunculus, pale below him. He needed to stand to maintain a difference in pressure. ¡°Sounds like you¡¯ve figured out the problem,¡± he rumbled. ¡°[Ectoplasmic Anchor] metabolized as a level?¡± Mimai chewed on a lock of her hair. ¡°[Possess Cadaver] on top of it?¡± ¡°No, this has got to be a malady and mitigator,¡± Btiobhan whispered. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of it before.¡± Pratiksha¡¯s mouth opened, but her words were too soft to hear. Rhode narrowed his eyes. ¡°Just to clarify, you said [Possess Cadaver].¡± ¡°It¡¯s hard to explain,¡± Mimai spoke as she assisted Noffet by applying an infused honeyed gel to bandages before handing them over to the barber. She trembled, her eyes sparkling. ¡°But right now it almost looks like Ser Pratiksha is a ghost, except that he¡¯s possessing his own body.¡± Rhode took a deep breath and spent a full minute silently attempting not to confront the word ghost. ¡°Where are we taking her,¡± he asked, watching a goblin healer tap the glass of the transfusion exchanger one last time. He was growing lightheaded. Pratiksha¡¯s head lolled. ¡°We¡¯re preparing a room,¡± an elf wheezed. He was being tended to by Barber Noffet. Apparently he was wounded. No, obviously Btiobhan had broken a bone. Rhode sucked in air through his teeth and slapped his knees. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll take her,¡± he announced. ¡°Take him to¡­¡± asked a soldier. ¡°Wherever she¡¯s going. You got a chair ready?¡± A room full of goblins nervously conferred with one another. But Tinc wasn¡¯t present to provide all the sensible reasons to deny him. And that was why two homunculi burst into the halls of Ancestral Ring. The creaking wheels of a corroded, brass-spoked and leather rimmed chair groaned under the weight of the Hero Pratiksha Jai. The bare feet of Rhode Mortimer Irving slapped against the floor and left faint violet prints. Mimai and a gaggle of soldiers ran behind the two of them, wringing their hands and pulling at their hair. ¡°The Hero, Pratiksha Jai is born!¡± [Bellow]ed the monster. ¡°A Hero is here!¡± Confused goblins watched him pass. Morning had roused the palace, and the halls were filling with armed gobs at attention. They gawped at Rhode, but were slow to apprehend his meaning. So he raised a fist in the air and shouted. ¡°Jai! Jai! Jai! Jai!¡± Ah. That, that they understood implicitly. The halls were cheering her name until the calls outpaced them, and Rhode pushed his charge forward into the exhult.